Gloria Bush, Marilyn Butler, Janet Ogilvie Center: David M. Ogilvie, Norman R. (Bud) Frazier, Barbara Kaye Ogilvie back: Warde Butler, Jr., Dorothy Davis, David Frazier, Barbara Butler, Donald Ogilvie
Children’s children are the crown of old men,
And the glory of children is their father.
Proverbs 17:6
I often times wonder what my life might be like today if there had not been men of God in my family. What would my views on life be like, what would my circumstances be like?
I know that most of these men did not touch my life physically as at least four that I can name had passed before I was born. Great Grandpa Ogilvie, Great Grand Uncle Alexander Kaye and Great Grand Uncle James R. Kaye and last but certainly not least Great Uncle Harry Bush, where all men of the cloth. Really at this point I must say had it not been for James and Alex, I would probably would not be writing of this family. The story goes that Alex and David were in Seminary together at the Chicago Theological Seminary. As chance would have it Alex took his friend Dave home to a good home cooked meal and matters of the heart ensued. Dave’s eye fell on Alex’s sister Barbara and the rest is history. Their marriage took place on 17 May 1887 in Chicago Ill.
It says in the bible James 5:16….The effective, fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much. I must wonder if the prayers of these men’s parents were answered. I know that Alex and James’ father kept them in prayer even when James was not yet born. James was born shortly after his father, Byron’s, death. In a letter written by the mother Ellen shortly after the death of her husband she wrote this…
“I can give you but a brief account of your Dear Brothers last days on the morning of the 6th of March we had Breakfast at 7 oclock we had worship as usual he read the 9th ch of the romans passed some remarks on the lecture the minister gave the evening before kneeled down & commended himself & family to the care of his heavenly father the children had gathered around me to say the Lords prayer he turned round & looked at them left the house…”
Byron did not return home alive, yet if this is the habit he had in life he had his family constantly in front of the throne. I would dare say he would have been proud of his boy’s, his son-in-law and at least one grandson-in-law.
Did the prayers of these men for their families bring blessing upon their families? Maybe from the outsiders eyes it might not seem so, but being among the children of children I can say my life has abounded with blessing, with loving and caring grandparents, parents, aunt and uncles. I would say that the great blessing is knowing that I am one of God’s children and that he loves me beyond compare. This of course is only one part of my family. There are and were Godly men in my mothers lineage that must have prayed for their generations as well.
I guess my point in all this is that treasures come in all different forms, but I truly believe that the treasures we lay up in heaven are the lives of our loved ones and our descendants as we seek to follow the Lord and we place their welfare in the Lord’s hands.
Ellen Smith wife of Byron Kaye is my problem child. There are a few birth dates that have surfaced for Ellen, as it stands now we believe she was born in 1829 and was older than Byron and this might be why the contradiction in dates.
As the family story goes she lost both of her parents to small pox in 1833. We’ve not found these records yet. This is one of the reasons that I tried to follow Captain David Smith back to his parents, Ellen wrote in her letter, she lived with his family after her parents died. I have found this family , but have not as of yet found Ellen living with them. I know there are many reasons why she is not found, 10 yrs between census can leave a lot of room for moving around, she may not have stayed with her cousin David all the time but maybe spent time with other families as well. She could be listed under a different name such as Helen. We add that she is a Smith from Scotland and that Smith is about as common as it is here…sigh!
This is what we do have on Ellen and her family:
1. Byron Kaye, son of James Kaye and Hannah Halroyd,
was born on 23 Apr 1836 in Kirkburton, Yorkshire, England, was
christened on 24 Nov 1836 in Kirkburton, Yorkshire, England, and died on
6 Mar 1865 in Woodstock, Ontario, Canada at age 28. The cause of his
death was Boiler Accident.
Byron married Ellen Smith, daughter of David Smith, about 1857. Ellen was born on 4 May 1829 in Kintor, Aberdeenshire, Scotland, died on 1 May 1917 in Chicago, Cook Co., Ill. at age 87, and she was buried on 4 May 1917 in Rose Hill cemetery Chicago, Cook Co., Ill.
Children from this marriage were:
2 F i. Margaret Fischer Kaye was born on 13 Jan 1858 in
Waterloo, Ontario, CA.
3 M ii. David Smith Kaye was born about 1859 in Canada, died
on 17 Aug 1946 in El Paso , Texas about age 87, and was
buried on 19 Aug 1946 in Evergreen Cemetery.
4 M iii. Byron Kaye was born in 1860 and died on 8 Sept 1883 in
Chicago Ill. at age 23.
5 M iv. Rev. Alexander Smith Kaye was born on 1 Dec 1861 in Geulph,
Ontario, Canada and died on 13 Sept 1952 in Florence, Alabama
at age 90.
6 F v. Barbara Jane Kaye was born on 31 Mar 1863 in Woodstock On
Canada, died on 9 May 1941 in Zanesville, Muskinghum,
Co., Ohio at age 78, and Barbara is buried in Dresden ,
Muskingum Co. Ohio.
7 F vi. Anna Gordon Kaye was born on 3 May 1865 in Woodstock,
Ontario, CA, died on 19 Dec 1949 in Los Angles, CA at age
84, and is buried in Forest Lawn cemetery Los Angles,
CA..
8 M vii. Rev. James Ross Kaye was born on 3 May 1865 in Woodstock,
Ontario, CA, died on 12 Oct 1940 in Chicago, Ill at age
75, and is buried in Forest Home Cemetery Oak Park Ill.
Amanuensis: A person employed to write what another dictates or to copy what has been written by another.
The story rendered below, was written and published by my Great Grandmother about 1924. I know of two copies and don’t know how many were published and passed around the family. I hope there are many left to be passed down to her descendants.
I share with you the Life Story of Barbara J. Kaye Ogilvie through her eyes. Enjoy
David M. and Barbara J. Kaye Ogilvie with their Children 1933
My Life Story
by Barbara Jane (Kaye) Ogilvie
To my Husband and Children
also
My Brothers and Sisters
I Dedicate this Poem
The last time I visited the scenes of my Childhood, it brought back to me sweet and sacred memories, although the many favored spots of my girlhood days were entirely obliterated, due to the many changes that the years had brought about on the landscape. The changes were for the better however, and the city was more beautiful, but to me something was lacking and consequently disappointing. In writing this story of my life I have made it as brief as possible, touching only the important events, lest I wear those who may read.
Barbara Jane Kaye
Dresden, Ohio, July, 1924.
My Life Story
On March thirty-first in the years long ago,
My eyes caught the first beam of light.
But those days and those years — how fast they have sped!
And seem just like a dream of the night.
My father was taken when I was but two,
The sorrow I cannot recall;
But to Mother and all of the dear ones,
‘Twas a terrible shock to them all.
Five children there were when he left us,
But in just two months there were seven;
God’s promise of care for the orphans
And also the widow were given.
Some friends came to see us one morning,
They had driven fifty miles and then some;
For they wanted to ease up the burden
By taking me back to their home.
Fresh air and good food were abundant,
And they taught me the things that were right,
But my room was a lone dreary prison
With no kiss or a mother’s “good night.”
My juvenile heart crushed within me,
No room there for laughter or mirth;
And at the end of two years I was pardoned,
And returned to the place of my birth.
For twelve and a half years I took refuge
With a kindly old lady near home,
Who had bread and to spare in abundance
To share with the unfortunate one.
She taught me one day how to bake it
And also the butter to churn,
And I soon had the privilege of milking
The cow with the old crumpled horn.
I went to the “mash house” one morning
To purchase some feed for the cow,
And I fell in the vat and was scalded —
The scars I am carrying now.
For three months I sat around helpless
In my mem’ry it is lingering still,
But it taught me a much needed lesson
To execute caution with will.
Six weeks was the length of vacation
Meted out to the children those days,
We made sure of a trip to Niagara —
And the rest spent in numberless ways.
I loved the old haunts of my childhood,
The woods and the old gravel pit
Where we gathered for sport in the winter
On the ice with those “borrowed misfits.”
My constant companion was “Nellie,”
I loved her and so did she me —
We shared all our joys and our sorrows
And she told all her secrets to me.
We went to the country together
To visit some very dear friends,
And tho’ it’s forty years now since it happened
I’m sure she remembers the end.
She now lives in London, Ontario,
And I’m hoping to see her some day,
To talk of our forty years’ wanderings
And the blessings we found on the way.
My guardian had promised her fortune
To me — if I’d be faithful and true —
But she failed so to write, and her wind took its flight
The outcome I guessed — couldn’t you?
So I waved a goodbye to my country
My schoolmates and all I held dear,
And joined the loved ones in Chicago
Who preceded me the space of three years.
My mother kept roomers and boarders
I assisted her all I was able.
But resented with looks at two boarders,
Who complained at the food on the table.
They wanted ice cream and fried chicken,
And a bed for four-fifty a week,
But they got a surprise the next morning
When invited new pastures to seek.
My education was sadly neglected,
So I went down to Galesburg one year,
At the end of the term I was sent for
To care for my mother so dear.
When she rallied I entered an office
To keep books for the good of my health,
And I weighed and sold coal to the public
In exchange for a part of their wealth.
Do you wonder I sought out a pilot
To guide my bark onward through life?
Thinking not of the joys and the sorrows
That were stacked for the minister’s wife.
We set up our home in Chicago
A mile west of the old Humboldt Park,
And we took the steam cars to the city
Or rode on shanks Mare in the dark.
The Sky Pilot’s lodge was no mansion,
‘Twas not finished in cherry or birch,
But we furnished with love and contentment
Those three rooms in the rear of the church.
At the end of one year we decided
To go to Wisconsin’s fair state;
But the precious wee bundle I carried
Made protests wherever we’d wait.
Four year and a fraction we tarried
To tell of God’s wonderful love;
How he suffered and died for our meanness,
And then rose to the mansions above.
Yes, there’s tender and sweet recollections
Of that home by the side of the road;
For our two precious boys “He” there gave us,
To train them and tell them of God.
We took our three lambs in the winter
And went west ‘mid the ice and the snow;
But we longed for those breezes in summer
When we went to Chicago’s big show.
The neighbors and friends in that Iowa town
Renovated our house with a will;
Where two more little girls sought a place in our hearts
And a seat at the table to fill.
Pottowattamie County was our next stopping place
Where luscious strawberries did grow,
There were cyclones and hills in abundance
But never a stone to throw.
The folks in that town, they were worldly,
Puffed up like balloons in their pride
Thinking only of power and prestige
And not of a Savior who died.
Unable to do much we left them
to work out their own destiny;
And sought us a station more hopeful
At the close of the last century.
This church proved to be such a medley
Made up of all sects with their creed
But united in service together
Sought to help the poor brother in need.
For their worldly but scanty possessions
Which the preacher was destined to share,
For the purpose of keeping him humble
They paid him seven hundred a year.
We kept us a cow and two horses
For service and pleasure those days;
As the “movies and Fords” were not heard of
We substituted picnics and plays.
One picnic we’ll always remember
Which was held by the Chickasaw Lake,
And the appetites we brought for the good things
I rose in the morning to bake.
Oh, that dinner who could ever forget it!
How we worked to have everything nice —
For some cows to devour in our absence,
Leaving nothing but lemons and ice.
Then Leona fell into the mill pond
But was rescued real quickly by “Win,”
Yes, that was a day of disasters
As many others have been.
We went down to Clarence that summer
In the year nineteen hundred and one
And we’ll never forget all the kindness
That was shown us from every one.
There are two noble souls in that village
On whose faces no creature could frown
But the friends that are left, in the winter
Go out west to Los Angeles town.
One friend she has never forgotten
The love of our little “Tow head,”
Since her dad who was sometimes forgetful,
Shut her up in the old folding bed.
Who can measure the love of the other
As she toils ‘mid her prodigies rare;
A sample of truest devotion
To the little ones placed in her care.
After battling ten years with the measles
And fevers and mumps that were great,
Along came two more precious jewels,
If you count right you’ll find there are eight.
We fed and we clothed them, and all were content,
Tho’ it took lots of planning to buy it;
But the problem to train them and fit them for life
‘Twasn’t easy! If you’re doubtful, just try it!
When the youngest was two we departed
Farther east where a home we were given
In the state where at first we got stared,
In that notable year of ’87.
The meeting house there it was dingy,
Out of keeping with the folds or the place;
So an effort was made to replace it,
With a new one of dimensions and grace.
Fifteen thousand was raised for the building
From the rich as well as the poor;
And when finished we learned to our sorrow
It was short just twelve thousand more.
The service was largely attended
At the laying of the big cornerstone;
There were speeches and timely devotion,
And praise to the Infinite One.
The little tin box was then buried
With its contents and writings of truth,
Including a shiny new penny,
Placed there in the name of our Ruth.
In ten months the church was completed
‘Twas a credit to all that took part,
And the pulpit was made and donated,
By the preacher who gave it the start.
The dedication took place in the winter,
And the debt was all raised the same day;
Now it stands as a haven of refuge
And a temple to those who do pray.
Our son who still lives in that city
Is a dentist with skill and research;
With his wife who directs all the music
Of the city as well as the church.
It’s a pleasure to see the improvements
That’s been made in that Illinois town,
Three churches, a school and a depot,
Paved streets and the lighting that’s fine.
Since we left for the school in the mountains
Where we tarried the best part of a year,
Doing all that we could for the students
Who seemed anxious God’s message to hear.
The creek by our house how it murmured
As it passed by the old mountain road,
Rushing over the stones and the boulders
On its way to the noted “French Broad.”
The wild flowers grew in abundance
As well as some natives I know;
For one “House” had twenty-three children,
But nine of them only did grow.
The wife in that mountaineer’s cabin,
Rolled the logs never daring to tire;
While the men sat in idleness smoking
By the warmth of that open grate fire.
But I must go on with my story,
And leave those poor souls to their fate;
It is seven years now since we left them
But the story seems hard to relate.
From North to South we have traveled
And also from East to the West,
But of all the fair states in the Union,
The one we call home seems the best.
Eighteen houses I’ve lived in from my birth until now,
Who is there can prophecy more —
For the fate of the preacher in this land of ours,
Is to travel from shore unto shore.
Our five girls have left us for homes of their own,
The youngest is still at her post;
But we’ll never surrender the love for each one
Tho’ they leave when we need them the most.
One is wed to a Doctor in an Illinois town
and the next to a Dominee true;
While the balance is getting an income,
From business that each one can do.
Is it needful to speak of the dear one
Who made the supreme sacrifice;
For the love of mankind and his country
He journeyed and paid the big price.
We laid him to rest in God’s acre
In Crown Hill on the Government lot,
Which will always be tenderly cared for
And his mem’ry will ne’er be forgot.
But our hearts are so sad and so lonely,
For his face we shall never see more
Till the time when our labors are ended
And we meet on eternity’s shore.
‘Twon’t be long when the journey is over
In my weakness I’m trying to mend —
Where I’ve failed in fulfilling my mission
As mother, or sister or friend.
May this message be used for God’s glory,
In the lives of the dear ones who read,
His Grace will suffice on Life’s Journey
If you follow where Jesus doth lead.
Letter to Kaye from his Aunt Hattie (Hattie Amelia Copeland Kaye)
Amanuensis: A person employed to write what another dictates or to copy what has been written by another.
Oak Park Ill.
Dec 2, 1918
My Dear Kaye
Just think, I am too late , to even send you a Christmas card. And can only express my best wishes for the very Happiest Year you have ever experienced.
My heart is so full of joy and gratitude that this “little scrap” is over that I need only the assurance, that you and Cecil are both well. And will soon be at home again. How we shall appreciate our everyday mercies in the future. If I had you both here, I would given you such a hugging, as you never have had. I am not saying it would be the embrace most desired, but it certainly would be heart felt.
Your very interesting and most welcome letter of the 30th of Oct. reached me, one day last week- And I presume this will not reach you this year. All the time I am writing I have the feeling you may be home before this reaches France.
The mails have been terrible tied up. And the ? of those whoes boys and sweathearts & husband over here has been terrible. And we in this country are still receiving long casualty lists in the papers each day, It seems hard that very many homes that were so happy when news came that the war was over were so soon to be saddened by reports of death and wounded.
Words would fail me and time too to describe the wild joy of people everywhere when the whistles blew and bells rang to the limit of ? for hours. The city went wild but why attempt to describe what I realize you have heard about though letters that are more frequent then mine and I know have left little for me to tell what will be news.
But really I never expect to experience such thrill of….
There are many more pages to this letter, but the beginning is so full of promise and hope that her loved nephew and son would return home safe. Sadly one did not return home alive and her son died shortly after returning home.
To remind you Kaye was killed on November 29 1918, just three days before the above letter was written.
Somewhere in France .
Oct. 30 – 1918
Dear Aunt Hattie,
I have been intending to write you for some little time but something usually come up to prevent but tonight will start anyway. We are now located at a flying field, coming here last Friday and have been busy ever since. Started flying on Sunday on small ships that stay on the ground – gaining from them dial instructions on a different type of plane, and in about half an hour was turned loose to solo. Finished my solo rides in the after noon and then waited around for a day and a half for stunts. Finished that yesterday and started cross country work getting in one trip. This morning went on a triangle cross country trip of about 150 miles and got back without any trouble in time for dinner. Had to land at two fields on the way to get some papers signed showing I had been there. After dinner went out on another trip about fifty miles each way, landing on the other end. This is some beautiful country to fly over- being covered with forests which have a distinctive shape everyone of them, and lots of towns this country being fairly well populated. I got home about four o’clock, pretty well tired out. I have now finished all the work on three fields and tomorrow morning I go to another field for some work on a smaller plane and then about a day later will begin an Liberty. I really don’t see the idea of all this instruction on small pursuit ships when the ones we are going to use in action service are great big ones. Possibly they figure that if we bust any up they might just as well be litte like to have had you along today in the front seat enjoying the ride, as it was a beautiful day and no bumps and the scenery was wonderful. Every once in a while you come across a chateau with turrets and cupolas all over them, and usually with pretty grounds all around them. They are fine place for aviators to stay who have been caught out over night, as they sure treat you nice. My pal (Boothe) who went out on a crosscountry (sic) trip this am. Had not reported in yet and I presume he is spending the night in some such place.
I got letters from Esther and Cecil yesterday, the former written on Sept. 20 th and Cecil’s on the 22 nd. He told me that he understood from other sources that I was engaged to Esther and that he thought I had used exceedingly good taste etc. which coming from one of his pronounced ideas on the subject of marriage is taken as praise of the highest order. Seriously I am glad that he thinks so well of the idea as I didn’t know what he would think of it. Esther told me that she had read Bess’ letter to you and that both she and Norman liked her real well and hoped to have her for a sister some day. It sure feels good to know that some of the rest of the family endorse at it were my judgment or good luck or whatever you want to call it.
I have met any number of fellows that I have known at some time or another during my career in the army, and It seems nice to be around with some body besides a bunch of strangers.
You sure ought to see some of the flying that goes on around here. Every body is good but some are away above the average and some of the things they pull off are sure thrilling. There is an English captain around here who is a wonder and is only about 21 yrs old. They say he leaves the grounds doing a loop and while I have never seen him do it I have seen him fly and he is sure good. Perhaps some day I may be able to do such things but I don’t believe I will because there is nothing to be gained and the factor of safety is too low for comfort. Flying machines have their weak points and its bad enough sometimes in ordinary flying.
I expect to be ready for action service with in a week or so if the good weather holds on, but it begins to look from the news yesterday and today as though this little scrap was about on its last leg. You cant’ tell about these stupid Huns thought, and perhaps they will keep on even if Austria does quit. I should like to make it at least one trip over the lines after coming this far but after that they can call it off as soon as they please, and the sooner the better. The army is all right for a change but as a life job is not to be desired by me, anyway. I will sure be glad when I am a civilian again and be back and move with some of the old bunch at a little gathering. However, if it wasn’t for the war perhaps I would not have had the some opportunity to know a certain young lady, and if I derive no other benefit, that alone will be ample.
Well, its is time for taps so must close. Write when you have some time to spare and I will keep you informed as to my activities.
Love to all
Kaye
Lt. Alexander K. Ogilvie.
U.S. Air Service
American E. F.
France
In closing there is really nothing more that I can add, this letter speaks volumes on its own. There is one fact that will make this letter all the more poignant, Kaye lost his life on 29 Nov 1918.
Letter transcribed by Julia K. Hogston great grand niece of Alexander
from a copy of the letter given to me by Jean Wells granddaughter of James R. Kaye, Uncle to Alexander Ogilvie aka Kaye, Hattie is James’ wife. Cecil is their son.
