The Life of Charles Graham Parkinson
Charles Graham Parkinson was born in Lancastershire, England, February 11, 1834, the son of Timothy and Ann Fielding Parkinson. His father became a convert to the teachings of the Mormon Church in 1846. He was the only one of a family of twelve to embrace the new religion and, of course, was cast off by his father and mother, in fact, by all the family. Being a landlord, he owned many houses that he rented. He sold all of his property, settled all of his affairs in England and made up his mind to emigrate to America. He had three sons, two daughters, and his wife. They sailed on the ship Ellen Maria, January 18, 1853, arriving in Salt Lake City on October 11, 1853 and then came direct to Grantsville. About six weeks after coming to Grantsville, his wife, a stepmother to his children died and was buried in the Grantsville cemetery, the first adult to be buried there. His oldest daughter married just before leaving England and her husband remained in New York and never came to Utah.
My father, Charles G. Parkinson was 19 years-old when he came to Grantsville in 1853. He received his education in England. He worked in the field of engraving on metal, stone or hardwood. There was no call for such work here so he turned his attention to painting, which was his chief occupation. He established the first photography gallery in Grantsville. He bought a great deal of his material for this work from C.R. Savage of Salt Lake City.
Many buildings are still standing which he painted and pictures that he took are to be found in many homes. When father first came to Grantsville, he had a hard time getting in with the people and learning their way of doing things. All of his young manhood had been spent in school studying the finer arts. His manners were very different as well as his style of dressing. His father being well-to-do could afford to dress all his family well and quite up-to-date. Father was still wearing new trousers made of black or green velvet with bright buckles, long black stockings, and low cut shoes. I remember that father never wore socks; always long black stockings, even home made. All of the men folk called him the tenderfoot.
The first dance he went to he said he surely felt lost but he spied a beautiful young girl with a wreath of flowers on her head. He asked who she was and was told that it was Hannah Clark whose father was the big man of this town. Father said, “I am going to dance with her.” They all laughed at him. He turned to them and said, “That girl is going to be my wife.” On October 18, he married Hannah Clark, a daughter of Thomas and Charlotte Clark. Aunt Hannah was a woman of high courage and lived a very simple home-like life. She went through all the privations of early pioneer life with all of its sorrows and pain yet she got the greatest of pleasure and joy out of every day. She always looked for the good things of life and always found them. She died young yet she had an abundant life. She was the mother of eight beautiful children; all very young when she died. She surely lived up the full measure of her creation.
Let me say here that Daddy Clark gave father and Aunt Hannah a wedding present that has always been kept in the home and given a place of honor. It was a beautiful English hand-painted water pitcher which he brought with him from England in 1852. We prize it very highly. In the year 1861 or 1862 father purchased four acres of land from Thomas Clark which was located on what is now called Clark Street. In the east corner of the lot, father built a two room log house with a fireplace in both rooms. The house had a wood floor but a dirt roof. I can see that roof now. In the spring of the year to me, it looked like a large green carpet. My sister, Mary Ann, was the first child born in the old home, and Brother Allen was the last to be born there.
After the death of Aunt Hannah in 1869, father was a sad and lonely man; her death grieved him very deeply. He was left with eight small children and he hardly knew what to do. The baby, a boy of eight months was taken and raised by his Aunt Helen Bryant.
Sister Ellen, two years old was taken by her Aunt Maria Parkinson of Wellsville. Neither of these women had any children of their own so it made it nice for the two little ones. Father and the six others stayed in the home.
In 1863, six years before Aunt Hannah’s death, father went back to the States to help immigrants to Salt Lake City. When he returned home, he brought with him the first stove they had ever had. He also brought six small shade trees; two of these he planted in the front yard of his home. He called them the trees of paradise. They are still standing in the front of our home. None of us have the heart to cut them down. They are now about 80 years-old. My mother planed a smaller one on the west side in 1872. Those trees mean a great deal to us, their children.
Sometime in the year of 1865, father was sent to Camp Floyd on an errand for the government. He was wearing a soldier’s blue overcoat. Father said this coat had all the trimmings which looked very nice to his artistic eye. The coat with all the beauty led him into great danger for he was taken by the Indians and held as captive. No matter what he tried to tell them, in their eyes, he was a soldier and they were determined to do away with him. They held a great council meeting during which a young brave by the name of Taby recognized in father one of Daddy Clark’s papooses. It was a lucky day for all of the Indians had a great love for the pale face Clark so father was released. The Indians said they were going to Cache Valley. Father asked to go with them. He told them he had a father living in Wellsville so they stopped at Wellsville and father took them to his father’s place. After grandfather heard the story, he had a small animal killed and cooked to make a feast for the Indians to show them how thankful he was for the safe return of his son. I remember as a small child that when Taby came to our home the best we had was for Taby. Father would never allow any of us to give him something to eat on the outside of the house. No, he must be brought into the house and fed. Father had many interesting experiences with the Indians.
He kept his home going nicely with his six children for two years. In the late summer of 1871, Sarah Hill came from England arriving in Salt Lake City on September 10. She was all alone, not knowing a soul. President Brigham young took her into his home where she stayed for six weeks. Father found her there. It must have been love at first sight, for in six weeks she married my father. They were married on October 22, 1871. Mother must have been very brave to undertake such a task. Until she was 16 years-old, she was reared in a well kept home. At sixteen, she went out to service in a beautiful home in London. While working there, she saved her money so that could come to Utah where she did. She paid her own way and had a wonderful wardrobe also.
Mother’s life was beautiful and interesting although it was full at times with disappointments and sorrows. Through it all she was surrounded with an abundance of love from her husband and children: her own children and the children of Aunt Hannah. Father always said, “There are no half-brothers or sisters in our home.” We, as his children, have held to that idea. He was the father of eighteen children: 10 sons and 8 daughters. He gave all his girls the name of Ann after his mother who died in England. Besides her own family, mother made a home for a number of others. Father was so free and tender-hearted that anyone in need found rest and comfort in his home although it was but a small humble home.
In 1900, the children who we living at home built a larger and more comfortable house for our beloved parents. They both worked hard to make the yards of our new home both beautiful and attractive as they were both lovers of flowers and shrubs. We have one regret. Father did not enjoy his new home for long as he passed away on January 4, 1907 and mother left us on April 16, 1936. Our parents have left a numerous posterity to carry on.
Written by Ann Jefferies.