Things have been unusually busy around here this past week.  A few days ago, I think perhaps around the end of last week, one of the teachers at Cabot School got in touch with the Historical Society about having a group of students visit the museum and resource center.  Bonnie, our president, is right out straight with preparations for the Apple Pie Festival coming up on the 17th, so I volunteered to meet with them yesterday.  The group was a combination of students from Cabot and Plainfield, and since none of them had ever been in the building before and neither had their teachers - or if they had, they hadn't spent much time there so I was on my own to figure out what to cover in the hour that we had.  All I knew was that they hoped to uncover some "unusual happenings," a nod to Halloween, I guess.

Cabot has had some unusual things happen over the years, but not much ghostly stuff has been recorded or verified, so I selected a few stories that I hoped would qualify, like Thomas Lyford being struck dumb after he had spent hours recounting the town's history to J. M. Fisher who wrote the history for Abby Maria Hemenway.  The story goes that old Tom "never communicated again," and died a week later.  He was 82.

Then there was Mary Lance, the fiancee of Abel Morrill, Jr., who along with his brother, Edwin, served in the Civil War.  Edward died at Appomattox, and Abel was killed at Wilderness.  After  Abel's death Mary was never seen in public again.

A spinster, A. Fanny Smith, lived on the Plain at the farm where she was born.  Her Father, Harvey, died in 1927; her mother, Mary Jane Walbridge, died in 1910.  May, Fanny's sister also never married, cared for her parents and sickly brother, Erwin.  May died in 1937. There were twin brothers, Ernest and Erwin.  Erwin apparently never married and died in 1934 at age 70.  His twin, Ernest, married first Elsie M. Foster, who died in 1904.  He then married Sophronia, who died in 1941.  Ernest died in 1947 at 83.  This left Fanny all alone on the farm with the cows and chickens, each with carefully chosen names and trained to come when she called them.  After Fanny buried Ernest she swore she would forever remain in mourning and indeed, she never removed the long, black garments she had worn at his funeral.  Fanny died in 1950 at age 78 after falling onto the wood stove.  All that's left of the farm is the stone chimney standing straight and tall against the weeds and bushes.   

I knew A. Fanny, and carried groceries for her on my way to and from school in 1947 and 1948.  She was quite intelligent, a school teacher in her youth, never married, and spent her days writing poetry or sitting on the porch talking to the animals grazing around the place.  They were all named and came to her when called.

I'm not sure these stories, or even my recounting how Clyde Lance dropped dead ringing the church bell at the Methodist Church to call worshipers to the Old Home Week service in 1932.  He was only 62.  Long afterwards townspeople reported hearing the bell clang a single ring, sometimes in the middle of the night or long after worshipers had left the church on a Sunday, and the source of the solitary rings was never discovered.  Eventually I believe the belfry was removed when the Methodist and Congregational churches merged in about 1939.

The students rushed out of the historical building a little before 10 o'clock,  no doubt happy at the prospect of a bright, warm classroom after the damp, cold darkness of our unheated museum.  Although the students did not participate a great deal, the teachers were excited about all that's available in the building, and if it can be arranged, they will come back with their students to spend more time with our artifacts and resources.  We'll start a fire in the big old wood stove to try to warm it if they decide to come again.  I was surprised that nobody, teachers included, knew much of the history of the town, and had no idea of the extent of our collections and resource library.  We hope that will change over time.