Redpath/Ridpath/Reidpath Family Newsletter

4Q November 2001

Table of Contents:

Editor's Corner 

Family

Announcements 

Letters to the Editor 

Meet the Family 

Family Stories 

Family History Mystery  

Web Site News 

Editor's Corner

All I can say is "Wow!".  When I compiled

the first newsletter a year ago, I did not realize how many Redpath and

Ridpath and Reidpath family members and friends there are, how varied we

are in both locations and interests, and how willing we all are to

share our experiences and talents with each other.  

The newsletters have also been very successful in

providing a good balance between news about current family members and

today's events as well as  stories and studies of our past ancestors

of yesterday.  I personally think this is a reason for the broad

interest shown by family members young and old.

Thanks to all that have contributed articles and photos to

this and previous newsletters, and to those that are gracious enough to

contribute now for our future editions.

Family Announcements

Paper Newsletters?

The

Redpath Ridpath Reidpath Newsletters are normally published on-line on

the Internet World Wide Web at www.redpath.org , www.ridpath.org , and

www.reidpath.org and delivered to electronic mail addresses world-wide.

However, many members of our various families do not have regular access

to the Internet yet, especially the older relatives who are such a

treasure of our family histories and would enjoy reading and sharing

their own stories.

Researching

options to distributing the newsletter via paper mail has presented

three main obstacles.  The first is simply getting the right

addresses.  There are internet search engines that can help, but

are by no means complete, up-to-date, or accurate.  The second

problem is cost.  At the quantities we expect (500-1000 homes), it

would take around $1.00 US each to prepare, copy, stuff,  and pay

local and international postage, not to mention managing these

"subscriptions."  The third problem is commitment, once

we've sent out paper newsletters, we should have the

"follow-through" to continue publishing them this way.

Currently, the best and most effective way to deliver

paper copies is for you, the internet reader, to print a copy out and

deliver it to our family members who do not have

access to email and the Internet. It makes a nice holiday gift and

they will almost certainly  thank you for it.

Annual Family Tree Survey

It is pretty obvious there are many family historians by

the contributions to the newsletter, the 15

known web sites dedicated to Redpath, Ridpath, or Reidpath family

history, and regular activity on the Redpath-L mailing list.  The

suggestion was raised on the Redpath-L mailing list that a regular,

annual family tree survey kicked off in the newsletter would keep our

family tree fresh as we add new members, lose dear loved ones, and have

a few lucky folks marry into the "clan" [see Steve Ridpath's

article on "Clans and Tartans"].

So, contact your local genealogist (Family Tree person)

and give them the important events/ dates/ places in your life and your

immediate family.  Births, Marriages, and Deaths with dates and

places are standard, but you can include graduations, employment

changes, moves, retirements, etc.  And as with the paper

newsletter, help those family members without internet access,

especially the older ones, participate in preserving their knowledge and

heritage for future generations.

Here's a link with more information and additional ways

to participate in a Family Tree Survey: http://www.ridpath.org/genealogy/genealogy_survey.html 

Letters to the Editor

From Ellen Hooven

I am not a

member of the Reidpath family but have recently been at The Darwin

Martin House in Buffalo. It is a house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright

for Darwin Martin and his wife Isabelle (Reidpath) Martin.

I have been trying to learn more about

Isabelle. That is how I came upon your site. Thought you might like to

know.

 Also in Derby NY( about 60 miles from

Buffalo) there is a house( mansion) which was the Summer home of

Darwin and Isabelle also designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.

 The Martins were a very prominent

family in this area (circa.1900) They had a son Darwin Jr. and a daughter

Dorothy. Dorothy married a man named Foster and her children Carry the

name Reidpath as their middle name.

I will also send you the Darwin Martin

"link" there you can read more about them if you haven't

already done so.  I think your guest book is great and

wish more surnames would follow in your footsteps. Blessings, Ellen

Link to information about the Darwin and Isabelle Reidpath Martin

House:

http://www.darwinmartinhouse.org/links/links-frm.html

From Roger W. Ridpath

While checking out what the English were

releasing about our little war I stumbled over a genealogy website that

has some of the English Redpaths/Ridpaths lines traced.  It is http://www.oultwood.com/

. You might want to mention it in your newsletter for those that are

interested.

From Rita Denise Ridpath/Biggs

This story is about my brother-in-law,

Richard Parker. He is married to Judy Ridpath, my sister.

http://www.boston.com/news/daily/24/anthrax_boston.htm/

Meet the Family

Diane

Redpath, Surrey, England

We are the  Redpath family in Surrey. We are very interested in

finding out lost relatives. I have two brothers, Tery and Gary and one

sister Michelle.  Our father's name is Walter Thomas.  He was

the twin of Bert and had another brother called Cyril.  Anyone who

can help us find our lost relatives please contact acredpath@hotmail.com

Maria Reidpath and Family West Virginia, USA

Maria Reidpath here. I have been meaning to send you pictures of our

family in case you want to include them in the webpage. The names

connected with attached pictures are:

Davis Alberto Reidpath, age 21 on the left and Hilson Glen Reidpath, age 14 on the right

Charles Decker Reidpath II, age 10 on the left and Rhett

William Reidpath, age 12 on the right.

 

Blackee Reidpath, age 8 (the only girl in the family)

 

Timothy Ridpath, Ridpath Aviation, Lubbock, Texas,

USA. 

Night Golf in a Grumman

Yankie?

Here is some info along w/story of a real event. I hope you all enjoy

it. I didn't, but am enjoying sharing it with you all.

I was a young pilot flying a customer’s airplane of a make and

model I had never flown before. On

New Year’s Eve with my very good friend, Carol, as my passenger in a

two-place Grumman American Yankee, we were off to Ruidoso, New Mexico

for a party and some skiing with other friends. I wondered why I couldn’t see the airport.

This incident happened

before the present airport was constructed. Ruidoso’s airport (elevation 6,911

ft.) was sort of buried between mountains less than a mile

north-northeast of the 7-11 store. I

knew that, because I had not only flown into the airport, but also had

driven, and walked back to it from the friendly 7-11 store.  I turned the small bird back east for a few miles then turned

west following the highway into town. 

“Okay,” I thought, “there’s Ruidoso Downs, and

right…there’s the 7-11…a right turn up that road…another

right…then left, but where is the airport??  I know it’s right down there! 

Right there in that black hole!!”

I

tried several times to contact someone on the Unicom frequency, but

silence was the only reply. “I

wonder if they have electronic runway lights? Of course they have electronic lights, Tim. What were you

expecting?  Lanterns? 

Just click the mike seven times in five seconds on their

frequency and the lights will illuminate like a Christmas tree. 

Then you land the plane.  You’ve

got a New Year’s Eve party waiting to welcome you and the lovely

Carol.”, I mused to myself.

I

began circling round and round over what I thought was surely my

airport, at least where I thought it should be. 

As butterflies began a convention in my stomach, and my

impatience helped not in the least, I began to have some doubt. 

Attempting to dispel it, I thought, “After all, there’s a New

Year’s Eve party to welcome the lovely Carol and me! 

Carol is enjoying the flight so far and is looking for the runway

lights too.  Now and then

she would lean against me and tug on my arm, then point out one set of

lights or another, any illumination, it seemed. 

She really enjoys flying so far, but for me? 

My joy was diminishing.”  The

sky is clear and crisp, moon very bright, a zillion stars, smooth air

and a beautiful girl.  “What

else could any teenager want?”, I thought, with a smidgen of

trepidation, as I turned the little bird east toward the city of

Roswell.

The

highway between Roswell and Ruidoso is the only East-West highway for

maybe a hundred miles, and especially easy to navigate with all the

holiday traffic.  However,

beyond the edges of the highway there was only darkness. 

After several miles, I turned back west following the highway

while thinking, “7-11…right turn…the road is really hard to see,

but it’s still visible…there…it turns right…about right there is

where there should be a turn to the left, but I can’t see

it…and…no airport.”  The

mike clicking, there I was…circling and clicking…circling and

clicking…nothing.

I

had seen a lighted runway south of the highway a few miles back and

decided to go back and land there, I did so only to discover there was

no one there. During our take-off roll the runway lights went off. I was

confused. I discovered later that this airport was a private airport and

that a King Air had departed prior to my arrival.

I

turned west toward Ruidoso to find the illusive destination again, but

again it could not be found.

“Carol,

we will just have to go to Roswell and call someone to pick us up. 

There must be some problem with the runway lights.”, I said.

“Okay.”,

she replied while I thought, “She is such a nice girl. 

She’s really enjoying this. 

Everything is just fine.  I’ll

head east now.  There is no

reason to call the Flight Service Station to change the destination on

our flight plan, because we’re not on one. 

I didn’t file…”

You

see, earlier this day, I had talked to a specialist at the Lubbock

Flight Service Station.  The

weather all over was clear with visibility unlimited and forecast to

stay that way.  The briefer asked me what time I expected to depart and I

told him I didn’t know yet. 

“Do

you want to file a flight plan?” he queried.

“No,

not right now.  I’ll get

back with you and file.”, I said in my best aviator’s voice. 

I really didn’t know exactly when. 

Just whenever Carol got to the airport. 

I would file then, I thought.

With

Carol’s very late arrival and my impatience, I didn’t call Flight

Service back.  Also, in my

haste, I didn’t check the Airman’s Information manual. 

If I had, I would have discovered Ruidoso had no runway lights. 

I

said, “Carol, if you had showed up on time we would already be at the

party!”, to which she did not reply.

As

I was doing normal instrument panel cross checking, everything looked

alright except for the first time, I discovered I didn’t see the fuel

gauges.  They weren’t anywhere on the panel to be found! 

Without causing alarm, I began my search; but, to my dismay, they

just were not anywhere I could see! 

“But, they have to be somewhere!”, I thought. 

I took out my pen-light and started looking further than the

instrument panel, without explaining my actions to Carol. 

When she asked what I was doing, I nonchalantly replied that I

was just looking around because I thought I’d dropped something.

I

knew I had left with full tanks, because I had fueled the bird myself. 

Which is why it was hard to contain my surprise when I did find

the gauges, because those little balls were jiggling in the red, down

there in the wing root!

Looking

ahead toward Roswell I remembered what the terrain was like underneath

us.  It was terrain you would not want to put an airplane down on

even in the daytime, much less at night – dead stick.  “Can I make Roswell?  Do

I have enough fuel?  What do

I do, go Back?”, I asked myself. 

So many questions, so little time. 

“Maybe

I clicked on the wrong frequency, maybe it’s seven clicks in five

seconds, or was it four clicks in five seconds, maybe five, or in

…God!…I made a one-eighty turn. 

The heck with this, I’m going to find that airport! 

I know where it is.  I’ve

been into that airport dozens of times in the daylight. 

There’s definitely no fuel for Roswell now. 

I’ve got to set this thing down now!” 

I remembered what appeared to be a plateau north of the airport,

a rectangular clearing bordered with trees. 

“Hmmm…” I thought hopefully.

Once

again, circling over where the airport was supposed to be, I willed for

a miracle.  I prayed the

illusive airport would appear and I would be able to land. 

Carol would then tell everyone how really cool it all was. Flying

to the mountains for a New Year’s Eve party, then skiing for two days,

but the neatest part of the whole thing was flying in a private airplane

and, of course, she would mention how handsome her pilot boyfriend was. 

Wouldn’t she?  How

smart he was??

That

didn’t happen.

I

set up my final approach.  Carb

heat, power pack 80 IAS, flaps and landing light on. 

Oh yea, mixture rich.  Sierra

Blanca Mountain was straight ahead, her elevation way up there at 12,000

feet maybe.  Ruidoso’s

airport elevation is 6,911 feet and it’s in a hole. 

North of the airport where I intend to land is maybe 7,100 feet.  I talked myself through it, “Looking

good…steady…telephone poles!  Wires! 

Full power!  Climb! 

Climb!  Come on

Climb!!  Dear Lord Jesus!”

I muttered, “Carb heat in, mixture! 

Play with it, careful!  Landing

light off.”

At

least I was doing something right. 

I hadn’t forgotten the carburetor heat, the mixture and, of

course, shutting off that landing light. 

“One mustn’t forget that

in an emergency go around, should one? 

What have you gotten yourself into, Tim?  Everything has gone wrong. 

You and Carol were supposed to be sitting near a warm fire,

laughing with friends and drinking nasty tasting beer right now. 

Not up here flying toward this dark ominous mountain before us! 

Turn this thing around now and get on the ground quick!” 

I had left some flap down for lift and kept them there. 

“The air is so thin up here and I’m so scared. 

Keep control, Tim, hang in there.” I thought almost

frantically.

“Are

we going to be alright?” Carol asked nervously.

“Everything’s

going to be just fine.  I

don’t know where that telephone pole came from. 

We’ll make it this time.  It’s

alright.”, I said consolingly.  I

calmed myself with my spoken reassurances to Carol. 

We completed a 180 to the right while I prayed that the Gods of

Flight were on my side, and that Carol’s God was too. 

I felt this was going to take a group effort. 

We turned finally to land on the wide expanse of the plateau. 

Again my mind raced, “Carb heat, power back, mixture…not too

rich, 80 mph, full flaps.  Don’t

forget that landing light!  Landing

light on…closer…closer…NO!  A

Car!  Turned onto my runway! 

Power on, carb heat in!  Mixture,

be careful, flaps, easy now.  Oh

Dear God, please!”.  I

think I was talking outloud at this point. 

The little bird just wouldn’t fly, couldn’t climb, only mush. 

I was really scared now.  With

the landing light, and the moon, I could tell we were well below the

tops of the trees at the end of my very short runway. 

I was nursing the mixture control for power, searching for just

that right angle for climb.  “Come

on…come on…climb girl…climb.”

At

least one tree uprooted itself to strike our left landing gear, taking

with it airspeed and life itself.  Somehow,

we were still flying, but how?  What

for?  That we were flying

didn’t mean anything anyway.  We

were going to smash into Sierra Blanca and end up a red blob of

aluminum, our blood mixing with the red paint! 

“What have I done?  It’s

over.” I said.  Then I

released the yoke and put my hands in my lap.

My

mind resigned itself to the thought, “It’s

over…kaput…finished…there’s nothing I can do.” 

But, another solitary thought in the form of my father’s voice

jerked me from my desolation, “No matter what…maintain control of

the airplane!  Maintain

control of the airplane no matter what!” 

My dad always said that!  I

grabbed the yoke again and said with force to Carol and to all the Gods

who were present, “We’re putting this bird down this time no matter

what!”, as I wiped what were probably not only sweat but tears from my

eyes.

We

were dangerously low.  I

continued westerly, milking this little airplane for every little inch

of altitude she could get.  I

began my turn.  I rolled smoothly into what I could only hope was a climbing

right turn.  The high

country to the north was a lot closer than last time. 

I must have been on a more northerly latitude than my last try. 

Steeper and steeper I banked. 

Coming through near ninety degrees of turn with the aid of the

landing light that I had forgotten to turn off, I could see down through

the trees all the way to the ground!  I pulled back on the yoke and steepened my bank even more. 

The red stall light on the panel was intermittently flashing, the

horn screaming.  We were

near 60 degrees of bank.  A

shudder!  “Easy girl,

easy.” I coaxed her through what was the most terrifying moment of my

short-lived flying career.  We

made it!  Flying eastbound

again on a highly modified right downwind leg. 

I let out a big sigh of relief. I still get chill bumps wondering

how on earth we got through that turn.

By

this time, I had forgotten all about Carol. 

My being was one with that little airplane, and now on a low

final approach, I was going to land. 

Through telephone wires, on top of cars or ricocheted from

telephone poles, we were going to rest alive and safe on the ground, the

beloved earth.  Final check

done, we touched down, rolled up a little hill that catapulted us back

into flight followed with another landing; another rise in the earth

causing us to fly once again.  I

added a lot of power for our third and final landing. 

I braked hard and we skidded to a stop. 

I guess the little Yankee wanted three landings to even up the

approach tries.

                       

*                     

*                     

*                     

*                     

*

This

might be a good place for the story to end, but it isn’t the end of

the errors this pilot’s story has to reveal. 

Take a deep breath with me as I continue to tell on myself to the

FAA, my mother and father, and of course to the other innocent one in

this saga, the customer whose airplane I had borrowed.

                       

*                     

*                     

*                     

*                     

*

I

pushed the canopy back and Carol and I stepped on the wing walk and

walked away from the red rescued airplane as a pickup truck pulled up. 

The late forty’s man slowly sauntered up and said, “Looks

like you kids could use a cup of coffee. 

Come on to the house.”  Without

a word, we got into his truck.  At

his home, I called our friends.  I

didn’t know what to say or where I was, so I just handed the phone to

the man.  When we drove back to the little Yankee, I noticed we had

landed on a golf course.  “You

kids sure are lucky.  I

thought for sure there was going to be a crash.”, our benevolent

friend remarked.

There

were several cars and a Sheriff’s car at the scene. 

Carol and I began unloading the airplane. 

The airport manager walked up to see who the fool was that came

to these mountains to nearly kill themselves. 

We recognized each other right away and without me saying a word,

he said, “I’ll talk to the Sheriff,.” 

He turned and walked away toward the officers car.. 

At this point, it sure seemed like there were a lot of people

around.

Then

Carol walked over to me and began tugging my arm. 

“They want to take our picture!”, she said excitedly. 

“Pictures?” I thought.  “Oh

no!  Not pictures!” 

I could just see it plastered all over the front page of my

hometown newspaper.  My dad! 

Mom, bless her heart, the customer, and of course, the General

Aviation District Office.  My

father would be really disappointed in me, my mother would chew me out,

and the customer…he would probably look at me with disgust. 

My thoughts went to the extreme as I imagined the FAA would

snatch up my certificate and probably burn it on local television while

giving me a good bawling out, followed by handcuffing me and sending me

to prison!

“No! 

We can’t have any pictures, Carol!” I whispered to her. 

“The guy who this airplane belongs to mustn’t find out!” 

I told the eager reporter, “Pictures cannot be taken under any

circumstances.”  Just

then, my friend Randall, showed up from town and I quickly put our gear

in his car. 

Carol

came up excitedly again and said, “Tim! 

They say you’re a hero!  They

said nobody’s ever done this before and lived! 

Come on please, Tim?  They

really want to take your picture…and mine too, please?” 

I replied, “Carol, I can’t let this get back to Lubbock. 

They’ll kill me.”  She persisted but I wouldn’t budge.  About that time, the airport manager motioned with his hand. 

I took that as an indication to get out of there. 

Carol, Randall, and I slipped away. 

I could hide for a while.

                       

*                     

*                     

*                     

*                     

*

“What

are you going to do, Tim?  The

FAA is probably on their way right now. 

Boy, are you gonna get in trouble buddy! 

Your history.  There’s

no telling how many regs you’ve busted. 

You know how thick that book of regulations is and you know you

don’t really know them very well.”, I silently pondered. 

Aloud, I said, “Yes, I know. 

What am I going to do?”  I

knew they were going to throw the book at me and I couldn’t sort out

what to do, much less what to say. 

I had to get that airplane off that mountain before the FAA got

there.   I was so

scared I couldn’t come up with any other part of the solution than

that. 

Very

early New Year’s Day, Randall and a couple of friends and I drove up

the mountain.  I looked over

my situation at Alto Golf Course now nicknamed Municipal Aerodome. 

The airport that’s on aeronautical charts is less than a mile

south of there with a long north-south runway. 

“I was right!”, I congratulated myself, “The airport was

exactly where I knew it and placed it. 

See?  See? 

I knew I was right!  I

knew what I was doing!  I

wasn’t lost!”

With

some confidence restored, I began quickly preparing to get the little

red bird off that golf course and safely tucked away at a real airport.  I did a quick walk-around a pre-flight inspection, paying

particular attention to the gear and prop. 

Not finding anything wrong, I told my friends to push hard and

fast when I released the brakes. I wondered which tree jumped up and

swatted me a few hours earlier.  “That’s

far enough!”, I shouted and then thought, “This is going to work.”

Only

three or four golfers were on the grounds; it was too cold and too early

for most people.  There was

no take-off distance chart for this altitude in the little bird’s

manual.  I was wondering

why?  They must have made an

error in this manual for it to be missing.  

“That’s alright, “ I thought, “I’ll interpolate. 

I’ve learned to do that with winds aloft n’ stuff.” 

Confused and tired, but mostly scared of the FAA showing up, I

saw that interpolation couldn’t be done properly either.

As

I was stepping off distance from the nose of the airplane, I carefully

inspected the grounds of my makeshift runway for suitability. 

As I continued, I could see the two small hills that had

catapulted me into unwanted flight only a few hours earlier, and the

telephone pole that caused my first “go around”. 

“This ought to be enough,” I said to myself. 

When I turned around I couldn’t see the airplane because of the

natural crown of the golf course.  I’d

have to add a few more feet to estimated take-off distance to allow for

having to roll uphill.  Walking

back, I thought I might have to fly under that telephone wire or keep

her on the ground until I had passed it. 

That sounded like the best plan. 

During the walk back, I was carefully inspecting my surface while

keeping an eye open for the FAA.  “Those

guys are bad news.  That’s

what they look for, y’know?  Young

pilots.  It’s what their job is…look for kids who have just

received their certificates, catch them doing something wrong, and POW! 

You’re finished!  Done!  Never to

fly again!  Then they have a

big party to celebrate…oh, stop it Tim. 

Just stop it!”, went the internal dialog.

I

started the engine and did a run-up, 1700 RPM, Mag check, carb heat

check, mixture lean, then not quite full rich. 

Full power – release the brakes. 

“Push guys!  Push!”,

I hollered.  I had told my

buddies to help push hard and fast for as long as they could. 

“Come on, baby, come on!”, I urged. 

This was taking up a lot more distance than I wanted it to.  I had made a mental note of my go-no-go point and I had just

passed it when, finally…barely, she lifted off.  I was quite relieved to be airborne, needless to say.

Then

two devastating realizations occurred at exactly the same time.  I hadn’t put fuel in the airplane, and I was flying in the

clouds in IMC (Instrument Meteorological Conditions). 

I couldn’t see anything.  I

was blind.  I sure was glad

I had set the directional gyro.  At

least I had done that right., “Did right? 

Why, you haven’t done anything right!” 

This inner voice certainly was not helping. 

Ok! 

Ok!”  I said aloud. 

“Don’t panic. Right medium bank 30 degrees. 

Roll out, Tim.  5

degrees before 210 degrees look back at your attitude gyro and gently

roll wings level.”  That’s

it.  Keep talking to

yourself.  Tell yourself

what has to be done.  Talk

yourself down.  “Ease your

power back…remain calm, Tim.  Don’t

forget carb heat…that’s it.  Now

maintain altitude until 80 indicated and trim for hands off, let her

begin her descent.  Wings

level now, keep your heading!  You’re

looking good…80 IAS and 500 feet FPM descent. 

Good work, you remembered that little bit of instrument training.  Now just be calm, don’t panic…and pray.” 

When

I broke out, I could see the approach end of the runway at about 11:00

o’clock, less than œ mile.  I

was real low between two mountains, but could see the runway straight

ahead.  It was going to require a very steep turn to the left to

align myself parallel over the runway. 

This required well over 60 degrees of bank to make the 70 degrees

of turn required.  Under my

circumstances I couldn’t gripe about my positioning, even though I was

probably only 75 feet above the runway elevation. 

Other than the runway directly ahead, all other terrain was well

above me.

With

the mountain God’s help, I landed safely, rolled out, and turned into

the ramp.  I opened the

canopy and felt the cold air hit my face. 

My face was wet, and I wiped it with my shirt sleeve.

A

lineman directed me into a parking spot and before the prop was

completely stopped, he said quite intimidatingly, “Unicom frequency is

122.8!  You’re supposed to

call in ahead of time for a traffic advisory!” 

He looked up at the weather and said, “How did you get in here

anyway?  We’ve been socked

in since first light!”

The

airport manager walked up just then and said, “I’ll get this. 

Go get Dr. Williams Barron out of the hanger, then move your car

off the ramp.  You know

you’re not supposed to park your car there.” 

The line-boy walked away a little confused. 

I was glad.  I

didn’t want to answer any questions.

The

FAA never came, I don’t know if they ever knew, but I acknowledge the

mistakes I made and am grateful for the lessons learned.  

Family Stories

William Syme Redpath submitted by Heather Canevaro

This story was told on the radio show "Saskatchewan

Stories" in 1979, by Saskatchewan. historian John Archer.

Apparently Bertram Tennyson, a nephew of Alfred Lord Tennyson came

out to western Canada, from Britain, reaching Winnipeg in 1880, This

Tennyson was a lawyer and in 1881, he, together with William Syme

Redpath, another lawyer and Naismith Winston Churchill, struck out from

Winnipeg for the North West Territories. William Syme Redpath

homesteaded 50 miles north west of Moosimin, on the banks of the Cut Arm

River, on Sept. 28, 1881 and Tennyson homesteaded next to him. Redpath

lived in a dugout shelter in the hillside of the Cut Arm valley and he

kept a good table and good company.

Redpath became a legend in the Cut Arm. The community of Redpath was

named after him. He carried the mail to Moosimin by dog sled in winter

and pony in summer. He left the homestead and became manager of St.

John's College Farm at Fort Q'uappelle Sask. Later he moved to Regina

and opened a law office.

His son Eric was born in Regina in 1894 and remembers that, after

moving to Manitoba, his parents often campaigned for the local

Conservative member. Eric recalls hearing his father, William Syme,

talking about William's Grandfather playing checkers with a Scottish

Lord in Scotland, and of the family originating in Scotland. William

Syme's father was William Syme as well and was also a lawyer. The family

lived in London at Sydenham, Bush Lane.

Thought I would pass this on, in case some one is missing a William

Syme.

Elizabeth Ridpath-Helvey’s Burial Location Found!

submitted by Charlene K. Hale and Keith Hale

First

off let me begin by giving you a little background on Elizabeth Ridpath. 

Family stories for years have said that she was an Indian child that was

left behind after a massacre of a small band of Indians.  She was

taken in by the Helvey family where she eventually married Alfred Helvey. 

So far, any attempt to verify this story has fallen far short. 

Here is what I do know.

 She is the daughter of John Ridpath and Mary Polly Cox. 

She was born on 11 Dec 1816 in Montgomery County, Virginia and she

married Alfred Martin Helvey in 1838 in Virginia.[1] 

They had 10 children from this marriage (7 girls and 3 Boys). 

Including Mariah Jane Helvey my Great-Great Grandmother.

 Elizabeth and Alfred moved from Virginia to Putnam County,

Indiana where they can be found in the 1840 Federal Census in Floyd

Township.  They are listed

as follows…

1 Male between 20-30

1 Female between 10-15

1 Female between 20-30

In

1850 they are still living in Putnam County only this time it lists 6

children now in the household.  The 1860 federal census has them moving to Deepwater Township

in Henry County, Missouri.[2] 

In 1870 they are still living in Henry County, Missouri but by

now only the four youngest children are living at home.

 After 1870 we lost the family! 

We were unable to find any records of them anywhere. 

That is until just recently. 

A cousin Linda Hazen was researching some of her ancestors that

lived and died in the Santa Paula, California area (Emily Helvey

daughter to Elizabeth and Alfred, married Rueben Hazen). 

She hired a researcher to visit a local cemetery there to get

pictures of several headstones.  Much

to our surprise, next to Emily’s headstone was one that said

“Mother!”   It was

the headstone of Elizabeth Ridpath-Helvey.

We do not know where Alfred Martin Helvey died, however we do know

that he was alive in the 1880 census. 

Just in the past few days he was discovered, in the 1880 census

in Audrain County Missouri, living in Emily & Rueben’s home. 

The funny thing is that Elizabeth is not listed.  

We now know she  died

in California in 1894 and  we

are assuming she was living with Emily and Rueben at that time. 

Her obituary was recently discovered and it states the following[3]…

“Died, Monday, July 9th, 1894, Mrs. Helva

[sic], mother of Mrs. Harpold.  The

funeral took place from the Methodist church on Tuesday at 2 p.m., Rev.

Rich   conducting the

services.”

If you have any information on this family please feel free to

contact any one of the following.

Charlene K. Hale  ckhale@ev1.net             

(GrGrGranddaughter)

Keith Hale            

rkeithh@swbell.net   

(GrGrGrGrandson)

 

 

Nancy Spence submitted by Sheila Anderson-Lewis

Here is one for the refrigerator.... Nancy Spence, daughter of Nancy

Redpath and Isham Spence beside her husband Daniel

Gardner. Nancy was a sister to my third great

grandfather Eli Spence, son of Nancy Redpath, my

4th great grandmother.

Family History Mystery

Shean Bostock, Shropshire, England.

William Robert Ridpath was born on 2 April 1881 in Stratford,

Middlesex (now part of London). He worked for some time as a labourer in

a chemical works, then enlisted in the Royal Marines on 17 October 1901.

On enlistment, he was described as 5 feet 8 inches, fresh complexion,

dark brown hair, dark brown eyes and with a scar on his right thumb.

Other than shore postings, he served on the following ships:

HMS Swiftsure 12 Sep 1904 - 31 Dec 1904

HMS Dreadnought 4 Jan 1907 31 Dec 1907

HMS Victorious 17 Jun 1909 19 Aug 1909

HMS Inflexible 2 Sep 1909 3 Oct 1909

He was awarded Good Conduct Badges in 1903 and 1907. Both were

deprived in 1908 and one was restored in July 1909. The full complement

of three badges had been penciled in for 1917. Throughout his service,

his character was only once less than "Very Good", and was

then "Good".

HMS Inflexible cast off for New York from Portsmouth at 1235 hours on

16 Sep 09. The voyage was uneventful, apart from passing Lusitania,

which had not yet acquired any particular significance. Inflexible

docked at New York on 24 September and moored off Riverside Park. The

log contains the interesting note "Found here American, German,

French and Italian fleets & Mexican, Dutch and Argentine men of war.

French Admiral came on board. Saluted him on leaving".

On 25 Sep 09, Inflexible moored off 129th Street, and remained at

that location until Ridpath disappeared on 3 October 1909. His personal

record contains the fairly unhelpful remark "Run" as the

reason for his discharge. Of course it is inconceivable that a Royal

Marine would desert, so his fate remains a mystery. I do know that he

disagreed with his father who wanted him to marry a certain woman. The

family are said to have advertised in US newspapers for any information

about him.

I suspect that his father did not forgive him for the disagreement

because his sister was later named as Next of Kin while the father was

still alive. His sister, my grandmother, lived for a further 71 years,

and heard no more of him.

The possibilities are endless. He could have re-enlisted for the 1914

-1918 war under a false name, or even joined the US military. I imagine

that it would be quite easy in 1909 to live under a false name, but it

is just possible that someone will recognise their own family tale.

Are

We a Clan and do we have a Tartan? submitted by Steve Ridpath, Beds,

England

A

lack of readily available and historically founded information is one

cause of the uncertainty on this matter. And so every now and again a

discussion, and usually disagreement, over whether or not the word

‘clan’ can be used correctly to describe a family from the Borders.

Or to give the area it’s other name “The Lowlands”. But there is

also a common assumption that ‘clan’, being derived from Gaelic or

Irish, is a term that in Scotland belongs properly to the Highlands and

Hebrides and in a setting where distinctive family territories and

tartans are found. Tourist literature and many books have promoted this

impression.

Nowadays

the use of ‘clan’ in the Borders is widespread. It is applied there,

as in the Highlands, to modern associations of those who share or are

closely connected to a particular surname. The occasion has been

repeated and the idea has spread. There is now a ‘Clan Association’

or ‘Clan Society’ they are taken very seriously at home and abroad.

The view has been expressed that ‘such events as Clan gatherings’ do

‘much for the tourist industry’ in the Borders area. No doubt this

is true.

‘Clans’

with their accompanying ‘territories’ and flags evoke letters to the

newspapers. A correspondent to a newspaper was in no doubt. That clans

had never existed in the historical past: “Of course we had no Border

clans in the early days of our history, having little recognition by the

Scottish Kings, but having much more kinship with the families on the

English side of the Borders”. There is one carefully researched book

“The Steel Bonnets” by George McDonald Fraser, in it he traces many

of the Border families but in no case, did he refer to them as

“clans”. Unfortunately we are not included. In spite of total

contradictions and the absence of references to historical sources such

statements are made and Association names are created and used today

with the utmost conviction. Because ‘clans’ are no longer what they

were long ago, the conviction is perhaps comparatively harmless.

Duncan

Forbes of Culloden, writing about 1746, stated that “A Highland Clan

is a set of men all bearing the same sirname, and believing themselves

to be related the one to the other, and to be descended from the same

common Stock”. This and other of his remarks on the subject

could have been expected two centuries and more earlier from people in a

similar position, outside observers and Scottish government officials

who then thought of certain inhabitants of the Borders and of the

Highlands in the same way. The word ‘clan’, stemming from the Gaelic

term for ‘kindred’ or ‘children’, had evidently entered the

language of government respecting the Borders by 1500 and was used of

the ‘surnames’ with an overtone of disapproval. More disparaging

alternatives for the ‘surname’ groups also appeared, including

‘band’ and ‘gang’, but these chiefly, though not always,

referred to the branches or ‘graynes’ which may have been more

disreputable than the principal families

When

applied to the Borders ‘clan’ and ‘gang’ were used almost

entirely for the ‘surname’ groups. But the officials who employed

the terms were aware that their significance was not confined to unruly

groups of these districts. The loyalties and responsibilities that were

fundamental to a ‘surname’ gave strength and impressiveness to

certain actions by individuals.

The

remarks quoted from newspapers and from ‘clan’ organisations when

they were much younger and less like clubs, than some of them, raise a

number of important questions. Obviously a larger question still is

whether ‘clans’ existed at all in the Borders. The accuracy of

source quotation by the correspondents must also be a matter for close

attention. Elsewhere Fraser expresses the opinion that “no doubt the

clan system contributed to the poverty and economic decline of the

Borders”. Although he must also have felt that clan organisations were

very ancient there for he writes that in spite of the fact that

Norman’s’ settled extensively in the Border area, the new system

never entirely displaced the old pattern of clanship and family

chieftainship”. While all these remarks deserve further examination

The Steel Bonnets certainly argues, as any work of that sort could be

expected to do, that a ‘clan’ type of social arrangement once

prevailed widely in the Borders. However this is a claim that also

requires illustration from historical records, for though it may be

unobjectionable that the term should be applied to modem associations

the use of ‘clan’ in the Borders for a real kind of social unit in

the past needs some further support.

It

the social structure in the Borders which came to be described,

correctly or incorrectly, as a ‘clan system’ with which this account

is concerned with. The word ‘system’ at any rate can be dismissed as

entirely inappropriate. It is understandable that association members

and others should wish to refer to favorable information from original

sources and to hark back to the sixteenth century when Border

‘clans’ were, according to the books at least, at their operational

peak. There is romance in this; but unfortunately stirring episodes of

the distant past can be so attractive that they lead enthusiasts to take

‘history’ for granted and to accept as undeniable truth something

which has merely been stated many times over. Taking History as you want

it to be, often means an unrealised or unadmitted confusion of

historical record with legend. Or perhaps with make-believe and an

incidental effect of leaving much genuine historical material

unexplored. Is that anyone who cannot find a ‘clan’ to which he

might belong, tends to feel that his own surname and family history lack

significance.

The

Border Surname

Firstly,

any of us who is intent upon pursuing the history of their own family

will habitually think of the word ‘surname’ as denoting their own

last name and that of previous generations from which they descend.

Surnames thus defined will appear in family trees. On the other hand,

however, the word was also used with a quite different meaning in the

fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; it was then applied to a group whose

members shared a surname in the more familiar sense, or behaved as if

they did. Such groups sometimes, but not always, had certain

characteristics, which are found commonly among the clans of the north.

Part

of a note found in “The Family of Swinton by Capt. George S.C.Swinton”

on page 7. “I shall begin with the ancient families in the Shire of

Berwick, of the Surnames of Gordon, Nisbet, Swinton, Ridpath, and Dunce,

so named by their Baronies, which lie contiguous in that shire. From

which their Sirnames were taken. Who all carry three Boar’s Heads of

Tinetures. By which it seems that the Tradition is probably that they

were originally of one Stock and Gens, and afterwards became the heads

of families of different Sirnames”. (Taken from a letter by The Lord

Lyon’s office to W.T.Ridpath. For this information, thanks)

A

somewhat confusing note, which I think, should have been Redpath. But as

you know this is one way in which the variations of our name came about.

Surname

Group

The

principal ingredient of a ‘surname’ group with its ‘houses’ and

‘graynes’ was kinship. Each ‘branch’ or ‘grayne’ of a

‘surname’ consisted of close relatives and was sometimes no more

than the members of one family. At an early stage of its formation a

‘branch’ family could trace its relationship to the other branches,

often through a common ancestor whose line of descent, if surviving

directly, constituted the principal ‘house’ of the surname’. But

as the years passed a ‘branch’ family might become more distant from

its origins, in which case dispute within the ‘surname’ could more

easily arise, and the ‘branch’ would consider itself an independent

‘house’ no longer bound by its ancient kinship and loyalty. The

importance of kinship, through which ‘friends’ or relatives were

attached to a particular ‘surname’, is apparent in numerous records

of the sixteenth century.

In

the central and eastern Scottish Borders there were many other localised

names but not all that many ‘surname’ groups. While the vast

majority of Border surnames, groups or otherwise, were never seen to

function in cooperation and to have ‘houses’, ‘graynes’ and

‘branches’, there was little to prevent this happening. But it is

incorrect to visualise all the country on each side of the Border in the

sixteenth century as a patchwork of ‘surname’ areas. And while some

detailed maps showing the locations of known ‘surname’ groups, with

their branches and the places with which some conventional surnames were

associated, would be useful as a guide to these aspects of Border

history. Others already available that have names printed across vague,

undefined districts as if they denoted clan territories merely mislead

attempts to produce a more accurate picture of society at that time.

It

was probably Sir Walter Scott who spread the notion that Border

‘surnames’ were led by ‘chiefs’. For his lists of ‘clan’

names given in an appendix to The Border Antiquities he supplied

‘principal’ leaders. Such as ‘The Laird of Applegirth’ for the

Jardines, but not surprisingly, since they do not seem to have had them,

many ‘surnames’ had to be satisfied with ‘chief unknown’. This

was to impose upon Border families a kind of primitive tribal

organisation. Whereby an erroneous impression of pre 1600 Border society

was created and unfortunately has remained to the present time.

Scott’s

observations on Border ‘clans’ might draw the attention of family

historians to two more important aspects of ‘surname’ groups. The

first reveals a good deal about the possible antiquity of a group, the

second about the position and status of its ‘principal’.

A

‘surname’ could develop with remarkable speed. Add in the other

‘houses’ immediately related. How? Add in the adjoining

neighbourhood, and it will be evident not only that a very large

‘surname’ group occupied and dominated a wide extent of country. But

also that it could take less than a century to form. The growth of a

‘surname’ depended upon the existence, in each of no more than two

or three generations, numerous sons, among whom the land would be

divided and subdivided, and of a few daughters who could make

advantageous marriages even across the Border.

Given

the short length of time required that a great ‘surname’ could

emerge, there is no need to assume that ‘surname’ groups had existed

for hundreds of years or that they were direct descendants of some

prehistoric tribal pattern of antiquity. It would for instance be

reasonable to choose a starting date with the first recorded Redpath,

William De Redpath, 1200. This is not to say that the ‘surname’

derived nothing from the kind of society that existed in the Borders

before 1100 but such a possible connection is open to disagreement. It

has been argued that the localised groups of people sharing in due

course the same surname owe something to the prehistoric structure of

native tribes. In which a king or leading figure appears to have ruled

over a band of followers attached to him by kinship and by a range of

customary services and duties. Fraser used the words ‘tribe’ and

‘tribal’ quite freely and more recently (1992) George Rosie, seeming

to equate ‘clans’ and ‘tribes’, wrote ‘that while there are

five clan museums and heritage centres. On the other hand Rae gave a

different emphasis: ‘The Border kinship groups of the sixteenth

century, known as “surnames”, were not so much survivals of

primitive tribal units as the result of processes in the fourteenth and

fifteenth centuries. When surnames (literally) emerged; the earliest

recorded use of the word “surname” in this sense appears to have

been in 1498 when it was used to denote certain English Border

groups’. Writing of the kinship groups Rae also remarked that ‘They

were ... remarkably similar to the highland “clans” which developed

during the same period for much the same reason ... The surnames of the

Scottish Borders were organised social units held together by family

ties’. English comments on the subject have also amounted to much of

the same thing. There is also a difference of opinion on the matter of

similarity to clans. A widely held view is that Border

kinship groups in Scotland and England were a self-protective response

to general insecurity and the lack of an effective legal system.

The

Principal Surname

The

antiquity of a ‘surname’ as well as the occasion of its existence

can be related to the presence of a ‘principal’. In many a group on

the Scottish side at least the principal was a laird, his estate varying

in size from a few arable and pasture acres to large tracts of upland

and wild hill. The role of ‘laird’ seems often to have determined

the person or family who would subsequently be recognised as

‘principal’ of a ‘surname’ when it emerged. Lairds were

individuals who possessed title to their property though often holding

it of a noble superior rather than of the crown. And because they were

landowners, lairds were the creators of a ‘surname’ by granting

portions of their estates to close relatives who would then by the same

method build up their own branches. Thus as the main line of Redpaths

died out, becoming known as ‘of that Ilk’ (Thomas Redpath d.1634 m

Elizabeth Lauder sold the Redpath estates between 1611 - 19). It was the

junior line that gave rise to eventual branches, such as Parkwalls,

which grew to be more powerful than the parent line.

In

this way the ‘surnames were generally compatible with, and perhaps

made possible by, the feudal system of tenure. But if central government

and the superiors were weak or remote and the lairds were so inclined,

the ‘surname’ could act out of uncontrolled self-interest and with a

marked degree of independence. Not every Border laird of the sixteenth

and early seventeenth centuries was ‘principal’ of a ‘surname’,

and not every ‘surname’ had one, distinct ‘principal’.

It

was common for a person of any ordinary surname to bind himself and

others loyal to him to the ‘principal’ of a ‘surname’ either on

a particular occasion or for a long period. This was called a “Bond of

Manrent”. By which he undertook “to be faithful and true in his

service and take their part with my kyne, freyndins, part-takearis and

thai that will do for me, in all actions and quarrels as often as

required”. Theses are the familiar terms with which a man attaches

himself and those connected to him by agreement to the ‘principal’

of a ‘surname’. The significance of responsibility for those so

associated, appears regularly as essential elements in the story of the

Lowland society prior to 1600. It was these elements that the principals

and lairds were expected by government to keep all others for whom they

held responsible were quiet and peaceful, in the unruly 1500s.

The

loyalties and responsibilities therein were no doubt held dear by

virtually all groups and were as important in the ordinary daily routine

of farming as in matters of dispute or in warfare. Attachment to the

leader of a ‘surname’, or to any landowner and master was moreover

not left to kinship and agreements such as Bonds of Manrent only. More

commonly it was achieved through tenancy, especially through that form

of hereditary occupation of land known as ‘kindly tenancy’ or

possession by a ‘kindness’. This meant that a landowner allowed to

someone who was often a relative either by blood or marriage tenancy of

a portion of his estate without a fixed term lease. The tenant of course

had no title to his land but could hand it on to his heirs and

successors, a freedom which later generations sometimes took for granted

in the belief that, their families having been long in possession, they

could not be shifted. On this basis the kindly tenant as well as the

laird with a charter as title might build a strong, stone house,

particularly if he was in fact a leading figure and perhaps even a

landowner of an entirely different name. And occasionally if they were

lucky the tenancy might be converted to ownership. More often however

the actual landowner preferred to keep his kindly tenants since they

provided the loyal support and services he needed in times of unrest.

Leases

were comparatively rare and possibly reserved for special relationships.

Kindly tenancy was a practical means of strengthening and expanding

‘surname ties and could exist without question so long as men rather

than money were the chief benefits of possessing land.

Are

we a Clan?

So

what do you now think? For I believe that chiefs, captains and clans

belong to the Highlands, and to official papers why they were words

worth adopting as both convenient and appropriate. But not to the family

structure of the Border people our ancestors.

Which

now only leaves the question of a tartan. There is one that we, as a

Scottish name, may wear. There is an ancient and modern version. The

older, as most did, has the primary check color of red for observes

reasons. However the “Modern Black Watch Regiment” tartan is the one

you will be able to see as the background on the page. Follow the link

from Coat of Arms.

I

will be adding this to my web site http://www.riddy.co.uk/

and it will include more about my direct line as illustrations.

Web Site News

Well, I've been pretty busy setting up two new software

packages to make the web site better.

The first is I have added a genealogical database package GeneWeb

Database that seems to work much better than JavaGED. It runs

completely on the server and doesn't have to download a Java

application, which caused problems for several people. It has multi-user

and update features I haven't turned on yet, but I am excited about the

ability for us all to maintain our own sets of family data. Look for

more from this in the future.

The second package is a link management directory system Links

similiar to Yahoo. This will greatly ease the administration and use of

the many links gathered as our families increase their presence on the

Internet and web site come, change, and go. Links are now categorized,

sorted, searchable and anyone can submit sites to be included.

Thanks for your continued interest and contribution of

information to the newsletter and to our family web site at http://www.redpath.org

, http://www.ridpath.org ,

and  http://www.reidpath.org

.