Weymouth is the second oldest town in Massachusetts. I was born there (so was Abigail Adams, but she became more famous). Weymouth is a suburb of Boston on Hingham Bay, and for two centuries, Weymouth was home to fishermen and farmers. My dad loved history and told me everything about the area. He talked about the Squanto, the Indian who taught the Pilgrims how to plant their crops (Hint: they used fish for fertilizer--yuck). Dad was a ticket agent for Northeast Airlines and didn't make very much money, but he was very proud of the fact that he was descended from the Coffins. My 11th great grandfather Tristram Coffin bought Nantucket in 1659. (See the note at the end.) Dad also had an ancestor who was an Algonquin Indian. I used to have an old tintype photo of her, but I lost it when I was in college. Don't ask why I thought I needed to take it with me to college.
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Anyway, every Thanksgiving, while my mother was cooking the turkey, Dad took my brother, Richard, and me for a ride to Plymouth, a nearby town. Nobody cared about Plymouth then (about 1954). There wasn't even a fence around The Rock like there is now. Dad also used to drive us by President John Adams's house in Braintree (a town we could see across the beach) and the Dorothy Q. (Quincy) House. [Look it up, it's pretty interesting]. He also loved to tell the story about the famous Brinks robbery (the robbers lived nearby). We took our stories where we could find them --presidents or crooks-- it made little difference. |
We used to go ice skating on Whitman's Pond. I think that's supposed to be very nice now as well. When we went ice skating it was lovely. It would remind you of a scene right out of Bedford Falls in the movie It's a Wonderful Life. The only thing that spoiled it for me was my Dad relating the story about how Mr. Whitman (or some other awful man who lived on the pond) chopped his wife up and threw her in the water. Dad was big on historical events. He told me that terrible story every single time we went skating. I used to imagine Mrs. Whitman's hand curling up over the edge of the ice near the shore ready to grab the blade of my ice skate and pull me under. I suppose had an overactive immagination.
There was also a wealthy family who lived near Whitman's Pond. I think they were right across the street. They had a pretty gazebo on a small body of water. Those were the people we gave "Donald" to. Donald was our duck. Dad said we had to give him away because he left "more" in the yard than he ate. Dad added a 4-letter word after the word "more." Still, Donald had a pretty good life. Before we gave him away, my father was concerned that Donald wasn't getting enough exercise, so Dad pulled an old boat up from the beach (our back stairs went right from our yard down the hillside to the beach). He filled the boat with water,and Donald tucked his fat feet up under his body and floated around his wooden pond. Donald exercised the way I like to exercise. Forget that old saying "no pain no gain."
I understand that Wessagusset Beach is a fine place to visit now. When I was a kid, it was pretty pathetic. I had a friend whose parents had a house on the beach, and I used to visit. It's funny, but those of us who came from lower middle class families had homes right on the waterfront. Of course, the waterfront was undeveloped, so I imagine it is quite a bit fancier today (and pricey). I learned recently that the area was a favorite place for wealthy people from Boston to rent summer cottages around the early 1900s. I'll bet The Depression and WWII had something to do with Weymouth's econonic decline.
My dad's full time job was working at Logan Airport, but he did make a little extra money by working with the clamdiggers on our beach and selling most of the clams to Cain's Restaurant a couple of blocks away. He's go down the back steps on our hillside to the water's edge where the other clamdiggers were waiting with their long boats. Dad put the live clams for our supper (suppah) in a bucket of cornmeal and seawater overnight to clean them out before Mum cooked them. 
They were wonderful steamed and dipped in melted butter (buttah).
Note: In 1659, Thomas Mayhew sold Nantucket to nine purchasers: Tristram Coffin, Thomas Macy, Christopher Hussey, Richard Swayne, Thomas Bernard, Peter Coffin, Stephen Greenleafe, John Swayne, and William Pike for, "thirty pounds ... and two Beaver hats one for myself and one for my wife."