EASTERN ILLUSTRATING COMPANY
Dinsmore Shore Cobbett’s Pond, Windham NH
George Dinsmore is pictured sitting on the porch of the Wyoming Cottage on Cobbett’s Pond, Windham NH.
According to, At the Edge of Megalopolis, Shadow Lake was a “fair sheet of water hidden among the hills,” when surveyor Theophilus Satchwell discovered it in the 1600’s. It was known as Satchwell Pond while the area was claimed by Haverhill. The lake aquired its native American name of Hitty-Titty Pond when Salem became a town. Douglas Weed in his Images of America – Salem says that the name was changed to Shadow Lake in 1913. I am guessing that the change had something to do with the “Shadowland” recreation area which was developed on its shore. Shadow Lake lent itself to better marketing for cottages and a lake resort than did Hitty-Titty, primordial name or not. Shadowland included a store, a beautiful beach and a large dance-hall which hung out over the water on piers. People have been asking me for more history of Shadow Lake and I was so happy to find these beautiful photographs of the pond. Shadow Lake, like Canobie Lake is shared, as is their history, with our good neighbors in Salem.
Clif’s Place is a store and gas station that sprang up on Route 28 to serve the growing number of “auto tourists.” In another photograph of this location, Charles A. Dow Sr. was the proprietor and he offered camping grounds for auto tourists, overlooking Seavey Pond. This building is now a church. Courtesy of Penobscot Marine Museum.
“WINDHAM, March 13, 1917— Benjamin N. Upham, of Dorchester, Mass., who has a summer cottage on Cobbett’s Pond, in which he took great interest, dropped dead on the street near his home in the storm of Monday evening, the 5th. He had long been connected with the Youth’s Companion, having charge of the premium department. Which, was quite a specialty with this popular paper. For some years, Mr. Upham was a deacon in the Ruggles Street Baptist Church in Boston. He was a man whom it was good to know.” W.S. Harris
Benjamin Upham’s brother James, had a large role in the creation of the “Pledge of Allegiance.” Many patriots today, might be interested to know that, “The Pledge,” was written in 1892, by Francis Bellamy, a former Baptist minister, and an employee at the Youth’s Companion. (There has been a long running historical debate about who actually wrote “The Pledge,” with Upham’s family providing evidence that he actually did. However, today the authorship of the pledge is generally ascribed to Bellamy.) Both Bellamy and Upham were “Christian Socialists.” Before joining the Youth’s Companion, Francis “was forced out of his Boston church for his socialist sermons, including topics like ‘Jesus the Socialist’ and a series of sermons on ‘The Socialism of the Primitive Church.’ ” Edward Bellamy, was Francis Bellamy’s cousin and also a socialist, who wrote Looking Backward, a utopian novel set in the far distant year 2000. “Bellamy’s vision sees the social ills of society cured by making America into a regimented worker’s paradise where everyone has equal incomes, and men are drafted into the country’s industrial army at the age of 21, serving jobs assigned by the state. Bellamy used the term “Nationalism” rather than “Socialism” as the descriptor of his governmental vision. He made this calculated move, to prevent a negative impact on sales of his novel and to better influence political ideas. Bellamy’s book inspired a political movement of “Nationalists Clubs,” and Francis Bellamy, author of “The Pledge,” was a founding member in Boston. “The Pledge” would have been seen as an anathema to the founders of America, who felt that all of the rights of the government, only had legitimacy when they flowed from the rights of the individual, not the other way around.
So where does James Upham fit in the picture? It was his job to generate revenue through the sale of premiums at the Youth’s Companion. According to Wikipedia, “In 1891, Daniel Sharp Ford, the owner of the Youth’s Companion, hired Bellamy to work with Ford’s nephew James B. Upham in the magazine’s premium department. In 1888, the Youth’s Companion had begun a campaign to sell American flags to public schools as a premium to solicit subscriptions. For Upham and Bellamy, the flag promotion was more than merely a business move; under their influence, the Youth’s Companion became a fervent supporter of the schoolhouse flag movement, which aimed to place a flag above every school in the nation. Four years later, by 1892, the magazine had sold American flags to approximately 26,000 schools. By this time the market was slowing for flags, but was not yet saturated. In 1892, Upham had the idea of using the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus reaching the Americas to further bolster the schoolhouse flag movement.
The magazine called for a national Columbian Public School Celebration to coincide with the World’s Columbian Exposition. A flag salute was a part of the official program for the Columbus Day celebration to be held in schools all over America.”
“The Pledge was published in the September 8, 1892, issue of the magazine, and immediately put to use in the campaign. Bellamy went to speak to a national meeting of school superintendents to promote the celebration; the convention liked the idea and selected a committee of leading educators to implement the program, including the immediate past president of the National Education Association. Bellamy was selected as the chair. Having received the official blessing of educators, Bellamy’s committee now had the task of spreading the word across the nation and of designing an official program for schools to follow on the day of national celebration. He structured the program around a flag-raising ceremony and his pledge.”
I pledge allegiance to my Flag and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
“For years the Pledge was accompanied with the “Bellamy salute,” a gesture invented by The Youth Companion’s marketing man, James B. Upham. In Bellamy’s own recollection, upon reading the pledge for the first time, Upham had snapped his heels together, raised his arm at half mast, and enthusiastically roared his support.” Of course, with the similarity to the NAZI salute, American politicians opted to change the salute to the more politically correct, hand over the heart, in 1942.
Benjamin Upham’s cottage was located on the North Shore on land leased from William Harris. James Upham died in 1905, but his children visited the cottage. Both James Upham and Benjamin Upham worked in the premium department of the “Youth’s Companion.”
“WINDHAM, February 27.— Among the books lately added to the town library is ‘North of Boston’ by Robert Frost, who was known to some in town when he lived in Derry and was a teacher at Pinkerton Academy. These writings have a certain picturesque flavor and a crude rhythm, but probably we are too far from Boston culture to understand what is gained by stretching the definition of poetry sufficiently to cover writings like these.” I looked through “North of Boston” to find a poem, and I must agree with Will Harris that much of it is a little boring and idyllic, but in “Mending Walls” there is perhaps something worthwhile to be found. It is especially relevant in showing what has been lost over the past 100 years, where now it seems that for many Americans, that walls of all kinds should be torn down. The poem shows the wisdom of borders and separation, and how the division line actually brings those that are separated by it closer together, because of the security of knowing the rules of the divide and because on each side of the wall, one has the freedom to privately live life as one wishes, without being subjected to the meddling of others. It seems, “the poet,” Robert Frost advocates for their destruction. Have his ideals won?
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned
!’We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.
‘Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’
I seem to be napping more this winter, the sweet surrender, giving into the impulse to close my heavy eyes…only for a second, then clap, clap, clap… as somebody appoints themselves as the guardian of my private slumber. And the dreams, the dreams have been coming fast and furious, a torrent; fantastic dreams, of places that are falling down and places that seem so similar but distorted, a dystopian world, the longing to correct some wrong, or simply to find peace, in the frenzy of searching and never finding in the watches of the night. So in the height of mid-winter nocturnal whiteness, a poem or two, inspired by an old newspaper clipping from 1982. “Peaceful Setting. Tranquility abounds in this field off Lowell Road in Windham, N.H. The unused hay-rake and barn in the background seem to be waiting for warmer days and busier times.”
John Kinsella, “The Silo”
The hand can but suggest, there’s no touching
the subject—conceit and the hay rake have so much
in common when nothing’s left to the imagination:
in the absence of confession, the camera aside,
depth of field obscuring the intentions, details
catch in the fangs of the hay rake, old and fractious,
trapped in its rusted skin and chipped nail polish.
Carpe Diem it seems to say sarcastically, Carpe Diem.
Treading carefully, you continue to prompt: consider
the light, it may be in your eye but I need it over
my shoulder; consider your beauty, wheels that are
solar systems, a solidity that defies the scrap yard.
So ready! But what is this you’re saying? Discordia
Concors? Okay, don’t smile, but consider anyway.
Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
This much let me avow:
You are not wrong who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand–
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep–while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
This poem is for my wife, who always sees her morning “murder” of crows as a welcome sight. Just for reference, a flock of crows is known as a “murder” of crows.
“This more poetic term for a flock of crows can be traced back at least to the 15th century, when it was recorded as a murther of crowes. Murther is a variant of Middle English murthre ‘murder,’ though the “th” sound had begun to be replaced with a d around 1300 C.E. There are several theories as to how this particular term came about, but all of them have to do with the supposed behavior of crows. For instance, crows are scavengers and therefore often seen feeding on rotting bodies of various sorts. Survivors of wars have described how the battlefields were covered in black as crows (and ravens) came down to eat the dead. Another theory hearkens back to old folklore which told of groups of crows essentially holding court over members of their flock that had committed offenses. If they decide against the “defendant” crow, then the rest of the flock swoops down on it and kills it. There are legends outside of the Germanic culture that relate to crows being judges over people as well, and how their appearance is an omen of death.”
By Vivian Smith
“An Island South”
They’ve come at last these wild crows,
The snow is heaped both fresh and hard,
To sit upon the silent tree,
That drew the wind into the yard.
Magic birds from long ago,
why have you come to visit me,
wearing still your gallows clothes?
Once you knew the hangman’s tree.
But know; I see you merely stare
Alone, ahead. There is no sun.
The sky is grey and without shape;
So was the world when just begun,
and from the stones another bird
Flaps to the tree and shakes, ignored,
His shabby, cracked , and tired wings;
He’s angry, full of spite and bored;
And through the winter calm there runs
His shallow, broken, strident cry.
Heraldic birds and birds of dreams,
Strips of rock and storm-filled sky,
and they stare and crouch, indifferent;
their eyes are deadened with distrust.
The new snow falls and spirals down
Gently falling—where it must.
There are hundreds of mysterious stone structures found throughout New England. There is no one consensus about who built them or why. The most famous stone structures, locally, can be found at Mystery Hill, in North Salem. It is argued by some that these were built as root cellars for the early settler’s, or by others that they were built by the Native Americans. The most interesting conjecture was by William Goodwin, who believed that they were built by Celtic Culdee monks, long before the advent of the Norsemen. He outlines all his theories in his book “The Ruins of Great Ireland in New England.” There is even a researcher who believes that they were built by a lost colony of the Knights Templars and that they are connected to Oak Island in Nova Scotia. Steven Sora’s book is “The Lost Colony of the Templars: Verrazano’s Secret Mission to America.
Windham too, is home to these structures. Butterfield Rock in Windham, looks exactly like a huge, megalithic Dolmen similar to those found in Europe, that were constructed between 3,000-7,000 B.C. Then there is the nicely preserved beehive structure that is located on Beacon Hill Road in Windham. Large stone slabs make up the roof and the floor. NEARA created a site report for this structure. There are over 800 of these stone structures scattered throughout New England. The question then becomes how, why, when and by whom were they built?
If you ever feel that you want to travel down the rabbit hole surrounding these mysterious stone structures, then head online to the New England Antiquities Research Association website at: neara.org. The photographs are fascinating and you’ll spend an hour or so with your mouth wide open, just wondering why these stone structures exist in New England. If this isn’t strange enough, check out Ancient Origins at ancient-origins.net. You’ll learn about the cover-up of the Smithsonian and other prestigious archeological research institutions. It seems that these institutions had an agenda and they did not like what was being found in the ground, because it did not back up their theory of origins. Why were the skeletons of real giants, with red hair, double rows of teeth and six fingers, showing up in large numbers in ancient Indian burial mounds? Did they build the megaliths? Why was is said of Passaconway, one of the most famous Native American sachems in New England, that he was extremely tall, had red hair and could perform magic. Of course, we know what ancient alien theorists would say, don’t we. Well here’s what I say, human beings understand less than 1% of the reality of existence . Most of human perception is acquired from outside of us, through bits of information over time, that creates a personal narrative loop in our minds, that feels perfectly rational, but much of which is simply false. The truth about ancient origins is beyond our current understanding and if we could know for sure, I think it would be much stranger than fiction. Its in admitting our unknowing, from inside, that truth is found. Wow, I feel much better, and totally liberated now!
Returning to Windham, the biggest mystery surrounds the stone chambers destroyed by the construction of Interstate 93 in the 1960’s. NEARA created a Site Report and interviewed Andy Griffin, the owner of the land on February 8, 1965. In the report it is noted that he has photographs of the structures. The report states “I did not know anything about this site nor was I told anything about it by Mr. Eltson, until I found the above mentioned ‘Mystery Hill’ questionnaire while refiling Mystery Hill information. I called Mr. Griffin on 2/3/65 and obtained the following information on sheet 2 of this report.”
Note: On February 20, 1965, I went to Mr. Griffin’s property and found the slab with the “V” marking. I took three pictures each of B&W and colored. R.E. Stone, February 24, 1965.
The following is the description of the site the Any Griffin wrote on the Mystery Hill questionnaire: On the west shore of Canobie Lake we have a location which seems as if it might have some connection with your caves. It appears to be a single hut with large stones similar to your type. It is a considerable distance from any building and on the side of a hill. It appears as though the large stones have been hauled some 300 feet or more to the present site. If you care to take a look at the location you may contact me at Murdock 3-1217. A.J. Griffin.
Of course, there was one other stone structure like these in Windham. It was on Butterfield Rock Road. It was destroyed when Chestnut Street was built in the 1980’s. We came upon it on a Boy Scout hike, when I was a kid. Meetinghouse Road was still a dirt path through the woods and Butterfield Rock Road was even rougher and narrower. The stone structure was built into a hill, was quite large, and was in kind of an open meadow at that time.