THE GIRLS, THE SISTERS, THE AUNTS

Georgia L. J. Snoke (Jenkin line) 

"The Girls," "the Sisters," "the Aunts" they may, indeed, have been, but Eleanor and Jane Lloyd Jones were also individuals with individual talents, drive, ambitions, intuitions. They complemented one another without infringement, and together created the remarkable Hillside Home School.

What were they really like, these two women? Cousin Tom Graham (Thomas line) has called Aunt Nell the "front" of the two. A letter in the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation archives would seem to bear this out. It was written in 1887 to the mother of a prospective student and outlines with love and vision Nell's dream of the Valley, the support of brothers and sisters anxious to embrace city children and introduce them to farm life and responsibilities, the moral, physical, intellectual curriculum that Hillside Home School planned to offer. It is a most remarkable letter—the more so because the dreams contained therein did, indeed, become realities—no doubt due in large part to the remarkable woman who penned it.

Born "Eleanor," by the time she was a graduate of the State Normal School in River Falls, WI, Nell was signing her letters "Ellen C. Jones." Just where the "C" comes from is unknown. It isn't listed in the family Bible, nor is it ever spelled out in a name—even in her obituary. The "C" remained in her formal correspondence, however, and she later added the Lloyd and a dash to the Jones.

One gets a whiff of strong personality from her letter. Nell would be the general manager of the school, as well as teach reading, geography, literature, calisthenics and history. Jennie would teach kindergarten and primary school and additional teachers would be hired in the arts, languages, carpentry, garden cultivation and a variety of other subjects.

Their niece, Maginel Wright Barney, in The Valley of the God-Almighty Joneses, found Aunt Nell the sterner of the two sisters. No doubt. But one catches another glimpse of Nell from a former student, Florence Fifer, in a reminiscence of Hillside written years later. Florence recalled spearheading a clandestine “feast after hours” in her room.   Naughty!  Naughty! The planning went on for days. A turkey was purchased in Spring Green and someone smuggled in a cake. At the witching hour the invitees tiptoed to Florence's room and with muffled voices and smothered laughter devoured everything that had so carefully been hoarded and hidden. The next morning, on her doorstep, Florence found a letter lamenting their crowded feast and gently chiding them for not enjoying their party in the spacious parlor instead. It was lovingly (and laughingly) signed “Aunt Nell.”

It was husbandless, childless Aunt Nell who opened her heart to her sister Margaret's promising son, Charlie Evans, mentoring and encouraging him on his path. When Charlie was drowned in Lake Pepin, trying to save a companion who had broken through the ice, Nell grieved as the mother grieved. Later, Nell actually adopted a son.  The event was recorded in the Spring Green Home News, 4/5/1901: “Ellen returned from Chicago where she went to meet a four year old orphan from Dona Ana, New Mexico. From now on he is her ward and will live with her.”  I've found nothing further about the boy. What was his name? What happened to him? How did the relationship work out?

Meanwhile, as the school's reputation soared, so soared Nell's personal reputation.   She served as a member of three University of Wisconsin committees, chairing two of them—the committee on the schools of education and the one on the music department. And she and Jennie traveled—to Chicago to see the Opera, to points east and west on business and pleasure, and even to Wales to see their parents' home and to meet relatives of whom they had only heard.

It was Aunt Jen who added the telling and recording of family lore to her very busy life.  

Jennie was the "merry and animated" sister, the one, according to Maginel, who had "glamour and charm beyond anyone in the family." 

Not only was Jennie a primary teacher without equal, but we owe a huge debt to her for the gathering of family materials—stories, obituaries, data—that would otherwise have been lost to us. The moving story of Mallie's life and death, with all its rich and loving detail, we owe to Jennie's pen.

Before the closing of the school Jennie entered into correspondence with a distant cousin, Lucy Lloyd Theakston, who was compiling an extensive collection of Lloyd Letters and legal documents. Whether this was the impetus for Jennie's own "Memorial Book" or whether the idea was hers all along, Jennie left coming generations precious primary and secondary information. True, not all that is written is entirely accurate.  Jennie speaks of "Blaenstreimon" as her father, Richard's, childhood home. That was "Panstreimon." Richard's last home in Wales was “Blaen-yr-allt-ddu” (don't even guess at the pronunciation!). Could the child Jennie, hearing the Welsh stories at her mother's knee, have mixed the first syllables? 

Fortunately, our generation now has the "Welsh Connection." Welshmen Evan James and John Jenkins caught inaccuracies in previous family publications, and have since cleared away much confusion, adding immensely to our knowledge. In previous books, photos of family sites were occasionally misnamed. Spellings were erratic. Dates were not always accurate. But the "Connection" has the advantage of speaking Welsh, knowing where to look for legal data and cross-checking records in situ. Imagine what fun "the Sisters" would have had with such access to the Wales of their heritage.

Yet accuracies aside, the flavor of the family belongs to Jennie, and to those other early members whose written reminiscences are pure gold. Story telling is oral. Errors creep in. Memories are fallible. But their essence, the sense over the substance, is pure.  Jennie had a story to tell and she shared it with family near and far, a trait continued by the next generation's Chester Lloyd Jones, Maginel Wright Barney, Thomas’ son Ed—and by the later Lloyd-Jones booklets painstakingly crafted since.

The loss of Hillside Home School and the few sad, forlorn years left to these amazing ladies tug at the heart. We can imagine Jennie, creeping weakly up to her old room in the abandoned shell of Hillside Home School and, utterly alone, quietly lying down to die. We can imagine Nell, bereft of her lifelong companion, withering inexorably away in deafness and solitude.

This, though, is not the measure of their lives. Instead, in my mind’s eye I see Nell and Jennie in their salad years, filled with verve and optimism, fiercely enjoying life—its nature, its intellectual promise, its spiritual possibilities. This was their lot for years!  They saw their students go on to promising careers—their Home School educations abetting their ambitions. Education became a focus for that next generation—and for generations to come. And surely the Aunts looked with pride at their faith in a young nephew architect's talent. Via the windmill Romeo and Juliet, via the sandstone structure that was to become the second incarnation of Hillside Home School, the Aunts gave Frank Lloyd Wright's fledgling career a visible boost that brought him, years later, to their school's renaissance.

If the end of their life was sad, the balance was a long lived triumph, a shout of success.   How different our Valley would have been without the Girls, the Sisters, the Aunts.