Father (Fred Hughes) and Mother (Mary Gill) moved to Cando [North Dakota] in 1893, (See Footnote #1) and they felt they should have some church service.  So they and the neighbors started Sunday School in a school house.  Then they felt they should have a church building.  So the neighborhood got together and built a church.  Later on that church was struck by lightning and burned down.  So the neighbors got together and built a second church.  The folks taught Sunday School.  Father taught the Bible class and Mother the teenage class.  But they weren't satisfied, and one time Mother asked the preacher, "What's wrong with me?  I feel there's something more that I should know in understanding God."  The preacher said, "Oh, you are a good wife and a good mother.  You don't need to worry."  About that time, in 1898, the gospel came to the relatives in Ireland and a number professed. (See Footnote #2)

A man by the name of William Irvine came. He had been preaching in Tipperary (See Footnote #3) and Jack Carroll had met him there.  Jack Carroll was from Rathmolyon, from the same district as our Father and Mother [the Hughes and Gills] came from. (See Footnote #4) And he had heard the gospel and he felt he needed to be born again, so he got William Irvine to come to Rathmolyon. (See Footnotes #5 & #16)  Dora Holland had heard it before that in 1895 in Tipperary; (but) there was no fellowship.  She never was in a fellowship meeting for five years.  (See Footnote #6)  

But he [William Irvine] came to Rathmolyon and preached in a hall there. That hall is still standing, and Garrett and I were in that hall when we were back there. (See Footnote 5B)  There were 40 people professed and 16 went in the work from that hall.  (Footnote #5) That hall was just across the street from the old Episcopal Church, [Footnote #7] where our Mother's folks went to church, and also close by the house where our mother was born (Stone's house.  Stone's daughter is in the work in U.S.) (Footnote #10B)

When we (Garrett and I) were back, we visited the old Episcopal Church [Footnote #7] where our Mother used to play the organ. We looked at the graves, and I noticed one grave was especially cared for, most of the graves were just in a weed patch.  But this one grave was at the front of the church and very well cared for.  So I went and looked at it, and it had a headstone with the name "Reverend Wetherell" on it.  W-e-t-h-e-r-e-ll.  Our Mother used to talk about Reverend Wetherell.  He was the preacher when she taught Sunday School.  Our cousin, Herbert Gill, and his wife were with me.  They said that when these 40 people professed that the presiding elder had scolded Reverend Wetherell for letting those people go.  For letting them go out of the church, that he should have kept them in.  But Reverend Wetherell had said, "If people find something better, can you blame them for not drinking out of a stagnant pool?"  The preacher himself  had called his church a stagnant pool.  

Well, the Vicar or preacher took me in through the church because of the background, knowing that Mother had gone there.  The whole thing that he was interested in was showing the silver service that they used for communion.  They had it since 1759 or something. And that was the whole thing that they were so proud of, this old silver service.  This church was built by Captain Fowler, the land owner in that part of the country. He told them he would build a church, but they were not to start their service or ring the bell till he got there, even if he was late.  He was the lord of that church.  All around in that church were plaques and memorials of this Fowler and that Fowler and the other Fowler.  The whole church building was dedicated to the Fowlers.  He's dead now.  

Well, these people came out of that church.  Our Father's people, that would be your grandfather (Hughes), they lived about two miles away from there, but they were Methodist.  They had been Methodists for many generations.  One of Father's brothers professed at that time, Uncle Sam Hughes, and remained hearty till his death.  He died at a Convention in New Zealand in 1925.  He owned "Fox Hill", and there were many meetings in that home. (See Footnote #8)

I must tell you how Uncle Willie felt.  That's Willie Gill. (See Footnote #9) He was a man that had gone in for race horses.  He was living a kind of sporty life, but he wasn't satisfied. But when he heard the gospel, he felt that God could help him. He said he felt like a man standing in a tub and couldn't lift himself in the tub, but if somebody stronger came along, he could lift both him and the tub.  So he yielded to the Lord.  Then he made up his mind that he would go out in the work.  He would sell his farm.  That was the same gospel meetings in that building that he went to. (Footnote #5B)   Those who had professed met together.  Six of Mother's (Mary Gill) brothers and sisters.  There were eight of them in the family and six of them met together.  Mother was in this country. But one brother never professed, Garrett Gill. (See Footnote #10)

Uncle Willie made up his mind to go in the work, and he sold his farm "Ashmount" to his brother Harry.   Harry paid a certain amount of money into the work till the farm was paid for. (See Footnote #11)  [Insert by Eunice Hughes Krack on 1/17/92:  Harry's son, Herbert and wife, kept the farm an open home until Herbert's death in 1985.  Herbert was working with his nephew, John Swanton, in raising cattle, and he willed the home farm "Ashmount" at Rathmolyon to him]  (See Footnote #12)

Then Aunt Emma Gill and Aunt Jennie (Gill) went in the work.  First Aunt Emma went, then Aunt Jennie made up her mind.  They're both dead now. (See Footnote #9) That's the history of Rathmolyon, the background of where the gospel came from to our home.

Then about 1904, I'm not sure on the date exactly, William Irvine came to our home near Cando (North Dakota). (See Footnotes #13 & 16) He was looking up people that he had addresses for from friends in Ireland.  So Mother said to him, "I suppose you have a lot of people to look up?"  and he said, "Yes, I find them most all living in sin."  But Mother thought, "You are not finding us living in sin.  We're good people."  Then they sang hymns, and the first one he choose was "Amid the Trials Which I Meet."  We sang that that night.  And then Mother played the hymn, "The old fashioned religion t'was good enough for Mary and Joseph, it's good enough for me".  William Irvine said, "That's all right if it's the right kind of religion; not every old fashioned religion, but to go back to the days of Jesus."  Then he spoke on the 1st Psalm.  The folks always asked the preachers to read a chapter and pray.  So they asked him, and he spoke on the 1st Psalm.  Father said afterwards, "That preacher got more out of that Psalm than I ever heard any other preacher get out of it."  So they were impressed.  But he just stayed overnight and the folks continued to go to church.

In the end of 1904, we had a new baby brother (Harry Faucett Hughes). (See Footnote #15 for full list of Hughes family members) But Mother took pneumonia and the doctor didn’t think she would live. The baby and I and brother Joe were sent over to Ebners, because Mother was so sick and the house was small. So the three of us were sent to Ebners.  Lincoln was allowed to stay at home, and Garrett was sent to another family, the Gehres, where there was nothing but girls, and he didn’t enjoy himself. At the end of seven weeks the baby took pneumonia or bronchitis and died in that neighbor's home.  It was a big house, but it was cold.  Father came over when he knew the baby was sick, and he was there when the baby died.  Then when he came home, Mother was still in bed, and she said, "How is the baby?"  and Father had to tell her, "He is at rest."  That was hard on her because she had pneumonia and was weak.  

I'll have to tell you [about] the night that she took sick with pneumonia. Father came and called the three of us, Lincoln, Garrett and I, and said, "Come into Mama's room.  She's very sick and I am afraid she is going to die."  We stood around the end of the bed.  Lincoln was about 14.  I was 12 and Garrett 10 or maybe a little younger.  Father leaned over and said to Mother, "Do you feel ready to die, Mary?"  She whispered, "No."  And even though we were young, we felt how serious it was to feel that she wasn't ready to die, and she had worked so hard in the church and taught Sunday School.  She could hardly speak because of the pneumonia.  The doctor came and he said, "If she has any relations in this country you had better send for them."  Aunt Emma [Gill] had just come to New York to start [gospel] work in America. (See Footnote #14)  So they sent for her and she came.  Mother was in bed for many weeks.  But after she was out of danger, Aunt Emma started meetings in a school house about five miles northwest of our home.

She was all alone, no companion, but she had meetings and the school house was just packed.  When Father could leave Mother, he took the three of us [Lincoln, Hazel and Garrett] and Dick Nass to those Gospel meetings.  We rode along in a spring wagon and team and Father enjoyed those meetings.  That was the time that I first began to realize that I was not a Christian.  The Lord spoke to me in those meetings.  I don’t know what she preached about, but the Lord spoke to me.  

Garrett and I were sitting in a double seat, an old fashioned school seat.  When they sang that hymn, "When the Roll is Called Up Yonder, I'll Be There."  I couldn't honestly sing it [so] I sang, "When the roll is called up yonder, I'll not be there."  Garrett heard me put that "Not" in and he looked at me kind of surprised, but that's how I felt--that I was not ready.  Then Aunt Emma used to visit with us.  She asked Lincoln after the meetings, "If you die what would happen to you?"  "I'd go to hell," he said.  He knew he wasn't saved.  We got that much out of the meetings.  She used to tell Joe the story about Joseph.  He was three years old, something like that.  He got mixed up, and when he told it back to her, he said, "My brothers took me and put me in a pit."  Because he thought that Joseph in the Bible was himself.

Time went on.  George Walker in Ireland was what they call a "lay preacher", just one of the congregation that would kind of speak when the preacher wasn't there.  But he was sincere and he had a good job in Dublin in a store.  When Uncle Willie told him how preachers went in the Bible, how they sold all, that was the desire.  If you have a chance to visit with George Walker, he would tell you that. (See Footnote #16)

Time went on.  Mother got stronger and when she was able to go back to church, she told them about how she had been near death's door, and how she felt she wasn't ready to meet God, but that now she wanted to do anything possible to please God.  She felt that a lot of what she had done in church work was for her own glory and her own satisfaction, but now she wanted to do it as unto the Lord.  She was really trying to seek the Lord.  Some of the different people had comments – not kind either.  

Aunt Emma had left to go preach at Bisbee [North Dakota].  She had a companion now.  No one professed in those gospel meetings at the [local] school.  There were a lot of young folks.  I remember one night there were 90 people there.  People sat on the coal pail, just anything.  It was just jammed across.  But Aunt Emma had gone to Bisbee and up by Mylo and up that way.  She had a companion now, Maggie Row was her name. (See Footnote #16) She didn't continue in the work.  She got married and her daughter lives out in British Columbia, out West somewhere, and when Garrett has been out there for conventions, he met this daughter and had a talk.  This daughter knew that Maggie Row was one of the first workers in our home.

In the fall, Tom Craig and Ralph Bullock (See Footnote #16) came and they had a few meetings in Cando.  It was thrashing time and they helped father some, but the folks couldn't go to the meetings because it was such a busy time.  One night we [Lincoln, Hazel and Garrett] followed them.  The two men [Tom and Ralph] walked down to the big slough.  They had a boat there.  We children tiptoed and followed and peeked over the bank to see what they were doing.  They were sitting in the boat and were having a talk, wondering how best to help the folks.  Then they came back and we children were sent to bed.  But there were only curtains in the doorway so we could hear it all.  They reasoned with the folks that they had to leave the church, if they were going to serve the Lord.  They talked till 12:00 at night, and it wasn't easy for the folks.  Finally, Mother said, "We feel you know your Bible and you're men of God.  We'll do it because you say so, although we don't fully understand."  It meant tears.

The next Sunday they went to church, and after Sunday School, Mother stood up and told that they were leaving the church because they felt it wasn't according to scripture.  Oh!  The people were horrified.  Next Sunday, Father went alone, and all the preacher preached about was how terrible of Mrs. Hughes to say things like that and leave the church.  But then Mother talked to the preacher, privately, and told him the reason she had for leaving the church.

There had been a chicken pie supper a short time before.  She was making the chicken pies for the supper in the church and the two brother workers were there but she took the pies.  When she was in that church and saw that supper and saw how the people carried on and so little love for God, she just was disappointed and disgusted, so she mentioned this to the preacher.  He said, "I hope you didn't connect the chicken pie supper with Jesus cleansing the temple of the thieves."  But there was a connection.  He made the connection.  And then he said to her, "You have always been a conundrum to me."  

These two brothers, Tom and Ralph, came from Canada.  There were no workers in North Dakota then.  They came across the line from convention in Canada.  This would be the fall of 1905.  The first Sunday that we didn't go to Sunday School, Mother cried because all the children that she knew around us that didn't go to Sunday School were playing ball or going wild, and she wondered what to do with us.  And then the thought came to her.  If I follow this up, maybe some of my children will go in the work.  She had other plans.  She wanted us to have education and go on in the world, but then she decided that the will of God was to be done.

When Mother had been so sick, Father had said to her, he was trying to help her have courage to get better, get well.  He said, "What would you like most of all? What would mean the most to you?"  "Oh," she said, "If I could just see my Mother."  It had been about 15 years since she'd seen any of her folks.  So then they made plans to go back to Ireland.  And they took all four of us children.  Lincoln, Garrett, myself and Joe.  That was in the fall of 1905.  We went back in December and came back here in April.  When they got back there, there were meetings in Father's brother's (Sam Hughes) home at "Fox Hill", and they saw what a fellowship meeting was like, and they saw fellowship meeting in Dublin, and they also saw a baptism.  I saw a baptism.  It was winter time and, of course, it's not so cold there, but Annie Hughes was baptized.  They heated a boiler of water and poured it into a little hole in the creek and baptized her in January.

We came back in April, and when we came back Robert Darling was there. (See Footnote #16)  And we thought he was a hired man when we got there, but we found out he was a worker.  A saint man from Canada was doing chores at home, Bill Corcoran, while the folks were gone.  And these workers, Tom Craig and Ralph Bullock, stayed in the home and worked around; and then this Robert Darling had come, so there were three workers there when we came back.  

The folks did not go back to the church, but some of the church members came and said, "When are you coming back to church?"  And Mother said, "We're not coming back."  She said, "I have to look after my own children."  They said, "A lot of good that will do you, to just teach your children at home."  And they were real sarcastic.  

Eunice, my sister, was born in July.  Before the workers left, between April and July, I don't know just what time, Father asked if he could be baptized.  So they took him down to a place where there was water by the railroad just east of the house, and we saw Father baptized.  Mother couldn't be baptized because Eunice wasn't born yet.

Then they started in to try to teach us, to get us to read Bible stories and memorize verses.  Mother called us and she asked us, "Why do you like to go to Sunday School?"  Lincoln said, "I'm ashamed to tell you."  But he said, "I like the story papers."  Mother said, "We'll find some other papers for you."  Then she asked me, "Why do you like Sunday School?" I said, "To see the other girls."  Both of us knew that this was a very poor excuse for going to Sunday school.  But they tried to teach us, and I wasn't very willing…I had a stiff neck, but I did what I was told.  Then Tom Craig came, and he said to me, "When are you going to begin to live for God?"  I was a little bit owley and I said, "I'm too young yet."  Then he went to Nebraska that winter, and he wrote back and told about a girl that had professed that was 14, and he said in a letter, "Tell Hazel."  I knew what he meant.  This other girl was young and had professed, and I should know.

A year later we had special meetings in the granary.  Mother was baptized, and Lincoln said he wanted to be baptized.  Mother said, "He doesn't understand."  But the workers talked to him and they felt he did understand.  So Lincoln and Mother were baptized a year after your mother (Eunice) was born.  That would be in 1907, and oh, that condemned me to think that Lincoln was going to be baptized.  I was taking care of Eunice.  She was a year old, and I just thought it was very nice to take her outside, out of the meeting.  I was glad to have an excuse.  Aunt Emma said to Mother, "Hazel should be sitting in that meeting.  She shouldn't be going out with that baby."  So she was "on to me."

That fall there was a convention in 1907 (See Footnote #17)  There had been several in Manitoba.  So Mother and Lincoln went up to convention. Convention lasted about three weeks those times.  Mother had weaned Eunice from the bottle, and Father was going to look after her while Mother went to convention.  So he gave her back the bottle.  That was the easiest way to take care of her.  Mother came home and Lincoln stayed at convention.  Father said to me, "Wouldn't you like to go to convention?"  I thought it would be nice to have a train ride.  We had to go to Brandon on the train and stay overnight in the hotel, and then take the train to Sidney.  But I knew Father wanted me to go on, so I said I'd go.  I had just started High School.

I'll have to tell you this too.  I was working for my board in Cando, no cars, and I worked in a home and then I came home Friday night.  This one Friday night, when I came home, Mother said, "You'll have to look after the younger ones, Joe and Eunice, because we're going to a meeting up by Zion."  "Oh Mother,"  I said, "I've just come home, and I am lonesome for you and you go and leave me."  She said, "We're going to that meeting."  I cried a little, but they went to that meeting, and I stayed home with the children.  They only had a single buggy…room only for two or three.

We went to Sidney to convention, Father and I.  I sat in three meetings and at close of the third meeting, I stood up and said, "I want to live for God."  I didn't know that they tested the meeting.  I just was so troubled and desperate I could see if I didn't begin to live for the Lord, I'd be lost.  So I stood up and said, "I want to live for God"; and then Maggie Sandford, an older woman from North Dakota, stood up and said the same thing.  So that was my beginning.

Garrett professed at Sidney two years later.  The five of us had little meetings every Sunday.  We used to have them at 2:00 because that was the hour we used to go to Sunday School.  And at first when we were having a little meeting and a neighbor would come, we would think, "We'll wait till they go away."

SSK  3/14/92