Me Thinks

My name is Mary Goble Pay.  I am the grandmother of President Hinckley's wife--Marjorie.  
I spent my childhood in the delightful city of Brighton on the south coast of England where the soft green hills of Sussex roll down to the sea.
It was there that my family was baptized.  
It was not hard for us to accept the gospel because the Spirit whispered in our hearts that it was true.
But there were critical relatives and neighbors and even mobs to deride and inflame others against us.
It took courage to stand up and be counted, to be baptized and recognized as a Mormon.

My family traveled to Liverpool, where with some 900 others we boarded the sailing vessel Horizon.  
As the wind caught the sails, we sang, "Farewell, My Native Land, Farewell."  
After six weeks at sea we landed at Boston and then traveled by steam train to Iowa City for fitting out.

I was 13 years old when my family started their trek across the plains.
We purchased two yoke of oxen, one yoke of cows, a wagon, and a tent.  
We were assigned to travel with and assist one of the handcart companies.

Here in Iowa City we experienced our first tragedy.  
The youngest child in my family, less than two years of age, suffering from exposure, died and was buried there.

We traveled from 15 to 25 miles a day until we got to the Platte River.  
We caught up with the hand cart companies that day.
We watched them cross the river.
There were great lumps of ice floating down the river. 
It was bitter cold. 
We went back to the camp and went to prayers and sang, "Come, Come, Ye Saints".
I wondered what made my mother cry that night.
The next morning my little sister was born.
It was the 23rd of September.
We named her Edith.
She lived six weeks and died.
She was buried at the last crossing of the Sweetwater.

We ran into heavy snow.
I became lost in the snow.
My feet and legs were frozen.
The men rubbed me with snow.
They put my feet in a bucket of water.
The pain was terrible.

When we arrived at Devils Gate it was bitter cold.  
We left lots of our things there.
My brother James was as well as he ever was when he went to bed that night.
In the morning he was dead.

My feet were frozen; also my brother Edwin and my sister Caroline had their feet frozen.
It was nothing but snow, snow everywhere and the bitter Wyoming wind.
We could not drive the pegs in our tents.
We did not know what would become of us.

Then one night a man came to our camp and told us that Brigham Young had sent men and teams to help us.
We sang songs, some danced and some cried.

My mother never got well.
She died between the little and big mountains.
She was 43 years old.

We arrived in Salt Lake City nine o'clock at night the 11th of December 1856.  
Three out of four that were living were frozen.  
My mother was dead in the wagon.
Early next morning  Brigham Young came.
When he saw our condition, our feet frozen and our mother dead, tears rolled down his cheeks.

The doctor amputated my toes while the sisters were dressing my mother for her grave. 
When my feet were fixed they carried us in to see our mother for the last time.  
Oh how did we stand it.
That afternoon she was buried.

I have though often of my mother's words before we left England.
"I want to go to Zion while my children are small, so they can be raised in the Gospel of Christ for I know this is the true Church."


Blessed, honored Pioneer!