Marie Jacobsen

Marie Jacobsen Garff Gudmundsen

or

Mary Sobey Garff Gudmundsen

(There is some debate about her correct name)

History written by Alva Garff Wilson January 16, 1933

Mary Sobey Garff Gudmundson was born in Eskeburg, Denmark, December 9, 1820. Her father’s name was Jacob Sobey, but according to the custom of the time, the children’s surname became Jacobsen. So grandmother’s maiden name was Mary Jacobsen.

In a letter written many years ago she tells that her family consisted of 10 children (eight girls and two boys). The oldest was Annie who was one year older than she. Annie married Soren Sorensen and lived in Serilov, Denmark. The names of the rest I do not know. Niels Peter inherited the family’s property in Serilov. According to this letter the family home was in Serilov. Our records state that grandmother was born in Eskeburg which looks like a discrepancy.

Of grandmother’s early life I have been unable to find anything except that she married Niels Garff, who was a man of considerable means. They were able to afford servants in their home, so that grandmother’s life was one of comparative ease. When I compare this part of her life with her later years I marvel at the faith and courage which carried her safely through the trials and hardships of pioneer days.

Four children were born to them in Denmark. Their names were: Peter, Christian, Louis, and Trina. By the time Christian was ten years of age, they had been converted to Mormonism and were ready to emigrate to America.

Their conversion is a very remarkable thing to me. Could anyone dream that the gospel should come to them out of the far away land of Iceland? Yet that is exactly what happened. It was brought to them by a missionary from Iceland, whose name was Gudmund Gudmundsen. A very close friendship sprang up between them and after Gudmundsen had converted them they persuaded him to immigrate to America with them. Their lives were strangely interwoven from that time on.

After their conversion, their one consuming desire was to come to America and live with the body of the church in Utah. Weeks, possibly months were spent in preparation for this long journey. An itinerant tailor was engaged to live in their home and provide the whole family with suitable clothing. By the time they were ready to start, they had many trunks full of clothing, bedding and supplies of various kinds. They even brought lovely feather ticks, as they were called, little realizing the nature of the trek before them. But all the preparations went for naught for as they were being hauled across the Missouri river the wagon tipped over in midstream and many of their prized possessions were swept away.

I do not know the date of their departure nor how long they were crossing the ocean. But the voyage was a memorable one. A baby boy, the fifth child was born on board ship. They named him after the ship’s captain, Dickon. They arrived in Salt Lake City, September, 13 of the same year, having been three months and eleven days on the journey. They started across the plains in a company of 544 people but 60 of them died on the way. I wonder if the events of any journey could have been fraught with more poignant suffering than this one. A birth and two deaths. Frail little Dick was born and their only little girl Trina and grandfather, weary of hardships and suffering, passed on to their reward.

(The following note added by Joyce)

Garff, Louis, Marie's Son, wrote the followng while on the journey:

"When arrived at Fort Larmy [Laramie] we were consigned to the half of a wagon, & ox team. My older brother had to take the Hand Carts. Two days journey out from Larmey my Sister [Josephine Patrine Garff] died, short[l]y after my Father [Niels Jorgensen Garff] died and was buried on the plains. The rest of our family bearly escaped death, and arrived at the Gr[e]ater Salt Lake City Sept. 13-1857. The untold suffering and hardships that we as a family and the Company of Saints suffered during this long journey from Denmark, would require more time and space than will ever be taken, in this life, at least, much less in a short scetch like this."

From the beginning of his plan to come to America, Grandfather Garff knew he would never finish the journey. He was then in the last stages of dropsy but he was determined that his family should be established with the body of the church in Zion. So he gave his last ounce of strength in starting them on their way. His last conscious thought was for the welfare of his loved ones. He called to his bedside his devoted friend, Gudmund Gudmundsen and exacted from him the promise that he would marry my grandmother and be a father to his children somewhere between the Missouri and the Rockies, he finally found peace for his aching body and troubled soul. I have no doubt that his spirit, fearless and unconquered, marched on beside the stricken family. After weeks of hardships, weary and footsore, they finally arrived in Salt Lake on September, 13, 1857.

I do not know how long after their arrival in Salt Lake grandmother married Gudmund Gudmundsen. From this union were born four children, Isaac, Abraham, Jacob and a little girl, whom she named Trina, for the child she buried on the plains.

While living in Salt Lake they were persuaded to join the Morrisites but were rebaptized into the church some 12 years later. From Salt Lake they moved to Spanish Fork because Grandfather Gudmundsen had many friends living there who had emigrated from Iceland, his native country.

In 1868 the family went to California on account of Dick’s health. They had lived in Sacramento one year and it was during this time that Dick was operated on for gravel as his condition was called then. When Dick was well again, they were very desirous of returning to Utah but had no money for the journey. Then a strange thing happened. In fact it sounds just like a fairy story. One day Abe, then eight years old was out playing with another boy his age on the capitol grounds in Sacramento. Here an old, abandoned saw mill which had been used in the construction of the Capitol had been left standing. The boys decided to inspect the old mill. Very soon Abe’s eye caught sight of a piece of paper and found to his utter amazement, that a whole roll of bills was wrapped in it. They then lifted some of the boards and found, in a nest of shavings a small fortune in silver, gold and greenbacks. There were $20.00 in fifty-cent pieces, four $50.00 slugs of gold and a big purse full of money and a stack of greenbacks. The other boy was so intrigued with the purse that he said if he could have the purse Abe could have the money. But they divided it between them. Abe, was now having his hat full and so much in his pockets that he had a hard time keeping his pants up and they kept slipping down with the weight of the money. When he reached home he ran upstairs to his father who was sick in bed. You can imagine the shock it was!

His father became so excited that he began to shake the boy with all his might, demanding to know where in the world he had gotten all this wealth. When Abe had made explanation, his mother went to the mayor and told the story. He told her it was undoubtedly a cache from the old stage coach robbery and there was no way of tracing it and for them to keep it. Uncle Abe does not remember how much the total was, but knows they were able to pay their doctor bill of about $700.00 and had enough to take them back to Utah.

Upon their return they settled in Draper where they were all re-baptized into the church on November, 14, 1869. Several years later Dick died of dropsy in a hospital in Salt Lake and was buried in Lehi, Utah.

Grandfather Gudmundsen passed away many years, ahead of his wife. At the time of his death he was living in Logan. He was a jeweler by trade and kept a small store in Logan. Grandmother had a sincere love for him because he was so kindhearted, generous and considerate of everyone.

Grandmother spent the later years of her life in Lehi where she had an adorable little cottage which was always spotlessly clean. Her death occurred February 7, 1908 when she was 88 years, one month and 28 days old. She had been on a visit to her son Isaac in Idaho and was on her way to her home in Lehi when death overtook her as she slept on the train, somewhere between Ogden and Salt Lake City. She was accompanied by her grandson Abe Gudmundsen.

I desire to pay her my sincere homage as I contemplate a courage that could surmount such trials as she conquered during her long and eventful life. All her posterity may well be proud that the blood of such ancestors as these flows through their veins. Every day I am more grateful for the blessing of having been well born.

Additional Statistics:

Mary Garff Gudmundsen baptized November 14, 1869 in Draper, Utah by Lortz Smith, Confirmed same day by O. N. Lillienquist
Gudmund Gudmundsen baptized November 14, 1869 in Draper, Utah by Lortz Smith, Confirmed the same day by Henry Day
Abraham Gudmundsen baptized November 14, 1869 by Lortz Smith, Confirmed same day by B. Wright.
Isaac Gudmundsen Baptized November 14, 1869 by Lortz Smith, Confirmed same day by Henry Day. All at Draper…


History written by Alva Garff Wilson January 16, 1933

TO MY GRANDMOTHER MARIE GARFF GUDMUNDSON
WRITTEN BY FANNY GUDMUNDSON BRUNT

Today we sang the old songs you sang so long ago,
Today I read your history, proud to let my friends all know
That in my veins runs noble blood, so fine so pure and true
Inherited from pioneers, such fearless ones as you.

All is well, I hear you singing by your campfire on the plains,
As the darkness of the prairie vibrates the sweet refrains;
I see your fretful baby nestle closer to your breast,
As those strains of gentle music, lull the little one to rest.

I see the baby start with fear get closer, hold you tight,
As the cry of a hungry wolf pack breaks the stillness of the night,
Perhaps your heart would start to pound and wake him from his sleep
A thousand dangers threatened, as your vigil you would keep.

I see your husband lowered in a hole beside the trail
Watched by weeping children, and you so weak and frail,
The spot obliterated, and a few miles farther west,
In a little prairie grave your tiny girl is laid to rest.

I see you pushing on your heavy laden cart,
Laughing talking with your boys, to hide a breaking heart;
Your hands and face, that in Denmark had been so soft and fair,
Now calloused, blistered, bleeding, and tanned by sun and desert air.

How the memory of your homeland must have caused your blood to burn,
Comparing this with life back home, if you would but return;
But you kept your face turned westward, praying for a helping hand
To guide you and your hungry boys into the Promised Land.

And then your reach that summit of that last steep rocky hill,
And you look down in the valley, barren, desolate, and still,
As you viewed that land of promise you had come so far to gain,
Ah, Grandma, did your heart ache, did you whimper and complain?

No, bravely down the mountain side with blistered feet you go,
Cheered by smoke from chimneys in some mud roofed huts below,
That curling smoke, and those little huts, and the fragrance in the air,
Bespoke of warmth and friendship, that pilgrims long to share.

To the mountain tops of Zion, you had wandered from afar,
Security and freedom had been your guiding star,
But when you go to bed that night, weary sore and weak,
Your bed is made among strangers, whose tongue you cannot speak.

A frail little Danish mother, with hand unused to work,
Must feed four husky hungry boys, you must not could not shirk,
Your money gone and nothing left to feed the little breed,
Your dear dead baby’s precious clothes were traded off for food.

Volumes could be written on the hardships that you bore,
Sometimes it seemed the heavens were sealed, and your prayers were heard no more.
The faith that had sustained you through those long, long weary miles,
Was often weakened, almost lost through unexpected trials.

You passed by ninety milestones, never reached a place of fame,
But you left a great posterity, who honors your dear name.
No earthly goods you left behind, to cause discord or strife,
No bells tolled, nor flags flew half mast, when you passed out of life.

The world moved on without a pause, and when your bit of clay,
Was tucked back into mother earth, and the mourners went their way,
Me thinks I hear the angel ushers, there at Heavens Gate,
Say, “Welcome, and well done Marie, take your place among the great!”