Saturday, October 15, 2011

Lady Robinson's Recollections

In my reading about Tories and Revolutionary history lately, I found a reference to a short book entitled "Lady Robinson's Recollections".  I must find a copy of this book.  Maybe it's at the Monmouth County Historical Society Library?  I haven't been there in ages.

Lady Robinson was born Catherine Skinner, daughter of Cortlandt Skinner (links 1, 2, and 3), leader of the New Jersey Volunteers, a regiment of Loyalists from New Jersey who fought for the British against the Patriots.  He was a very high profile Loyalist and was reviled in Monmouth by the rebels and even, most likely, uncommitted people because he led the raids for supplies that went on for years in this area.  I need to write this all out more carefully, referencing how I know everything, but right now, I'm not feeling well.  I just wanted to mention her book.

More or less, it's a family history.  It's not online in its entirety, but I did find her introduction, which is charming.  Hopefully, I'll find a full transcript somewhere, because I believe she has some things to say about the Revolution, as she experienced it, as a child (errr, it wasn't good).  In any case, it starts off in the following way (this from a rootsWeb excerpt which focussed on geneology mostly):


I have often observed when people are young they are seldom anxious about
family history, and think any mention of times and things as far back as
grandmothers a bore. When getting old themselves a hope to be remembered
naturally arises, and more interest is felt in those who are gone. I will
therefore detail, as far as I know, who and what were your ancestors, both
on the side of your lamented father and myself. You may, probably, some
future day wish to trace some member of your family when no one is left to
explain ; but bear in mind the writer of this is approaching seventy-five,
and, as I have somewhere before said, the mind, like the body, is prone to
decay: this must excuse errors.
Your affectionate Mother,



November, 1842.

Charming, right?

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