(Brother of Mary Edwards, Second Wife of Charles Wesley Hubbard)
Willard, Utah, October 1917
I feel impressed to write a brief history of my life, giving some incidents in which I personally figured as well as incidents in the lives of the members of my family, and to include in the sketch some of my writings to various newspapers which are accounts of trips made by me and which also contain many of my personal experiences. This I will attempt to do and have the record printed in pamphlet form for the future use and reference of myself and family.
I was born at Farm Cwmnant, Parish of Lianwenog, Cardiganshire, South Wales, 2 July 1838 at 1:00 a.m. My parents were John Edwards and Ann Jones, and my grand-parents on my father’s side were John Edwards and Jane Lodwick, both from the Ayron Valley. While my mother came from Carmarthenshire and was the youngest in a family of fourteen. There were only two children of our family that lived, myself and sister Mary. My mother was an invalid, caused from being thrown from a horse when she was a young girl, so that she was never a strong woman.
My sister and myself were religiously inclined but my father was more of a sporting nature, for he liked his drink and to have a good time. My mother was a strong Presbyterian and we lived about two miles from the meeting house where my mother would go regularly on horseback to attend the divine service. I went along with her generally and the biggest meeting of the month was sacrament meeting which we never missed. From this early training, I learned to keep the Sabbath Day holy and spend the time going to church to worship my Maker.
Our farm was a large one and my father usually hired two men for the entire year to help do the work. They would sit around in the evenings and spin yarns about Jack Abertagan who lived near the meeting house on his farm. One story was that Jack took the new preacher home to dinner one day and invited him to come out to the stable and see his fine horses, of which he was very proud. While Jack was pointing out the beauties of the animals the preacher started to tell him about the life of Jesus and what he had done for us all, etc., and Jack agreed that he was a “fine fellow, all right, but I’ll bet he did not have as fine a span of horses as these.” Such funny stories as these interested me and sometimes the hired men would discuss religion. One of them was a very staunch Baptist and he always insisted that it was essential for a man to be baptized as Jesus was in order to be accepted of the Lord.
As I grew in years I felt that I would like to join some religious denomination, but I wanted to join the right one, and just about that time Capt. Dan Jones, a Mormon missionary sent out from Nauvoo to preach the gospel to the people in his native land, came to our locality and bore testimony that the Gospel of Jesus Christ was again established upon the earth as it was anciently. I read the scriptures as he expounded them and found that his testimony corresponded with the teachings of the Savior. So I became converted along with my sister. We used to walk three miles to attend meetings at the Llanbyther Branch where we mingled with the saints and rejoiced in our new found faith. Father came into the church a short time after but my mother never joined. When the spirit of gathering to Zion came upon us, Mother said she would follow her children wherever they would go and so we arranged to sell the farm which was heavily mortgaged because father had gone security for so many of his friends. The result was we had a hard time getting sufficient money to meet our obligations. And it took a great deal of money too, so that when we got ready to start for America we had only just enough to pay our immigration to Utah. I went on a trip through South Wales that winter to make a little money, and to see the country before leaving it.
We started for America in the latter part of March 1855, journeying to Liverpool by train and there we went on board the ship Chimborato and set sail across the mighty ocean. When we arrived at the mouth of the Delaware River, a little tug named Jumbo towed us up the river to Philadelphia, where we landed safe after a journey of six weeks.
The account of our journey across the plains is contained in some of my newspaper articles, so I will not mention it here except to state that I was called upon to drive three yoke of cattle from Mormon Grove, six miles out from Atchison, Kansas, to Salt Lake City. My mother died at Atchison and we buried her on the plains. I had in my wagon, my father and sister Mary, Jeremiah Price and his large family, also a young girl by the name of Rachel Bowen, who was Mary’s friend. We arrived in Salt Lake City in the latter part of October 1955 [1855], and during that winter, my sister Mary became a plural wife of Bishop Charles Hubbard, of Willard.
I went to work at anything I could get until the move south, an account of which is given in another of my articles to the newspaper which appears on another page of this record. In 1861 I was called to go back to the Missouri River with four yoke of cattle to each wagon, to help the emigrants across the plains. In 1863 I made another trip, each of which required six months time.
On 21 November 1863, I was married to Gwennie Davis in the Endowment House at Salt Lake City, Utah. My wife’s parents were Titus Davis and Mary Bowen. She and I were born within a mile of each other and she was the girl I loved from my youth up. We were blessed with eight children, all of whom were born at Willard, Utah.
I became identified with the Co-Op or United Order, turning in two yokes of cattle and a wagon and twenty head of range cattle at one time. I was later appointed by President Lorenzo Snow to take charge of the Church dry stock. In 1897 I was ordained acting Bishop of Willard to serve while Bishop George Facer was on the “underground.” I have served two terms as Mayor of Willard, the last time being elected by a unanimous vote.
Sight-seeing in Wales
The following is an extract taken from a letter of Hannah Edwards, who with her sister Etta, visited relatives in Wales: (daughters of John L. Edwards)
Dear Father and Mother;
We are now in dear old Wales, the place of your birth. We are so delighted with the country as it is so much prettier than we had anticipated. The Cwmnant, where you were born, is a very large farm and so beautiful that we spent the entire morning strolling about it. The people are so pleased to see us. We need only to say that we are children of John Edwards of Cwmnant, to receive the most royal reception. They all remember father and mother and by this time nearly everybody knows us. They all come up and shake hands with us, saying, “un shur we know your father and mother, yes indeed,” and then insist on our coming and taking tea and spending the afternoon with them. Last night we had invitations to visit eight different places at the same time and I don’t know how many more today. As the boys put it, “We have only been able thus far to touch the high places.”
We make our headquarters at our cousin’s Thomas Bowen’s. When we arrived here he was out in the field haying, but when the servant informed him of our arrival, he left his farm hands and immediately took us to the Llanwenog Church, the old Church of England, where you have no doubt often been. He is the leader of the choir and quite an accomplished singer, having won prizes on several important occasions. He took us all through the church from basement to steeple. Laud (a Brother) had his kodak with him, and while we were up on top of the steeple, he took our pictures, so we will furnish you with both our picture and that of the old church which you will so well remember. We experience some little difficulty in conversing with some of the older people as we cannot speak the Wales [Welsh] language as fluently as we would like,but we get along nicely with the younger folks as they speak good English.
Invocation
(Composed by John L. Edwards for his daughter Mabel, who sang it at a Quarterly Conference in Brigham City, Utah, in 1899)
O, my Father and Creator
Of this world that I am on,
I conceive I see thy mansions,
With the Savior’s similar one.
With my holy, spiritual mother,
Once I dwelt in bliss so rare,
But I’ve lost my recollection
Of my pre-existence there.
Yet my parents here have taught me,
Bend my knees to Thee, O Lord.
O, My Father, I implore Thee,
Give me wisdom in this world;
I see the order and affection,
With my parents here on earth,
Truth and wisdom they do teach me
They are types of Heavenly birth.
Though I’m weak, a child of nature,
Yet my thoughts ascend above;
Thou art great and full of mercy,
Filled with charity and love,
When my time I have completed,
To me allotted here to roam,
Father, mother, please receive me,
When you call me to come home.
John B. Lodwick, a cousin of John Lodwick Edwards, of Youngstown, Ohio, and well known among the Welsh people of the United States because of his contributions in prose and poetry to the Welsh papers and magazines, wrote the following sketch and poem in honor of John Lodwick Edwards:
Welsh Patriarch of Bee-Hive State
The subject of this brief sketch is not an ambitious young man who covets publicity and notoriety to assist him to attain prominence and make his mark in the world, but rather an aged man, who has enjoyed the allotted span of life vouchsafed by the psalmist to the average mortal. He is one of the pioneers of Utah and he lived a useful and unblemished life, and it is a pleasure to garner together a few facts from his life and present them in the form of a verbal banquet to the worthy compatriot. More or less familiar Welsh axiom says, “Os myni glad, bydd farw,” but there is far more practical friendship in a modern poet’s words:
“I would rather have the kindest words
Which may be said of me,
Than flattered when my heart is still
And this life has ceased to be.”
Although Mr. Edwards has crossed the threshold of the eightieth mile in life’s pilgrimage, he is hale and hearty, and appears both in looks and spirit a much younger man. A philosopher once said that a good man enjoys a part of his heaven while on earth, “and if good deeds, useful life and abiding faith in his Master are characteristic traits of a good man” it can be said without exaggeration that Mr. Edwards has endeavored successfully to cultivate these good graces, and when life’s journey comes to an end, as it eventually will with us all, Mr. Edwards can anticipate the revelations that will be unfolded to him as he climbs Salem’s Heights, so vividly described by the Welsh poet.
“Pryd hyny daw troion yr yrfa
Yn felus I lanw fy mryd.”
To know well our subject we must go to Willard, Utah, and there consult his friends and neighbors, for who can better bear testimony to a man’s character than his intimate associates? There, where he has abided for so many years, he is esteemed as a good citizen, a neighborly neighbor and a faithful Christian. Not only is he held in high esteem within the confines of Willard, but in the surrounding community and in the larger cities of the state, where his honesty and integrity are proverbial, and where he enjoys the confidence and friendship of the leading business men and financiers of Utah, who deem “his word as good as his bond.” In common with the vast majority of the Welsh people hailing from the farming districts of Cardiganshire, Mr. Edwards is modest and unassuming, and abhors flattery, but I am sure that he will accept these kind words in the same spirit as they are proffered, as we shall endeavor to eschew that spirit of false praise that finds no favor with the unostentatious friend.
Mr. Edwards left the parish of Llanwenog, Cardiganshire, South Wales, in 1855, and sailed for America, eventually reaching Willard, Utah, where he has practically spent all his years in his adopted country. He was one of the early pioneers of the district, and endured the vicissitudes that usually befall to the lot of those that are forced “to cut their path through a wilderness.” In those early days what are now termed “modern comforts and conveniences” were undreamed of. No railways penetrated the State and traveling was slow and tedious, and frequently dangerous, as the Indians were accustomed to go on “a rampage.” But the passing years brought in their wake progress and modern conveniences, and few of the younger generation realized the arduousness of a trip across the desert in those days. Mr. Edwards proved himself a good pioneer, and in his declining years he is reaping the benefits of a frugal and an industrious life, for he has been very successful as a farmer. Naturally, Willard is a dear place to him in many respects, and especially sacred to him is the spot where his beloved wife and helpmate silently sleeps from her labors, having departed this life six years ago. His son David and his family are now living in the old homestead and working the farm. Miss Mabel, a daughter, is at home with the father. J. A. Edwards, Mrs. Heber Anderson and Mrs. Ora Williams, three of his children, reside in Salt Lake City, while two others, Mrs. J. I. Dean and Mrs. J. F. Pincock lives in Idaho. They all honor, respect and revere their father, as do his neighbors and friends. Mr. Edwards has been a pillar in his church, and has sacrificed much for its welfare and development, as well as the community in general, where his deeds of practical kindness have endeared him to a host of friends. While a genial and tender-hearted man, he is unflinching in his devotion to his righteous convictions, and these are the salient reasons why the Cymro from “Sir Aberteifi” is idolized in the neighborhood. It is my sincere hope that he may be spared for many more years to continue his good deeds and to realize sunshine through a community in which he has such a conspicuous and beloved figure.
The Scout of Utah Land
The Scout of Utah land is not
An ordinary Scout,
He is not for self and pelf,
He’s helping others out.
And while he’s traveling on the way
He does not care for fame,
He, valorous deed of sacrifice,
Much greater than good name.
On horse and saddle, out he goes,
Each time at break of day,
Important matters to attend,
He cannot brook delay.
Great herds of cattle on his route,
All know him, they don’t fear,
But in their way they welcome him
As he is coming near.
Sometimes this saintly Scout goes out,
With message that’s divine;
To save some sinner on his route
And to make his soul to shine.
At other times he climbs the hills
Through forests thick and rough,
The canyons wild, to him is mild,
He does not think they’re tough.
He climbed them up from step to step,
At last he reached his goal,
There in the Desert found lost Man,
That has eternal soul.
He loves pure nature, loves the hut,
And loves the man within,
And now explains in solemn words
The consequence of sin.
He said about the narrow way
And of our Eden’s fall,
And glorifies our Christ, the Lord,
Who came to save us all.
He cheered him in his lonely hut
And said to him in part:
There is no lonesome place on earth,
When God is in our heart.
While in the desert rough and wild
Your joys will know no end,
Believe in Jesus, trust in Him,
As your eternal friend.
He’ll walk with you, and talk with you,
And make you pure and strong,
And take you to His heavenly home
To sing Salvation’s Song.