History of Nellie Iverson Cox and Family
Grandaughter of Samuel Walter and Francis Godfrey Defriez Jarvis
by Nellie Iverson Cox
Written in 1971

Born down in Mexico in nineteen ten on November eighth or seventh, I'm not sure when. Since the seventh was the birthday of uncle Nephi's wife, I've claimed the same date all my life. Down in the Colonies, it's easy to guess, clocks were something most did not posses. So, close to midnight as near as I could tell, I jumped down into this world to dwell. I'd had a small brother who had died recently, who had gone by the name of Stanley E. What the "E" stood for nobody knows, except those who named him as I must suppose. When still tiny, as I've heard say, war caused us to head for the good U.S.A. And down to Nevada at Kaolin town, near Aunt Doretta Bundy we settled down but sad for a baby only three, my mother passed away which meant woe for me. Aunt Grace, her sisters, took me into her care, down in Arizona on a dry farm there. That didn't last, and my grandparents then, took me to live with them, Aunt Ester, and Uncle Ben. I went to school some at Pomerene, and a small bit of learning did manage to glean. I recall one Christmas what I acquired was a bodyless doll head hardly what I desired. I also remember that at near five I did go with Aunt Grace and Uncle Parely into Old Mexico. When war grew rampant, warned that we'd better "roll". I remember burying food cans deep in a hole. Then with some wagons in very good order we set off speedily for the U.S.A. border. We passed as I remember the scene very plain, Pancho Villa's soldiers hoof marks in muddy lane. When we reached Douglas, Arizona, we stayed for a spell with some friends of my aunts where I first heard a lady tell the sory of Jack, the Giant Killer, which to my childish mind was really a diller! At another place, I remember again, a bullet had gone through a window pane. But at last we went to Benson, as I've already said, where we lived a while on a dry homestead. At last, Uncle Ben, Uncle Joe, Uncle Lee, headed for El Paso and Grandma took me. Grandpa's second wife, Aunt Pearlie Dean, died of the flue, and times were quite lean. Grandma carried for all of us, until Aunt Ester off in Monticello wrote she was marring [marrying?] a "certain" fellow. Then grandma left us and while away my Dad came back and took me to his dry farm to stay. Life's never easy for a motherless kid, But I hope no one else had it as bad as I did. Dirty rags to wear, scanty food to eat, and for every misdeed to get cussed at and beat. My grandma Iverson was there occasionaly, but she got cussed at too, if she stood up for me. At least I survived, but until I die I'll carry life's scars and will wonder "why?" Sent on a mission, not one whit preprared, I was still mighty timid and scared. Grandpa (my dad) thought that he could atone for all the crueleties in my childhood had known, so he furnished the money. Perhaps I misjudged and should forgive instead of bearing a grudge. All I can say is I hope that I may not reap great penalties for my errors so deep. But that, through repentence, as we're taught to believe, sweetest forgiveness we all may recieve.