Happy Birthday, Henna!

Henna and Ann - 1973

Originally Posted on September 14, 2006:

Henna  - September 14, 1902


Today is Henna’s birthday. If she were alive she would be 104 years old. It’s really not a stretch to think of her being that old, seeing as how she was only a couple weeks shy of her 97th birthday when she died. Henna was one of those individuals who were very “alive”. She was not cumbered by her years, her sight was not dimmed or her force abated.

Henna was my grandmother’s oldest sister, born on September 14, 1902, the eldest daughter of Willis and Nellie of Penniac, NB. Her real name was Helen Mary. She had two older brothers, Alan and Clarence, and two younger sisters, Harriet and Ruthe (my grandmother). Somehow Henna doesn’t fit into the stereotype of the middle child. She wasn’t laid back or easy going and was always firmly in charge of whatever was going on around her – or at least she thought she was. She spent her formative years in Penniac on the family farm, went through the country school as far as she could, and then came to “The City” of Saint John to attend Business College. She graduated from the College, and worked for many years as a secretary in Dr. Some-body-or-other’s optometry office. In 1951, she married William Trafton, a.k.a Uncle Bill, and they lived on Pitt Street in Saint John. They were married for 31 years before Uncle Bill died. That is the framework of bare bone facts you need to know about Henna.

Henna was bestowed her nickname by my mother. Aunt Helen was too much of a mouthful for mother to try and get out, so the two words were morphed into “Henna”. Incidentally, Aunt Harriet’s name met the same fate, and she is known as “Hatey” in the family circles. By the time I made my debut, Henna had been Henna for 20 years, and was just as happy to be known as such, thank you very much.

Henna is so firmly ensconced in my memory that I don’t ever remember her not being around. When I was a young child, I spent my summers at The Cottage with Henna and Uncle Bill. Henna and Hatey used to come to Fredericton and spend weeks at a time with Nana and Grampie – much to Grampie’s delight, I am sure. Christmas was always a guarantee that we would see Henna, and there were other random visits during the year. When our family moved to Saint John, we saw Henna on a very regular basis, usually two or three times a week.

If I try and recall what I remember most about Henna, two main things spring to mind. First of all, she was fiercely loyal and protective of her family. She might rake you across the coals in the privacy of a family context, but woe to those “outsiders” to dare make a derogatory and disparaging remark in her hearing about any member of her family. The second thing I recall about Henna is that she was probably the best cook that I have ever known. Henna’s Salmon Sandwiches are locally world famous. My youngest sister and I were talking fondly about the Salmon Sandwiches not too long ago. Henna would buy the good kind of canned salmon to use in her sandwiches. She would pick through the entire can by hand and there was not a piece of skin or bone to be found when she was done. She used to make her own mayonnaise and that greatly enhanced the flavor of the sandwiches. However, R and I decided that what made the sandwiches so delectable was the fact that Henna mixed everything together by hand, and it was her own touch that made the sandwich so good. Along the same culinary note, Henna’s Oatmeal Cookies have been often imitated, but sadly never duplicated. A couple of people have come close to attaining the perfection, but so far a Henna quality cookie has not been produced.

Henna was also very generous – to her friends yes, but most especially to her family. Neither Henna nor Hatey had any children of their own, so my mother had her own mother, and Nana’s two sisters found an outlet for their maternal instincts. When the three granddaughters arrived, we had the benefit of three grandmothers for a short time. Hatey died suddenly when I was 6 years old, and so we were left with our own Nana, as well as Henna. Henna’s love and generosity were lavished on all of us. Henna always had a treat of each of us when we would go to visit her. Sometimes it was a chocolate bar, sometimes it was M&M that we would eat out of a particular amber coloured glass dish, sometimes it was potato chips, and every once in a while there would some pop. It was always orange pop, mind you, because orange pop was made from fruit (?) and cola was bad for you….too much sugar!!! Her generosity was not restricted to candy treats – Henna bought each of us a couple of new outfits every year for the beginning of school; winter coats and boots were regularly provided, as well books and toys and dolls for each of us. My parents were also blessed to be on the receiving end of unquestioning generosity. My sisters and I owe much of what we had to Henna. I only wish we had been able to express our gratitude and thanks to her with an adult perspective.
After Uncle Bill died, Nana and Grampie moved to Saint John to live with Henna. Henna owned a two family house, and so my grandparents took up residence in the downstairs portion of the house. (My grandmother still lives there, incidentally). My family moved to Rothesay the following year, and my sisters and I spend the next several years going back and forth between Rothesay and Saint John. Probably the most exciting thing about going to Henna’s was that she had a TV. We didn’t have one in our house while we were growing up, so being able to watch TV like the rest of the “normal” kids we went to school with was thrilling beyond description.

In 1992, I moved into the city to live with Nana and Henna. My grandfather died that fall, and Nana didn’t want to live downstairs by herself. It was quite an adjustment to learn to live with two elderly ladies. You never knew where they were going to pop up. I remember coming home from work one day and finding Henna in my bedroom going through my dresser drawers. When I asked her what she was doing, she told me that she was “looking for some molasses.” I never did figure that one out. There was the time she cut up my debit card because she thought I was too young to have a credit card. I did figure that one out and I made sure to hide anything that I didn’t want cut up or thrown out

In August of 1995, just about a week before I left to go back to FBCC, Henna fell getting ready for bed one night. She broke a rib and punctured her lung. Because of her age at the time, 93, it was not an optimistic hope that she would recover. She began to spend more and more time in bed as it became clear that irreparable damage had been done. My youngest sister moved in to Pitt Street to care for Henna.

As humour is a coping mechanism in our family, and as funny things seem to be said and done with great regularity, there is of course a story to share. R went into wake Henna up one morning. Henna looked up at her and said, “I have a turd.” R, thinking that Henna was telling her that she needed to relieve the pressure in her bowels told Henna that she would look after her in a minute. Henna replied, “No, I have a turd,” and pulled her hand out from underneath the blanket. In her hand was indeed a turd, which she handed to R. That was the least of the funny things that Henna said and did while R looked after her. Henna Stories are still told with fondness among those who knew of her.

Henna lived for three years after her fall. When she died on August 26, 1999, she left behind a wonderful legacy of love and laughter.
 
Happy Birthday, Henna.
 
We miss you.