There are interesting stories about the Craddocks everywhere you look. The following is about Craddock family history in Canada. I am republishing this story with permission thanks to Joanne Rice.

I stood one day surveying, for the first time, the ruins of the old fort St. Joesph, on that beautiful peninsula, which guards, like a crouching lion, the entrance to St. Mary’s River. There was the old road, the crumbling walls, the gun emplacements, and the most impressive of all, some gentle garden flowers, which have wasted their fragrance on the desert air of over a hundred years; a gentle but sure reminder of the place where human beings lived. There mail symbols of the past drew me into a reverie of retrospection and I saw in fancy the old fort of 1812; I saw men in the scarlet and blue of the British Army, men in blankets and leather stockings, men rough and unkept called voyageurs, and I saw women and children. I heard the blast of the bugle, the tramp of men and the jumbled sounds of a human community. But then, what’s the use of daydreaming? Fancy may be far from fact. 

I left the fort that night resolved that I would search here and there til I knew the facts about some of the individuals who lived there during the stirring days of 1812. Thank fortune, I have not searched in vain, and I am now able to tell the story of some of the sturdy souls who lived and wrought there.

There is one whose life story claims singular attention to the citizens of St. Joe, because he was born at the old fort. He was the child of Lieut. John Craddock, of the 42nd regiment, who served for a number of years on the frontier defenses of Canada. The lonely, rough life of the backwoods had its effects on John’s spirits and aspirations and he was “jollywell bored and beastly omesick” when he chanced to meet and finally marry a winsome halfbreed daughter of lower Candaa. There was a flutter of excitement at Fort St. Joeseph when this soldier, with his wife and little Katrine arrived one day in the fall of 1811. The soldiers had their gossip on the side about this “andsome hofficer and ‘is bloomin’ awf awf”, but they agreed she looked like a good fun and there was nought better to be ‘ad or oped’ for in this bloomin wilderness.

One morning in the spring of 1812, the doughty officer was offered the conventional congratulations on the arrival of a wee, dark-skinned baby boy. The answer to the query, “What yer going to callim?”; he answered, I expect we’ll call him Joesph, in honor of this bloomin fort, and he was christened Joseph Craddock, the fort baby, the pet and mascot of the garrison.

For a few weeks John Craddock experienced the joys and comforts of a happy little home, even if it were improvised and on the edge of the great wilderness and then the cruel god of war tore his family asunder, for the god of war mocks domestic felicity and shows his teeth at all tender feelings of men. One beautiful morning, in July of that fateful year, John bade his little family a soldier’s hasty farewell and hurried on board the schooner Caledonia, to take part in the expedition that was to capture the fortress of Mackinaw; for war had been declared. “You’ll likely ear from me within the forenight”, were among his last assurances, and “I’ll come get you when we’re settled.” But the fortunes of war reeled otherwise and John was never again to see his dusky loved ones at the old St. Joe from Mackinaw. He was went as dispatch runner to Montreal and from there was ordered back to England and the last we hear about him, he was numbered amont the slain at Waterloo.
What became of little Joe? do we know? Yes, we know. For sixteen years he lived with his mother and little Katrine in the shadow of the forts at Mackinaw and Drummond Island and then in 1928, they moved with the garrison to the new base at Penetanguishene, where Joe grew to manhood.

What kind of man was he, this son of the old fort? Was he worthless or worthwhile? Good or good for nothing? Is his name worthy of remembrance or had he better be forgotten? These are the very questions by which history will search all our lives in the great future and the fire shall prove every man’s work, of what sort it is. And there is the fire of history and it has no respect for persons.

Joesph Craddock lived well past the allotted time, dying in Coldwater in 1900, full of years and adorned with creditable record, for it is written of him that “He was scrupulously honest and upright in all his dealings, highly respected and a pattern to the community in which he Lived.” A splendid epitaph one which might be the pride and the envy of us all. Great opportunities and favoured circumstances were not his: the fort, the wilderness and the shore was his world; the indian, the soldier, and “the awf and awf”, his companions, yet he leaves the record: scrupulously honest and upright in all his dealings, highly respected and a patter to the community in which he lived.

http://members.tripod.com/joanne_rice/

Caratacus and his brother Togodumnus faced the Roman invasion of 43 CE but were defeated by the 40,000 Roman troops that landed in Britain lead by Aulus Plautius. Outnumbered and beaten decisively in two battles, in which the second claimed the life of his brother Togodumnus, Caratacus refused to surrender or back down in any way. Instead he changed tactics and began a guerrila war against his enemies. Attacking camps or supply lines at night and picking off any stragglers. He and his followers were able to resist the Romans this way for over 7 years until the constantly reinforced army finally closed in on him. He made his final stand at a location to be remembered as Caer Caradoc.

He gathered his men and selected a hill fort that made it easy to attack but hard for the Romans to retaliate. According to the Roman writer Tacitus:

“Caractacus, darted everywhere, telling his men that this battle would be the beginning of the recovery of their freedom or else of everlasting slavery. He recalled how their ancestors had driven back Julius Caesar, and through their bravery the British were freed from the threat of being ruled by the Roman military and government. While he was speaking, the warriors shouted applause; every warrior swore not to flee from weapons or wounds.”

Unfortunately, the Romans won the day with their superior armor and weapons. Caratacus was forced to flee. He escaped once again from the legions of soldiers intent on killing him. He sought refuge with the Brigantine tribe hoping to get their assistance in continuing the resistance but was betrayed by their Queen Cartimandua. She handed him over to the Romans in chains an action which enraged her people who rebelled against her soon afterwards.

Caratacus was carted off to Rome where typically the fallen leaders of far off enemies would be paraded through the city on their way to be executed. However this time it would be different. Due to his years of success and his brave resistance, Caratacus had become a legend for the people of Rome. The emporer wanted to meet this man who had so successfully fought against the Roman legions with his small guerilla army.  Once he gained the audience of the Emperor Claudius,  he by all accounts held his head high instead of bowing down as was the custom and spoke the following:

“Had my moderation in prosperity been equal to my noble birth and fortune, I should have entered this city as your friend rather than as your captive; and you would not have disdained to receive, under a treaty of peace, a king descended from illustrious ancestors and ruling many nations. My present lot is as glorious to you as it is degrading to myself. I had men and horses, arms and wealth. What wonder if I parted with them reluctantly? If you Romans choose to lord it over the world, does it follow that the world is to accept slavery? Were I to have been at once delivered up as a prisoner, neither my fall nor your triumph would have become famous. My punishment would be followed by oblivion, whereas, if you save my life, I shall be an everlasting memorial of your clemency.”

Upon hearing this speech, the impressed Emperor pardoned Caratacus along with the rest of his family. They were allowed to live the rest of their lives in Rome to which Caratacus is quoted as saying “And can you, then, who have got such possessions and so many of them, covet our poor huts?”.

Caratacus was one of if not the first monarch to bear the name that has become Craddock but he was not the last and maybe not even the most famous.

Some people have what I like to refer to as moral authority. The past matriarchs of our family all had this quality or ability, Ada Susan Craddock, Lucille Archer Craddock, and Fay Craddock Finley. My Aunt Ada Craddock Morris continues this legacy. When she has something to say we are all excited to hear it. Needless to say when she told me that she intended to send me a series of short stories that she was told or remembered from her childhood I was ecstatic. Below is a small example.

Erik Craddock

Dad once told me that the neighbors pig repeatedly came over uninvited and helped himself to their cornfield. After this happened several times and after asking the neighbor to keep the pig home, Dad and Grandpa just went pig hunting and shot the pig. You don’t let perfectly good pork go to waste so they also butchered it.  There was a drawback, my Grandmother Ada refused to cook or eat any of the meat. So Grandpa and Dad had to do their own cooking when they wanted any of that pork.

Ada Craddock Morris

I always wondered how my grandfather Van’s brother Glen ended up so far away as the state of Washington. This story from his son Bill may be the answer to that question.

• Bill Craddock
• Glen A. Craddock
• Alonzo S. Craddock
• David W. Craddock

Early on, he lived in the “barracks” at the Hanford townsite during the week and Mom and us kids lived up the Yakima Valley in a little hamlet by the name of Buena Junction until the government built some houses here in Richland in late 44. His roommate in the “barracks” was a mobile crane operator and they were roused from their sleep one morning about 2:00 AM by armed military police. They were told to be quiet, get dressed in work clothes and come with them.  They were then driven in jeeps all over the sagebrush desert in the dark in an effort to disorient them as to their whereabouts.  They finally arrived at a temporary (metal plates) airstrip with flares for landing lights out in the middle of the desert.  There was a mobile crane, rigging cables, shackles, etc there along with a large metal cask on a flatbed truck.  There was also a 4-engine bomber sitting there with engines idling.  They were instructed to load the cask into the side fuselage opening in the bomber.  After doing so, they noted that personnel inside the bomber secured the cask and the bomber taxied and took off into the darkness.  They were driven back (once again by a circuitous route) to their “barracks” and told not to mention this episode to anyone, including, friends, spouses, children, priests, preachers, etc. or they would be in more trouble than they could imagine.

After the war he stayed on here as a maintenance ironworker for over 25 years until a heart condition forced him into early retirement. In 1958, when the first Hanford items were de-classified, the two of them, both still working at Hanford, were called into the Hanford Atomic Energy Commission (now the Dept. of Energy) manager’s office and informed that the cask they had loaded that dark night about 14 years earlier contained the B-Reactor Plutonium that ended up at Alamagordo, New Mexico and Nagasaki Japan.  Guess they kinda helped send it on the first leg of its historic journey.

Bill Craddock

War is a horrific thing to be avoided whenever possible. However throughout our nation’s history, war has been inevitable on several occasions and in all of those conflicts there has always been a Craddock to support their country in any way they could. Uncle Glenn is a perfect example to be proud of.

If you have a story (and I know you do) please contact me at connection@craddock.org and I will help you as I’ve helped these others in getting it written down and published. Also please comment below and show your support for our family members that have chosen to share their lives in the form of stories.

It’s always good to get back home. For me home is Caddo county, Oklahoma. I went back for a visit a couple of weeks ago. Not much had changed, but honestly I didn’t expect it to, change travels slowly back home. My family has lived in Oklahoma since 1897, several years before Oklahoma became the 46th state in the union. My great grandfather Alonzo Shields Craddock, newly married to Ada Susan Church, moved in 1902 from Stroud, Oklahoma to a farm that was seven miles north and two west of Verden, Oklahoma; known then as Cottonwood Grove.

The property in Cottonwood Grove was won in the Indian Territory Land Lottery of 1901 for a ticket costing the sum of one dollar. As I said earlier my great grandfather Alonzo moved there in 1902. He put up a tent and began work on a house which he completed in 1903. My grandfather Van was born in that tent just before the house was completed. That house is still standing, I recently made a trek out there with my father and found it but not until after I spent some time fighting my way through overgrown brush, weeds and low hanging tree branches. I am told that there were occupants only 5 or 10 years ago.

In around 1908 my great great grandfather David W. Craddock moved to Cottonwood Grove which had been renamed to Verden by this time due to the fact that there was another Cottonwood Grove somewhere in the state. He moved to a small community name Dutton which is a few miles north of Verden. I drove by there but all that is left is one house and a sign that says… well… Dutton. In 1911 David was elected Marshall, the old jail is still standing and let me tell you its kind of spooky in there. I also want to point out that if my math is correct the house my grandfather built is older than this jail.

I had a great time roaming around Caddo and Grady county Oklahoma for the afternoon. It was fun walking over the same ground that my grandfathers had walked over one hundred years ago. Some of the stories that I have heard about them could be turned into blockbuster movies while others are a bit mundane but they all remind me of who I am and partly why I’ve become that way. Hopefully the stories that I leave to my grandchildren are a bit easier to find and are more thoroughly documented. Better yet I hope to actually meet all of my grandchildren so that they have more than pictures and stories.

I hope that more of you will put your memories down to be read by those that come after us. Contact me at connection@craddock.org with your own stories and be sure to send pictures. If you need any help let me know. I know a thing or two about computers and the internet and I don’t mind helping at all. Your feedback is very welcome I’d love to know what you think about the Craddock Connection.

As I’ve mentioned before, my great Aunt Faye had many a story to tell. This is the story of the trip from Stroud, Oklahoma to what is now Verden, Oklahoma by my great Grandfather Alonzo and his new bride Ada Susan … passed on to my by my Aunt Ada.

In 1901 or 1902 Lon and Ada Craddock set out from Stroud Indian Territory, to start their new married life together. They were heading for Cottonwood Grove, Indian Territory; now Verden Oklahoma. Ada was leaving her family the Thomas Churche’s behind.

In a wagon loaded with all they owned, they arrived two days later in El Reno, Indian Territory. They bought some food and Lon got his bride a sack of bulk candy. They drove South until they came to the South Canadian River. From recent rains it was swollen bank full. Many wagons and hacks were camped on the north side to wait until it ran down some. Ada begged Lon to make camp with the other travelers to which he stated, “I’m going over”.

No bridges in those days in Indian Territory. He said “I’ll tie the wagon bed to the running gears and Bird and Snip

will swim us over. Get a good hold”. Then with a whip and loud yelling he pulled into the angry water for what Ada said seemed like a life time. He pulled them to a stop on dry ground on the south side, just north of Minco.

Lon said the yells and cheers for them from across the river must have turned to quiet prayers for all seemed still except his, Ada’s, and the horses breathing. He said “Ada hand me a piece of candy”. She handed him an empty sack, and said “I feel sick, I must have eaten it all”. He said; “I’ll bet I have the sweetest woman south of the Canadian River”. He always thought that to be true and it was.

Determination to not let the world slow you down is a good character trait in my book. One that I’ve seen in many of my relatives. I’ll bet if the truth were know, there are hundreds of stories just like this one with a Craddock member squarely in the middle. Comment below and tell me about some of them or just let me know that you’re there. I’d love to hear from some of you. Let me know how you like what we are doing here and what suggestions you have to make the Craddock Connection better.

If you enjoy reading these stories, email me at connection@craddock.org with your story and make sure and send me some pictures.

One of her stories was about the day she was born, January 28th, 1917. She recounted that grandpa, who was about 14 years old, had ridden his horse into Dutton to play baseball, which is what the local boys did on the weekends if the weather permitted. When he returned later that day, he had a new unnamed sister. He said “she looks like a Fay Geneva”. Grandpa Lon and grandma Ada thought it was a pretty name and Fay Geneva she became. Aunt Fay told “Thanks to my dear brother Van, I’ve enjoyed my name and he and I were close friends throughout our walk together with the Craddocks”.

Fay Geneva Craddock Finley (1917 – 2006)
Alonzo Shields Craddock (1878 – 1935)
David William Craddock (1844 – 1933)
James Bascum Craddock (1819 – 1904)

Aunt Fay passed on in 2006, she was loved by everyone who knew her including me. What are your memories of her? Comment below and let us know.If you enjoy reading little stories like this one, be sure and send some of your own about parents, grand parents or children to connection@craddock.org. We would all love to hear about them.