Elizabeth Beach, daughter of Leonard Beach and
Anna Cosgrove, and her husband, Victor C. Rideout.

Victor Clemen(t) Rideout was born on on February 15, 1896, the son of Henry William Curtis Rideout and Sarah House of Tilt Cove, Newfoundland. Around the year 1904, the Rideout family came to live in the U.S., settling in southern Connecticut. As a young man, Victor worked with his father as a mason. During World War I, he served as a part of the AEF, becoming disabled during his time of service. Upon his return from service, he married Elizabeth Beach. Together the couple raised six daughters. Victor worked at the Bullard Company in Bridgeport for many years. Victor died on October 07, 1953.

A man who loved words, Victor found enjoyment in sitting and jotting down his thoughts and then turning them into poetry. He left behind a treasury of his poems that give voice to those ideals upon which he placed great value: love of family and country, and a deep and abiding faith in God.

Selections

Cathedral of the Pines

Our thoughts are lifted with the hills
Our souls beyond the distant cloudless sky
Where mirrored visions of Almighty God
Reflect His promise: Love shall never die.
In wondrous beauty wrought by trusting hands
Its sanctity ablaze with truths divine
Surrounded thus we stand in solemn praise
And your blest Cathedral of the Pines.

The winding lanes, the sloping hills of home
Are bathed in tender memories each day
The ones you loved now find communion sweet
Beside the shrine where all may kneel and pray.
This is the realization of your dreams
The earnest hope that glory ever shines
'Tis fitting then, we crowd all majesty
Into your blest Cathedral of the Pines.

Man's handiwork of faith profoundly stirs
The depths of love while lazy shadows flee
And you sleep on in everlasting peace
Beyond the distant hills we cannot see.
Your spirit stands beside us on this knoll
You loved and cherished as a holy shrine
There are countless other "Sandys" much like you
Who rest in God's Cathedral of the Pines.

"Abide with me, fast falls the even tide"
Resounds and echoes thru New Hampshire hills
When day is done and evening comes at last
Our hearts are steeped in God's most perfect will.
The gleaming cross, the path to freedom's light
The channel upon which all glory shines
Comforts the hearts of men whose pilgrimage
Leads them to your Cathedral of the Pines.

NOTE: The Cathedral in the Pines is located in Ringde, New Hampshire. It is a memorial to the American war dead set in a pine wood. "Sandy" refers to Lt. Sanderson Sloane, shot down over Germany, February 22, 1944. For more information about the Cathedral in the Pines, please click here.

To My Mom

Dear Mom, your letter came today and made me feel so good
To know our friends still think of me back in our neighborhood.
It's been so long since I wrote you last; I don't know how to start
But, somehow, I feel you understand the longing in my heart.

Tell all the Gang that a pretty nurse is here beside my bed
You see, I was flown here not long ago from a Korean beachhead.
Out here a boy becomes a man -- that, no one can deny
Since many live to fight again, and others bravely die.

The Red Cross has surely earned our praise -- we find them everywhere
Caring for our wounded men with understanding care
You know I feel I owe so much for the blood our people gave
As deep within my heart I know this soldier's life they saved.

Each time I say that little prayer you taught me as a lad
I remember how you used to say people knew when I was bad.
And those promises of manhood's grace you showered on me each night
Gives assurance through the darkest hours of God's eternal light.

Some day sweet victory shall be ours – some day the fighting o'er
But until we silence every gun and settle every score
We must face the future, come what may, believing fervently
The burden of our cross he'll share thru bleak Gethsemane.

I must close now, Mom, with a good night kiss, because I love you so
Don't fret or worry, I’m all right -- I'm in good hands, you know.
Thank our Red Cross and each volunteer, whose task it is to see
The folks at home keep on giving blood for countless lads like me.

 

NOTE: This poem appeared the 2 April 1951 issue of the Bridgeport Sunday Post, Bridgeport, CT, as a part of the "Live Letters" to the Editor..

The American Way

There is no land on God's green earth
Like our America.
Here, freedom's cause was given birth
In our America.
This is a land of equal right
And peace our constant guiding light
Hence, here, no hearts are filled with fright
In our America.

The will to do is ever found
In our America.
Our doctrines spring from hallowed ground
In our America.
Ee'r nestled in this nation's breast
Are deeds of heroes gone to rest
Beneath a sod forever blest
In our America.

We hear no tramp of marching feet
In our America.
No soldiering of every street
In our America.
True wisdom, sought from cradle days
Has taught us far more gallant ways
And, to our fathers go the praise
For Our America.

We want no wars to kill and maim
Our youth in America.
No crimson battlefields to stain
Our country's name, America.
Our goal in life shall always be
For all our peoples to be free
From government of tyranny
Here in America.

Our sympathies go out to those
Who need America.
Who would be free from needless foes
As our America.
Instead of ceaseless cannons roar
Seek out a peace on yonder shore
As in America.

So, to all nations filled with lust
Look to America.
In God and man put all your trust
Like our America.
This is the better way, good friends
Than foolish war that never ends
This course has paid large dividends
In our America.

The Joy of Christmas

Does the spirit of Christmas
Fill your heart with mirth
And your thoughts span the years
To the Saviour's birth
Does its message of gladness
Unfold as we sing "All honor and glory to
The Heavenly King"

Dressed in raiment of rapture
Does the earth seem aglow
With the beautiful vision
Of Christ here below
How clearly the bells
On the still, frosty air
Echo glad tidings Of joy everywhere.

Do you herald with reverence
The gift of His love
As His sweet peace descends
Upon us from above
Foretelling the hour
When the Christ Child was born
In Bethlehem's manger
On the first Christmas morn

In silence of night
Is assurance supreme
Will Santa skip gaily
Through each childhood dream
With all sorts of presents
And candies and such
For all little children Who love him so much

While remembering His birthday
Let's remember, too
That, by sharing, life's blessings
Will fall upon you.
So, join in the jubilant songs
And be gay
As your thoughts span the years
To that first Christmas day.

The Last Parade

I watched with the crowds on the corner
The parade as it passed us by
No one seemed to notice my faltering step
Nor the tear that dimmed my eye.
Many years I had marched in such a parade
With my comrades of Sixty-One
But, time in its flight has conquered at last
So the days of my marching are done.

How well I remember those days of my youth
When the call, Shoulder arms, shook the land
How us kids stole away in the dead of the night
To join with the North's happy band.
How little we knew of the hardships of war
How little of death's sudden call
But our courage ne'er faltered one step of the way
We were ready to fight or to fall.

Sometimes it was peaceful to wonder alone
With the stars so bright overhead
But 'twas sad to think of the many young lads
Who on the morrow might be found dead.
That old camping fire was a melting pot
Of memories we held so dear
It was the one thing that helped us
When the going was tough
The one thing that sad hearts could cheer.

Sure, we tasted the wrath of the enemy
As we fought through the valleys and hills
But God seemed to guide us on every hand
So we partook of victory's thrills.
Then came the end of that terrible war
With the gallant surrender of Lee
And the only links to those trying days
Are my comrades and a kind memory.

There'll be a parade of the heroes
Who've gone just across eternity's shore
Where a peace we shall find
That is noble and true
And man can't destroy anymore.
I'll be happy to meet my comrades of old
To greet them again with a smile
And my heart shall be filled
With a joy born anew
When I'm traveling that last weary mile.

Mother's Prayer

God of our faith, our freedom and love
Look down on my boy from heaven above
Walk with him, talk with him, day unto day

Keep him inspired through grace from Thee, Lord
Whatever his duty, Thy peace him accord.
Guide him in spirit and nourish his soul
Is the prayer of a mother whose faith Thou made whole.

Since he was a babe, I've treasured him so
And pointed his footsteps the way he should go.
Now, as he fights for the rights of our country so fair
May he ever be conscious of the power of prayer.

Cause him to seek the touch of Thy hand
And look unto Thee from a far away land.
Under Thy wing keep him safe and secure;
Dear God, never leave him, but keep his heart pure.

Fail him not, Father, and may he never fail Thee
In Thy sheltering love may dark moments flee.
So, until some future day when he comes home again
In Thy loving care, sweet, I leave him. Amen.

Boy Scout Song

From the reminiscences of Richard Tanner, son of John H. Tanner and Eva Beach:

"You asked if I had ever been in the Boy Scouts and I am proud to admit that I was a Boy Scout from 1930. This was the time of the Great Depression. Folks had very little money to spend on pastimes such as Boy Scouts. The only part of the uniform we could afford was the neckerchief, and I was proud of that because all the troop was in the same financial condition. All in all, we had a great time and I can still taste the potatoes cooked in mud right on the coals in the campfire. I stayed in the Boy Scouts until I was 19 years old. I was the assistant scout master of Troop 37 in Bridgeport, Connecticut. We had a scoutmaster who was there in name only, so it was my troop even if I was too young to be the scoutmaster.

Speaking of Scout Songs - we had a troop song, too, but it was written in a different day and age. Our hearts were influenced by World War I.

The tune was "A Long, Long Trail A'winding." Here are the words we had -

We are Boy Scouts young and lively
And to all our friends we would tell
That what ever we are asked to do,
Every Scout shall do it well,
We are proud of 37 and its Leaders, tried and true
We will raise our arms in proud salute
To the Old Red, White and Blue.

It was written by Victor C. Rideout, my Uncle who was married to Elizabeth Beach. In 60 years the pace of life and the heroes of the young boys have changed, note that the first World War still had a great influence on our lives. There were less thoughts of violence in those days, but it was soon to change with such men as Mussolini and Hitler."

With special thanks to Patricia Rideout DeFeo and family for sharing their father's poetry. And to Judy and Bill Tanner.


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