Stebbing - Family History & Genealogy Message Board

Re: Charles James Stebbing- England & Australia

David_Fancy — 2012-04-15 07:10:32Z

I have some [limited] information about the Stebbing family.

What do you know/need?

Contact me at Turk2@Shaw.ca

Regards
David

Re: Charles James Stebbing- England & Australia

lisasteb — 2012-04-15 03:21:16Z

I have just joined this geneology site, after noticing David Fancy's post. I recognise the name Fancy from my Stebbing geneology research.I live in Melbourne, Australia and Charles James Stebbing, son of Charles Jubilee Stebbing, is my great great grandfather. I am very interested to learn about their extended families especially James Stebbing and Louisa Larter.

Re: Frank Stebbing

jrs081877 — 2012-02-23 01:10:11Z

I remember playing at my great grandfather and great grandmom's house in Baltimore. They were Frank's parents. In the basement my brother and I discovered a German helmet that Frank had brought back. I also remembering hearing a story about a book that Frank wrote and Lou Erskine (I think it was him - a News American newspaper writer) had sent Frank to New York to see a publisher. As I remember, Frank got to drinking and sold it to someone on the train. I can't verify any of this, just relate what I heard. I believe Frank was also an inventor and invented cherry chains - little interlocking loops of colored cardboard that went on Christmas trees.

Re: Frank Stebbing

jrs081877 — 2012-02-23 01:08:09Z

I do have a copy of a poem from Stars and Stripes - the Army newspaper - that Frank wrote. I'll have to dig it out.

Zachariah Stebbing

nicolaimoore — 2011-12-27 03:53:24Z

Can anyone help me find more information on this person.
He was a florist and resided in Downham Market, Norfolk, England. Zachariah was born in 1771 and died in 1849. He had a daughter called Elizabeth Stebbing born about 1828.
Any help would be appreciated to assist my family tree research.

STEBBING in Devon and earlier Huntingdonshire

Ssteevenson — 2011-06-04 18:28:45Z

Am researching the Stebbing family who were in Devon, and mostly in Plymouth, from at least the 1851 census through to the 20th century.
Would very much like to contact anyone related to this family.

Re: Frank Stebbing

Miyabear — 2011-01-30 23:18:58Z

I inherited from my father, Sgt. Louis Singer of the First Infantry Division, who was a prisoner of war in Stalag VIIA, IIIB and IIIA, a handkerchief which was illustrated with his wartime history. The centerpiece is a poem by Frank Stebbing called "America's Waiting." I never learned if Mr. Stebbing actually did the artwork, but he certainly contributed the poem. This is one of my most treasured possessions, but I'm anxious to know more about Frank Stebbing, and from this thread I'm now sure that he and my father were in one of these camps together.

Re: Frank Stebbing

rstebbing6194 — 2010-07-05 22:34:14Z

Frank Stebbing is my uncle.
Before joining the Army in 1942 , he worked for my father EL Stebbing in the construction business. He also worked as an accountant for McCormick and Company.
As a prisoner of war, he also wrote for the POW newspaper. He also wrote a novel and a book describing his experiences as a prisoner,both of which he burned to prevent their discovery during a move to another prison camp. He also invented word games and other devices.
Frank was capture in North Africa on April 18,1943 on his 29th birthday.He spent 20 months in German prison camps and wrote 700 to 800 poems. Some were included in his letters home and were publish in the Baltimore Sun newspaper. One poem: Goodess of Mercy, was used on a wartime Red Cross poster. His later poems also were published in many national magazines.

COMRADES TO FREEDOM By Frank Stebbing
Stranger to Freedom is that man
Who never in his life has known
The barbs of exiles foreign lands;
The pressure of the Great Alone,
Who sifts full Freedom in His hand -
Stranger to Freedom is that man.
But he who dreams of what is free
Comrade to Freedom, he -

A FRIEND
A friend is not a feller who is taken in by sham.
A friend is one who knows your faults,
But doesn't give a damn

ENDOWMENT
By Frank Stebbing, Stalag Luft III POW
Shall I be lame, because I am imprisoned?
Shall I be blind, for bars that split the sun?
Shall I be deaf, because my ear is pinioned?
Shall I be mute, for music's that are done?
My eyes are fuller, if feet are captive.
My ear is richer in the silent hour.
And strange new senses rise above my shackles.
And suffering bestows a monstrous power.
When I was in the world, I saw no people.
When I was in the garden, smelled no rose.
I listened to the strings and heard no music.
I kissed warm lips - and yet my own were froze.
I saw the sky but saw not the Eternal.
I sniffed the bloom but did not smell the seed.
I harked to music, hearing no Jehovah.
I felt my wealth, but did not feel my greed.
Now I am banished from the chant of color
And exiled from the scent of laughing rime
But suddenly, I see and hear beyond me,
Life's beauty, rising up for the first time.

Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to life there, that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown,why,the higher bounce,
Be proud of your blackened eye.
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
It's how did you fight and why.
And though you be done to death,what then?
If you battled the best you could;
If you played your part in the battle of war,
Why,the critics will call it good.
Death comes with a craw, or it comes with a pounce,
and whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts
But only how did you die.
Frank Stebbing P.O.W 1944

The Ships of Yesterday- by Frank Stebbing
War isn't all of life, my lad Night isn't all of life, my lad.
And the ships of yesterday Nor tempest all of the sea.
That dock in the stream of a soldier's dream And the carillon of God's clear dawn
Are waiting to bear us 'way Will sound in a Reveille
To the skyline of spectral shore When the world awakes one magic morn Over the leaping foam-To fell a horror cease
And for every ship that e'er put out, As over the tossing seas of storm There wll be one that's sailing home. Passes the calm called peace. And dream isn't all of life, my lad. Then the grand old boats of yesterday For every dream must end. That dock in the dreams of men And its sweet to hope that the anchor rope Will put out from a thousand harbors,Will be going up again.And carry us home again
And the ancient ships that yesterday As we hear the echoes calling,
Put out the east with zest From out of a starry dome -
Will be shoving off with a freight of hearts And for every ship that ever put out,To the West, to the golden West. There will be one that's sailing home.

Lone Soldier's Thoughts
On Sundays in the army, when soldiers where sitting around,
They think of those left behind and smiles are turned to frowns
When the sweetheart fails to write as she has always done
They wonder in their absence if there could be another one
A soldier has his troubles,he has his work to do
but days when he is idle are days when he is blue
Most people brand a soldier as nothing but a bum
Until the war has started then his name is on every tongue
But let me tell you something of soldiers that I know
They are just as fine a people as any you can show
So stop a minute now and think they were once civilians too
But when the war was started they went to fight for you
So that's a lonesome soldier's thoughts as the lonely days go by
For dear old Uncle Sam he would gladly live or die.

A Child's Soliloquy by Frank Stebbing
You won't be coming back I guess, If I could wish upon a star,
To see this pretty yellow dress. I bet I'd fly to where you are.
You, know, - I sort of thought you would, But I'm so awful little,gee-
Cause I have been so very good. No one pays any mind to me.
Nobody ought to be away, That's why I kind of miss you, Dad
I think, on Jesus' Christmas-day. You was "the best friend I had
I wonder why they have a war? You was the good'y looking man,
What are little children for? In all the world, from land to land.
My poor, dear Mommy cries and cries, Mommy said that you would bring,
But I'm a big girl - for my size. bring me back a doll, and everything.
And I remember what you said, But I know better that in what they say, 'Bout cryin' - so I won't , instead. Cause I know why you went away.Gee! I hope you didn't pain, And I would rather have you back I hope they kept you from the rain. And throw away my train and track-Of all the men on land and sea, My soldiers are upon the floor, They had to take the one from me. I don't play soldiers any more.

I opened the door to a dream as the bugle blew goad nighty
I saw you rise from a chain Oh!,what a beautiful sigh!
I opened the door to a dream and reached my arms to you
Your lips were an inch from my own and then the bugle blew.
Why must a dream be so cruel? Why can't it last on and on?
I'm in your arms at midnight and so alone at dawn .
I opened the door to a dream,Like a dream in a dream you arose,
And the bugle blew and the door of a dream was closed.
I have gathered the paper that surprised the heartily shield.
I have borrowed from Mohamed cactus leaves he would not sell.
I have drained drained the marsh beauty from the crippled hills of Hell. And I wave a wreath of sorrow. Buddy-Buddy
I have scrounged mid the embers of the trenches, but in vain I have crawled upon the mountains
and along the desert lain seeking but a badge of Jesus to adorn a valiant stain But your crucifix is characters-Buddy-Buddy
I have commandeered a fraction of Africa's old beast
With my fingers I have torn for you a bivouac of rest
And your boots are turned to Heaven and your eyes are to the west.
I have well fulfilled my promise buddy- Buddy.
And I cannot bring you bugles as I close your weary eyes
As I clasp your hands together neath the blue of foreign skies
But a part of me dispatches and you are not alone in slumber-Buddy-Buddy

From Calais to Bordeaux ,From Frankfort to Brunswick
Where ever house big boys go. I've seen me some tough times
I've been in some tough flak but there is on thing I know
When that schedule says Berlin I'm going back to my sack
Just flat on my back singing my blues in the night. Hear that bell a ringing,Hear the pilot singing Bail out! Bail out!

Out in the blue
When you back home where peace prevails and begged by all for thrilling tales;
Tales of folks you've seen and met and incidents you'll never forget;
Tales of things which soldiers do and prices they pay in winning thou,Refer them to "Out in the Blue." The city throbs with the pulse of life With commerce and industry ever at strife With hustle and bustle and traffic roar Far from the distant sound of war. The parks all draped in their floral gown;And peace prevails in the old home town. The bombers roar and the sirens moan; Thank God they are things quite unknown, But way out there in the distant blue Their a living hell which men go thru,As day by day,and night by night, they are locked in the world's worst fight.
Courageously striving they stagger and reel to ward off the menace of the Nazi huh; to spare all the loved ones they left behind
From the payee and bondage,the foe have in mind.
Yet down in the city,seek and you'll find men who have chosen to stay home behind. Men who enjoy all the comfort of home while their fellow men endure all hardships know.
Each night they sleep in a warm cozy bed while their fellow men crash down to earth stone dead.
Out on a mission with in mind; Jerry will meet you he loses no time.
Reaping the harvest,so awful and grim which Germany long ago promised him; The harvest of youth on the threshold of life,
All trapped in the mow of a titanic strife. Your husband,your sweet heart and even you son gallantly fighting and manning the guns.
Yet down in the city,seek and you'll find men who have chosen to stay home behind.Where ever there's sport at each weekend and a pair of flannel pants and a cinema show or maybe a dance at which holding in uniformed arms they whisper nice things and talk of your charms;They speak of their love,loyalty to you,as long as it keeps them out of the blue. While riding our ships in an altitude glide as fighters scream down from the sky above, to shower our man with murderous aim; which they have been sent out to kill or maim leaving them fallen in flamed and in smoke; To bleed and cry out, to die and choke. Still in the city,seek and you're find
Men who have chosen to stay home behind; Stout hearted fellows with hearts of pure gold; gold which is yellow,for so we are told;
Eager to share in peace,victory brings; Claiming their rights to life's precious things:Proud of the fact they have had nothing to lose; Theirs was the choice, and thus did they choose.
When the battles are over,victory is won; When the hell and gunfire is done: When home they march,those fortunate few,
To pick up the threads of life they once knew; How well they will know as they march down the street, which echoes to the tramp of their military feet,that the value they placed on home and on you
was settled and paid for out in blue. Settled and proved beyond a doubt, by them and their comrades who proudly set out; who suffered the agony,torture and pains; In prays wash and coldness,each man at his guns who grimly and doggedly stuck to it and won to prove to the world, and God high above Thats it you above all on this earth that we love. Yet,still in the city seek
and you'll find men who chose to stay home behind.
Thanks for the memories of flights to
Germany across the cold Adriatic Sea with blazing guns we fought the Huns For air surprimacy, How "Lucky" we were.
Thanks for the memories,of M.E.109's of flak guns on the Rhine
They did their bit and we were fish and end to our good times, we hate them so much.We drifted out of formation We jumped and what a sensation and now to sweet out the duration our job was done,we had our fun.
So thanks for the memories of days we had to stay,n Stalag #4+6
The cabbage stew which had to do till the Red Cross parcel day
How thankful we were.
We All In This Bloody Thing Together
It's the old army code boys were birds of a feather,and we share and share alike, be it wine or be it weather.
What is yours is mine-what mine ain't worth a mention-
Ain't we all in this bloody thing together?
Oh, you don't have to cry when a johnny trims your tie
Or a buddy reads your mail-for together we shall die,
So open up your parcel and pass around the sweets-
The army don't sit down and watch a man while he eats.
At the Post,on the bike, it is share in share alike,
Be it love,be it lead,be it hatter. So, spill out the box boy
and don't be a pike. Ain't we all in this bloody thing together?
So, you don't think it's fair? and to hell with the boys?,
Well that fine! But you'll bye and bye when it comes turn to die
That death plays no favorites on the line.
For its share-share-share alike,there,And you ain't gonna ask a buddy whether he is he, and you are you. In that final rendezvous
Well be all in this bloody thing together. So, it's button the chow,and it's butts on the gal, and I'm gonna wear your britches out to dine: For it's all an even swap when your going over the top
And every mans a buddy on the Line.
When I depart these thinning ranks to follow the tracks of better men
Gone West" before the pointing feather fallen from the swallow,The shells that bitter that last lonely shore.
When I have tipped the canteen of my measure, and parched must turn to life and say Remember, I shall pack along the treasure of marching these few wind-swept leagues with you.

Good Ole' U.S.A.
How well I do remember as a boy my thoughts would stray.Far into the distant lands Far from the U.S.A.
I grew up with one ambition that perhaps there's come a day
When I could see that out side world far from the U.S.A.
Then a war came upon me and think what ere' you may
but was my ever wanted chance to leave the U.S.A.
So I joined the army air corps and I flew far away
Soon to fill my hearts desire Apart from the U.S.A.
Since that time I've seen a lot but all seem dull and gray
Nothing anywhere could compete with that of the U.S.A.
And even tho' my hearts' content I've stranded in a prison camp
to dream of the U.S.A. But each and every blessed night to my Dear Lord I pray That very soon I may return to the good ole U.S.A.
And when my prayer is answered life for me will be more gay
All because I've learned my lesson there's only one great U.S.A.

Prayer of a Soldiers Mother
O, mother of Perpetual help, to thee I send my plea,,
Look down upon my soldier son,Take care of him for me.
And when he's blue and sick at heart,Discourage and oppressed,
Give him the will to carry on,In heavenly grace to rest.
Show unto him a mothers love, As thou hast shown to me,
Bring comfort to his lonely heart, Is mine ,his mothers plea.

Frank was capture in North Africa on April 18,1943 on his 29th birthday.He spent 20 months in German prison camps and wrote 700 to 800 poems. Some were included in his letters home and were publish in the Baltimore Sun newspaper. One poem: "Goodness of Mercy, was used on a wartime Red Cross poster. His later poems also were published in many national magazines.

Before joining the Army in 1942 , he worked for my father EL Stebbing in the construction business. He also worked as an accountant for McCormick and Company.

As a prisoner of war, he also wrote for the POW newspaper. He also wrote a novel and a book describing his experiences as a prisoner,both of which he burned to prevent their

COMRADES TO FREEDOM By Frank Stebbing
Stranger to Freedom is that man
Who never in his life has known
The barbs of exiles foreign lands;
The pressure of the Great Alone,
Who sifts full Freedom in His hand -
Stranger to Freedom is that man.
But he who dreams of what is free
Comrade to Freedom, he -

A FRIEND
A friend is not a feller who is taken in by sham.
A friend is one who knows your faults,
But doesn't give a damn

ENDOWMENT
By Frank Stebbing, Stalag Luft III POW
Shall I be lame, because I am imprisoned?
Shall I be blind, for bars that split the sun?
Shall I be deaf, because my ear is pinioned?
Shall I be mute, for music's that are done?
My eyes are fuller, if feet are captive.
My ear is richer in the silent hour.
And strange new senses rise above my shackles.
And suffering bestows a monstrous power.
When I was in the world, I saw no people.
When I was in the garden, smelled no rose.
I listened to the strings and heard no music.
I kissed warm lips - and yet my own were froze.
I saw the sky but saw not the Eternal.
I sniffed the bloom but did not smell the seed.
I harked to music, hearing no Jehovah.
I felt my wealth, but did not feel my greed.
Now I am banished from the chant of color
And exiled from the scent of laughing rime
But suddenly, I see and hear beyond me,
Life's beauty, rising up for the first time.

Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to life there, that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown,why,the higher bounce,
Be proud of your blackened eye.
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
It's how did you fight and why.
And though you be done to death,what then?
If you battled the best you could;
If you played your part in the battle of war,
Why,the critics will call it good.
Death comes with a craw, or it comes with a pounce,
and whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts
But only how did you die.
Frank Stebbing P.O.W 1944

The Ships of Yesterday- by Frank Stebbing
War isn't all of life, my lad Night isn't all of life, my lad.
And the ships of yesterday Nor tempest all of the sea.
That dock in the stream of a soldier's dream And the carillon of God's clear dawn
Are waiting to bear us 'way Will sound in a Reveille
To the skyline of spectral shore When the world awakes one magic morn Over the leaping foam-To fell a horror cease
And for every ship that e'er put out, As over the tossing seas of storm There'll be one that's sailing home. Passes the calm called peace. And dream isn't all of life, my lad. Then the grand old boats of yesterday For every dream must end. That dock in the dreams of men And its sweet to hope that the anchor rope Will put out from a thousand harbors,Will be going up again.And carry us home again
And the ancient ships that yesterday As we hear the echoes calling,
Put out the east with zest From out of a starry dome -
Will be shoving off with a freight of hearts And for every ship that ever put out,To the West, to the golden West. There'll be one that's sailing home.

Lone Soldier's Thoughts
On Sundays in the army, when soldiers where sitting around,
They think of those left behind and smiles are turned to frowns
When the sweetheart fails to write as she has always done
They wonder in their absence if there could be another one
A soldier has his troubles,he has his work to do
but days when he is idle are days when he is blue
Most people brand a soldier as nothing but a bum
Until the war has started then his name is on every tongue
But let me tell you something of soldiers that I know
They are just as fine a people as any you can show
So stop a minute now and think they were once civilians too
But when the war was started they went to fight for you
So that a lonesome soldier's thoughts as the lonely days go by
For dear old Uncle Sam he would gladly live or die.

A Child's Soliloquy by Frank Stebbing
You won't be coming back I guess, If I could wish upon a star,
To see this pretty yellow dress. I bet I'd fly to where you are.
You, know, - I sort of thought you would, But I'm so awful little,gee-
Cause I have been so very good. No one pays any mind to me.
Nobody ought to be away, That's why I kind of miss you, Dad
I think, on Jesus' Christmas-day. You was "the best" friend I had
I wonder why they have a war? You was the goodest - looking man,
What are little children for? In all the world, from land to land.
My poor, dear Mommie cries and cries, Mommie said that you would bring,
But I'm a big girl - for my size. bring me back a doll, and everything.
And I remember what you said, But I know better that in what they say, 'Bout cryin' - so I won't , instead. Cause I know why you went away.Gee! I hope you didn't pain, And I would rather have you back I hope they kept you from the rain. And throw away my train and track-Of all the men on land and sea, My soldiers are upon the floor, They had to take the one from me. I don't play soldiers any more.

I opened the door to a dream as the bugle blew goadnity
I saw you rise from a chain Oh!,what a beautiful sigh!
I opened the door to a dream and reached my arms to you
Your lips were an inch from my own and then the bugle blew.
Why must a dream be so cruel? Why can't it last on and on?
I'm in your arms at midnight and so alone at dawn .
I opened the door to a dream,Like a dream in a dream you arose,
And the bugle blew and the door of a dream was closed.
I have gathered the paper that survied the heavily shelled.
I have borrowed from Mohamed cactus leaves he would not sell.
I have drained drained the marshesh beauty from the crippled hills of Hell. And I wave a wreath of sorrow. Buddy-Buddy
I have scrounged mid the embers of the trenches, but in vain I have crawled upon the mountains
and along the desert lane seeking but a badge of Jesus to adorn a valiant stain But your crucifix is characters-Buddy-Buddy
I have commandeered a fraction of Africa's old beast
With my fingers I have torn for you a bivouac of rest
And your boots are turned to Heaven and your eyes are to the west.
I have well fulfilled my promise buddy- Buddy.
And I cannot bring you bugles as I close your weary eyes
As I clasp your hands together neath the blue of foreign skies
But a part of me dispatches and you are not alone in slumber-Buddy-Buddy

From Calais to Bordeaux ,From Frankfort to Brunswick
Where ever house big boys go. I've seen me some tough times
I've been in some tough flak but there is on thing I know
When that schedule says Berlin I'm going back to my sack
Just flat on my back singing my blues in the night. Hear that bell a ringing,Hear the pilot singing Bail out! Bail out!

Out in the blue
When you back home where peace prevails and begged by all for thrilling tales;
Tales of folks you've seen and met and incidents you'll never forget;
Tales of things which soldiers do and prices they pay in winning thou,Refer them to "Out in the Blue." The city throbs with the pulse of life With commerce and industry ever at strife With hustle and bustle and traffic roar Far from the distant sound of war. The parks all draped in their floral gown;And peace prevails in the old home town. The bombers roar and the sirens moan; Thank God they are things quite unknown, But way out there in the distant blue Their a living hell which men go thou,As day by day,and night by night, they are locked in the world's worst fight.
Courageously striving they stagger and reel to ward off the menace of the Nazi huh; to spare all the loved ones they left behind
From the parse and bondage,the foe have in mind.
Yet down in the city,seek and you'll find men who have chosen to stay home behind. Men who enjoy all the comfort of home while their fellow men endure all hardships know.
Each night they sleep in a warm cozy bed while their fellow men crash down to earth stone dead.
Out on a mission with in mind; Jerry will meet you he loses no time.
Reaping the harvest,so awful and grim which Germany long ago promised him; The harvest of youth on the threshold of life,
All trapped in the mow of a titanic strife. Your husband,your sweet heart and even you son gallantly fighting and naming the guns.
Yet down in the city,seek and you'll find men who have chosen to stay home behind.Where there's sport at each weekend and a pair of flannel pants and a cinema show or maybe a dance at which holding in uniformed arms they whisper nice things and talk of your charms;They speak of their love,loyalty to you,as long as it keeps them out of the blue. While riding our ships in an altitude glide as fighters scream down from the sky above, to shower our man with murderous aim; which they have been sent out to kill or maim leaving them fallen in flamed and in smoke; To bleed and cry out, to die and choke. Still in the city,seek and you'll find
Men who have chosen to stay home behind; Stout hearted fellows with hearts of pure gold; gold which is yellow,for so we are told;
Eager to share in peace,victory brings; Claiming their rights to life's precious things:Proud of the fact they have had nothing to lose; T heir's was the choice, and thus did they choose.
When the battles are over,victory is won; When the hell and gunfire is done: When home they march,those fortunate few,
To pick up the threads of life they once knew; How well they will know as they march down the street, which echoes to the tramp of their military feet,that the value they placed on home and on you
was settled and paid for out in blue. Settled and proved beyond a doubt, by them and their comrades who proudly set out; who suffered the agony,torture and pains; In prays wash and coldness,each man at his guns who grimly and doggedly stuck to it and won to prove to the world, and God high above That's it you above all on this earth that we love. Yet,still in the city seek
and you'll find men who chose to stay home behind.
Thanks for the memories of flights to
Germany across the cold Adriatic Sea with blazing guns we fought the Huns For air surprimacy, How "Lucky" we were.
Thanks for the memories,of M.E.109's of flak guns on the Rhine
They did their bit and we were fish and end to our good times, we hate them so much.We drifted out of formation We jumped and what a sensation and now to sweet out the duration our job was done,we had our fun.
So thanks for the memories of days we had to stay,n Stalag #4+6
The cabbage stew which had to do till the Red Cross parcel day
How thankful we were.
We All In This Bloody Thing Together
It's the old army code boys were birds of a feather,and we share and share alike, be it wine or be it weather.
What is yours is mine-what mine ain't worth a mention-
Ain't we all in this bloody thing together?
Oh, you don't have to cry when a johnny trims your tie
Or a buddy reads your mail-for together we shall die,
So open up your parcel and pass around the sweets-
The army don't sit down and watch a man while he eats.
At the Post,on the bike, it is share in share alike,
Be it love,be it lead,be it heather. So, spill out the box boy
and don't be a pike. Ain't we all in this bloody thing together?
So, you don't think it's fair? and to hell with the boys?,
Well that fine! But you'll bye and bye when it comes turn to die
That death plays no favorites on the line.
For its share-share-share alike,there,And you ain't gonna ask a buddy whether he is he, and you are you. In that final rendezvous
Well be all in this bloody thing together. So, it's button the chow,and it's butts on the gal, and I'm gonna wear your britches out to dine: For it's all an even swap when your going over the top
And every mans a buddy on the Line.
When I depart these thinning ranks to follow the tracks of better men
Gone West" before the pointing feather fallen from the swallow,The shells that bitter that last lonely shore.
When I have tipped the canteen of my measure, and parched must turn to life and say Remember, I shall pack along the treasure of marching these few wind-swept leagues with you.

Good Ole' U.S.A.
How well I do remember as a boy my thoughts would stray.Far into the distant lands Far from the U.S.A.
I grew up with one ambition that perhaps there's come a day
When I could see that out side world far from the U.S.A.
Then a war came upon me and think what ere' you may
but was my ever wanted chance to leave the U.S.A.
So I joined the army air corps and I flew far away
Soon to fill my hearts desire Apart from the U.S.A.
Since that time I've seen a lot but all seem dull and gray
Nothing anywhere could compete with that of the U.S.A.
And even tho' my hearts' content I've stranded in a prison camp
to dream of the U.S.A. But each and every blessed night to my Dear Lord I pray That very soon I may return to the good ole U.S.A.
And when my prayer is answered life for me will be more gay
All because I've learned my lesson there's only one great U.S.A.

Prayer of a Soldiers Mother
O, mother of Perpetual help, to thee I send my plea,,
Look down upon my soldier son,Take care of him for me.
And when he's blue and sick at heart,Discourage and oppressed,
Give him the will to carry on,In heavenly grace to rest.
Show unto him a mothers love, As thou hast shown to me,
Bring comfort to his lonely heart, Is mine ,his mothers plea.

Re: Frank Stebbing

rstebbing6194 — 2010-01-16 04:41:58Z

Franklin Joseph Stebbing was born 18 April 1914in Baltimore,Baltimore,Maryland.He married Mary Orlando on 23 November 23,1935.Mary died 19 may 1935 and Frank died June 4,1985 at Salisbury Cemetery,Wicomico,Maryland and is buried in the Baltimore Cemetery,Baltimore,Maryland. They had four children 1.Bette Gabrielle Stebbing,2. Bary F. Stebbing,
3. Mary Karen Stebbing, and 4.Pamela Kay Stebbing,

Frank was my father's brother and worked for him in Baltimore.
I remember my uncle Frank telling stories about his days as a prisoner of war at Stalag and having to eat cabbage with worms in it. here are a few of the poems written by Frank

COMRADES TO FREEDOM
By Frank Stebbing

Stranger to Freedom is that man
Who never in his life has known
The barbs of exiles foreign lands;
The pressure of the Great Alone,
Who sifts full Freedom in His hand -
Stranger to Freedom is that man.

But he who dreams of what is free
Comrade to Freedom, he -

A FRIEND

A friend is not a feller who is taken in by sham.
A friend is one who knows your faults,
But doesn't give a damn

ENDOWMENT
By Frank Stebbing, Stalag Luft III POW

Shall I be lame, because I am imprisoned?
Shall I be blind, for bars that split the sun?
Shall I be deaf, because my ear is pinioned?
Shall I be mute, for music's that are done?

My eyes are fuller, if feet are captive.
My ear is richer in the silent hour.
And strange new senses rise above my shackles.
And suffering bestows a monstrous power.

When I was in the world, I saw no people.
When I was in the garden, smelled no rose.
I listened to the strings and heard no music.
I kissed warm lips - and yet my own were froze.

I saw the sky but saw not the Eternal.
I sniffed the bloom but did not smell the seed.
I harked to music, hearing no Jehovah.
I felt my wealth, but did not feel my greed.

Now I am banished from the chant of color
And exiled from the scent of laughing rime
But suddenly, I see and hear beyond me,
Life's beauty, rising up for the first time.

His son Bary F. Stebbing probably has the poems that he wrote. If he sends you a copy I would like to have a copy sent to me.
restebbing@gmail.com

Franklin Paul Stebbing

ronniewester — 2009-06-11 20:20:20Z

Hello to family of Franklin Paul Stebbing!
I have not had any responses and sooo want to hear from any of Frank's descendants. Hope to hear from you.
Ronnie

Franklin Paul Stebbing

ronniewester — 2009-03-18 14:09:10Z

I am very interested in hearing from Stebbing family members from the Baltimore area where my father lived.

Re: Franklin Paul Stebbing

ronniewester — 2008-12-08 18:27:01Z

Hello,
I just came upon this posting. This is the same Franklin Paul Stebbing, my father. I would love to hear from you!
Ronnie

Re: Charles James Stebbing- England & Australia

whitewave4 — 2008-06-19 10:13:22Z

Hi Annie
Charles James Stebbing is my great great grandfather. I have recently started tracing my family history and would love any info you have.

Many thanks
Jennie

Re: Charles James Stebbing- England & Australia

David_Fancy — 2008-05-25 03:06:14Z

Hi Annie

Thanks for the reply.

Please reply to geniusone@shaw.ca.

I would appreciate any information you would care to share.

Charles James'uncle Thomas Stebbing b:21 Dec 1811, married
Mary Anne Fancy b: abt 1816, at Hackney on 25 May 1837

Regards
David

Re: Charles James Stebbing- England & Australia

champagne_77 — 2008-05-25 00:24:41Z

Yes I have a heap of information on Charles James Stebbing who was my great great grandfather's brother,.
Would be happy to share it with you.
Kind regards,
Annie Pain-Davis

Re: edith jane stebbing

judymc229 — 2008-05-02 02:00:28Z

Hi

I have an Edith J Stebbing who was born in Halifax, Nova Scotia abt 1873 in my tree. She married Joseph Pearson, seaman, in 1890 in Hull, E Yorks, Eng. They move around but stayed local to the Grimsby area. They had at least three children, Edith, Joseph and Walter.

I have at least two postcards written by Edith. One to Walter whilst he was visiting his great aunt in Yorkshire.

Re: Franklin Paul Stebbing

randystebbing1 — 2008-02-24 15:29:31Z

What are the birth and death deaths dates for the Franklin Paul Stebbing that you are related to? The individual that I have in my records is the son of John Noel Stebbing(1878-1953) and Viola May Mercer (1883-1962).

Franklin Paul Stebbing (2 Mar 1907-31 Oct 1978)

--Randy Stebbing

Franklin Paul Stebbing

ronniewester — 2007-12-26 22:21:16Z

I am a daughter of his and would like to obtain information from his living descendants about him and maybe obtain some pictures as the only ones I have of him are from 1946.

Franklin Paul Stebbing descendants

ronniewester — 2007-12-26 19:10:55Z

I am a daughter of his and am interested in contacting descendants & learning about the fathger I never knew.

Re: Stebbing in Essex

gregstebbing_1 — 2007-05-18 06:09:26Z

Ruth
What imformation are you looking for if you give me dates and names I will see what I have
greg

Re: Stebbing in Essex

gregstebbing_1 — 2007-05-18 06:09:26Z

Ruth
Sorry it has taken so long to get back to you have looked at all the records of Essex and Suffolk and I can find nothing that can help you but will keep a eye out as I have a lot more looking to do .
Good luck .
Greg

Charles James Stebbing- England & Australia

David_Fancy — 2006-11-16 17:02:30Z

Son of Charles Jubilee Stebbing and Elizabeth Wilson, born abt Nov 1834 England

Married Rachel Ellen Colvill 4 Dec 1859 Bromley, St Leonard, Middlesex.

One known child Charles James Stebbing b:13 Oct 1860, Poplar

Appears to have emigrated to Australia after 1861 [Census]

Pedigree resource file has his death as 2 Nov 1914 Brighton, Victoria.

May have married a second time in 1876 to Elizabeth Thomas b: New Zealand

Looking for any connections to Stebbing

Re: Stebbing in Essex

2006-06-28 07:47:14Z

Hi Greg,
I have a Robert Russell, farmer, born in 1786, who married Elizabeth, born in1810 in Letton, Norfolk. Their children, Henry, born in 1831, John, born in 1833, Robert, born in 1834, Alfred, born in 1837 and Elizabeth, born in 1839 all had Stebbing as a middle name. They were all born in Guist, Norfolk, which is presumably where Robert farmed. John moved to London, and that is the line that leads down to me. They kept the Stebbing family name up to my mother. I need to know whether it was Elizabeth, or Roberts mother who was a Stebbing. And if possible, how much further I have to go back to get the connection to Essex.
I have found an Edward Winearls Stebbing who was farming in Letton in 1845, and the Cranworth with Letton Baptismal register have Stebbing listed. However the 1841 Guist census has a Russell family who are all the wrong ages to be my Robert Russell. So I'm stuck. If you can shed any light, I would be grateful.
Yours hopefully, Ruth

Stebbing in Essex

Ruth_aw45 — 2006-06-26 08:11:35Z

PS.
Sorry, got the counties the wrong way round. My line goes back to Norfolk, and I need the connection back to Essex. Too early in the morning for me!

Re: STEBBING ESSEX

Ruth_aw45 — 2006-06-26 08:06:23Z

Stebbing in Essex

Ruth_aw45 — 2006-06-26 08:02:42Z

Hi! I am trying to research the branch of the Stebbing family that leads back to the Guist/Letton/Shipdham area of Essex. Stebbing was a family name that was in use up to my mother. The furthest back I have so far is John Stebbing Russell, my great-great grandfather, born in 1833 and his siblings Henry (1820), Robert (1834), Alfred (1837) and Elizabeth (1839). Their parents were Robert and Elizabeth Russell, born 1786 and 1810 respectively. But I don't know which side of the family carried the Stebbing name, or how much further back I need to look to get the connection to Norfolk. Any ideas anyone?

Re: Frank Stebbing

leaves8 — 2005-07-13 16:18:54Z

Is this Frank Stebbing from Maryland? I have a grandfather whose brother Frank was a prisoner in ww2. I don't know very much about him, but I do know he used to write stuff while in the prison camps.--Evelyn

Frank Stebbing

2005-02-22 20:40:51Z

Seeking information on Frank Stebbing a WW2 POW spending time in Stalags 3,5,7, A and B capture date sometime in 1943, possibly. Liberated in 1945. Frank wrote poems that were copied onto drawings done on Handkerchiefs by Ed Laporta

Charles C. STIBBENS of Maryland and Texas, 14 May 1810-1 April 1879

BrendaKellow62 — 2004-08-20 15:21:44Z

Re: Stebbing one-name study

2004-04-06 20:15:13Z

Would you have any information on " R. Stebbing " a painter living in Burnham on Crouch. My family have one of his paintings of a Thames Barge and would love to know more about his history. This would be about 50 years ago approx.Thankyou. S. Thomas.

Stebbing/Hogg - Victoria, Australia

2002-11-26 04:34:21Z

Searching for descendants of Alice Stebbing and Harry Hogg - Victoria, Australia. Love to hear from you!
best wishes
Robyn

Stebbings of London, England - 1800s

2002-11-26 04:29:51Z

My husband's grandmother was Caroline Sarah Stebbing, born 1879 in London and married Edward Charles Burrows. Her siblings were Louise, Charlotte, Alice John, Maud, Minnie, Albert, and Ethel.

Caroline's father was Frederick Alfred Stebbing, born 1859 Mile End Old Town, London, and her mother was Louisa Blackmur b. 1858. His siblings were Edward, Richard, John, Eliza, Elizabeth, Mary Ann and Emma.

Frederick's father was Edward Stebbing, who married Sarah Hunt. I believe Edward's parents were John Stebbing and Sarah.

I would be interested in sharing info with anyone researching this line.
best wishes
Robyn Burrows

STEBBING ESSEX

gregstebbing — 2002-05-05 08:39:15Z

HAVE TRACED STEBBING BACK TO SIBLE HEDINGHAM IN 1702 ANYONE ELSE KNOW OF ARE AROUND THERE ATE THIS TIME OR BEFORE WOULD LIKE TO HEAR FROM YOU GREG

Stebbing one-name study

2000-12-16 12:38:46Z

For anyone interested in Stebbing(s) research. I have a new web-site at www.stebbing.org.uk devoted to my Stebbing one-name study. It's early days yet but I have hundreds of names and bits of info in databases and on paper and am in touch with quite a number of other Stebbing researchers. I also live very near to the village of Stebbing in Essex. Please feel free to contact me for help or with any info I can add to the database. Many thanks.
email andrew@stebbing.org.uk

Stebbing one-name study

2000-12-16 12:37:51Z

Re: Australian Stebbing's

2000-12-02 13:22:36Z

Dear Noel,

I had no idea that there were Stebbing's in Australia. I would love to find out if any of our links match, as I am from New Zealand and there is probably a good chance there is a match there. I am also trying to study the English tree, but I am having great difficulty with it. My email address is astebbing@myfamily.com if you could send me your address I can forward some of my info. to you.

Many thanks,
Andrea.

stebbing family Australia.

2000-11-15 02:32:39Z

Have history of my Stebbing family in Australia.searching for English Ancestors.All help appreciated.

stebbing family tree

2000-05-29 21:06:35Z

My husband's grandmother was Caroline Sarah Stebbing, born 1879 in London. Her siblings were John, Louise, Albert, Alice and Ethel. Caroline's father was Frederick Alfred Stebbing, born c. 1860 London, and her mother was Louisa Blackmur(or perhaps Blackmore). Frederick's father was Edward Stebbing, who married Sunt. I would be interested in sharing info with anyone researching this line. Contact Robyn at robynlb@dingoblue.net.au

edith jane stebbing

2000-04-28 10:57:54Z

i wish to trace edith jane stebbing who lived in nova scotia in the 18oos she married a seaman and emigrated to grimsby england .i want to know where she was born and married.i think it would have been in the 1870s

stebbing family tree

2000-03-16 17:27:24Z

Hi, my name is Andrea. I'm 18 years old and I live in Auckland, New Zealand. I became interested in the family tree about 3 years ago, just before my grandfather (Philip Stebbing) passed away. There seem to be alot of American Stebbing's, but I don't know if I am linked to them. I have a little bit of information about the village of Stebbing in England, and I am currently in touch with a Stebbing in Canada who has visited the village. If I could get your email address I would be most grateful and I could send you what I have on my side of the family tree so far. My email is: astebbing@myfamily.com

Thanks for replying,
Andrea.

Stebbing Family Tree

2000-03-14 12:05:44Z

Re Andrea's request, I am currently studying
the Stebbing family tree and would be interested
in sharing any information I have.

STEBBING FAMILY TREE

2000-03-13 14:35:18Z

If you are currently studying the Stebbing tree, or are interested in getting started, or helping out with it, could you please contact me. Any information you are able to share would be very helpful.