Published March 16. 2021 5:33PM
How appropriate that the story of Sarah Bramble has generated renewed interest in her plight, and I appreciate that John Steward has delved further into Sarah s story, More about sad story of Sarah Bramble, (Feb. 16). The questionable voices that the primary sources represent, however, cause me to wonder if the truth about Sarah s controversial crime and subsequent punishment will ever be told. A refrain from the musical Hamilton keeps playing in my head: Who lives, who dies, who tells your story .
Mary White
Improperly stored human remains lead to arrest of Lake County coroner themountainmail.com - get the latest breaking news, showbiz & celebrity photos, sport news & rumours, viral videos and top stories from themountainmail.com Daily Mail and Mail on Sunday newspapers.
Published February 15. 2021 5:26PM
Living in Quaker Hill, I travel Gallows Lane often − biking, walking, driving. John Steward s recent article correctly captures the eerie aura about the place, “Tossing Lines: The spirit of Gallows Lane,” (Feb. 11). The story of Sarah Bramble, though, eclipses the story of New London s favorite execution spot. Sarah represents the millions of women who have found themselves in a similar situation − pregnant, married, or unmarried, not seeing a way forward in bringing the child into the world and providing for it. Killing her baby was horrific, but you might ask what choice did she have? There is no mention of the father. Let’s face it, everyone knows who the mother is, but it is only recently that the identification of the father could be reliably ascertained.
The Day - More about sad story of Sarah Bramble - News from southeastern Connecticut theday.com - get the latest breaking news, showbiz & celebrity photos, sport news & rumours, viral videos and top stories from theday.com Daily Mail and Mail on Sunday newspapers.
Published February 11. 2021 2:07PM
John Steward, Special to The Times
In my tenacious quest to defy the onslaught of age, I often bicycle throughout southeastern Connecticut. Sometimes I head to Connecticut College for a therapeutic rendezvous with youth.
However, in order to reach such enlightenment, I must travel the spookily named Gallows Lane off Bloomingdale Road in Waterford. Gallows Lane has an aura, due either to its name, its ghostly emptiness, or my imagination. The clicking of my bicycle’s drive train, normally dim, suddenly seems intrusively loud in the strange stillness.
I’ve pedaled it many times, sensing the eery chill of a dark past, fighting the urge to change gears and flee. I unavoidably consider the origin of its name every time.