Camilla D Anderson

Camilla Cromwell Anderson, 76, of Indiana, is Eva’s granddaughter. Her father was Oliver Eaton Cromwell, Eva’s oldest son.

“When my father moved to Stotesbury with Eva he had just graduated Princeton and gave her away at her wedding to Ed,” she recalls. “I lived with my mother in New York, but used to visit “gaga”, as we called grandmother Eva, on holidays. She was a grand lady. I had a birthday party there and invited my classmates; we went downstairs to the cinema room for entertainment. I fondly remember the butlers - George Burgin and Henry Fussey. I slept on the top floor, with its many little rooms. On the left side of the long hallway were Currier and Ives horse prints. Part of the floor was for the servants. Elena Santa Maria, the housekeeper and general manager, had a fancy office and bedroom up there. Ed owned show horses, but gave them up after he married Eva, and had a closet filled with red and blue ribbons, never yellow or white.

“I used to run through the halls and was scared of the loud sounds from the grandfather clock on the second floor. I wasn’t allowed on the main floor unless there was a party. Our lunch was served on family trays downstairs in one of the loggias. When I started attending parties at age sixteen, “gaga” lent me a beautiful chinchilla coat, but mother thought it inappropriate and sent it back.”

Anderson’s memories flow as if it were yesterday.

“Someone named Monica looked after me because a young child couldn’t roam around a mansion. We took walks and played hide and seek on the top floor or outside behind the balustrades. I removed my shoes and socks and paddled in the fountains, a naughty thing to do then. The gardeners weren’t happy with us traipsing around in the gravel because footprints weren’t allowed –the stones had to be raked. A telephone exchange room was on the main floor under the massive steps. The telephone lady let me push wires in the board. I also visited the carpenter shop and the laundry house on top of the hill, to watch them iron. A swimming pool was near the guard house on Paper Mill Rd., but I never saw one inside. I always wanted to slide down the main banisters, but they wouldn’t let me! My step-grandfather, Ed, was a nice, old gentleman. He carried a cane, was always formally dressed and acted formal, even with children. I’d stand in front of him and say ‘how do you do’, because that’s what little kids did in those days. Eva was very warm.”

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