Roses on My Shoulders and Other Memories
by Marjorie Bruce Wilkinson

"Roses on my shoulders,
slippers on my feet,
I'm my aunt's or uncle's darling.
Don't you think I'm sweet?"

Permission for use granted by Jean Wilkinson Richardson Wales.
 

Marjorie Bruce Wilkinson

Marjorie Bruce Wilkinson was born 15 May 1911. Her parents, James Arthur Bruce (20 Jul 1878-6 Apr 1944) and Lorena May Nolte Bruce (21 Mar 1883-4 Jan 1906) were married Jan. 4, 1906 in Matagorda, Texas.  James' parents were Charles David Bruce (son of David T. Bruce and Elizabeth Smalley Burnett) and Margaret Jane Yeamans Bruce daughter of Horace Yeamans and Eliza Baxter Yeamans. Lorena's parents were Carl Nolte (son of Joseph Nolte and Christina Berghard Nolte) and Hannah Elizabeth Sterry Nolte (daughter of James Sterry and Nancy Wright Sterling Sterry). (Family histories for these families can be found in Historic Matagorda County, Volume II.) Marjorie was a sixth generation descendant of the first settlers of Matagorda County. Her family moved to Bay City when she was seven years old, and she was educated in the local schools. In 1932 she received a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English from Southwest Texas State Teacher's College in San Marcos. After teaching private lessons for a year, she married Walter W. Wilkinson, Jr. in 1933. They were the parents of two daughters, Jean and Helen.

Mrs. Wilkinson devoted herself to her family and the activities of her daughters as they were growing up. She was a life-long Episcopalian, and long-time valued member of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle. In her later years she began to write these stories of her early memories. After her death in 1989, her daughter Number One, Jean, carried out her wishes by preparing them for publication for her descendants, and as a lasting memorial to her.

 

Preface

This little collection of tales from long ago was written as I recall them with laughter and some tears, and they are for my children, my grandchildren, great grandchildren, and for all descendants yet to come in our family, because the past will soon be forgotten if not preserved between the pages of books.--Marjorie Bruce Wilkinson
 

The Day I Saw The Fairies

When I was a little girl, we always had many books to read, and we were "read to" often. I loved to have stories read in me about fairies, not elves, nor gnomes, nor pixies, but beautiful little fairies.

You see, we were fortunate in that a lovely school teacher aunt lived with us for years, who taught us many things; and she, like Mama, thought we should read alot.

While Daddy was busy trying to teach us to ride horses, Mama and this dear aunt were wise enough to know that if they instilled in us as children a love of good books, we would enjoy reading long after we no longer rode horses. And so it was that I was interested in reading about fairies when I was quite a little girl.

I always pictured fairies, (and I had quite an imagintion!), as being dainty little creatures with sweet, pretty faces, not over two feet high, who wore gauzy garments of pale pastels (or white), and who moved about mysteriously, somewhat like the angels did. Of course, they were always girl fairies.

On summer days in that little town our family would often sit outside in the afternoons on the large vine shaded porch, in the swing, or in easy chairs, to catch the summer breeze.

The day I saw the fairies it was late afternoon, about twilight. We had supper and all the family was inside doing dishes or otherwise occupied, except me. I was sitting on the front steps, watching a mother mockingbird who had a family in the big orange tree not far from the house. She was bringing morsels of food to her baby birds, but we all had watched her earlier, and I soon lost interest and looked away.

It was one of those beautiful times when the sun is setting and the whole world is bathed in a lovely pinkish light – you hope it will last forever.

I looked, about that time in this lovely pinkish light, to the corner of our lawn, and there, dancing around a big oleander bush, I saw the fairies!

They were just as I had imagined - dainty little creatures with pretty faces, wearing pastel garments that flowed from them. They held hands and danced around the oleander bush. There was a mist about them, a little like a fog. I sat there watching them until they arose and disappeared over our fence -- just floated away.

I couldn't move at first, I was so caught up in the wonder of it all, and then I ran into the house.

When I told the family what I had seen, nobody laughed or doubted my word. I have a nice family.

I talked excitedly about the fairies until bedtime, and when I went to bed that night, I must have been the happiest child in town.
 

My Grandmothers

Grandma Bruce's hair turned "snow white" at an early age, but her blue eyes and lovely complexion made her most attractive. She was the neatest lady I ever saw--always her dresses were freshly starched, and she wore a sheer "pinafore type" apron. When I sat on her lap, she smelled of good soap and cologne. She had a fireplace in her bedroom and a big four poster bed, and in this room she spent most of her time.

She was most interested in my progress in school, especially reading, and she wanted to know what I was learning. When I had a loose tooth she would pull it, and she always reminded me to take good care of my teeth. She died in her sixties without a cavity.

Grandma Bruce's dining room was very big and there was a china cabinet filled with beautiful china and glassware. Her tablecloths were always white and beautifully starched, and sumptuous meals were served by her Negro cook who often stood behind the table with a fly swatter as we ate.

My grandmothers lived only a block apart, and occasionally Grandma Bruce would have someone wheel her over to visit Grandma Nolte. Grandma Nolte admonished all of the family to keep a sharp watch on the gate, which was a considerable distance from the house; so that they could warn her if "Mag" Bruce was coming, in which case she would hastily don a clean gingham dress, because as she said, "Mag Bruce always looked as though she just stepped out of a band box."

I can see them now in my memory having a friendly visit, and I believe I even know what each thought of the other. Grandma Nolte would be thinking how "Mag" Bruce managed to do so much church work from her wheel chair, and her admiration was great. Grandma Bruce would be wondering how in the world Hannah Nolte got all that preserving, cooking, sewing, and cleaning done for such a big family and how every day of her life she found time to give of herself and her abundance to others around her.
 

Lightning Strike

It was cloudy and overcast the morning Daddy left from his home in our little town for our ranch some twenty miles distant. In the one seated buggy with him was a Mexican man, who said he needed work and was a good cotton picker. Daddy needed pickers.

About ten miles from home, the rain came down in sheets. It started to thunder and lightning in earnest, and the Mexican man looked very scared. Daddy urged the horses on thinking they might be able to make it to some barn and stop there until the worst was over.

The rain soon came down in such sheets and torrents Daddy could hardly see the horses, but he knew they were nervous because of the thunder and lightning, and he let them go as fast as they pleased. The Mexican man was hanging on for dear life, probably saying his prayers. There was no travel on this road now. Most sensible folks knew enough to stay in in such a rainstorm, but there was nothing Daddy could do. He was unable to see any place where he could take refuge.

Finally, there was as a terrific clap of thunder that must have shaken the homes to the rafters in that vicinity, followed by a flash of lightning that struck and killed the Mexican man instantly.

Daddy was not aware of what happened. He was knocked unconscious when the Mexican man was hit. The horses ran away and kept going until they finally reached a ranch where Daddy often stopped by to see a friend.

Daddy's friend happened to be looking out of the window and saw the buggy and what happened. He was taken into the house and taken care of until he was well enough to go home. The Mexican man was covered with a sheet.

Years later, one of the daughters of Daddy's friend, told me that the day Daddy and the Mexican appeared, she and her sister were warned not to look at the Mexican under the sheet, but they disobeyed.

She said they were sorry afterwards.
 

The Pink Birthday Cake

They were a family of four children, two boys and two girls, whose father died when they were quite young; and whose good little Christian mother brought them up to the best of her knowledge. She taught them what was right and good and instilled an incentive to work in them. She worked hard and always kept her home, herself, and the children clean.

There was always Sunday School and church every Sunday, a time for the study of school lessons, and chores for everyone. And the boys and girls grew up to be fine adults. The little mother lived to be over one hundred years old. She had had a full life. A life in which her children loved and cared for her and friends who loved her. Just before she died, when she was in a coma, she talked about a lady whom she had loved and known long ago, and who was always concerned about her and her children.

This lady happened to be my grandmother, and it was one of the joys of her life to visit the little family, taking with her vegetables from Grandpa's big garden, maybe "tea cookies" she made for the children, and underwear she had made for them from flour sacks that had been bleached and washed. Always she and the little mother enjoyed visiting. They both loved children, and were the best of friends.

Once when Grandmother visited the family, all were anticipating a birthday of one of the girls, Lila, which would be in a few days. They talked excitedly about the expected birthday cake. Grandmother asked if she might bake the birthday cake, and they all said that was fine.

When the birthday arrived, Grandmother covered the birthday cake carefully with tissue paper, and took it over to the little family. From her apron pocket she produced the same number of candles as the little girl's birthday. We children were sent out of the room while Grandmother and the little mother prepared the refreshment table with the birthday cake in the center of the table. Then the children were called in.

Grandmother watched little Lila's face as she saw a pink birthday cake with its pink candles burning, and she said she never saw a child with such a happy look. Never before had she seen pink icing on a cake. She thought it was the most beautiful cake she had ever seen. Many times she thanked Grandmother for her beautiful pink cake.

Not long ago, Lila, who recently moved to my home town, now a lady of three score years, met me and told me the story of the pink birthday cake. She said she will never forget that beautiful cake, nor my Grandmother.
 

New Baby Sister

For seven years I had been the youngest, or baby, if you will, of the family, and now things were going to change in our lives.

That year, between the time I was seven and eight, we moved to a larger town near the ranch, which would be more convenient for Daddy traveling back and forth. Mama also thought we children would have better educational advantages in a larger school.

A couple of months after we got settled comfortably in our nice two story home across the street from the school, which then contained all the grades one through eleven, my baby sister was born.

I heard the grownups talking about the possibility of a baby sister or brother, and some of them were thoughtless enough to say to me, "Now you aren't going to be the baby anymore, and your nose is going to be out-of-joint!" Of course, Mama and Daddy and my favorite aunt never said that.

I was not sure what they meant exactly, but for a long time I would slip in the bedroom and look in the mirror at my nose to see if it were any different. Of course it was just an expression nobody uses anymore, meaning "nobody will notice you anymore" or something like that.

Anyway, the time finally arrived for the new baby to be born and was born upstairs with our family doctor and a nurse. A Registered Nurse had agreed to stay with mother a month after the baby came. Well, they sent me and my older sister to my aunt's home on the edge of town, and we played with our cousins there. At last, somebody called and said we had a new baby sister!

When we went home the house seemed like a hospital. The nurse, Miss Tripp, was grouchy, stern, and particular. She seemed to think we had germs all over us and they would jump on the baby. My baby sister was pretty, with large dark eyes and lots of dark hair; but we children hardly ever got to see her with that cranky nurse guarding the door.

One day I was out walking around a few blocks from home and stopped and talked to some kids on their lawn whom I thought were interesting. I told them about my baby sister, and they said they surely would like to see her. I told them I'd figure out some way.

I knew Miss Trlpp took a nap and snored every day after lunch, and I planned to slip the children in while she was asleep.

We slipped up the stairs. They were barefoot, dirty, and smelled a little (I bet they had germs), but I thought they were smart, interesting kids. Their daddy was a school teacher. I made them wait until I checked, and sure enough, Miss Tripp was snoring away, so we slipped into mother’s room.

We hung over the baby’s bed and got a good look at little sister, but she was asleep. Mama was awake and motioned to me to be quiet and winked at me. Then we slipped back down the stairs. Little sister never did awaken.

I came back upstairs alone, went over to the bed and patted Mama’s hand, and she asked, “Are the kids gone?” and I said “Yes,” and she winked at me. About that time Miss Tripp came in and told me to go outside and play, and I smiled at Mama and she smiled to me, because we had a secret. We had fooled Miss Tripp.

I really didn’t think my nose was out of joint.
 

Janie

About the year 1919 there was a big "dry spell" in the northern part of our big state that lasted for a couple of years. This drought caused many a farm family to migrate south looking for work. They had lost their land, their homes, and their prospects in that land. All they had now was a will to work and survive.

We saw many of these families along the road drifting south as we drove to our ranch. Their cars and trucks piled high with household goods and children everywhere. On the front seat would be a sad looking man and woman.

My daddy had a heart of gold, and when this family stopped at the ranch asking for work, he couldn't refuse them, although he couldn't pay them much, as he told the man. Times were getting hard for cattlemen now, and Daddy was trying to sell some before the "bottom dropped out", as the grown ups said.

The man said he expected very little pay, he and his family would pick cotton that summer, gather pecans in the fall, and he would like to grow a little garden, if that was o.k. with Daddy. Daddy said "Fine, go right ahead". The man said they would leave after pecan harvest.

The family consisted of, besides the parents, two teen age girls, two boys just under their age, and a little girl seven or eight. They were clean and neat, and had brought a couple of tents which Daddy let them pitch close to the water well for convenience. There were big oak trees near, and the little girl was soon swinging happily on a grapevine swing.

After a few days, Daddy came into town and asked Mama if she could use a little help around the house. She really couldn't. She had a cook, but what did he have in mind? He said the transient family mother had asked if it were possible to find jobs in town taking care of children for the older girls, no pay, only board and room. Daddy said they were nice and polite. Mama took one of the girls and asked a lady from our Church to take the other. Mama always paid her girl a small salary every week, which was carefully saved.

That was how we got Janie, a nurse for my little sister who was not yet a year old; and Janie turned out just fine.

Janie had light blue eyes that grew big with astonishment when she saw something she had never seen before, like a live crab or the inside of our beautiful little Episcopal Church. She had light brown hair that she wore in a bun, and it curled a little around her face In damp weather. Her skin was very fair, and she was not very tall. I think she was Irish - she had a funny accent. We children liked to hear her talk and say "Oh Lord" when she was excited.

Janie took my baby sister for rides in the baby buggy all around that end of town, smiling and speaking to people as they passed. She read stories to us after the baby had gone to sleep, and if we were going to Grandma's, which was about twenty-five miles away, Janie went along to hold the baby while Mama drove. She kept the baby clean, taught her to eat with a spoon, and expected all of us to behave ourselves. You could tell from the way she handled the baby how she loved babies.

Janie "filled out" at our house and became quite a nice looking young lady, and the boys began to come to court. She made friends among the girls who worked, and when she was eighteen, she started going out on double dates. Daddy or Mama had to always know with whom she was going. They knew almost everyone in town, and thought a nice girl like Janie should be careful, as indeed she was. Janie was the innocent, naive type as far as boys were concerned.

Once when a fellow came to the door quite drunk and talked to Janie, trying to get her to go out and finally grabbed her. Daddy happened by, and when he saw what was going on, he sent Janie into the house. Then he gave that boy some well chosen words, and a push from the rear, telling him never to come by there for Janie again. Boy, was Daddy angry!

Janie stayed with us until the depression was getting to us pretty badly, too. She had met and was dating a very nice young fellow named Tom from a little town near by. Before Mama had the heart to tell her we couldn't afford to keep her, she told Mama shyly that she and Tom were getting married. She had saved the fare back to a farm where her parents now were living, would go there and Tom would come later to marry her in her parent's parlor. Mama wished her well, and gave her some lovely linens with her initials on them for a wedding present. We all cried when we told Janie good-bye.

Janie and her husband settled about two hundred miles from us where he worked for a big company. They brought up a family of five children. Janie wrote Mama regularly, and always the news was cheerful and once she came to see us.

Janie always said the days in our home were happy ones for her, and I'm sure they were for us because of Janie.
 

Mama's Model T Lesson

In the days of the Model T Ford, sometime about 1918, we owned two touring cars just alike. Daddy's was used daily to go back and forth to the ranch which was thirteen miles from town, and the back end of his Ford contained an amazing amount of cargo.

He carried with him barbed wire, wire cutters, spurs, chains, saddles, a bootjack, liniment, all kinds of tools, and quite often he put a weak baby calf in the back of the car when he was on a cow drive and the little thing was too weak to walk.

Mama had a new Model T, but nobody ever took the time to show her how to drive it. Being a lady of determination, Mama figured she could drive if necessary, and that's just how she learned.

Once Daddy was en route to the ranch and had to pick up some feed on the way. Well, the feed had not arrived at the store; so he told Mama in a couple of days to go by the feed store, pick up the feed and bring it to the ranch. Mama agreed to do this. It didn't seem to occur to either of them that Mama didn't know how to drive.

I must have been about nine years old at the time, and I volunteered to go along and open gates for Mama. Mama said I was the only one who could go with her.

Mama backed out of the garage pretty fast to the astonishment of the neighbors, but then she got to going okay, and by the time we got to the feed store, she thought she was doing fine, and she looked pretty happy.

We got out on a country road and it was just a breeze for Mama. Then she said there wasn't anything to driving and she pulled the throttle down and went pretty fast; but it didn't really matter because there was practically no traffic except an occasional wagon, and traffic cops were unheard of.  Mama seemed to be having fun. I kept eyeing her and she had a little smile on her face. Boy did the dust fly!

Finally we got to the big gate leading to the ranch, and Mama had sense enough to slow down. This entrance was the kind that would swing in the middle and open if you bumped it, you wouldn't have to stop the car or get out. Mama played it cool and went through Just slowly enough to open the gate with a gentle bump of the car. Once inside the gate, we still had a mile ride to the ranch house.

Finally we got in the pasture just in front of the ranch house, and Mama’s face fell. She said she didn’t know how to stop! She just kept driving around and around that pasture until Daddy came up on horseback; got as close as he could, and hollered at her to turn the ignition off. We got out of the Model T to let it cool before the return trip.

Daddy told Mama he knew all the time she could do it, and she said she never doubted it, and that was that!

That Model T got lots of service after that. Mama would drive almost anywhere, and if there happened to be car trouble, some kind hearted farmer would fix it for her and off she’d go.

Mama enjoyed her Model T.
 

The Teacher, or School Days

The year of the move to the smaller house was the best school year the Girl had ever had. She had a teacher named Miss Monroe, who was kind and patient and knew just the right words of encouragement.

The Girl was most attentive to Miss Monroe's teaching all day; it was a joy just to look at her, and she learned alot that year, not all of it in books. Miss Monroe surprised her once by writing her mother a note saying the Girl was a fine attentive student, and she would love for her to come visit the class. She said it was a pleasure to teach the girl.

 Toward the end of the school year, Miss Monroe and the class planned a program to which the mothers would be invited. The girl's mother accepted the invitation gladly.

The children of the class had been studying American poetry, and were allowed to choose a poem to learn and recite for the program. The Girl chose one from a large book of poetry she found at home. It had a very funny story to tell, and the other children clapped loudly for her in the practice session.

All that year, the school children had worn hand-me-downs to school, or last year's dresses and clothing which had seen alot of wear. The Girl was fortunate because her mother sewed well, and she "made over" many dresses for her from beautiful dresses the aunts provided. She and her sisters always looked well dressed, because their mother knew good styling and bought good patterns.

For a long time, a special aunt had been knitting for the Girl a lavender sweater, and had bought a piece of lavender plaid wool for mother to make a pleated skirt. The Girl was quite excited over the prospect of something really new, she could hardly wait!

As you may have guessed, the aunt brought the sweater all finished before the school program and the Girl's mother made the pleated skirt, so that she could wear it on the day of the program.

There was lots of excitement the day of Miss Monroe's class program. The children brought flowers from home for the desk, and they cleaned the desks and blackboards and threw away every speck of scrap paper, and finally everything looked fine.

Some of the bigger boys got a bit restless and threw a few spitballs, for which they had to stand in the hall for fifteen minutes. One boy was about to dip a little girl's braids into his ink well, but Miss Monroe caught him just in time.

Miss Monroe let everyone who felt a little unsure about knowing their poem practice again, but the Girl said she didn't need to.

Finally, the mothers arrived, and Miss Monroe greeted them warmly. The Girl liked to watch Miss Monroe as she talked. She had lovely olive skin, big blue eyes, and brown hair, and a beautiful speaking voice.

Miss Monroe called on some of the slower pupils to give their poems first, maybe she thought they might forget them if they were left until last.

At last, it was the Girl's turn. She was so proud of her lavender sweater and skirt, she had a big grin on her face as she went to the front of the room. Then she said her poem, speaking the words clearly as Miss Monroe had taught her, and everyone laughed at the funny part.

Soon all the children had finished, the refreshments were eaten, and it was time to go home. How strange to walk home with Mama! What a good day this had been!
 

Moving Day

The Girl got up early the morning the family moved to another home. She loved this place and she wanted to take a last look at everything.

Quickly and quietly she put on a cotton play dress and sandals, and tip-toed down the stairs, down the hall and out into the back yard and then the barn. The sun was just coming up, and she loved to watch the sunrise, and wanted to get up in the bam loft where she could see all around.

She slipped past the cow In the barnyard without incident (once the cow had chased her and in her haste to climb the fence, she fell and scratched a big gash on her thigh), then she climbed the ladder to the hay-loft where the sweet smelling hay was kept to feed her horse when he was in town, and to feed the cow.

The Girl and her little friends had spent many hours playing in the old barn loft, where they had meetings of their secret club. They had plays in the barn and invited the grown-ups for an audience, and once they decorated it for a Spook House at Halloween.

Now the sun was really getting bright, and the Girl pulled a bale of hay close to the open loft door so she could sit on it and watch the pink sky. She sat there a long time, reluctant to leave because it was one of her favorite places. Sometimes she brought a book and read by the loft door. She loved the smell of the barn - the hay, and the saddles hanging in the little room below.

Finally she slipped past the cow, and back into the yard. This time there was activity in the kitchen and she knew her mother was up; so she went through the kitchen and said "good morning" and noted how her usually cheerful mother looked rather unhappy. Maybe she dreaded this move just as she did.

Now, she decided to take a last look at the little servant’s house where Jennie, the Negro woman who worked for the family, had lived. Jennie had moved and it was empty except for an iron bed, dresser, table, mirror, and rag rug. It looked neat and clean just as Jennie had always kept it. She and Jennie were friends. Jennie had often invited her in and told her stories about how it was when she was a little girl. It seemed strange for Jennie not to be there.

On the west side of the two story house was a big gnarled mulberry tree which was easy to climb. From here you could get on the side upstairs porch and then into the west bedrooms. She climbed this tree then, for the last time, slowly and looking all around, and then got on the porch, and went into the bedroom and down the hall. On the stairway, at the turning place, there was a small pretty stained glass window she liked to sit and look at. From this spot you could see upstairs and downstairs at the same time, and here it was she had waited when her youngest sister was born, as the doctor, nurse, and aunts bustled about.

She sat there for awhile, another very special place in this house.

Now, she went into the kitchen to have breakfast with Mother, Daddy, older sister, and two younger sisters. Most of the packing had been done before, so that little remained today. Finally they got started and arrived at their new home.

Even the first day the Girl missed the old house and old bam. At the new place there was no upstairs - no barns, her father would have to build a shed for the cow. The old house had five big bedrooms; this one had three small bedrooms. She wondered what caused her parents to make the move.

That night, after the Girl went to bed, she heard the grown-ups talking. One of the aunts had come to visit. They were saying that Daddy had a series of bad luck. They said other men in the county were having the same difficulty - maybe it wouldn't last too long. It was something people in the North had known a long time. They called it a depression.

The Girl cried a little before she went to sleep that night.
 

The Day Our Ford Burned, or Whoa, Whoa, Harry, Stop, Stop!

It was springtime, and the air was sweet with the odor of wild flowers and the grass was a pretty green like the new leaves on the trees. Dewberries were ripe in the fields, and the birds sang happily on fences and in the trees.

Who could resist the out-of-doors on a day like this? Surely Mama couldn't. Since Daddy was at home and we were not in school as it was Saturday; she suggested we go to the ranch for the day, pick dewberries and have a picnic. My youngest sister was then just a few weeks old, but Daddy said if Mama felt up to it we'd go.

Mama told me I could invite a friend to go with us, so I called one who had never gone to the ranch before, and we planned to pick her up en route.

Mama and Jennie Carter, our cook, packed a picnic basket while I pushed baby sister around in her big wicker buggy.

After we arrived at the ranch we went to the very best place to pick dewberries, a big meadow behind the house where Daddy always cut hay and there was a dewberry patch he left undisturbed. After we picked all of the big black berries we wanted, we moved over to the edge of the woods, near the meadow, and there under a huge oak, we spread old quilts for a table and for the baby, who was enjoying the day as much as anyone.

After lunch we rested under the shade of the big tree and Mama and the baby took a little nap while we children found grape vine swings to swing on, which amused us for awhile. Then Daddy asked us if we'd like to ride horseback. Of course we said yes; so we went back to the ranch house for horses.

Back at the ranch, daddy saddled a couple of gentle cow ponies and we started off for a ride. I discovered my friend had only ridden once or twice before, on an old nag, and she was afraid all during the ride of that gentle cow pony. I don't think she was happy until we got back to the house and she dismounted.

Mama had been sitting on the porch holding the baby, enjoying the spring day; and when we decided we had enough riding, she called Daddy to get ready to start for home.

We all got In the Ford, then found out it wouldn't start. Daddy tried everything he knew, even some bad words; but finally, as it was getting dark and he wanted to get Mama and the baby home before night, he rode on horseback to a neighboring ranch and got a friend to come "tow" us back to town, about thirteen miles.

Daddy's friend was a jolly fellow we all liked who wore a handlebar moustache and very big Stetson hat. He always kept the top of his Model T down, must have been a forerunner of the convertible. Soon he and Daddy were back and they tied a rope from his car to ours, and off we went with a jerk!

It was a very windy day and somehow there seemed to be alot of jerking in the ride. We went mighty fast too. Daddy tried to blow his horn to get his friend to slow down, but the horn wasn't working; so he hollered, "Whoa, Harry, Slow Down, Slow Down!" Harry never looked back. Hat blowing in the wind, he went right on.

Finally, when we were about half way home and it was getting quite dark, our car engine caught fire! Daddy shouted and shouted to Harry, "Whoa Harry, Stop, Stop, Stop!" The wind was blowing so hard Harry couldn't hear him. He never looked back. The fire was getting worse. We came to a shallow ditch, and Daddy told us children in the back seat to jump out. We did exactly what he said immediately; and then Mama jumped with the baby in her arms, then Daddy. Thanks to the good Lord, not a one of us was hurt. The rope that was pulling our car burned, and our car rolled into a ditch where it burned on. Only then, missing the towing, I guess, did Harry look back; and of course, he was there in seconds helping us.

After Harry let us out at home. Mama called my friend's mother and told her why we were so late getting home, and assured her that her daughter was alright. She then stayed overnight with us, until her father could pick up in the morning.

After we had our evening meal, we had time to think about what a narrow escape we had, and how lucky we were the car didn’t explode before we jumped out.
 

Horses

The first horse in my memory is Mama's buggy horse, Jack Johnson, named no doubt for the famous fighter, Mama and Daddy were married in 1906, and in those days nobody had automobiles in our little town, so he always provided her with a good buggy horse and buggy, so she could go any place she wanted to, anytime.

We have some snapshots taken of me and Jack Johnson, my sister, and cousin when I was about four years old, taken in our backyard. I have on a pretty white dress, am astride Jack Johnson wearing one of Daddy's Stetson hats, and in another snapshot Jack has the hat on.

Jack Johnson was kept in a pasture adjoining our home which was fenced in with a white picket fence, and occasionally Daddy would stake him in the backyard to eat the grass there. He was a big bay, gentle, and just the right kind of horse for a lady or children.

As I wrote about Jack Johnson, I remembered another "buggy horse" from long ago. I'd especially like to tell you about this one.

One Spring our family was picking dewberries in a big pasture back of the ranch house, when I spied a horse up by the trees I wasn't familiar with. He didn't look at all like Daddy's slick young spirited cow ponies. This one was a big bay horse that looked old and had some bones sticking out. I asked Daddy what horse that was, and he told me. It was my Grandmother Bruce's buggy horse, put out to pasture on the lush grass, and fed too; and Daddy said he wanted me to ride that horse. I asked him why. I never had ridden a horse that looked that old!

Well, Daddy told me, he never in his life had ridden a horse with easier gaits than this one, or one which handled easier. I said I'd try him, and Daddy tied a rope around his neck, and when we went back to the ranch house, he saddled up old "Brownie", as he called the buggy horse, for me.

Daddy was really right! That was the easiest, most comfortable ride I ever had, even trotting the old horse was not rough. I never had such a ride before or since. Daddy said the horse deserved a rest and nobody could ride him anymore; so I wasn't gone long. That ride was something I'll always remember. I think I was the last person to ride old "Brownie".

At our ranch, there were many good horses to ride when I was there in the summer months, or week-ends in the winter. I can remember Daddy having a herd of thirty-five or forty fine looking horses in the big corral next to the barn, and I remember my sitting on the fence with him looking them over. He would point out the good features of each horse, and often he told me to pick any one I wanted for my own; and if it needed a little gentling, he would get Levi, his horse-braker and trainer, to work on it.

Well, that was a hard decision to make. There were lots of fine looking ones; but a horse should be chosen because of his disposition and gaits as well as his looks, I thought. I told Daddy, finally, that my favorite horse on the ranch was Bullet; and there was a problem there.

Bullet was a fine cow pony, coal black, well built and coordinated, a small white star on his face and easy to ride. I always wanted to ride him when we were at the ranch, no matter what horse Daddy offered or suggested.

The problem was this. Bullet was Daddy's "special horse." He had been fond of him ever since he was a colt and he was the best "cow pony" he had. He just couldn't give him up.  Occasionally though, he did bring Bullet into town for a couple of weeks for me to ride, and anytime he didn't just have to have him I could ride him at the ranch. I never did get over my affection for Bullet. He had a world of sense.

I remember a long series of horses daddy brought into town for me to "try out" for my own "special horse." None of them were half as good as Bullet in my opinion, although daddy said some of them had better gaits.

There was Po Boy. Daddy thought he was a fine horse, good gaits and a good cow pony. Po Boy was a dappled grey color, rather a large horse, and I only rode him a few times, because as I told daddy, Po Boy had a bad habit that was not good manners.

I'd get up on Po Boy and start a just fine, nice comfortable gait, and then he'd start throwing his head back and spitting his saliva all over my clean riding pants. A few times of that stunt and Mr. Po Boy's name was mud in my book. I never did like him. I also thought he was ugly. He reminded me of a "dominicker hen." Finally Daddy gave up on Po Boy for my "special horse."

Daddy brought in a feisty little horse called Peddler for my cousin, who was a few years older than I was. This small horse was a sorrel, quick in his movements, a fast little runner. My cousin had to really reach high to get his bridle on. He'd hold his head high, and she had a time getting the bit in his mouth; but this cousin was determined in her ways when she made her mind up. She was named for another lady of determination, my mother. My cousin rode Peddler several years with other girls her age who had horses. They really ran those horses too.

Once Daddy saw how fast my cousin was running Peddler, and he got worried. He said that horse was going to drop dead from all that running. Daddy never believed in pushing a horse too far. Anyway, my cousin rode Peddler several years and really enjoyed him.

When I was graduated from high school, daddy brought me back a grulla, or Blue pony as we always called him, from Mexico. This pony was sort of a slate-blue grey with dark mane and tail and beautiful leg markings. He was a real beauty. He was gentle enough, or so we all thought, until the morning of the Baccalaureate Sermon. Early that morning I was going riding, wearing some new white riding pants I was proud of, and new boots. A Negro man who worked for Daddy saddled up for me, and put two cinches on Blue Boy, and he never had been ridden with more than one before.

Believe me. Blue Boy didn't like that extra cinch. He walked a little strangely I thought, then a few blocks down the street, he really started pitching. I hung on and stayed in there the best I could, but he finally got too rough for me and off went, fortunately on the grass instead of the sidewalk. I didn't mind being taken to the hospital for some minor injuries, but I did object to the doctor spilling merthiolate on my good-looking new riding pants!

Daddy had me get on Blue Boy and ride again right away, and he didn't pitch. We were sure it was the double cinch that did it. Blue Boy lived until a short time after I was married. Daddy took him on a cow drive and he died of charbon on the drive.

After I married, we lived in the country and had a few cattle and one horse belonging to my husband - a black mare, really a nag I thought. She was more suited to pull a plow than to handle cattle. This horse's name was Nancy. I rode her in the fields occasionally to pick dewberries, but it surely was no pleasure. She was slow as a turtle. Nancy used to come to our back door every morning for a handout. Her favorite was pancakes. She was the only horse I ever knew who ate pancakes. She lived to be quite old, and presented us with a couple of sorrel colts before passing on.

After we lived in the country about three years, we moved in town. Now I had two baby girls, but I still liked to ride. Daddy brought in from the county a horse I didn't know he had. A big, well proportioned sorrel he called McArthur. I rode McArthur a few times and he was fun to ride, had some good gaits. My younger sisters rode him frequently and liked him. He was a good horse.

Now I want to tell you about the last horse that Daddy had when he was old. I don't think she had a name other than what Daddy and the rest of us called her, the Little Mare.

How Daddy got Little Mare is quite a story. There was in our town a gentlemen of Hebrew descent, who was quite a trader. He traded horses and mules and everyone said he always got the best of the deals. Daddy saw this little paint mare work cattle once. She was smart as a whip, didn't need a rider to round up the cattle, just put a saddle on her and she'd bring them in. Daddy wanted that mare badly, and he traded a couple of mules he wanted to get rid of anyway to the Jewish gentleman for Little Mare. The man didn't want Little Mare because he had tried unsuccessfully to breed her several times.

Daddy had Little Mare for ten, maybe fifteen years, and during that time my younger sisters rode her frequently. He always found her just right for whatever he wanted in the way of a horse.

A few weeks before Daddy's death, he asked me to help him get Little Mare out to a pasture in the country; as he no longer felt able to care for her. We led her with a rope behind my car. I remember yet how the tears came to his eyes when he turned Little Mare loose in the pasture. Strange to say, she looked back over the fence, as far as we could see, at Daddy's departure.

When Daddy lay in a coma dying from a stroke soon after, he used to mumble some words, and I would sit by the bed and hold his hand. One day I distinctly heard him say, “Water the Little Mare." I was in the room when he died later that day.
 

The Orange Tree Christmas

The weather a couple of weeks before Christmas was warm and sunny, as is often the case here in the Gulf coast region; and we expected more warm temperatures when Christmas day arrived, with maybe a rain and a lot of the usual humidity.

Daddy had cattle grazing for the winter on salt grass along the coast near the beach a few miles from the ranch. They had been driven there in the fall, a custom many Texas ranchers followed of wintering their cattle on the nutritious salt grass. He wanted to have a look at the herd before Christmas, stopping first at the ranch for a few small chores. Some cow or calf might need doctoring.

When Daddy left that morning, (it must have been a week before Christmas), there was plenty of time to go by the ranch, do what he had to do, and then go on to the salt grass country to see about the cattle. Mama reminded him that we always expected him to bring in the Christmas tree from the ranch, also a fat turkey. Daddy said no problem there, he'd be home two or three days before Christmas. He also said he'd take John with him. John was his Negro cowboy, but he was getting along in years. Nobody could bake better biscuits in a Dutch oven over coals than John, or rustle up a better meal over a campfire. He was knowledgeable about doctoring people as well as animals, and once when my aunt got a fish hook caught in her hand, John cut it out as neatly as you please, first sterilizing his pocket knife. John was as reliable as any man Daddy knew at handling a herd of cattle, too.

Well, a few days before Christmas the beautiful weather turned cold, with sleet and low temperatures. Mama had enough wood to keep the house warm, but boy, was it ever cold outside! Water pipes froze and there was ice everywhere. Daddy had not come home nor had Mother heard from him. She was pretty worried about him; but she knew he must be at the beach trying to keep the cattle from freezing to death.

As a matter of fact. Daddy and John were working night and day building fires with driftwood along the beach to keep the cattle from freezing. They were staying, when they rested, with the man who kept the bridge house about a mile from the beach. This house was built up on stilts, and the cattle drifted under it seeking shelter. Some died there.

Daddy and John borrowed hay from nearby farmers to herd the cattle as long as they could make it to the farms.

Meanwhile, Mama was so anxious she asked her nephew to go down in his Model T and see if Daddy was o.k. He came back and reported that they were alright, just working hard trying to save the cattle. By now more than seventy-five percent of the herd was dead. Daddy sent word for Mama not to worry, he'd be home Christmas Eve, and with a turkey too.

Mama felt a little better after that. There were very few trees around this small place where we lived then, but there was an orange tree our grandpa had planted for us.

Mama figured we could use the orange tree, and if we dug It up carefully we could plant it again.

The orange tree was just the right size, and rather pretty with oranges on it. We managed to dig it up carefully, although it was bitterly cold. At least the sun was shining! We decorated the tree with what ornaments we had and strings of popcorn, and my little sisters seemed really happy with it. It didn't look like our usual tree, but it really wasn't bad.

Mama said we needed groceries and should go to the store while the sun was warm. We would walk. It was around two o'clock in the afternoon. Mama asked me to go with her to the store to pull a little red wagon that belonged to my little sisters. That was how she planned to get home with the groceries.

Mama and I bundled up and started out, stepping around puddles of frozen ice. and walking on the thick sleet which covered the ground. I was wearing rubber boots, so it didn't matter if I stepped into a little ice.

At the grocery store, the grocer inquired about Daddy and his cattle, and shook his head at the severity of the weather for the past few days. We loaded up the little red wagon and got home while the sun was still warm. Even so, it was mighty cold walking in the wind. Finally, Christmas arrived, and Daddy surely would come home. Mama figured that even after the weather broke, he would try to save the weakest cattle by feeding them; and would not leave until he had done all he could. We made some more ornaments for the orange tree just to please the little sisters, and my eldest sister played Christmas carols, and we put some of the presents around the tree. It really was looking pretty now. As was our custom, we had oyster stew for supper on Christmas Eve and Mama cut one of her fruit cakes and gave everyone a piece, and it was delicious as always. After supper we went to bed early to be ready for Santa Claus in the morning.

Sometime in the night, I awakened and heard Daddy come in the back door. I put on my robe and ran to see, and there he was, with a live turkey in one hand. He hadn’t shaved in a week, and looked tired and dirty and worn out.

At first Daddy said he believed his feet might be frozen, they hurt so. Mama looked at them and called the family doctor, and then wrapped him in a blanket by the fire. She got warm water and bathed his face, hands, and feet.

When the doctor came, he worked with Daddy’s feet for a time, and finally he said they felt they would be alright; so Daddy went to bed. We all did.

Mama went to put the turkey in a coop, and when she was outside, I peeked in at Daddy under the covers safe and warm and then I went in the sitting room, past the orange Christmas tree, and looked at it before I went to bed. I thought, this is going to be a good Christian after all!
 

Our Colored Friends

In those days of long ago, our cook and occasional sitter was Hester Green. I must have been very young when I remember I was left with good natured, kindly Hester while Mama was away. I dimly remember sitting on the kitchen table and watching Hester iron or cook. She gave me crisp pieces of bacon to snack on, or an orange from our tree, peeled and sectioned.

Hester had a little girl almost my age whom she sometimes brought with her, and I enjoyed playing with her. We used my doll dishes and had a fine bakery with all sorts of good mud pies, mud cakes, and cookies.

I was about seven years old when Hester died. Our family missed her so much. I went to her funeral, the first one I ever attended; and I remember it well.

I think Hester must have worked for Daddy's family before Mama and Daddy were married, because she gave them a beautiful fruit bowl for a wedding present. My eldest sister has this bowl, now that Mama is gone.

Becky McKinney lived in a little cabin near the ranch house and would come and cook for us when we went to the ranch in the summer. I liked to go to Becky's house, and I raced down the lane past the vegetable garden to Becky's house whenever we went to the ranch. Becky loved flowers and her yard was covered with many kinds of flowers in bloom. Truly she had a green thumb. She always picked a bouquet for me to take back for the table, and in return I took her a few pieces of fruit. We both considered it a good trade, and laughed about each having the better deal.

During my married life, Becky and her husband moved to town, and sometimes came to help me with the housework when my children were little.

All of her life Becky made regular visits to see Mama and Daddy, and they were always glad to see each other. When Mama was ill, we would get Becky to come and stay with her. Mama and Becky liked to talk about "old times" and they remembered many good times together.

I remember how neat and clean Becky's house always was, and how familiar too, with its pictures and things Mama had given her from home. My sister and I took turkeys and goodies to Becky at Christmas, and I remember what a shock we got when we took the last basket and found out she had died not long before. We thought her daughter should have let us know.

Dennis was one of Daddy's cowhands on whom he could count when he needed extra help. He lived "in the bottom," and when I went with Daddy once to get him I was amazed at the big collection of dogs on his porch. Daddy asked him, "Dennis, why in the world have you got so many dogs?;" and he answered, "I don't know Sir, but they sho is a heap of help".

Josie was Mama's wash-woman who came on Mondays and washed; boiling the clothes in a big black pot in the back yard. Josie had one eye, wore glasses, had a funny shape, and was a great practical Joker. She used to tell my little sisters and their friends not to come near her, or she would kiss them and the black would wear off on them; and they would run from her. Sometimes she would run after them until Mama made her stop. Crazy as she was, she had a kind heart; because even though she was poor, she took in a homeless old lady and was always asking for food or clothes to take to her. Mama said, "Josie Is either a good woman or a big humbug; she may be fooling us and not even have an old lady, but I'd rather take the chance and send her things than to refuse anybody needing help". I thought Josie had a lot of spunk and was funny. When we got married, she gave us a fat hen. We took the hen to the country where we were living and she laid lots of eggs for us.

John Norman was Daddy's most dependable cowhand and first class camp cook for many years. He was a good man, and they were more than employer and employee; they were friends. He was a tall man with very black skin and small features and he smiled a lot.

Once when we went on a family camping trip near the Intercoastal Canal, we took John with us as camp cook and we enjoyed his good biscuits cooked in a Dutch oven over coals, and other good things he cooked. On this outing, one of my aunts caught a fish hook in her hand as she was throwing out her line, and she was in considerable pain. John was in the cook wagon and he came running when we called him. He carefully sterilized his pocket knife, and then he cut the fish hook out and doctored her hand. When the men of the family came back from fishing and heard what happened, my aunt's husband was most grateful to John for his help; and soon afterwards he gave him a nice reward; which John accepted reluctantly.

After Daddy had his first stroke, John came to see him, and they were very glad to see each other. They spent a long time talking and laughing, and Daddy really enjoyed his visit.

When John was quite old, Mama and our number one daughter and I went out in the country where he lived just before Christmas to see him. We had a bottle of his favorite whiskey for his Christmas gift. John was sitting in the sun making whips by plaiting strips of leather; and he grinned just as he always had when he saw us coming. We had a little visit with him, and he said we brought him the best present ever. It was the last time I saw him.

Levi Williams was a light skinned cowboy, strong and agile, who in his time was the best man in the country for breaking horses. Levi never smiled much, although he was, when you talked with him, pleasant and polite; he just wasn't the type to smile constantly. I don't remember ever seeing him smile, although he was always polite to me.

Daddy had lots of horses when we had the ranch, and I loved to sit on the fence and watch Levi break horses. That boy could really ride!

There was about Levi, a kind of pride in his work. I think he always felt he could handle horses better than anyone else, and boy was he right about that!

Of one thing I am certain. Daddy had a high regard for Levi's work. He often said Levi was the best.

Levi was trying to break a horse when he died. He was getting along in years when it happened, and I guess he should have retired from such a dangerous enterprise. At any rate, the horse threw him, broke his neck and killed him.
 

Mama and Her Friend, Annie

No collection of stories about long ago would be complete without a reference to Mama and her friend, Annie, and the fun they had long ago.

When my youngest sister was about four years old, we moved to a larger, two story house nearer the town "square," or business section.

Our arrival In the new neighborhood was not much fun for my little sisters. The kids next door sat on their lawn and watched the whole procedure of our moving in, and stuck their tongues out at my little sisters. They remained unfriendly for several days, and although I was too old to care, I felt sorry for the little kids.

Mama fared better than the children. She really moved next door to a real friend and companion for the rest of her days.

Annie, the neighbor, came over on moving day with a pitcher of lemonade. It was a hot day and we enjoyed it.

Let me tell you about Annie. I can see her yet, a short little lady about five feet or less, with sandy hair she wore in a bun, grey eyes, wrinkled face and good strong teeth. Annie was born on an island belonging to her family. She could swim and sail a boat almost as soon as she could walk, and did she ever love to fish! She was as tough as nails. She made lye soap to wash her clothes and shampoo her hair with, doctored herself with kerosene when she got a cut, and never saw a doctor unless she was desperately ill. She used baking soda for toothpaste, and had a good set of teeth.

Mama and Annie were soon having alot of fun together. Besides both loving to go crabbing and camping, they liked to play cards or "42" with their cronies, or have the ladies over for an afternoon of needlework.

Annie had a camp down on the bay, and often they'd go down for a few days and have alot of fun fishing and crabbing. Mama didn't swim, but Annie got out her 1890 swim suit and took a dip at every opportunity, and she didn't care who saw her in it.

I wish you could have seen Annie's bathing suit! It was blue and white striped with elbow length sleeves, had bloomer legs, (If you don't know what bloomers are, ask your Mama; she might not know either), and sometimes Annie wore the little cap that went with the outfit. I thought the cap was the only cute thing to the outfit. It was sort of a full cap with a ruffle around it, like English maids wore.

Well, when they were in the camp at the bay. Mama and Annie used to invite lots of friends to come down, and if all the beds were full, Annie and Mama would sleep on a pallet on the floor. Now Annie could sleep on nails and not be bothered; she hopped up in the morning as spry as a cricket, and ready for anything; but Mama had to admit when she got home she was mighty glad to see her bed.

Annie and Mama both were the adventurous types, and they had lots of hair-raising experiences.

Once, when they were crabbing on the bay, the bank was wet and slippery and they noticed an old barge partially hidden in the weeds. They thought they'd just crab off the barge. They moved their lines and had lots of luck, catching alot of big blue crabs off the sides of the barge before they decided they had enough.

Then they spied some wood nearby, and as the ground was pretty wet, they decided they'd just cook the crabs right there on the metal barge. So they built a fire and in a little while the crabs were cooking, turning a nice red.

About that time, some men in a boat came along, waved frantically to them, motioning them to get off the barge. They just thought the men were crazy, they weren't getting off and leaving their crabs; so they just sat down until the boat came back.

This time the men told them, "For God's sake, ladies, get off that barge as fast as you can, there is gasoline stored in the hold and you'll be blown to bits!" Annie said "not without our crabs". So the men said, "Go on. get off the barge, we'll get your damned crabs if you'll just get of the barge". So they got off and the men got the crabs for them and poured sea water on the fire and put it out.

Annie and Mama thanked the men for their trouble, but they said they really didn't think the old barge would have blown up anyway!
 

David Licks Goliath, or Was it Pete?

When my nephew David was a little fellow, he lived for a few years with his grandmother, who was my mother; the lady who drove the Model T and built a fire to cook crabs off a barge filled with gasoline.

Now, David, and his Granny were very fond of each other. They had that rapport that comes from living together when there is a big generation gap. So they kind of understood each other, even when he was a little fellow.

Well, across the street from Granny's house where they lived, there lived a boy named Pete, who too lived with his grandmother; but his grandmother had very little influence over Pete's actions.

Pete was a tough kid, or thought he was; and he liked to go around the neighborhood and pick on smaller kids. He got into the habit of coming over and pestering David quite often, and had beat him up a couple of times. David was smaller and didn't know what to do.

Granny didn't much believe in interfering in kids’ affairs until it was absolutely necessary; but there came a time when she decided Pete's time had come.

One day she was busy sewing and David came in and hung around her room. Finally she asked him why he didn't go out and play, and he told her he didn't want Pete to come over and beat him up. Well, that did it!

Granny sat David in a chair and told him to think about all the times Pete had hit him (for no reason), and when he got good and mad to let her know and they'd go over and he would give Pete a good licking.

Well David thought about it for awhile and then he said he was ready, and Granny and David knocked on the door across the street.

They asked Pete's grandma to send him outside, and then David really did light into him and Granny shouted him to hit him harder. Pete's grandma just stood there and watched with her mouth open.

After Pete's licking, he never did pick on David again.
 

I Remember When

Ladies had special days to call on their friends (usually Thursdays), and if their friends were not at home when they came to call, they left visiting cards on a little table in the entrance hall.

Gentlemen wore white gloves when they served as pall bearers at a funeral.

Little girls played with dolls until they were about thirteen years old.

Boys work "knickers" or knee pants until they passed into the eighth grade. Then their contemporaries would gleefully await the day when they changed into long pants. That day, the boys who already were wearing long pants would take off their belts and the newcomer in the long pants would pass through a line of belts and receive a smack of welcome from each boy.

Families often took a Sunday drive in their Model Ts and sometimes they ran into a shower, in which case everyone hastily helped in putting up the "ising glass" curtains, one for each door of the car. By the time all were up, it may have stopped raining!

A black band worn on the arm of a gentleman meant a death in his family, or death of a friend.

Christmas trees were never sold on lots or in markets. Families went out and cut them and made decorations for them. Real candles were burned on the trees, held on by special holders.

Mondays were wash days. Clothes were rubbed on a wash board, boiled in a big black pot in the back yard, rinsed several times in a no. 3 tub, and hung outside on the clothes line to dry. It was an all day job.

Little girls didn't date until they were sixteen. They climbed trees, rode bicycles and horses, and pushed their baby sisters or brothers in buggies. Night time was a fun time. The neighborhood children would have "plays" or shows on the lawn, making up their own script. Sheets were used for curtains and parents and friends were admitted for a penny.

How safe it was for children to play out at night! They could, in groups roller skate all over town and it was perfectly safe; no traffic or mugging.

The twelve o'clock whistle, a signal from the rice mill that it was time for children and daddy's to come home to a good lunch mother had prepared.

The big barn with sweet smelling bales of hay where we played and had our Secret Society.

Best of all, I remember Mama and Daddy loved us and we knew it.
 

The Girls

My mother had four sisters. All except one of them lived close enough that they could enjoy each other's company frequently.

These ladies really had fun when they got together! All of their lives they called each other "The Girls" (much to the amusement of their children). When "The Girls" were coming to our house for a visit, we knew we were in for a good time.

The whole family was included.

"The Girls" loved to go on little trips, to play cards and dominoes, to go on picnics, to go to our ranch when the pecans were being thrashed, or dewberries were ripe and pick them. In the days when we used to sail across Matagorda Bay to the Peninsula and enjoy the beautiful beach, they were always ready for that jaunt. Also, anytime they would go fishing or crabbing or camping.

The eldest of “The Girls" was Mabel, who married young, had five children, and buried two husbands while she was still young. She was an extremely talented seamstress, who made a living for herself and her children by working hard while not complaining. She was a friendly person who always made friends with her neighbors wherever she lived.

The second "Girl" was Carrie, whose marriage produced no children, which saddened her; but she loved and enjoyed all her nieces and nephews, and took a great interest in them.

She was a gourmet cook and once managed a large family type hotel where people came from everywhere to partake of her delicious meals. She too, was an excellent seamstress and tailor. Her husband died many years before she did, and after his death she lived with her bachelor brother. She loved to tell stories about her childhood.

My mother, Rena, was the third sister, and was, I thought when I was a child, the best person in the world; and I still think so. There is a story of her and of Daddy in this book; also many funny little tales about her. She was a fun person.

Aunt Fannie was the fourth of "The Girls". She didn't marry until she was forty. For many years she had a little pre-school kindergarten class at Grandmother's house where she lived. She had thick brown hair which she wore in a braid around her head, I thought was most becoming. Aunt Fannie always said she wasn't getting married until she could find a man with a tiny kitchen; she was so tired of walking around in Grandmother's huge kitchen. When she married Uncle Frank, he built her a little kitchen next to the big one in the lovely home they lived in. Aunt Fannie worked with the young people of the church. I remember she chaperoned many a party for them.

Aunt Bertha Lee was the youngest and fifth of “The Girls.” She had a sweet disposition, a love of fun, and a good husband who adored and spoiled her. They had one child, a boy. She must have been in her forties when her husband died. He was a fine man and we all loved him. In a few years she married again; bit it was a most unhappy marriage and did not last long.

Aunt Bertha Lee lived with one relative and then another in her old age. Everywhere she went she made herself useful and pleasant; and never lost her love of fun.
 

Games We Used to Play

What games do you remember playing that were fun as you were growing up?

I'd like to tell you about some of the games we enjoyed in that ever dimming past when I was a little girl.

Very early in life we were introduced to "Ring Around the Rosie," which even a baby who cannot walk will enjoy watching or trying to take part in. The children form a circle, holding hands, and walk around singing, "Ring around the Rosie, pocket full of posies, up stairs, down stairs, squat little Josie!" and they all sit down; which seems very funny to them.

"Hide and Seek" is universally played, and can be understood at an early age. During bad weather it can be played inside the house with the hostess permission, and some good hiding places. A small child finds it fun and exciting, and will enter happily into the "hiding" and "seeking."

"Drop the Handkerchief,” another old time favorite, requires no equipment except one handkerchief, preferably a large one; and a group of children. They form a circle and one runs around outside the circle and drops the handkerchief behind some child, who then picks it up and pursues him around the circle until he is caught, or he safely reaches the spot vacated by his pursuer. If he is caught, he is put inside the circle, called the mush pot; and the chase begins again as the handkerchief dropper drops the handkerchief behind someone else.

"London Bridge is Falling Down" is a very old game that is played at parties often, for some reason. Two players face each other, and holding their arms high and hands together, form a "bridge" for all the children to pass through. All the while they sing a song, "London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down, my fair lady;" at which point they drop their arms and "catch" the child that is passing through the "bridge" at the time and question him. He goes to one or the other side of the bridge according to his answer. This goes on until all the children are “caught.” Then it is time to pull London Bridge down. The children put their arms around the waist of the child in front of him, and the two sides pull as hard as they can. The side that falls down loses the game.

When we were old enough to go to school, our teacher taught us to play "The Farmer in the Dell," which involved choosing a farmer, a wife, a child, nurse, dog, cat, mouse and cheese. One by one, as the children sang, the farmer chose each one until only the cheese remained and the cheese should choose the farmer!

"Red Rover" was a rough game, but great fun for older children. It requires a large group of children and a large lawn. The children are divided into two groups facing each other a good distance part. They hold hands and make a "fence." When the leader of one side says, "Red Rover, Red Rover, let Johnny or Susie, come over"; and a child from the other side comes over and tries to break the fence. If he is successful, he takes back a hostage. If not, he becomes "out." T he leader of the other side has his turn now, and does the same thing the other leader did, and the game continues until one or the other side had the most people left in his "Fence" and is victorious.

"Pop the Whip" or "Crack the Whip" is a rough one. The children form a long line holding hands and the leader, at the head of the line, "pops" the whip; so that the last or end of the children whirl around swiftly and quite often are thrown off the "whip." Game continues until there are too few playing to be fun.
 

My Heritage

Both my parents have been for many years, as the saying goes, "in that blessed company of those whom we have loved long since and lost awhile," except that I realize more and more; we have not lost them at all, even for "awhile."

What a wonderful wealth of memories my three sisters and I have of Daddy and Mama! Even if we ourselves did not remember, all their friends, young and old, tell us how much they meant to them. They were truly loved and appreciated by many people.

Just a few days ago I met a man in the grocery store whom I had not seen for years. I recognized him right away as a cowboy who had helped Daddy with the cattle when he was young. He was still wearing the same type Stetson hat and friendly smile. He had lived on a neighboring ranch and he and Daddy were great friends when he was growing up. He did not recognize me with my snow white hair, but when I told him who I was, he was overjoyed and we talked and talked about old times. He told me what a fine man Daddy was, and how much he taught him, and how much fun he always was.

Then there was the grey haired lady I met in the beauty shop who told me how much her family enjoyed Daddy's visits to their ranch, what a gentleman he was, and how all of the family looked forward to his coming by to see them. She also spoke of how knowledgeable he was about cattle. He had no veterinary training, but out of years of experience with cattle, he could tell how to help a stricken cow or calf. She said she had often heard men say he knew more about cattle than any man in the county.

At a dinner a few years ago, a prominent man told me how much fun it was to learn from Daddy. This man has died since he told me, and I am thankful that he told me.

An opportunity to be of help to a young boy came to Daddy in the last years of his life, when he himself was at low ebb financially and physically, after a stroke. In the neighborhood where he now lived there was a boy being brought up by his grandmother, who was determined to make a good man of him, with the help of church training and a good switching when she thought he needed it and she could catch him. Daddy befriended the boy and spent hours talking to him, and once took him on an exciting (for the boy) ride on horseback to a place several miles down near the river where he needed to go. For the boy it was a never to be forgotten, wonderful experience. Our number one daughter met the boy, now in his forties, not long ago, and he told her what an influence Daddy had been in shaping his life, more than any other person he had given him a sense of worth and he felt that anything he had become, if he had improved, was because of Daddy. He is respected and doing well in the community now. I think his grandmother's church training and those switches deserve some credit too! She did her best.

Among Mama and Daddy's friends were the Negroes they had known for years and for whom there was great affection and respect. There is another story about these good people we all knew so well.

How can I tell you about Mama? She is with me every day, her faith In God, strength of character, love of life and people, and her great sense of fun which everyone whose lives touched hers enjoyed and remembered. When I feel particularly blessed, I feel that Mama knows and is happy for me; when I am discouraged, thinking of her gives me a lift.

I am not alone in the way I feel about Mama. Besides the family, there are many friends who tell me funny stories about something they enjoyed with Mama, because she was truly a fun person. Besides enjoying people on a one to one basis, she like sailing across the bay with a group and she loved dancing. Not for Mama were people who were boring gossips, riding horseback, or anyone expressing prejudice against any religion.

Mama's friends numbered folks from all walks of life. They were welcome in her home. I remember the young married woman with a baby, who after being deserted by her husband, came to visit Mama when she was hurt and lost, and talked with her many an afternoon. Mama was a good listener and a kind friend, and knew the right things to say.

Then there were those who were in mental trouble, the young woman who, one would think, had not a care in the world; and the one as old as Mama who had many problems. Mama spent many hours with both of these ladies. They always said she helped them considerably.

The friends Mama had as a girl never forgot her, nor she them, and these are the ones she really had a great time with when they got together. I recall hearing them talk about all the pranks they played as young people, and all the great times they had, laughing as they told each tale. These friends of many years were treasured by Mama, and she looked forward to seeing them.

There were friends Mama made later in life whom she was very fond of. One neighbor in particular who had the same interest and love of life she had, and who accompanied her on many crabbing and camping expeditions. This dear friend became almost like another sister.

Mama left me, besides all of the wonderful memories, a note she wrote me on my birthday, which was two months after the birth of our first born daughter. She said in the note with my birthday gift:

"I hope your little one will mean as much and bring as much joy into your life as you have brought to mine. I could not ask for more. Mama"

My parents gave me the finest heritage possible!
 

Copyright 2005 - Present by Carol Sue Gibbs
All rights reserved

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