STORIES ABOUT THE "GOOD OLD DAYS"
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CONTENTS

  • Pine Island Romance by Lucille Milam Daut
    Romance in the 1920's
  • Dime Stores by John Wheeler
    Do you remember Woolsworth? Grants? Kress?
  • Gypsy Magic by Joe Edwards
    Learning it isn't always the way you thought
  • Central by Joe Edwards
    Just say your number into the phone, Big Deal
  • Childhood Pleasures by Mabel Jones
    If it was free or real cheap we could enjoy it
  • Schooldays by Mabel Jones
    Farm chores, breakfast from a wood stove and time for school
  • America's Immigrant by Arthur
    In America, I can build a golden life for myself
  • Granny by Maggie Anderson
    Running away from home to granny's was an adventure even if it was just a few hundred feet away
  • The Last Letter June 2, 1865 by William Craig
    The last letter to his wife before coming home from the War Between The States.
  • And The Hills Rang With Laughter by Ivory (Boggs) Barker
    Memories of life in Eastern Kentucky begins during the 1920's. (Submited by Raylene Boggs)



Pine Island Romance In The 1920's

By Lucille Milam Daut
As told to her son John

It was back in 1927 when I read a news story in the weekly Hempstead News that Johnny McDade had hired Mr. Wheeler N. Daut of Montgomery, Texas, as a new pharmacist for McDade's Drugstore.

I ask my sister, "Baby", if she had seen the new druggist at McDade's Drug Store.

When Baby answered, "Yes," I ask, "Do you think he has any boys old enough to date?".

"No", Baby answered, "But, he's the right age to date."

I pestered mama into taking me to Hempstead right then even though it was after dark. I just couldn't wait until morning to buy some face powder. As luck would have it, just as we pulled up in front of the drug store the electrical power went off for the whole block that the drug store was located in. Of course, electrical outages were common back then and the store was quickly lit up by kerosene lamps.

Both my purchase and my first meeting with Wheeler were by lamp light.. That dim beginning resulted in a marriage that lasted until Wheeler died 55 years later in 1982.

One of our first dates was a double date with Gus Galewsky and Grace Vickers. We drove to Brenham that night to see a play. Gus operated a hardware store in Hempstead at that time and Grace was a young school teacher there. And of course Wheeler was a pharmacist at Johnny McDade's drugstore in Hempstead. I was still living at home in Pine Island and working in the post office with my mother.

The play was the "Student Prince" presented by a touring company of French actors. Following the play, we had a fancy late supper in the hotel dinning room and then drove back to Pine Island.

Nowadays driving about 60 miles round trip to see a play doesn't seem like an exceptional date, but in the 1920's it was an adventure. The play ran from 8:00 PM until midnight and with the roads of those days, the cars of those days and waiting for the ferry to cross the Brazos River back to Hempstead, it was 3:00 AM when we finally got back to Pine Island.

This story is copyrighted as part of this Web Page.

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The Dime Stores

By John Wheeler

One of the popular pastimes of the depression days was going to the five and ten cent store, or as we used to say, "the dime store". Most of you younger people can remember the Winns, T, G and Y. stores and Kresge variety stores. They were the later versions of the five and dime. Now I know that even the youngest reader has seen five and dime stores in movies and on TV. If not, I suppose the best modern likeness I can think of now is the abundance of "Dollar" stores that have popped up in strip centers all over the place. Most don't even use price tags because every thing in the store is priced at one dollar. Actually the five and dimes I remember had become Five, Ten and Twenty Five Cent Stores by my time and almost everything in them was priced at five, ten and twenty five cents.

Mom and I always begin a shopping day by dressing up and walking over to Harrisburg Boulevard to catch the street car and ride downtown to Main Street. I was between 5 and 10 years old during those years when she took me with her. Shopping usually started in the 600 block of Main street in downtown Houston. That's where the W. T. Grant and the Woolworth stores were located. The Kress store was across Capitol street on the opposite corner in the 700 block. Between those three stores, mom and I would spend three or four hours wandering up one aisle and down another looking at the huge assortment of items for sale. We didn't have much money to spend, dad was working as a policeman for the City of Houston and cities have never been known for paying high salaries, but it was fun looking at the multitude of items for sale. Five and Dime stores didn't put every thing on shelves and hang items on racks like they do at the local Wal-Mart. Everything was put on top of the counters that were divided into bins with strips of glass. There would be cosmetics, fingernail polishes, plates, glassware. little pots of ivy and tiny rose bushes a couple of inches high, toy cars, big little books, women's hose, sewing notions and patterns and almost any other small items you might find in anyone's home.

The layout of Grant's store was very unusual as it was built in the shape of an L. The main entrance was in the middle of the block on Main street and the store went half way through the block, then made a sharp right turn and came out at the Capitol avenue entrance in the middle of the block. Actually the store surrounded the Woolworth store on two sides. Woolworth's store fronted on Main and had a side entrance on Capitol Avenue. All three of these downtown store were actually twice as big as they appeared at first glance because they had full basements with a large part of the store in the basement. My favorite place was the Kress store's basement. It was always darker and cooler, but the main reason was that the toy department and the lunch counter were located in the basement. I could almost talk mom into buying a "Big Little" book or a "Dinky Toy" toy car.

But, the "piece de resistance" (as we used to say in France) was the lunch counter or luncheonette as it was called back then. I would sit up on the stool you could spin around on while mom ordered 2 ham and cheese sandwiches and 2 cokes. The sandwiches were made on toast and cut into 4 little triangles and placed on a plate with a pile of potato chips in the center. The cokes were in a real glass with crushed ice and furnished with 2 straws for each one. Boy howdy, that was a major high point in a young guy's experiences of eating out.. It was right up there with eating a bar-b-que sandwich at one of the "Pig Stand" drive inns. One of the fascinations of eating in the Kress luncheonette was the fact that the basement actually extended out under the sidewalk to the curb line. In those days the sidewalk had a square section every couple of feet that was about 4 foot across and tiled with 4 inch squares of very thick glass. If you looked up while you were sitting at the counter, you see the soles of people's shoes through the glass as they walked down the sidewalk. Now before someone starts saying, "Well, I never," that was all you could see, just the outlines of the shoes.

All there of those stores were still there when Nellie and I married in 1949 and visiting them was a Saturday afternoon ritual with us. I would get off work at 1:00 PM and Nellie would ride the bus downtown to meet me. After standing in line to get my pay envelope with the cash inside that I had earned that week we would head for downtown. First we would walk up and down he aisles in the five and dime stores for a couple of hours, before walking on down Main Street to go to one of the movies. It was usually the Kirby because it was a little cheaper, but sometime it was the Lowes State or Majestic or the Metropolitan. After the movie, we would walk back to Prices Caf� at Prairie and Caroline streets for a bar-b-que sandwich and an order of potato salad, then catch the bus home. Nellie enjoyed going to Prices better then anything. Particularly after she discovered a former love of my life was a waitress there. I think she just liked to watch me squirm in the booth.

John Wheeler

I've known John all my life. He grew up in Houston Texas back in the 1930's and 1940's, but didn't become interested in writing stories about his memories until the 1980's These stories are copyrighted and reprinted here with John's permission. He may be reached at this page's E-mail address.

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GYPSY MAGIC

By Joe Edwards

The people in Miller seldom locked their doors or took the keys from the ignitions of their cars.

There was no need to -- no one ever stole anything.

One week out of the year, however, the carnival came to our Missouri town, and those who could find their keys did lock their doors, because there were Gypsy fortune tellers and game operators with the carnival -- everyone knew Gypsies would steal anything they could get their hands on.

The carnival would always come in on a Sunday afternoon, five or six old trucks loaded with the disassembled rides, the folded tents, the lighting plant. It would turn right off of Highway 39, drive past Byron Harmon's house, up main street and on to the "picnic ground" on the east end of town. Byron would call us, as we were usually home with our parents after church, and we would run out, climb on our bicycles and pedal excitedly to the picnic ground where by then the Gypsies were setting up the rides, the fortune telling tents, the concessions. Sometimes the Gypsies would let us help, and would give us free tickets for the rides.

We found the Gypsies to be very exciting and wonderous people. The Gypsy children were allowed to smoke cigarettes, a fact not lost on our parents who of course preferred that we not associate with them, but the excitement was too much, and nothing could have kept us away.

The following night, as darkness fell, the picnic ground would be ablaze with light, alive with sound and motion, and packed with the townspeople and farmers from miles around. We youngsters would ride the rides, turn the handles on the little glass encased steam shovels hoping to capture a prize worth more than the dime it cost to play, throw darts at balloons, bet on the color surrounding the hole that the old Gypsy lady's trained rat would run into, and watch the blast of air blow the girls' dresses up and make them scream as they crossed the little bridge into the fun house. It was marvelous fun, indeed.

Then Shirley Washam lost her billfold.

She had married Bill much as Jenny had married Luther, just before he went off to war. She had just that day cashed her allotment check from the war department, and all the cash was in that Billfold. She and her girlfriends searched frantically, but with all the crowds, the noise and excitement, they found nothing.

She was beside herself and in tears. That was all the money she had to live through the month. Of course, the word flashed through the little town the next day, and Kenny Friar, the newspaper editor went up and down main street and took up a collection for her.

On Saturday night the carnival tore down and the trucks were loaded. Sunday morning they pulled out of the picnic ground and started west down main street. As they came abreast of the Methodist church where several of the men were standing outside smoking, services having not yet started, the caravan slowed and stopped.

An elderly Gypsy man climbed out of the first truck and walked over to where the men were standing.

"Gen'mun," he said, "as we was tearin' down the ferris wheel last night we found this billfold just under the platform. It don't belong to none of us, and bein' pink like it is we figgered it belongs some woman here. It's got writin' in it, but can't none of us read... you reckon you could find..."

"I already know who it belongs to," said Kenny Friar as he stepped out from the little group of men. He reached out, took the billfold and opened it. The money was still there. He took out his own billfold and extracted a five dollar bill. "Here, let me give you a little reward."

"Reckon not," said the old Gypsy as he turned away and went back to his truck.

The caravan slowly pulled away, and the men went into the church for services. Kenny told the minister what had happened, and Brother Cox later said that he thought he had preached his finest unprepared sermon that day.

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CENTRAL

By Joe Edwards

I've been reading that our telephone system is becoming so sophisticated, that soon we won't even have to push the buttons - that we can just speak the number into the phone and it will dial itself.

Shucks, we could do that in our little town 50 years ago. All I had to do was pick up the phone and say, "Aunt Birdie, call Edna for me," and Edna's telephone would ring, two long rings and two shorts and two more longs, and Edna would answer, if she were home, that is.

If she didn't happen to be home, the telephone system would magically know that, and Aunt Birdie might say, "She's over to Mary Lou's house, Joe Lee (in small Midwestern towns, the kids were always called by their first and middle names: Joe Lee, Gary Lynn, Bobby Joe, Gary Wade, Billy Ray, and every little town had a Bubba) Do you want me to call her over there?

"No", I might say, "just call Joe Swadley for me instead, but If she calls through later, tell her I'll be out there tonight."

Edna's number was actually 22F22, not that it mattered, because it was simpler just to ask for someone by name.

The telephone office, know as Central, was also responsible for causing the town fire siren (mounted on the water tower) to sound at noon every day, letting the townsfolk know the day was half over, although I suspect most folks had clocks and watches. Folks were inclined to set their clocks by the noon siren, and many times that may have caused a few problems, because Aunt Birdie was known to doze at the switchboard now and then, and noon would sometimes come slightly after noon.

Central didn't quite trust the siren when it came to announcing fires, so Aunt Birdie would phone each of the volunteer firemen in the event they hadn't heard the call, and would also phone Gip Washam, the road grader driver, because the fire engine would seldom start and would have to be pushed to the fire by the road grader, a spectacle that excited the town dogs greatly, and the procession thus created was a sight to behold, indeed.

More often than not, the house that was on fire burned to the ground, because there was a limited number of fire hydrants, the truck carried only a short hose and since the engine wouldn't run, there was no pressure to expel the water in the tanks attached to the truck.

Central provided not only these needed services, but was the main source of entertainment as well. Everyone was on a "party" line, which meant that up to eight people shared a phone line. When Aunt Birdie would ring some one, all eight phones would ring, the intended recipient knowing the call was for him only by his code - a combination of long and short rings. Of course, everyone on the line could listen in, and usually did. It was a great source of comfort to know your neighbors cared enough to pick up their phones and listen in when someone called you.

"Annie? This here's Mable"

"Yes, Mable, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Annie. I guess you heard about Missus Nivens' girl."

"Fannie Mae? Is she in a family way again?"

"Yes, and her husband gone off to the war. It's a downright shame."

And on it would go, until as many as sixteen people had the story, all in one phone call.

Let the modern technology match that! Many's the time Aunt Birdie would call old Doc Holmes at someone's house where he was making a house call, and send him off to where Willy Baker had his hand caught in the threshing machine, or some other real emergency.

I don't see a button like that on my modern telephone anywhere.

So all we have to do is lift the receiver and speak the number, huh? Big Deal.

I discovered Joe when I subscribed to the "heartwarmers4u" web page located at http://www.heartwarmers.com/ and couldn't hardly wait to get his permission to add one of his stories here. Joe is a fellow heartwarmer and author of the previously published award winning heartwarmer, The Red Mahogany Piano, and other great stories like Awestruck Wonder and Didn't Have the Heart,
Joe has spent most of his working life as a jazz pianist in Kansas City nightclubs. He's retired but still playing wedding receptions in the Springfield, Missouri area. These stories are copyrighted and reprinted here with Joe's permission. He can be reached at [email protected]
Joe's webpage is at http://www.heartwarmers4u.com/members/?jed

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CHILDHOOD PLEASURES

By Mabel Jones

I think I will just let my mind wander back in time to a lot of things in my sisters and my childhood that we enjoyed doing. There was always enough of us to play jump the rope, hop-scotch, pop the whip, and hail over. Now hail over was throwing the ball over the house to someone on the other side. A pastime I liked was going to the branch and looking at the tadpoles and trying to catch the whirligig beetles.

These beetles were black, and they should have been named 'darters', as that is how they swam, darting here and there. We had always heard if you caught one and held him under your arm, you would hear the bells in London ring. To this day I never caught one. Maybe I dreaded hearing the bells, or I imagine I was afraid the little black bug would bite.

I remember we kids would get potatoes(sweet and Irish), go to the woods where we had found an old oven, build a fire under it, and cook. The potatoes never got done, but just the idea of being away from the house and in the woods made them taste real good. All the pretty woods up above where we lived are gone now. Such a shame. We loved to ride the mules, too. We would ride all down in the pasture and across the branches.

I had a friend from town that did enjoy coming out and riding the mules. She was always a little leery of it though. Always afraid the mule would throw her. She was the friend that got so upset when the boat we borrowed to go out on Lake Jackson started leaking. She was just easily frightened. We didn't drown, nor did she get thrown. There are so many things for us to remember from our growing up days. I had this friend, just as you started into town, that loved to climb the fig trees with me.

We would get up high and catch June bugs, tie strings to their legs and watch them fly away and come back to us. There was always so much to do in the country. One real good thing to do was take your book and go to the barn, go to the room where the peanut hay bales were, find one that was broken into, and get all comfy and read and eat peanuts from the hay bale. It has been lots of fun remembering these times again.

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SCHOOLDAYS

By Mabel Jones

A typical school day started with the household arising about 4:30 a.m.   Mom and Dad had six girls, but back when I was about ten years old, they only had five. One of those, Melba, was only five yrs old. Then the youngest, Helon, was only a baby. Our little brother, Ross Eaton, Jr, came between Melba and Helon. He only lived seven weeks. He was born in Dec. and died in Jan. He had double pneumonia. He was such a pretty little fellow.

Melba was only five but, as far back as I can remember, she was a smart little thing. She was as smart as I was lazy. Anyway, when the school day started, we all had our chores. Two of us would get our buckets to go to the cowpen. We had two cows, they were Jersey cows. They gave lots of good rich milk. Dad had a good place for us to put the cows to milk. Each one had her own pen, which was a covered pen built against the big garage. Each was about 8ft by 8ft, and had a trough built in it for the feed.

The first thing we did was put a generous amount of dry feed in the trough. Then we washed the cow's bag and dried it good. I really don't remember learning to milk cows. You could sit and daydream while you were milking and, in the wintertime, you could lean against the cow and she would be so warm to you. While we were milking, our dad was drawing water for the livestock and putting feed out for them.

Mama was busy getting breakfast. To me, breakfast is the hardest job .You want everything hot, but getting each thing to stay hot is almost impossible. That is when the warming closets on the stove come in handy. Back to the routine; Melba is busy helping Mama. She could put the plates on the table, the silver and cups, etc. She could also get the stovewood in to keep the woodbox full. After breakfast we got ready for school.

All of this going on with no electricity. We would move the lamps from room to room. I don't remember it being so bad though. We didn't have a car, so we walked to school. On a cold winter day, it would be beautiful. Frost and ice everywhere and the ground all icy and spewed up. I can still hear the crunchy sound our feet made, and how invigorating the cold air was and how quiet and clean everything was on this cold, clear morning walk to school. It was just pure country.

The road is blacktopped now, houses have built up along the way. That is progress. I know there has to be progress, but so many times it takes a lot away from our memories of days gone by. I console myself by pulling out my memories and thumbing through them like going through a beloved book and I can relive a lot of "just Country" that way. Cause you see,that is what I am. Thanks for listening.

Mabel Jones will be 84 this year, 2000. She was born before computers, televisions, or cell phones. She was raised on a farm near Florala, Alabama without electricity or running water, during the Great Depression. These stories are copyrighted and reprinted with her permission. Mabel may be reached at [email protected]
Her web page with about a hundred stories is located at, "http://goodoledays.net"

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AMERICA'S IMMIGRANT

By Arthur
As Told To His Daughter, Clementine

I was born far, far away in S�o Miguel, the Azores Islands, off the coast of Portugal. I was one of nine children and my parents were very, very poor. My father was a farmer who worked very hard in the fields from sun up until sun down. Because my parents were so poor, my older brothers and sisters had to leave school at an early age to help my father till, plant and harvest the fields.

My mother was a domestic servant who worked for some rich people. This couple had only one child, a daughter, but no sons. I was extremely lucky because these rich people liked me so much that they paid for me to attend Catholic school. They treated me the same way they would have treated their very own son. They wanted me to have an education and a good life and not have to work hard in the fields the way my father and my older brothers and sisters did. Every morning though, before I could leave for school, I had to help my mother by taking care of my baby sister, Maria Louise. I had to feed my sister, change her diaper and rock her to sleep. Sometimes I would be late for school because Maria Louise wanted to laugh and play and wouldn't go to sleep for me. I loved Maria Louise very much, just as your brothers, Bob and Rick, love you. I became very attached to Maria Louise, not only because she was my beautiful baby sister, but because I took daily care of her, just like mommy takes care of you.

In school I loved to read about far-away places and particuarly about America where there were many opportunities and where I secretly wanted to live. I didn't say anything to anyone about this though until the day when the couple my mother worked for said to me, "So, Arthur, what do you have planned for yourself when you finish school?"

"Well," I said, "I have a secret dream but I don't think it will ever come true, so I haven't told anyone. I haven't even told my parents or my godfather since they would be very upset about my idea. Besides, I have no money to make my dream come true. More than anything in this world, I want to finish school, get on a boat, and leave this island to go to America. I've read in school all about America and what a beautiful country it is with a good government. In America, I can build a golden life for myself...why, in America, I could become a business owner and make lots of money! I could send money to my parents to help them so they would not have to work so hard! They could buy pretty clothes for my sister, Maria Louise! I cannot do these things here because I will have to help my father in the fields, just like my brothers and sisters. What kind of a life will that be for me?" I asked very excitedly and nervously as I revealed my secret to them. "Others are going to America and I want to go, too!"

"Arthur, you are young and smart and you are very strong willed with a big heart...and you are right in everything you are saying. Suppose we talk to your godfather about what you have confided to us? We will ask him to speak to your parents about your dream. Since your godfather is also the parish priest, perhaps he can make your parents listen and understand. Your parents have respect for him and they honor his wishes. We will try our best to make your dream a reality. If your parents agree to let you go, we will pay your passage to America for you."

I was extremely excited but I was also very afraid that, once my godfather revealed my secret to my parents, they would become angry at the idea of my leaving the old country and perhaps give me a bad beating. Why, my dad might give me a licking with a stick or perhaps his belt! They would know I wanted to go far, far away to America which meant that we would probably never, never see each other again.

Much to my surprise and delight, however, my parents agreed to let me leave my island homeland when my godfather, the priest, explained that I needed to leave in search of a better life for myself, not because I didn't love them. I left as soon as I finished school and as soon as the rich people could make the arrangements for my passage. Everyone cried when it was time for us to say good-bye. I was excited about my new life in America, but it was also difficult for me to leave my family because I loved them so deeply.

The boat ride to America took several weeks. When the passengers saw the Statute of Liberty and Ellis Island, we fell upon our knees, crying, praying, and thanking God for our safe arrival after our long voyage across the ocean.

When you were born, I named you Clementine because that was the name of the only daughter of the generous, loving couple who paid my passage to America. I had promised them I would do that in their honor, to show my appreciation, if I ever had a daughter.

Many years later I sponsored your aunt, Maria Louise, so she and her family could come to America and build a better life for themselves. Whenever I sponsor immigrants from the Azores, I insist they become citizens of the United States. I give lessons so they can learn the Pledge of Allegiance and everything they need to know to become naturalized citizens. I want you always to be proud, my daughter, that you are an American and never take your freedoms for granted. Remember my humble beginnings and respect your country's flag, grateful that you were fortunate to be born in America where freedom rings and you have unlimited choices and opportunities. Living in America is truly a blessing from God. When you say your prayers tonight, my beloved daughter, remember to thank God for His treasures.

From 1900 to 1955, over fifteen million people immigrated into the United States of America seeking a better life for themselves and their families. In 1917, my dad, then just a young man of only sixteen years of age, was one of those fifteen million persons. You can contact Clementine at [email protected]
Her web page is located at http://www.geocities.com/Wellesley/5239

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GRANNY

By Maggie Anderson

I loved my "Granny." Although I had 2 grandmothers who lived with us as I was growing up, I was always closer to Granny Ford. She was my mother's mother. My father was a carpenter and in the early 50s when I was about 5 or 6 we left Houston and moved to central Texas, where Daddy built our house on Lake Whitney. He also built 3 duplex cabins for our "fishing lodge", which was a second source of income. With 3 sons and 3 daughters to raise, it was needed!

Daddy also built a duplex cottage a couple hundred feet behind our house where my two grandmothers lived, side by side. They were simple 1 room cottages, each with a small kitchenette and bathroom, probably just the right size for a grandmother with few possessions but a big heart. They stayed pretty much to themselves, but came up to "our house" for dinner a couple times a week. When I was growing up, I never thought of them as anything but my grannies, someone to love and someone to love me. It has only been in recent years that I began to wonder what they might have thought of each other? Two in-laws living side-by-side, in a house built by their son-in-law or dependent on the generosity of their daughter-in-law? Such an arrangement might not be as workable today, but back then it was a different time.

I was the caboose-end of 6 children, three boys and 3 girls. We were step-laddered up by age 2 years apart, except for my twin brothers, so our ages were pretty spread out. I guess I didn't really always feel like I fit in with the others; I wasn't overly studious, I wasn't dreaming of boys, and I wasn't an athlete. I liked to hunt and fish, but I wasn't as serious about it as the others that were. I was just me. My brothers and sisters probably thought I tagged along too much, but I didn't (They may say otherwise!).

Every now and then I would decide I would be happier living somewhere else, so I would "run away from home" for a couple days to my Granny. Pretty safe, huh? Being only a couple hundred feet away I could still see anything that was going on up at the "big house", see visitors come and go and know when my brothers or sisters were going swimming or playing basketball. I always wondered why my mom or dad didn't come bring me home. I would see them at some point during the day and they would say something like "Well, how's it been? Is everything okay with you at Granny's?" It always kinda bothered me that they seemed to see my "running away from home" as a fun thing to do, whereas I saw it as a bold statement of my disatisfaction with the status quo at home.

It wasn't until I became a mother myself and had read all the latest child-rearing techniques (!) that I realized I had been hoodwinked by my own parents! It was when I saw it in black and white in the latest child-rearing book that I saw how the technique worked...In order to allow the child to maintain good self esteem, show basic concern for the child's welfare, but allow them some space to work out their basic problem. I have to admit, I've used the technique many times with my own boys, but it always concerned me that they did not have the safety-net of a Granny living a few hundred feet away.

Granny was always so accommodating when I came to her on one of my "run-aways." We would play cards and bake cookies. She didn't have a tv until later on, but we would listen to the story shows on the old radio. She taught me to crochet and to help stitch her quilts. But what I remember most, and what brings up a crystal clear recollection when I close my eyes, is the smell of her perfume. She wore lilac. Ohhh, it was so sweet! She would show me how to dab a little behind each ear and on the pulse points, and then a drop on the nose while she sang "a little dab'll do ya" from the Brylcreem commercial, and always followed by a granny hug in her soft and ample lilac scented bosoms.

After a few days of Granny-love my defiance would soften and I would be ready to return to the love of my parents and siblings, who were always ready to welcome me home ... well, until the next time! My Granny died when I was about 16, but I know she continues to watch over me from her lovely cottage in the heavens. She's probably baking cookies for little cherub girls, and dabbing them with lilac scented water, and loving them in her tender, ample bosoms. I think of my Granny from time to time, more so now that my boys are approaching the age of one day making me a "granny." I can only hope that when my sons have children of their own, they will come to think of me as I have my own grandmother. When my boys were growing up, I would never let them call me "Mama", because my mother was Mama. And likewise, my grandchildren will have to call me Nana, or Grandma, or some other endearing name, but not Granny ... for there will never be another like my Granny.

Maggie was one of those unfortunate people who was jerked up at a tender age and moved to the wilds of Austin, Texas. But, her sons were lucky enough to move back to Houston. Maggie can be reached at [email protected]
Her web page with stories and poems is located at http://www.geocities.com/Heartland/Fields/6154/

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THE LAST LETTER - JUNE 2, 1865

By William Craig

This was a letter addressed to Mrs. Levica Craig, Carrollton, MO. It was written on a letterhead which said: "United States Sanitary Commission" and it was postmarked Washington, D.C. No changes in the original grammar, punctuation, or spelling have been made. It is typed exactly as it was written.

June the 1, 1865

My dear I must write a few lines to you to pass of the time as I have been expecting to start Northward any day. The time seems so long and the only way I can pass the time and good amusement is when I have the privilege of writing so I will now proceed as follows. Dear, my health is good and, dear, I hope and trust that these few lines may find you enjoying the same blessing for good health is the greatest blessing that ever was bestowed upon human life. Dear, it has been some time since I have heard from you but if I could only get to hear from you every week the time wouldn't seem long.

The weather is very warm but thank God our marching is ended. This time last year we was moving on the enemy through the heat and dust but now when we start on a campaign it will be homeward and would have started for home today but the President requested all business to cease for this is Thanksgiving Day. But, dear, we will start for home soon. I am sure of this fact.

A few days ago I went to see the capital of the United States. I went through the whole building. I once thought I had seen the whole world but I had never seen the cornerstone until I visited this building. Would you believe if I would tell you it was made out of marble stone and it covers 5 acres of land. I also was in the President's mansion. I was also in the patent office. There I saw George Washington and his army equipment, his sword, and his messbox, his saddle, and his tents.

Dear, I will tell you all about it when I come home. The doors of those buildings has never been open until we came here. It has been open for us soldiers and no one is allowed to visit the Capitol - only soldiers and it is a sight to behold.

Dear, I will send you 5 dollars in this letter as I have borrowed it for that purpose. Maybe it will do you a little good. Dear, I am so sorry that I can't sent you more but, dear, when I get it now it will all be in one pile. It will be upwards of four hundred dollars and it is said that we will draw one hundred and 50 dollars more according to the War Department so if that should be the case I will be able to go to housekeeping again.

Since the year of 1864 from Larkinsville, Alabama in the month of March I drew the last of my pay and I have only spent fifteen dollars in that length of time. There is 18 months pay due to me today. But it is not the pay I am looking for now it is that sweel little cottage home and loved little family where I was so happy and free but thank God that day is coming again and is now almost at hand.

Oh, my dear, I often think of the good messes that I will get when I come home. So dear, I will close for the present hoping this will find you all well.

(Signed) William Craig to my dear beloved companion

[ Note:  I am the great-granddaughter of William Samuel Craig.   These letters from the Civil War were in the possession of his grandson, Jerry Craig, and they were loaned to me during a visit to his home in Norborne, Missouri. All of these letters were difficult to "translate" from the decorative script-writing; some have areas of blanks which were impossible to decipher.  Each letter retains some of its original spelling and grammar; some punctuation has been added for clarity; paragraphs have been created for easier reading. Where a word or phrase could not be read, "[--unreadable--]" is inserted; some words, such as places and names, may have "[Sherman]" immediately following. ]

Reprinted here with permission of Joyce Kohl

Joyce may be reached at   [email protected]

Her Web Site with many more letters may be found at   http://members.home.net/jkohl

PS, Joyce had this one greatgrandfather who fought for the north and another one who fought for the  South.

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