Chapter Twenty Six: In 1918 Pearl turns thirteen and WW I finally comes to an end.

Editor’s note: Pearl is feeling more mature, quoting poetry, and attempting to write a “Gothic novel”. As Fall of 1918 arrives the news about the war is improving. Pearl grows closer to Grandma Thornton, who now lives in their home. Enjoy. RAN

In reflecting upon the following scene in 1918, I can still see the small cottage located on the hillside sloping downward to the creek and draws, and I stand again out to the southwest of the building, enjoying the gorgeous sunset and reciting aloud (with no one listening) Tennyson’s “Bugle Song”, feeling the thrill of it:

“The splendor falls on Castle walls

And snowy summits old in story,

Blow, bugle, blow.

Set the wild echoes flying

Blow bugle, answer echoes,

Dying, dying, dying!”

I was growing more woman-like, more developed in mind, body, and emotions, beginning to realize my true self!  That experience made a lasting impression upon me.

https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Poems_That_Every_Child_Should_Know/The_Bugle_Song

Papa acquired an old buggy wheel, still on the shaft, and planted it some fifteen or twenty feet from the new room at our house.  It was a good “merry-go-round”, and many kids including Billy, now nine years old, and his friends, had much fun with it.  But I, for one, couldn’t use it, as it was so small, the turn was too short for me.  I became so nauseated, I would stop. But I was determined to make myself used to the game, so one day I stayed on the wheel and kept turning, getting sicker all the time.  Finally, I had to get off the wheel and vomit!  That was the end of my “merry-go-round”!  Viola and I would sit on the wheel and rock back and forth, while we talked, which was comfortable.  That was our use for the “merry-go-round”!

Ed. note: Mama and I share motion sickness. I experienced it in the back seat of a car, in a light airplane twice, on a caravel ride with my children, and on a fishing boat in the ocean. Now I discover Mama experienced it, also. See link. RAN

https://www.passporthealthusa.com/2015/03/is-motion-sickness-genetic/

Another experience that indicated Billy and I were growing away from each other was one afternoon after school, we decided to play “ante-over”, a game using a baseball that was thrown over a building to another person or group of persons.  The rule was that if the opposing team caught the ball, they hurried around the building, surprising the other team.  Any person touched by the ball changed to the opposing team.  The winner was the team who “caught” all of the opponents.  As Billy and I discussed the game and decided at what point across the house we would try to toss the ball, I recall using some “correct” English in our conversation, such as “threw” instead of “throwed” that we formerly used.  As I talked, and Billy used the word, he seemed to be mimicking me, instead of making use of the word to be correct.  I challenged him on that point, which he refused that he was doing this. The argument broke up our ante-over ball game! 

That summer as Billy and I chopped cotton, instead of interpreting cloud pictures, I began orally composing stories.  My characters were selected, plots were explained and at the end of the day or at noon, I would “continue the story in the next episode”, borrowing from the novels that were printed by installment in our current newspapers.  Billy still recalls these elementary stories and some of the characters that I had forgotten.  By the next summer and fall of 1919, however, I recall, as we chopped cotton and picked cotton, composing a Gothic novel  I was serious enough about this to begin to write it down.  As I have indicated earlier, Miss Katherine Caldwell saw in me a promising writer, which encouraged me a great deal.  However, when Mama Betty learned of my writing, she criticized me in the harshest way possible by saying persons who wrote stories were deranged in their minds and would go crazy!  That angered me so much, I burned my manuscript, to the consternation of my friend, Viola Noel.  She was completely disgusted with Mama’s attitude, and with me for paying attention to her harsh criticism!

Ed. note: This link discusses definitions and history and examples of the Gothic Novel. RAN

https://www.iispandinipiazza.edu.it/wp/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/the-gothic-novel.pdf

  I’m sure there were multiple reasons for Mama’s criticism.  Number one, she was old-fashioned in her thinking, very superstitious; number two, she may have sincerely feared that I was traveling in the path of Mother Vinie, and number three, she may have wanted me to learn to cook, sew, wash and iron the laundry instead of wasting my time writing foolish fiction!  She could not interpret my temperament at that point and realize that I was far more inclined toward Papa’s philosophy than my mother’s. (At any rate, the short-lived Gothic novel was some year and a half later!)

  Now, back to the Summer of 1918; the war still raged on! We made a visit to Randlett and Valley View community late that summer.  I visited the school as classes were commencing early, the practice in this cotton belt.  These summer sessions usually lasted for a month, then closed for the students to help gather the crops. I enjoyed sitting with my former classmates and as we met at recess, we older girls were gathered in the vestibule listening to the young attractive elementary teacher, recounting a movie she had seen starring Harold Lloyd.  As my generation remembers, the guy with the horn-rimmed glasses who always got himself into scrapes from which he managed to extricate himself!  Generally, there was a female accomplice, as he was really a handsome fellow.  After enjoying her narration, while she munched a juicy peach, we all returned to the outside.  The building had been remodeled again, with a wide set of steps in front.  As we stepped down, some of the boys our age came by. Floyd Jackson, my former admirer, spoke to me, beginning apparently a nice conversation, but in my bashfulness, I stepped aside too far and fell to the ground! I really was embarrassed then!  Everyone ran to help me up, which was unnecessary as I did recover myself quickly. But they all laughed with me as I brushed myself off.  Needless to say, that ruined my day!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/From_Hand_to_Mouth#/media/File:From_Hand_to_Mouth_FilmPoster.jpeg

Projecting into 1919 again, Floyd Jackson and Cecil Hatcher, my cousin, drove up in a Model T Ford to Rita School to see me and other girls.  We all acted like a group of monkeys peering at them through the windows, which Floyd wrote about in a letter to me!  I could have told him, and probably did in my answer that they (the boys) could have come to the door and addressed themselves properly to us girls!  It was recess time and we were staying in out of the cold on that wintry day.  Viola and I went out when they first drove up and talked with them for a few minutes, inviting them to the schoolhouse.

 

       Floyd and I kept up a correspondence for some six months, at which time he appeared to be too serious to suit me.  I was not sure whether he was serious or just tantalizing me, a young bashful girl!  He did continue his education, became a lawyer, County Attorney of his home county and finally, a judge in Oklahoma City.  He was an earnest, sincere fellow who made a name for himself and I do respect him for that.

      Now returning to Summer of 1918, it was very dry and only a few water holes remained on Cooper Creek, and one of those was just below our barn where Grandma liked to go fishing. It was a great pastime for her, whether or not she caught any fish.  The bank of the creek where Grandma sat was higher than any other spot around there, very rounded and void of vegetation.  It had the appearance that a dredging operation had been performed at an earlier date, leaving this bare, rounded appearance.  Because of this dome-like surface, Mama was afraid Grandma might lose her footing and slip into the creek.  Consequently, she would insist that I go and sit with Grandma while she fished.  I hated to fish!  One day while we were sitting, waiting for the fish to bite, we saw a small snake crawl up from the water, making his way toward us.  We hurried from that spot, never to return to go fishing there again!

    On a hot night that summer, just as we had got into bed, the telephone rang.  Papa talked, while we waited with bated breath as to what the message could be.  The hour was not late, but many times in the summer we retired to our beds without lighting the lamps.  After supper, Mama and Papa had done the milking while I washed the supper dishes. There was nothing left to do except to go to bed and get plenty of rest for tomorrow.  At last, Papa hung up the receiver and told us the sad news; Elbert, Uncle Bob’s twenty-three-year-old son had died in a troop-train accident.  They were en-route to the East Coast to board a troop transport vessel on the way to France.  There had been some technicality in joining the passenger coaches at which point some of the men were caught between the cars, crushing them to death.  Elbert was among those killed.  What a sad, shocking experience for the family and relatives.  Our sleep was fitful throughout this summer night, to say the least!

   This dry spring and summer of 1918 were disastrous for the farmer.  Our cotton crop was very poor.  I don’t recall the number of bales the cotton field produced-but Papa, Mama, Billy, and I gathered the crop, with Arthur, now nearing 5 years old, tagging along and helping some.

Ed. note: A “bale” of cotton was a 500 lb. strapped bundle of “ginned” cotton fiber after the stems, seeds, and hulls were removed. RAN

    We had been hearing some distressing news about our school; the district could not afford two teachers that fall, so Miss Katherine Caldwell agreed to teach the entire student body.  The number of students had decreased for various reasons. But, of course, the teaching load was still too heavy, we can be sure.  Papa had been asked by Mr. Hogan if our family would gather his cotton crop, so on the day when we were finishing his field, Papa sent Billy and me to the mailbox, nearby the schoolhouse.  We heard that they had been refinishing the interior of the school building, so we couldn’t resist the temptation to take a peep at the place where we would begin the following Monday, to spend the next nine months.  We were met with a surprise as we looked into the north windows and saw the neat walls, not painted, but papered!  That must have been a tremendous task, we surmised, but it was refreshing to see, and also, provided insulation for the building.

School days were different when we came together that Fall of 1918: all eight grades were in one room. Actually, the two rooms were made into one large one by opening the folding doors to accommodate some forty students.  I don’t recall any disciplinary problems, but we had a drinking water problem for a while.  All the students carried their drinking water to school in large ginger ale bottles.  I suppose the well by the school had dried up during the long drought.  Finally, we were allowed to go across the road to Mr. Hammonds’ pump to fill our water bottles.  We would go there and back in organized groups of six or eight people.  It was necessary to climb between two strands of a barbed-wire fence, and much care had to be taken to prevent tears in our clothing, snags in our sweaters.  We held the wires apart to let each other pass through.  Something happened one day when Billy was climbing through the fence when the barbs caught his upper lip and tore it severely.  It bled profusely, but Mr. Hammonds took him home in his car, picked up Papa on the way to Grandfield to a doctor for stitches. He always carried the scar.  I still recall the fright I experienced, fearful of just how badly he was hurt.

 

         I mentioned the Hammonds children when they moved into the Wolfe place the winter before.  Ruth was a little tot, well not really, probably in the second grade. She would stand beside the school building on the north side and watch, as we older kids ran back and forth playing a kind of “Tag”. The schoolhouse was one base, and I was on the team based at that point. One day, when in my haste, I stumbled and sat flat down on the hard ground.  A couple of girls offered to help me up, but the fall on a certain spot of my anatomy caused me to be blinded for a few seconds.  I stood upon my feet, but objects still appeared a bit blurred in my vision.  I rubbed my eyes and looked around, waiting for my eyesight to come into correct focus.  Vera Bowman, another little spectator, probably in the third grade, looked at me and asked,  “Are you blind in one eye and can’t see out of the other?”.  Of course, that made us all laugh.  I can see her yet, as she craned her neck to look directly into my face.  She was grinning, too, as she had quite a good sense of humor.

     Perhaps, Miss Katherine was developing new skills as a teacher, but she helped us to learn new songs that school term.  Old songs, to be sure, but songs with patriotic themes, as well as songs with nostalgic temper. We sang “America”, “Columbia, Gem of the Ocean”, “America the Beautiful”. Also, there were songs of ethnic quality, “Flow Gently, Sweet Afton”, “Where the River Shannon Flows”, “Massa’s in De Cold, Cold Ground”,  “My Old Kentucky Home” and “Carry Me Back to Old Virginny”.

Ed. note: The link below is a 1914 recording of Columbia, Gem of the Ocean RAN

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCAH5nMN25o

Then one cold, cold Friday afternoon, huddled around the pot-bellied coal stove in the center of the classroom, some of us would revel in listening to “The Girl of the Limberlost”, “Michael O’Hollowran”, “That Printer of Udells”, as Miss Katherine read to us portions of these books by Harold Bell Wright.

Ed. note: “The Girl of the Limberlost” was actually written by Gene Stratton-Porter. This popular author is described in the link that follows. RAN

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gene_Stratton-Porter

   As the fall progressed in 1918, war reports began to appear more favorable for the United States and their Allies.  Then, on November 11, 1918, an armistice was signed, by both sides of this terrible conflict, which put a stop to the fighting. Anticipating this end to World War I, as it is known, a pageant was prepared by the French, meeting at Marseilles, France.  All major powers were present.  Martial music was played by all marching bands, flags of all nations were presented and national anthems of every participating nation were sung.  At the close, an outstanding narrator recited a short poem that spoke to everyone present.  Our school, Rita, was to present this pageant in the spring semester of 1919.

Ed. note: This link describes how the Armistice is different from a surrender. RAN

https://www.history.com/news/world-war-i-armistice-germany-allies?li_source=LI&li_medium=m2m-rcw-history

    There was a point somewhere during those winter school days that Miss Katherine decided we needed to exercise at the noon hour by lining up for a type of dance.  She had obtained recorded music which she played on the Victrola, then taught us the simple steps of the game.  The lines facing each other could be as long as necessary to accommodate players; there was enough room between the door and the desks to form the lines.  Two players, a boy, and a girl, (if there were boys who would play), would begin the game.  These would clasp crossed hands in front and proceed between the lines skipping as they went, while the two lines clapped to the music.  At the end of the line, the players would take their places in the lines and the next two players would skip their way between the lines, and so on until the music stopped.  Then we would begin again with players choosing partners.  It was great fun and refreshing exercise for those dull winter days of 1918-1919.

But that is not the end of the story!  My father, and maybe some other dads, decided that Miss Katherine Caldwell was teaching dancing to the students!  There was nothing left to do, after making their complaints to their children, but to let the school board ask the teacher to stop these dancing games!  So the game was stopped as suddenly as it began.

   At home that winter, I remember Grandma stayed with us.  I slept with her and we would talk before going to sleep at night and one or two nights Grandma related to me the story some of her cousins had read to her (she couldn’t read).  I’m not sure of the title, but I think it must have been “The Winning of Barbara Worth”, as she used the name Barbara several times in the discussion.  She pronounced it Bar’-bar’-a’, and as I had not heard of the name before, I didn’t know the difference for many years, before the name became so popular.  Probably, the reason for Grandma’s relating to me this story, was that I read to Grandma, each day the newspaper came, the installment of the serial that was currently running in the paper.  We were both anxious to see what would happen next.  I believe the story we were reading was “Tempest and Sunshine”.  I don’t recall the author’s name.  We discussed other interests besides stories we had read. For my age, turning fourteen in January, I had many questions that I could ask no one except Grandma.

Ed. note: In the next chapter, Pearl relates their family and community experience with the 1918-1919 Spanish Flu epidemic. Stay tuned. Please leave a comment or thought as you enjoy these narratives of Pearl’s years in rural Oklahoma. RAN