Ed. note: As we learn more of the Noels and her creek playground, Pearl describes a bucolic Springtime with no worries. But, dark clouds of WW I are rising over America, as the U.S.A. entered the Great War and it impacts the family. RAN

   As we became better acquainted with the Noels, we began to visit back and forth.  I recall some cold, clear Sundays, for want of something to do, we kids would walk on the banks of the creek; in a sense exploring new areas of the homestead.  On one side of the creek, the farming land came near the creek, forming a sort of bottom, with fertile soil.  On the opposite side where the bank was steep, the soil was rock but fertile enough to support tall grass known as sage grass.  It was also called Blue Stem grass, but I’m not sure if that term was correct.  Scattered over the rough pasture land were a few bushes the color and texture of sage; these were sagebrush.  This growth was more abundant closer to Red River in the sand hills a couple of miles away.

     As Viola,13 years old, Lona, 11, and I, 12, wandered along the banks of the stream, we would soon discover the boys following us-their brother, David, 7, and my brother, Billy, 8.  This was a slight irritation to us, so as we drew near the clumps of tall grass we made a quick decision to hide in the grass from the boys.  It was certain protection, too, from the cold, north breeze we were facing.  We had barely gotten securely hidden when we began to hear them talking as they approached us.  We waited with bated breath to see if they would discover us. “Now, where did they go?”, one said to the other. “They were right along here”, they continued.  They were still puzzled as their conversation drifted back to us huddled there in the tall grass.  To complete our joke on them, we jumped out and shouted, “Ha! Ha! Ha! We fooled you!”  It was about time for us to turn back toward the house; we began running away from the boys. They turned to follow us, but they were in no hurry as they walked slowly along.

      Those were the days!  Those dear, irresponsible days!  We had no problems, no cares, as our elders bore all the responsibilities and the burdens in that period of our lives.  We knew only the joys of growing, playing together with loving, caring friends and families who were always there when we needed them!  P. L. Travers said it this way, “When I was a child, love to me was what the sea is to a fish; something to swim in while you are going about the important affairs of life.”

                                                   WORLD WAR I  

In early 1917 war clouds hung heavy over Europe as Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany began to over-run the smaller neighboring countries with his war machines.  The entire world felt the shock of this ruthlessness and vowed to stop it by some means or another.  When Germany renewed her submarine warfare on all merchant ships, Count Von Bernstorff, the German ambassador was dismissed, dissolving relations with Germany.  On April 2, 1917, President Woodrow Wilson declared war against Germany. Our teachers read the newspapers and caught every news item by telegram or otherwise and we older students became a part of our country’s involvement in the war.

      In the summer of 1917, Uncle Bob,  Aunt Lula, Virgie, Elbert, Herbert, and Deward came by in a covered wagon for a few days visit.  We had heard that this family was leaving Devol, Oklahoma, sometime soon.  Devol lay some twenty-five miles east of us and with our team and wagon, our only means of transportation, we didn’t get to visit Uncle Bob’s family.  Aunt Lula had a health problem that could not be corrected; and now, diagnosed as tuberculosis.  Her doctors advised the open air as the first resort; travel west to a higher, drier climate was recommended.  So, Uncle Bob sold his model T car and bought a team and wagon, equipping it so it could be a home on wheels for their family of six people.  They were not sure of their destination at that point in their lives, possibly to Pueblo, Colorado.  Our place was their first stop, where they spent the greater part of a week.  Uncle Bob, a minister of the gospel, had left his church in Devol, with some sadness, but with a compulsion to travel, with Aunt Lula, for her health’s sake.

Their visit was a memorable one.  Billy and I had idolized our cousins, Virgie and Herbert, but we hadn’t been with them much in recent years.  We realized that they were outgrowing us as Virgie was in her seventeenth year, and I was twelve.  Herbert was eleven and Billy was only eight.  Virgie was old enough to accept the responsibilities that were thrust upon her during her mother’s illness, which was a traumatic experience for them all.  

      It so happened that Mama’s brother, Noel Savage, came to see us that week, too.  He was also a preacher, and I remember that Sunday afternoon we all stood in the dining room and sang hymns from a couple of hymnbooks Papa found for us.  As I stood by, mostly watching and listening, I realized how grown-up Virgie was as she sang out with the others.

      I had a happy time with Aunt Lula.  She was always a fun person, and although I was sometimes the brunt of a joke of hers that embarrassed me, I still loved her.  This time was different from the times when I was a little girl.  Aunt Lula was crocheting as she sat around while Mama was busy.  Virgie would help Mama and I would talk with Aunt Lula.  All of my schoolmates were crocheting from the least girl to the oldest.  I asked Papa to get me a crochet hook and crochet thread, but he termed such fancy work as nonsense; remarking that the girls who sat around crocheting world never amount to “a hill of beans”.   I explained to Aunt Lula what had happened, and she determined to “talk to Pete about that”.  One day when Papa and Uncle Bob started to the store up on the hill, Aunt Lula said, “Pete, I want you to get Pearl a crochet hook and some thread from the store.  It will cost only a few cents and I want to teach her to crochet.”  Papa brought them back, to my surprise, and sure enough, Aunt Lula taught me to crochet in just a few lessons.

      Papa had planted sweet potatoes that spring.  He bought long, slender potatoes, bedded them down early so that about the time frost was past, potato slips began to come through the earth and grow. Papa threw up high ridges with his plow, leveled them off with a hoe, and all of our family worked together to plant and water the sweet potato slips on top of the ridges.  About the time Uncle Bob’s family came, the slips were beautiful, luxurious vines, but no sign of potatoes.  Papa told Uncle Bob that they were sold to him under the pretext that they were vine-less potatoes.  Uncle Bob answered that they looked as though they would be tomato-less vines!

      Billy and I were rather small, but Papa put us to hoeing cotton that summer.  I was twelve and Billy was eight.  As I have related, Billy was plowing with a three-horse plow when he was seven, so the hoe was no responsibility compared to the plow.  In retrospect, I hardly see how Papa had the patience to endure the way Billy and I wasted our time in the cotton patch.  There were only a few weeds in the cotton, so I’m sure he expected us to cover more ground than we did.  Of course, we saw every bird that flew over, every rabbit that jumped up and ran away, and every car that passed along the country road.  The most fascinating pastime was viewing cloud pictures as the large feathery clouds floated overhead.   They took all shapes and forms imaginable.  There were lakes surrounded by a thicket of trees, sometimes we could see a canoe on the lake.  We saw faces in the clouds and watched as the vapor changed and moved quickly to another shape; maybe to a cow or a horse or even a pig!  It was such fun!

In August of 1917, we made a trip back to Randlett.  Just a few days before we left, our little dog, “Cricket” died, which threw a pall over our family, affecting the otherwise joyous anticipation of seeing our relatives and friends.  Just taking a trip was an eventful occasion in our lives, however.   We left home early one morning, facing the early morning sun as we jolted along in our farm wagon, traveling east-southeast to our destination.  Mama had packed a picnic lunch, so we stopped along the way to eat, to stretch our legs, and to allow the team to rest.  We arrived about four o’clock that afternoon at the home where we formerly lived, now occupied by cousin Roy Thornton and family.  Our friends, the Floyd Anglins, who had lived just down the road from us, had moved one and one-half miles south.  After visiting for a short while with the relatives, whose children were small, I persuaded Mama and Papa to allow me to go on to the Anglins where I would spend the night.   That was a joyous reunion with friends, everybody talking at once, relating new experiences and catching up on the time we had been apart.  We had all grown and developed, so really we are now new friends, having come out of the old!

      The next morning the folks picked me up at the Anglins and after enjoying a short visit with them, we traveled to Aunt Dove’s and Uncle Elias’ home.  Papa and Mama and the boys stayed a couple of days over the weekend, as I recall, and left me to come home with some of the relatives, a week or so later. Left at Aunt Dove’s, I spent most of the time with her around the house, helping when I could, as all of her children were boys.  They were Cecil, 15, Bob, 13, Edgar, 10, and George, four years of age.  On a Sunday night, there was to be a singing at the Coursey’s home.  They were people who had moved into the Valley View community after we had moved away.  They were a friendly family with a couple of beautiful girls near my age.  Aunt Dove decided it would be nice for me to go to the family’s home for the hymn sing, so Cecil, Bob and I went in their one-horse buggy.  The three of us sat in the single-seat together and drove through the summer sunset for about three miles to the Coursey home.  A roomful of people, young and older, gathered there and soon the singing began.  A pump organ provided the music, played by a skilled musician. 

           I enjoyed being there; however, I knew few of the young people but some were there that had attended Valley View School with me.  Young and old alike joined in the singing which lasted a couple of hours.  I recall that we paused for refreshments of lemonade and cake about halfway through the singing.  The crowd finally began to dissolve, and Bob, Cecil and I left for home.  The night was clear, lighted by a beautiful moon.  The two boys clowned around some, bantering each other, maybe arguing a bit over who should drive.  I seem to recall that Cecil drove all the way, however.  Along the last half of the journey, they began to sing.  They had beautiful voices, harmonizing consistently!  At first they remembered lines of some hymns.  Then they finished with  “Darling Nellie Gray” and “Red Wing”.  They probably never knew how I enjoyed that evening out, with my two teenage boy-cousins!  I was far too bashful to let them know!

Ed. note: The link is to a YouTube recording of “Darling Nellie Gray”. Interesting choice of songs in 1917 for an evening ballad in Oklahoma.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsUdIsJ9TLU

 I was always glad when Grandma Thornton came to our house for a while.  It was less than four years before that she had been a substitute mother for Billy and me, so it was easy for me to talk with her.  I probably learned from her that summer more of her life as a wife and mother than at any other time.  We talked about the time her daughters were growing up and about Grandpa’s service as a minister.  We talked of the other homes of my aunts, uncles and cousins.  We had known Uncle Jim’s children, of course when we were much younger, but now, Vernon was 13, Golden 11, and Lovell, nine.  Grandma had been to see them at Pottsboro, Texas.  She related to me the way my girl cousins, younger than I, could cook and sew.  I received that information with mixed emotions, envy on the one hand, because I wasn’t able to perform as they could, and on the other hand, experiencing a sense of relief that I didn’t have to do those chores.  I would much rather read a book than cook or sew, but I learned to do both when I was married young and had to perform the duties!

  Along about this period in Arthur’s life, he and Grandma had an interesting time together.  In our pasture, over on the east side there was a sand pit.  That is, the sand was useful for mixing concrete, so Papa sold several loads of it to builders.  They passed our house coming down from the road to get the sand in the pasture.  With Billy and I away at school all day and mama busy, Arthur, age 3, could find mischief to get into; not serious, but something that Grandma would try to correct.  He would argue with Grandma and go on doing it.  She hit upon the idea of the sand-diggers, as she called them, and told Arthur if he didn’t stop what he was doing she would give him to the sand-diggers.  He paid attention for a while, but one day when she threatened him, he reminded her that the sand-digger wasn’t coming by anymore.  They had gotten all the sand they needed.  So then she went to the telephone, saying she would call the sand-digger to come and get him.  Of course, she held the hook down, but pretended to talk to the man.  That worked for a while until Arthur discovered that she was holding the hook down, therefore wasn’t talking to anyone!  So the fun was over!  Perhaps, Arthur became a good boy after a while! (He was never a bad boy, only a little mischievous).

Uncle Charley, Grandmas’s youngest, came by that fall to visit us with the news that he was on his way to join the Navy.  He was 29 years old, married, with three children: Arthell, going on five, Vineta, going on three, and I.V., a small baby girl.  Of course, we all dreaded to see him go, but he was convinced that he was needed to help to defend his country, so he was determined to go.  He tried to join the Army Air Corps, which was not so efficient in World War I as it was in later years, but he was not accepted as he lacked the necessary education.  He told us, laughingly, that the Army wouldn’t take him because he was flat-footed; that may have been a joke.  We thought Uncle Charley could do anything he wanted to do, he was so adept and efficient and equipped with a positive attitude that set him apart from his peers.  But, he said goodbye to his “mammy” as he called Grandma, and all of our family, and left for the East Coast.  I recall that he came to see us once, dressed in his Navy blues, wearing his “gob” cap; we were so proud of him, so glad to see him again!

Editor’s note: In the next chapter, Pearl will recall much news of war and one of her older 8th grade classmates dating soldiers. There is a ‘pole cat’ smell interrupting class at Rita School, and Grandma Thornton moves to stay. Keep tuned in for all the action. RAN

Editor Note: Pearl is almost twelve years old at Christmas, 1916. They have just moved onto their own farm in November. Rita (pron. Right-uh) School has two teachers for eight grades; both are women which is unusual. Pearl makes many new friends including the Noel girls who live nearby. You will enjoy the many discoveries Pearl makes in this episode. RAN

It is difficult to visualize today, with all the advertising of toothpaste, mouth wash, breath fresheners, and such which are around, that no one in our family owned a tooth brush, much less used toothpaste nor mouth wash; oh, maybe salt water, sometimes.  But this first spring in the new school brought a new experience into our household which would have a lasting effect upon us.  Our school teacher, Miss Katherine Caldwell introduced to me, along with most of the students in our small school, tooth brushes and tooth paste.  I had seen Colgate tooth paste advertised in magazines for some three or four years but had never actually seen it, as I recall.  Miss Katherine had charts which she handed out to the entire school, on which to keep a record of the care of our teeth.  This was a day-by-day activity which we marked on our charts which were placed on the wall in convenient reach of each of us. 

 We were to brush our teeth before breakfast each morning and brush after each meal.  Certificates were awarded at the end of a given period to those who carried out these requirements religiously.   As we didn’t own tooth brushes, Papa complied with the teacher’s request and brought home tooth brushes and tooth paste from the country store on the hill.  Perhaps, Miss Katherine had alerted Harry De Ford to lay in a supply of tooth brushes and tooth paste as the surrounding community depended upon him for grocery staples and other supplies.  I remember Papa bought me a pair of black shoes from there once; patent leather with cloth tape buttoned with five or six buttons. The storekeeper threw in a button hook, to boot!  But to continue with the tooth brushing experience, I can still taste that Colgate flavor mixed with my morning egg as I ate breakfast!  After some days, I dropped the morning brushing and attended only to brushing following each meal.

   At some point in time, Mama began sewing “dust caps” which she wore religiously.  It was after Arthur was born, probably when she experienced falling hair.  To prevent fair from falling into food as she prepared and served it, she would tuck her hair up in her small dust cap.  She won these around the house for the rest of her life.  Later she found a new pattern that lay flat, making ironing easier.  These caps were actually bonnets with buttons and buttonholes, which made for a neat fit when fastened together.  These bonnets or dust caps became a trademark of Mama Betty.  She would look strangely unfamiliar to us children when she dressed for town or for church as she left off the everyday cap and donned her hat for the occasion.  We lived only a mile from the Rita schoolhouse, as I had said, so we walked there on Sunday mornings when weather permitted, if and when Sunday School and church were in session.  In those days, these sessions were spasmodic in meeting.  Papa was one of the organizers and energizers of such meetings and the people of the community seemed to cooperate in the endeavors. 

   We lived only a mile from Rita (“Right-uh”) school house, as I had said, so we walked there on Sunday mornings when weather permitted, if and when Sunday School and church were in session.  In those days, these sessions were spasmodic in meeting.  Papa was one of the organizers and energizers of such meetings and the people of the community seemed to cooperate in the endeavors.  During the first three or four years there were religious meetings more often than not being conducted at the school.  A Baptist Church was organized there once, as Mr. Bly Wolfe was an ordained Baptist deacon and Rev. Pendleton, who was the Associational missionary of Tillman County was on hand to do the preaching.  After the Wolfes moved away and the support of the church depended primarily upon the Abner (“Ab”) Davidson family and the Smith family, plus our family support. Because these other two stalwart church families both lived in the Pleasant Valley School Community, located 3.5 miles east of our house, the decision was made to move the church to the Pleasant Valley schoolhouse.

   The first year on the new homestead brought many sandstorms that winter and spring. I’m sure the soil was in need of moisture because every small shower or layer of snow was so welcome. It began to snow on a school day morning just as I was getting ready for school.  Papa was so happy to see the large flakes drifting to the ground in the moderately cold temperature.  But, Papa said we could not attend school; he recalled a sledding song which I never heard before; “Little Snowflakes Falling…soon we’ll take a ride!…”. As he sang he laughed, while I was fuming!  I didn’t want to miss school!  But the sandstorms were so furious at times, practically hiding the sun by early afternoon, the teachers would send us all home. 

    Without many friends close by as yet, I invented my own amusement when I found time on my hands on such long dreary afternoons, I don’t know where Billy would be, but probably with Papa out doing some activity such as repairing fences or plowing garden spots.  But, Arthur, now going on three, was happy to play with me.  We had not yet cut his hair, so I would comb it, parting it off, and braiding it in small braids, tie ribbons on, making him look much like a pretty little girl!  I would then find an old outgrown dress of mine which I could “belt” up above his feet, then admire my handiwork!  Mama cooperated with me in my fanciful play; Arthur must have been a sweet, agreeable baby to have endured this torture!  Apparently, this game of mine was repeated several times that spring as long as the spring sandstorms lasted. 

   Gradually, we began to make neighborhood acquaintances.  The Taylors, about one-half mile away were there when we first came.  There were Dora and Minnie who attended school with us.  Dora was older than I,  but behind me in school.  Minnie likewise was in a lower grade, but more out-going than Dora, who soon removed to Dallas, Texas, to make her home with her aunt, possibly her dead mother’s sister.  We became better acquainted a couple of years later when she returned to our school.  She was a beautiful, brown-eyed blond, a little on the heavy side, but very attractive. While Ora, her older sister, not in school anymore, and Minnie were of the more slender type, but lacked Dora’s attractiveness.

Editor’s note: The map below is to help the reader experience some of the geography that Pearl and family and friends lived with in this Cooper Creek and Rita School community in the 1916-20 era. The Thornton homestead is the black enclosed square (160 acres, a “quarter section”). It contains the gin, store and their home (the black dot) and the larger enclosed square area. The roads have dashed marks. Pearl and Billy went up by the gin to get to the road to cross the bridge west walking to Rita School. RAN

   The widow Mandy Noel and her brood had moved to a house about one-half mile across the pastures from us.  Our fields joined and we walked a beaten path between our homes once we became acquainted.  We had been associated with them in school the first semester when they had lived one and one-half miles west of the schoolhouse.  Viola was the oldest of the four children who lived with their widowed mother.  The oldest brother, Frank, and his wife, Lola (Colyer) Noel lived across the road, and Austin, second-oldest, and his wife, Lillie (Colyer) Noel occupied the house with Mrs. Noel and the younger children.  Viola was one year my senior, but we became fast friends and still recall precious memories of our youth seventy-odd years later!  Lona was one year younger than me, and Lavada, two years younger than Lona.  The youngest Noel child, David was more than a year younger than Billy, but they kept that beaten path quite warm as they roamed the creek and the hills together when they were not busy at school or at work.

An incident occurred that winter of 1916 on a cold, windy Sunday just as we had finished our noon meal.  A knock came at the south door of the dining room.  No window on the south side of the house.  It was Minnie Taylor, all wrapped up in her Sunday best, and as she came in she was asking if I was going up to the Wolfe’s for dinner (noon). Of course, I said no, and asked why.  She said we were all invited to come up for dinner that Sunday!  As I had already eaten, I did not feel inclined to accept that unusual invitation, but Minnie persisted so earnestly, she swayed both Papa and me that I should go with her.  So, glancing at Mama, who motioned to me to go ahead and get dressed, I got into my Sunday best, and we walked the chilly one mile to the Wolfe’s who lived close by the schoolhouse.  We knocked at the front door and the oldest daughter admitted us, but to my surprise, no other schoolmates were there; one friend, maybe two of the younger children were around.  It was so late, I supposed they had eaten, but unlike Mama (Betty), Mrs. Wolfe didn’t serve the noon meal on the twelve O’clock hour on cold Sundays.  After about half an hour the Wolfes began frying sausage and preparing other foods.  No roast beef with all the trimmings, as I had expected for the invited dinner.  There was a couch in the dining room, and chairs, so the family assembled there.  

     Beatrice, some two years my senior, attempting to entertain Minnie and me, took us into the living room where the piano was. And while we watched, she proceeded to move the piano out a bit to give us a peep of what the younger children would get for Christmas, a few weeks away.  About all I saw in the hurried peep were a couple of newly designed, up-to-date dolls for the younger girls.  That was a surprise, but interesting experience, but as Mother Wolfe called “dinner”, back went the piano into its place and we followed Beatrice into the dining room.  I sat on the couch while the rest ate, as I explained that we had already eaten at home. 

      The visit ended shortly after the meal, as I recall. An impressive visit, I admit, as I had not been in the home before.  It was one of the better homes of the community, well-furnished with rugs, window curtains (hangings), and a piano.  Landowners had settled there probably some ten to eleven years before.  It was really a treat to glimpse the better, more settled life, but not for a moment did it take away the love for my humble home and the joys I experienced there which I hold dear in my memories.  The one thing I recall which probably occurred the next spring as we were leaving school one Friday, Beatrice was hurrying the little sister on, as she said, “Hurry up! We’ve got to go and take music lessons!” I felt a tinge of envy, thinking, “Oh, if I could just have that opportunity!”

      Soon Christmas of 1916 arrived and I found circumstances at school somewhat different from those at Valley View.  We planned and rehearsed our Christmas Program and someone brought a huge Christmas tree and set it in place, but unlike the program back at Valley View, there was not the simple, all-school chorus that we had in the sixth grade (maybe they didn’t at Valley View this year, either!).  But, we were growing up now!  I don’t actually remember a single part of the program.  Names were drawn in each class so that each person would find a gift on the tree on that eventful night. 

I remember an event at home on the afternoon preceding the Christmas Tree and program, which taught me a valuable truth.  I was just home from school and Mama was in the process of readying our clothes to wear to the program.  She had set up the ironing board in the kitchen and was pressing my Christmas dress of 1915 that I wore to Valley View.  I’m sure I was carried away with school program practice, unnecessarily elated, and feeling very grown-up.  So I asked Mama rather indignantly, “Am I going to wear that old thing?”  She looked at me in surprise and answered, “Yes, you have nothing else to wear.”  Then she added, “It’s not ‘an old thing’; it’s still a good dress.”  That really sat me down!  I never called a dress of mine an old thing after that.                                                                                                       

        I hated to be absent from school worse than any other thing, but if there was one snowflake beginning to fall a few minutes before we started school, Papa would say, “You can’t go to school today, the weather’s too bad.”  I’ve told this before in this writing, but one morning, just as I was ready to leave for school, a few snowflakes began to fall.  Mama said that Papa wouldn’t let me go, but I answered her that Billy had already gone; he usually went ahead of me to walk with other boys along the road.  And, too, Papa always gave him a nickel each morning for a large cookie with white icing to put in his dinner pail. (Incidentally, they were “Billy Boy” cookies, some four inches across.)  As I was already wrapped that morning, I said to Mama, “I’m going on!”, and ran down the path across the field to the creek crossing.  The day was not so cold and the snow soon stopped.

   There was a day, whether it was our first winter on the homestead or the next, that the wintry day did bring a real snowstorm.  It began around noon and got heavier as the afternoon wore on, cutting visibility to a few hundred feet.  A dad or two came to pick up their children in cars. Unusual, as there were only a few cars in our district. But Papa walked the mile to the school to walk back home with us.  Other children were walking with us, too, and some children made derogatory remarks about Papa coming to walk with us in the blowing snow; said that wouldn’t do us any good.  But, we were all safer with a parent walking with us in the storm.

Editor’s note: Winter of 1917 is harsh, but the next chapter Spring will come and Pearl introduces two of the Noel girls which she befriends. Viola, the older, becomes a lifelong friend. World War I is becoming an issue in the U.S. and Pearl gives some details. Stay tuned. RAN

Ed. note: Pearl takes us through late Summer of 1915 into her sixth grade in school. She has many interesting observations about her new “two room” schoolhouse, a new teacher, new fellow students, some “spooky” experiences. Enjoy. RAN

 I have mentioned before that our large windows had no shades nor drapes to cover them, and as a result, I had three unusual experiences with these windows.  I may not recall these incidents in their proper sequences, which is not important anyway.

    One warm night I awoke in mine and Billy’s bedroom on the southwest corner, climbed out of bed, passed through Mama’s and Papa’s bedroom, went into the kitchen, to the north window to the bench where my clothes were deposited the night before, put them on and went into Grandma’s bedroom, which was the southeast room.  I didn’t get into her bed, but instead, I lay down on the crocheted rag rug beside her bed.  I went back to sleep for awhile.  I awoke, got up, retraced my steps, undressed, went back to my bed and to sleep again.  The uncanny thing about it all, is that I was conscious that I was doing this without realizing why.  I told Mama and Papa about it the next morning but they didn’t believe me, thinking I had dreamed it.  But I said no, that I had remembered looking through the window at the lights of Randlett as I dressed!

    Another incident occurred when I was sleeping in Grandma’s room alone.  I might have been a bit feverish, although Papa detected nothing abnormal about my health.  I had been asleep and awoke to see what seemed to me the window in the walk-in closet on the east of this room, moving up and down.  The door between the two rooms was closed, but I was not aware of that.  It was such an eerie sight, I began to scream at Papa that the window was moving up and down!  He came quickly, showed me that the door was closed so that I couldn’t see that window.  What I really saw was an automobile coming along the road from Randlett, shining its headlights through the north kitchen window which reflected on the south wall of my bedroom.  As the car moved along over the uneven terrain of the road, the form of the lighted window appeared to move up and down.  Papa heard the car pass by as he came to see my apparition, which was readily explained.

       The third experience was somewhat more mature in its nature.  Two experiences in my school life contributed to this.  To begin with, we had read “Abou ben Adhem”, a poem by Leigh Hunt in our reading class.  The poem was a bit repulsive to me as it had ghostlike connotations, but as I walked alone from school, I memorized poetry, and Abou ben Adhem was no exception.  Billy was in school, too, but he would run on ahead with the other small boys.  I had other girls along with me up to the last mile or so, but I was a slow walker so I quoted poetry along the way.  Secondly, there was a scare going around that the end of the world was near.  Martha Wyatt, my best friend, was the one who was the most vocal in this idea that she had heard from her parents.  I spoke to Papa about the possibility, he only shook his head, negatively, saying that those rumors had been going around periodically, ever since Jesus went away from the earth, back to heaven.  No one knows when  His return will occur, he assured me, so don’t let the rumors disturb you!  I was assured, somewhat, but one night I couldn’t go to sleep for thinking about the possibility.  The full moon directly over my south bedroom window threw a full shaft of light on the floor beside my bed.  In view of all the rumors, poetry, sparked by my imagination, I thought, what if an angel should appear in this shaft of light, writing in a book?  Should I speak to him or would I freeze with fear?  Nothing happened, of course.  I had learned the poem from the beginning, “Abou ben Adhem, may his tribe increase…” to “…write me as one who loves his fellowman…”, plus a few lines more.  I slept in peace, but the rumor troubled me for some days until I finally concluded that it was only a rumor.

        I must relate another occurrence in mine and Billy’s bedroom while we were all away from home.  When we returned, Mama or Papa caught a glance into the room and saw our bed and the floor around it covered with plaster which had fallen from the ceiling!  We had noticed some patches of plaster that had fallen from the walls, but the ceilings seemed to be still intact.  This experience made us wonder if and when it might happen again.

Ed. note: The link below has an Oklahoma Historical Society article on the early history of traveling teachers doing “Singing Schools”. Enjoy! RAN

https://www.okhistory.org/publications/enc/entry.php?entry=SH007

       Some time in 1915 in the spring before the end of school, there was a singing school held at Valley View.  Papa, being a singer, knew the “do, re, mi’s”, and all that, so he promised to take me to the singing school.  All of my classmates were going, so that was the thing to do.  I don’t recall how Papa and I went to the school house.  We probably walked, at least a part of the way, then maybe caught a ride in a wagon the remainder of the way.  I cannot imagine Papa’s hitching up the tired team for us to attend ten nights of singing school.  So our one time attendance was the extent of our singing school.  But I hear all about it from Ruth Vaughn, Zola Short, Frances Jackson and others.  The theme song of the school was “Twilight is Stealing”.  My older readers will recall this song.  The reason for the use of this hymn, probably, was the way in which it was written; a song in which all parts were good learning tools in singing instruction.  The girls, walking around singing at recess time made me sad that I missed the singing school.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47-7aJbfDgg. Ed. note: A more modern rendering of this Twilight in Stealing. Enjoy. RAN

         We sang together as we walked home from school and Zola Short taught us a beautiful old song, “Just Before the Battle, Mother” – a Civil War song, I believe, but handed down through the generations.  The song has a somber, but truthful message, and is easily sung.  Zola had a good singing voice, a voice that was soft and well modulated in speaking as in singing.  She had a good sense of dry humor, and I remember this impression I had of her when someone would say something “funny”, which was not amusing to Zola.  While the speaker laughed and made other comical antics, which were a bit ridiculous, she would say “You must be silly!”  This would really emit laughter from us all, while Zola smiled, dryly.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnfh5-FRfnI. Ed. note: Tennesee Ernie Ford’s recording of “Just Before the Battle, Mother”. Enjoy. RAN

        Following the eventful summer of 1915, at last, school bells began to ring again.  Only a few of the students had been around the school building at Valley View during vacation, so the greater number of us had a big surprise awaiting us.  Instead of the neat one room school building, facing the south with four rows of desks running north and south, we saw our classroom turned around, and rebuilt.  There were windows on the south instead of the door, with several rows of east-west desks were arranged in the newly remodeled classroom.  A blackboard was all across the north wall.  A wide stage to the west jutted out from the classroom with windows on the north and south.

    Thinking of those windows reminds me of an incident one rainy afternoon, when two of our more ambitious sixth grade students asked if we might sit up close to the light by the windows to study.  (No electric lights then, you know!)  I went up on the stage by the south window and sat down to read.  I glanced up and there was a friend sitting by a west window on the main classroom floor smiling at me.  I smiled back as it was a very unusual setting; we two kids smiling through two windows in a downpour of rain, I shall never forget that incident and I would guess that Floyd Jackson, too, remembered it to the end of his life!

    Continuing with the discussion of the remodeled school house, instead, of windows on the east we found a series of folding doors installed to form the west wall for the newly attached classroom on the east.  An exit from the remodeled classroom just described, led from the southeast corner into a vestibule which rose into a belfry overhead.  Likewise, entry was made into the new classroom through the vestibule.  The remodeled classroom was for the upper grades and the new classroom accommodated the four lower grades.  An exit in the northwest corner of the new classroom formed an easily accessible outlet to the playground for the lower grades.  As I was not involved in the rules and schedules for the lower grades, my impressions concerning their activities were practically nil, but I recall surveying the newly remodeled school building on the first day of school and standing by the north exit of the new room I met for the first time, Ruby Short, young sister of Zola, who graciously introduced me to her.  I fell in love with her at first sight, with her soft brown eyes and blond braided hair, her winsome smile.  She was a couple of years younger than I but at that period in my life, I seemed to gravitate toward the slightly younger set, probably because I was used to associating with my younger brother; maybe I could be more authoritative in that set, too!  Who knows?

    Besides the new school at Valley View, we had new teachers.  I don’t remember the elementary teacher’s name, but our teacher was Mr. Gillett, who resided in Burkburnett, Texas.  He was an older man, early fifties, perhaps, a religious man, apparently, considering his gentle, but subtle influence in the classroom.  That year we learned to sing, majoring on the Stephen Foster songs and other songs of that era.  We sung a new song to the melody of “Old Black Joe”, entitled, “I Love Him”, a gospel song.  I remember Mr. Gillett wrote the three stanzas on the blackboard for us to copy that we might learn the entire song.  This was a new experience, singing in the classroom, or anywhere in a group, as we did not attend church and Sunday School with any degree of regularity.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGcwjuNrlqs Ed. note: This link is sort of unrelated to Pearl’s reference to the song. Still, the song was well known in Pearl’s childhood and in my childhood in the 1940s. Paul Robison, the wonderful baritone can be heard on this youtube recording. He uses “Poor Old Joe” as the title rather than “Old Black Joe” that Stephen Foster used for the title of his composition. Robison is black and focused on the person, not the color of his skin. Interesting twist.

    Mr. Gillett was a good disciplinarian, with gentle, but firm authority.  I recall only once when he seemed taken aback, appearing un-authoritative.  Papa had dropped Billy and me off at school early on his way to Burkburnett, so decided to go in to see if the teacher or someone else was in charge.  Mr. Gillett walked in just as we got into the cold classroom.  The teacher set about building the fire immediately, explaining quietly, in a subdued voice, why he was late.  Papa helped him get the fire going,

      I thought of  him, seeming, very strong and very decidedly, in control.  This was quite a contrast as we were used to Mr. Gillett being in complete control in his realm, but he was embarrassed, I’m sure, to meet a school patron who had brought his children – others were also there early – and found the building cold and with no one in charge.  That unusual impression of Mr. Gillett did not lower my estimation of him as an authority and an educator, however.  I had great respect for him and loved him as a teacher.  The sixth grade was a challenge to me in all areas: reading, geography, arithmetic and grammar.  I was really beginning to feel grown up.

         Sometime that fall, maybe just before Christmas, Mama’s father came to see us.  We were not privileged to meet her mother, but we felt really honored to have a visit by “Grandpa Savage”.  He was visiting in other points in Oklahoma and Texas, so Mama’s brother, Noel Savage, at Wellington, Texas, wrote us to say that Grandpa Savage would travel to Burkburnett, Texas, by train where Papa would meet him at the depot.   Papa was hauling his cotton crop to the gin at Burk, so when the cotton was unloaded at the gin, Papa proceeded to the train station to wait for Grandpa, who was happy to meet him for the first time, the husband of his oldest daughter.  He was equally anxious to see Betty and his new grandson, now nearing one year of age.  He bought Arthur a new red high chair before he left town.  When they arrived at home, Billy and I met the wagon in the yard, jumping up and down with glee as we saw our new grandpa, we noticed immediately the new red high chair for our baby brother.

  Grandpa Savage was not really a fun grandpa.  He had a serious manner and spent most of his time talking with Mama Betty as he filled her in on the goings on around the neighborhood back home.  He rode around with Papa some and met the kinfolk who lived close by.  He was soon ready to begin the journey back to Tennessee, but the short visit was profitable to him as well as to our family, despite his quiet, reserved way.

  Christmas was drawing near so Mama bought material and made me a new red dress for Christmas that year of 1915.  It was a loose woven material with an iridescent effect.  Mama bought a pattern as I was growing so fast, nothing I had before would fit me now.  The waist, or top of the dress gathered slightly onto the paneled skirt.  There was a band at the neck, it fastened in the back with buttons.  The front of the waist was designed with narrow bands stitched from shoulder to center front, which formed a “V”, ornamented with satin covered buttons.  Sleeves were long, tapered at the hand with a fullness at the shoulders.  I was very proud of my new Christmas dress.

    Mr. Gillett led us in preparing a beautiful Christmas program that year.  I somehow, don’t recall any of the recitations,  but I remember the greeting song that opened the program.   Mr. Gillett wrote it on the blackboard, had us all to copy it, and we practiced it over and over!  It follows:

                                  We bring you happy greetings,

                                  We welcome all tonight;

                                  We’ll sing away the shadows

                                   Till every heart is light.

                                            Chorus

                                   We come with happy greetings,

                                   Good will to all we bring,

                                   With peace and love and blessings

                                   That crowned our Saviour king!

                                   Good will to all we cherish

                                   This happy Christmas time,

                                   May every heart by happy

                                   With words and deeds sublime.

  This was sung by the grades, five through eight, but the entire school joined in the program.  The folding doors between the two rooms were pushed back and it seemed that the enlarged building was filled with parents and friends as we welcomed Santa Claus and each student took a gift from the massive, beautifully decorated Christmas tree!  It was an unforgettable evening!

Ed. note: As the new year 1916 arrives, Pearl makes new friends and discovers her love for writing, and some ability discovered along the way. Stay tuned! RAN

This section of Pearl’s memories cover the end of school in the Spring through the late Summer of 1915. Many discoveries and novel experiences are shared with her readers about growing up in the new and developing state of Oklahoma. Enjoy. RAN

  A humorous incident occurred that spring which involved the Lents family and the Pages from which some of us students got a laugh.  The Lents home was about one-half mile east of the school, and we were just passing the house when Lessie Lents, an older sister of Leonard, but not in school, ran out to meet us.  She was laughing, very excited.  She told us she had just played a joke on her mother and had to get out of the house before she discovered the joke.  She wanted to stay at school and visit for awhile.  Her mother had sent her across the creek upon the hill to the Page home to borrow something.  She got the idea of the trick as she started back toward home, so she ran down the hill, across the creek, then up the hill.  Breathlessly, she entered the house and told her mother that Mrs. Page was sick and she must hurry and go see about her.  “I want to go to the school house with you,” she laughed, “because I can’t be here when Mama comes back.  Mrs. Page is all right!”  We learned the rest of the joke that afternoon.  As Mrs. Lents approached the Page home, she saw Mrs. Page sweeping the back porch.  The two women had a good laugh, but vowed to get even with Lessie in some way!

   Zola Short lived a mile and a half from our house and was older than I, thirteen, I believe.  She was a grade ahead of me, but she had the responsibility of keeping house for her father and an eleven year old brother.  Her mother had died a year or so before this time and a younger sister, Ruby, age 9, lived with other relatives until she was older, visited the family occasionally.  I would go to Zola’s house sometimes in the spring of 1915 on the way home from school.  I remember comparing her home where she “kept house” to our home where Mama kept house for our family.  I recall thinking:  Oh well, the necessary tasks are done and Zola had no one to be scolding her to do her jobs.  The responsibility she bore as she carried out her work of cooking, cleaning, doing the family laundry on a washboard by hand, plus keeping up her school work, did not impress me much, only that in her home she was free of “bossing”.  This was not entirely true, I’m sure and, moreover, her father likely oversaw much of the cooking and the larger responsibilities of the home.  She was a very mature and serious minded young girl, however, and I listened to her reasoning much as I would to my cousin, Virgie, five years my senior.

    For some reason, probably a natural consequence of Mama’s preoccupation with the baby, I had begun to comb my hair without help.  This had not been any problem before, when my attention was called, by Zola Short, no less, I realized that large bundles of tangled hair lay behind each ear!  The long hair was combed down over it, and braided neatly so the tangles were not easily seen.  I had learned to braid my hair.  When Zola first mentioned the condition in my hair, it irritated me and I tried to thrust it away, saying that it was all right; and that we would get it combed out sometime.  But I did realize the seriousness of the problem, and was afraid to tell Mama and Papa.  Zola, in her wisdom, said I had better comb it out or it might have to be cut out or maybe my hair would have to be cut off!  The thought of cutting my hair horrified me.

    School closed in the spring.  Arthur, our baby brother was growing, and I had much care of him while Mama made garden, raised chickens and sewed while summer rolled in, and soon it was July 4.  Papa informed Billy and me of a celebration to be held in Randlett on that day, and that he would take us with him.  There was to be a political rally, with brass band, “dinner on the grounds” plus a parachute jump.  All of this was to boost candidates for the Presidential elections and other important elections to be held the following year of 1916.

    The morning we were to attend this great event, we were up early.  I suppose Mama sent a fried chicken, a potato salad and maybe some fried apple pies for our lunch.  I do remember eating there, enjoying the ice cream and soda pop.  I never liked soda pop – to everyone’s dismay!  But it burned my throat.  There was always ice water, a huge, new stock tank full of floating chunks of ice, with new tin cups fastened to the tank for our convenience.  Don’t ask me why we all didn’t die of some malady after using the common drinking cups?  I don’t know either!

    This day marked an important accomplishment for me that summer.  I combed those dreaded tangles from one side of my hair.  I began in plenty of time to do one side, but I remember the feeling of pride as I combed and pulled my hair this way and that until I fully combed the right side out clear down to the scalp.  I think I had begun to feel grown-up since my spending more time with Zola; she likely never knew how much she encouraged me in that task!  This was a victorious experience for me.  By now we must get into the wagon with Papa and head for the day’s activities, but I promised myself that I would do the left side of my hair tomorrow.

    The balloonists gathered at the edge of town to put the balloon aloft.  This type balloon was a fire balloon, the first of which were used in the late 18th Century.  It was necessary to build a fire near the mouth of the balloon to provide the hot air which powered the flight.  What we saw at the site of the launching was a huge mass of black material, apparently, rubberized silk, spread all over the ground.  Papa took us as close to the operation as he dared so that we were made aware, somewhat, of the process that was taking place.  We saw smoke from a fire that was producing the heated air that would lift the balloon, but were unable to determine how the heated air was transferred into the huge sack.  We moved away from the scene to a safe distance back among the throng of onlookers, when we could see the large black globe begin to take shape.  We saw the ropes that were tethered to stakes to hold the balloon steady until time for it to fly on its own.  We noticed the platform attached to the bottom or neck of the black globe and the men helping the passenger as he climbed aboard preparing for the imminent flight.  We heard loud voices, “They’re cutting her loose!” then, “There she goes!”

    The balloon rose directly above us, then drifting toward the west, it began to rise higher and to appear small and smaller as it went.  Now, other shouts began, “Look, the parachute, is coming down.”  We could see an object descending from the balloon,  and now, reluctantly, a black umbrella spread out, almost seeming to be made of the smoke and gas that was causing the balloon itself to remain aloft.  Now, we were anxiously awaiting the parachute’s landing, hoping that the parachutist was safe.  Buggies and men on horseback followed a few automobiles, lining the road as they rushed to the scene of the landing, and to view the collapsed black giant as it lay helpless on the ground, after being freed of the air that supported it and empowered it.

       The historic (to us kids) balloon flight caused much conversation filled with controversy among the younger set.  The sudden appearance of the parachute, we attested, must have been created from the smoke laden air that lifted the balloon.  To us it was nothing short of magic that enabled the flyer to step down from the balloon with some substance that created an umbrella which gently brought him down safely to earth!  Our elders failed to fill us in on the realities of the balloon flight, but I’m sure we sixth graders and the upper-class men soon found the correct solution to the occurrences of that hot July afternoon, although I cannot recall just how we accomplished it.

    Mama got a new sewing machine in the summer of 1915.  She had an old machine of some sort, but its head was stationary and would not fold down beneath the surface.  A wooden cover sat over the head, a hinged leaf dropped down to the left side to be raised to make a tabletop while the machine was in use.  Papa had bought the old sewing machine for Mama as she needed it to stitch a little layette for the coming baby.  It served fairly well, but Mama was never completely happy with it and complained incessantly about the old top of the machine which was always in the way.  I liked the old outdated piece of furniture as I used it for my paper dolls.  My characters, cut out of a Sears Roebuck and Company catalogue (the wish book as Mama called it) could live upstairs, downstairs, sit on the edge of the machine, go to sleep on the treadle, and do many other imaginary performances as I played the beloved game of paper dolls.  After the Singer Sewing Machine agent came by and arrangements were made to trade the old machine in on the purchase of the new shiny Singer, no more paper dolls were scattered over the sewing machine.  But now, with the nice new table top machine there was a pretty scarf and a kerosene lamp sitting there to light the living room when the machine was not in use.

    I had better, more useful, things to do by now.  Baby brother Arthur was six months old by June and I helped care for him, which occupied much of my time.  We kids had chicken pox.  In reflection, I believe that Billy caught the childhood disease first, then passed it on to Arthur and me; at any rate Arthur and I were sick at the same time.  We had screens on the doors and windows, but a few stray flies always got in the house despite all precaution.  Papa built a frame some three by four feet, and covered the roof like structure with mosquito netting.  Mama would place a pallet on the floor for Arthur and set the “coop” over him so that he could sleep in peace away from the disturbing insects.  Gardening was in full swing about this time of year and Mama was the gardener, as Papa was too busy with field work to hoe in the garden.

    One hot afternoon, Mama put Arthur to sleep and placed him on his pallet in the southeast bedroom where there was a breeze from the south window.  He slept peacefully under his coop for awhile, then began to fret.  We were both broken out solid with chicken pox, as miserable as we could be!  Oh! I felt so sick and was trying to sleep on the pallet beside the coop where the baby lay.  I was too sick to hold him when he started to cry, so I folded my legs and crawled under the net with him to hold his bottle to quiet him.  That method seemed to succeed, so I had managed to keep myself halfway comfortable and comfort the poor sick baby too!  I have reflected on that incident many times and remembered how thankful that Papa built the coop as large as he did!

   We had relatives to visit us that summer of 1915, three miles south of Randlett!  Aunt Bea and two children rode up from Ector, Texas, by train, and some of the family met them at the depot at Burkburnett, Texas.  Aunt Bea’s children were Lucille, five and Lila Ray, six months – near Arthur’s age, and now, to my delight, another little baby girl!  Arthur was a sweet cute little baby boy, but I thrilled at holding the baby girl.  Aunt Bea, mischievous as she was, had to remind me that I couldn’t take care of DeWitt, two years before, asking me if I liked babies, now!  The answer was obvious!  With a baby brother and I two years older that made the difference in me.

    While Aunt Bea was visiting from the great distance, the other sisters came to be with us.  Grandma was there, too, of course, and it was a happy time for the sisters.  Aunt Mag had probably come to Burk or maybe Devol where Uncle Bob lived and could have brought her down.  At any rate quite a crowd was together for Sunday dinner.  After everyone had eaten, the three aunts, Dove, Mag and Bea, together with Grandma and Mama, all sat around the table which was loaded with soiled plates and devastated serving bowls where all the delicious food had been!  Someone broached the inevitable subject of washing dishes which provoked comments from each of them as to their like or dislike of doing dishes; whether they preferred washing or drying them.  Aunt Dove, the quietest of the three sisters, but with as good sense of humor told the story of when they were girls at home, and Aunt Bea managed to get out of washing dishes!  She interrupted with “No, no!” but Aunt Dove continued, “Bea would always find it necessary to go,” pointing toward the outdoor privy, “and stay away until the dishes were done.”  I’m sure that Aunt Bee put up her own defense, but Aunt Mag and Grandma verified Aunt Dove’s story, and all had a good laugh!  I didn’t take part in washing dishes that day, but as I recall, I did put the dishes in their proper places while Mama took care of left over food that could be eaten for supper.

   A common practice in those days in kitchens where there were no kitchen cabinets, was to place the plates on the dining table, or as we would say “set the table back” ready for eating the next meal.  We had Grandma Thornton’s pie safe which we used to store breads and other baked goods, cups, saucers and bowls in the top shelf, but we placed the plates on the table, turned upside down, with knife, fork and spoon under each plate, so that the plate could be easily lifted when used again.  As we came to the table, after Grace, if it was said, the head of the house would say, to any visitors present, “Turn up your plates and help yourselves!”  I seem to recall that saying as quite “country”; according to Mama it was undignified, to say the least!

    Between meals, a large white spread was placed over the table to protect food left there and dishes from dust, insects and other hazards within the household.  This spread was usually an older worn linen tablecloth, but at our house, the spread was made of six 50 pound flour sacks sewn together, with filled seams to prevent raveling.  Mama was quite ingenious in using what she had on hand to make useful articles.  To some readers, an explanation may be needed of the 50 pound flour sacks.  Flour came on the market in those days in cloth bags in varying sizes.  The large size, when opened up to about a square yard of cloth was also useful in sewing underwear, or drawers, for everyday wear.  I don’t recall that Mama sewed underwear for our family, but those large flour sacks made excellent dish towels.  Under this table spread, some items remained always were the syrup pitcher, pickle jar, salt and pepper, pepper sauce, sugar bowl and spoon holder.

    Utilizing the flour sacks was not the only way in which Mama’s ingenuity was displayed.  That summer after wheat threshing was done, the neighbor across the road left a huge straw stack where the threshing machine had left the straw.  Mama was in need of grain for the hens, so Papa gave her a clue that several bushels of wheat, mixed with chaff, was over by the neighbor’s straw stack.  That was the first time Mama had been made aware that some wheat was wasted in the process of threshing.  She got busy and without delay, taking Billy and me with her, plus Billy’s little wagon and buckets and tow sacks, we crossed the scratchy wheat stubble to the straw stack.  We made several trips back and forth across the field saving enough grain to feed those hens for a long time.  We didn’t have a straw stack in our field because our wheat acreage didn’t justify a large thresher to set up in our field.  I recall the reaper that cut and bundled the wheat, as Billy and I played among the shocks of wheat, but perhaps, the thresher men came and loaded our wheat bundles on their wide frames and hauled them across to the thresher after the neighbor’s wheat was threshed.

    Uncle Charley and Aunt Kate and their children came to visit Aunt Bea while she was at our house, but I don’t recall a specific occasion; also, Uncle Bob and Aunt Lula, with Virgie, Herbert and Deward, who was now three years of age, visited us.  Virgie and I enjoyed Lucille, a sweet little five year old.  On other occasions when Virgie and I were together we recalled the joys of being with Lucille while they visited us that summer.

    Roy Thornton, Uncle Bert’s second son, was a frequent visitor at our house.  He and Papa, his “Uncle Pete”, enjoyed each others company immensely.  I remember the rainy spring that year when Roy, never letting the rain deter him, would ride his old horse the two miles in the rain, and showing up at the kitchen door, stamping his feet and shaking the rain from his hat and coat, Mama would open the door.  Asking what he was doing out in the rain, he would laugh and make some kind of joke, such as, “I came to eat dinner!” which would send her off a tangent on complaining about the rain; “what was to become of the crops if the rain didn’t stop(?).”  One familiar exclamation of hers when, after a pause in the downpour was, “Another cloud!  I wish this one would go around!”  Roy laughed once when he heard her say this and said, “Aunt Betty, we don’t want it to go around – it might be a cyclone!”   Another hearty laugh followed!

   Roy and Lennie, his wife, Ralph and Raymond, twins, of two and one-half years and Mable, a little over a year old, consented at the request of the young people of the community, to have a party with homemade ice cream and cake.  Roy invited our family, and we attended.  There were several families not young people altogether, but the ones who had the most fun and participated in the games, were the ones older than I and younger than Papa and Mama.  So, as always, the host and hostess did all the work!  I suppose that was the whole idea – the kids’ parents didn’t want the job!  But there were many laughs and much pleasure as we watched the young set in their play, ate our share of ice cream and cake, and left with a good feeling after being a part of a community gathering.

    Roy and family lived, from our corner on the south, one mile west and three-fourth miles south, just across from the Vaughn’s, home of the twins, Ruth and Ruey, whom I admired so much.  Roys’ house, set back away from the road was a neat white structure with a porch on the south.  The wide front yard afforded an excellent space for the ice cream party.  The Vaughn house, also set back from the road, was a rather imposing type of architecture.  It was a wooden frame house, painted brown with a yellow trim.  A Dutch style roof allowed enough room for a one-half story upstairs.  I never visited in the home, but the place held a fascination for me.

    Roy was a member of the lodge, “Woodmen of the World”, or W.O.W. as it was also known.  Papa became a member and I recall that he kept his membership current for some years.  That summer of 1915, the lodge conducted an unveiling at the Randlett Cemetery of an important monument, perhaps, a monument honoring a lodge member who had passed away recently.  The monument was in the form of a tree trunk with a vine circling it, bearing an appropriate inscription, I have observed a very few of these monuments; this may have been the first to be installed in the Randlett Cemetery.  At any rate, Roy, as a member, was to be present, therefore, invited Papa to go with him.  It was a hot afternoon and the men were required to wear white shirts and ties – maybe jackets, too.  Roy came by in his buggy and was waiting patiently for Papa to get ready, as Mama hovered over him, tying his four-in-hand tie (he never learned to tie one), and as he put on his Sunday hat, Mama handed him a clean, neatly folded white handkerchief.

  Mama said, “You may need it to wipe tears” but Papa said, “I’ll use it to wipe sweat,” already popping out with perspiration.  It, apparently, was to be a solemn, much to be revered occasion, but I never heard a report of the occurrence at the “unveiling”

    Uncle Bert and Aunt Dora came unexpectedly one warm, summer afternoon.  Martha Ellen, also known as Mattie Ellen, the daughter, seven years my senior, and I had not seen each other since I was five and she was 12, when we came to the Randlett area from Comanche, Texas, in 1910.  We never really became acquainted as Papa, Brother and I spent most of our time with Uncle Bob’s family, north of Randlett.  We had made the trip to see Mother at Austin, visiting with Aunt Delia and Uncle Sam on the way back.  We then moved to Burkburnett, Texas, that fall when ginning season began.  At any rate, they were all strangers to me, and I felt very awkward as a 10 year old barefoot when they were all dressed up and smelling of fragrant powder and perfume.  I had recently adopted a “hideaway” that summer.  I really don’t know what prompted it, unless it was a way to get away from Billy to play dolls, or maybe to read.  My hiding place was the barn loft which was reached by a ladder running up the inside wall of the barn’s hallway.  Probably Billy couldn’t climb that ladder yet, but he knew where it led.  I left the group – Papa was away – he may have seen Uncle Bert’s family at Roy’s home – after we had said our greetings.  They visited for awhile, enjoyed noticing the way Billy had grown and admiring the new baby, now several months old.  

          Martha Ellen, a very active outgoing young lady of seventeen began to ask what had become of me, and Mama revealed to her my hideaway, so she came looking for me.  She called up to me at the ladder, so I reluctantly came down from my nest of hay and returned with her to the house.  The company stayed only a short while and after the good-byes were said they drove back to Roy’s house.

  Mama was embarrassed at my behavior and scolded me, asking me never to do that again.  I obeyed her, as I don’t recall ever being quite that impolite to visitors.  Although, in my bashfulness, I saw a few occasions when I wished to make a quiet exit!  Perhaps, at this period of my life I was becoming more aware of myself as I entered into early adolescence.

    George Thornton, Uncle Bert’s third son paid us a visit that fall.  I remember his being a good cotton picker.  Because he was so much faster than the average, much ado was made over his skill.  He was a tall, good looking young fellow, twenty years of age, much taller than any other Thorntons; in fact, Mama was so amazed at his height, she teased him about growing so tall he could become a “moon fixer”!

Ed. note: You may benefit from reviewing Chapters Nine and Ten to refresh your memory about Laura Pearce. She is daughter of Merritt Ware, Grandma Lasiphene’s brother from Vernon, Texas. She is a young widow who moved to Hess when Pearl was seven years old. Laura was a wonderful woman in Pearl’s young life. RAN

    But joy of joys!  Laura Pearce and Will Ware came to see us that summer, too.  We hadn’t seen the Wares since we left their area more than two years ago.  Maggie and the boys didn’t come, but Grandma and I enjoyed talking with Laura, as we caught up on all the occurrences during the intervening years.  Lela, Will’s and Maggie’s little girl, two years of age, had died with diphtheria.  Uncle Jap, Grandma’s brother had died the same winter; this had happened in the winter of early 1913, while we lived in Fannin County.  Of course, I’m sure our family was informed, but talking it over with Laura made the sad events more real to me.

     The much prized China doll that I had received on the Christmas before still was without dresses.  With the new baby at our house, there was never time for anyone to sew for a doll.  Virgie and I had planned to make her some clothes, but never got it done.  When Laura saw the beautiful new doll without dresses, she decided immediately, she would not go without dresses any longer!  Mama found some scraps of material suitable for doll dresses and underclothes.  With this material Laura began the task of hand sewing the doll wardrobe.  It seemed to me that the sewing was developing very slowly, as I watched her work impatiently, as she would work awhile and then talk with Mama and Grandma awhile.  Finally, she began on what was to be the last session of sewing, while I watched her every finishing stitch.  “How long will you work on it, (the dress),” I would ask, “a half an hour?” “Yes, and then some,” Laura answered. “An hour?” I would ask. “Yes, and then some,” she answered again.  This conversation continued for several minutes, as I increased the time of her work into days and weeks, it became funny and Laura shook with laughter!  I don’t recall what ended that monotonous talk – I am surprised to recall it – but finally, the doll was dressed, looking very pretty in a checked gingham dress that set off her blonde hair. “What’s her name?” Laura asked. “She reminds me of Fannie Ware,”  I said. Fannie was Jim Ware’s wife, whom I had met only once, and had admired her beauty.  Laura was pleased with my decision so my new China doll was christened, Fannie.

    Early in the spring we had an unusual visitor that stayed some ten days to two weeks with us.  He was Mr. Miller who lived in Kansas.  Mr. Miller was our landlord, settling there at the opening of the Big Pasture Lands in 1906.  As a few of the settlers did in this opening, he built a good set of improvements on the land, where, on the other hand, some settlers built a half dugout or maybe just a two room structure which was their home.  Different from other land openings, the requirements were not to build a residence, dig a water well, and break the sod; no five year residence there was required to “prove up” on the land for a U.S. patent, because they had already received the deed to the land.  Obviously, Mr. Miller and family were ready to leave the homestead and return to Kansas at the end of a few years, leasing the land to renters.

    Mr. Miller and Papa had decided to remodel the barn to hold grain, as the wheat crop promised an abundant yield, while the market price, conversely, promised to be low.  Therefore, it seemed profitable to prepare for storing the grain as it was threshed, waiting for an increase in price.  The barn was a well built structure, but with only single walls.  To accommodate the grain, it was necessary to line a portion of the granary with tongue in groove lumber, making it grain tight.  The remainder of the granary could be used for corn or cottonseed storage.

    Mr. Miller, a man in his early sixties, though quite active, rode the train down to Burkburnett, Texas.  Papa met him at the train station in the wagon, where they proceeded to the lumber yard to buy material for remodeling the barn.  Mr. Miller who was a carpenter of sorts, came with some tools and with saw and hammer that Papa had on hand, they began plans, immediately, to go to work.  He was a slight, gray haired man with a goatee style beard, commanding a very dignified appearance.  He spoke politely with an accent slightly different from ours, which was amusing to Billy and me.  At meal time, Mama sat him at the head of the table where Papa usually sat, while Papa sat at his right next to Mama, opposite Billy and me on the long bench on the other side of the table.  Mr. Miller had a unique method of testing the salt shaker while eating.  He would sift a bit of salt on his hand but not the palm of the hand, as we were used to doing, but on the back of his hand!  Mama never ceased to be amused at this unusual habit of Mr. Miller, and spoke of it frequently for many days and weeks to come.   Billy and I spent as much time as we could watching Mr. Miller at work in the barn.  Of course, there was the danger of our getting in the way but Mr. Miller in his brusque, direct way took care of the problem plus numerous warnings from Mama and Papa.

      We gladly and quickly did the chores assigned us, looking forward to watching the carpentry as it progressed.  A great fascination for us was a carpenter’s pencil Mr. Miller used.  It was a flat pencil, one of which we had never seen, and every time we found it lying loose on a ledge some place or even in his tool carrier, we would pick it up and examine it closely.  It was four to five inches in length, striped in three or four colors.  As Mr. Miller was finishing his work on the last day, he came to the house at noon, and, horror of horrors; he had nailed the pencil up between the walls.  He was reluctant to tear the boards off because of the grooved edges; that would surely cause a leak in the granary, but he couldn’t decide what to do.  Needless to say, Billy and I were grieved!  To lose that beautiful fascinating pencil!  We voiced our disappointment to such a degree, Mr. Miller must have decided to take a chance and rip off a board on the outer wall, that is, the wall inside the barn hallway.  We didn’t bother him that afternoon while he was cleaning up – too much of a possibility that we would step on a nail, but surprise of surprises, when he came from the barn, he had retrieved the pencil!  And more pleasantly surprised were we when he gave us the pencil!  It wasn’t more than three inches long now, but the faded colors were still much in evidence, so Mama dropped it into the small drawer of the pie safe so it would not be lost again.  We asked Mama to let us see it from time to time, remembering the pleasant hours we spent watching Mr. Miller work on the barn that summer.

Ed. note: This chapter covers about 7 months from before Christmas, 1914 through the Spring of 1915. Several significant things occur which Pearl finds memorable and she makes these events come alive for us over a century later. Enjoy. RAN

“AND BABY MAKES THREE (OF US)”

    I remember the day the new baby came to our house.  Mama was very ill during the delivery as she was forty years of age and this was her first child.  Behind the closed bedroom door, the sound of her cries of pain was upsetting, and all of the activities surrounding the birth of a baby in the home were vague occurrences to a nine – going on ten – year old girl.  But Grandma was there to help and to call on me to do what I could in finding cloths and utensils in accomplishing the task before us.

    The tiny little boy came on December 18, 1914.  Mama assumed that his weight was no more than three pounds (that was her weight at birth), although, Dr. McCollum didn’t have his scales along with him that cold afternoon.  He was perfect in every way, though, and soon began to cry with hunger as Mama, try as she could to nurse him, finally concluded that she had no mother’s milk for him.  Mama abhorred bottle feeding for him, but there was no alternative.  Dr. McCollum recommended a formula of sterilized cow’s milk, if he could tolerate it, so early the next day, Papa went to Burkburnett, soon bringing home a set of bottles, nipples, and directions for the care of them, plus directions for processing the milk.  I will never forget the look on Mama’s face when Papa came into view holding the bottle up for her to see; she shook her head negatively and sadly, and shed a tear or two, while Papa stood proudly grinning from ear to ear.  He was glad there was a way to feed this little boy who had come to live with us.  An old tried and true method of feeding new borns until the mother’s milk “came down” was with the “sugar-teat”, constructed of sugar and a dab of butter tied in a clean, white cloth.  It was moistened to form a soft mass so that a teat could be formed to fit the newborn’s mouth.  This method was normally not employed, at most, for more than two or three days, but was sufficient sustenance until a formula could be found.

    The formula of cow’s milk agreed with the tiny little fellow and he grew and slept well making us all very happy.  His name became Arthur Hamilton Thornton, his second name the same as Papa’s second name.  We kids were very proud of him and loved him more than we ever dreamed we could love a newborn baby.  He soon grew to give us a toothless grin and to “coo” as we learned to play with him.  I became a built-in baby-sitter as I could feed him and care for him at an early age.  Ironically, I hadn’t cared much for babies up to this time!  But this baby was different – he was our very own.

         He was one week old on Christmas Day and I cannot imagine our having much Christmas cooking, with Mama still lying in her bed.  Grandma had long since given up that kind of cooking; in fact, I don’t remember Grandma ever making a layer cake during the time she lived with us.  She made good fruit cobblers, egg custards and fried pies or turnovers, as they are sometimes called.  I’m sure we didn’t suffer for want of good food at that Christmas time; we probably wouldn’t have known the difference!

    I believe that was the Christmas that I got my long wished for china doll with yellow hair and blue eyes.  I don’t remember Billy’s gift, but it must have been an interesting toy of some sort.  Arthur Hamilton wasn’t old enough to enjoy even a rattle at this point, but it wouldn’t have been Christmas unless the baby received some gifts, too, and I’m sure he did!

    The relatives living nearby all came to visit the new addition to Pete’s family and the new mother.  Aunt Dove came with her youngest, George, who was a little past two, I’m sure Uncle Bob made his way down to see us very soon, but I recall Uncle Charley’s and Aunt Kate’s visit more vividly than the others.  They had a son Arthell, age two and Vineta, a two month old baby girl, with red hair and blue eyes!  I adored her, a beautiful plump little baby girl that I could hold without fear of breaking!  Of course, this was early on, and Mama and Arthur were still in bed.  I can recall seeing her lying on the bed giving us her big smile, leaving Billy and me wondering when Arthur would ever grow to be that big!

    Soon after Arthur’s birth we began to learn of other babies, little cousins of ours, born to relatives on both sides of the family:  Uncle Jim and Aunt Lou who lived at Vernon, Texas, had a little boy named Marion Merritt Thornton, Aunt Bee and Uncle Clint had a little girl named Lila Ray (now known as Lilah Rhea Hundley).  On the Savage side, Mama’s brothers, Uncle Monroe and Aunt Lillian had a son, named Wayne Savage.  Uncle Noel and Aunt  Vesta, had Vineta Savage, and Uncle John and Aunt Annie had a son about that time whose name I do not recall.  This seemed to be the year for additions of our family.

    On Arthur Hamilton’s calf of his right leg, there was a brown spot – light brown, to be sure, but it was there, and try as we might, it could not be removed!  It’s a birthmark, Mama told us, but Papa shook his head.  Mama said yes, she knew exactly how and when it happened.  One day the two of them stopped by a neighbor’s at mealtime, when they were just ready to sit down, but Papa and Mama wouldn’t stay, and stating their business as quickly as possible they left.  Mama recalled that they had a platter of ham on the table and it looked so delicious, she wanted a piece of it.   She didn’t voice her desire, of course, but remembered reaching down to rub a place on her leg that itched as she sat waiting for Papa to state his business.  So, on that particular spot on Arthur’s little leg was the brown spot that resembled the slice of ham!  This event occurred some 4 1/2 to 5 months before Arthur’s birth.  Papa laughed at Mama and shook his head, saying that was only superstition, but no argumentation would sway Mama’s belief.

https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2015/04/the-odd-superstition-behind-birthmarks/389958/

    Papa would never allow us children to take the superstitions seriously.  Mama loved to relate the horrible “graveyard” tales and numerous superstitions that Tennesseans held.  While Papa explained that all ghosts or “haints” (haunts) could always be justified if one bothered to search them out, get to the bottom of them.  Actually, Mama would usually have an explanation at the end, but she loved to watch us as we listened, wide eyed, to her ghostly stories.  I suppose that they were still enjoying such stories back in middle Tennessee at that time!

        At school in the spring of 1915, everything became more lively than we had heretofore experienced.  There were older school mates that held an appeal for me.  I recall the Vaughn twins, Ruth and Ruey, who lived a mile east of Valley View and three-fourths mile south.  They were personable young people in the seventh grade, very astute students.  In addition to Ruey’s academic achievements, he also had a talent for drawing.  He could reproduce with pen and paper a likeness of an automobile to minutest details.  I recall that Billy and I obtained a copy of one of his drawings, we were so fascinated with them.  Cars, as automobiles were beginning to be called, instead of autos, frequently passed on our road with tops lowered, women’s hats tied down with ribbons and drivers wearing driver’s caps.  It was the beginning of a new era!

    With an interlude of Billy’s bout with the deadly croup and the quarantine that followed, he was now a full time student, accompanying me to school as we walked the two mile stretch.

    Our activities at school included games such as “We’re Marching ‘Round the Levee”, “Drop the Handkerchief”, “Ring Around Rosie” and “Jump the Rope”.  The latter named game was played by using a length of heavy rope with two students throwing, or turning the rope while others jumped the moving rope.  There were degrees of skill exemplified by various jumpers.  I was a slow learner, being chubby I was never very agile and moreover, I was afraid of being struck by the rope!  In spite of the obstacles, I was determined to master the skill, so I kept working at the task until I was rather proud that I could really jump the rope!  I never cared for the “hot pepper” version of the sport, but the one skill I sought to accomplish was “running in”, or getting into the action while the rope turned.  I studied the game carefully, the position of the rope when starting toward it to the split-second timing of jumping in.  That was just about the extent of my skills of rope jumping.  I never cared for “high water” either, as I was so short legged I couldn’t jump high enough; I feared being tripped by the rope.

    The game, “Ring around Rosie”, was played by several players, holding hands and marching in a circle singing, “Ring around Rosie, a bottle full of posy, the last one to squat is a “dirty dishrag”, a “n….. baby” or any undesirable name, previously agreed upon.  The one who lost was out of the game.  In “Drop the Handkerchief”, the dropper marched around outside the circle of players, suddenly dropping the handkerchief behind some unobservant player, then began to run around the circle.  If the first dropper made it back to the second dropper’s space, the second dropper became “it”.  “We’re Marching “Round the Levee” was a more complicated game than the others.  One player was chosen to be “it”, sometimes by the method, “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo,” which was another game in itself, but lots of fun.  Or the group would elect a player to begin the game.  She would occupy the center of the circle while the players clasped hands and marched around singing, “We’re marching “round the levee, three times ending with, “For we have gained the day”.  Next, all drop hands, while the player in the center weaves his way, in and out between those in the circle, while they sing, “Go in and out the windows” finishing with the same line in the first stanza.  After the player had come back to the center, “Go forth and choose your lover”, is sung in the same manner as the other stanzas, while the player chooses one from the circle of players.  As the player grasps the hand of the one he has chosen, “I pledge my love to show you” is sung.  The player kneels in the next stanza, which says “I kneel because I love you.”  In the final stanza, both players standing, grasping right hands while the song says, “Goodbye, I hate to leave you… for we have gained the day.”  The first player becomes a member of the circle, the second player is “it”, and the game starts all over again.  It made for more fun when we could have a mixed group in this game, but our chances to involve the boys in the game were just about nil.

    “Needle’s Eye” was an enjoyable game, but could be a little rough at times.  Two leaders were selected to “hold up” as we called it.  They secretly chose, between them two items of approximate value, which they each would represent to the other players.  Then, clasping their hands high above their heads, forming an archway, the players began to march under the arch, only to be caught and asked in a whisper to choose the item she liked best.  She would then take her place behind the one representing her choice.  Throughout the marching and choosing of items, all players were singing this ditty:

“Needle’s Eye, I do so ply;

Threads that run so true;

     Many a beau, have I let go

 Because I wanted you.”

 After all had passed through the arch, the players, with arms clasped around the girl in front of her, formed two opposing lines.  The leaders then clasped their hands as tightly as they could while the two teams engaged in a “tug-of-war”.  Whichever team pulled the opposing team’s leader across a designated line was the winner.

    That spring, we girls at school became very industrious and cleaned out the concrete cellar, with the permission of the teacher.  We actually made a play house” down there.  We picked up bits of broken glass and china off the school ground or from home and decorated our tables made of boards set on stray bricks we found scattered around.  Of course, “all good things must come to an end” and this occurred when some mischievous boys down in the fourth grade came down into the cellar and tried to join us, then decided that it was more fun to wreck our play house!  Our teacher advised us to give up the project and closed the cellar door for good.

Ed. note: Homes were usually not built with basements in that rural frontier area. Having a dugout or concrete cellar to store the potatoes and other ‘roots’ was useful. Twenty seven years following Pearl description, in 1941, our father built a bungalow and a nearby “washhouse” on top of a large concrete “storm cellar”, which was used to store root vegetables and fruit and vegetables “canned” by Mama. Also, later on, we had an electric “deep freeze” which held butchered meat and other necessities. We rarely went down there for a tornado threat. RAN

    Another day that spring a photographer came to take a group picture of the school.  There were 42 of us, but three were absent that day, and one boy brought his young brother to school, which added up to 40 students and the teacher, Mr. Lovinger.

    Several young men in our school were as tall as our teacher Mr. Lovinger.  This was true of all rural areas where both boys and girls were absent much of each school term while helping in the fields.  I venture to say that at least four of these fellows were twenty or twenty-one, attending school to complete the 8th grade to qualify for an eighth grade diploma, a prerequisite to enrolling in high school courses.  Also, about four young ladies, of age eighteen or more, were in grades seventh or eighth.

    Consequently, in order to accommodate the wide range of sizes of the student body, the photographer put up a set of benches resembling bleachers – which might well have been already placed there for seating during athletic games.  There were three tiers of benches.  On the back tier, our tall teacher and the tall boys plus a couple of girls took their places; the second row also stood as the first row, but the third row was seated.  The fourth row, on the ground, where I wound up, were asked to take a kneeling position.  Mama, still making me wear pinafores to school to keep my dresses clean, embarrassed me no end, so I removed the pinafore while preparing for the camera.  I wore my long dark hair in two braids, so some of the big girls pinned the braids up across the back and put a wide black taffeta ribbon on my head with a big bow on the side.  I was very pleased as the big girls wore their hair in this style.  It must have been the vogue at this time!  I don’t recall any complaint from Mama when she saw the change of my appearance in the picture.

   To continue the organization of the photographic process; a tall boy who was helping the photographer arrange the group was left standing as he surveyed the arrangement.  He lay down in front of my row, kneeling on the ground.  The athletic equipment was yet to be positioned in strategic spots.  For this task, the photographer took the situation in hand.  The big boys kneeling on one end of the row put their four caps in a row in front of them, the small boys on the other end of the row, each held his cap under his arm, so I suppose the photographer reasoned that we girls in the center should hold the football, baseball and baseball mitt in a prominent spot, to exhibit our sports interest in our school.  As I was the tallest girl kneeling, and about center, the man handed me the football!  I wasn’t interested, neither could I identify with the ball, nor the game!  So, I just dropped it to the ground.  As he came by again and noticed I wasn’t holding it, assuming I had accidentally dropped it, he gave it to me again!  About this time the tall boy, as I remember as Morris Smith, took the sports equipment from the photographer, positioned himself on the ground in front of us and while resting on his right elbow, he held the ball mitt and ball in his left hand and the football in the curve of his right arm.  I am thankful for this ancient photograph of 74 years ago.

Ed. note: Pearl, in dating the photograph, lets us know she was writing this section of her autobiography in 1989. So, she was 84. RAN

       I don’t remember seeing a football game there on the Valley View playground; probably some scrimmage among themselves.  We did have baseball games on Friday afternoons in the spring in the last period of the day.  I shall not forget the balmy afternoon in late spring when a few of us girls were wandering around the school grounds instead of watching the boys play ball.  We had made our way down the road apiece, going south.  It was against school rules to leave the school ground without permission, so as we turned back toward the school house, we saw a couple of girls running toward us.  Oh, no, we thought!  Mr. Lovinger had discovered us!  But, not so.  The favored small boy, Leonard Lents was hit in the stomach with a baseball!  We all ran quickly to the school ground.  They had bathed his face with cool water and were preparing to take him home.  He did not have a serious injury, but we all certainly received a scare by the incident.

        A humorous incident occurred that spring which involved the Lents family and the Pages from which some of us students got a laugh.  The Lents home was about one-half mile east of the school, and we were just passing the house when Lessie Lents, an older sister of Leonard, but not in school, ran out to meet us.  She was laughing, very excited.  She told us she had just played a joke on her mother and had to get out of the house before she discovered the joke.  She wanted to stay at school and visit for awhile.  Her mother had sent her across the creek upon the hill to the Page home to borrow something.  She got the idea of the trick as she started back toward home, so she ran down the hill, across the creek, then up the hill.  Breathlessly, she entered the house and told her mother that Mrs. Page was sick and she must hurry and go see about her.  “I want to go to the school house with you,” she laughed, “because I can’t be here when Mama comes back.  Mrs. Page is all right!”  We learned the rest of the joke that afternoon.  As Mrs. Lents approached the Page home, she saw Mrs. Page sweeping the back porch.  The two women had a good laugh, but vowed to get even with Lessie in some way!

Ed. Note:In Chapter Seventeen we will experience a lot of visiting family, in which Pearl seemed to delight. There is a new teacher for Valley View and many other wonderful experiences to look forward to in filling out Pearl’s tenth year. Stay tuned. RAN

Pearl is now in the Summer and Fall of 1914. She is nine years, going on ten. Billy is now five, and they adventure together. She relates the pleasure of discovery with her neighbors and family and in one room school near Randlett. We are told about a “party line” telephone service. We encounter serious illness in Billy. We are told of many “slang” words and phrases being used, and many delightful school and family stories. Enjoy! RAN

Rabbit Creek School lay some three miles southeast of our home.  Apparently it was a larger community than the Valley View School community of which we were a part.  There seemed to be a wealth of community spirit among the residents of Rabbit Creek as it was the center of many gatherings during the school year and during the summer there was always a revival, a Big Meetin’, as it was called, of two weeks duration.  This came as a result, no doubt, of a religious fervor maintained throughout the year.  A Sunday school met in the school house regularly, and there was likely an organized Baptist church there with preaching twice a month or “every other Sunday”.  Perhaps, other faiths conducted meetings peculiar to their own beliefs on the remaining Sundays of each month.  I remember going to a Baptist revival at Rabbit Creek, conducted by Uncle Bob Thornton, Papa’s brother.  We would get ready for church and all load into the wagon, leaving home while the sun was still up, in order to drive the three miles by sundown, when the services would begin.  They would conduct morning services, too, throughout the two weeks, but we didn’t attend those.

           We saw many strange persons there, as any place outside our own school district was foreign to us – our world was a small world in those days!  Some of the new people we met became friends, and, a few other people whom we knew attended the services from the Valley View community Aunt Dove and Uncle Elias attended occasionally and the Wyatts family of my little school friend, Martha, came some nights and on Sunday mornings.  I recall returning home with Mr. Wyatt and Martha one Sunday for lunch and the afternoon.  We played outside among the short shrubs known to us as “Grandpa’s Beard” – my first time to see them.  We returned to revival services that evening to join my family who had had Sunday dinner, as it was called, with a family who had two grown daughters, but no small children.  That was quite a day for us all.

On another Sunday morning Uncle Bob came home with us for the Sunday dinner and an afternoon on which it rained and rained.  I recall the sense of disappointment I felt when Papa and Uncle Bob decided we could not get back to church because of the excess amount of rain.  but following the showers as the heavy dark clouds drifted toward the east, the sun came out and lo! and behold! a beautiful rainbow!  Uncle Bob, kind and understanding man that he was, heard me voicing my disappointment in not getting back to church; told me the story, the Biblical account of the first rainbow.  He told me that it was a symbol of hope, a promise to Noah, who had seen the destruction of the earth and nearly all of its inhabitants by the rains, that God would not destroy the earth again by water.  Moreover, God promised that springtime and harvest would continue their successive turns as long as the world should stand!  That was my first time to hear the story of the beautiful rainbow!

 Grandma would make regular visits to our area as four of her nine children resided there.  Uncle Bob and his family lived in Devol, Uncle Charley and family were in the oil field near Electra, Texas, Aunt Dove lived near Red River, across from Burkburnett, and Papa made the fourth one.  We had a telephone out of Burkburnett, I believe; not the best of service, but we enjoyed the communication through it, nonetheless.  One hot night after we were all in bed, the telephone rang.  Of course, it was not so late, as we went to bed as soon as it was dark in the summer, sometimes earlier.  Many summer evenings we wouldn’t light a lamp, having had supper and the dishes done while the sun was still up.  Papa answered the phone at 8:30 to 9:00 PM and it was Aunt Mag, who lived in Frederick, Oklahoma, some fifty miles to the northwest.  She was calling to tell Papa that Grandma was ready to come to our house and she would be on the MK & T train the next day at a scheduled time.  I recall Papa’s grumbling about the poor connection on the line, but we received the message and we kids were elated that Grandma was coming for awhile.

      She would visit Aunt Dove for a few days at a time and Uncle Bob may have taken her home with him on occasions when he was in the area, filling a preaching engagement or just visiting.  He drove a buggy until about 1916 when he bought a Model T Ford.  Perhaps she spent some days in Uncle Charley’s home as she was going from our area back to Frederick, or perchance, down to Bonham, Texas to visit Aunt Bee or Uncle Allen at Denison, Texas.  Uncle Bert and Aunt Dora lived across the Red River at Bokchito, Oklahoma, which location occasioned a visit now and then.  Uncle Charley lived nearer the railroad station than others in our area, making it convenient to begin a trip for Grandma, the railroad being her principal mode of travel.  Lasiphene Thornton was a seasoned traveler in her later years!  She had stayed behind at home taking care of the children, “keeping the home fires burning” while William Isaac preached the Gospel far and near!  Now it was her turn to go!

           So Grandma came, Papa met her at the railroad depot in the wagon, bringing her trunk with all of her belongings, too.  It was a joyful reunion for, as I recall, we had not seen her since returning from Fannin County, Texas, some months earlier.  On the subject of the telephone, this item is worth noting.  A practice in the rural telephone system was to have several telephones on the same line; consequently, everyone would get the signal or the ring.  To signify that a certain party was being called, the rings were arranged in “longs” and “shorts”, each party being assigned this number at the time the telephone was installed.  If a party was in need of making call, he would lift the receiver, and if some parties were talking, he would quietly replace the receiver and wait a few more minutes.  The courteous practice, which was not always carried out, was for the talking parties to ring a short ring to indicate that the conversation was finished.  This was know as “ringing off”.  Thus, the anxious party would have his turn at the telephone line.

  Calling us in from our play, Mama cleaned Billy and me up a bit, on one warm summer morning and sent us across the field to the Clarence Gates home to borrow a cup of sugar.  They were three-fourths of a mile from us, around the road, but Billy and I, barefooted as we were, cut across the field to make the trip shorter.  We had never seen them, but, of course, Papa knew Mr. Gates, Mama had likely met them on some occasion, as she knew her on a first name basis as Lena, maybe Eleanor.  The Gates’ home was a neat white house with all window blinds and curtains drawn, surrounded by a neat yard fence with an easily accessible gate.  The house looked formidable to us, as our home with its many wide windows had neither blinds nor curtains; therefore, we were made to wonder what might lie behind this tightly concealed house for us.  The reader may wonder at the absence of window blinds and curtains on our windows, but in retrospect, it probably has a simple explanation, namely, we could not afford them!  Only in the long established homes in the community, were found window blinds and curtains.  In our day, we feel the necessity of having our windows covered for privacy!

The home sat near the road, so I raised the latch on the gate, we entered and proceeded down the concrete walk to the house.  I don’t recall seeing a dog, but Billy and I were a bit apprehensive as we knocked on the front door.  A beautiful, neat, smiling woman opened the door and invited us inside.  I explained immediately the reason we were there, so she took the cup, set it on a table close by and invited us to sit down for awhile and rest.  She went to bring us glasses of cool water as meanwhile Billy and I were looking around the room.  We had felt the soft wool carpet under our feet and were now enjoying the comfortable upholstered furniture as we further observed the furnishings of the rooms: an organ, a “talking machine”, neat tables and beautiful lamps.  Through the door that led into the bedroom was more soft carpeting, dainty window curtains, a beautiful dresser and just the corner of a bed with a dainty white spread which reached the floor.  As we took in these rooms furnished so elaborately, we instinctively made comparisons with our bare, but clean, smooth floors, no upholstered chairs nor sofa, only cane bottomed chairs besides the two rocking chairs for Papa and Mama, plus the absence of beautiful hangings at the windows.  Our young hearts were made to yearn for a “talking machine”, an organ to make melodies, but of course, no one could play in our household; however, as we sat in the dim light of the cool, darkened room, I began to appreciate the comfort and security of it all.

Following our rest and refreshment, Mrs. Gates began to talk with us, asking if we had seen a “Gramophone”.  We shook our heads in the negative, so she proceeded to play for us a humorous song – Billy still remembers – “Get Out and Get Under”.  It was the story of a young fellow who was taking his girlfriend out for a drive, but couldn’t enjoy her company for trying to fix his automobile! 

https://youtu.be/bV1Nkruquwg

Gates had no children, so she enjoyed entertaining us as much as we enjoyed the entertainment.  Before we left she had Billy on the floor teaching him to turn somersaults!  We learned quickly that Mrs. Gates was the right kind of lady, and that any fears or apprehensions we had before were now allayed.  I believe we returned the sugar that we had borrowed, perhaps even making some other visits that were less impressive to us.  On our very first visit, we felt we had found a new friend.

           A frightening event shook the Thornton household to its foundation in the early fall of 1914 when Billy contracted membranous croup.  This was a condition of the throat causing much swelling, choking and difficult breathing.  There were some other cases of this disease in the area – not in our neighborhood, nor among our acquaintances, but we were made aware of the extreme danger of the disease by our doctor.  There was a serum – an antitoxin which Dr. McCollum of Randlett injected, but the condition didn’t seem to become alleviated, even following successive injections.  I recall the fear that we, Mama, Papa and I felt as we stood outside by the corner of the house at the cistern.  Mama talking through her tears, begged Dr. McCollum to do something to help Billy, following his concern voiced to us of Billy’s condition.  The doctor then told us of the possible fallibility of the medicine.  He suggested that if we could obtain some of the serum from a pharmacist in Burkburnett, Texas, immediately, there might be a chance of saving Billy’s life.  Neighbors and acquaintances were gathered there to offer to help us in any way they could.  I don’t remember any names except Bill and Mrs. Linsky who lived a mile south of us.  They were good neighbors and helpful to anyone in need.  Another person standing by was Roy Thornton, Uncle Bert’s son who had recently moved into our community.  He had ridden over on horseback, so he volunteered to go for the serum.  Mounting his steed, he rode as fast as the horse could carry him to Burkburnett, seven miles away, and brought back a new supply of antitoxin.  The kind doctor waited until the rider returned from his swift journey, immediately administering the new serum.  Almost immediately the breathing was easier, the fever soon subsided, and the choking ceased.  By now the night had fallen, but the patient was on his way to recovery and we were all relieved and thankful!

    There wasn’t any likelihood that I would contract the disease from Billy, but all precautions were taken to be sure I was not exposed to it.  I stayed away from his room, yet I remember the small, pale face lying upon the pillows in the northwest corner of the living/bedroom on Mama’s and Papa’s bed.  We were under quarantine for some three weeks at the end of which the house must be fumigated by being tightly closed and exposed to a substance burned in all the rooms; maybe sulfur or a combination of germ destroying ingredients.  It was necessary that we vacate the house while the fumigation was begin accomplished, so we spent the night with the Linskys and the following day, also while the house, now opened wide, aired from the smoke and fumes.  I remember when we returned, the house was cold and seemed bare from all the upsetting experiences, but Papa soon had fires going in both the heater and the kitchen stove, while Mama and I filled the lamps with oil, trimmed the wicks and polished the chimneys, so our house was now both lighted and warm..  All things were back to normal now except Billy who looked peaked and pale even yet.  Of course, Mama must put clean, fresh linens on the beds and put the covers in place for our much needed rest from the troubling ordeal. (ed. note: Reviewing old and newer medical literature, it is evident that this diagnosis “membraneous croup”, was distinct from diphtheria. It occurred concurrent with a severe infections involving the throat and lungs, like measles, “scarlet fever” (caused by a streptococcus bacteria), influenza and others. A membrane forms in the lower throat near the larynx making it difficult to breath. It occurs mostly in children and infants. It still occurs around the world, though rarely in the USA. RAN)

    Grandma was spending longer periods of time with us now, as we were expecting a new baby sometime that winter.  We would all sit around the heater after supper in the evenings while Grandma, Papa and Mama exchanged stories of the past and events of the present day.  Billy would amuse himself with some toy or picture book, while I did my homework assignments for school.  Finally, as the cold wind whistled around the corners of our house and the fire in the heating stove began to die down, Papa or Grandma, feeling the chill of the deepening night, would yawn or “gape” as we called it, then shiver and say, “Oooo! A rabbit ran over my grave!”  We all laughed and we kids soon understood it as just an old folk’s joke.

    There were many old sayings that didn’t seem to make sense when analyzed, such as, “I allowed”, which came out, “I ‘lowed”, meaning I assumed that something would take place or some person would do this or that.  For example, if Papa came in after being out caring for the livestock early in the morning, just as I was ready to leave for school, he might say, “I ‘lowed you had already gone to school”, perhaps, not realizing that we were coming into a spring morning which gave me more time at home before starting my two mile trek to school.  I used the term well into my teens, as did many others, until one day an older girl at school and I were waiting together at the mailboxes for the postman when “I ‘lowed” the postman would have passed by now.  She asked me what I meant by ‘lowed, (as if she didn’t know).  It was hard to explain, so I decided to stop the use of the vague expression after she pointed out that “thought” or “supposed” would be better words to express the thought.  Another quaint expression was “d’rectly”, meaning directly.  This expression probably was good language, but seemed high flown in our day.  We would ask Mama if she would fix us some jam and bread, and she might say, “now d’reckly”.  Later we changed the expression to “in a minute”; now we say “in a jiffy”.

         As I was growing up, I considered Papa a well spoken man, as he did not speak with a drawl nor slur his words, generally.  But in reflection, I remember that he sometimes said “allus” for always, maybe it was for special emphasis such as, “We ‘allus” did it that way”, etceteras.  That was just a lazy expression, I suppose, and not for general use. The common expressions “a right smart” is one that I have yet to analyze to my satisfaction.  It could mean quite a lot, a considerable amount, a length of time, the size of a child as “a right smart (sized) little girl”; as to a shower, a “right smart” little rain, if we had nothing sitting in the open with which to measure the moisture.  I read just recently this fact about rain:  an inch of rain over an acre of ground amounts to 3,630 cubic feet of water weighing 133 tons, a total of 27,143 gallons – a right smart rain, huh?

    When Mama would write to her folks in Tennessee she would ask Papa to “back” the letter, meaning to address the envelope.  That expression is still in use in some areas.   Just for fun, when Grandma or Papa were provoked with us kids, they would say, “Aw, go to grass and eat mullins”, equal to our expressions in later years, “go jump in the lake” or “get lost!”

    When playing “tag” we kids could be safe from “it”, or the tagger, by shouting “king’s X”; it came out “king’s sex” (that was before we knew that the word sex designated us male or female).  This rule was likely handed down to us from the times of the monarchs, when a king’s signature, his seal or, if he could not produce either, his “x” was an authentic sign of his approval, his protection.  I have read nothing of this explanation, only my own summation. An interesting expression in our childhood years was, “Well, that beats the band!” meaning that some news or event excelled over the brass band which considered a measure of perfection.  We children received the impression that the drum was the band – because it was “beaten”!

    At bedtime on those cold wintry nights, Billy and I had the habit of undressing and dressing for the night in the living room by the heater, before running to our cold bed under the covers.  We were taught to place our clothes on a chair, but we often left our shoes and stockings on the floor by the stove.  We were reprimanded repeatedly for doing this, so Papa finally convinced us to stop the practice by telling us that if we left our shoes around the stove, he would build a fire with them the next morning!

    Papa had an awful cold some time that winter, so he paid the doctor a visit and got quinine for the treatment.  Just a few doses soon cleared it up.  As most of us know, quinine is quite a bitter dose.  I have read in recent years, however, of a substance denatonium saccharide, which is 3,000 times more bitter than quinine!  This substance retains its bitter taste when diluted 1 to 100 million times!  That was a shocking discovery to me, as I thought nothing was more bitter than quinine!  But my story is about Papa’s medicine in a small round box, about the size of a quarter, still sitting on a lamp table just inside the kitchen from the living room.  Billy had seen Papa open a blade of his pocket knife and dip it into the little round box with black edges, and put it into his mouth.  Mother’s trunk was located behind the door as it stood ajar and I was sitting quietly beside the opened trunk going through my possessions which I kept stored in the trunk.  Billy didn’t see me sitting there, so I watched him as he took out his little pocket knife, as he had seen Papa do, opened the box and took out a bit of the powdered quinine on the tip of his knife blade and put it in his mouth.  He quickly replaced the box lid, put his knife in his pocket, and went into the living room where Mama and Papa were sitting on that cold, rainy day.  By this time the quinine had taken effect and Billy began spitting into the ash can sitting on the stove.  I was having trouble suppressing a roaring laugh, so when Papa and Mama began asking what the trouble was, I burst into the room, just dying laughing!  I could hardly tell the incident for laughing – it was such a good joke!  Then, of course, Mama and Papa joined me in the fun while Mama took Billy to get a dipper of water to wash out his mouth.  Papa scolded him gently, pointing up the danger of putting substances in the mouth.  Fortunately, it was not denatonium saccharide.

     School was beginning to be interesting that fall.  Mr. Lovinger was our teacher.  He was a tall man, sallow complected, sandy hair and blue-grey eyes.  He was a kindly man, as I recall my fifth grade class and as he walked about from class to class, surveying the student’s activities, he habitually lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug.  I began to think of this habit as a show of dignity in him – not an unsightly practice.  In the process of teaching seventh grade grammar, he assigned work on the blackboard where the class diagrammed sentences, designating the part of speech and showing their relationship to each other.  I was so interested I copied the diagrams at my desk, words and all, and, although I wasn’t learning much about grammar I was fascinated with the procedure on the black board.  I longed for the time when I could learn to diagram sentences.  But, guess what?  School authorities had decided in the space of another two years that diagramming was not a helpful device in learning grammar.  So, I missed that experience.  After some years, it came into vogue again, leaving English teachers unprepared to teach the method to the students!  Oh what unthinkable ideas educators carry out! 

 They spend their time ruling out good education tools only to awkwardly pick them up again to go through the process of relearning the same methods, some 30 to 40 years later!

    Enjoying all of the language arts offered me, I was rapidly becoming a good speller.  My seat mate and I were allowed to pronounce our assigned words to each other while studying, if we were careful to be quiet about it.  One day we had spelled the words over so many times, we could recite and spell them without hearing them pronounced.  So we decided to play quietly some games of tic-tac-toe.  Mr. Lovinger was watching us and walked quietly up beside our desk.  “You will find your spelling lesson in that square,” he said, pointing with his pencil.  His was a good natured remark, and we readily assured him that we had made preparations for the spelling class.  He walked silently away, with a shrug of his shoulders.

   On another day, we had a long list of unusual words which the teacher had not pronounced for us, or maybe I wasn’t listening.  Sometimes when Papa helped me to study, his pronunciation of the words was different from the teacher’s.  In the fifth grade class we were all lined up in the back of the room, and began to spell.  I didn’t feel as secure about this set of words as I did on the earlier day.  My first words were easy enough, however, but then my next word was “hogshead”, pronounced, (Hogz.hed), meaning a large cask or barrel, holding varying amounts, from 63 to 140 gallons.  I had not heard the pronunciation he used so I hesitated for a moment, thinking I had not studies the word.  Then, suddenly I remembered, and said quite loudly, “Oh, you mean hogshead?”  I think the entire room heard, and all laughed together, including Mr. Lovinger.  At home, I told Mama and Papa of the incident, and they explained the difference between hog’s head and hogshead, as they were familiar with the measuring system.

    An interesting diversion from our “stand up” spelling class, was for the teacher to allow us to move up in the line if the speller before us missed the word.  By keeping records, these places in the line were maintained, and a good speller could eventually reach the head of the class.

    Another diversion for Friday afternoon was a “Spelling Bee” within the school among the higher grades.  A ciphering match using arithmetic problems, was a variation for Friday afternoons.

We are now in the Fall of 1914 and Pearl is showing her natural talents and keen interest in the literature/language arts.

Pearl is very pleased with coming west, as the end of Chapter Thirteen suggested. Randlett is somewhat settled and a new comfort in their daily routines is noted. She is now nine years old and in fourth grade and reads well and eager to learn and observe and make new friends. RAN, Ed.

Pearl’s narration resumes:

      When we arrived at the new home, Billy and I were delighted!  The house was a square wooden structure, built some eight years before.  The outside was white drop-siding, trimmed in brown.  Inside there were four rooms with plastered walls and ceiling, two large windows in each room except one in the back bedroom.  A large kitchen with pantry, back bedroom with a large walk-in closet, with a narrow south window.  This small room was probably intended to be used for a bathroom at some future date, but likely never would be, as the only household water supply was a cistern.  The northwest room was the living room, also serving as Mama’s and Papa’s bedroom.  When Grandma Thornton visited us hers was the back bedroom, the southwest room was mine and Billy’s bedroom.  The inside doors with door knobs that opened and closed so freely encouraged Billy and me to play a game as we ran through the doors and closed them behind us just for fun!  The grown-ups were busy unloading and placing furniture here and there in proper order, so very soon our little game was brought up short!

      The house faced the west upon a “public” road, as opposed to a private drive.  We had not lived in a home on a public road before, as our homes had been at the end of the lane, more or less.  At the back of the house there was a chicken house, a near privy, with a door to open and close with a door knob such as the doors in the big house.  Some distance back, northeast of the house was a large barn, painted red, with enclosed pens on either side for livestock, northeast of the barn one pen led into a small pasture of native grass enclosed with a barbed wire fence.  Within this pasture a pond provided water for the livestock, also, containing live fish which satisfied a young fisherman’s yen for the sport sometimes, when Papa would allow.

      The house was equipped with gutters all around the four sides of its roof; a so called hip roof.  At the apex of these four triangular sides of the roof appeared to be two windows as the points came together, but it was only an architectural device used to strengthen the finished roof.  The gutters led into a cistern which caught and held water for household use.  The cistern was located at the southeast corner of the house.

        Not far from the kitchen door, which had a doorstep some four feet square, was a storm cellar, where Mama would store canned vegetables and fruits as she put them away for the winter.  All told, this new home was quite a step up from our home in Fannin County, Texas, among the creeks and post oaks.  The home we left was not such a far cry from the area where Papa was reared in Eastern Oklahoma, nor Mama either, in middle Tennessee, but they had each been “out west” long enough to enjoy the freedom of the fresh air and sunshine associated with it.  So everyone was happy in the new location.

        The next item on the agenda for me was school – a new school, with a new teacher and pupils.  My cousins, Cecil and Bob Hatcher attended Valley View School which was two miles away to the west.  Bob and Cecil lived two and one-half miles southwest from the school.  My recollection fails me as to who the young lady was who taught the one room school which encompassed all eight grades.  From names dropped in the conversation of friends who lived in the community through the years, I believe it was Miss Bertha Wilkerson.  She remained there only a few weeks in that spring semester of 1914, however, when Mr. Ridings from Randlett, our town three miles north, became our teacher.  He drove a horse and a buggy without a top, and smelled of leather as I rode with him to school much of the time to the end of the winter days.  He was a nice gentleman, wearing a black derby hat and black leather gloves.  He was a Baptist preacher.

   I soon made acquaintances and new friends in school.  I was nine now, and walked the road to school with other students along the way.  After spring opened and the mornings were longer we would walk to school well ahead of Mr. Ridings in his buggy.  There was a home west of our corner about one-quarter mile, perhaps, with a girl and a boy in school.  We never knew them very well, but I do remember stopping by a few times to walk to school with them and smelling the bacon frying, the coffee pot boiling over and the biscuits burning, as the father had built a hot fire in the cook stove to speed up a late breakfast.  The mother and father both busy trying to get the children ready for school, were neglecting the cooking on these early mornings.  I finally gave up on these kids and passed them by, I suppose.

        Farther up the road lived the Bowman family, who were all very nice.  Dorothy, the oldest daughter was in the eighth grade, and played the organ, Lemuel, her sister was a seventh grader, both tall girls, and Perry, their brother, in the sixth grade.  I walked along with them from school, sometimes, but they walked much faster than I, and I recall that Perry out distanced all of us in his hurry to get home in the afternoon.

        The Page family lived in the second mile on my way to school.  These young people were John and Florence Page, twins, and Jake and Vern Page.  Across the creek, in a large home set back from the road lived the Postelwaits; Glen, Fay, and Ralph were the boys and twin sisters Leota and Leola.  The schoolhouse was located in the southwest corner of their farm.  Across the road south from the Postelwaits were the Lents.  I recall a girl of that family who didn’t attend school, Lessie Lents and a small boy, probably in the third grade, Leonard Lents.

Valley View school faced the south.  On the west side was a large concrete cellar and at the back on the north side, the two privies to accommodate the boy and girl students.  The school playground was equipped with swings fastened on a large frame on the west side of the building, a baseball diamond on the east.  A cistern at the northeast corner of the building furnished water for the school.

          A little friend that I loved very much was Martha Wyatt, who lived one and one-half miles south of the school.  The family resided on the farm where Uncle Bert and Aunt Dora lived when Billy, Papa and I first came to the Randlett area in 1910.  I was familiar with the place and visited Martha a few times there, but we were mostly school friends.  Another small girl whom I loved dearly was Linnie Shaddock who lived north and west of the school.  We were only school friends, also.  While on the subject of small young friends I will relate the childhood romance that all of us young kids enjoyed.  The romantic pair was none other than Martha Wyatt and Leonard Lents who became interested in each other.  

The world always “loves a lover”, they say, and this begins to be realized at a very early age.  We kids were talking about it every day on the way home from school and the first words the next morning were on the romance of the two third graders!  She was a cute little doll with short black hair that fell into curls, and he was a nice little fellow with an engaging smile.  I’m told that these two came together finally in marriage in their later years!

        The summer of 1914 brought delightful days for Billy and me.  A patch of wheat  lay just north of our house, so after the reaper had cut and bundled the grain and the men had put it into shocks (several bundles stacked together), we kids would find catching grasshoppers quite fun.  The greatest variety of hoppers that I have ever seen before or since that time, infested that wheat stubble.  The huge yellow ones were our favorites, as they were so awkward in flight we could catch them easily.  The small hoppers of darker shades were not easily found as they hid themselves under the shocks of wheat, a shield from the sun.  But the most interesting grasshopper of all was the small insect without wings.  They were covered with multicolor speckles – each color distinguishable, as we pointed out the many colors to one another.  We would gather quite a collection of the hoppers each morning in an empty bucket, go to the shade of the house and play with them on the back doorstep.  We learned to de-wing the flying ones so that they were easier to keep under our control.  After an hour or so of enjoying our catch, Mama would make us take them to the hens to eat.  That was nearly as much fun as gathering the hoppers, as we watched the hens chase them and when they were caught, the hens made short work of them with their beaks.

       Another game for Billy and me was pulling and pushing an old buggy chassis around, which found its place out by the barn.  It was quite a task for two kids, ten and five years olds, to push the vehicle around, but we would try to roll it, not getting it far from its parking place.  We felt very victorious over the task when we accomplished it.  It was fun while it lasted.  But we had four little kittens who lived with their mother at the barn.  They were just learning to follow us around, but we had not learned yet to watch out for them, to see that they didn’t get under the wheels.  On one occasion we were so absorbed in trying to turn the vehicle around, that we didn’t see the kitten as he had wandered away from the barn and toward the moving wheels.  Suddenly we hear a cry and saw the kitten just as a wheel ran over his back parts.  We grabbed him up and hurried with him to the house to see if Mama could do anything for him.  When Papa returned from the field, he told us nothing could be done as he was broken down in his back.  He dragged himself around for a few days, Billy and I fed him apart from the other kittens, and he would eat and seemed healthy, but Papa and Mama were sure he was in pain, so Papa took him behind the barn and killed him to take him out of his misery.  Billy and I were sad about the kitten’s death, of which we had been the cause, and I don’t recall that we played with the old buggy chassis again.

We saw our cousins, Cecil and Bob Hatcher, quite frequently.  They would mount their horses and ride over to visit us.  I especially remember Bob as he would tease Papa about anything he could think of; Papa was a good match for his antics.  Bob, then ten, would sit on Papa’s knee and taking Papa’s hat off he would reset it on one side of his head, making him look very “dudish”.  Then Bob would say, “That’s the way Uncle Pete wore his hat when he was courting Aunt Betty!”  This would produce a big laugh among us.  The wearing of the hat on one side for a young fellow was a sign that he was courting some young lady he was in love with in those days.

        The summer of 1914 marked the year we first saw a comic strip.  I believe the “Katzenjammer Kids”, “Mutt and Jeff”, and possibly others were in existence, but we had not been introduced to them.  Papa subscribed to the Burkburnett Star, a weekly newspaper, and the very back page, half of which, was devoted to “Buster Brown”, advertising Buster Brown Shoes, to be sure, but a story in picture, none the less, which Billy and I devoured each time it came.  Our mailbox was some one quarter mile south of our house at an intersection, and it was our task to go to the mailbox each day to pick up the mail – if there was any.  As I recall, the newspaper came to our box on Saturday, so on that day we joyfully went to the mail box.  Many times there were letters as Papa’s and Mama’s family members wrote quite frequently.

        Billy and I would take our little dog “Cricket” to the mailbox with us, usually at around the noon hour when then postman would pass by.  One hot day he was going with us and we, barefoot, were quite aware of the heat of the sand to the feet and to the dog’s feet, too.  Billy, realizing this picked the dog up and said, “Cricket’s little trotters are getting hot!”  We had heard Mama call our pets’ feet “trotters”, and probably ours, too.  I told Mama and Papa of the incident when we returned, everyone thought it was cute, so it became a family story, repeated many times.

         A wild, stray cat “holed up” under our house that summer.  Mama wanted her to get out so we could close up the man hole which opened up in the foundation on the south side of the house.  Mama took Billy and they stationed themselves on the north side and banging on the lower wall frightened the cat out the man hole.  I was standing a little too close to the hole and had just stooped over to peep under the house to see if the cat was coming when she shot out and away she fled!  My bare feet were in her path and as she accelerated her speed, her claws caught the top of my right foot, just above the toes.  I hurried crying to Mama to tell her about the incident, she cleansed the wound but after it was healed there were three distinct lines across my foot which can still be dimly seen nearly eighty years later!

         I recall Mama’s subscription to a magazine “The Woman’s World”, in that era.  I was impressed with an advertisement of “Colgate” tooth paste, which I had noticed for the first time.  Mama and Papa had probably been induced to buy the magazine by some door to door salesman that had stopped by our home in a horse drawn buggy.  The “drummer”, or pack peddler as they were commonly called, made frequent visits to our home there in Cotton County as they traveled the country roads that crisscrossed the area.  The drummer usually arrived at our house around noon, for two, quite probable, reasons:  Mama would have a good meal prepared and Papa would invite them to eat with us.  Another good reason was that Papa would be at home and, if he could, by chance, sell Mama some of his wares, Papa would have money in his wallet.  Of course, the peddler always gave Mama some item from his pack to pay for his meal.  We kids were always anxiously awaiting the opening of the pack which had many interesting items for the kitchen plus sewing needs such as thread, lace and embroidered trimmings.  Ready to use dresser scarves, pillow cases and table cloths, both for stand tables and dining tables.   (Some of these items can probably still be found among other antiques in Mama’s trunk.)  Nothing the peddler sold was of particular interest to Billy and me, but we were excited at any purchase Mama would decide upon.

             Mama’s oldest brother, John, and his wife Annie, and two children, Mable and Hubert, had moved to Walters, Oklahoma, about the time we moved near Randlett.  Through correspondence, they had invited us to visit them, so Mama and Papa decided to make the twenty mile trip one Saturday morning, to return home on Sunday.  Aunt Dove’s sons would ride over on horseback, some five miles, to feed the livestock and milk the cow.  This was to be a trip that Billy and I looked forward to with great expectation.  The visit was probably an uneventful occasion, but the children were near mine and Billy’s ages, with whom we became acquainted, during our brief stay.  The parents were all happy to meet; Papa, for the first time, was to become acquainted with Uncle John and Aunt Annie.  Mama and Uncle John would reminisce old times back in their Tennessee home!

My only lasting impression of the trip, the one and only reason that I am sure that we children made the trip with our parents (we could have stayed with Grandma Thornton at home), was that as we drove along the road approaching Walters, the county seat of Cotton County, billboards began to appear advertising the various mercantile business located in the city.  Many of the advertisements were self-explanatory, but the one that listed, Smith and Jones, Undertakers, was puzzling to me.  It suddenly occurred to me to ask Papa this question:  “What do undertakers do?”  He explained to me their work of preparing bodies of persons who had died, and conducting the burials.  This was a depressing revelation to me.  

In a quite natural way I had learned the general meaning of “undertaking” as doing a task that was difficult.  I mulled over the use of the word in this particular sense for many days.  Ever think “I wish I hadn’t asked?”  That was one time that I had that very thought!  But now I knew!  The services of preparing the dead for burial were done by neighbors who lived close by in our way of life.  Actually, I had not come in contact with a mortician’s service in my short lifetime.  My folks didn’t use this service when my sister died five years earlier; neither did the Roark family in Fannin County when Mr. Roark died.  So the service of the “undertaker’ had taken on an entirely new meaning for me.

        Mama was quite vocal in recalling deaths and burials of older relatives back in Tennessee which was always sad to me.  On the other hand, Papa was of an entirely different temperament.  He appeared to abide by the adage found in the Bible, “let the dead bury its dead”.  A year or so later than this event, on a dreary rainy afternoon, a horse drawn hearse passed our house.  Mama explained the use of the long, black vehicle, and she supposed that a man had died who lived a mile or so up the road.  He was very aged and had been seriously ill.  Papa was acquainted with Mr. Runnels, I believe, but they were not acquaintances of our family.

         Cecil Hatcher, Aunt Dove’s and Uncle Elias’ oldest son became very ill in that summer of 1914.  He had an extremely high temperature, and, as I recall, almost unbearable pain in his head.  Doctors couldn’t seem to come to a satisfactory diagnosis of his case; only seeking to reduce the fever and the pain by administering medication.  The family members were all troubled and fearful.  Neighbors visited frequently offering their help in any and every way possible, so Papa, Mama, Billy and I drove over one afternoon in the wagon to visit the family to offer our love and support in their time of suspense.  I remember our family all standing together in the front room and Papa and Mama began to inquire where Aunt Dove was.  Uncle Elias said she had gone off down into the pasture alone some time before our arrival.  Papa appeared quite agitated about her going alone into the sand hills and sage brush, indicating that he should go and find her, when I recall hearing Mama quietly say, “She has gone off by herself to pray.”  Papa nodded his agreement, and after awhile Aunt Dove returned, appearing quite peaceful within, wearing her usual smile as she greeted our family.  I believe Cecil’s malady lasted for some two weeks, when the pain began to diminish, without a known reason for the illness.  After a few weeks of recuperation he recovered completely.  Cecil was never as playful with our family as Bob was, but he rode his horse over to our house occasionally to fish in our stock pond back of the barn.

So, we look forward to Pearl’s next chapter in her young life at age nine. Several interesting occurrences in their family, including frightening illnesses and some adventures of childhood are described. Stay tuned. RAN