Chapter 5

Sadness & Other Things

Funerals in Shinbone Valley were so sad and there were so many of them.  I can recall fifteen funerals that I attended at Union and one (Mr. Kee’s) in Chocolocco Valley during the short number of years I can remember there.Those at Union were:

Grandma Strickland     Emma Strickland
Aunt Prudie Spear      Ellie Smith
Mr. John Ed Phillips   Iola Carter Burt
Carson Shaddix Lessie Key
Marion Dover           Mrs. Johnson
Zolemma Smith  Mrs. Hearn
Mr. Tom Mitchell       Marthena Strickland
Uncle Campbell Carter 

Many people would gather at the home before the funeral and go in the procession as slowly as the horses and mules could walk, if not too far away, with people walking behind to the Union Church building.  Sometimes the services were held in the house and sometimes on the church house yard.  When the weather was too cold or bad, there would be no services.  The funeral would be “preached later”, sometimes months later, bringing memories back and all the sadness.

Ana (Mrs. Wylie) Mitchell was the one who got things ready at the funeral for the body to be viewed.  She always had a bottle of camphor in case someone fainted.  She dressed in black and was so straight and slender, neat, dignified and efficient.

Almost everybody cried at funerals, many of them loudly.  Grandma Sarah Strickland lived again the loss of her loved ones at every funeral, running back and forth, crying at the top of her voice, calling their names.  When the crying became loudest, some of the mules, tied around the cemetery, would start braying, adding to the mournful sound, and would keep braying until it was over.

After the services were over the men carried the casket through the gate into the cemetery with the congregation following, singing:

“Over Jordan we shall meet, bye and bye, bye and bye,
In that happy land so sweet, bye and bye, bye and bye.
We shall meet to part no more, where we’ll love forevermore,
And his precious name adore, by and by, by and by.”

The casket was lowered into the grave and the grave filled while the people cried, some screaming, and the mules braying.  It was so sad.

There had been people living there who believed in witches.  There was a woman living there who had been called a witch.  I shall not use her name, but call her “Mandy”.

“Mandy” was still called a witch, though more jokingly than otherwise.  If someone got down with the mulligrubs, or a child was crying or fretting needlessly, some grownup would get a hat or a bucket and hold it and tell them to cry a hat or bucketful.  If they didn’t stop, then they would tell them, “We’ll have to get Mandy and the soap gourd.  Come on, Mandy, bring your soap gourd.”  That usually stopped the crying.  I knew where Mandy lived and remember seeing her once, and though I didn’t believe she was a witch, I was afraid of her and her soap gourd.  To this day, I don’t know what the soap gourd had to do with it.

Evidently, Mr. and Mrs. Ivan Stancell believed in ghosts, or maybe they were just entertaining.  One night shortly before we came to Texas, Elsie and I spent a night at Uncle Bill Joe Shaddix’s.  Mr. Stancell lived at Grandpa Strickland’s old place on the big road, and Uncle Bill Joe lived in the smaller house on the next hill just north.  Vida and Cassie said, “Let’s go to Mr. Stancell’s and get them to tell us some ghost stories.”  Aunt Julie said we could, so off we went.  They told us some of the eeriest, most frightening stories I have ever heard, declaring they were true.  When time to go, we were afraid to leave.  Mrs. Stancell held a lamp in the back door while we hit the trail as fast as we could run down the back lot and up by the garden, never stopping until we were inside the house.  We went to bed declaring we didn’t believe them, but cold chills ran up and down our spines, causing us to shiver and squeal.  Anything eerie and frightening was fun as long as it was not really happening and we didn’t believe it ever had or ever would happen.

Almost every family owned one or more dogs.  Through the years we owned a number of dogs and loved them.  They were part of our lives.  The first I remember was Kate, a white and brown spotted hound, a wonderful squirrel dog.  There was a bird dog named Eagle.  I remember Mr. McClerg coming out from Oxford and hunting birds with Papa.  Mr. McClerg and daughters, Elsie, Mattie and Katy came along and visited us.

There were other dogs we owned, but Rattler was the last one before coming to Texas.  He was a blue and white speckled hound that we raised from a puppy and loved so much.  He grew to be a big dog, weighing 50 pounds when he was two years old.  He and Elsie weighed the same when he was two and Elsie was seven.  Papa gave Rattler to Albert Simms, a man on the other side of the mountain, when we came to Texas.  It was hard to tell him goodbye.

Another dog we loved so very much as a beautiful young collie that just appeared at our house one day the last year we lived in Alabama.  One day someone borrowed our horse and buggy to go to Lineville and she followed it all the way and got lost.  We were all heart-broken, for she was the most wonderful dog we had ever had and the best playmate for us.  The only name we ever gave her was “Pup”.  She was a beautiful golden color, a true collie with all their wonderful traits.  How we missed her!

Maybe the reason we loved dogs so much and that I remember them so well is because Papa loved them.  He used to recite this little verse for us.

“I like to see a little dog
And pat him on the head.
So prettily he wags his tail
Whenever he is fed.

Some little dogs are very good
And very useful too.
And don’t you know that they will mind
What they are bid to do?

Then I will never beat my dog
Nor ever give him pain.
I will give him food
And he will love me then.”

“Aunt” Sidney Newsome had a big brown dog named Sport.  He would come to visit us nearly every night when we lived near them.  If the door was closed and the window open, he would leap through it.  One night, the window was closed and he leaped through anyway, breaking it to pieces.  He was so embarrassed he would hardly look at us for awhile.

Cousin Andy Smith had a cream colored shaggy dog named Watch.  He came to our house often when we lived near the mill and we loved him.  Uncle Northern and Uncle Malie Strickland owned two hounds, Keep, a dark red and black spotted dog, and Rouser, solid red-gold, the color of fallen oak leaves.  They were coon dogs.  Later, Grandpa Strickland owned a black hound named Dude.  Dude had a bark all his own – a long, drawn out wail.  Most hunters knew the voices of the different dogs; everyone knew Dude’s.

Uncle Rich Carter’s dog was named Pete, a rather small red and white spotted hound, who would run over the mountains until he was barely able to get home and would have to lie around for days so stiff he could hardly get up.  He and Grandpa’s Dude hunted together alone quite often at night.  We would hear them out on the mountainside, Dude’s long whiney wail and Pete’s quick yelp.

Uncle Campbell Carter had a dog named Tinker.  He was black with red on is head and chest.  One day, someone met him with a plate of butter in his mouth.  He had gone to Hayes Smith’s, about two miles away, and got it off the table and was taking it home.

Uncle Tol Strickland’s hound was named Trailer.  Uncle Bill Joe Shaddix’s little black bulldog was called Jet.  Mr. Will’s was a little black and white long haired dog named Son.  One day, Mr. Wilf and Son came by our house walking.  We were playing by the roadside with Blacknose, our cat.  She sent Son off yelping – Mr. Wilf laughed so hard he had to sit down on the road bank and rest before going on.  Grandpa Elder’s dog was black and long haired.  His name was Bob.  He was such a nice dog.

Many of the men in the valley were great hunters.  Some hunted coons, bobcats, and other large animals, and some were just rabbit and opossum hunters.  Grandpa Strickland was one of the best marksmen in the country.  He loved to hunt squirrels and deer.  He had a pair of deer antlers mounted and hanging on his wall.  I have a small horn, one of my prized possessions, that my Uncle Renzo Strickland gave me in 1968 that was Grandpa’s.  It must have been killed in the 1800’s, for Papa said deer became almost extinct there around 1900.  But, they are flourishing there now – I saw deer trails in the fields in 1968.

Grandpa Strickland and Papa had muzzle-loading rifles, and a shot pouch and powder horn that they slung across their shoulders when they went hunting.  Papa traded his for a single barrel shotgun which he kept until we came to Texas.

Papa and Chester used to go ‘possum hunting with the neighbor boys.  If the moon wasn’t shining, they would split a bunch of long rich pine splinters and light torches.  What fun that must have been.

Uncle Tom Strickland and Uncle John Shaddix were bee hunters.  They loved going to the woods and watching the bees and trailing them to their nests in hollow trees – not so much for the honey they might get, but for the sport of finding a bee tree.

Uncle Northern was the greatest hunter of them all.  Often, as a young boy, he would go into the mountains alone at night with his dogs, Keep and Rouser, and stay all night listening to them run.  He also loved fishing and always caught them.  How I loved Uncle Northern, and loved hearing him tell of his adventures in the woods.  He was always so quiet and loveable.