Reclaimed Memories
ca. 1907 - 1911

 was born in Sutton, which is the county seat of Braxton County, West Virginia, on September 7th, 1907. I was four months old when the family moved about eight or ten miles up Elk River. I cannot be sure but I think my sister, Elma, must have been born in the house to which we moved. I remember Ruby saying that we moved across the river after the birth of one of my younger sisters. I think Opal and Beulah were born in an old house that Dad tore down after building a house above and to the left of the old one.

I distinctly remember a baby learning to walk on the rough board flooring of the kitchen in the old house. This must have been Opal, who did not walk until almost a year and a half old. About the time she should have started to walk one of the older siblings let her fall and she got a severe injury to her mouth and nose and would not allow her feet to touch the floor for several months. Elma remembers that Mother said the baby, probably Beulah, would learn to walk in the new house. Evidently Dad was building it at that time.

As far as I can pinpoint it, my very earliest recollection of an event took place on July 2, 1911. On that date I was more than two months short of my fourth birthday. Opal was one year and nine days old and Elma was between the two of us. The day was very warm and our mother took a blanket and, carrying Opal, took the three of us to a woods not far from our house. She spread the blanket under the shade of a large tree and put Opal, who could not walk, on it. She told Elma and me to get some big leaves and she would make us hats. I can remember well searching for the largest leaves I could find. Mother took small twigs and pinned the leaves together and I walked around very carefully with my hat on my head so that I would not lose it under a tree with low hanging branches.

I am almost certain that this event took place in the same patch of woods, as our childhood picture of Elma, Opal and me was taken by a traveling photographer. Beulah was just three weeks old at that time and Opal, who was only a year and ten days older, cried and Mother gave her the hair brush to quiet her. Elma says she remembers that she was very ashamed of Opal for crying. She was no longer the baby and only babies were supposed to cry.





I know the reason this date of July 2, 1911, stayed in my memory is because on that day I lost in the woods the only toy I possessed, a little iron just like the one my mother used. We searched for the iron many times, but were never able to find it. Later my mother told me that that was the day before my sister Beulah was born. The birth of another little sister made no impression on me, for I remember nothing concerning that day. But the loss of my toy was a traumatic experience!

The next event I remember clearly is the funeral of my nine year old brother, Wilbur. My parents lost two boys in childhood. Percy was fourteen months older than I, and died when I was four months old. Of course I have no recollection of him. My mother often spoke of him as a beautiful baby with golden curls.

At the time of Wilbur's death we lived in the country, but not far from the little village of Levi, West Virginia. Levi was always called "Baker's Run" by the people who lived there. That was probably the older name, before it became a stop on the railroad which ran through the center of the settlement.

I remember seeing Wilbur's casket in our living room, supported by two kitchen chairs and of the neighbors gathering in the house for the funeral service. At this time I was four months past my fourth birthday and very disturbed by my mother's tears. I picked up a little chair or stool and carried it over and placed it between two neighbor ladies whom I liked and sat down on it. One remarked to the other, "Poor little thing. She does not understand what is going on." I felt comforted by their sympathy.

I seem to remember that the house had a high porch and the casket was taken to the edge of the porch and lifted into a wagon to be taken to the cemetery. I am almost certain, because of the date of his death and of my remembrance of the house, that he died in the new house. I do not remember any thing about the event after that. I presume some neighbor stayed at the house and kept us younger children there while Wilbur was being buried. He died February 6, 1912.

It is not surprising that births and deaths leave an indelible impression on the mind of a small child. The next event that I remember distinctly occurred on May 28, 1913. My youngest sister, Ruth, was born that day. How very different were the attitudes and beliefs concerning pregnancy in that day from today! We were told that the doctor brought the babies. There was never any hint that the little one was inside the mother's body. I knew that something out of the ordinary was happening when my mother did not get up that morning to get our breakfast. Elma and I were sent to play at a neighbor's house and Brother Teddy was sent to a home where there was a boy about his age. I was almost nine months past five years old and Ted was almost three years my senior, so probably wiser about what was soon to happen. He heard that there was a new baby at our house before he was supposed to return home, and came to where Elma and I were playing with the news that, 'There is a little ni**er baby at our house." When we started home he tried to keep us there by saying, "No there isn't. I just said that." But the die was cast! Nothing he would say could prevent us from going home to see the little ni**er baby before we were supposed to be there. The little "ni**er" baby was my baby sister, Frieda Ruth.

It was in the new house that Ruth was born. I feel reasonably sure that we moved into that house between the birth of Beulah, on July 3, 1911, and the death of Wilbur, on February 6, 1912. I often wonder where Dad got the money to build a house. I think it would have been hard to rind money to feed his large family. I cannot remember that he worked at anything except farming at that time. I remember the house as being very simple in construction, with a long front porch. A door at one end of the porch opened into the kitchen and another into the living area. I know that the bedrooms were in a line, opening into each other instead of from a hall.

I have always thought that it was on this long front porch that I injured my eye, but it could not have been, since I was only three at that time. I do know that I was on a porch and that the day I hurt my eye a neighbor lady was visiting with my mother in the kitchen. She saw that I had the scissors. I distinctly heard her say, "Lillie, Elizabeth has the scissors." Mother came out to take them from me and I tried to hold on to them and some way pierced the pupil of my eye. I have no recollection of the pain, but was told later that they were afraid I would lose that eye. It festered and watered for almost a year. It was always weak but we did not realize the extent of the injury until after I was married and was tested for glasses. There is no visible scar, but I have no central vision in that eye.

My first experience of riding on a train was while we were living in the house Dad built. Mother took me with her when she went to Sutton to consult a doctor. She had gallstones and shortly after this visit to the doctor, she had such a bad attack that she was carried on a cot to the train, to go to the hospital in Sutton. We were all panic stricken and crying when she was placed on the train. Even as small children we knew she was dangerously ill. I was very afraid that I would never see her again. She had the needed operation and was able to come home in about three weeks.

Ted, Elma and I were sent to Mother's sister, Mollie Ritter, where we stayed for about a month during Mother's illness. This was my second train trip. My third train trip was the one Ruby and I took to our aunts, when Dad's sister, Mollie Allman, bought me the doll. ( STORY )

Ruby was left at home to care for Ruth, who was a tiny baby, and Beulah and Opal. No doubt the neighbors gave her assistance and Gotthart, who was three years older, probably shared in the responsibilities. Dad went to the hospital with Mother and stayed with his sister, Dora, who lived in Sutton. If my memory is correct, he returned home when she was out of danger; then went back to accompany her home. I remember that when we returned home from Aunt Mollie's I was shocked at Mother's thin appearance.

This Aunt Mollie had no children. It was through her estate that Mother, and her seven siblings, received a check each year. This fund was derived from the mineral rights which were reserved when the farm was sold. I believe the gas may have been discovered after the deaths of both Ritters. Mother's share is now being divided between her children or their descendants.

This aunt's name was Mary Frances, so it is hard to see any logic to the nickname of Mollie. She died in 1914, the result of blood poisoning in a finger. Her husband died in 1923.

The Brady Trilogy  I  Reclaimed Memories - (1991)  I  Pop Troy's Anthology - ( 1992)  I  Kinfolk - (1994)