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Memories of Long Ago
By
Winnie Mae Webb
Courtesy of Robert Webb
Claud and Winnie Webb
At the request of my family, I will try to bring back in memory the things of
the past, and tell a little of the way of life of long ago. I was born August
27, 1898 near the small village of Sepo, Illinois. When my father and mother
were married they began housekeeping in a one-room house which was built on the
corner of Grandma's farm. There I was born and lived until I was about seven
years of age.
In those days when a baby was expected, people did not call a doctor or go to a
hospital. There were few doctors. If there was a hospital, it would have been in
some large town. But you would call a lady who was a mid-wife, who took care of
most of the children being born. My Aunt Ann Mann was one of these, and she came
when I was born. I was very small, only 3 pounds clothes and all. But I came in
the hot weather of August, so clothes didn't consist of much. Aunt Ann had a
small daughter who insisted on naming me "Winnie". Mother didn't much want to,
but she begged so hard that finally mother consented. I am sure my name would
have been Hilda, as that was what father usually called me. So this is the way I
got my name.
Sepo was a small place with a grocery store and several houses scattered about.
Across the main road was the C. B.and Q. Railroad. The train came from Quincy,
Illinois, each day on its way to Havana where it turned around, before rambling
slowly back up the tracks to Quincy again. It supplied the grocery store in Sepo
with groceries and other items, as well as other little towns along the tracks.
It carried passengers too. You could travel to Havana and back, if you hurried;
it only remained at Havana about an hour. If you
wanted to travel toward Quincy, you would have to wait until the next day to
come back.
Groceries in those days were bought in bulk, in barrels or large boxes. There
were no cans on the shelves as we have now. Flour, sugar, and coffee were
measured and weighed on the scales that sat on the store counter. Everybody had
a coffee mill and ground their own coffee, sometimes just before breakfast. It
was boiled in the old grey enamel coffee pot, for there were no fancy
percolators In those days. Sometimes we would grind corn in our coffee mill for
our corn bread.
I remember the candy. It was the old grocery mix, the cheapest that could be
bought. You could get a big sack for a nickel.
I spent much of my time with my grandmother. She lived alone in her farm home
which was only a short distance away from our home. Her house
set on a large mound, or hill. It had a big yard. On the south side of the mound
were two large lilac bushes which smelled so sweet In the summer time when
blooming. She also had many old fashioned roses.
This house had seven rooms, and also had a summer kitchen where she did her
cooking in the summer, I suppose to keep her house cooler. One large room In her
house was the parlor. We didn't go in there often, only when company came. It
was fixed up extra nice. At the end of her porch was an open well, with a curb
built around it and a ledge where the buckets set. There was a pulley with a
chain fastened to the top, and two old oaken buckets which were dropped down
into the water and then pulled up full. I have had many a refreshing drink of
water from these oaken buckets. Do you remember the poem
"The Old Oaken bucket, the iron bound bucket.
The moss covered bucket that hung
in the well..." ?
Grandma often left me alone while she went down the hill to the barn to do her
chores and milk her cow. I would open the doors, for I expected Indians to come
up those cellar steps any minute. Many stories were told of ghosts and Indians
in those days. When her house was built, the men who dug the cellar dug into a
sealed room. It contained some sort of fireplace, and several bodies of Indians
who had been buried there. Beads and glass {they called It Isingglass) and other
relics were found. Those items were kept, but the men sealed up the room. It was
never opened in Grandma's
time. I suppose the tales of Indians buried there had much to do with my fear of
the place.
Many times I have walked across the fields and picked up arrow heads, darts, and
other Indian relics. This was Indian country, located where Dickson Mounds State
Park is now located. I took my arrowpoints to Uncle Arch Mann who would buy them
from me. He was much interested in Indian history. At his death he had a large
collection which was given to a museum. He also
had a spotted Indian pony. He was a large man and I always felt that that pony had more than
its share to carry him.
Grandma churned her own butter, and I have helped her many times push the dasher up and down until the butter gathered. She would wash
it in cool water and put it into a butter mold. It came out smooth and golden
with the mold print on top. Grandma would hang her butter in the well since
there were no refrigerators in those days, and few ice boxes. She could make
delicious soda biscuits with the buttermilk too.
During the winter, some people would go to the lake, or
to the river, and cut big blocks of ice. This they stored in sheds packed in
sawdust. It would keep quite a while. We did not do this, so we had no ice. The
only ice cream I remember was made from fresh snow
and vanilla added to flavor It. It was good make believe, and didn't taste too
bad to a child.
Grandma had a large orchard at the foot of the mound. Many kinds of apples grew
there, but one I remember was a snow apple. It was very white inside, and juicy.
Apples were gathered in the fall, and bins in the cellar were filled with them.
On long winter evenings a big panful was brought up and eaten before bed time as
we sat around the old stove. The only light we had was a kerosene lamp. It was
carried from one room to another as needed. It didn't give much light, and every
morning the chimney had to be washed, and sometimes the wick trimmed so it would
not smoke.
Apple butter time came in the fall. The old copper-bottomed wash boiler was put
on the stove, and filled with apples cut up, cider, and spices added, It had to
be stirred for hours with a wooden paddle until it became thick and red.
Sometimes several neighbors joined in the work. The apple butter was put into
crocks and jars.
The wash boiler had other uses too. On wash day, it was filled with water
carried in from the well, and heated on the cook stove. Some of this hot water
was put into tubs. A wash board and lye soap was usually used. The white clothes
were washed, then boiled in soapy water, then rinsed in water with a little
bluing added to make them whiter. It was very hard on hands to wash this way,
and they would hardly get well from one washing until it had to be done again.
Clothes were hung on the clothesline outdoors, which was fine in summertime, but
in wintertime the clothes would freeze and so would your hands. The ironing was
done with the old sadiron heated on the stove. There was no other way to wash or
iron, so everyone did it this way.
I suppose I grew up about as other children did. We did not have many of the
luxuries that some around us had, but we did not feel deprived.
My Uncle Will and Aunt Lizzie Bandle lived a few miles away on a farm. They had
a daughter Grace who was a few months older than me. Aunt Lizzie made her many
pretty dresses, and when she outgrew them they were handed down to me. These
were good people, and it was a good home to visit. I went there quite often.
Uncle Will was a quiet man. In the evenings he would read a chapter from the
Bible and offer a prayer before we went to bed. This impressed me as something
sacred and dear.
In those days few people owned buggies. But Uncle Will had a new "surrey with a
fringe on top". I went with them many times in it, usually to church or some
other place important. Farmers had horses, but they used them to farm with.
If you wanted to visit a neighbor across the miles, you walked. The neighborhood
circle was small, but neighbors were there to help if needed.
There wasn't much in the way of entertainment. Sometimes in winter someone
would hitch horses to an old bobsled filled with straw, loaded with young people
(and sometimes the older too,) Some also had one-horse sleighs, with sleighbells
fastened to the horse's harness. It was an ideal way for boys and their girls to
spend time.
Nearly all boys and girls had small sleds, many homemade. We had a hill not far
from our house, so one day I decided I would take my sled to the top of the hill
and have a ride. The hill was long but not too steep, As my sled went down, it
gained speed, I had not thought of the fence at the bottom of the hill, and
there was no way to stop. I hit the fence and was skinned up a little, and never
tried sliding down that hill again by myself.
Sometimes there were skating parties. We would go to the lake or pond
that was frozen over, and couples would skate for long hours. There were
some neighborhood dances, with fiddle music, and people danced until the early
morning hours. We did not go to them, but many did.
Sometimes the evening was spent around the old parlor organ where families
gathered and sang the old songs. Most of the songs were church hymns, but
sometimes the beautiful old love songs were sung, songs that told of love that
endured. Not much like modern love songs.
My father farmed. He owned a team of horses which he always gave special care.
Farming was done in a very small way by present day standards. It was hard work
to follow a walking plow all day. Corn was the main crop raised, and the seed
came from corn left over and shelled by hand. Father worked hard from early
until late to provide for his family. His hearing was badly impaired, which
didn't help him in his dealings with others. He never heard my voice, but he
could read lips and I had no trouble talking to him. He had been deaf from
boyhood. Mother often sat down and told him the news, and often would write it
out for him.
Across the fields from Grandma's house was a cemetery. It was not taken care of
as they are now. All the families gathered there on Decoration Day, cleaned the
graves and placed flowers on the graves of loved ones,
If a person died, neighbors would go in and prepare the body for burial. The
body was laid out for viewing in the home. They were not embalmed. The casket
would be bought, I think from the furniture store. Grandma often went to assist
in the preparation of a body for burial, because there were no undertakers that
I can remember. Sometimes when a small child died, the men would make a box or
small casket for them. Neighbors always came to sit up with the dead, and the
bodies were not moved from the home until
they were carried to the church or cemetery. Sometimes they were carried in a
spring wagon. It had a bed on the back somewhat like a small truck, except that
it was pulled with horses very slowly, as they wended their way to their last
resting place. Later, hearses came into use. These also were pulled by horses.
They were long and black, with long windows in the sides. Loved ones stayed at
the graveside until the grave was filled in. I have seen women faint as their
children were covered over and hidden from their view.
Down the hill from the cemetery lived an old couple, Uncle George and Aunt Sis
Johnson. They were not actually relatives, but just good neighbors. Sometimes in
the evening Grandma and I would walk across the fields and spend the evening
visiting with them. We might stay until four o'clock in the morning, before
Grandma would wake me up (much against my will!) and we would walk home for
breakfast.
I learned later that Aunt Sis was a Primitive Baptist, but Uncle George was not.
She had a brother who was a minister, but she never went to the church there
close. Uncle George did. I always loved to hear him tell his experience, how he
was much troubled and feeling there was no hope for him. Often he felt to go out
to the shed to pray. When his troubles were taken away, and the beautiful light
shone around him, he didn't understand, perhaps, but I have heard him tell it
with tears running down his face. I expect his wife understood. I well remember
him as he sat by mother's bedside a few days before she died, reading the Bible
to her. He was a dear old man.
A short distance up the road was the town hall where on election day the men
gathered to vote and express their views on which party could best lead the
country. Many a heated argument followed. Most of them were either Republicans
or Democrats as their parents were before them.
In those days, there were no ball games to go to, except those played on the
playground north of the school house during the morning and noon recess. I never
remember ball games being played on Sunday, for this was a day of rest with
family.
People dressed different in those days. Children, in winter, wore long fleeced
underwear that reached from their necks to their toes. The girls' long stockings
were pulled up over the underwear with many a bulge, as they hurried to get
ready for school! We had to dress warmly, because we all walked sometimes more
than a mile to school. There was no other way except to walk. Many of the little
girls' dresses were made from calico. They came down well below the knees. Most
were made with many ruffles, especially for their Sunday dresses. And in the
spring when It came time to put away the heavy clothes, and take off their
shoes, everyone felt light. Most boys
and girls went barefooted in summer, except when they went to church,
The ladies' dresses were long too, clear down to the ankles. Ladles were not
supposed to expose an ankle in those days. Usually the waist was fitted, but the
skirts were full, with flounces or ruffles around the knees. The Sunday clothes
may have been made of heavier material, and sometimes the waists were decorated
with braid. It took several yards of material to make a dress, but calico in
those days cost 5 cents a yard.
The church sat across the way, with its bell on top which was rung from inside
by pulling a rope, to let all know it was time for church to begin. This was a
union (community) church. Any preacher who came along could preach there. It
made a place to go on Sunday evenings. A revival was held every winter, and
young and old gathered there. Sometimes the preacher would get carried away, and
you could almost feel the sparks fly as he preached of death and judgment and
the place where you would go unless you changed your ways and got saved! They
used to beg the young especially to come to the altar, where some leader or
preacher would pray loud and long....I suppose until they got tired of being on
their knees. Then they would get up and say they were saved, only to return to
the same way of living as soon as meeting closed. I expect many times people got
saved this way just to keep the meeting going,
But there were good, sincere people that came too. This was the only kind of
preaching they got to hear, but they tried to live right. Perhaps the desire had
been already deep in their hearts. I had serious thoughts about death, and
wondered what the Bible said about it, from the time I was a small girl.
Sometimes a medicine show would stop in Sepo for a night or two, selling their
home remedies and liniments that was supposed to cure most of your ills. They
put on quite a show. I remember one time they pulled teeth (no easing shot
first). You just sat down in the chair and held on tight until the teeth came
out. I have seen them pull teeth this way, and I expect if you had gone to a
doctor he would have pulled them that way too. They knew of no medicine to ease
the pain.
I began my school years at East Waterford School, Just below where Dickson
Mound Museum now stands. The seats were long enough to allow two to sit and
study together from the same books. The desk tops were carved up with the names
of pupils from past years. Up by the teacher' s desk was a chart, where
beginners learned their letters and numbers. Each day a new page was turned
over, and we had a new lesson. These had to be learned
before a pupil could go on to the first grade.
Reading, writing, and arithmatic were the main subjects taught. The old copy
book with its beautiful writing must be practiced every day, and some of the
girls and boys became beautiful writers. The reading books had so many good
lessons in them, and serious poems. I still remember many of them.
At Christmas time, we had a Christmas tree at the school. The children learned
to recite their verses, but sometimes when they looked out at the many faces in
the audience they would forget, and have to go back to their seats embarrassed.
And that was the way it had always been, as the parents remembered their own
school days. At the end of the program, Santa Claus came. He had a pack on his
back, and was all dressed up for the occasion. He always brought a sack of candy
and an orange for each pupil. The dolls and toys were later taken from the
teacher and given to the girls and boys. I was pretty sure Santa came from the
North Pole and had to hurry on. We didn't see him again until next Christmas.
About 1908, our school house burned, and we finished the term in the town hall.
Mr. Newbury was our teacher, and I thought he was great. I was in the 3rd grade,
but he let me stand up and spell with the higher grades. I thought he was old,
but I doubt if he was more than thirty. He was very good and kind; but, I loved
all my teachers and I loved school.
The next fall the new school was finished. It stood right where the old one had
been. I thought the new school was nice, because not a mar, not a name was on
the new desks. When the old school burned, all the books were burned with it, so
we had to get new ones. And we got many extra books to study from too, and the
school system began to change. The old reading books with the lessons we loved
were gone, and the new readers had more fiction than truth.
It seemed to me that my parents moved so much! And this time when they moved I
had to change schools. I joined the boys and girls in their long walk through
woods and fields to West Waterford School. We passed by close to Haunted Hollow
where many stories were told of ghosts dressed in white that were seen in the
night, and loud shrieking that was supposed to have been heard. This was a
wooded area with high hills, and across the road was a grave yard (cemetery)
which didn't help much to calm our fears.
I didn't go there many weeks. I didn't know the teacher or many of the pupils.
So I wrote to the teacher at East Waterford asking if I could come back to
school there. She said I could but now I had a long walk by myself. Soon,
though, we moved again and I was back near the school where I knew everyone. I
can still see the old tin cup hanging on the pump. Everyone
rushed to get a drink after the bell rang calling them inside to school work,
and they all drank from the same cup!
When I was small, father had a sorghum mill. It was powered by horses. Neighbors
would bring their cane and he would grind out the juice, boil it in a long tank,
and stir it with a wooden paddle until it was molasses. The foam would rise on
it while it was cooking, and of course this had to be skimmed off, but I thought
it was good. The molasses was put into cans. Sometimes we would cook it until it
got thick, cool it, and pull it until it was golden. It made good candy. People
had taffy pulling parties in those days.
My older brothers Charlie and Lee were hunters and trappers. Sometimes they
would bring wild game, or rabbits, for our table. I never remember eating beef.
People kept only milk cows to provide milk and butter. Nearly every family had
one or more. Sometimes a hog would be butchered, and the lard rendered out in a
big iron kettle. Sometimes the boys would catch some wild animals in their traps
which made them not very welcome in the house for several days, but it was a way
of life and we took it as such.
Father often walked to Spoon River to set his lines out in the evening, and
early the next morning would go gather in his fish, enough for us and most of
the neighbors. It didn't take much for me, as I don't remember caring much for
it.
The East Water ford School was a one-roomed school, where all the grades (chart
class through eighth grade) were taught by one teacher. I finished my school
here. Mother was sick a long time, and I had to miss many days of school. So in
1911 I took my books home without asking anyone. This closed my days of school.
In 1912 my oldest brother was married. People in those days had charivaris (we
pronounced it shivaree) for all newlyweds. These were usually carried to extremes. Not only the newly married people were treated rough, but many
others who came also. This time, one of the neighbors had a big Billy goat, and
took it to the Charivari. The bride and groom had to take a ride, and they were
not handled too gentle. Tempers flared. Others who had been married a long time
were also forced to ride the goat (the old goat didn't smell the best, either.)
But whether they liked it or not, they had to ride. This was the last charivari
held in that community that I remember.
A young man and his family who had just moved into the neighborhood
came that evening to our home, where the charivari was held, I was about
14 years old, and I thought he was a nice looking young man. Little did I
dream that in the course of events he would one day be my husband.
Shortly after this, we took mother to Grandma's so she could have better care.
She had been sick a long time. On December 29, 1912, she left us. A few days
before her death, father asked her if she felt sad to leave us. I remember her
answer, "Whatever is the Good Lord's will is all right with me." So with
confidence she passed to a better home, from the same room where 42 years before
she had been born. We were sad and lonely, but life is made up of a mixture of
joy and sorrow, and many things are just put aside with the passing of time.
In memory we turn back to the days of childhood, and find some things are
remembered as very sweet and precious. The struggle of parents as they labored
long hours to give us the best they could give. And little things like the sweet
smell of the lilacs as they bloomed on the south side of Grandma's yard, and the
old fashioned roses. The cool refreshing water pulled up from the well in the
old oaken buckets. The school days (but most of the pupils are gone now.) The
lessons learned, as we sat beside special friends to study. The walks through
the neighbor's orchard on our way home from school. . .we could eat all we
wanted of the sweet and juicy apples that lay on the ground,
Mingled together with the good times are always a few sad times, but
we must struggle to hold on to the good and let the sad slip away, I will close
this chapter now, and sometime I may begin another to tell how life began to
unfold with bright hopes and dreams with the young man who came to the party
that evening of long ago.
There are many things in a life of 86 years that could be written, but as we
grow older, memory often falls us. But I will continue this, and try to write a
few of the things I do remember.
We often wonder about the circumstances which brought our parents and
grandparents together. They may have lived miles apart, and yet in some strange
way they did meet, and were attracted to each other. We little understand the
mysteries of life. Sometimes we wish they had left a written record so that we
could know. I will try to write a few things about how Claud and I met, and
about our life in those days. Claud was the young man who came to my brother's
charivari that evening.
He and his family had lived several miles away, I believe in Isabel Township of
Fulton County. Anyway, it was on the other side of Spoon River. The home where
they moved to was not far from where I lived. I don't know why they decided to
move to Waterford, but I supposed they wanted a small place where they could
have their cow, chickens, and a garden. There weren't many acres of land on that
farm. They could have moved with their team and wagon, but it would have been
many, many miles before they could cross the river. Instead, they built a raft
and brought everything across the river that way.
It was several months before I saw Claud again. As I was going to visit some
friends one day, I saw him coming with his team and wagon. I wanted to see him
very much, but instead I crawled under the fence and went across the field. He
went home that evening and told his mother that he had seen the girl who would
be his wife some day, and that I had gone across the fields to keep from meeting
him. I can only wonder if he was serious about this. It remains one of those
hidden secrets of the past.
One of his sisters and her family soon moved into the community. They had a
daughter, Daisy, who became a very good friend to me. We spent many hours
together, and a few times Claud and I met at their home. He usually came to
church on Sunday evening, I suppose to be with the young people. Most of the
girls thought he was nice, but had too many family responsibilities, and besides
he didn't even have a buggy! I was happy that they were not interested in him.
One evening he asked to walk home from church with me. It was about a mile. I am
sure we didn't have much to talk about, but it was nice.
There wasn't much to do for entertainment, especially if you had to walk.
Sometimes several of us would go to the home of a crippled neighbor boy who
loved music, and who owned one of the first phonographs. He had many of the old
songs, and recordings of music. This was something quite new to us. Once in a
while we spent a whole evening this way.
Claud had made over an old fiddle, and learned to play it. Daisy's friend Bud
also played a fiddle, and they would go to dances and play there. I didn't much
want him to do it. One evening Daisy and I knew there was to be a dance in West
Waterford community, and we thought Claud and Bud would be there. We decided to
go and peek in the window to find out. We got a short distance from the home
where the party was, and the man had a bunch of hound dogs. They all began
howling at once. Have you ever heard anything worse than a pack of hound dogs on
a dark night? And Haunted Hollow and the graveyard lay between us and home! You
can guess how scared we were. Not even a ghost could have caught us that time!
As it turned out, Claud and Bud had not gone to the dance, but had been
following us, wondering where we were going.
I can tell you another event which the grandchildren might enjoy. Claud and I
had not been going together long, when he brought me home from church one
evening. He came in for a while, and I suppose he stayed too long. Probably the
conversation wasn' t going too well either. Anyway, I went to sleep in my chair.
When I woke up, there was a churn on the chair where he had been beside me, and
on top of the dasher was a hat. Claud was home laughing to himself by that time.
There has to be a little fun in life to give it spice.
In the fall of 1913, Claud bought a nice new buggy. He came to take me for a
ride in it even before his sisters. Well, my dad didn't worry much as long as we
had to walk, for he knew we could not get far from home. Now things were
different. The next time Claud came, dad said I couldn't go unless my youngest
brother Jack (who was about 10) went with us. So we took him, but told him he
would have to ride on the back of the buggy. There wasn't much there to sit on.
We drove real fast trying to shake him off, but he held on tight! But when we
stopped, he said, 'You blame fools, you will kill me!" He never tried it again.
Jack was a happy little guy, but was afraid of the dark. If he was out by
himself, he would sing all the way home.
All my brothers were thoughtful of me, especially Lee. If he went anyplace he
nearly always took me with him, but most of the time he stayed home. In fact, he
never went far from home until he was taken into the army in World War I, and
was sent to France. I know he spent many homesick days, and came home very
bitter about war and the things that happened there. Charlie was more out-going,
and liked to be out with the crowd.
After Claud got his buggy, we usually went by ourselves, just driving around the
country for the pleasure of it. He had his horse trained so it
could go real slow when he wanted it to. The country roads were real narrow. If
we left church before the others, they could not pass us, and would be very
aggravated at us for going so slow.
Claud loved horses, and could ride real well. He trained Old Prince to jump
every water puddle he came to. A neighbor boy once wanted to ride him, but Claud
never told him what the horse would do. All went well until he came to one of
those water puddles, when the horse did just as he was trained to do, and the
rider went over the horse" s head into the mud.
I have only written of a few things, but we did have many enjoyable hours
together. It would take a lot of time to tell it all, even If I could remember.
These were happy, carefree days. On January 20, 1914, Claud asked me to be his
companion and share his life with him. I suppose we were as happy as two young
people could be. But we had to wait a while, for we could not get married until
I was 16. I remember my dad said when Claud came to ask for me, he could not
hear what he said (he was totally deaf), but Claud was so nervous that he knew
what it was about.
During the following months we made plans for our
future home, and began to gather things together to start housekeeping with. People didn't have wedding
showers then. We had to gather things ourselves. Claud rented a 4-roomed house
from a farmer about 2 miles away. He bought most of our furniture from a second
hand store, and it cost $57.00. I will tell this so my grandchildren can know
how we started housekeeping.
On December 6, 1914 (a very cold, stormy day) Claud went to Lewistown about five
miles away, and brought the Presbyterian minister to Dad' s home. As they were
leaving, the preacher' s wife called after her husband to tell him to "tie the
knot good and tight." About 3:00 that Sunday afternoon we were married. It was
just a little quiet home wedding. We had no flowers or anything fancy. Many of
the neighbors came to our wedding, and many tears
were shed (not for me, I am sure, but for my dad. Mother had not been gone
long, and they knew he would miss me.) Our wedding trip that evening was to
Lewistown to take the minister home in our buggy. It was a cold day, but our
hearts were light and happy.
My dad was very special to me. He did everything he could to make life easy for
me. And he had a special feeling for Claud, too, and was willing for me to go
with him. The following Wednesday, we hitched our team to the wagon, went by the
grocery store to get a few necessary groceries, and went up the road to our new
home. I had not seen our home or furniture until that day. There wasn't a lot of
furniture, but Cora (Claud's sister) had helped Claud clean up and get it ready.
It looked wonderful to me. It was ours, all paid for. I will try to describe our
furniture for you.
There were two small bedrooms in the house. One had our regular bed, and the
other a small bed. The mattress on our bed was a tick filled with straw. Most
everybody had them. There was an opening in the center of the mattress, and
almost every morning you shifted the straw around to make it more even. I know
some people had feather ticks for their beds, but we did not.
In our living room was my sewing machine, which had belonged to my mother until
dad gave it to me. He also took the rug from his floor and gave it to us. We had
a large dresser. There was a Round-Oak heater with a warm bright fire burning in
it, and a few chairs. There was something about that room that made you warm and
happy. It felt like home.
In our kitchen we had a very small wood-burning cook stove, with 4 lids on top,
and a grate in the front where you removed the ashes. The oven was small, but it
would bake. It was all mine, and I expect I appreciated it more than any stove I
have had since. We had a glass-doored cupboard with a set of plain white dishes. Claud's mother gave us a table, and a rolling pin that I use yet today more
than 70 years later. Of course, everyone had a wash tub and wash board, and the
old sad iron that had to be heated on the stove. Our clock was like an alarm
clock, but had a colored boy's face on it, and as it ticked the eyes would
turn.
I can stlll remember that house, and the way the furniture was placed. The
feeling of contentment that filled our hearts could not be expressed in words.
We lived there that winter, and Claud worked for the farmer who rented us the
house. This man owned the first car in that community. I expect it would travel
all of 10 miles per hour. When people heard it coming, they would hurry out to
see him pass. And if you were driving horses, you got out and held their heads
because horses were afraid of that machine.
Things didn't change very much in those days. You carried your water from the
well in a bucket, and in winter I have known it to freeze in the kitchen. There
was no indoor plumbing. We lived the old-fashioned way, and were contented with
things as they were. If something better came our way, it provided us with a
great deal of pleasure. I well remember when we got a little better iron. It had
a handle that would lift off, and didn't burn your fingers when ironing.
When someone butchered, the neighbors came to help. It was all done outside. The
water was heated in a big iron kettle. The hog was scalded in a barrel. The lard
was rendered out in the kettle too, over an open fire. When those cracklings
were cooked down good and crisp, they were good to eat, and very good in corn
bread. Corn bread and biscuits were usually our bread in those days, for no
bread was bought In a store.
The second winter, we moved to Waterford with Claud's folks. They gave us a
large room to put our furniture in, and in this way we could live by ourselves. Claud's mother was very good to me, and treated me special. She helped me in so
many ways. She had learned through the years what it was to face hardships. Her
children and their families often gathered home, and they were always welcome,
and she cried when they left. We lived with them the winter of 1915.
Claud's dad had been blind for several years. He used his cane when he wanted to
move about. I remember that he often sat outside in warm weather, singing for
hours. One of his favorite hymns was
"Thy mercy, my God, is the theme of my song,
The Joy of my heart and the boast
of my tongue.
Thy free grace alone from the first to the last.
Hath won my affections and bound my soul fast."
He knew many old songs by heart. And he loved to talk about the Bible. . .often,
somebody would be with him for a few minutes and then move on, and he would go
on talking, not knowing they had left. I didn't understand his religion, and
thought it was strange, but that song stayed in my mind especially.
Claud was especially close with his brother Ollie. In the spring, Ollie and his
family moved to Macomb, and wanted us to come there too. We turned the horses
and what farming tools there were over to Charlie. (Cora, Charlie, and Virgie
lived with the folks too.) We loaded our furniture on a train, and went to
Macomb. Claud rented a home on West Piper St., about two blocks south of the
present highway. Not many people lived in that part of town then, and the houses
were not so close together. He worked at the pottery, and then later for the
railroad that ran from Macomb to Littleton. Wherever Ollie worked, Claud worked
too.
One time, Claud and Ollie went to Ipava to visit their folks. They had their
return tickets, but thought they would get home faster if they got on a freight.
But when the freight got to Macomb, it didn't stop, it just went right on. At
Colchester, they realized that wouldn't do, for they were going farther and
farther from home, so they pulled the emergency cord to stop the train, jumped
off and started the seven mile walk back to Macomb. On the way, they met the
passenger train that would have brought them home if they had used their
tickets. They didn't tell this on themselves for a long time.
Ollie was always doing something funny. Once, he found a pretty flower pot, and
dug up a plant along the railroad, and had Claud bring it home to me. I was a
little suspicious, but took care of it. It turned out to be a sweet clover plant
they had fixed up for me.
We soon learned we were going to have a little one come live with us. We didn't
have much money, but we did buy some flannel; we had no pattern to go by, but we
both worked at it, and cut out little shirts and kimonos for our baby. On
December 10, 1916, our little girl came. We called her Doris Elaine. We loved
her much, but hardly knew how to care for her. As she grew, we expected too much
of her, and expected her to be perfect. She was a busy one! Nothing was too big
or too heavy for her to try to lift. We had no high chair, so Claud made a
little seat that would fit on the back of a chair, and that was her high chair.
When she was about a year old, Ollie moved to Moline where there was more work
and better wages. So once more we moved too. Ollie was working in a foundry as a
moulder, and soon Claud was doing the same. They both enjoyed their work, and we
got along better with the higher wages.
On April 3, 1919, another little girl came to bless our home. We named her Elsie
Louise. Now we had two little girls, and thought it was time to buy a high
chair. We also bought a new rocking chair. I needed it to rock my little ones to
sleep. Each one slept with us until the next one came. Back then, we didn't put
them in another room to sleep, but kept them real close to us.
Then, all women stayed home and cared for their children while the men worked to
make the living. We didn't go anywhere much. Claud worked every day, and our
Sundays were spent at home. About this time, my grandmother left us a little
money, and we had saved all we could. And we saw in a paper a little farm in
southern Illinois advertised for sale. We decided that Claud would go see it,
and if it suited us, we would buy it, with the hope that sometime we could move
our family back to the country. We invested all our savings in that farm. Then
came the end of the war, and factories began to close, and we could not meet our
payments, and lost the farm. Several years later, oil was discovered on that
farm.
On March 30, 1921, another little girl came to us. We named her Edith Evelyn,
She was so sweet, how could we not love her and welcome her into our family!
But with the closing of factories after the war, many trying times came along.
Men who had had good jobs for years now found themselves without work. Long
lines of men gathered at employment offices, but there was no work to be had.
These men were desperate, their families without food and clothing, and there
were few places for them to turn for help. Some of them would wring their hands
and cry,
Since there was no work at Moline, we moved down close to Ipava. Claud went to
work for a farmer for $30.00 a month. It was different, but we had
been without work for some time, and were glad to get it. And we had our family,
and didn't waste our time fretting about the money lost on the farm. We got
along the best we could. I baked bread, 7 or 8 loaves at a time, and we needed
every bit of it. We had a garden too. But on those wages, shoes and clothes were
hard to get. Many things we just got along without.
For Christmas for the girls, we ordered some doll heads, and made bodies and
clothes for them while the children slept. When Christmas came, they were happy
with them. After Claud worked here more than a year, his former boss at the
factory in Moline sent him word he had a job for him if he would move back. The
farmer released him from his promise to work, on the condition that he would
send him a copy of the first pay check. He just didn't believe anyone could make
$12.00 a day! So, back to Moline we moved, and Claud worked here for some time.
Then, once again, worked slowed up, and for about 8 months he had no work.
About this time, something happened to Claud that was to make a complete change
in our lives. One morning about 3:00, Claud woke up, extremely troubled in mind.
Something had happened to him in the night that we did not understand. He was so
worried, and I felt very sorry for him, but in my mind I felt very bitter, for I
felt sure he would have to become a preacher. Our Bible that had been put
carefully away in a drawer, was brought out, and he began to read day and night,
hardly stopping even to eat and sleep. And all the while, he began looking
around for a church that was in harmony with what he was reading. We visited a
great many churches of all kinds, even tent meetings, and while some seemed
promising at the first, all disappointed us. These were very serious days for
us. For a long time I could not be reconciled to the changes I saw coming. But,
then the Good Lord can pass us through fire. If that is what it takes to
reconcile us to his will; early in November of 1923, while I was going through
some very trying times, it seemed that the Lord gave us many promises to show us
he was mindful of us, and I did become reconciled.
After a while, we had a letter from Claud's folks. They were members of Mt.
Zion Church, near Astoria, In Fulton County. This church had not held services
for a few years, but now there was a preacher coming from Indiana to hold
services. They wanted us to come. Neither of us was very anxious to go, for we
had tried out a lot of churches and all had disappointed us. I had been brought
up in a church near Waterford, and had attended Sunday School. I didn't expect
to find anything I liked at Mt. Zion.
But I did go visit Claud's folks, and was there for the meeting, so I went with
them. I felt very fearful about it. But when the minister arose
and began to speak, it all appeared so beautiful to me. I found the old things I
had been brought up to believe falling away from me. Something new and beautiful
came to take its place. Even the songs fit my feel ings; one of the first ones
they sang, "I am a stranger here below" almost described my feelings
perfectly. So I wrote Claud and told him to come, I had found the right church.
He did come, and we soon moved to Summum, to be close to the church. We were
both baptized at Mt. Zion, In August, 1924.
So many things happened in those days that were good. The Lord not only provided
daily bread, but his guidance in spiritual things was very plain. Claud had
become so interested in the Bible, and talked it with all who would listen.
Shortly after we were baptized, the folks at the Union Baptist Church in Summum,
asked Claud to preach at a Sunday evening service. He had never tried to preach
before, but he did very well that evening (Sept. 14, 1924.) The next two Sunday
evenings also, he preached in this church. Mt. Zion Church licensed him to
preach on July, 1925. He was ordained there in August of 1926. In November,
1926, he agreed to become pastor at the church in Waverly, Illinois, but after
about five months, he was invited to come to Hancock County to pastor the
churches of the Salem Association, whose pastor had recently died. To me, this
move seemed totally unreasonable. We had almost nothing of this world's goods,
and I felt I could not go among strangers where there were so many so much
better off than we were.
On November 4, 1924, a little son was given to us, fulfilling a promise the Lord
had given us more than a year before. We named him Claud Raymond, with full assurance that when he grew up he would be a minister. So, with a family of four
little ones, we were being asked to start life in a totally new place. It was a
real burden to me. I felt I was unable to be a minister' s wife, and help with
the duties that came with that position, and still care for our little family.
But we did move, in the spring of 1927, to a farm just east of Providence
Church, next to a deacon, Brother Joe Rice. Those dear people opened their
hearts and their arms to us, and we soon were settled among them. We put our
church letters in at Providence.
On August 20, 1927, another little boy was given to us. We wanted him to have a
special name. We knew Elder George Murray, a very dear old minister, and of
course Elder Louis Frazee had been pastor of the church for many years. So, we
named our son George Louis for the both of them.
It was a busy life. So many things I didn't know how to do, or what to do. But
looking back, I recall many precious friends who helped us in so many ways, both
with material kindness and with good examples and encouragment.
In 1927, we moved to the Hopkins place in Bentley for a short time, and then we
moved one last time to our present home. We have lived in this home for about 57
years. So much could be written about this place, and the many times our home
was filled with these dear people.
On June 6, 1930, our little girl Ruth Ellena was born. Now our family was
complete, and we settled down to raise our six children. When we first moved to
Salem Association area, Claud worked hard every day to help care for his family,
In addition to preaching for the four churches. There weren't many houses around
that he did not paint, or paper. He did a great deal of carpentry work. The last
several years of his life, he converted his garage into a cabinet shop where he
made desks, tables, and other articles of furniture, as well as quite a number
of grandfather clocks. He loved working with wood. He was very careful in his
work, and It always looked nice. He could do about anything he put his hand to.
I will change this somewhat now, and try to tell a few things about our family
as they grew up, the things that made life interesting (and sometimes otherwise!) Ours were
just like other children, I suppose, but to us they were special
because they were ours. They had their happy times, and their times of
disagreement and tears. A lot was expected of them, for the family of a preacher
doesn't often have things easy. It was the time of the Depression in the 1930'
s, and there wasn't much money, not many good clothes. We went to church every
weekend, and had company often. Some of our happiest moments were those spent
with our children, especially when they would twine their arms around our necks
and we could help with their tears or problems. They grew into our hearts with
every passing day. In looking back, I notice that many of the things that
disturbed us then, were actually only stepping stones to make us understand them
better.
Our home here was close to the railroad. The windows were low, and the children
loved to look out the windows to see the Bentley train coming. I worried some
about the fingerprints that seemed to be always on the windows. A dear old
Sister Lyons once told me, 'Don't worry about those windows. Some day you will
be wishing to see those finger prints." How right she was! And there was the
small window in our dining room, where two little boys with BB guns shot a hole
in the glass. Later, when we had to change the glass, it was hard to do! Memory
and affection do strange things, you see.
One day, Doris, Louise, and Evelyn decided to have chicken for dinner. They
caught the chicken, and found an ax. One held the chicken's head, the other its
feet, and the third (probably Doris) did the chopping!
Just to let you know things don't always run smooth.... Doris hid behind the
stair door and jumped out at me. Before I could think, I gave her a good
shaking. I expect she was shocked, as she was only having fun. Another time,
when she was a little older, she and a friend thought it would be nice to
surprise us, when we got home from a trip, with a nice plum pie. It was a very
nice Idea, but they forgot to take the seeds out of the plums. Claud ate the
pie, but he had a lot of plum seeds to get rid of! One time, Louis began calling
me a "spineless bluffer", an expression he heard somewhere or other. He carried
it to such extremes that I got tired of it. So one day he ran off to play at Coffmans' (a neighbor). When he got back home, I gave him a double spanking. He
never called me that again! Anyway, my spankings didn't hurt them much.
Sometimes the children would hide and laugh (do you remember doing that,
Louise?)
Our Ruth was our baby, and the other girls dressed her up in their doll clothes,
and treated her as such. I have heard her say that they would sometimes pinch
her during church time so she would cry, and then they would volunteer to take
her outside. You see, there is more than one way to get out of church!
We were able to buy a little black Shetland pony, which they named Dick. Claud
made a cart and harness, most of it in our dining room because he didn't have a
shop then. Dick thought he was one of the family. One day while we were away,
the girls brought Dick into the house, put overalls on his legs, set a plate at
the table and let him eat out of it. He loved bread, so I suppose he ate a loaf
or so.
Once Evelyn and Louise decided to hitch Dick to the cart and go visit the
Gardner family, about six miles away. Before they got there, a big rainstorm
came along. They took off their coats and put them over Dick so he wouldn't get
wet. Of course, they got soaked. I think a neighbor stopped them and had them
come in and dry out.
One time Ruth was doing something that didn't suit Louis, so he asked his dad if
he could spank her. Claud was busy, and probably didn't know what he was saying
"yes" to. So Louis took off his shoe and let her have it. I expect he had his
hands full about that time, because she didn't take it very well.
Many of the things that happened I didn't know about, of course. I might still
be surprised if I knew them all. And maybe many of them might be better left
unsaid. But, our children grew up close to home. They had pets, like old Dick,
and the two dogs, Fritz and Teddy. I am sure the children remember old Teddy
pushing a fruit jar around our yard, and the time he ran. from the rabbit as if
the rabbit were about to eat him! They certainly
remember making pets out of some little pigs, even riding them around the barnlot.
It was awfully hard for them to eat that pork when those pigs were
butchered. But their lives were built around home, school, and church, and were
mostly happy. All our children went to the two-roomed grade school in Bentley,
which was close enough that they could run home for noon lunch. Some of them
went on to high school. When they got old enough, Doris, Louise and Evelyn
worked in homes. We missed them, but they did get home for weekends.
They soon began choosing their life companions. On September 5, 1937, Claud
married Doris and Ray, and Paul and Louise, in a double wedding ceremony. In
1941, Evelyn and Woodrow were married. In April, 1943, Raymond went into the
array, (World War II), and was sent to England, France, and Germany. While still
in service, he married Betty, on August 27, 1945. George Louis also went into
the army, January 8, 1946, and was sent to Japan. We were sad when our boys went
into the service, but we were so happy that both came home without being injured
in any way. Louis and Martha were married on June 4, 1948, after he got out of
the army. Ruth and Max were married on October 29, 1947, and then Claud and I
were once more alone. We were fortunate that none of them lived very far away.
Ruth and Max were the furthest, and they live in Missouri. When our children,
and our grandchildren, would come back home, and gather around our table, it had
to be stretched out from one room to the other! Our grandchildren now number
20, and our greatgrandchildren around 40.
On August 31, 1965, Claud was taken from us. At the time, I thought my life was
finished. The lonely nights and days were so hard to be reconciled to. But he
was taken from the perplexing problems of life and is safe in a heavenly home.
In 1968, Woodrow died with cancer. And on May 4, 1972, Evelyn died from the same
trouble. In March, 1982, Paul died quite suddenly. So, our family circle has
been broken, and we have had our sorrows.
But in looking back, how precious are the memories! Life's blessings cannot be
measured in words. There have been some sorrows, but my life of 86 years has
been full and complete, I have been blessed above measure with my family, my
church, and my home. All of them, right down to the greatgrandchildren, have
been of help to me. Now when I look backward, I see the faces of loved ones
gone, but I know that we will meet again in a world where we will never have to
say goodbye, where war and depressions and sickness and hard times will never
come. I thank God for the years he has given me, and for the the promise of
better things yet to come.
The Webb Family |
