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| Grave of Buster Singleton's great-grandfather? |
There comes a time in almost everyone’s life when we like to go to a quiet or a familiar place and let our thoughts wander and reminisce of special times and bring to life memories of those yesterdays.
Today, June 7, was one of those days. The weather was perfect, and since I had nothing to do because my dear wife had forgotten to make up a “honey do” list, I “got the heck out of Dodge.”
Mounting my iron horse at around 8:40 a.m., I found myself heading in the direction of my maternal ancestors’ old home place in lower Clarke County.
The morning air was just a bit cool as I crossed the river at Claiborne, but it didn’t slow me down any as I sped westward on Highway 84.
Stopping in Grove Hill for a quick cup of coffee, I was asked several times by those around if it was cool traveling by motorcycle. Assuring each and everyone that I was quite comfortable, I quickly downed my coffee and turned deep into the back country.
Before I knew it, I was approaching the community of Campbell. Taking the narrow gravel road that goes through the hill country and ending on the banks of the Tombigbee River at Woods Bluff, I found myself turning onto the narrow trail that would carry me out to the old home place of my maternal ancestors.
Parking my transportation, I slowly made my way up to what remains of the ancient yard fence. The old front gate, broken and falling apart, leaned crazily against the gate post.
Through weeds and brush, I reached the edge of what once was the front porch. The steps to the porch had long since fallen in decay, and the porch floor had totally rotted away.
Fearing that I might get hurt by having something fall on me, I returned to the front yard and sat down on the ground facing the decayed and ruined old home.
Sitting there on the ground, memories of the visits of my early childhood began to flow through my mind. My grandfather and grandmother had lived here prior to their deaths. During these visits, I was told and retold the stories of the happenings that had taken place around here during the lives of my maternal ancestors.
Looking out to the edge of the yard, I remembered the story of my maternal great-grandfather returning home from the dreadful Civil War, a wounded and sick man.
During the month of early October 1863, he received a serious saber wound in the left hip during the bloody fighting in the state of Tennessee. His would was so serious that he was unable to keep up with the cavalry company he was assigned to.
Being left behind, he was captured by the advancing Union forces. Because of his condition, due to the saber wound, the Union forces refused to take him prisoner. He was told by the Union commander to go home.
Arriving in the yard where I was sitting on the Christmas Eve afternoon of 1863, he sat on his half-starved horse being too weak to dismount. His children, not recognizing their own father, hid under the house.
As he lay in the yard after falling from his horse because he could not dismount due to weakness, his wife, my maternal great-grandmother, came out on the front porch.
Raising up on his elbow, he asked his wife if she was going to speak to him. Her answer was that “she didn’t talk to filthy trash.”
After she was told by him that he was Morgan, her husband, she called the children from under the house, telling them to come out and help get their papa in the house by the fire. He was home for Christmas.
Looking out across the grown-up yard, I remembered my grandmother, tall and with jet-black hair hanging down her back, working there in the flower beds throughout the yard. She was a very handsome woman, despite her advanced years and hard work.
I remember on one of my visits, asking her why we always had to get up before daylight each morning. Her answer was, “because, Boy, you are supposed to: you don’t want someone saying that you are lazy.”
Being of Scottish blood, my grandfather had fallen heir to a set of bagpipes. Always, when we visited, he would dress up in his kilt and get out his bagpipes and play and dance.
Old man Kilpatrick, who lived down the road aways, also of Scottish descent, would bring forth the colors of his clan and the two would play and dance into the wee hours of the morning.
The sounds of the bagpipes have long since faded from the old home place. Only the rustle of the new spring leaves and the sound of the spring winds in the old grown-up and unkept hedges bear witness that here was once a place of happiness.
The small log playhouse over in the corner of the yard, now fallen in decay, seems to wait for another time, when the laughter of small children once more will be heard there in the yard and around the playhouse.
Across the old road, long since abandoned, the huge oak trees spread their protective branches over the headstones that mark the final resting places of the lady with the long dark hair, and the man dressed in the funny skirt who danced to the tune of “Bonnie Lassie” played on the bagpipes.
Linger awhile and walk with me
Into the shadows that were yesterday.
Stroll across the faded pages of time,
And learn of a time so long ago.
Pass me not, for I am the spirit of your ancestors.
In your veins flow my blood,
And that of my fathers.
Linger awhile,
If only for a moment, and through your thoughts,
I will know that I am remembered.
(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born to Vincent William Singleton and Frances Cornelia Faile Singleton, during a late-night thunderstorm, on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County, graduated from Sweet Water High School in 1946, served as a U.S. Marine paratrooper in the Korean War, worked as a riverboat deckhand, lived for a time among Apache Indians, moved to Monroe County on June 28, 1964 and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from June 28, 1964 to Dec. 14, 1987. He was promoted from the enlisted ranks to warrant officer in May 1972. For years, Singleton’s columns, titled “Monroe County history – Did you know?” and “Somewhere in Time” appeared in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a lengthy series of articles about Monroe County that appeared in Alabama Life magazine. It’s believed that his first column appeared in the March 25, 1971 edition of The Monroe Journal. He also helped organize the Monroe County Museum and Historical Society and was also a past president of that organization. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)
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