George Singleton tells of old-timey home remedies and the usage of sally cloths to cure colds and the flu

George Buster Singleton

(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “Home remedies could cure almost anything” was originally published in the Dec. 1, 1994 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

The brisk cold mornings of the past few days bring to mind the days when you didn’t go to see the family doctor or go down to the drug store for such a minor thing as a bad cold or a case of the flu.

Seeing the doctor was unheard of unless there was something seriously wrong with one of the family. Colds, flu, measles, mumps and other minor illnesses such as these were always handled by the mother of the family or someone in the neighborhood who it was believed had special powers when it comes to mixing up evil-tasting potions or remedies.

I was not a sickly child. But it seemed that I was sort of the family guinea pig when it came to home remedies and such. My older sisters saw to it that it was reported to my mother if I should sneeze or cough or do anything that might hint a bad cold coming on. Then either my mother would apply the remedy or Aunt Lellia did the honors. Nevertheless, I would always end up being greased from head to foot with some evil-smelling mixture or having to drink a cup of scalding hot turnip potlicker.

Those of you who have never experienced a sally cloth being put on your chest are the most fortunate ones. The hot sally cloth was applied when all other mixtures had been used. The sally cloth was the final remedy before being put to bed for the night.

This large piece of flannel material was covered with salves, hot liniments, a portion of homemade tallow, a sprinkling of hot red pepper and a touch of coal oil. Then, as the would-be victim stood before the hot fireplace, the order was given to raise the long flannel night shirt so the naked chest would be bared.

The sally cloth with all its additives had been held before the roaring fire just prior to being placed on the chest. When the piece of heavy flannel became too hot for my mother or Aunt Lellia to hold, it was placed across the chest of the victim.

The hot tallow and salves would cause the heavy flannel to stick to the chest and stomach like it had been covered with hot glue. First, the victim lost their breath. Steam and hot air seemed to come from the ears, eyes and nose. Only a loud groan could be heard coming from the mouth when the hot cloth was applied. It took several minutes to regain one’s senses. Everything had gone numb.

When the sally cloth touched the skin, it was there to stay until it cooled off. Then it had to be peeled off the chest and stomach like a heavy sticky tape of some sort. But the sally cloth would not be removed until the following morning.

With the application of the hot flannel cloth, orders were given to release the long nightgown from where it was being held under the chin. Good-nights were said, even though no words were heard because of the steam that continued to spout forth out of the ears and nose after the hot sally cloth had been placed on the chest.

You were then marched off to bed and the heavy covers packed around you. Orders were issued again that you were not to turn and were not to “lie flat on your back so you can breathe.” By now, your lungs and throat were so wide open it seemed as if someone had left open the gate that separated you from the North Pole. Cold air could be felt rushing into the lungs and chest, even without breathing.

But, without realizing it, there among the evil smells of the sally cloth, the old sandman did his magic. The security of the heavy covers and the warmth of the long flannel night shirt had performed a miracle. A small boy was sleeping peacefully without any difficulty in breathing. The heated sally cloth was working, doing the job that it was intended.

With the coming morning, the flannel cloth was removed. It seemed that the chest was made of screen wire. The cool morning air seemed to rush right through. But, it wasn’t over yet. There was more of the treatment to come. Another foul-tasting mixture was brought forth, followed by the scalding-hot turnip potlicker.

But strangely enough, the cough was gone. Even though the victim of the home remedy wouldn’t admit it, he felt better now. The only bad thing about getting to feel better was having to get dressed and catch that darn school bus. You couldn’t win for losing.

Each evening, upon returning home from school, a close examination was conducted. This was done either by my mother or Aunt Lellia. You assured everyone that you felt fine, in hopes that the evil-smelling sally cloth would be omitted this evening before going to bed. But, for good measure, another dose of the foul-tasting tonic followed by a cup of very hot turnip potlicker was the order of the day.

If, by chance, you were lucky enough to miss the sally cloth, before going to bed, your chest was greased thoroughly with some type of salve. A hot towel was placed over the freshly applied salve so as to help it dissolve into the skin.

But nothing lasts forever. One Saturday morning soon, if all went well, the weather would be warm. Then a small boy and his friend might just slip off and go swimming in the old swimming hole in the creek nearby. Going swimming on a warm day during December or January was all right, just as long as you didn’t get caught. But you had to be very careful. Aunt Lellia seemed to know everything. Sometimes it seemed that she had eyes in the back of her head.

My older sister said that Aunt Lellia could even read your mind. She would certainly know that we had been swimming, and all heck would be to pay. If there was the least bit of evidence that even hinted we had been to the swimming hole, the punishment was a large dose of that foul-tasting tonic. You could be assured that the hot sally cloth always followed the evil-tasting mixture that had been conjured up by none other than Aunt Lellia.

(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.)