George Singleton tells of visit to ancestral homeplace

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 “Old home places cry out to be remembered,” was originally published in the May 19, 1994 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

I never grow tired of returning to the old deserted home places that dot the countryside. Each time that I go to one of the old home sites, I try to remember just what it was like when the family was together and the many good times they enjoyed there many years ago.

I especially like to go to the old home places of my ancestors. This is when I do a lot of thinking, remembering the many old tales that were told to me as a child. I would sit wild-eyed beside the glowing fireplace on a cold winter night and hear my grandmother or grandfather relate many of the stories of the past.

Many times, I will sit for hours at a time and reminisce. As I do so, there are times when the thought enters that there is something that might border on reincarnation. I would never believe that we might return as a pet poodle or a good riding horse or something of that nature, but I do believe that certain thoughts and memories of past ancestors might be passed down to those like myself who might want to know all about them and are interested in their past lives.

You cannot enjoy the stories of the good times unless you allow a few of the stories of the hardships to slip in to remind you that your ancestors’ lives were not all sugar and roses. Thus, a few days back, I returned to the old home site of my paternal ancestors. Before visiting the old home place, I made my way to the old cemetery where most of these departed ancestors now sleep.

After visiting the grave of my great-great-uncle, I remembered the story of how he and my great-grandfather left their families and went off to fight during the tragic times of the dreaded Civil War. This ancestor had somehow managed to return to his family and continue his life. But, as I have stated many times in my writings, my great-grandfather was killed during the bitter fighting during the Battle of Shiloh in Tennessee.

Making my way from the old burial ground to the homeplace of my ancestor, I thought of the stories that had been told to me about the many hardships and sacrifices that my great-grandmother endured after her husband had gone off to war and was later killed. In this time of modern-day living, we cannot imagine or comprehend the struggles and hardships that these families endured, just to survive.

As we read our history, we are led to believe that all those who lived in the South during this time in our history lived as those in the movie “Gone With the Wind.” But this is the farthest thing from the truth.

As I sat there beside the ruins of the old stone chimney, the words of a poem began to formulate within my mind. Looking at what was left of the old house and the kitchen that sat to the rear of the house, I tried to imagine the thoughts of my great-grandmother as she struggled from day to day, trying to raise her family.

I remembered the stories of how she would stand by the old well in the yard and look out toward the front gate, hoping against hope that her husband might just ride up, coming home from the war. Taking out my pocket tape recorder that I carry with me many times, I gave the words of the poem more thought. I wondered if the spirit of my great-grandmother might still dwell within the ruins of the old house or wait beside the old well, here in the yard.

The evening breezes gently blow,
Through the broken windows and sagging doors.
While the ghosts of yesterday,
Tend their chores, somewhere in time.

A warm fire flickers in the old fireplace,
The iron cooking pots, are hooked in place
For the evening meal being prepared in haste,
Somewhere in time.

The meal is now ended – the time is so near,
To tell the whole family, these one so dear.
With the coming of morning, that now he must go,
To fight for the southland; be gone for a month of so,
Somewhere in time.

The dawn breaks quietly across the old home place.
A grieving mother hides her face, from children
Who wonder what is making her cry.
As her soldier husband bids all goodbye,
Somewhere in time.

Now left all alone, with a family to feed,
A lonely mother who in desperate need,
For her husband and a father to till the fields,
And protect the family in these times of ill,
Somewhere in time.

Seasons come, seasons go, the summer sun, the
Winter snow.
Beside the well, a mother waits,
For horse and rider at the old front gate.
A soldier brave, is coming home, never, never no
More to roam,
Somewhere in time.

Word comes down, of a battle fought,
Called Shiloh hill, an unknown spot.
Her husband is killed, a father lost.
A part of the price, of this terrible cost,
Here somewhere in time.

The years have gone by, time has taken its toll.
The family now sleeps on a nearby knoll.
A wife who waited for word he might be saved,
About a husband and father, from an unknown grave,
Somewhere in time.

But the evening breezes, so gently still blow,
Through the crumbling walls and the shattered doors,
No sounds of footsteps from down the hall
Nor on the old porch and from behind the decaying walls here,
Somewhere in time.

But here by the well, her spirit still waits,
From her long lost husband, at the old front gate.
The children will join them, from there on the knoll,
Together for always, no death can now hold,
Somewhere in time.

Many thoughts pass through the mind when you sit for hours and let your mind wander around and ride the winds of the evening. As I prepared to leave this place so special to me, I knew that I was glad that I had come this way.

Somewhere or somehow, perhaps those who sleep on the nearby knoll, knew that I had come, and I felt better for it.

(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, was bitten at least twice by venomous snakes, 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.)