George Singleton's 'Somewhere in Time' from Dec. 21, 2000

George Singleton

(For decades, paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was entitled “Memories of an old country Christmas,” was originally published in the Dec. 21, 2000 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala. This column 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 for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive. Enjoy.)

I have had several requests to retell this Christmas story this year.

Several of my elderly readers wanted to read again the story of an old country home during the Christmas holidays. They tell me that it brings back memories of the holidays of a time long ago. To these dear readers, I wish you the happiest time of the year.

This is the story of the house where I grew up. It was built in the early 1800s in what used to be a thriving country community. The old house tells its story of happier times.

“I came into being some years before the Civil War. Though I am old and have been deserted for many years, it has not always been this way. My yards are grown over with weeds and brush, and the only sound I hear is the sighing wind through the broken windows and the creaking of my foundations as they settle to the decay of time.

“My hearts are cold because there is no one to kindle the fires to keep out the chill. My family that built me lies sleeping in the old church cemetery up the road a ways.

“I am alone now, but there was a time when I knew the sound of laughter and the patter of little feet in my hallways. These walls hold many memories – dear memories that will dwell within until my foundations crumble and return to the ground from which they came. But before this happens, let me tell of happier times.

“Of all that I remember, I think the happiest times that I recall were at Christmas. This was always a very special time of the year with my family.

“I remember the huge cedar tree that was brought out of the woods and trimmed to perfection before it was placed in the front room. The front room was where all the company that came to visit was received. The nicest bed, the best chairs, the sofa, and the large piano were in the front room.

“After the tree was in place, decorations were made and pinecones painted all different colors were placed on the tree. Sweet gum burrs were dipped in silver paint to look like huge snow flakes hanging in the windows. There were also the Indian corn with the many colored ears, and they hung in clusters at each end of the mantel.

“I could never forget the colorful paper chains looped about the tree, with handmade little paper bells hanging everywhere. Always, there was the silver star – made from tin foil saved from the chewing gum wrappers – in the top of the tree. The star was always packed away after the holidays, so it could be used again the next year.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot about the bunch of mistletoe tacked up in the hallway, just outside the front room door. All the young men would try to catch the young ladies under it where they would try to kiss them. They would giggle and would always keep an eye on the older folks sitting around the fire, hoping they wouldn’t see or hear what was going on out there in the hall.

“I remember the little ones who were looking for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Each would place a box or a hat, and on occasion, the dish pan under the tree for old Santa to put the candy and fruit in. That was about all they got, because times were hard, and there wasn’t much money around.

“There was always a fire left to burn in the huge fireplace. Not a big one, but one large enough to warm Santa’s hands and feet. The coffeepot was placed beside the fireplace so that all Santa had to do was to pull out a few coals with the fire poker and warm the coffee left for him.

“After supper, all the little ones were sent off to bed in the loft or upstairs. For the next two or three hours, threatening calls would come from the fire side, telling them that if they didn’t go to sleep, Santa wasn’t coming.

“Finally, where there were no more sounds from the loft, a hurried trip was made out to the smokehouse for a taste of homemade blackberry wine. This would help pass the hours while waiting for Santa Claus to arrive.

“The next morning was really rough on me, but I really didn’t mind. The little ones would wake up early and nearly knock down the stairs coming down to see what they had in their Christmas boxes.

“The fires were built up and the warmth slowly crept across the floors and up the walls, giving me a peaceful feeling for the coming day ahead.

“After the morning breakfast was over, preparations would begin for the company that would start arriving around nine.

“I can hear the horses now, stamping on the gravel rocks outside the front gate. They were impatient to get to the barn where it was warm and where there was plenty of hay.

“I remember the rattle of the harnesses as the men folks unhitched the wagons, talking and laughing, hurrying to get back inside to the warm fire that glowed inside the fireplace.

“I could never describe all the different kinds of pies, cakes and custards and all the other food that came out of those wagons. Hams, turkey, roasts and just about everything one could imagine was brought in and placed on the large table in the dining room. There were times when I really felt sorry for that table, loaded down with all that food.

“After the meal was over, everyone would gather around the heavy piano and sing Christmas carols. I’ll never forget that piano, it was so heavy that extra blocks had to be installed under the front room floor to keep it from sagging. That piano had a sound unlike any piano in the county. That after-dinner singing  was something to remember.

“I knew the day was about to end, when I heard the rattle of the harnesses and the sounds of wagon wheels on the gravel outside.

“As the goodbyes were said, quietness would come again in the hallways, and the fire was left to die away in the fireplace in the front room.

“Those days are gone, and many seasons have passed since I have felt the warmth of Christmas within me. The chill of age dwells within my walls as the north wind blows its cold, damp breath through the broken windows and sagging doors.

“Perhaps in time, someone will come and claim me again. The laughter and warmth will abide again within these walls and the mistletoe will hang over the front room door as before, and Christmas will come again. But until that time, I will wait and remember.”

(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 on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville.)