CHRISTMAS GREETINGS TO TALIAFERROS EVERYWHERE
- - ALL 60-PLUS AND YOUR FAMILIES. This edition comes early and includes two Christmas features, both from the Editor's Pen. One, "A Granddaughter's Story" is a recollection of Christmas Past in the Sauratown Mountains of Surry and Stokes Counties, North Carolina.
The other recounts events we rarely think of as we celebrate the holiday with families and friends. Had these events not occurred, we might know the Spirit of Christmas as we do. This issue carries the first of a two-part series.
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A GRANDDAUGHTER'S STORY
Pick a quiet wintry afternoon, light a fire and pull up the rocking
chair. Lift a little child to your lap and spread her
toes so that each tiny crease absorbs the warmth of the flickering
blaze. Rock quietly for a few minutes till you begin to discern
the frosty etchings on the window pane and hear the rattle
of dry leaves as a breeze rushes through the cove. Reflect for a
moment, if you will, on a tale of Christmas Past.
America's Great Wagon Road tracked south from Pennsylvania through
the Valley of Virginia and traversed my home county in North Carolina.
It's told that some of the folks who lived along the Wagon Road wanted
to raise their families away from the milieu of American's first thoroughfare.
They found a pleasant walnut grove cresting a hill that sloped down to
a hollow fed by a river branch. They called their little village Walnut
Cove. Maples crowded the hillsides and flashed silver when clouds scuttled
across the sky and wind began to stir. Summer tree frogs were so numerous
and so loud they were a baby's first lullaby. Higher blue hills in the
distance dappled the horizon like the rumpled peaks of an old and comfortable
quilt.
I spent most of my childhood in this little village in Stokes County where my Grandmother lived. By the time she married and left her home in Rockingham County, the quiet little cove had come to tolerate daily arrivals of Norfolk and Southern trains. The sound of those steam engines huffing up the hill and the wail of their whistles as they rounded the curve before stopping at Walnut Cove were as familiar as the crunch of wagon wheels had been in former days. My Grandmother raised eleven children, three sons and eight daughters. She had been totally absorbed by her family and the Walnut Cove community by the time my Grandfather died, before I was born. I never thought of Christmas Day in Walnut Cove as a unity of traditions. It was just the way Christmas was celebrated at my Grandmother's house.
. . . . . . . . I awoke to the sounds of someone building a fire in my room and snuggled down till I could hear the flames crackling in the pine logs and sensed that the chill was gone. By the time I was dressed and downstairs, the kitchen was already steamy and warm, lively with activity. Turkeys roasted in the ovens of the old wood stove. Katie peeled big white potatoes over a bucket to catch the peels while Susie monitored the pots that were already simmering on the top of the stove. Whatever day it was, however important its content, patties of sausage and biscuits were always warming on the back of the stove. Fresh butter and homemade blackberry jelly were on the table.
Spicy hams, brought in from the smoke house and cooked the day before, sat on the back porch shelf. Nearby, little puffs of steam rose from the milk that had already been boiled and stood cooling so the cream could be skimmed off. On most mornings, the cream would be churned into sweet butter. But this was Christmas Day and it would be the nectar of a Grandmother's Christmas Gift.
Christmas Day in Walnut Cove was as bright and merry and garrulous as you could ever imagine that a Christmas should be. The little town shone with gem-like radiance, morning frost silvering the rooftops and glittering from every clump of greenery. Chilled air moving from the mountains through the valley sent smoke curling up from every chimney in town. The maples' bare branches etched terse tracings against a winter sky.
All morning long, cousins arrived by ones and twos and threes, dressed in Sunday clothes and showing off their new toys. Aunts and Uncles, burdened with heavy winter clothing and gaily wrapped packages, hurried into the house to stand by the fire warming their hands. Watching the family arrive, listening to their greetings, absorbing the merriment of Walnut Cove on Christmas Day was as exciting as a visit from Santa Claus.
By mid day, the huge family had arrived. They roamed from one house to another -- Uncle Paul's across the street or Aunt Anne's and Aunt Sadie's two doors down, or farther down the street to Uncle Bill's or Aunt Sallie's. It was marvelous to walk into their living rooms. Christmas trees were cut from the tops of the white pines that grew in the pasture down by the branch. The fresh aroma permeated each house. Aunts and Uncles and cousins crowded the living rooms, and spilled into adjacent rooms, everyone smiling and laughing and talking and joking. When I introduced my new husband to Christmas in Walnut Cove, I began to appreciate what had always been mine. He was dazzled - awed - by the size of this family, overwhelmed by the sound of it, enchanted by the merriment of Walnut Cove on Christmas Day.
When everyone reassembled at Nannie's house for Christmas Dinner, the furniture was pushed back against the walls to make room for tables and chairs in every room. The big dining room table was reserved for Nannie and her older children; her younger children and the spouses were relegated to the sun porch that opened onto the dining room; grandchildren had places in farther rooms. Someone said the Blessing; at least we presumed so because there was lots of shushing from the grownups' room. We never heard it but knew when it was over by the murmurs of "Amen." The seating order governed the serving order. By the time we children were served, Aunts and Uncles were waiting for seconds. Forty or fifty or sixty people had dinner at my Grandmother's every Christmas Day until she was almost ninety years old. Her sons and daughters tried in vain to convince her that Christmas Dinner was too great an undertaking, but she never agreed to doing it any other way.
After everyone had eaten all they could of turkey with dressing and gravy, ham, string beans and mashed potatoes, baked apples and sweet potatoes with marshmallows, squash, biscuits and cornbread, the desserts appeared -- so many different kinds of cakes and pies, I can't even remember them all. Christmas Dinner was a rich and abundant feast of hardy tastes and smells; but one item on the menu surpassed all others. Nannie's Boiled Custard was the very essence of Christmas in Walnut Cove, rich and robust and lusty. She served it from an old pressed glass pitcher set on a tray in the middle of the sideboard. One Uncle checked our distant room every Christmas so he could return and report that we were all done and the Boiled Custard could be served.
By 1962, my Grandmother's family had grown to seventy-five or eighty
people. She had enriched each life with precious memories of Christmas
Day in Walnut Cove -- a special day that frolicked and laughed and hugged
and joked and glowed. My children and their children will not know a Christmas
as vibrant
as it was in Walnut Cove.
. . . . . . . . . . When I was a young woman, I asked Nannie how to make Boiled Custard like she did, with lumps. I carefully wrote down what she told me and tucked it away. One summer day, Nannie went to her sideboard and gently lifted an old pitcher from one of its nooks. With her sleeve, she brushed away specks of dust. This was her Mother's pitcher, she told me, so I should always take care of it. I wrapped the old pitcher and put it away, almost forgetting about it. I did not understand then that her gift embodied the essence of Christmas in Walnut Cove.
Soon, I was caretaker of my own family's Christmas. I rumbled around and found that old pitcher and shined it up one Christmas morning. By now, it was almost a hundred years old and I was at least the fourth in a line of Granddaughters who polished it on Christmas morning. I did not comprehend the perfection of it's message; but I remembered that the old pitcher had once stood on Nannie's sideboard on Christmas Day filled with Boiled Custard. That Christmas morning, I made Nannie's Boiled Custard and poured it into the old pressed glass pitcher that was her Mother's, and set it on the sideboard. Our sons are young men now with children of their own, and I'm no longer the only Granddaughter in my family. Caroline Browning is almost five years old.
Each Christmas, the old pitcher is shined and filled with Nannie's Boiled Custard and we accept it now as our Christmas tradition. Through the years, I have come to better comprehend its message. Maybe I had to know Christmas through my own Granddaughter's eyes before I could understand. In time I added a sprig of evergreen, signifying life everlasting; and I fastened it on with a red ribbon to celebrate the joy of Christmas. Then I set it on a tray on the sideboard.
Last Christmas, I learned that Boiled Custard is still a cherished tradition on Christmas Day in Rockingham County. When I asked my informant - to his total and utter astonishment - if Rockingham County custard is lumpy and lusty, he told me that it is. Now I understand.
>From Grandmother . . . . . . to Granddaughter . . . . . . to Granddaughter
.
. . . . . how many times?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ANN "Nancy" REDD (ca 1718 - 1800)
married Samuel Dalton (1699-1806)
Albemarle County, Virginia and
Rockingham County, North Carolina
RACHEL HARRIS (ca1744-1826)
SARAH "Sallie" MATILDA DALTON (ca1754-1841)
married William Dalton (1738 - 1819)
married Jonathan Hanby (1741-1819)
Albemarle County, VA to Smith County, TN Albemarle
County, VA to Patrick County, VA
MARY "Polly" DEATHERAGE
JANE DALTON HANBY (1783 -1817)
married Thomas Dalton (ca 1780-1864)
married William Moore (1771-1819)
Orange County, VA to Rockingham County, NC
Patrick County, VA
ELIZABETH DALTON (1806-1881) MATILDA
CAROLINE FRANKLIN (1803-1835)
married John Joyce (1795-1859)
married Samuel Dalton Moore (1804-1865)
Rockingham County, NC
Surry County, NC
ELIZABETH "Betsy" JOYCE (1844-1915) MATILDA
CAROLINE MOORE (1836-after
1900)
married George W. Webster (1839-1877)
married Samuel L. Gilmer (1828-after 1900)
Rockingham County, NC
Surry County, NC
EMMA CENTENNIAL WEBSTER (1876-1968)
JESSIE SLADE GILMER (1866-1963)
married John G. Fulton (1871-1928)
married George W. Sparger (1854 -1935)
Rockingham County, NC to Stokes County NC Surry County,
North Carolina
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NANNIE'S BOILED CUSTARD
Nannie began her instructions by telling me that the secret to lumpy Boiled Custard is to add beaten egg whites at the end while the custard is still hot.
SEPARATE the yolks from the whites of 9 or 10 eggs. BEAT the whites
until peaks form.
LIGHTLY BEAT the yolks and add 3/4 cup of sugar and 1/2 teaspoon of
salt. Set aside
SCALD over a very slow fire 6 cups of milk and cream, stirring all
the time. Don't let it boil.
ADD the egg, sugar and salt mixture to the milk. When the custard thickens
-
ADD 3 teaspoons of vanilla extract and the beaten egg whites.
CHILL and serve into glasses from an old pressed glass pitcher set
on a tray on the sideboard.
(I use whole milk and a 1/2 pint of cream. One Christmas, I forgot the cream, the Boiled Custard was not a failure. Sometimes there were other variations - not enough eggs, too much sugar, the mixture boils. Whatever I do seems to be acceptable to Nannie's Boiled Custard. Don't worry about it. Enjoy it!)
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO . . . PLUS TWENTY"
"We will strike a blow for Liberty that will Shine like the Stars."
While the First Viginia Regiment of Light Dragoons trained in Yorktown, General Washington and his tiny army reeled from one defeat after another in the northeast. The small, minimally trained colonial army was hardly a match for a British behemoth of disciplined regulars in the arena of New England. During this desperate period, the General communicated with the Congress requesting them to negotiate with Virginia to send the newly raised Regiment of Light Dragoons north to his Headquarters.
By December, Washington's colonial army was beating its way south across New Jersey, barely holding the British at bay. The American Commander was depressed and discouraged. It seemed that he could hope for little more than, with the help of God, to marshal enough troops for a sufficient defense of Philadelphia, the seat of the Continental Congress and largest city of the colonies.
When the American army reached western New Jersey, there were fewer than 5,000 soldiers to oppose Howe's 10,000 well-fed, well-equipped British and Hessian regulars. The English were confident that only a minor effort would be required to subdue this little upstart colonial army, and they would celebrate Christmas of 1776 in the warm taverns of Philadelphia. Many New Jersey inhabitants fled from their homes before the coming wave of British soldiers. Those who remained were offered British protection if they would swear allegiance to King George. Many did.
Instead of turning out to defend the country and offering aid to our Army, they are making their submissions as fast as they can. -- George Washington
Word of the defections, the submissions, the desertions, inspired a young Englishman sojourning in the colonies to upbraid the Americans. It is doubtful that Thomas Paine could ever have anticipated that his words would become the rallying cry of the struggling nation-to-be.
These are the times that try men's souls: The
summer soldier
and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis,
shrink from the
service of his country; but he that stands
it Now, deserves the
love and thanks of every man and woman.
-- Thomas Paine, "The Crises"
Read aloud in towns and villages, in the evenings at taverns, to militia units training on the parade field, from the pulpits of churches - on the back of a dark calvary horse far from home - Tom Paine's admonitions resounded throughout the thirteen colonies, and an aroused citizenry responded. They dug deep inside and examined the farthest reaches of their consciences and found the courage they needed.
The courage they found sustained the citizens of the middle states through
six hard years of war fought in their fields, amid the trees of their orchards,
down by the spring house, in the meadow behind the barn. All this while
their sons and husbands and fathers, who would defend them and care for
them, were far from home.
NOVEMBER 25, 1776 . . .
By late November, the American Army was setting up winter quarters in Morristown, New Jersey. Washington expected the arrival of the Virginia Dragoons any day now. He knew the mettle of the young men who comprised this Virginia calvary troop. They would meet the challenges he would set for them. Only native Americans had been enlisted, for the Commander believed that they alone possessed the courage he needed for the task ahead. Their horses were inconspicuous and dark; they knew the ways of the woods and could find their way back to camp if separated; they could feed themselves and their horses when patrolling far from the supply wagons; and they possessed the ingenuity to defend themselves against an enemy, whether predatory animal or British grenadier.
Now, a hint of frost was in the air. Fields had been harvested and winter's grip was beginning to tighten. Knowing that forage for the animals and food for the soldiers would be difficult to obtain, the British decided to "stop any further progress" and prepared their troops for winter. The troops were deployed at four posts in New Jersey: Trenton, Pennington and Bordentown, with a base of operations at Brunswick. Come spring, they would sweep over the colonials and take Philadelphia - or so they thought. Meanwhile, the First Virginia Light Dragoons, neither fully trained nor equipped, marched out of Yorktown toward the headquarters of the Continental Army.
... from there [Yorktown] we marched to Baltimore, thence to
Philadelphia,
thence to Headquarters at Morristown in the State of New Jersey
where
we remained. . . under the command of General Washington.
-- John Webster, Private, 1st Virginia Light Dragoons
They left Virginia with some misgivings for their mission was to defend Virginia, not Philadelphia. The surge for liberty was strong in their hearts, but their vision of independence was of separate autonomous states united by a single goal, not bound by a single government. Promises from the Congress of land bounties for Continental soldiers, somewhat mollified their misgivings.
Progress of the Virginia troops was hindered because they were escorting
British prisoners to be held for exchange. As they moved toward the north,
the sunny nip in the air that invigorated them during the early days of
their march turned to a cold, gray drizzle. John Webster, Private, and
his fellow soldiers probably had many thoughts and light-hearted conversations
about the warm inns and well-spread holiday tables they would find in Philadelphia.
More privately, they surely longed for the warm hearts and toasty hearths
they had left behind.
CHRISTMAS DAY 1776
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO . . . .PLUS TWENTY
The American Commander, General George Washington, led his Continental Army out of Morristown to a little valley on the west side of the Delaware River. They carried provisions for three days. By 3:00 PM they were marching toward the fords where small skiffs waited to ferry them across the river. By nightfall, they had crossed the reiver and a hard march brought them within sight of Trenton.
Soon after midnight, the tiny American Army approached its target, Trenton New Jersey, and attacked. Completely and utterly surprised in their quarters as they slept off the effects of their Christmas celebration, only a few hundred British and Hessians escaped. In addition to the prisoners, the colonial army captured all of the British arms, provisions, and equipment.
The General had hoped to hold his ground and push ahead. To do so, he now realized, would be foolhardy. More than 2,000 of his troops were stranded on the west side of the Delaware and reinforcements, including Bland's Virginia Regiment, did not arrive in time for this Christmas Day raid. He knew, too, that British reinforcements would soon be upon them in overwhelming numbers and the country side was stripped bare of provisions for his soldiers and animals. Always a pragmatic leader, the American Commander followed the only sensible course open to him. He led his army back across the Delaware where they would rest, and he would gather reinforcements and reorganize for another day.
Bland's Horse was still several days away. There can be no doubt, though, that these sturdy young Virginians raised a mighty cheer of celebration when they learned of the stunning Christmas night victory at Trenton.
Knowing the Virginia soldiers were not far away, General Washington sent out a courier carrying an urgent message to Colonel Bland.
I am informed you are on your march
from Virginia to
join the army under my command
and that you have the
charge of the prisoners who were
ordered
up to be exchanged. As this must
delay your march
very much, and as I do not think
it expedient for the
prisoners to come on just at this
time, I desire you
will leave them at the most convenient
place . . .
and advance the Horse as quick
as you possibly can.
-- George Washington to
Colonel Theoderick Bland,
December
29, 1776
The prisoners were secured where they were and Bland's Horse pressed forward at full speed, arriving at Headquarters two days later.
As Bland's troops hastened toward Morristown, the British General, Cornwallis, was advancing from the northeast to reoccupy Trenton. He had a trained force numbering nearly 7,000 regulars, 28 pieces of artillery, and a rear guard of 1,200 troops - almost double the size of the American army.
Weather now became the third player in this game of "Keeps." On New Year's night the wind shifted, blowing now from the south bringing a temporary thaw. As the British troops began to advance toward Trenton, they found roads softened by the warmth, forcing them to halt time and time again to free heavy artillery. When dusk came, General Cornwallis decided to hold until morning when he would continue on to Trenton.
We've got the old fox safe now. We'll bag him in the morning.
-- General Cornwallis, December 1776
(To be continued)
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TALIAFERRO TIMES: Compiled from email and other sources
Distributed by Joyce Browning
cJBrown7169@AOL.com
25 December 1996