Verna Lucinda Bradsher Bullard
Transcribed July 2007 by Gray Carpenter Church, Verna’s great grandniece and great-great granddaughter of Jack and Lucinda Bradsher.
In Little Rock in July 1981, Richard Bullard tape-recorded this conversation with his mother, Verna Lucinda Bradsher Bullard (b. 9 Jan 1898, Greene County; d. 10 Dec 1982, Wichita Falls, Texas).\ In it, Verna describes family life in early Greene County, growing up as the youngest child of Greene County pioneers, J.A. (Jack) Bradsher and Lucinda Ross Bradsher .
RB:
This is Richard Bullard and I’m talking to my mother, Verna
Lucinda Bradsher Bullard, about her parents and other relatives
as she remembers these things. And your father was John
Albert…
VB: Bradsher.
RB: …Bradsher, known as
Jack Bradsher…
VB: Yes.
RB: …and your mother was
Lucinda Ross Bradsher. And what I’d like to ask you first of
all is about your parents. For instance, my dad was Clarence
William Bullard, known as Jack Bullard, and he was five feet
eight inches tall. I just wondered if your dad, John Albert
Bradsher, was about that height or was he taller?
VB: He was about that height. He
was a short man.
RB: And was he sort of a thin
man or medium build or…?
VB: He was kindly—well, his
weight was around a hundred and fifty, so I guess he would be
just a medium…
RB: About my size…
VB: Yeah.
RB: …because that’s just
about my size.
VB: Yeah.
RB: And was he sort of a dark
complexion or a light complexion?
VB: Well, he was a medium.
RB: Of course, he was out in
the weather a lot.
VB: Yes. But he wasn’t a real
light complexion, and his hair was a medium brown with some gray.
He hadn’t gotten real gray before he died.
RB: Yes. He was how old when
he died?
VB: Fifty, uh, sixty-six.
RB: Sixty-six when he died,
and he still wasn’t real gray?
VB: No.
RB: And, did he—he did
have a moustache for a while…
VB: He did when I was young, but he
had it cut off—uh, shaved off while I was still a young
person because I objected to it so much.
RB: I see. But he had worn a
moustache before that most of his life? Or most of his adult life?
VB: Yes, up until then and I
complained so much about it when I was little that he shaved it
off.
RB: I know one time that you
told me that he sort of had a problem with his hair and he kept
it cut short.
VB: Yeah, he did. It would have
been kind of curly but he kept it cut short.
RB: It was sort of a cowlick
and so forth.
VB: Yeah.
RB: One thing I wanted to
talk to you about was, what his working life consisted of. Now I
know he was a farmer but did he do other things besides farming?
VB: Well, when he and Mother was
first married, they moved to this home where it was all in woods.
And they cleared that up and at that time, the Cotton Belt
Railroad was building a railroad through there, and he was in
charge of the payroll and buying the supplies for the camp. And
he would go to Paragould, which was about eleven or twelve miles,
and he’d go by horseback and he’d bring back the
payroll by himself. And he never was afraid. Mother said he never
did carry a gun.
RB: Well, most of his life,
though, was spent farming.
VB: Yes.
RB: And what kind of crops
did he raise?
VB: Well, he raised corn and he
raised hay, and he did raise wheat at some time, at one time, and
he had a wheat thresher, an old-fashioned wheat thresher. And
several of the neighbors at that time raised wheat and he would
go around to different places and thresh their wheat. And it was
always a day that the neighbors came in and they’d cook a
big meal, you know, and entertain them, and then they’d go
to the next place and they’d all do the same thing there.
And in the fall he always had cotton because he said that was his
“money crop.” The rest of it was just to sustain us but
cotton was the money. And he always had some cows and he always
had hogs and, of course, we had chickens and geese and all other
kinds of small birds on the farm.
RB: Did the family, uh, the
children help him a lot in the farming?
VB: Yes, they farmed with him until
they got grown. Most of them went out on their own. There
wasn’t but one of the boys that farmed, and he was kind of a
gentleman farmer. That’s Jess, you know.
RB: Yes. Now, who were all of
your brothers? You might just name…
VB: Well, the oldest brother, Tom,
died when he was nineteen. Of course, he hadn’t done
anything except work on the farm. My next brother was
Ed—Edward—Robert Edward was his name. And he was a
doctor.
RB: What can you remember
about him, in particular?
VB: Well, he was—I
remember—I was just a little girl and I’d go to their
house to visit and I just was with their children. They had
four children and I kinda grew up with the two oldest ones.
RB: Their ages weren’t
too much different from yours.
VB: No, Omer was only two years
younger than me.
RB: And then Don was younger
than Omer.
VB: Yeah, he was about four or five
years younger than I was. And then it was some time before
Willard and Robelene were born. And then, uh, he and Amos had a
drugstore together.
RB: In Marmaduke?
VB: Yes, and Dr. Bradsher’s
office was at the back and the drugstore was in front for a long,
long time. Then Amos sold his part of the drugstore and went to
Little Rock. And, I don’t remember who bought…
RB: I see. Well, then, was
that the same location where Omer and Don had their drugstore?
VB: Yes, it’s the same place.
It used to—in the beginning it was across the street…
RB: Oh, I see…
VB: …and then Dr. Bradsher
bought that block in there. And he put a drugstore in his office,
in the back of it.
RB: And then the other
brothers…
VB: Well, Al was the next brother
after Dr. Bradsher, and I don’t remember too much about what
he did. He taught school some and he was in different business
projects but was just a little girl and I don’t know what
they were. Then he went out West…
RB: He left when you were,
well, maybe before you were born or when you were real young?
VB: No, I was still—I was, I
guess I was about seven or eight years old. And, of course, he
was gone for a long, long time because I was grown and had
children…
RB: Yes, I remember, too,
when he came back.
VB: And the next one was Amos; I
already told you about him being a druggist. And he went to
Little Rock and was there in the drugstore a while and he finally
wound up over at Keiser. And the next son was Isreal, who became
a minister. And he was—for a while he was a pastor at some
of the churches in Arkansas, and then he went from there to
Missouri and was in the St. Louis conference up until he had to
retire. And then, Jess, who I said was a gentleman farmer, and he
farmed. And then Claude was into banking and cotton business.
RB: Then your sisters. Was
Aunt Jenny the oldest, I guess?
VB: Yes, she was the oldest. She
was twenty years older than I was.
RB: And then, in relationship
to the brothers, she was about the age…
VB: She was between Ed—Dr.
Bradsher—and Al.
RB: I see, yes. And of course,
she was a McBride after she married…
VB: She married…
RB: …Uncle Vess McBride.
VB: …Vess McBride.
RB: And then the other…
VB: …The other sister, Della,
she was between Jess and Israel. And she married Gid Williams.
RB: Well, getting back to
your father, did he have any hobbies, things that he liked to do,
that took a lot of, maybe, his spare time that he had?
VB: Well, after he got older,
because he was quite old when I was born, and my best remembering
of him, he retired from farming but then he put his—he was
interested in—he had a big garden and he just raised
everything he could think of. And he got some guineas and he got
some turkeys and he just entertained hisself. And then he had
this special horse that he reared and spent a lot of times with,
you know, riding him and fooling with him as a pet.
RB: And what was he called?
VB: Ol’ Ball.
RB: Ol’ Ball.
VB: Yeah, (laughing). And then, of
course, my daddy was superintendent of the Sunday School at
Harvey’s Chapel for twenty years. And he was on the board.
RB: And taught Sunday School,
too, did he?
VB: Yes, and then he was District
Lay Leader for several years with the District Conference.
RB: Well now, when you say
“Lay Leader,” did he actually hold the services
sometimes?
VB: Yeah. We’d go to—and
I went with him when he’d—he’d organize Sunday
Schools in small, outlying communities, and he’d always want
me to go with him. And he’d start a Sunday School, then
he’d go back occasionally to see how they were doing.
RB: Well now, when you’d
go to one of those places, they were probably a real small church?
Maybe…
VB: They were.
RB: …maybe they
didn’t even have a church there sometimes.
VB: Yeah, sometimes they
didn’t even—they’d meet in the schoolhouse.
RB: Oh, I see.
VB: …was just organizing,
trying to get a—getting the community involved in Sunday
School and church services.
RB: Well now, what other
activities—for instance, you said he was a Sunday School
teacher. What class did he teach?
VB: Well, he was mostly among the
men.
RB: I see.
VB: Men usually got together in
what we used to call the “Amen corner” in the church,
you know. When I was growing up, the women sat on one side most
of the time and the men on the other. And they had one
place—oh, the choir would be on this side and on this side
there was another group of benches and they called that the Amen
corner.
RB: Well, when you say
“Amen corner” did people…
VB: Well, they’d say
“A…
RB: …they really did
respond more then than they do now.
VB: Yeah, but when the
preacher’d say something that pleased them, they’d say
“Amen,” you know.
RB: I see. They ever say,
“Nay,” or something else? (laughing)
VB: No, they never did say that. (laughing)
RB: They’d always say
amen when they agreed.
VB They never did object to
what he said. (laughing) They kept quiet if they didn’t like
that.
RB: Well, what sorts of
church activities do you recall that were, maybe, family-oriented
that you enjoyed and so forth?
VB: Well, we had—we would meet
lots of times and have singing. Just group singing.
RB: And people come from
other places, too?
VB: Yeah. And then they would have
what they’d call “Children’s Day.” Usually
that was in May, and the children would have a program. And then
they had what they called—In the summertime, they’d
have revival. And that was a day and night service. Sometimes
it’d go a week, sometimes two weeks, depending on how
interested people were, you know. And it was—it was real
good because it got the community together, you see. And lots of
times they would have a picnic lunch on—maybe on a Sunday
and that was the most of our activities around church and school
because we didn’t have other things.
RB: Well, getting back to
your family, now, we haven’t talked much about your mother.
I think, didn’t most all the children call her Maw and all,
as I recall?
VB: Yeah, they called her Maw.
RB: They called her Maw. I
guess she had a pretty hard life, too, in a rural farm situation.
VB: Well, she did, because she had
twelve children. Ten lived to be grown. And, of course, it was in
rural—as I said, they started from scratch because they
bought their land—wasn’t even cleared. And they
would…
RB: Who did they buy it from,
do you remember?
VB: I don’t remember. And he
bought it—he didn’t buy it all at once. He bought it in
about forty acres at a time.
RB: About what total amount
of acreage did he…?
VB: About three hundred.
RB: When he finished, the
amount of it was three hundred acres?
VB: When he finished. Yeah.
RB: And your mother, what
would, say, a typical day in her life be like, you think, when
you were at home there?
VB: Well, during the crop time, it
was get up real early because the men—if the dew wasn’t
on the ground, they liked to get into the field by daylight
because it was cool, you know. And she always tried to prepare
them a good, hearty breakfast.
RB: What would that consists
of?
VB: Well, sometimes it’d be
hot biscuits and butter, and sometimes she’d fry ham and
eggs, and just, you know, jellies or whatever you…
RB: That means you had to get
up and build a fire and all that before you could do it.
VB: Yes, in a wood stove. You had
to get—build a big fire in a wood stove.
RB: You had a cast-iron wood
stove.
VB: Yes, that’s right.
RB: Then, too, I guess the
baking was done in the oven of the…
VB: …of that stove.
RB: …of the stove. Of
course, you probably used, what? An old cast-iron skillet?
VB: Yeah. We had an old iron pot
that had legs on it. And when it wasn’t used in front of the
fireplace to cook in, you’d take the eye out of this old
cast-iron stove and set it down—the legs’d go down and
it’d set down around, you see.
RB: Oh, I see.
VB: And it’d cook vegetables
in that, green beans…
RB: So you’d—it
really set down in the hole there in the stove.
VB: It’d set down in the hole.
RB: So it
would—it’d kinda heat in there, closer to the fire.
VB: Yeah. And she had a Dutch oven.
And she’d bake sweet potatoes by the fireplace. You’d
pull out coals and set this oven over it and put your potatoes in
there and then put the lid on, put coals on top—Bake sweet
potatoes that way.
RB: Probably be real good
that way, too.
VB: Well, she used that a lot. And
after—of course, I was the youngest and after all of them
married and left home, it was just Mother and Dad and I, and we
would cook our evening meals sometime in the winter time when it
was cold, you know, ‘cause we didn’t have central heat.
We just had the fireplace, and we would cook whatever we were
going to have—maybe we’d make biscuits and cook
‘em in that Dutch oven.
RB: So really, a lot of the
cooking was done in the fireplace?
VB: Yeah.
RB: What other things did she
cook in the fireplace?
VB: Well, that’s all I know of.
RB: Did she have hooks that
she’d hang pots on?
VB: No, we didn’t have
that…
RB: Didn’t have that
sort of thing…
VB: No, not after I came along.
They might have had before that.
RB: …Earlier, before
they had a wood, er, stove, a cast-iron stove.
VB: And then in the wintertime
there was always a hog-killing day, you know. And we had great
big wash kettles. We had two.
RB: About some particular
time of year that this took place?
VB: Yeah, a real cold day. A cold
time.
RB: Probably January, maybe?
Or February?
VB: Well, it might have
been—if it happened to be a cold time in October or November.
RB: So it just depended on
the weather, really.
VB: We had to have cold weather.
And they…
RB: And they figured it was
going to be cold for several days.
VB: Yeah, that’s right. We
figured that we had a cold spell that would last and they…
RB: And how did you arrive at
that? Did you ever use an almanac maybe?
VB: Well, yes, they went with that
some. But eventually…
RB: I imagine it was a matter
of knowing the weather. Your dad tended to know the weather? He
could judge the weather?
VB: They understood—they
studied the weather better than people do now.
RB: They lived in it every
day, and they’d tend to know it.
VB: Yeah, and they could tell by
different things. Now, a lot of times I’ve heard them say,
“We’re gonna have a cold spell.” The hogs would do
certain things, you know. There’re certain things the
animals did.
RB: Do you remember what the
hogs did?
VB: Well, they’d squeal and
get together, and kinda...
RB: Kinda huddle up?
VB: …huddle up and you’d
know that it was turning cold.
RB: Were there other things
like that you remember that they talked about?
VB: Well, I can’t…
RB: I know, seems to me like
when it’s going to rain, the flies would come in or
something. Do you remember something…
VB: Yeah, you could always tell
that. It would be sticky—humid, we call it now.
RB: But getting back to the
hog-killing, kinda how did that take place?
VB: Well, usually, sometimes your
neighbors would help you and sometimes you just did it yourself.
We never—after I was grown up, we never killed a lot of them
because it just wasn’t that big of a family. But they killed
the hogs and they’d have a big barrel and they’d have
that full—they’d heat up water, have it boiling, and
they’d kill the hogs and then they scalded them in those
barrels of hot water. And then they’d scrape
‘em—scrape the hair off. And then they’d cut
‘em up and hang ‘em up and let ‘em cool and
cut ‘em up. And they’d let the meat lay out and they
put salt on ‘em to cure it out. And I don’t
know—they’d leave it out a few days and then
they’d put it down in salt for so long and then they’d
take it out and wash it off and hang it. And then they’d
build—We had a dirt…
RB: Floor? In the smokehouse?
A dirt floor?
VB: …smokehouse. And we’d
make a big fire under it and smoke that meat. And I think
it’s hickory hardwood that they used to smoke with.
RB: And they’d kinda
keep it smoldering some, I guess. Did they cover it up with
something?
VB: Yeah, yeah. They didn’t
want it to—they kept it a-smoking. I don’t know how
they did that.
RB: And then they’d
render down the fat and…
VB: In these big wash kettles.
RB: …in the big wash
kettles and they’d make soap and…
VB: Yeah, and…
RB: …cracklings?
VB: I’ve seen
Mother—We’d have a big gang and I’ve seen
her—whenever those cracklings would get nearly done and
it’d be nearly mealtime, she’d take a whole side of
ribs and just put ‘em down in there and they’d cook in
just a little while in that hot grease.
RB: It’s just real hot
grease—cook real fast.
VB: And they’d just come out
just as crisp—and drain ‘em, you know. And they were
delicious.
RB: So, probably on hog-killing
time, you’d cook the ribs that same day, maybe…
VB: Yeah…
RB: …or when you
rendered down that fat, one of the…
VB: Yeah, lot of times, one of the
things that we’d…
RB: One of the good parts
about it was getting to have those ribs, I guess.
VB: (laughing) And then the
backbone—that was different than what backbones you see
nowadays. There was a lot of good meat on it. I know we’d
come in from school sometimes and Mother’d have a big pot of
stew—backbone—and that was so good with some cold
biscuits or cornbread, you know, you’d be—after walking
from a country school home, you’d be hungry and tired. And
that’d always give you a little lift. Then, when you got
rested you had to change your clothes. Now, you
couldn’t—because we had chores to do: bring in wood, go
get the cows, and help milk. So we didn’t—And we’d
get that all done and help prepare the evening meal. We tried to
cook enough of a morning—Mother did—to have something
left towards the evening meal. And of course…
RB: Well, that kept from
having to have a lot of..
VB: Hot…
RB: …hot night and hot
house, too.
VB: And then, after that time, Dad
and Mama—well, we called him Papa, then—and I always
said “Mama.” I never did say “Maw.” They had
to kinda stay on a strict diet so we didn’t cook like we did
when all of them were at home.
RB: Now, why—what kind
of diet were they on?
VB: Well, they had to stay off of
salt—they both had high blood pressure—and they had to
stay off of fat meats, which we used to have a lot of, you know,
with those hogs. And that was the main thing, to stay away
from…
RB: And they knew to do that
then? I didn’t know they…
VB: Yes, well, my brother, being a
doctor…
RB: …had advised
them…
VB: …had advised them about
what to eat. He didn’t give them any real diet to stay on,
but he told them the things to stay away from—that
wasn’t good for them.
RB: Well, I didn’t
realize they knew that then.
VB: Yeah, he did. And that’s
been a long time, but yes, they knew then that they had to…
RB: Well, what other
interests did your Mother have, maybe if she had some spare time,
what did she like to do?
VB: (laughing) Well, Mother was a
great hand to—she loved to quilt. She loved to make quilts.
Of course, it was a necessity, too, because we didn’t have
blankets and we didn’t have things that you can buy now. So
she would make quilts. And I remember when I was little, and
they’d put in a quilt, I’d cry because it would be up
above me and I couldn’t see her. You know, she’d be
sitting at the quilt and I couldn’t see her, and I’d
cry. I remember that.
RB: Well, what was your house
like when you were small?
VB: Well, believe it or not, we had
three big rooms. And between two of the rooms there was a big
hallway. And we had two fireplaces, one in one of the rooms and
then across the hall in the other one…
RB: Now this was an open hall?
It was open to the winter?
VB: Yeah, and it was as wide or
wider than this room.
RB: …which is probably
ten feet or more.
VB: Yes. And in the summertime,
that was the best place. You’d get out there and there was
always a breeze that came through there.
RB: Which way did the house
face? The road ran…
VB: It faced…
RB: …north and south, I
think, didn’t it?
VB: Yeah.
RB: …so it faced the
west, I guess.
VB: Yeah, west and east. And it was
woods a lot and a group—right in front of our house was a
big grove of walnut trees. And that shaded our house from the
west. And then Dad had a big orchard of peaches. And we had every
kind of peach that he could find, from the early up until the, uh,
what kind of peaches were they?—Indian peaches in October.
And we had some apples, we had plums, but that peach orchard was
the main thing.
RB: …The thing he really
liked…
VB: Well, we sold a lot of peaches.
RB: I see.
VB: People would come and get
peaches to can, you know. And he sold a lot—And he loved to
raise watermelons. And at that time they had a—The Soliphone
was the paper, was the weekly paper from Paragould, and the
editor there would give a year’s subscription to the person
who’d send in the best watermelon. And Papa won that for
several years.
RB: I think you told me that
you, your dad made sorghum, too.
VB: Yes, he did. We always had a
big sorghum patch. And when they first—when he first grew
sorghum, there was a man that brought his mill to our place and
made the sorghum for us. If I remember right, his name was Cudd,
a Mr. Cudd. And we’d make the sorghum and then usually, on
the last day that they made the sorghum—I just remember this
as a child—the young people would come and he’d cook up
enough that they’d pull candy that night. That was a candy
pull. And then after that, after this man quit making sorghum,
then there was a fellow who put in a sorghum mill at his home,
and he built a big screen, wire screen, and everything
over—he had it very modern.
RB: And what was his name?
VB: His name was…
RB: Well, it’s not
important, is it?
VB: No, but I…
RB: There was a family that
made sorghum that I remember we used to get sorghum from. Was
that the one?
VB: Well, what was their name?
RB: Well, I can’t think,
either, now, what the name was. I guess that’s not really
that important. What else did they do?
VB: Well, they’d get the
sorghum ready and take it to the mill and then they’d make
our sorghum for us.
RB: What kind of cooking
affair did they have for cooking down sorghum?
VB: Well, they had long pans. This
man, after he built his, it was permanent, you know. And he used
brick and fixed kind of a kiln and then on top of it he had pans.
I don’t know what they were made out of—they were black-looking.
RB: Probably steel of some
sort.
VB: Uh-huh. And they had different
sections and they’d put it in—the juice in here,
it’d go in here, cook a while and it went around, and
they’d skim it off and it had foam would come up on it.
RB: They kept that skimmed
off.
VB: And they’d cook it until
it come out to the last end, it’d be pure sorghum. And they
put it up in what they called gallon buckets. But when Dad made
it, we had a great big old keg, and on the…
RB: Wooden keg?
VB: Yes. And when you’d go out
in the wintertime, you’d go to get that sorghum out there,
you’d nearly freeze to death (laughing) ‘cause it
wouldn’t hardly come out. And you’d have to open what
they called the bunghole or it wouldn’t come out at all. It
had a little spigot on it, you know.
RB: Well, the man that
traveled, this Mr. Cudd, he lived there at Marmaduke or around
that vicinity?
VB: Well, he was related to the
Cudds that lived up close to…
RB: …to town…
VB: …to Harvey’s Chapel
but I don’t know exactly where he lived.
RB: And he had a big pan and...?
VB: He carried the stuff
around…
RB: Brought it in a wagon or
something?
VB: Back at that time they had, you
know, the mill. They put horses or mules to it and it went around
and squeezed the juice out of it. We used to—when
they’d bring the cane in to—we’d go get a piece,
you know, and strip it down and chew on it, you know, and get
that juice out. (laughing) We thought that was so good.
RB: About what time of year
did that take place?
VB: Well, they made that in the
late summer.
RB: Well now, did he have a
special plot of ground that he’d raise that sorghum on?
VB: Yes, he had—yes, because
it was a place—he thought that clay ground—we had kind
of a hillside on part of our farm, and he thought that clay soil
gave a good flavor—was better than where you plant it down
maybe in what you’d call more of a rich ground. And it
did—we always did have good-tasting sorghum. The soil has a
lot to do with the flavor of sorghum.
RB: And then, you said you
had bees, too.
VB: Yes. When I was little, he
didn’t—oh, I guess he got rid of them before I was very
old. But I remember him, robbing the bees. And Mother made him
a—she took cardboard, and then she put screen wire around it
and he wore that on his head. But he never would put anything on
his hands. He said they never stung him. And we’d say,
“Well, why? Why don’t they sting you?” He said,
“They won’t sting you if you don’t act like
you’re afraid. But if you face ‘em and don’t act
afraid, they won’t sting.” And they never did sting him.
RB: Where did he get his bees
originally?
VB: Well, I don’t know where
he got started but I know in the springtime, you know
they—some of them swarm and go out. Well, Mother would ring
the dinner bell—we had a great big old pole with a dinner
bell on it—and she’d ring the bell and he’d come
in and he’d…
RB: Did they have some
particular ring that meant certain things?
VB: Well, we did, but that
was—he’d always—it was during the time of swarming,
so he’d know…
RB: He’d know what it
was.
VB: He’d know it was a swarm
of bees. So he’d come in and he’d take
his—whatever they—what do they call ‘em?
Their…
RB: Their frames?
VB: What they put them in, you know.
And he’d go out and set that down and he’d get up there
and rake those bees off. Now they’d just be in a great wad,
you know—come down to kind of a point. He’d just take
his hand and rake them off and then he’d beat on a tin pan
right close to that, and they’d go in. And that’s the
way he—and, of course, he got his bees, his extras, that way,
you know, by their multiplying.
RB: But originally he may
have robbed a bee tree or something?
VB: He might have.
RB: Or maybe he ordered them
through Sears-Roebuck…
VB: (laughing)
RB: …or did they have
Sears-Roebuck then?
VB: (laughing) Yes, they had Sears-Roebuck,
but I don’t think he ordered them. I don’t know where
he got started—Somebody might have given him…
RB: Some neighbor?
VB: Some neighbor might have given
him a hive. I don’t know how he started that.
RB: And he didn’t build
the actual frames and beehives? He bought those somewhere?
VB: No, no. Well, they weren’t
like what they have now. You know you get these manufactured ones
and they have those sections.
RB: Now, they didn’t
have the sections in them?
VB: No, they didn’t have it
that way. And when he was going to rob the bees, he’d let
people know and they’d come and buy the honey, you know.
They usually bought it in comb because we didn’t have any
way to extract it.
RB: You didn’t have any
centrifuge or anything to separate it?
VB: Uh-uh.
RB: I know they were, like
you said, they were getting elderly then and most the family had
moved away. Since you were the youngest child…
VB: And he began to get rid of
things, you know, because he got to where he wasn’t able to
do those things.
RB: Well, did you have a lot
of family to come and maybe grandchildren and different
ones…
VB: Oh, yes. Every summer we
had—we just knew when summer’d come we’s gonna
have a houseful. I called ‘em my grandchildren, too, you
know. (laughing) And, especially Omer and Don. They’d come
out there every summer. I remember one time, Don—Dad told
him something to do. And Dad was a very determined person. If he
said you had to do something, you nearly had to do it. (laughing)
And Don wasn’t gonna do it! So he took off—he was going
to go back to town! (laughing) And Dad got after him and he run
him back in! He never did let him go home! (laughing)
RB: (laughing) That sounds
like what happened to me with Uncle Vess. I was going to go over
to the creek and I wasn’t supposed to—and I found out
that I wasn’t supposed to.
VB: (laughing)
RB: Well, that’s
something interesting, too, that the farm was on the bluff up
above the creek, wasn’t it?
VB: Yes, it was. It was a bluff up
there and…
RB: Did they call that bluff
something or did it have a name—Or the creek? You don’t
remember the name of the creek?
VB: No, nothing special. It was
just a creek that ran through there. And we used to put—we
didn’t have any fishing hooks—and we’d take pins
and turn ‘em, you know, and put ‘em on strings and go
down there and catch little old fish—I guess it’d be
three or four inches long. And we’d take them home and
Mother would say, “Well, if you’ll clean ‘em,
we’ll cook ‘em.” And we’d cook those (laughing)—They
use them now for minnows, you know, to fish with. And we’d
catch crawdads sometimes, you know. We’d get a lot of fun,
just out of catching them.
RB: Well, when the boys were
growing up on the farm there, what did they do for fun? Did they
play around the creek at all?
VB: Oh, they’d slip off and go
swimming in the swimming hole, which they didn’t like for
them to do—they’s afraid something would happen to them,
you know—They’d do that. And they’d play tricks on
one another. They played a trick on Dad one time. Dad was coming
in from work and the creek was kind of shallow and he thought
he’d just stop. He was riding, you know, and he thought
he’d stop and let—I don’t know whether it was a
mule or a horse he was riding, they had both. And he stopped.
It was a horse because we called him Old Jack and he was afraid
of everything. And he stopped to let that horse drink and he let
his bridle down, you know, and the boys was down there doing
something and they saw him and they just raised up and waved
their hands and that old horse (laughing) jumped out from under
him (laughing) …
RB: (laughing) So he ended up
in the creek?
VB: (laughing) Yes! (laughing) Well,
he played tricks on them so they didn’t (laughing)…
RB: Well, what other things
did the boys find to do for fun?
VB: Well, Dad chewed tobacco and
he’d get these pieces of tobacco and I remember the trunk
that he put it in. There was an old trunk in there and then
he’d put it in that tray. Well, Claude got to kind of
nipping on that tobacco—chewing, you know—and Jess
slipped in there one day and put some cayenne pepper in (laughing)…And
I think they forgot about it! (laughing)
RB: (laughing) And he’s
the one who got it!
RB: I remember one of the
things I wanted to go up there and look for, the day I got into
it with Uncle Vess, was to go up there and hunt for arrowheads.
Did they find any arrowheads and things like that up on that
bluff or around the creek there?
VB: I never did. I don’t know
that they did.
RB: Seems like I
remember—maybe it was Uncle Al was telling me about that.
VB: I guess so. I remember I’d
play a lot by myself and back of our orchard there was this kind
of a woodsy grove, and then you went right straight down the
bluff. It was steep down there. And I was up there playing by
myself one day and I saw some little—I thought they were
little chickens. And I walked up and they were just on the ground
and they were the cutest little things you ever saw. And I
thought, “Well, I’m just going to get those and take
them home.” I reached down to get those little
chickens—Down come this, well, what we called a whip-poor-will.
–Pounced on me like (laughing)… Did you ever see a
little whip-poor-will?
RB: Uh-huh. Well, I’ve
seen whip-poor-wills. I haven’t seen the little ones.
VB: Well, they’re like a
little chicken, you know. I left them alone right away! (laughing).
And then, the boys was out hunting one day and they found a
little squirrel and they brought him home to me. And I played
with that squirrel as a pet. We didn’t have a cage or
anything. I just kept it around there. But Mama’d get
aggravated at it. She had a pantry, she called it, and part of
her kitchen built in there. And he’d get in there, you know,
get into things. Finally, he died. Well, where you went into this
orchard was a great big gate that you could drive a wagon through.
And Claude and Jess went up there and took some old paint, and
they put on one of those planks that went across there:
“Bunny Died May the twentieth, nineteen and five.” I
never will forget that. (laughing) I guess that stayed there as
long as that gate did. I guess it’s gone now.
RB: Well, I’m sure it
must be. I know something we were talking about a little earlier
was the house, and on one side of this hall was the kitchen and
eating area…
VB: And on the other side was
the…
RB: …was the bedroom
area.
VB: It was all bedroom because we
just had to have beds in both rooms, ‘cause it’s too
many of us.
RB: And in the summertime,
did anyone ever sleep out in that hall?
VB: We slept out in that hall a lot.
We’d take a quilt and go out there and lay down.
RB: It’d be cool with
the breeze blowing through there.
VB: And after Dad got older,
he’d have to rest and he’d come in to lunch and
he’d take a pillow and quilt and go out there and lay down
and then I’d fan him while he took his nap. I fanned him
with an old palm-leaf fan and let him take his nap.
RB: I guess, something we
were talking about earlier, too, was the dinner bell. And your
mother would ring that for dinner?
VB: Yes. When she got dinner ready,
she’d—what we called dinner then, we call it lunch
now…
RB: It was noon, wasn’t
it?
VB: …but it was really a
dinner because they cooked a big meal.
RB: That was the big meal of
the day in working time.
VB: And evening was more of a light
meal. And we’d ring the dinner bell. And we had an old dog.
And that poor old dog, I guess the bell would hurt his ears,
he’d just howl, you know (laughing). They could hear him
howling. And we had an old mule that, whenever you’d ring
that dinner bell, they’d just as well to take out and come
to the house ‘cause he’d come. (laughing) He’d
just take out and come! (laughing)
RB: Well now, did they have
some special ring for some other occasion that meant that there
was some trouble or something?
VB: Well now, if there was some
trouble and you rang it at an odd hour, people would know…
RB: They’d know
something was going on…
VB: And they’d know
somebody’s sick. I remember one time down below that bluff
where they were plowing, and I guess Jess was just a little boy.
It was back when they was trying to—talking about the Maine,
the ship Maine, you know, that sunk. So Jess was down there
playing and he decided he’d “raise the Maine.” (laughing)
And he dug a hole and put some gunpowder in it and everything,
you know (laughing). ‘Course when it went off it, it burned
all of his eyebrows off and eyelashes. But that old mule—Dad
was plowing—and that old mule took off to the house (laughing).
Now that’s what they did, anything of fun.
RB: I wonder where he got
that gunpowder. Did your dad hunt?
VB: Well, Isreal was a hunter in
our family. And he’d hunt a lot. And when he’d go out
hunting, he’d take a sack or something, well, you know,
he’d come home with muscadines and whatever he could find.
RB: Did he gather nuts and
things?
VB: He liked to go out in the woods
and hunt and gather things.
RB: What sorts of animals did
he hunt, do you remember?
VB: Oh, I guess little…
RB: Squirrels?
VB: …squirrels and things like
that, because he never did bring anything big.
RB: Well, did you ever see
deer or anything like that—things like that, that might come
up to the house?
VB: I never did. Now, Mother told
about when they first moved there that they’d see deer every
once in a while. But I don’t remember ever seeing any.
RB: No bear or anything like
that?
VB: No.
RB: But in the early days
they did see…
VB: They did, whenever they first
moved there, ‘cause it was all woods.
RB: Maybe panthers?
VB: And I can remember when
there—even after I was old enough, that the woods come
pretty close up to that Cotton Belt railroad.
RB: When your parents first
moved to that country, what was it like? Did you hear them say
what was the country like when they first moved there? When they
were just small—well, they were really children when they
moved to Greene County, weren’t they?
VB: Oh, yeah. Dad lived in a
community they called Scatterville. Now I don’t know exactly
where that is.
RB: It’s close to Rector.
VB: It’s in Clay County…
RB: In Clay County instead of
Greene County.
VB: And Mama…
RB: Up that same road when
you’re going on to Rector. Well, no, they’re not the
same road…
VB: It’s off of…
RB: It’s about a mile
off of this road.
VB: And Mother lived in Elevenpoint,
close to Pocahontas. Now that’s Randolph County. And, to
tell you the truth, I don’t know where they met. I
never did—I guess when I was growing up, I never thought to
ask them. Now I don’t know.
RB: Well, did they tell any
stories about what their childhood was like?
VB: Oh, yes, Mother did. Well, Dad
told some. This one thing that Dad told me about
hisself—‘course he was five years old when his dad was
killed during the Civil War.
RB: Did he tell you what
happened—exactly what happened?
VB: Yes. Now, Granddad, his dad,
had been out to do something in the—he was a farmer, too.
And he came in and his clothes—it was spring and his clothes
were kind of damp. And they had a big fire in the fireplace and
he laid down on a pallet in front of that fire to get warmed up.
And these two men came up and they asked for his dad. And his dad,
when he went out, one of them shot at him and he missed him. And
he jumped off of his horse and run over, and was trying
to—and his dad was in kind of a struggle and the other man
shot Granddad in the back. And Aunt Sarah—I believe—one
of the girls ran out to help him and the bullet what missed her
just went between her arm and body. And Dad was five years old.
And I don’t know when it was, then or shortly after that,
some of the family got real sick. And they needed some help. And
they put Dad on a horse to send him after help. And it was night
and he had to go through some woods. And he said there was a
panther following him—jumped from tree to tree while he rode
through that woods. He said that was the scariest thing that he
had to experience in his growing up.
RB: You didn’t know who
these two men were, then, that shot your grandfather?
VB: No, I never did know, but the
family must have known because Uncle Jim, Dad’s oldest
brother, which was quite a bit older—I guess he was married,
probably—and he got ready to waylay them one time. He was
going to kill ‘em and he changed his mind. He didn’t
think it was worth it. So evidently they did know who they were.
RB: I see. But you don’t
know any more about…
VB: No, I don’t know…
RB: …what the problem
was or…
VB: It was just…
RB: …what the argument
was about or…
VB I don’t think there
was any argument. I think it was just—It was after the Civil
War and they just—you know, they just went around and
they’d shoot you down for no reason.
RB: Well, there were a lot of
people that were coming in then from the North, were they, and
settling there?
VB: Yeah.
RB: And your family were
Southerners that had lived there.
VB: That’s right. Just like
where Mother lived. Now when Grandpa Ross was in the Army, he got
sick and they sent him home. He was only about thirty-four or
thirty-five years old. And when he came home, he died after he
got home. And they buried him in the backyard at night. And the
only way they did that, the men that were too old to go to the
Army, they hid out in daytime and they’d come in at night.
And they came in at night and buried him in the backyard and they
fixed it—leveled it over so that it wouldn’t show.
RB: You couldn’t tell it
was a grave?
VB: Uh-huh.
RB: Well, what would they
have done if they’d known it was a grave, do you think?
VB: I don’t know what
they’d have done but evidently they just didn’t want
anybody to know about it.
RB: I see. Well, this was
during the Civil War.
VB: That was during the Civil War.
So that left Grandmother with four children.
RB: And that’s Ross, your
mother’s family.
VB: Yeah.
RB: Now about how old was
your mother during the Civil War?
VB: Well, Mama was, I think,
about seven or eight—something like that. So, there
was—One day—Of course they had to make their own thread,
you know. They spun their own thread and everything. And they
started out the day’s work and this group of soldiers,
Northern soldiers, came along, and they stopped and came in. And
they asked her Mother if she had any food. And she told them yes.
She told them the truth—she had some food. So they said,
“Well, cook us a meal.” So she went to get the meat to
cook ‘em a meal and the Captain went with her. I guess
they’s afraid—you know, they didn’t know
what’d happen. And when he looked at the meat it was red.
Now, they got saltpeter—how they could get saltpeter and
couldn’t get salt, I don’t know. That never was
explained to me. But anyway, they cured their meat with saltpeter
and it turned it red. And this Captain asked her about the meat
and she said, “Well, it’s nothing wrong with it. We
cured it with saltpeter.” But he was afraid of it—he
didn’t know. So they went on and left them and they
didn’t use their meat. Well, after that, there was a family
of McElroys. The Old Man McElroy was too old to go to the
Army and he was one that had to hide out, you know. But he had a
vacant house close to where they lived. So he told Grandma and
the children to move there close to him, where they could kind of
see after him. And one Saturday, he came in home—they needed
some wood. And he took a horse and a sled and went out and got
some wood, and brang it up. And the soldiers came up and shot him.
RB: These were Union soldiers?
VB: Uh-huh—Carpetbaggers or
whatever it was that went around over the country. And Uncle
Robert was out there with him and he was holding the horse and
Mother was standing on the front porch. They saw it happen. You
know, that was a terrible thing.
RB: It sure was.
VB: And Mama said he was a good old
man, he just didn’t bother anybody.
RB: Well, that’s a real
shame. And, of course, that was up in northeast Arkansas, where
there were a lot of outlaws…
VB: Yeah, there were. There were
all…
RB: …like the James
Brothers and different groups?
VB: Yes. And it
wasn’t—you see, during the Civil War and afterwards
there wasn’t any law. They could do anything they wanted to
and get by with it. You know, they had to go through
Reconstruction and everything.
RB: Well, did they say
anything much about Scatterville and what it was like? What that
little town was like?
VB: All I know it was just a
community and a church, wasn’t it?
RB: I really don’t know.
VB: I think it was. There’s a
cemetery there.
RB: Still is there, up near
Rector there, someplace. Is some of your family buried there?
VB: I think some—probably
that’s where Grandpa Bradsher is buried. And Grandma, too.