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DOROTHY'S WINDOW ~ VII
A SMALL-TOWN GIRL REMEMBERS AULANDER

© 2003 by Dorothy Jenkins Combs, Minnesota

During the next few weeks, Bob and I would "go through" the Sears Roebuck catalogue and check some items Santa might leave us. The days were shorter now, and the weather much more chilly.

School seemed more tolerable since we were doing a countdown until Christmas break started! Every week there were one or two more family feasts to attend. Decorations were beginning to appear in homes and stores. Bob and I decorated the scalloped, round table in the living room, using cotton for snow, mirrors for frozen lakes, and little houses to make up the town. Sometimes I wished I could be wee enough to play in that snow slide on the "ice," and go into the houses!

Our tree was up in the family room where the heater was. Bob and I hung most of the great amount of tinsel, which represented icicles. (We were also responsible later for removing it, strand upon strand, because it was all we could get due to the war.)

Gifts began to appear under the tree ~ lots of them ~ because each relative on both sides of the family would receive some little remembrance. Material matter was not as important to me or anyone else, it seemed, as were the gatherings of family and friends.

December 24!. It seemed forever getting here; and yet, things happened so fast. We had attended all the holiday dinners: On my mother's side, we had eaten at Aunt Mamie's, Aunt Nellie and Bro Cleveland Mitchell's, Aunt Toolie and Bro John Cooke's, Uncle Eddie and Aunt Nettie Ward's, and Uncle Bob and Aunt Hazel Cooke's. On my daddy's side, we had eaten at Aunt Vivian and Uncle Ned Griffith's and Uncle Willie and Aunt Nellie Jenkins'. All other relatives lived too far away to share in our family gatherings.

A big Christmas box had been shipped to my brother Bill in the service. Mother had been cooking and cooking. She had made her annual fruitcake, chopping up the dried fruits for it, baking it for the exact amount of time, and then wrapping it in bourbon-soaked gauze for two or more weeks. (I never liked it!) To add to seasonal perfection for this young girl, it had snowed on Christmas Eve!

Now here we were at church for the Christmas Eve service. Daddy was the superintendent of Sunday school and was handing small mesh bags of fruit to each boy and girl in this candle-lit sanctuary. I was so very proud of him when it was my turn for him to give me mine and then to turn around and go back to sit beside my lovely mother who smiled at me so warmly! Life was good!

A few snowflakes, as yet unmelted, were sparkling in the bright early sunshine. The air felt crisp and clean. A spirit of merriment permeated the house as we opened our gifts on this Christmas morning and then ate the delicious breakfast of fried quail, grits, scrambled eggs, hot clabber biscuits, and very fresh milk donated by Elsie, our cow.

Maggie, mother's regular help, and Novella, Aunt Irma's regular help, arrived to assist mother with more preparations for our annual Christmas dinner, which 30-some would come to share. All doors had been opened in the house in order for the coal-burning Heatrola to make every room comfortable. Many card tables were set up with linen cloths, napkins, crystal and silver. We children would sit on one of the 17 steps leading upstairs to enjoy our meal.

Mother's every move was intentional and productive for the event. We were again all dressed up for celebration and ready when family guests arrived promptly at noon.

After putting their coats in my parents' bedroom, all lined up at the dining room door where, with great pride, I presented each with a china plate. As they made selections from the typical abundant outlay of food, many would exclaim, "Katy, it all looks too good!" or "I declare, I'm just getting too fat!" or "Honey, I know you make the best fruitcake in the world!" or "Just look at all this food!"

Thoroughly full, everyone departed about two o'clock.

Then! Promptly at six, many of the same kin plus relatives on Uncle Willie's side gathered for the same delightful ritual at Aunt Irma's. Everyone greeted each other as if it had been months since the last gathering. Maggie and Novella were helping in the kitchen, while Aunt Irma made those there feel relaxed and welcome.

Often comments referring to the soon-approaching "cold snap" and hog killing could be heard as well as a few "asides" pertaining to war news. After gorging ourselves with the third big meal of the day and singing Christmas carols with Aunt Irma accompanying on her Baldwin piano, we put on our wraps and stood on the front porch to watch some sparklers and a few roman candles colorfully lighting the night sky. What a perfect finale for us, young and old alike! Surely, visions of more sugarplums danced in my head later as I nestled into my feather bed.

("Dorothy's Window" will be continued in the next issue of The Poor Town News. Copies of Dot's book can be obtained by clicking here to contact her.)

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This Week's Verse
"IN MEMORY FOREVER"
Copyright © 1998 Ruth Gillis ~ Click here to email her

I yearn to see Mom's eyes forever twinkling
as brightly as the star of Bethlehem,
to watch the snow upon the tin roof sprinkling
and glistening in the moonlight like a gem.

I long to see the lamplight softly glowing
and hear the crackling fire behind the grate,
to feel anticipation caused by knowing
that soon would come the long-awaited date.

Oh, how I loved those childhoods in December
when Mama baked and sang around the stove!
Those are the times I cherish and remember
no matter where I wander or I rove.

Oh, Christmas home
and hearth of yesterday,
time cannot steal
your memory away.

Previously published in Poets at Work
November/December 1998

Click here to read more great poems
at "Ruth's House of Poetry"

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THE LEGEND OF JOHN CUCKLEMAKER CALE ~ XII

© Copyright 2003 by Stanley Hoggard, with
grateful acknowledgment to Neil Baker

The Southern Tuscarora Band of Bertie County claims that John Cucklemaker Cale was the son of a Tuscarora Indian known as Chief Casiah (Cashie, also various other spellings). They say that Cuckamucks (Cucklemaker) was the youngest son of Cashie, and was disowned by his family after marrying a white woman. Their tribal traditional history states that Cuckamucks first married a Tuscarora woman known as Martha Butler and children were born during their marital relationship.

It is interesting to note that the name Kessiah appears later among the Butlers and various other families during the 1700s. Cassiah is still known as a surname among families that claim their ancestors moved from Bertie County during the mid-1700s. The mid-1700s is the same time frame that the first group of Tuscaroras leased their land in the Indian Woods Reservation and moved away. That document was signed by several chiefs, one of which was Nicholas Casie.

According to the Southern Tuscarora Band, Cashie was born about 1700 and became chief of the village of Tandequemuc, located near the Avoca area where the Cashie River merges with the Chowan. Cashie (Kesiah) River is shown on old maps 50 years before the "guesstimated" date of Chief Cashie's birth. Since the river was named before the chief was born, we will assume that his official title was Chief of the Cashie River area. Tuscarora tradition states that the village of Tandequemuc was destroyed during the mid-1700s.

After the Tuscarora War (1711-13) the General Assembly of Colonial North Carolina commissioned Tom Blount (Tuscarora-Englishman) as "King of all Indians" in the territory of Eastern North Carolina. He was authorized and instructed to organize all units into one central group that would occupy a common habitat. According to North Carolina history, the few Indians of Bertie County eventually united with the Tuscarora tribes on the Indian Woods Reservation, then moved in with them. However, some traditional stories believed to be accurate reveal that some Indians became family units after tribal units ceased to exist, and never lived on the reservation.

Another legendary story about Chief Cashie describes his attack on the residents of Edenton during the Tuscarora War, or about 1712. According to the legend, the conflict ended when a musket ball struck Cashie, breaking his leg. Earlier, Cashie's only son, Roanoke, had learned of his father's plans and had warned the Edenton residents to be ready. Several days before the attack Roanoke had rescued an English maiden whose parents had been massacred in the Albemarle Sound area by members of his father's tribe. It is said that the maiden's name was Elnora, and that Roanoke carried her to Edenton where she would be safe.

During the time, according to the story, Roanoke fell in love with Elnora. Fearing for her safety, Roanoke warned the Edenton residents of his father's imminent attack. Later, Roanoke was charged with treason by his father's tribal leaders and sentenced to death. His father, Cashie, pronounced the final judgment against him when he declared that "He shall die like the white man, on a gallows, with a rope around his neck." It is said that Roanoke died in compliance with his father's wish.

When comparing legendary dates it becomes apparent that there was more than one Chief Cashie. One researcher believes that Cashie was born around 1700. Another states that he and his "fighting men" attacked Edenton during 1712. Cashie would have been a 12-year-old chief during that date of conflict. This would not have been impossible, but it is unlikely that a 12-year-old would have a son old enough to be falling in love during the time. One Tuscarora researcher adamantly insists that Chief Cashie did exist, and that Chief Cucklemaker was his son. Another Tuscarora researcher insists that both Cashie and Cucklemaker existed, but that "a family connection has never been made." A leading Bertie County historian insists that Chief Cashie never existed, and that the name became famous through folklore only.

One Cashie researcher believes that he died about 1770, about the same time his family moved to other areas in North Carolina, and to other states. That researcher informs us that when the family adopted English names they retained the Cashie name as their surname. The surname is known today as Casiah, Kesiah, Keziah, Cuzziah, Coziah, and other similar spellings.

It is well to remember that early Tuscarora history has survived through the years orally as traditional stories, legends, and folklore. We have no documentation to confirm which stories are true, or that some were fabricated. However, we are aware of the fact that long ago the "red man" walked, played, worked, and produced families in the same areas where we live today. We believe that their past history was eventful and rich, and some of us become melancholy when we are reminded that most of that history is recorded in the archives of the unknown.

Read more about the legend of Cucklemaker in a future issue of The Poor Town News. Information and comments are welcome. Click on the names to contact the authors and researchers, Stanley Hoggard and Neil Baker.

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WWII ~ BACK TO THE STATES

© 2004 Julius Shoulars

We returned to Salcombe the last week of June 1944, and stayed there training and waiting for a second invasion of France. Thank God that was not necessary.

I mentioned before that I was attached to Transportation in the 7th Beach Battalion. I was assigned the duty of delivering mail to our comrades who were wounded in Normandy. I would leave Salcombe on Monday morning, driving a Jeep with the mail, going to hospitals located in and around London. I would make my deliveries and return on Friday evening.

During this time the Germans were hitting London with their "buzz" bombs. Several landed rather close to me as I was making my rounds. The people of London would go to their shelters and wait out the attack. London really was and looked like a war zone.

We took it pretty easy from June until October, when we were shipped back to the good old USA on the USS Wakefield. After landing in Boston we boarded a train to Lido Beach NY. This is where the 7th Beach Battalion was decommissioned.

After a few days there, I was given 21 days travel time to report to the Amphibious Base at Oceanside, California, and I went home for as much of the 21 days as I thought I could take.

I began training this time with the Marines in Camp Pendleton, California. This training was somewhat different as we would be invading islands in the Pacific.

We trained there for approximately 30 days and then 21 of us in the A-1 Platoon of the decommissioned 7th Beach Battalion ~ selected by Lt. Sam Byrd ~ were transferred to Astoria, Oregon, to go aboard the USS Karnes, APA 175.

The Karnes was named after Karnes County, Texas. The keel for the Karnes was laid Sept. 24, 1944, and she was launched 70 days later by the Portland Shipbuilding Corporation of Portland, Oregon.

Above right, Julius Shoulars at Oceanside, California, 1944

Below, Julius, right, and buddies "Bramhall" and "Bryant,"
at liberty in England, before return to US
on way to the Pacific

Photos courtesy Julius Shoulars

The USS Karnes
Click here to see more pictures
and the ship's history

More on WWII by Julius Shoulars, who grew up near Roxobel,
will be found in future issues of The Poor Town News

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Mailbox

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DOROTHY'S STORIES PRAISED
Agnes Green, Michigan

The Dorothy Combs stories are priceless. The descriptions of the Thanksgiving feasts are marvelous ...... I love that old-fashioned justice as reflected in the (Cucklemaker) episode of the illegitimate child ...... The war pictures (by Julius Shoulars) are so very sad ...... I am forwarding this issue to my sisters. Thank you for continuing to publish The Poor Town News.

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THE CONDITIONS OF WAR
Norma Scott, Florida

Thanks for more good reading ...... I find the story of Omaha Beach by Julius Shoulars very difficult. It is hard to imagine such horrible conditions, and makes one wonder why people have to start wars.

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FROM THE MAN FROM MUDDYFORK
Stanley Mcqueen

I thought I would write you and give you my new address (click above), and thank you for using my stories.

You have done a good job of editing them and putting them down for folks to read. Like you, I enjoy sharing my stories. I am poor in my grammar ...... almost a heathen-type writer using a club for a pen ...... but if I can take the reader with me on a little backwoods adventure and cause just a faint smile to come to his or her face, I have done well.

This world is cruel, in these modern days of stressful living and fast-paced lives, and it is good to travel back to a more simple time when a man could sit down on a sawed-off stump and take a good rest, and think deep thoughts.

Where a man is in the world, is in his character. I close for now, thanking you for being my unseen friend. May God send you a blessing and watch over you and yours.

(Stanley Mcqueen has contributed a number of stories to The Poor Town News, most of them featuring "The Man from Muddyfork." You can find his articles by looking for his byline in The Poor Town News Archives. The link for the Archives is near the bottom of this page.)