The Holland Press

Ruth and Bud were married and living in Joplin, Missouri; Grace was dutifully helping Mama and Papa raise the boys and got on with the farming and Geneva was mooning over a daring mischievous scamp; perhaps he was most often called a "rake". His name was Alvah Holland. He lived near Springtown, ten miles or so from us, rode a lovely spirited horse, carried a pistol, had had some near “brushes” with the “law” at Gentry (and possibly other towns around!) (once for "stampeding" around a church service with other young men on horses and shooting skyward with them for no other purpose than to create havoc and make the people inside think Jessie James and his gang had come to town!)

Papa and mama were not enthusiastic about my attachment to him. When he would call me on the phone, I would call him Alfred when the folks were listening! (The dining table, as I’ve said, was close to the phone on the south wall of the dining room.) Alfred was a young man in our church, whom the folks did like.

Al wanted to “spark” me (as he called it) and we did "court", sitting in our parlor most often in the presence of mama, or papa, or certainly one or more of the little brothers! If we wanted to kiss, I would have to meet him out under the mulberry tree where he tied his horse when he came to call. We didn't have long to remain there before we were expected to walk into the house or join the family on the porch, or in the front yard in summer evenings, so we did kiss and whisper when I first went out to meet him. And to our surprise, and my chagrin, we heard giggling on one occasion and looked up into the mulberry tree to discover my two “rotten” little brothers, Fitch and Paul clinging to the branches above us, giggling and pretending to retch!

Eventually, Papa and Mama gave their consent to our marriage on the condition that I finish school first. But I (we!) didn't want to wait that long, so we eloped to Missouri, were married in Carthage, attended by Ruth and Bud, and spent our honeymoon at their house. Honeymoon? The next morning, we came home, me to my home, and Al to his folks', and I did finish school, then moved to Springtown to live with him and his parents until we bought a place of our own. After three children, along came twin boys to Al and me. Of course we needed milk and lots of it at that time. Al and I had only one cow, one of the twins was rather allergic to it, and Dr. Wilson told us if we could get milk from a herd (because it would be more uniform) rather than from just one cow, it would be better for the twins.

So Papa and mama sent either Paul, who was about sixteen at the time, or Fitch, about seventeen out on their bicycles every morning before school to milk their cows. The first time Paul brought the milk he was very impressed. He told mama he could tell them apart because one of them had a square head.

In describing the old home place where we grew up, I think I failed to mention that the house was built a nice piece back from the road, so as not to catch dust from passing wagons, buggies, etc. from the road.

The house itself was rather large and stark, or bare, always painted white, with sometimes a trim around doors and windows of brown. The side of the front door was a climbing rose, deep pink when it bloomed in the springtime. The rosebush grew steadily up the side of the house until it almost reached the very roof, clinging around the upstairs bedroom windows so that, leaning from our window, we could reach out and pick roses.

Another incident I remember about the house is that one day when Mama was upstairs, she suddenly screamed for Darwin! "There is a snake on the stairway to the attic!" she screamed. Dad came running and killed a rather evil-looking black snake. It was a mystery to us how the snake had got into the house until we figured it must have climbed up the rosebush and got in through an upstairs window, which, at that time, was unscreened. I was very young at that time, but evidently that snake was reason enough to install screens on all the windows, for when people are talking about “old times", how there were no screens on windows, and how they were so bothered by "flies" I cannot recall that we had a lot of flies. They did come into the house occasionally, there being so many children to run in and out the doors, but I can't remember that they "swarmed" over our table, as some people say they can remember of their homes. I do remember, at outdoor picnics, having to take a green branch from a tree and Swishing that back and forth to drive away the flies,

While I'm about it, there are a few songs I would like to put down. I can still remember the words (or at least most of some verses, etc!

It's a Long Way to Tipperary

it's a long way to

to Tipperary, it's a long way to go;

It's a long way to Tipperary, To the sweetest girl I know. So it's goodbye to Piccadilly, Farewell, Leicester Square. It's a long, long way to Tipperary, but my heart's right there.

Up to mighty London

Came an Irish lad one day

As the streets were paved with gold,

sure everyone was gay;

Singing songs of Piccadilly, Strand and Leicester Square, Till Paddy got excited and

shouted to them there: (Repeat chorus)

Paddy wrote a letter to his Irish Molly, saying if you don't receive it, write and let me know: if I make mistakes in spelling, Molly dear, said he, Remember, it's the pen that's bad, don't lay the blame on me. Chorus again, Molly penned a neat reply to Irish Paddy-O Saying Mike Maloney wants to marry me, and so leave the Strand and Piccadilly, or you'll be the one to blame. For love has fairly drove me silly and here's hoping you're the same!

This one is called

After the Ball

After the ball was over, after the stars were gone,

After the dancers leaving, after the break of dawn,

Many a heart was aching if you could but read them all,

Many a hope had vanished after the ball.

A little maiden climbed on an old man's knee, begged for a story, ".. do, uncle, please tell me one, have you no wife, why live alone, have you no children, have you no home?" Slowly he answered, "Yes, pet, I'll tell it all, I broke her heart, yet, after the ball.”

Bright lights were flashing in the ballroom

Softly the music played a sweet tune.

There stood my sweetheart, my love, my own,

Please get me some water, you may leave me alone.

When I returned pet, there stood a man,

Kissing my sweetheart, as lovers can:

Down fell the glass, pet, broken was all

Just as my heart was, after the ball.

Chorus:

One day a letter came from that man,

He was her brother, so the letter ran,

So that is my story, Pet, I've told it all-- I broke her heart, Pet, after the ball.

And another one,

Hush-a-bye my Little Georgia ‘possum

Lay your kinky head on mammy's arm;

Don't you dast to winka, blinka, snicka,

If you do I spank a doo you, hon;

Andrew Jackson White, shut your eyes up tight

Daddy's in the henhouse looking for a chicken,

Brother Ben's outside, helpin‘' with the pickin'

Sister's makin' corn pone--now Honey don't you cry,

Sammy's tryin' to make her child a little chicken pie.

Things we used to sing,

Poor Little Kate swings on the gate Lonesome and feeling blue,

Girls passing by hear Katie cry, "Please let me play with you."

Girls turn and go, they answer "No,

You're a tom-boy girl, that's why.”

My hearts so sad Kate tells her dad

and he says "Little dearie, don't you cry,

We were pals in the days of old, dear,

We'll be pals in the years to come,

For you've never had a mother to guide you,

Or to put your hair in a curl,

But there's not another girlie in the world like you,

You're daddy's little tomboy girl!”

I remember a song,

Little Johnny Rankin got an awful spankin' from the teacher yesterday;

Just before the recess, he went all to pieces and cried, in a "cry-baby”" way.

Before I knew, I was crying, too,

‘Cause he wrote something funny on my slate.

Well, you can't guess what he wrote on my slate,

Makes no difference how hard you try!

I felt so ashamed, but I couldn't be blamed,

The thought of it makes me sigh--Oh, my!

But you can't guess what he wrote on my slate,

Don't you wish that you really knew?

I promised not to tell it, but just suppose I spell it? He wrote "I L-O-V-E Y-O-U!

Teacher's awfully cruel, she hit me with a ruler and then she called poor John a little "brat", and across her knee she yanked me,

Oh, golly, how she spanked me,

Then I knew just what she was driving at

She threatened to expel me, said, "You've got to tell me just what it was that Johnny Rankin wrote!

Take my advice and answer this: Was it naughty, miss?”

I said, "It may be naughty, but it's nice!”

Chorus again: "But you can't guess, etc.

Here’s another song,

Tramp, tramp, tramp the boys are marching,

Cheer up, comrades, they will come, etc...

ania when I'd reach the part where I'd sing

"And their hollow eyes grow bright

and their poor hearts almost gay, as they think of

home and friends once more.”

I would sing this to Reola (Ricketts-

(daughter of Aunt Myrtle Maxson Ricketts)--

When reola was 3 or 4 years old, and Reola would look at me sadly and seriously and say, “I don’t want my heart to ever get gay, do you Geneva”?

Rufus, Rastus, Johnson Brown,

What you gonna do when the rent comes round?

What you gonna say?

How you gonna pay?

You haven't got a bit of sense about the Judgment day!

You know, I know, we all know,

When the old landlord's gonna throw us out in the snow;

Rufus, Rastus, Johnson Brown,

What you gonna do when the rent comes round???

Another here.

This is my prayer, since growing older:

God, keep my heart attuned to laughter when youth is done,

And when the days are grey days

Coming after the warmth, the sun,

God keep me from bitterness, from grieving When life seems cold;

God, keep me loving and believing

As I grow old.

God, give me sympathy and sense

And help me keep my courage high;

God give me calm and confidence

And please, God, a twinkle in my eye.

And another, now.

Give me a man-sized soul, God, Pure, brave, serene

To meet these days,

Ready to walk, head high,

With firm, sure tread

The year's strange ways.

Make me to fill each day

with work well done;

I would be soul-poised,

Great in gentleness

And gentle in power;

Rich in self-giving,

Pouring life and love into each hour.

All these songs.

Let me live grandly, and speak the things that last; press toward life's goal, Win jewels? Fame? Nay, better, when earth is past to stand a crowned soul!

So be my helper, Father, comfort me with staff and rod, Till I shall give thee back thy year well lived For man-- and God.

There was a game that we used to play called Huckleberry. It goes like this:

We would sit cross legged on the floor and grab the left big toe with the right hand and the right toe with the left hand and chant:

My father and mother have gone to bed

And left me alone to make huckleberry bread; So up goes my heels, and down goes my head, And that's the way we make huckleberry bread."

(As you say "Up goes my heels” you rock back and forth, hanging on tight to those toes!)

Worry and fret were two little men

who knocked at my door again and again;

"Oh, pray, let us in out of the night,

We'll be gone with the morning light!"

At last, moved to pity, I opened the door

To shelter these travelers so hungry and poor,

And, when on the morrow I bade them adieu

They said, quite unmoved: "Oh, we'll tarry with you."

Now, in closing this rambling journal-letter, I would like to quote one of our Dad's favorite verses, also from the Psalms:

"Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, Oh Lord, my strength and my Redeemer."

And I would like to say in closing that our Mama never talked about her religion--she lived it. She used to say to me, when I would be criticising someone: "Hush, Geneva. If you can't think of something good to say, say nothing."