STARS IN HER CROWN

Years ago my great-aunt, Azalea Whitaker, shared a secret with me. Despite her husband insisting she wasn't capable of writing anything worthwhile, she wrote when he was out of the house, then hid her precious papers. There were two albums of family pictures with notes of names, dates, handwritten pages of family stories, a notebook, and many loose pages from various tablets. How she kept so much hidden for many years was amazing but she did it and the family received it all in good shape. Aunt Azalea was a tall, thin woman, quiet and gentle never putting herself forward. She made it clear that she expected me to someday put the information in proper order for the family and future generations. There is much too much to put it all down here so I've picked my favorites of her memoirs which, while using her words, will give you a taste of what life was like in those days. Here is her story.

STARS IN HER CROWN
BY Azalea Marshall Whitaker

More than a decade has passed since my mother's health began to fail, and eventually her death at the age of 93. In the following years the idea came to me to write about Mom so that younger family members would appreciate having a very special ancestor.

Nancy Elizabeth was born May 19, 1876 on a farm in the Flat Branch area of Clay County, Illinois. Her parents were John White and Mary Elizabeth Kenley White. Both the White and Kenley families were among early settlers in the county, coming from Tennessee in the early 1800s. Nancy married William Marshall on Christmas Eve, in 1896. They lived near Sailor Springs until 1915.

From 1916 to 1920, our family lived in an eight room house with three porches, on South George Street. All the kids of school age attended Washington Grade School a few blocks away. I remember being in the 5^th grade to (through?) the 7^th before we moved to a farm at Salem, Missouri.

Those years were idyllic for me – too young to be concerned about our near poverty status and the problems and struggles of my parents to support the large family. There were eight children at the time, with four grandchildren added when my eldest sister, Mabel, died in 1918. So, with my parents, there were 15 of us during part of those years, living in that big, old-fashioned house.

An affluent family had taken an interest in my older sister, Anne Marie, and in exchange for her part time live-in companionship for the children, they sent her to high school and later business school at Bloomington.

Ava, the next oldest, and John, the oldest brother, both had part time jobs, and Lawrence worked for local farmers during school vacations – helping to support all of us who were too young to work.

About a block south and east of George Street, there was a country road called Cherry Lane, so named because on both sides of that road, for at least a mile, wild cherry trees lined it – a beautiful country road and a popular meeting place for the teenagers and younger ones in our neighborhood. On Sunday afternoons, some of the boys and girls gathered at Cherry Lane to play the innocent games of that era – Spin the Platter being a daring favorite game.

A farm family who lived about a mile at the end of Cherry Lane sold produce to many town people, and Mother bought fresh milk, and eggs from them. I remember during winter, it was a daily chore after school for brother, Roy, and me, to go to that farm and get a huge bucket full of fresh milk. Mom would make a batch of corn meal mush for supper those cold winter nights and I can still see us all gathered at the long dining table in what we called our “winter kitchen” – long benches along each side of that long table, enjoying hearty mush with fresh milk.

My special pleasure was that (A) long walk along Cherry Lane out to the real country to cross the creek on a foot-bridge, and tramp through the pasture where the animals ate grass in summer. Roy enjoyed it, too. (DID HE EAT GRASS TOO?)We didn’t mind having to carry that heavy bucket of milk. We just accepted it as part of our life. (DAILY ROUTINE?)My mother grew up on a farm; she knew the nutrition value of fresh milk, and at the same time it was economical food. Roy and I may have inherited from her our love for the country but I also believe that our close association with that farm family helped us to appreciate that way of life. The walk most evenings along Cherry Lane also gave us insight for the rural ways that none of the others of our family had except Lawrence. He was old enough to work for the farmers, and loved it.

Many years later on a brief visit at (TO) Clinton, I saw that Cherry Lane had become a paved street, a sub-division of several swank homes for well-to-do families were built along it. In my memory I again walked along that country lane of long ago with my brother, Roy.

When I think of that house, I see a bed of Lilies of the Valley, under a huge maple tree, pure white, delicate, small inconspicuous blooms every spring. I see the grape arbor in the back yard – old fashioned yet a delightful place with benches along the inside where we children could play and elders sit in the shadow of the grape leaves on hot afternoons.

I see a vegetable garden. I see a huge stack of railroad track ties along the back board fence, waiting for tramps who showed up each fall. Mom always had a sympathetic attitude toward these homeless men, and made them welcome to sit under the grape arbor, eating the huge slabs of her own light bread for which she was famous and meat she gave them in return for sawing her firewood.

I see an old barn. In those times many families had a pony for their children or a horse drawn carriage – we did not as we were not that affluent. But that barn was a good place for us kids to play, or hide in the hay loft. The lower part was used as storage space.

When I was 8 years old, with younger ones in our home, older brothers and sisters worked to help Dad provide for so many of us. Those were good times, a simple way of life, and innocent young minds. Old fashioned – yes – and I’m grateful I lived in that time.