Callaway Family Association Blog

Memories of a Nebraska Childhood

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 19:03:00 +0000

Lone Pine, CA
October 1984

Memories of a Nebraska Childhood
by Elizabeth Callaway

I remember my childhood and youth as a time of long, quiet days, in a leisurely cycle of seasonal activities. I was surrounded by my immediate family (father, mother, 2 older brothers) and a web of relatives (grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins through the third degree) and the knowledge of two or three generations past who were referred to and talked about.

My father's parents were Confederates (Missouri and Virginia) and had each homesteaded in Jefferson County, they were the first couple to be married in the county. They had 4 sons and 4 daughters, all of whom lived to adulthood (one son, my mother's first husband, died at 32. None of the family lives in Jefferson County now (1984).

My mother's parents were from the East; my grandmother was born in Pennsylvania. My mother and her 2 older sisters were from the first marriage; a half-sister and half-brother from a second. One sister taught school and put herself through college (Univ. of Chicago I believe) with a Master's degree and never married, living in Washington DC. The brother left early, but the others stayed to be part of the matrix in which I existed. Now, none live there.

Father: Charles Browning Callaway born 1 April 1885; died 22 Dec 1970.
Mother: Elizabeth Henderson Callaway born 14 Dec 1878; died 4 Jan 1967.

Father's parents:
Congrave Clinton Callaway born 1835; died 1932
Elizab Browning Callaway born 1841; died 1919

Mother's parents:
John Henderson dates unknown (he was a Confederate, and a machinist)
Mary Ann Powell Henderson (later Morris) born 10 Feb 1848; died 25 Oct 1935

My mother, in her first marriage, had two sons; Congrave Clinton (the 3rd of that name) and Marion Henderson who died in 1936. Three years a widow, she married my father; I was born 25 Dec 1917.

When I was born, the family lived on a rented farm "the Chambers' Place"; within the year they purchased Meadowvue Farm, five miles north of Fairbury. When "the boys" were ready to go to high school the family rented the farm out, and moved into town (rather than have the boys board in town). For 3 or 4 years we lived in "the house at the Fairgrounds", on an acreage; this land is now part of the Fairground area. Before I started school, at 5, we moved to "the house north of town", an acreage. While I was in college, the folks moved back to Meadowvue; in the 1950s the various mortgages and loans were paid off.

A quarter-section of Meadowvue pastureland is still in my name; native prairie grasses with the ruts of the Oregon Trail still showing.

My Confederate Grandfather

A grade school teacher recommended a movie showing currently at the theater, and my father agreed to take me. Later my mother said something to the effect of "you should really appreciate what your father did for you". I accepted the judgment, and years after realized what it had meant: my father, son of a Confederate soldier, and during whose boyhood Abraham Lincoln was never named in the family, had taken me to a movie about Abraham Lincoln.

My grandfather had been born in Missouri, in a family who had lived below the Mason Dixon line since its arrival on the Virginia shores in the early 1700s. As a matter of course, at the outbreak of the War Between the States, he joined the Missouri Cavalry. One of the family heirlooms (which disappeared into the limbo that old things tend toward) was a frying pan, with a long handle (30 inches perhaps) with a crook in the handle, that had been used to cook over fires in camps during the war.

Grandfather had been a captain, and I remember only 2 stories that Father repeated to me. At one time, some soldier in Grandfather's command had an unruly horse that threatened to become unmanageable. When the soldier was unable to handle the horse, Grandfather whittled spurs out of forked twigs and rode the horse into submission.

For the second tale, the cavalry troop was in a patch of woods surrounded by Union soldiers. Although they were out of supplies, there were wild hogs running in the woods. Either they did not want to shoot the hogs because of giving away their position, or because they were low on ammunition; Grandfather arranged for some of the men to drive the hogs down a path in the brush, and he killed a hog with a rock. And that may have been a more difficult feat than can be pictured by anyone who has not handled hogs.

After the War, Grandfather moved to Nebraska to homestead. He married a young woman from Vifginia, Eliza Browning, whose family had been burned out during Sherman's march to the sea. The family had come through Cumberland Gap in a wagon, with the household things they could rescue, to homestead eventually in Jefferson County. The family menu listed hot biscuits three times a day. Sixty years later, I went off to college ignorant of the fact that anyone could survive on breakfast that did not include hot biscuits and gravy.

In my Grandfather's bedroom, a framed reproduction of a mural showing General Robert E. Lee hugn over the head of the bed, with a silk stars and stripes flag tucked behind the frame. But the music book on th ebiano in the parlor was always left open at the page for "Dixie".

Grandfather and Grandma "neighbored" with the German farmers, immigrants from the Old Country. The other homesteaders were all "Union" people.

When my grandfather died, aged 96, in the early 1930s, he was buried in the Fairbury cemetery. The local American Legion unio furnished a color guard, and a squad who fired a volley (salute ?) over the grave, and a bugler who plays Taps. I heard murmurs of appreciation from the family (50 strong). Much later I realized that this part of the ceremony was a sign that the Civil War was indeed over.

The funeral ceremony was conducted in the house, grandfather's body lay in the bedroom where he died, until the undertaker took it to the town mortuary. Then the body in the grey casket was in the parlor.

Shadow
a dark figure or image cast . . . by a body
intercepting light; a specter or ghost

Journey in late afternoon
Child-me half asleep against the window
watches shadow of the car sliding
along roadside grass
Shadow-shape stretches out
leaping far across the pastureland
scratches over alfalfa stubble and
at the road-cut tucks close again

End of another distant day when Sun
sinks near the west horizon
Crossing Kearsarge Pass
I step quickly toward the east
eager to be moving on the trail
that drops abruptly
down this faulted granite slope
Sunlight from behind me throws
transparent silhouette before my boots
my own shadow a threat of coming night

I see the roadhead
hours below at that level where
jagged shadow-pattern of Sierra peaks
at this moment floods out
across the desert floor
staining ocher earth to dusky mauve

Ice-storm tears down the Powerline
denies our farmhouse electricity and light
Dark thickens in room-corners
Yellow gleam of kerosene lamp on supper table
throws our shadows up all four walls
and across the kitchen ceiling
As we move and lean
above our meal
the shadows move

Elizabeth Callaway
November 2000

He was a tall, straight-backed old man who died at 96 when I was in High School. He had fought in the Civil War, in Pierce's (Army), and was a Captain in a cavalry unit. His parents and theirs had moved west from the Virginia coast, a generation at a time, through Kentucky, Tennessee, to Missouri.

After the war, when Grandfather's mother died (his father had been killed by a group of raiders, a civilian) he moved to Nebraska. Drove a wagon pulled by oxen, with a milk cow tied behind, up the Oregon Trail, accompanied by a friend who homesteaded near him. Any milk leftover from the evening and morning meals was put in a jug and tied to the wagon axle. . .would have butter churned in it by night. Two chairs (little ladder backs with woven seats that were in his house had been tied on the outsides of the wagon. . .and the knobs at the top of the uprights were worn smooth from the rubbing against the wagon.

He chose his farm on the basis of the grass, in Jefferson County, which came to his knees as he rode horseback. This was native prairie grass, of course, adapted beautifully to shallow soil and bitter climate. . .and his farm turned out to be gravel hills (glacier outwash, no doubt). The family always mourned that he had looked at the land in the Blue River Valley (we were on the Little Blue), and passed it up because it had alkali patches. . .but later turned out to make fortunes for the Bohemian farmers who moved into it.

Grandfather said the Little Blue was clear and blue, and that he could see the bottom. . .In 1930s especially before the flood control projects, it ran brown mud.

When Grandfather (his name was Congrave Clinton Callaway. . .and he was called Con or Uncle Con or Cousin Con) chose his quarter section, it was one with a spring. He and his friend (Mr. Ehrett ?) went to the west to the 40th Meridian, located a marker, and after tying a rag onto the wagon wheel, drove east counting revolutions of the wheel. They located their quarter-sections in this fashion, but Grandfather missed his spring by 10 feet.

He and Mr. Ehrett lived in the same one-room cabin until Grandfather married. . .they hauled lumber from the mill in Fairbury.

Grandfather told his 8 children that they must go to school to learn to read, write, and cypher. . because it had been a handicap to him not to be able to do these things. My aunts always read the paper to him. His English was perfact, his accent soft and southern, and my mother, boarded there when she was a schoolteacher in the district, said he never failed to stand when a woman came into the room. Even when he was forced to use a cane.

He sat, when I knew him, in a big wooden chair with leather seat, in a corner of the front room (the original one-room cabin), next to the big front window. . .and next to the base-burner stove in the winter.

Night Time
The quiet house hold no light
only warm dark comfortable around me

I wake easily out of dense sleep
lying curled on the narrow cot in the pantry
The open window beside me
is a dim square of not-quite black

Faint smell of kerosene
from the glass jug in the summer stove
drifts from the dark kitchen
mingles with the scent of dry grass
on night air that sifts
whispering through the window screen

Beyond the pantry wall
thin song of coyotes
floats like smoke across the hills

Endless melancholy mixed with love
coyotes singing
limestone prairie
my Aunt Etta

Etta was the oldest of the 8 Callaway children, my father, Charles was the youngest. Etta & my Uncle Ralph Gray lived in the Rose Creek Hills - South of Fairbury, near the Kansas/Nebraska line. I stayed w/ them sometimes, in the summer - & I loved it.

My grandmother Morris, my mother's mother

Mary Ann Powell married John Henderson, married a Mr. Morris. She died at 76; even in the last years full of vigor and intensity.

A little, neatly built woman with bright blue eyes (the kind where the iris is webbed with more intense colored thread), and grey hair wound up like a crown on top of her head. When grandmother brushed her hair, it hung to her hips; the ends (last 6 inches) and the hair at the nape of her neck was chestnut.

Her favorite was my brother Marion, whose personality was too acid for the average bystander, but whom grandmother met as an equal. However, she was a good grandparent to me. . .given to clicking a noisy, "mouthy" child on the head with the thimble finger (she was sweing a great deal of the time; had done hand-sewing for a tailor), but generous unexpectedly, which may be when a child appreciates it most.

The last few years of her life, she lived in rooms in various places in Fairbury. . .older houses, where one opened the front door, walked up the dark stairway, and knocked on grandma's door-to the accompaniment of dust kicked out of the worn carpet and the smell of heated canned spaghetti for lunch.

Grandma went to the City Library often. I remember as a high school student being astounded when she picked up a novel I was reading, and talked about it. She had read it a month or two before.

When I was in Junior High School, she went off somewhere (in Kansas ?) to a faith healer, to the horror of my mother and my aunts. She described vividly, on her return the "current" she felt when the healer put his hand on her head. I have no idea what was her complaint, since I think she died in bed of general old age, and I was off in college. She had been staying with my aunt Alma at the time; I remember being deeply moved by the information that Aunt Alma and my mother had prepared her body for the mortician. The funeral procession (I went home from school for the funeral, some time in the winter) drove from Wymore to Fairbury, some 30 miles.

Grandma had been born in Bucks (Berks ?) county, Pennsylvania (Pennsylvania Dutch) with a name, Hoopengartner, in the family (Mother corresponded with an Elizabeth Hoopengartner, for years. I've wondered if Mother was named Elizabeth after this woman?) She told her own children that as a girl she had hidden in the bushes and watched birds, trying to figure out why they were different in appearance and habits. After her mother died, her father, Sam Powell, and his 5 or 6 children moved to Iowa and then to Norton County, Kansas. He re-married (to a widow Hall) and the relationships of the various half-brothers and -sisters and their children made a fascinating puzzle to a visiting cousin. They were all faintly red-headed, "sandy" we called that hair and skin color.

Grandma survived, in one way or another, two husbands. Mother said one of her early memories was going, with her younger half-sister Alma (a toddler) down the steps into the dark basement of the Merchants Hotel, in Fairbury. She remembered walking between the sheets hanging on drying lines, to grandma who was washing sheets on a washboard - heavily pregnant with her last child at the time.

When Mother was a country school teacher she went home weekends, and her sisters, too, to the "house on A Street." Grandma ran a boarding house (no rooms to let, just meals), noted for good food. Railroad men (Fairbury was a Division point on the Rock Island RR; train crews "laid over" in town) signed a list hoping for the privilege of eating at Mrs. Morris' boarding house.

She had long tables for the boarders. Served fired eggs (soft) on stacks of pancakes (not hot cakes, said they were different) to conserve on butter. Made jelly glasses out of bottles and jars by soaking a string in kerosene, tying string around the bottle, setting the string on fire and then dipping the bottle into a tub of cold water. Mother said, on summer weekends, they (g-ma, and daughters) would have marvelous water fights in the backyard. Their well was one where the bucket was lowered on a rope; every cupful of thrown water had been earned!

She had 4 daughters: Lola, Bertha, Elizabeth (Lizzie), and Alma, and one son, Frank. All the women were unique, intelligent and aggressive. Frank had a "bad name" for which I never had an explanation. He lived in Chicago at one time, had been a clown with Barnum and Bailey Circus; moved onto grandma's farm in Canada (in Alberta ?) later, in the 1930s.

Edith Mary Lemon Chambers-Kellaway Memoirs

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 18:08:00 +0000

EDITH MARY LEMON CHAMBERS-KELLAWAY
MEMOIRS (Written 1981-1984)

I was born on Sept 24, 1889 in Hastings – a suburb of Calcutta in Bengal in what was then British India. This was where grandfather, my mother’s father lived with his family of four sons and two daughters. Mother’s brother Arthur and Flo her next sister had been educated in England and had just returned to India. The next three sons were in college in Calcutta and the youngest daughter Dora was in boarding school at (Nainital)?

When I was three months old mother took me to Jhansi where father was stationed. I remember nothing naturally for the next two or three years but then we three returned to Calcutta where father has been posted. Now we had our own home, a bungalow with verandas on three sides and a large compound with out houses for the living quarters of the servants and the kitchen.

My mother having lived in India all her life, spoke fluent Hindustan and always supervised the making of pickles, chutneys, sauces and jams etc. The native cooks were wonderful and make the most tasty and appetizing dishes. Mother always went to the market and did the shopping. A coolie was hired at the gates and carried the parcels in a flat round basket on his head. Oh yes mother got to the market in a hired ghosty and when she was finished shopping another one was hired and the parcels put in. The coolie paid and she returned home and gave over the materials for the day’s meal to the Bhoji (cook). We had several servants as the caste system prevents one caste from doing another caste's work (like the unions) Besides the cook we had his mate a houseboy, a table boy, a mail (the gardener), and of course my precious Ayah. We loved each other very much and I spoke Hindi before I spoke English.

Our washroom arrangements were very primitive and were looked after by the Mehta and his (wife?) A large tub of water stood in a cemented portion of the bathroom where there was an outlet for the water to run off and one just stood and dripped a tin pot in the tub and shower. No hot water was ever needed! Sometimes a snake would be found coiled up on the cool cement floor! I should imagine that by this time my sister Sylva had arrived, she was two and a half years younger than I. Ayah would now have 2 babes to care for and love. I rather think the ayah had a room next to ours, she would only need a charboy (native camp bed) to sleep on, she would of course eat in the servants quarters as her caste would not allow her to eat our food and indeed use any of our utensils. I never remember any but the one Ayah and in fact my mother’s servants seem to be with her forever. If one of them wanted to go to his mulak (village) he would get a brother or cousin to keep his place for him until he got back.
Before I close this part of my tale I must say a little about our daily routine. Chote hazari (little breakfast) about 6:30am, mainly fruit eaten in the veranda, and what a variety, guavas, custard, apples, melon, oranges, plantains (bananas) and a big grapefruit like thing with pink sections (pomelos) like an orange, delicious and of course the tea for the grownups and I expect milk for me. Then hagari ( breakfast) Tiffin? (lunch) chiefly curry and rice and for me what the cook called plish plash(chicken and rice done up with white sauce, sounds awful but I guess I liked it. No tea time that I can remember but dinner, generally something roasted fresh each night. I guess I had bread and milk! I have no idea of the activities of the day but I expect I played about and I am sure listened to endless Indian fairy tales told by Ayah.

Two other things before I leave this phase of my life. The riot of flowers in the garden but none that I can remember as being suitable for vases indoors, also the verandas were hung with curtains made of a grass like substance called Khms khmstatis? and which where watered by the mali (gardener) scented the air as it blew through them.

Part II EDITH MARY LEMON CHAMBERS-KELLAWAY, memoirs

In the first part of my story I have recorded my life as it had been told me at various times by various people. From now on I shall depend a great deal on my own memories.

We moved from our bungalow nearer to the city and to a house. I know it had a second story because I can remember most vividly mother coming downstairs in her evening dress with her ostrich feather fan hanging from her wrist. Mother and father went out quite a lot, chiefly I think to theatrical events. Both were keen in the theater. Companies came out from England daring the cold weather, some with plays and others variety companies. Father wrote reviews for one of the papers so we had free seats. I think I saw my first play, The Sign of the Cross, when I was about 8 years old. Father loved entertaining the casts and one popular way was to have a launch and sail down to the Hoogli river to the sanderbunds where it met the Ganges and formed a great estuary of sandbanks. The banks on either side were jungle and filled with the chattering of monkeys.

About this time there was a change in family arrangements, my grandfather married again, a young woman, young enough to be his daughter, in fact she had been a bridesmaid to my mother. Uncle Arthur and Auntie Flo, the two next in age to mother, left home and Auntie Flo came to live with us. She had been educated in England and was very talented, she painted and played the piano (this extremely well) and how I first became conscious of music. Mother had a beautiful voice and there was constant singing in the house with Auntie accompanying mother. Auntie could read practically anything at sight.

Mother and Auntie rode every morning, mother being stout had to mount from a chair and I well remember one morning the horse kicking over the chair. There was great consternation among the servants but I don’t think mother was hurt. She still paid her daily visit to the market and I went along sometimes.

With the coming of Auntie Flo into the family I am sure I was beginning to have lessons, she was the clever one of the family and had as I have mentioned been educated in England. I suppose otherwise we just played about and had an afternoon sleep. I expect to what pish pash had been taken over by a mild curry and rice or rather dahl and rice (dahl was lentils). After 4 o’clock Ayah and one of the younger house boys would take us in a hired gharry to the maidan - a large common where all the children played. The boys flew kites helped by their young servants. The sky was full of kites of all colors and sizes. The maidan and Eden Gardens were on one side of a wide red road called Chowringhee. The Hoogli River ran along the other side. Chowringhee was the place for everyone to take the air and listen to the Band from the gardens. About six o’clock we went home and had supper and went to bed. I should imagine that I was about 7 or 8 and Sylvia 5.

One evening Uncle Harry a bachelor friend of the family came along in his dog cart, took us children into town to eat ice cream, the first in India. Ayah had taken off our frocks and we were in our petticoats but Uncle Harry didn’t notice and I don’t think we cared, but Ayah was horrified.

I suspect we had the usual childish complaints. I know we had the mumps because at the house there was a total eclipse of the sun and Sylvia was too sick to watch it. I went out with all the others with our smoked glasses.

A familiar sight in Indian houses was the Dhirzee (tailor) he would sit out on a sheet on one of the verandas with the machine at his feet, a billow of white muslin and fine calico billows around. He made all our clothes and could copy a dress or other garment from a picture.

I must insert this as there are one or two I want to mention. Mother and father went to the odd government house functions and one when Lord Curzon? was Viceroy. I was asked to a birthday party of one of his daughters, Lady Cynthia I think, the youngest who became Lady Cynthia Choseley. I had no dress grand enough mother thought, so she got the Dhirzee to cut up one of her evening dresses, I expect it was very grand and probably covered in lace.

There were no shoe shops, all the footwear was made by china men, to order. There was one street in Calcutta for these wonderful shoemakers.
We always wore sashes and I remember when grandfather died they were black.

One of the houses we lived in was next to the lodge. Father was an ardent freemason and was worshipful master for a spell while we were there. Mother used to lend Chedi our cook for their banquets and he brought back some of the luscious desserts for the babas.

Auntie Dora, Mother's youngest sister, stayed with us for the holidays, she was teaching music in her old school in Naini Tal and used to go over to the lodge and play on the big organ there and I always went with her.

We went to the hills for the hot weather and one other of the stations Gom Kurseong or to Darjeeling the longest and highest. These stations were in the foothills of the Himalayas and we could see Mount Everest and Kinchinjenga quite distinctly. The hills were our perfect paradise, waterfalls everywhere and the eternal snows in the distance. It took two days and one night from Calcutta. We went by train and then in a ferry across the very wide river and the last part into the hills themselves in a little mountain train drawn by an immensely powerful engine. The carriages were like light open train cars wound up and up and round hairpin bends we could lean across and shake hands with people in the cars round the bend before or after. The various paths up the hillsides were covered with bushes with wild berries of every kind. There were wild animals, panthers and bears but only the bears came down where the bungalows were. They would snuffle about at night looking for food in the rubbish bins. We used to be afraid but they never harmed us. The waterfalls ended as big pools with masses of wild flowers which one could not pick as some would be covered with leeches - I know - I picked some once!

We stayed about three months in the hills and then back home to Calcutta. While in the hills I suppose we had local Bhutias but Ayah always was with us.

Grandfather died about this time and I suppose the family split up, everyone was grown up anyway. Auntie Flo left now and I think kept house for Uncle Arthur.

Now we were for England for the very first time in our lives – even mother who was by then 30 years old and I think had not been born in England (she was born in Australia). Father his father, brothers and sisters were all there, Grandfather two uncles and five sisters. Both mother and father had 8 in the family and now we were getting ready to leave for England. We traveled there by ship of the Messageries Maritime.

Part III EDITH MARY LEMON CHAMBERS-KELLAWAY memoirs

We were on our way to England via Marseilles, I can’t remember much about the voyage except that there seemed to be many children. We had our meals apart from the grownups - looked after by the stewardesses. I expect we were a pretty useless lot having always had Ayahs in attendance. Being a French steamer I expect there were quite a few French people as the French had a small colony on the East coast called Ponolicheri. From France to England overland but I can’t remember way of the journey. Finally in London at a boarding house in West Kensington. I think must have been rather hoydens and mother had quite a job keeping us quiet.

Mother as I remember had something wrong with one of her feet and was confined to the house. Sylvia was left with her and father took me to Fladbury in Worcestershire to see his father and a cousin Robert Cowley and his wife Margery and their 2 small children. They were living in the old home where father had been born and were looking after grandfather who was quite old by now. I don’t know whether I remember him or the picture I had of him and my grandmother but I know he was quite surprised to find that I was not brown.

I think I must have stayed there a long time as I seemed to remember the place so well. The 2 children much younger than I, and going to the little country church where Aunt Marjorie played the organ.

The house was very old and one of the many near Worcester where Bonnie Prince Charles took refuge after his defeat. This was a great deal of land, orchards and vegetable gardens etc. Grandfather was a gentlemen farmer. He let out his grounds to growers of fruit and vegetables. He was reputed to grow the finest asparagus in the country. It must have been quite late in the summer as I remember so well the beautiful______ plums and the wasps.

From Fladbury father took me to Yorkshire to see his sister Bertha, married to a country doctor, Dr. Walker. I stayed there with them for several months. Bertha was a horrid person and even slapped me on one occasion. Uncle Ted didn’t like this and from then took me on his rounds in his dog cart. The groom sat up behind and when uncle went into the cottages he stood at the horses head. Years afterwards when I was living in Colombo he came to see me; he was then a ship’s doctor having sold his practice, left auntie whom he said he couldn’t stand anymore! Years after this I visited him and his very nice 2nd wife in Southampton where he had returned.

Now was to come one of father's more grandiose schemes. He took a house in a small town down in Hornchurch Essex and, furnished it from attic to cellar by Maples of London. Furnished down to the last teaspoon and monogrammed it Boughton-Chambers.

Mother could not face this in spite of having a wonderful maid and lots of help and advice from some refined Indian Civil Service people who lived opposite. I can’t remember much of this time but I do remember the vicarage where ___the vicar and his wife grew green figs. The Hornchurch episode did not last long, mother simply couldn’t take it.

Father must have disappeared for a day or two because he had found another place; this was to be home for about 3 years. He came in one day saying he had found part of a large house and discovered a character. How right he was. When we got to 34 Wellington Square Chelsea the door was opened to us by a wizened old lady with bright red hair, hennaed. She owned the house or rather her front first floor lodger did. She apparently had been housekeeper to the Nicholls family for years; they were English country folk and eccentric. Two brothers and a sister had been the sole survivors of the family, the older brother died and I expect the sister was put away as she apparently sat all day in her hunting outfit, complete with top hat.

The youngest son, about 71 or 75 then I think asked Mrs. Lewis to take over the London house and look after him. This she had done and decided to let the rest of the house. We had the first floor, the chief bedrooms in the old home but our living room and ___ ___bedroom at the back, a bathroom also at the back. __ rooms upstairs (maid’s rooms originally and a kitchen in the basement with an old kitchen range. Mother couldn’t possibly manage a kitchen in the basement so there must have been another small room near the bathroom because I remember her doing all the cooking on two kerosene stoves. Probably Beatrice like father used in his Pinner house (many years later according to Aunt Barbara???) Anyhow we settled in and it was home for 3 years or more.

Wellington Square and others off the Kings Road in Chelsea had been quite fashionable once. The houses were built around 3 sides of the square with a garden in the middle. The gardens were for the sole use of the tenants of the houses and were kept locked. The tenants had keys.
On thinking it over Mrs. Lewis must have had the front basement room for herself and we had the use of the kitchen at the back, shared with her as she would have had to cook for herself and Mr. Marshall. So there would always be a fire in the range where mother would be able to roast a joint or____. I remember a hip bath where we had run baths at night in front of the range.

Father made well at this time and was often coming home with tickets for the coliseum or other shows and I know we went to the Drury Lane Pantomime that winter. I saw Dan Leno as the ___ in Jack and the beanstalk. I remember this perfectly. Father also took us to Peter Jones in the Sloane square and for us outfitted up with grey coats and skirts and button boots, black velvet hats. He just handed us over to one of the saleswomen!!

Father was editor of the Indian Freemason (magazine) and was writing a serial for it all the time. I had to type his monthly contribution for the printer. I don’t know exactly how it happened but on one occasion there was a pink slip to be included errata. I think it was called. The slips were apparently, presumably a hideous error, somehow father got in touch with a fellow mason and the impossible was done. The print master was a mason and mother was allowed to go to the GPO and put in the slips before various port officers personnel. Even more exciting was that President Jonbere of France was visiting London that day and mother had to be escorted to the post office by the police as the traffic had been stopped. This story is absolutely true.

Shortly after, father had to go before the medical board for permission to return to India. He failed and was put on half pay for six months, failed again and on quarter pay for another three then fellow masons used their influence and he went back but we had a very thin time for those months and our mainstay was dhal and rice!

Now Auntie Edie one of father’s sisters came into the picture and into the family and what a godsend she was. She was studying to be a teacher at Whiteland’s College in Chelsea and when father went, she came to live with us. Our lessons began in earnest and she took complete charge. She taught us to ride the bicycle running around the square holding us (we hired the bike). She also taught us to skate in Battersea Park where the pond was frozen that winter. She put our hair up in rags each night and we had gorgeous ringlets in the morning and got us made some nice clothes. She and mother went out to theatres and concerts now and then and was really getting used to England at last.

We used to go to church either at St Peters Eaton Square or All Saints (I think) Sloane and the verger would tell her of any society weddings that were to take place and she dressed us up and we went and were once mistaken for guests and given favours! Beside all these improvements in our lives we now went to the public Baths once a week. We still kept up our nightly hip baths in front of the kitchen range. Mrs. Lewis was an old darling and helped mother a great deal. We got to know old Mr. Nicholls very well. Saw him every day, he was crippled with rheumatism and could no longer paint but he thought Sylvia was a lovely child and would have liked to paint her. She took after father’s family with her aristocratic features. I was the ugly duckling .

About this time I began to go to a day school, a convent in the Kings Rd. I loved school and was their little Indian. Our life went on in this pleasant way for I should think two or three years when father was invalided home with sprue, a tropical complaint. He was admitted to St. Thomas hospital but didn’t like being a number so mother got him into St Thomas home. Auntie Edie must have finished her training and found a post because now we were on our own. We moved from Wellington Square to as small town in Bedford Park near Chiswick and father came home to us there but was still very ill. He was in bed and ___to live on champagne. I expect mother's __brothers helped with money or perhaps the Masons again. I know we had a maid. Both Sylvia and I went now, to the Chiswick Girls High School. It was still there when I was back in England years after.

I don’t remember much about this time of my life but father got better I suppose and we went back to India, this time to Bombay on the west coast and so began another phase of my life. Of the voyage I can remember nothing, I suppose it was a P&O steamer. I can well remember one voyage later from Ceylon to Plymouth, more of this later.

Part IV EDITH MARY LEMON CHAMBERS-KELLAWAY memoirs

The west coast of India was new to all of us. Bombay was a fine city with a lovely harbour with many small islands one of them Elephanta with the famous caves, rock carving of the Hindu deities. On the other side was Back Bay the Indian Ocean with a beautiful sandy beach where at sunset we could see scores of Pansees praying to the setting sun. On our side of the bay was Colaba where the barracks were and on the other Malabar Hill, the Rockcliffe of Bombay.

Our first home was on the harbour side overlooking the Bombay yacht club but later we moved to Colaba. The climate was horrid, very hot and eternally steamy, it soon disagreed with me. It was decided that Sylvia and I would go up to the hills to a boarding school. The school was in a place called Panchgani in the western ghots. First the journey. We started by train and at one point where the line was on a spur of the mountain there could be no curving round so an engine was attached to the end of the train which became the front and we proceeded on the other layer of the spur. The station was called Khandala but was named the reversing station. We went up further for an hour or so to a station - Wathar and then detrained and got into a great lumbering Victoria like carriage drawn by four mules. The mules were changed every four hours until we finally got to Panchgani. This was a lovely place and had besides our school, a boy’s school and a convent. There were quite a number of houses as many retired couples settled there. There was also a Church of England and I suppose a catholic church, a tennis club and a cemetery.

From the school we could look down to the valley about 1000 feet below. A path wound up from the valley sometimes widening out into a ledge narrow at first but the ledges getting wider as one climbed. On the first of the wider ledges was our school bakery and dairy, the next even wider were the school building living quarters, dormitories of the ___and rooms for the staff. Dividing these rooms was the dining room and I suppose the kitchens. Further up still, came the schoolrooms, gymnasium and surgery and the hospital. It was a lovely little cottage with a nurse and several Ayahs. Everyone had an ambition to get sick so as to go there. There were also tennis courts on this ledge. Then came the roads for the various buildings I have mentioned. The road was of red earth with hedges on either side and in the monsoons these were covered in mushrooms and sweet peas - lovely.

We had yet another church to the final ledge which was really three tablelands with a lake. The tablelands were practically flat and made wonderful playgrounds. We had one; the boy’s school one and the convent the third. We played field hockey and cricket. We played tennis at odd times but the games on tableland were every afternoon. We had a stiff climb up to the tableland. In one monsoon the ground was carpeted with blue and white flowers. We called them bluebonnets and snowdrops. Tablelands were caves but we were not allowed to explore them. There were probably jackals and hyenas and snakes in them. Panchgani was quite a large community and had probably some consul or other but we didn’t bother about outside affairs.

Towards the end of November we went back to our homes in the plains for about 3 months, the school year was about 9 months and for the hot weather the mothers came up and took furnished bungalows and we went home for weekends. When the monsoons broke, generally with a fierce thunderstorm the rain just fell down and the noise on the roofs was deafening. It sometimes rained for weeks and when there was a break Miss Kimmens, our principal would say no lessons and send us for a walk, it was then that we saw lovely roses and sweet peas on the hedges and everything was fresh and wonderful. The heavy rains lasted about 3 months, the rest of the time the weather was beautiful.

I had started lessons in earnest and was to prepare for senior Cambridge the following year, I did and passed.

In our first winter in Bombay we met a family of the name McClumphis - two older boys had been in the cathedral choir and the younger ones were still singing there. Evie the older girl, older than I, was taking singing lessons with Dr. Faulkner. She also played the piano. I think this is the first time I found I had a nice voice. What lovely musical evenings we had at the McClumnphis singing around the piano.

When I got back to school I began to take lessons in singing with our music teacher and tried for the senior trinity college senior exams but failed in sight singing. One of the masters in the boy's school played my accompaniment and after that when he was at one of Miss Kimmens evening social gatherings he always asked that I be allowed to sing. He became quite a heart throb for me!!! The staffs of the two schools were practically all English university people and I think our education was of a very high standard. Algebra and Euclid were taught by a Pundit, an Indian teacher... As far as I remember we were an exceptionally happy bunch of girls.

There are a few more experiences which I must add to the Panchgani part of my life. Although we were in school for nine months of the year we had road holidays; sometimes were taken for picnics to beauty spots, chiefly waterfalls. We went by bullock cart not luxurious but fun. At other times we were allowed to ramble in groups of four and often went to the valley below us which was a Hindu place of pilgrimage and had many temples which of course we were not allowed to enter. The natives of Wai village were rather hostile to white “log” people, but we did not seem to mind as we chattered away to the women and children in Hindustani. In the strawberry seasons Mrs. Kimmens got a reliable man to come in for the____Falls and we had bowls of strawberries and cream for breakfast instead of porridge. She also had a reliable man who came every Saturday with native sweets, absolutely mouth watering and dripping with delicious juices. There were fehabies, russagotas, halwa and others whose names I have forgotten. We had unknown to the staff, or winked at, midnight feasts, chiefly curry and rice made by the Ayahs finished off with tins of sweet condensed milk.

There was a tragic note when the plague came to Panchgani. The natives died like this and it even struck a poor white family and wiped out mother, father and their five children. Ironically every native not stricken ran away, all the native huts were burnt down and the Padre and his auntie, the RC priest and the doctor, one of two ladies including mother got the white bodies ready for burial. During these weeks all the schools evacuated to Mahableshwar, the summer seat of the Bombay government. We were put into various bungalows and there was one for meals and school. We did our lessons under the trees. There was no labour to speak of and when our shoes were torn we had to mend them for ourselves with paper and string. We walked miles and miles from place to place. We were glad to get back to Panchgani but glad to have seen Mahableseshwar which was lovely. I think from what I have recounted that it will be agreed that our school was unique and that we were a happy crowd. We had lots of entertainment. We always acted the Shakespeare play we were doing that year and I had spelling and geography bees in which the boys took part.

The fashion then was to find a musical comedy star to be like; Sylvia was like Phyllis Ware, someone else like Marie Stadholme etc. I was not beautiful enough, in fact I was plain Jane, so the mistresses said I could be like Ellen Terry because I had an expressive face.

We went down to Bombay, very cold weather, and when I was seventeen we all went to Calcutta to spend Christmas with Uncle Arthur and His wife Auntie Bertie. I put up my hair and was quite grown up and we had a lovely time. We met Auntie Flo again; she was living at Arthur’s I think with Uncle and Auntie.

Life went on happily for about four years or so and then I left Panchgani very reluctantly for good. Mother and father by then had moved to Calab the military side of Bombay and I had my 21st birthday and my first bicycle there. I used to sing a great deal now and learned many songs some mother had sung. Soldiers passing by to the barracks often stood outside and listened to me. I loved singing. We were generally with the McClumpha’s and life was fairly conundrum. Sylvia and I were getting bored with nothing to do but please ourselves, so decided that she would train as a nurse and I as a teacher. Father was much against it but we were determined and decided on Poona, not far from Bombay but at a higher altitude and dry. She went to the Sassoon Hospital and I to St Mary’s Training College.

Part V EDITH MARY LEMON CHAMBERS-KELLAWAY memoirs

St Mary’s was very different from our school in Panchgani. It was a large school with a Teachers training department. There were only six of us while I was there; the school proper was on one side of the road and a small cottage and large Kindergarten building on the other. It was very hot in Poona with 45 degrees during the day, but dry. We did all our work either in the early morning or after 5 pm. We all went into our dormitories and slept a couple of hours. I enjoyed my studies and besides the teacher's training I started to work for the Cambridge higher exam. I did psychology and English private coaching during the cold weather holidays. I could not manage the math, a compulsory subject.

On most afternoons I went over to the kindergarten building where there was a piano and sang my heart out accompanying myself after a fashion. We had to give lessons in the school proper for practical training. One fairly momentous thing happened during those two years. It was the year of the Delhi (Durtar?) and King George V, and Queen Mary were to arrive in Bombay. Father had special seats for the reception of their majesties and wanted us to be there. Sylvia had no difficulty in getting leave but sister superior said I could not go. Father wrote saying history was being made and I was to go! So grudgingly permission was given and off we went to Bombay. Sylvia and I had no money so went 3rd class and what a trip it was! We spent the night killing bugs!!! Needless to say Father would not allow us to return the same way. It was a very colorful show with speeches and bands but not of course like the Nurbar was. We had a very good view of the majesties. I remember King George stood on a low stool as he was a little shorter than the Queen.

I was not very happy at St Mary’s but enjoyed my studies. Sister Maud was an interesting and I think a good teacher, and very important to me. She loved poetry; she read beautifully and would take out her books of poems at any time if we encouraged her. She was especially fond of Robert Browning, so I have been ever since then. I did my psychology with her, and history with the history mistress of the school proper, and passed in the Higher Local Cambridge in both. However, I never got a certificate as I could not get the grade required in math. I had a special tutor one Christmas holiday, but still could not attain the standard. We had done very little math in my school days. Anyhow, I got my Teacher’s certificate, and soon after there was an application from Bishop’s College in Colombo for a teacher. There were several necessary requirements, which I thought I hadn’t got, but Sister Superior said I had, so off I went to Ceylon (now Sri Lanka).

Part VI EDITH MARY LEMON CHAMBERS-KELLAWAY memoirs

That cold weather city was a busy bustling one. I expect the Dhirzee was in every day making all sorts of garments. I was quite worried about my inadequacy to do all that would be required of me about somewhere I suppose. One thing I knew I must get cleared up and that was teaching singing. I had lessons myself but knew nothing about teaching a class. However, I saw Dr. Faulkner who gave me a few ideas, but who also scolded me as he said that using my voice in a classroom all day would ruin it. However this didn’t worry me and as it happened I never felt my voice was unduly strained. I expect I had been taught to use it properly. I have an idea that it was this winter that Halley’s Comet was visible. What a glorious sight that was. We went up to the roof about 3am and there it was stretched across the sky. This would be 1911; I’d like to find out if it was that winter; anyhow around that time as I know we saw it from the flat roof of our house in Colaba, and I was not in that house for more that one or two holidays. I was 23 years old and about to go out into the world on my own. I expect I felt a bit afraid. I expect all traveling arrangements were made by Father and I set off, I remember on a small coastal steamer; (I shared) a cabin with the granddaughter of General Booth of the Salvation Army. I can’t remember the voyage or arriving in Colombo but I must have got there, because it was the beginning of a very happy period of my life.

I loved every minute of my life in Bishop’s College. The school was run by the East Grinstead Sisters, so very different from St. Mary’s and the Wantage Sisters (both were Anglican - not Catholic). I was by far the youngest member of the staff - about six residents and a couple of visiting teacher’s. Ruby Hillyer taught music and became a great friend. I was married at her house. She later married one of the Eastern Telegraph men and we continued our friendship until she died, while we were all in England.

The Bishop of Colombo was our Patron and he and Mrs. Copplestone took an interest in the staff. I became quite a favorite of theirs and spent many holidays with them in Nuwera Elya. They were the dearest couple and so gentle and lived quietly in an aristocratic way. They were cousins and were connected with the Fox-Strangeways. The Bishop’s brother was the Metropolitan Bishop of India. I spent much of my time with the Copplestones, up country especially. They liked to hear my singing and I sang the songs from my classical book without accompaniment. I don’t know whether Barbara will remember my book of soprano songs by Brahms, Grieg Arne and others.

Now I must get down to my reason for being in Colombo. We had a resident staff of about six I think I have said, and I was by far the youngest. My form (class) was ten-year olds; they were bright and no problem with discipline, and they liked to learn. The 6th from where I took arithmetic was not so easy. I had hardly gone much further in arithmetic, and worked out all problems in advance, so that I could do any explaining needed. The singing was a joy - the children sang very sweetly and just like me. I rushed from the altos to the sopranos and we got on famously. We tried for a local competition and won the Shield both years I was there, although I kept up the singing after I was married. We tried for a Trinity College exam but failed and the examiner told me that my conducting was the fault.

Colombo had little outside entertainment by visitors from abroad but we made our own, and I was soon roped in to join the Amateur Operatic Society. We put on many shows, light and more serious stuff like Omar Kayham, and I was in everything. I loved it but was tired during the day and used to get the children doing much on their own while I closed my eyes for a few minutes.

We had outdoor diversions—golf and tennis, and bathing at Mount Lavinia. There were more men than girls and we never lacked for escorts. Most of us joined the Ladies’ Gold club so that we could return some of the hospitality given by the men.

We had a Chapel in the school and had the usual offices of the day from Matins to Compline. We were required to attend whenever we were free, so we all wore capes like Miss Muffet’s.

My doctor uncle Ted came to see me once as he had left Auntie Berth. He sold his practice and joined a ship as doctor for a year or two. He took me out while in port. One of the forms of entertainment was movies on the roof of the G.O.H. (Green Oonebal(?) Hotel ) one of the two big hotels – the other was the Galle face Hotel on the sea front, a popular place for sitting in the cool of the evening, having lemon and other innocuous drinks and eating chips and nuts.

I think I loved every hour of my two years or so in Bishop’s College. I had two friends on the staff, Esther Stewart and Ethel Sutch, the latter was my bridesmaid when I married Teddy. I resumed my friendship afterwards in England when I went to her home on, I think the Duke of Wellington’s estate; her father was the librarian in the big house.

Among the men I met (in Ceylon) was Teddy Kellaway, with whom we made an occasional four at tennis. He was one the best players in the Garden Club and I was not in the same class, but I expect he put up with that, as apparently he had made up his mind to marry me. I was quite interested in two other men, but Teddy was more determined that they were; anyway as soon as war was declared (1914) we got engaged and were married the following February.

I was married in the Parish Church, and thought the Vicar would marry us, but Mrs. Copplestone was that the Bishop would be quite hurt if I didn’t ask him, so I did and he did. Father came over to meet Teddy and later to give me away. He was stationed in Poona and close to retirement. Mother and Sylvia had gone to England where Sylvia went to Guy’s hospital to continue her training. I went to Bombay for Christmas and stayed with Friends and had my trousseau made—not by a Dhirzee this time but by a little French dressmaker. Ruby Hillyer had the wedding at her house and the Bishop said a lot of nice things about me.

We spent out honeymoon in Kandy and then took a furnished bungalow. As I have said, I kept on the singing at the school and had one private pupil. Life went on as before, with golf, tennis, dinner parties, and we spent until the end of the war in this way. Teddy’s was a reserved occupation and women were not allowed to travel. We hardly knew that there was a war, except when the Australian soldiers passed through Colombo, wreaking havoc in the town, and when they returned wounded and crippled from the front.

We had a black out along the sea front as the “Emden” was around. (German battleship). I did not see so much of the Copplestones after I was married; I don’t think they cared for Teddy, so I was generally asked to Tiffin, although we were invited to the occasional dinner party which Teddy found boring. I got to know and became a great friend of the Atkins and the Parfitts, whom Barbara knew later; in fact Moffat Atkins was her godmother, and the Parfitts were very good to Marjorie and me when I left Teddy for the first time - that story comes later.

Part VII EDITH MARY LEMON CHAMBERS-KELLAWAY memoirs

It was late April or May (1919?) before we left Colombo. We sailed on an Orient Line boat (???) a long voyage of about three weeks. We had to put in at Karachi to take on troops, so there were adjustments to be made on the ship. Father had Teddy and me visit him in Poona where he was stationed. I thought he had retired and volunteered his service again, but actually he was still in the service and went from India to Aden (during the war) in charge of supplies, where he stayed I suppose until the end of the war. We stayed in Poona for a few days and then rejoined the ship. The voyage turned out to be a most pleasant one. The captain had a fine voice and had a piano. I had his quarters. I and another woman passenger who could sing left our music in his stateroom or whatever it was called, and we practiced quite a lot and sang for the soldiers. The captain had had (Nellie) Melba (opera star) as a passenger on occasion and had had a lesson or two from her. He was a most sociable person and had little morning parties of champagne and very delectable eats. I really enjoyed myself, and Teddy did with a Bridge crowd as he wasn’t interested in music - he came to the morning snacks though!

(In England) we stayed with mother and Sylvia who were then in a nice house in Forest Hill in southeast London I think - near Woolwich (Arsenal). We were sent to Malta in October or thereabouts and began another chapter of our life.

After our stay with Mother, Teddy took me to see his people whom I had not yet met. They lived in Guildford, his mother and sister Mable, her husband Len, and their dear little girl Phyllis, their first daughter and Teddy and my's first niece. Guildford was very pretty, with lovely surrounding country where we had many drives. I was a bit appalled at the enormous servings of food dished up at every meal - I had not a great appetite. We liked each other and were friends, even after I left Teddy; Mabel was a dear; Teddy’s mother often visited us when we got back to England from Malta and had our first real home in Hampton.

But now to Teddy’s next posting in Malta, where I stayed two years and Teddy three. I had Barbara while there and wanted to show her to her grandparents, so she and I returned when she was a year old. It was a very company life, as the Eastern Telegraph Company (later cable and wireless) and navy were about the only other residents, except the Maltese of course. Our people lived mainly in Sliema, and the Navy in Valetta the other side of the harbour. There was a big crowd of us and we had a very social life - sailing and swimming, tea parties and dinners, and we put on quite a number of musical shows with Marjorie’s godmother and Betty Bell—especially Kootie, who was really Ethal, but she was a little thing, so I called her the Singhalese word for little. We lived in enormous houses—furnished - with marble floors and quite impressive stairs. We all had one maid and, where there were children, two.

Kootie had a baby boy, eight months older than Barbara, so we each had a young nursery maid. We lived very near each other, and went swimming every morning. The climate was lovely in winter but a bit oppressive in the summer months. Valetta was the capital and Sliemas a suburb. We crossed over the harbour by ferry as we did all our shopping in Valetta. I don’t really remember much about it except the goats which strolled along all the streets, which were very dirty. The opera house was in Valetta and during the season we had a Box—L2 for the season I think it was. The chorus was locally recruited, but the principals came from Italy. Carnival time before Lent was very jolly and there were fancy dress balls etc. I became very friendly with two Maltese sisters, very musical, and they me arias from operas. About this time the Mills were due to leave Malta, so I decided to go home with them. Teddy had another year to go. We left Malta on a fairly small ship and ran into terrible weather. We were all sick, including the children, but we finally got to Sicily and then on to Naples. We stayed a few days in Rome and again in Paris, and at last to Calais, Dover and London.

Barbara and I stayed with mother in Forest Hill and did not venture far as I had Barbara to look after. We spent pleasant afternoons in Horniman Gardens and (???) there. Mother’s little girl, or young girl who used to help with the housework, helped too with Barbara. While in Benson Road we had a fire - I saw the fire engine and showed it to Ba, not realizing that it was in front of our house. The fireman were in charge and Mother at a neighbour’s opposite. It had not been much of a fire, but the mess with soot and water was dreadful. It took days to clean up - a job I was not used to.

Things are a bit hazy now but eventually Father got back from Aden and Teddy from Malta, and a bungalow was bought in Hampton where we all moved. This was our first home.

PART VIII EDITH MARY LEMON CHAMBERS-KELLAWAY memoirs

I shall probably spend a little while over the next few pages as, in spite of great unhappiness and the final break-up of my married life, I was happy and I think we all were for 3 or 4 years. I loved my home—it was a dear pretty place and I had Barbara. We started off with Mother and father but that arrangement didn’t last - the house was really too small and of course Father wasn’t boss. He soon found a nice flat in Richmond, where we were constant visitors, as Mother was to my home. I really don’t remember much about Father but he took long cycling trips all over the country; he continued well into his 80’s.

I had great ideas about perfecting the home and Teddy always was interested and paid the bills. First there was the garden - a large piece of land, quite overgrown, we had hedges planted and lawn; the making of the garden was now underway. We had privet hedges, golden on the short side and green on the other two; they were about 2 feet high and I longed for the day they would be six, and I cold sit on our quite big lawn in privacy. (They are now and this I know because years and years later my dentist in Ottawa, Dr. Timmers, lived in Hampton - in fact went to the same prep school as Barbara, though I didn’t even know her then - and has been often to see her parents and says the house looks lovely, the hedges tall and the roses still a joy.)

We had the most beautiful roses along the front path, beds of standard and bush alternating. And at the side - I think there were about 100 bushes. How I loved picking them and filling my bowls, and the scent was heavenly. The job was to keep them, dead blooms plucked and paths weeded. We had a garage - prefabricated - but no car, so what would have been the driveway was a vegetable garden. Barbara had a swing just inside the garage and could swing in all weathers. We had a gardener twice a week who kept things trim and put a bet of a bob each way for a horse at the races across the water - Kempton Park I think it was called.

Having got the garden started and in a way established, I now had plans for the house. We got hold of Mr. March, who had built the house, and said we wanted to enlarge. He suggested a kitchen to the place of the existing one, and as it was on the side of the other two bedrooms made that a third. Behind that was a very small room - these were eventually the children’s rooms and the other for Florrie - Mother’s cleaning girl who came as my maid and stayed five years until she married. Behind the dining room was built on the kitchen, not large but compact and most convenient. We now had three bedrooms, a smaller room a-joining the children’s room, a lovely living room, cozy and pretty, dining room and kitchen. There was also a small hall with bathroom leading off.

A veranda ran in front and at one side, and entered the living room straight from the veranda. The fireplace was recessed with a long shelf which was just the place for the lovely brass I had brought from Ceylon. On one side of the fireplace was my small desk, and on the other I had a small glass fronted cabinet for all Teddy’s various cups - tennis, golf, shooting etc. I suppose the house would be pseudo antique, as the casement windows had leaded panes and the woodwork stained almost black, instead of paint - the walls were color washed. The room was furnished unconventionally, as I had several large carved tables (from India and Ceylon) but we had a gorgeous comfortable chesterfield and chairs. The color scheme was mauve - Teddy’s favourite color. Otherwise all the other rooms were conventionally furnished—oh yes, we had a player piano, on which Teddy liked to perform; I could use it ordinarily for my singing. The dining-room was brown and blue. We had lovely carpets to which I was not accustomed, and I loved them.

Now I’ve built the home, planted the garden, and will begin five or six years of happy life, in spite of later troubles. Now I shall say a little about our happy life at Panchgani (the name we gave our bungalow). I was new to England, at least living there as a grown-up and quite new to housekeeping in the English way, but things were pleasant and easy. The tradesmen all called each day for orders and were paid weekly, and with Florrie, who was a gift, I had very little to do with running things. Hampton being a village, or nearly so, there was the usual social round. The neighbour’s called and afternoon teas were exchanged. There were little girls in the next two houses about Barbara’s age, so she had playmates, but really liked playing alone I think anyhow until she went to school. Then there were more friends and birthday parties etc. Teddy and I went to our Club, The Exiles in Twickenham, and probably Ba came along and we watched the various games, in most of which Teddy was active. We met friends from overseas there and Ba got to know their children. We also had a beautiful club, Orleans House in Richmond, a residential club for our people on leave from various parts of the world, and there was quite a bit of entertaining done there, especially at Christmas time, with gay parties for the children.

Teddy had some leave before being sent to the Head Office in London, and he and I went very often to London for lunch or to theatres; Mother came and took charge then. I was not altogether a gadabout. I was an honorary secretary for Dr. Barnado’s Home and did collecting for them. (I don’t know how far I have got with my story, as there seems no one to read things over to me, but I hope I don’t repeat myself).

Things went happily along at Hampton. We had visits from Kootie and Moffat, and visited them as well. I also renewed my friendship with the Gayers, who were at school with me in Panchgani, and it was as if we had never been parted. Ann and I did lots of theatres and concerts together and I had some interesting times with them in their home in Kensington. Barbara was growing well and I took her out a great deal - she saw her first “Peter Pan” at 3 years old and loved it and has loved the theatre ever since I think. Things were not going so well with Teddy and me. And we decided to have another child, so Marjorie arrived when Ba was five. Teddy was in the London office and, as the Company had an amateur operatic society, I joined and was in a couple of their productions. I had a friend in Hampton who played the piano well and I did a great deal of singing with her. We both enjoyed that.

Ann Gayer, who taught French and German in a large secondary school used to take her senior class to Paris for a week each year, and I tagged along a couple of times. Mother came and stayed with the children, while I was away. I enjoyed these trips enormously. Marjorie was born in 1925 and was an added interest and enjoyment to my life, but her arrival didn’t help much. (Not from Barbara at this point - although Mother hasn’t spelled out the trouble with Teddy, he was a real alcoholic by this time, and also occasionally frequented the “amateur tarts” which could have meant health problems for all of us.) We went on for another two years, Barbara had started school and finally I decided I had to give up trying. Both Teddy’s mother and sister were sympathetic with me, and Barbara went to stay with them, and I took Marjorie to some Colombo friends who were living in Walton. So ended a happy and sad period of six or seven years and goodbye to my cherished home.

I don’t think I could have done anything else and Barbara has agreed when we have talked about it in late years. I hope I have given Ba a real picture of that part of her life.

Before starting on the next phase I might mention one or two things relating to Panchgani and Hampton. Our (Barbara’s and mine) visits to Hampton court where we spent many afternoons. We walked to the village and took the trolley bus right to the gates and we enjoyed rambling through the rooms of the palace and the lovely gardens. I think Ba must have got her interest in history at that early age - I like to think so anyhow. Another little jaunt was to the town of Kingston-on-Thames, by the same bus, where we had tea either at Bentalls (a large department store) and heard Albert Sandler (a violinist) in the Palm court, or to the Cinema, which I think Barbara probably preferred, as she was able to get a glimpse of the screen as people went in and out. I can see her rushing to have a look and people holding the door a moment to allow her to peep. Now to the next phase after leaving home.

PART IX EDITH MARY LEMON CHAMBERS-KELLAWAY memoirs

I have mentioned that Barbara went to her Auntie Mabel, while I and Marjorie went to friends in Walton-on-Thames. They were very kind to me and insisted I stay until I could decide what to do. Marjorie was only about 2 years old, so I had her to look after. I remember playing ball with her in the tennis court; she stood on the one side of the net and I’d throw the ball over the net. The house was an old one and I discovered that there was a parquet floor in the hall - very neglected - so I went to work on it and got it looking lovely - a little I felt I cold do in return.

Teddy started phoning, asking me to return, but Frank Parfitt advised me not to give in. Teddy finally said that he had been asked to go abroad again, and this would mean 6 months training at the Company’s school in Hampstead. Would I and the children go back to him for that time. I agreed and he took a furnished flat near the school and the three of us joined him. I never really knew what happened to the home, but I think Mabel got the carpets and the furniture was probably stored and the bungalow sold - anyhow I didn’t care. Things went along fairly smoothly; Teddy was working hard and not drinking. We were quite near (Hampstead) Heath, and the children and I spent most afternoons there. Before leaving for Zanzibar he, and I suppose father, rented a big house in Kingston, and I must say Teddy did all he could for our comfort. All the floors were covered in linoleum or carpets and the stairs carpeted. Mother and Father had their furniture and I had ours, and we all settled in. More were to follow: Dorothy McClumpha and her niece (Margaret), the daughter of Evie who had died (in a car crash in India); Mother’s sister Auntie Dora and her youngest son, John - a regular tribe. There was plenty of room - both Margaret and John were in boarding schools (Ba also) and only home for the holidays and we settled down for a few years of a very happy family life.

What a change this move was—from a rather small house with lots of garden to a great big one with only a back yard. The house was the property of the Kingston Brewery, and was the Manager’s at one time. It was in a backwater off the High Street, called Brook Street. All the property now belonged to the brewery. So we had no neighbours. These were old stone houses. Our house had two stories and the ground floor, so there were about eight bedrooms of various sizes, and the downstairs a lovely drawing room, dining-room and a large breakfast room off the kitchen. The children had it for their games etc. we had breakfast there as it was just off the kitchen. The front room had two lovely windows, right almost to the pavement level, and we had them curtained with sheer net a silk curtains of mauve. The house being so large needed much furnishing. The parents had all their stuff, so the dining room, drawing room their bedroom and father’s den were all furnished by them. Teddy saw to our bedrooms and of course had all the floors covered. I seem to remember the carpet from our living-room. Anyhow the drawing room, I remember , was very pretty on shades of pinky mauve. Oh yes, we had my piano - Auntie Dora who was with us, played, as you know, and there was much music I enjoyed the evenings.

The next 3 or 4 years were happy ones and we had quite a lot of fun. Auntie and mother took jaunts to London - Mother knew her London - or Mother and I saw a play or ballet or had a meal. Dorothy was not very strong and was content to have tea and the pictures either in Kingston or Richmond. We always took Marjorie to Richmond and sometimes had a river trip to Hampton Court.

Of course in the holidays we were very venturesome and visited Museums in London, and also loved going on the river and to Richmond Park on the hill, where we always had tea - a great treat. We always had Marjorie in her little pushchair with us, but I don’t think she came into town (London) she was rather young for museums or even the Cinema. Florrie had left by this time, but we shared the housework with a charlady’s help; Mother did all the cooking and was good at it.

Father continued his long cycling trips—on one occasion we had a postcard from Devonshire - otherwise he spent much time writing I expect; he was a member of the Author’s Club, and I went to many interesting lectures with him - Barbara went when she was older. On a couple of occasions I sang at the Masonic dinners, and father got the charming notes of thanks from the secretary, for me. I was nervous but really enjoyed meeting the many notable guests.

We were a harmonious household and had quite a lot of fun, but I had my anxious times. I had to bring Barbara back by ambulance from school at Ashford (in Kent) as she developed Chorea (St. Vitus’ Dance) after an attack of measles. She was in the University College Hospital for several weeks and then in a Convalescent Home in Broadstairs I think - she made a good recovery. I also had an anxious few weeks with Marjorie, who got pneumonia after an attack of “flu, and was in a local nursing home, where our doctor drove her in his car, and me of course; she was very sick - I didn’t know until she was better how sick - she was so weak afterwards that she had to learn how to walk again, but she quite recovered. In spite of everything we still enjoyed life with trips to London etc.

I suppose these were really only two or three years, as our next unhappiness was Mother’s death after a very short illness. We had a lovely day on her 69th birthday, January 20th. She and I went up to London, did a matinee, had a small meal and went to the Ballet at the Alhmabra, and home by the last train - she loved every minute. She was dead by the beginning of May, a cold and congestion on the lungs - she was a big women and hadn’t much chance in those days. There was one spray of lilac left on our one tree in the backyard and I was able to place it between her hands - it was her favourite flower. Barbara was at home and I didn’t want her upset after her illness, so I said Granny was being taken to the hospital. I wanted to go to my friends the Gayers, but they were out, so we went to the pictures - I with heartache.

I keep saying we were happy in Kingston and we were, in spite of sickness and sorrow. The family broke up after mother died. Uncle William retired and came home from India, and Auntie Dora, he and John went to live a Highgate . Before Auntie went, it was decided that I had to have an operation, so I went into the Samaritan Women’s Hospital, and Mary Bowen, the daughter of one of Mother’s friends and a nurse, came to look after Marjorie who promptly got the measles, not badly. Then I decided on a divorce and got in touch with a solicitor. I remember in Kingston Father was slightly dishonest over money and looking for it from friends or other Masons. I used to read his letters and tell Mother. Her “diamond star” (from India) used to get him out of debt—a family saying.

PART X EDITH MARY LEMON CHAMBERS-KELLAWAY memoirs

Father then bought a house in Pinner Green and wanted me and the girls with him, but I refused because the educational advantages were better in London, so our next move was to Ladbroke Grove, near Knotting Hill. We had the use of the top half of a large house in Ladbroke Grove. W.11 - I must put in the 11 because the bank manager said that we were living at the right end! I don’t remember how much money I had from Teddy, but we spent pretty freely for some years. I had obtained my (divorce) Decree Nisi, and the judge on my case congratulated me on my clear answers and evidence.

We had a very nice first floor with a large bedroom and living room, also kitchen, bathroom, etc. The floor above had large rooms, but sloping ceilings, but were airy. While in Ladbroke Grove I seem to have been helping some lame dogs with loans of money etc. which I never got back. The girls now went to the Godolphin & Latymer secondary school in Hammersmith, and I seem to remember that we had some nice walks into Kensington, trips to the West End and, of course, to Father’s in Pinner. I remember that I was ill one summer and Barbara looked after me. Also I seem to remember that Auntie Edie and Uncle Peter stayed there with us for a time - I don’t know why.

After our sojourn in Ladbroke Grove my memories are far from chronological, but Marjorie says I went to look after the doctors in Hammersmith. I suppose it was that Barbara was living (in a guest house) with Mrs. Hite and Marjorie was in boarding school at Ashford. Anyhow I remember being in Hammersmith and re-organizing the doctor’s lives and way of living. On the whole I think I enjoyed it especially as money was never any object. Our next move was the Vereker Road and while there I had various jobs, from helping Mrs. White to charring much to Barbara’s disgust) and finally to joining Mr. White in the Post office where I worked (for many years).

I shall probably be somewhat confused about times and places as I seem to be doing so many odd jobs. But before I continue I’ll talk about my first job, with the doctors. An old school friend, Dr Lulu Gayer, asked me to help out with the doctors who lost their man who had looked after them. I agreed and really was quite glad that I had. It was a lovely house they had in Hammersmith. The ground floor was given over to the medical side, and the province of the charlady and the dispenser (pharmacist). The upstairs, two stories, had two living rooms on the 1st floor, and four rooms on the floor above - a bedroom each for the doctors, and a bedroom sitting room for me, so that I had some of my own furniture and my piano. (Note from Ba: It was here that I used to go and stay overnight sometimes, and Marjorie came home there in her holidays from boarding school.)

To my horror I found that one of the large rooms on the 1st floor had been used as the kitchen, and the back the dining room. There was a long narrow conservatory running at the side of the two rooms facing a side street. I suggested this would do for a kitchen, and the large front room for a lovely dining room, which it should have been. Dr. Stein (the senior partner) was very pleased with the idea and had work started at once. The rooms were decorated and furnished regardless of expense and looked beautiful, and I was quite pleased with my rather odd kitchen. I didn’t know a great deal about cooking, so went up to the London Polytechnic for lessons. I soon began to blossom out and I made all kinds of things (expense was never a problem). The doctors, who had previously entertained their friends in West End restaurants, started to have dinner parties at home. I loved it, and the various guests, who were mainly of the opposite sex, were most complimentary and brought me flowers and chocolates.

I enjoyed the time there but Barbara (who had been living in the guest house) and Marjorie (who didn’t enjoy being at Ashford) needed a home so we took a flat in Barons Court. Eventually Mrs. White, who owned the guest house, suggested her husband taught me the work in a Post Office, and I went to his sub-office and became a post office worker. I was now an office worker instead of a charlady, and I expect Ba was pleased. It meant more work for her, as my hours were long and I had to depend on her for the shopping and other chores.

I worked with Mr. White until the office was bombed, and then in various Branch Offices where there was a shortage of clerks. (Note from Ba: Marjorie was evacuated with the school to the country, and I had started my first job in July 1939). I can’t possibly remember the places we lived when the war was on. We had a nasty incident very near us in Vereker Road, and lost some of our chimneys and part of the roof, so we moved. I remember Marjorie, who was in the A.T.S. (Note from Ba: this was actually quite a bit later in the war) having some leave which we spent in Scarborough - I went back there later on and worked in a sub-office. I seemed to have spent my time running away from the bombing and back with Mr. White when he got a new office. I ended up joining Renne Hill in Shepherd's Buch - a very busy office - and I took a flat nearby.

I must mention that Barbara married Richard in 1941, and when he went to France I stayed with her in Eastcote (No-B.C.) I also took a temporary job somewhere near Bedford at one point. I think Ba was engaged then and working in Bedford and living with Mrs. Carruthers. Anyhow, back to Shepherd’s Buch, Collingbourne Road, when Marjorie was married, (after the war) and she and Ronnie stayed with me until Ronnie went to Canada. (Oh, Father was with us there for a while and died there). Marjorie followed Ronnie, and then I think Richard, who with Ba was living in Chiswick, and then Ba came to me until we left for Canada. Barbara will fill in all the gaps. I am now going to embark on my thirty odd years in Canada, by no means the happiest in my life.

PART XI EDITH MARY LEMON CHAMBERS-KELLAWAY memoirs

Canada, 1948: Father having left a little money to me, I was able to help the family emigrate. It seemed the best thing for the young people as there was really little for them. Richard, in spite of a degree in physics, was teaching in a secondary school on a pitiful salary; Ronnie, just discharged from the Navy, had no prospects, so I divided the money which would pay fares and help them along until they found occupations. Ronnie was the first to go, and Marjorie followed shortly. Richard and Barbara sold up their flat—they had great many books. Barbara came to mine, and we waited events. I did not want to go as I was perfectly content with my job and home, but the family thought it best. Meanwhile Ba and I had a good time theatre going and ballet - all in good seats. We had planned to buy a house in Ealing, should Richard not get a worthwhile job (in Canada) and divide it into flats for them and two Aunts, Edie and Kate. However, Richard joined the N.R.C. in Ottawa, so Ba and I had to think of our journey. One of the doctors had a booking on the Queen Mary, as he and his wife were hoping to go to New York. Their plans fell through and the doctor offered us their cabin, which we took and sailed in May for New York.

I don’t remember much about getting to Southampton and embarking, but we managed it I suppose. We had been warned not to eat too much as our stomachs had shrunk a bit with our war time rations, but I remember the table steward being quite worried at the little we ate. I don’t think Barbara felt much like eating anyway as she was not a very good traveler and how the ship rolled! When sitting on the deck we felt that any moment we would slide off the deck into the ocean but she would shudder and straighten herself and start her roll in the opposite direction and then we would feel as though we were standing on our heads. It was a short voyage unlike the one I had from the east and we arrived safely in New York where we had booked into a rather grand hotel, The Taft. We were met by a host of colored doormen, page boys etc. and taken to our room. We stayed a couple of days and visited round getting seats for plays. I think it was then we saw Catherine Cornell and on a later visit the play Caesar.

Finally we started for Canada after wildly telegraphing for more money and were met by Richard in Toronto where we stayed at the King Edward Hotel for a spell. On having a whisky double where by against Richard’s advice I got quite tiddly!

Richard was working in Ottawa, and had taken a furnished bungalow for 6 months, our first home in Canada. I think I was right, this was May 1948 and after I think a snow storm came and a very hot summer. I spent most of my time in the basement the only cool place, amused myself with the washing and ironing down there.

In August I entered the civic hospital and had my left breast removed, I had been a little anxious before leaving England and when I heard the name of a Dr Petrie, he had examined Richard for __? I phoned and made an appointment to see him. He thought it was probably cystic mastitis but at my age be wiser to “whip it off”, a strange way for a surgeon to talk I thought but he whipped it off and as it was so hot I went home as soon as possible and then to his office to have the stitches removed. Ba looked after me and I made a quick recovery, no complications at all. I just don’t remember much for some time except that I wanted to go back home and I can’t remember whether it was the winter of 1948 but I did go back and went back to my job at the post office.

I sailed on the Empress of Canada from Montreal after having done all the sight seeing in Ottawa and Montreal. I have always regretted that on the first evening out there had been a gorgeous display of the Northern lights, but I had gone down to my cabin after dinner and missed it.

On arrival in England I tried living with Auntie Edie and Auntie Kate but felt after a week or so that it wouldn’t work and found a very nice home in Ealing with the Cooper-Marshalls - a young couple who were buying the large house and had 3 of us as roomers, a nurse, a research worker with Burroughs and Welcome and me. I was very happy there and back at my old job. Ruth and Bill had a small son who attached himself to me, he was a dear little boy.

I don’t think I’ll write any more or not much more about the last thirty odd years. The two daughters will remember as well if not better than I do.

I was happy for the few months I spent at Fairport Beach. I suppose because I felt useful or rather some use when it was needed. I still had a little money to help out with the alterations Ronnie was doing to the house and I think I helped to buy their first car.

I had never had such an experience in my life. It was quite primitive, I drew water from the well, did the washing out of doors in a tin tub, helped chop wood, raking up leaves and what hundreds of leaves there were in the fall. We went down to the lake (Ontario) to bathe ourselves and later Ronnie made a kind of bathroom and we heated water on the Quebec heater which incredibly heated the house beautifully in the winter. I threw the slops over the side of the cliff and last but not least looked after Lorna who was so good and played in the playpen while I popped in and out doing the chores. She was always ready for bed when her mother and father returned home from work in Toronto and loved to sit in her high chair and listen to Don Messer on the radio. When Ronnie and Marjorie had found an apartment in Toronto, I took Lorna and Smokey the cat to Ottawa to stay with Ba and Richard until they came to call for her. I loved it at Fairport Beach, it was right on the lake and I never tired of watching the changing colors and remember seeing the moon rise over the lake. We had one or two quite alarming storms when the waves were very high and the whine of the wind was quite horrifying. That was a happy period and there were others, but I never liked the country and never will.

I enjoyed my visits to New York and Washington and Boston and reveled in the many art collections. I also was thrilled with the opera and with the Lincoln Center when it was finally built.

I don’t know how much longer I shall live but I do know I shall die here.

Editor's Note - These memoirs are published here with the gracious permission of Lesley Dickinson, Edith Mary Kellaway's granddaughter.

Teddy Kellaway's line of descent is as follows:
John Kellaway born 1727 Freshwater, Isle of Wight, Hampshire, England
James Kellaway
James Kellaway
Edward Kellaway
Harry Kellaway
Edward Harry Kellaway

A Study of Morgan Callaway

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 16:34:00 +0000

Morgan Callaway was born on April 16, 1831, in Washington, Wilkes Co., GA. According to Mrs. Bessie Hoffmyer, author of The Callaway Clan, his full name was Joseph Morgan Callaway, but no other source gives him the first name of Joseph - not even the family Bible record. He was the son of Jesse Callaway and his second wife, Mrs. Mary Ann Wooten Sherman. He was a full brother of Thomas Wooten Callaway, the maker of the Wilkes County map we have all now seen.

Morgan probably lived as a youth in the Wingfield-Cade-Saunders house, now called "Peacewood", which we saw on yesterday's tour. He attended the Academy in Washington and after graduation there, he came over here to Athens and attended the University of Georgia. He received the Bachelor of Arts degree in 1849 and the Master of Arts degree in 1852.

1. Historic American Buildings Survey L.D. Andrew - Photographer. May 17, 1936. FRONT ELEVATION
HABS GA,159-WASH,2-1

2. Historic American Buildings Survey L.D. Andrew - Photographer May, 17, 1936 SIDE ELEVATION
HABS GA,159-WASH,2-2

3. Historic American Buildings Survey L.D. Andrews - Photographer. May 17, 1936. VIEW OF OUTBUILDINGS East of House
HABS GA,159-WASH,2-3

4. Historic American Buildings Survey L.D. Andrew - Photographer May 17. 1936. VIEW OF OUTBUILDINGS Back of House
HABS GA,159-WASH,2-4

After receiving his degrees from the university, he went to Augusta and read law with Judge Toombs. He was admitted to the bar in 1852. Morgan fully intended to follow his ambition of becoming a lawyer. However, his father was so opposed to this profession that he gave it up.

Morgan had married on April 8, 1851, Miss Eliza Mary (called "Leila") Hinton of Greenville, Ga. After his marriage, he followed the teaching profession for a time.

Morgan Callaway had joined the Baptist Church during a revival while he was here in Athens. For some reason he was later "excluded" from membership. Later, while living in north Georgia, he applied for membership in a local Baptist church. They refused admission to him unless he were properly restored to membership in the church he had originally joined and then transfer by letter. Morgan refused to consider this approach to church membership and exercised an alternative. He joined a Methodist congregation. It seems that the Baptists' loss became the Methodists' gain!

In 1860, he was licensed to preach by the Methodist Episcopal Church South and became a member of the Georgia Conference at the same time. At this time he was appointed President of Andrew Female College in Cuthbert, Randolph Co., GA. After serving in that capacity for a little more than a year, the Civil War erupted and he volunteered for Confederate service. He became a lieutenant in Cutt's Battalion and was afterwards made a captain of artillery.

In the book Four Years Under Marse Robert, the author, Robert Stiles, Major of Artillery in the Army of Northern Virginia, relates several incidents involving Capt. Calloway (Stiles spelled the name "Calloway" with an "O").

This book, as the author himself says, was only designed "to state clearly and truthfully what he saw and experienced as a private soldier and subordinate officer in the military service of the Confederate States in Virginia from 1861 to 1865." "Marse Robert" was, of course, General Robert E. Lee.

Stiles first introduces us to Capt. Calloway in the following way, and I quote (pp. 229-231):

"One of the Georgia batteries of our battalion - 'Frazier's,' as it was called - was composed largely of Irishmen from Savannah - gallant fellows, but wild and reckless. The captaincy becoming vacant, a Georgia Methodist preacher, Morgan Calloway, was sent to command them. He proved to be, all in all, such a man as one seldom sees - a combination of Praise God Barebone and Sir Philip Sidney, with a dash of Hedley Vicars about him. He had all the stern grit of the Puritan, with much of the chivalry of the Cavalier and the zeal of the Apostle. No man ever gave himself such a 'send-off' as Calloway did with his battery. He gripped their very souls at the first pass.

"Not long after he took command, the battalion spent a few days in these Poison Fields of Spottsylvania. The very evening we arrived, before we had gotten fixed for the night, a woman came to battalion headquarters and complained that one of the men in 'that company over yonder' - pointing to where Calloway's guns were parked - had gone right into her pen, before her very eyes, and killed and carried off her pig.

"The Colonel directed me to look after the matter, and the woman and I walked over to the battery and laid the complaint before Calloway, who asked her whether she thought she could point out the man. She said she could, and he ordered his bugler to blow 'an assembly.'

When the line was formed he gave the command, 'To the rear, open order, march!' the rear rank stepping back two paces further to the rear, and he and I and the woman started to walk down the front rank: he, as was his wont when on duty, having his coat buttoned to the chin and his sabre belted about his waist.

"When we had gotten a little more than half way down the line some lewd fellow of the baser sort, sotto voce, made some improper remark about the woman, and his comrades began to titter. With a single sweep of his right arm, Calloway drew his sabre and delivered his blow. The weapon flashed past my face and laid open the scalp of the chief offender, who dropped in his tracks, bleeding like a stricken bullock. There was a shuffle of feet moving to his aid.

"'Stand fast in ranks! Eyes front!' cried Calloway, the sabre dripping with blood still in his sword hand. Needless to say they did stand, as if carved out of stone, while in absolute silence Calloway, the woman and I, completed our inspection of the front, and when about midway of the rear rank she, without hesitation, confidently identified the thief. His manner and bearing under the charge convicted him, and Calloway had him bucked and gagged and sequestered his pay to reimburse the woman. He then gave the order, 'break ranks!' and sent the surgeon to attend the wounded man.

"I never saw a company of men more impressed. Indeed, I was myself as much impressed as any of them, and was at considerable pains to catch the feelings and comments of the men. 'Whew!' said a beg fellow, who had been a leader in all the lawlessness of the battery, "what sort of a preacher do you call this? Be-dad! and if he hits the Yankees half as hard as he hit Dan, it'll be all right. We'll have to watch him about that, boys. We'll get his gait before long."

At another point, when Stiles was questioning and protesting the wisdom of their march to Beulah Church, as Col. Cabell was doing per his orders from his commanding general, he solicited the opinions of other officers. Of Morgan Calloway he said, (p. 270) "My reserves were the officers and men of the battalion, all of whom I think were fond of me. If I mistake not, Frazier's battery led the column. I am certain it did a little later. Calloway, its commanding officer, to whom we have already been introduced, was one of the very best of soldiers, as the reader will soon be prepared to admit. He was the first man I fell in with as I fell back, Colonel Cabell and little Barrett, his courier, being ahead of the column. Calloway asked me if I didn't think we were running some risk, entirely unsupported as we seemed to be, and outside our lines. I told him what had occurred (with Col. Cabell), and he smiled grimly."

And referring to an incident that occurred as that day wore on, Stiles wrote (pp. 271-273), "As the morning wore on and we were leaving our infantry further behind, my uneasiness returned; and besides, I had been away long enough from the colonel, so I remounted and rode forward to the head of the column. He had been very emphatic in repelling my suggestions, but I thought it my duty to renew them, and I did. He was even more emphatic than before, saying he had been ordered to take the battalion to Beulah Church, and he proposed to do it, and he even added that when he wanted any advice from me he would ask for it. I felt a nearer approach to heat than ever before, or after, in all my intercourse with my friend and commander, and I assured him I would not obtrude my advice again.

"I reined in my horse, waiting for Calloway, and rode with him at the head of his battery. I had scarcely joined him when Colonels Fairfax and Latrobe, of Longstreet's staff, and Captain Simonton of Pickett's, dashed by, splendidly mounted, and disappeared in a body of woods but a few hundred yards ahead. Hardly had they done so, when pop! pop! pop! went a half dozen carbines and revolvers; and a moment later the three officers galloped back out of the forest, driving before them two or three Federal cavalrymen on foot - Simonton leaning over his horse's head and striking at them with his riding whip. On the instant I took my revenge, riding up to Colonel Cabell, taking off my hat with a profound bow, and asking whether it was still his intention to push right on to Beulah Church? Meanwhile, minie balls began to drop in on us, evidently fired by sharpshooters from a house a short distance to our left and front. The Colonel turned toward me with a smile, and said, in a tone that took all the sting out of his former words, if any was ever intended to be in them; 'Yes, you impudent fellow, it is my intention, but let's see how quickly you can drive those sharpshooters out of the house!'"

In writing of events that occurred during the battle of Cold Harbor in 1864, Stiles told this of Morgan Calloway: "There was a gunner in Calloway's battery named Allen Moore, a backwoods Georgian and a simple-hearted fellow, but a noble, enthusiastic man and a soldier. The only other living member of Moore's family was with him, a lad of not more than twelve or thirteen years; and the devotion of the elder brother to the younger was tender as a mother's. We had all day been shelling a suspicious looking working party of the enemy, and about sunset I was visiting the batteries to see that the guns were properly arranged for night fighting. As I approached Calloway's position the sharpshooting had almost ceased, and down the line I could see the figures of the cannoneers standing out boldly against the sky. Moore was at the trail adjusting his piece for the night's work. His gunnery had been superb during the evening and his blood was up.

"I descended into a little valley and lost sight of the group, but heard Calloway's stern voice; 'Sit down, Moore! Your gun is well enough, the sharpshooting is not over yet. Get down!' I rose the hill. 'One moment, Captain! My trail's a hair's breadth too much to the right,' and the gunner bent eagerly over the hand spike. A sharp report and that unmistakable crash of a bullet against a man's head. It was the last rifle shot on the lines that night.

"'The rushing together of the detachment obstructed my view; but as I came up, the sergeant stepped aside and said, 'See there, Adjutant!' Moore had fallen on the trail, the blood flowing from the wound all over his face. His little brother was at his side instantly. No wildness, no tumult of grief. He knelt on the earth, and lifting Allen's head on his knees, wiped the blood from his forehead with the cuff of his own tattered shirt sleeve and kissed the pale face again and again, but very quietly. Moore was evidently dead, and none of us cared to disturb the child.

"Presently he rose - quite still, tearless still - gazed down at his dead brother and then around at us, and breathing the saddest sigh I ever heard, said: 'Well I am alone in the world!'

"The preacher-captain sprang to his side, and placing his hand on the poor lad's shoulder, said confidently: 'No, my child; you are not alone, for the Bible says: "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up:" and Allen was both father and mother to you; besides, I am going to take you up too, you shall sleep under my blanket to-night.'

"There was not a dry eye in the group; and when, months afterwards, the whole battalion gathered on a quiet sabbath evening, on the banks of Swift Creek, to witness a baptism, and Calloway, at the water's edge, tenderly handed this child to the officiating minister, and receiving him again when the ceremony was over, threw a blanket about the little shivering form, carried him into a thicket, changed his clothing, and then reappeared, carrying the bundle of wet clothes, and he and child walked away, hand in hand, to camp - then there were more tears, manly, ennobling tears, and the sergeant laid his hand on my shoulder and said, 'Faith, Adjutant, the Captain has fulfilled his pledge to that boy!'"

There were other references to Morgan Callaway regarding military action, but these few given above serve to exemplify his character as seen by Major Robert Stiles.

After the war, Morgan returned to Washington, Georgia where, according to Mrs. Hoffmyer, he taught at the "young Ladies Seminary." He was also pastor of the Washington Methodist Church from 1866 to 1868, and again for about a year in 1869. During this time, his first wife died. She is buried at Resthaven Cemetery in Washington. There are apparently no dates on her tombstone, but she is given the dates 1828 to 1867 in the lineage of Morgan Callaway, Jr. in Vol. III of First Families in America.

On June 24, 1868, in Washington, Ga., Morgan married his second wife, Miss Georgia Frances Ficklin. She became well-known and revered in her own right. She served for 18 years as corresponding secretary for the East Georgia Missions Society. Born in 1832, she died in 1897 and is also buried at Resthaven Cemetery in Washington. From 1868 to 1871, they resided in La Grange, Ga., where Morgan served as President of La Grange Female College.

In 1871, Morgan Callaway was awarded the degree of Doctor of Divinity by Emory College (now University) which was then located at Oxford, Ga. He was thereafter connected with Emory as Vice-President and professor of Law and English for 20 years (1871-1889) except for an interim of two years (1882-1884) when he served as President of Paine Institute in Augusta.

Dr. Morgan Callaway was the author of a number of published works, mostly on the subjects of English and religion.

I have been told that there are today no living descendants of Morgan Callaway and his two wives. If anyone wishes to take issue with this statement, please do so. There may be some descendants of an adopted grandson, but these would not be of the blood line. The children of Morgan and Leila Hinton Callaway were:
1. Thomas Carlyle (Carl) - called Charlie on the 1870 census), born 1852; died 1890; married Achsah Harlan of Tunnel Hill, Ga. They had no children.
2. Maude - born 1854; died 1945; married Rev. James Meriwether Lovett. They had no children, but adopted Charles Edward Bulloch.
3. Wootie Mary - born 1856; died 1857.
4. Jesse Hinton - born 1858; died 1894; married Ella Mallory of Albany, Ga.
5. Leila Sallie - born 1860; died 1862.
6. Morgan, Jr. - born 1862; died 1936; married Loru Hamah Smith. Morgan, Jr. became a distinguished and well known professor in his own right. He was professor of English at the University of Texas for 46 years and became widely known as an authority on the English language. He had received both his Bachelor's and Master's degrees from Emory before he was 22 years old. He became adjunct professor of English at Emory, leaving to accept a position at Southwestern University. After two years he entered John Hopkins University as a university scholar where he was elected to Phi Beta Kappa. After receiving the Doctor of Philosophy degree he returned to Southwestern University. In 1890 he was called to a position at the University of Texas where he was located during the remainder of his career.
7. Cabell - born 1865; died 1866 at the age of three months.

Morgan and his second wife, Georgia Frances Ficklen, were parents of one daughter:
8. Hattie Vason - born 1872; died 1882.

Perhaps an appropriate final tribute to Morgan Callaway is this, from a column in "The Atlanta Journal" of December 4, 1931, entitled "A Candlelit Column," by Corra Harris and as quoted by Mrs. Hoffmyer in The Callaway Clan:

"Here the Methodism of me knelt in tears. For the Oxford I knew was so thoroughly tinctured with Methodism that the whole life of the town flowed in and out the doors of this church. How well I remember the men who used to stand in the pulpit . . . Dr. Moore, the ascetic old Isaiah whose ministry put the fear of God into many a wanton youth. Dr. Morgan Callaway, with his elegance and sword-clashing salute to the Commander-in-Chief of all mankind. A fearless old soldier of the cross with a back so straight and a manner so proud one could not escape the impression that the Lord had decorated him for distinguished service . . ."

~ This paper was prepared and read by CFA Genealogist, Sherrill Williams at the annual (1983) Callaway Family Association meeting in Athens, Ga. and published in the Callaway Family Association Journal Vol. IX, 1984, pp. 18-22.

Dr. Morgan Callaway's line of descent is as follows:
Peter Callaway
John Callaway
Edward Callaway
Joseph Callaway
Jesse M. Callaway and 3rd wife Mary Ann Wooten Sharman
Dr. Morgan Callaway

~ pictures of Wingfield-Cade-Saunders House, 120 Tignall Road, Washington, Wilkes County, GA from:
The Library of Congress American Memory web site.

A Unique Teacher - Miss Frances Bennett Callaway

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Sat, 12 Jan 2008 21:56:00 +0000

Miss Frances B. Callaway Instructs In the Art of Letter Writing

aaaaAmong the many courses offered at Chautauqua Institution there has been one for the past four years on "The Art of Letter Writing." The instructor, Frances Bennett Callaway, is the only person known who makes that a life work.
aaaaThe art of letter writing to this gifted and original teacher means primarily the expression of personality in correspondence. The minor details of correct forms, spelling, etc., can be found in any manual of letter writing.

aaaaMiss Callaway's work began ten years ago. At that time, having to prepare an article on letter writing, she visited the Boston libraries to get material on the subject. All the books shown her were unsatisfactory, dealing with the forms of letters and saying nothing more. She resolved then and there to write a book herself such as she conceived would be useful. The necessary study and research led her by a strange route into teaching, for when the book was completed no publisher would take it unless there were specimen letters in it. To get a variety of them she began to teach by correspondence.
aaaaMiss Callaway has studied in Edinburgh and London, finding at the great English libraries, the Oxford and Bodleiam, many valuable manuscript letters which have been of use in the work.
aaaa"The inside of a letter is the cream of the correspondence." says this unusual instructor. "I teach my pupils that the motive of the letter is more important than the outside form. I always tell them that I do not make finished letter writers of them, but simply suggest lines of thought that they can carry out."
aaaaHer pupils are of every age and from many walks in life, from farmers to lawyers, from society ladies to cowboys.
aaaaMiss Callaway is the author of several little books - "Hints to a Silent Friend Upon Writing Letters," "The Phantom Letter," The Wit on the Staricase" and "Musical Postals." This last formulates a unique way of writing short messages by musical signs, saving time and preserving secrecy.
aaaaMiss Callaway's thoughts and theories on her art are soon to be published in book form. She possesses a beautiful copy of her manuscript, printed entirely by pen and ink, the work of one of her pupils. It is bound in fine leather and is a veritable ____. From its index one can get an idea of the timely topics treated by the author. Among them are "Observation Studies," "Courtesy Letter," "Apologies," "The Sympathetic Letter," "Picture Letters," "The Mischief Making Letter," and "Silent Conversations."
aaaaMiss Callaway is a small woman, with a bright, earnest face and a winning manner. The personality that, if true to her theories, she must convey in her letters to pupils is so very magnetic and forceful that her success is not to be wondered at.

by Annie Isabel Willis

~ above article published in The Daily Review, Decatur, Illinois, August 1, 1895.

She was born Frances Bennett Dilts. In 1863 Lewis Howell Callaway adopted both Frances and her sister Lillian. He had married their mother about 1858. Lewis Howell Callaway's line of descent is as follows:
Joseph Callaway
James Callaway
Flanders Callaway
Larkin S. Callaway
Lewis Howell Callaway

Booker T. Washington quoted Frances Bennett Callaway in his book, Up From Slavery, written in 1901, in chapter XI, p. 153: "I would permit no man, no matter what his color might be, to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him."

Frances Bennett Callaway went on to write other books including, Bee's Flower Children. She died in 1905.

Noted Scottish Clans in San Antonians' Ancestry

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Sat, 12 Jan 2008 18:00:00 +0000

Irvines and Callaways Connected With Early History of United States
by Mrs. James H. French

aaaaErrors and inaccuracies are apt to creep into everything of human origin, but to the field of genealogical research, family history, etc., where faithful effort has been maintained to keep a reliable record, trustworthy statements and ____ of detail are more easily available.
The Irvines of Drum and Bonshaw (the latter, the Bonshaw, were first of the sub-clans in Scotland) were noted Scottish Clans.
aaaaThe Laird of Bonshaw was recognized as Chieftain of the Dumfriesshire Clan. Sir William de Irvine of this family was the armor-bearer and secretary of King Robert Bruce. He married a granddaughter of Bruce, who was a daughter of Robert Douglas, Earl of Buchan. The King gave to him the forests of Drum, and from this union were derived the two great Irvine families of Drum and Bonshaw. The descendants of Sir William de Irvine in North Scotland still retain the possession given to them by Bruce.
aaaaEdward Irvine of Bonshaw, survived the government outlawry, and strengthened himself by alliance with the Johnstones, the most powerful of the Dumfriesshire clans; his son, Christopher, marrying Margaret Johnstone, daughter of the chieftain. They defeated the lord warden, who was at the head of the government troops.
aaaaThe next brother of Edward Irvine, Christopher, a turbulent chief, was engaged in the cause of Queen Mary, 1607, and married the daughter (Mary) of Johnstone Newlie. One of their sons was Gerard Irvine, baronet in the Irish rebellion in 1641 and an officer in King William's royal army in the wars of 1659.
aaaaCol. William Irvine, born 1734, was one of his descendants; Robert Irvine, another son of Christopher and Mary Newlie Irvine, head of the American branch, fled to ____, Ireland and married Elizabeth Wylie. They had one son, David, who married Sophy Gault. To them was born a son, James, who married Margaret Wylie. They had ten children. Of these, seven sons came to America in 1725-31. These brothers were the progenitors of the Irvines in America.
aaaaChristopher and David came with their parents in 17__, and settled in Pennsylvania. From there, they moved to Bedford County, Virginia. David married Jane Kyle, and moved to Kentucky, where they settled in Madison County. Among their numerous children was Captain Christopher, born in 1760; built ____ Lick; was wounded at Little Mountain. In 1787, Christopher Irvine (gent.) was appointed by the Governor of Virginia one of the judges of the court. He was a statesman, a man of high character and intrepid ____. He married Lydia Calloway, the daughter of Col. Richard Calloway, who married in 1745 his first wife, Frances Walton.
aaaaCol. Christopher Irvine was killed fighting under General Logan against the Indians in Ohio.
Christopher and Lydia Calloway Irvine were the parents of David, Mary and Frances. The latter, Frances, married Robert Caldwell, and had Mary (among others), who married Judge James Simpson, and their son, Judge Isaac P. Simpson, who married Frances Weir, were the parents of Elizabeth (Mrs. H. D. Kampmann, Frances, James, Caro (Mrs. George C. Eichlitz), living in San Antonio.

IRVINE ARMS

Following here is a paragraph with the heraldic description of the arms, but it is illegible. The Coat of Arms of the various branches of the Irvine Clan differ slightly, but in general, avoiding heraldic terms, consists of green holly leaves upon a white (silver) field, spaced two and one.

CALLOWAY

aaaaSir William Callaway was county Lieutenant of Bedford County, Virginia, and was one of the gentleman justices of the county court, held November 27, 1758. For attendance upon the assembly, two sessions, in 1765, Sir William Callaway received 12,000 pounds of tobacco, which in those days was the current measure of payment. This statement of the county levy was copied by the clerk of Bedford County and certified to under the Virginia State seal.
aaaaSir William (or Colonel) Callaway married Elizabeth Tilly, and their son, Colonel Richard of Kentucky fame, who married first, Frances Walton, was the father of Lydia Callaway, who married Col. Christopher Irvine. (There is an error here in the Calloway ancestry. Richard Calloway was not the son of William Calloway. They were in fact brothers, sons of Joseph Calloway, the US immigrant from England to Virginia in the 1600s.)
aaaaAn erroneous statement has been made that Lydia's mother was the daughter of Daniel Boone. This error is probably due to the fact that Col. Richard Callaway was married several times. (Actually, Richard was only married twice; first to Frances Walton, and second to Elizabeth Jones. There is a Daniel Boone Connection in this family. Flanders Callaway married Daniel Boone's daughter, Jemima. Flanders was the son of James Callaway, who was a brother of Richard and William Callaway.)
aaaaAt another time the Caldwell family tracing down to connection with the Irvines will be given.

~ the above article was published in the San Antonio Express, San Antonio, Texas, August 6, 1911.
~ the picture showing the Irvine Coat of Arms is from the Irvine History web site.
~ James H. French, spouse of Sarah L. French, author of this article, was the Mayor of San Antonio, TX in 1880. He was born about 1835 in Virginia. It is interesting to note that another daughter of Richard Callaway, Keziah, married James French, born in 1756, and could likely be an ancestor of James H. French mentioned above.

Calloways in Boxelder Valley in the 1870s

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 18:59:00 +0000

Calloways helped settle Boxelder Valley in 1870s
By Arlene Ahlbrandt, Correspondent

Martin Calloway and his family were some of the earliest settlers in northern Larimer County, arriving in the then-remote area of Buckeye in the late 1860s.

Calloway was born on a farm in Clinton County, Ind., on Dec. 20, 1846. His parents died within four months of each other, leaving him an orphan at age 6. During his youth he had to work hard and fend for himself.

In 1865, at age 18, Calloway enlisted in Company F, 150th Regiment of Indiana Volunteers to fight in the Civil War. Surviving that experience, he married Mary Hackerd on Jan. 7, 1868. In April of '69, the couple headed west to Larimer County and homesteaded land in Boxelder Valley. Boxelder is located in the Buckeye area, northwest of Waverly.

Early settlers like the Calloways suffered many hardships and tribulations during their pioneer lives. Life was lonely on their ranch in the hills, many miles from neighbors. In the 1870s, the Calloways raised sheep and sold the wool, a profitable business at that time. Martin also cut native hay and hauled it with a team of oxen all the way to Cheyenne, Wyoming, exchanging the hay for cash and household supplies.

An important development for early-day ranchers in the Buckeye/Boxelder Valley was the arrival of the railroad. In 1877, the Colorado Central Railroad built a line there, allowing ranchers to ship their sheep to markets.

However, the Boxelder Valley remained a lonely frontier into the early 1900s because of the lack of irrigation. Boxelder Creek is a tributary of the Cache la Poudre River, and at the turn of the century the North Poudre Irrigation Company started to furnish water for the farmers and ranchers of the area.

The Calloways had two daughters, Clara and Emma, who attended school in a log building erected in the 1870s on their homestead. The school was called the "Spring School" because it was located near a natural spring.

In the 1870s, when the Calloways lived on their homestead, conflicts with Indians on the Colorado-Wyoming border were practically over, so the family's challenges came primarily from the weather and the isolation of the area.

The Boxelder Valley looked very promising for agriculture, but Martin Calloway did not realize his dream of a long life in the West. He died of pneumonia at the age of 32, in January 1879. Charles Cradock, an Englishman, purchased the ranch from his widow. Mary Calloway later married her brother-in-law, William Calloway.

Other early settlers in the Boxelder Valley included the Woodhams, Roberts, Fred Kluver, and brothers in the Greenacre, Bear and Munroe families. Another pioneer was Dr. Albert Goodwin, a dentist who came to Colorado's dry climate for treatment of his asthma.

~ from The North Forty News, monthly publication, LaPorte, Colorado, December 2000

Zion Flannery

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 18:40:00 +0000

A Southern sympathizer, 49-year-old Zion was forced to leave Jackson County during **Order #11 on Aug. 25, 1863. He had just bought a farm in Saline County, and hurried his family off to safety there while he remained behind to gather corn for his livestock. ( Zion & John Flannery owned 1300 acres in Jackson Co.)

When he didn't appear at the new home, the family grieved, not knowing what fate had befallen him. They didn't learn until many years later,...his wife Lucinda died without knowing. Rebecca Jane Flannery [Gault],
a daughter of Zion, heard the story by chance 25 years later, when her daughter Anna Lou married G. L. Park in 1888 and moved to a livestock farm in Henry County.

One day the county sheriff, "Uncle Jimmy" Calloway, came riding by and accepted their invitation to stay for dinner. When the talk turned to where they were from and family names, Calloway said, in amazement, "Why,
I buried your grandfather. I saw two men on horseback chasing him," he said, "they had chased him into Lafayette County, then shot him. I asked them why and they said, 'We knew he was a Southern man.' I knew him, so I made him a coffin of walnut logs, and waxed it with beeswax, and buried him on a knoll under a sycamore near where he was killed." Besides his wife , Lucinda [Shepherd] Flannery, he left children James Silas, Rebecca J., Melvina W., John W., MacPendleton, George Zion, and Horace Napolean Flannery.

~ from Branded as Rebels, by Eakin & Hales
provided by Nina Flannery

Sheriff John W. Callaway - Washington, Georgia 1889

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Sat, 08 Oct 2005 15:06:00 +0000

In The Barbecue County
A Distinguished Party of Atlantins in Wilkes County
The Party Leave in Hon. Pat. Calhoun's Private Railroad Car - They Visit Hillman and the Electric Shaft

Washington, Ga., Auguest 25 - [Special] -
There is a tradition in this section of Georgia, that the very first barbecue ever served was in Wilkes county. Two and three barbecues a week are not unusual during the summer season. In fact, barbecues are a pastime for Wilkes county citizens.

Whenever one of Washington's merchants, bankers or professional men find time hanging heavy upon him he simply passes an invitation around, and in a half hour the beef, the hog and the sheep are cooking over the trench, the appetizing odor going in every direction. The Wilkes county barbecue can't be duplicated, and a seat around one of the tables beats a year's board of the Kimball.

One day last week Hon. E. Y. Hill, M. P. Reese, T. B. Green, James Benson, Judge Hardeman, Colonel Frank Colley and Henry Colley arranged for one, and a day or two later extended invitations to Hon. Pat Calhoun, Mr. Don Bain, Captain E. P. Howell and other Atlantians to attend.

Saturday was the day fixed for the feast. The Atlanta party was organized and decided to leave Atlanta Friday afternoon and pass the night at Hillman. That afternoon, when the Georgia fast mail rolled from under the union depot, Hon. Pat Calhoun's private car, the "Ellenita," was coupled behind. The car, one of the finest in the south, was "equipped" especially for the party, and the trip was a most delightful one.

About dusk the train reached Barnett, where the private coach was sidetracked. A few minutes later the Washington branch train coupled on, and a run of seven miles put the party at Hillman. At the depot the visitors were met by Mr. James Benson and Captain White and a delegation of Washington citizens, and escorted to the hotel.

The hotel is located upon a hill, and gives the visitor a magnificent view of the country for miles around. It is a large, well-arranged building, neatly furnished and supplied with all modern improvements. It is scrupulously clean and presenting an inviting appearance. Then, too, it is managed in a most excellent manner.

A tempting supper awaited the party upon arrival, and every one did full justice to the good things Manager Brown had provided. A delightful breeze prevailed, and after tea the gentlemen congregated upon the piazza, where they remained until bed time.

Early yesterday morning everybody responded to roll call, and, after an excellent breakfast, led by Colonel Adair, started for the shaft.

That shaft has been written about and described so often, still no one can conceive what it is, and no one can explain satisfactorily the many miraculous cures which it has produced.

In the shaft the visitors found a man whose right arm had been perfectly dead for twelve years, and before he left the place he "used" that arm pumping water.

H. O. Hagan is an employe of the Louisville and Nashville railroad in Chattanooga. Twelve years ago his right side was paralyzed and his arm rendered entirely useless. For years he had never opened his hand and the fingers were rigid in a cramped position. The skin and flesh appeared perfectly dead and no amount of hard rubbing would produce the slightest color. A few weeks ago he went to Hillman, and in less than a week opened his hand and began to move his arm. Today he can grasp a pump handle in that hand and use it almost as well as ever.

Mr. Hagan enters the shaft twice a day, and removing his coat places his bare arm against the wall. In a few minutes a twitching, nervous motion appears, and this increases until he acquires control of the arm and hand.

Two young ladies, the Misses Fallon, of Sharon, entered the shaft while the party was there. They placed chairs near the wall and in less than three minutes after sitting down the effect of the current was apparent. First their fingers began to show a nervousness, then their hands began to jerk and a minute more both ladies were shaking from head to foot. The party congregated around the ladies and joining hands formed a circle. Some of the visitors could detect the shock. Others could not. The Misses Fallon remained in the shaft about twenty minutes and then returned to the hotel. The shocking, however, did not leave them, and sometimes it has continued throughout the day.

Many most remarkable cures have been wrought at Hillman and some of the stories are hardly creditable.

About ten o'clock the party returned to the "Ellenita," and in a few minutes the train was moving towards Washington. The ride was a delightful one. On both sides of the road magnificient crops abound. The cotton crop is the finest in years, while the grain is all excellent. Wilkes county is a fine one at all times, but it never looked better than it did yesterday. The farmers are all in fine spirits, and a large business is predicted.

The visitors were met at the depot by a committee of citizens. A line of private carriages was near the road, and in a few minutes everybody found a seat. Then a rapid drive through the city and into the country and the party was upon the barbecue ground. The drive was over a magnificent country road and through some of the finest plantations in the county. The grove selected for the barbecue was a delightfully cool and shady place.

Sheriff John W. Callaway was in possession and was superintending the work. The long trench was a live bed of coals, over which shoats, lamb, birds and calves were toasting.

Sheriff Callaway, who knows more about barbecues than any man in the country, was watching closely for the time to season. A long table, just long enough for one hundred people, was placed near the edge of the grove and upon it was everything that the ingenuity of Mr. Callaway could suggest. Nothing could have been added.

Before the repairing to the table the gentlemen assembled in the grove, where introductions followed. Some of Wilkes ablest, oldest and wealthiest gentlemen were present, and in that pleasant affable way which has made Washington famous, they entertained the visitors.

At the table there was no ceremony. Everybody pitched in and ate. Eating was what they were there for. And they ate.

Captain Howell, at one end of the table, tried to down Don Bain, who was on his right, but it was a case of draw. The meal was enlivened by conversation. When the table was deserted it looked like a cyclone had struck it. And that made Sheriff Callaway look happy. If there is anything Callaway loves more than to superintend a barbecue it is to see those present enjoy it. And that is just what the Atlanta contingent did. They enjoyed it.

After dinner Don Bain made the sheriff happy by saying: "Callaway, I would like to have struck that dinner when I had an appetite."

Colonel Adair fainted.

The gentlemen remained in the grove until 3:30, when the carriage started for the city. It was then a drive over town. No place on earth is fuller of historic interest than Washington. Every corner has its own story. The first Catholic church ever built in the state. The house in which the last meeting of the Confederate cabinet was held. The residence of Toombs are amoung the points which attract the visitor.

The party was driven to the train, and at five o'clock pulled away from Washington. As the train rolled away the visitors gathered upon the platform and gave three rousing cheers for Washington, Wilkes county, and her people. But all Washington was not left behind.

Mr. Benson, Colonel Colley and Mr. Horton accompanied the party to Barnett. At Barnett the car was sidetracked to await the Atlanta passenger train. Supper was served upon the car and a nice supper it was.

After supper, Hon. Lindsay Johnson, of Floyd, was selected to deliver an address of thanks to the Washington committee. Mr. Johnson is a happy talker at all times, but his speech was the speech of his life.

Mr. Benson who is the silver-tongued orator of Wilkes, responded.

Then the gentlemen made themselves at home, and the best story got the loudest laugh. The Atlantians went away thoroughly satisfied that the best barbecues in the world are to be had in Wilkes, and that the cleverest men in the world live there.

~ from The Atlanta Constitution, Atlanta, Georgia, August 26, 1889

Sheriff John W. Callaway is a "Mystery Callaway". His line of descent may be as follows:
Peter Callaway
John Callaway
Edward Callaway
Job Callaway, Sr.
Jacob Callaway
Parker Callaway
Chenoth Callaway
John West Callaway

~ picture above of the Kimball House in Atlanta, GA circa 1905 is from Pat Sabin's web site showing some Vintage Atlanta Postcards. (http://www.patsabin.com/atlanta/postcards/)

The Delaware Hotel

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Tue, 21 Jun 2005 15:23:00 +0000

700 Harrison Ave.
Leadville, Colorado
on the National Register of Historic Places

A Brief History

Abe Lee discovered gold at California Gulch in the 1860's. Hundreds of gold seekers rushed in and their camp (a short distance east of Harrison Avenue) became known as Oro City. As the placer gold that lay on top of the ground for the taking was depleted, Oro City was deserted and the scene was desolate.

Discovery of silver in 1877 signaled another rush to upper California Gulch. Oro City No. 2 quickly grew. The Denver and Rio Grande Railroad arrived in August, 1880. President Ulysses S. Grant and his party were among the first passengers. Leadville's population had stabilized at 25,000. (hardy souls lured by discovery of the rich silver-bearing carbonate of lead ores in the California Gulch)

In the mid 1880's three brothers, William F., George F. and John W. Callaway, Denver queensware merchants, came to Leadville. The brothers established a branch of their business on lower Harrison Avenue. They built the two-story Callaway Block on the northeast corner of Sixth and Harrison (which later burned). In 1886 they erected the Delaware Hotel as a monument to their home state. John Callaway was proprietor. The Delaware Block was completed by October, 1886 at an estimated cost of $60,000. The sidewalk level was designed for stores both in front and on the Seventh Street side. The second and third walk-up floors had fifty handsomely furnished rooms suitable for offices and bedrooms. The building was fitted with steam heat, hot and cold water, gas lights, 6 bathrooms and a few closets.

Delaware architect, George King, came to Leadville in time to take an active part in the building boom that was sweeping the city. King obviously favored the French Mansard design, which until the late 1880's was popular in mining towns. King was also the architect for the plush Tabor Grand Hotel directly across the street.

Eventually William and George returned to Denver and John remained to operate the Delaware Hotel. Historians note "the brothers retired from business in 1890 having made fortunes in legitimate business and investments.

Former Leadvillites, Dorthea and Arthur Hougland of Glenwood Springs recalled Callaway as a "delightful man who wore Benjamin Franklin glasses, a derby hat, and a vest with his suit. He had a phonograph and played classical music. Songs by Enrico Caruso were among his favorites." Mrs. Hougland spent much time as a young girl at the hotel. Her grandmother, Josephine Feller worked for Callaway.

Baby Doe Tabor, who became a tragic figure after Horace Tabor's death, lived alone at the Matchless Mine and often visited the hotel to warm herself. She would climb the front entrance stairs, walk to the office and seat herself at the desk where she would write letters. Baby Doe's feet were customarily wrapped in gunny sacks for warmth as she walked to town from her wooden shack at the Matchless Mine.

During it's heyday many famous people walked the streets of this historic mining town. These include; Doc Holiday, Houdini, John Phillips Souza, Butch Cassidy and "The Unsinkable Molly Brown", to name but a few.

The Delaware Hotel, known as the "Crown Jewel" of Leadville, has remained an active part in Leadville history and continues to represent the graciousness of the Victorian era.

~ From the Delaware Hotel web site at www.delawarehotel.com

The History of the Great Saltpetre Cave According to Richard Mullins

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Tue, 21 Jun 2005 15:00:00 +0000

As told to Sheryl Hilton and Lou Simpson 6/24/90.
(Note: This Richard Mullins is believed to be a descendant of Champness Mullins and Elizabeth Calloway, both born in Wilkes Co., NC.)

Richard Mullins, caretaker and manager of the Great Saltpetre Cave during the last 16 years of its public operation sits on his porch spring less than a half a mile from the entrance to the cave and talks about the problem that they've been having with a red fox who's been stealing their chickens. "Chickens are worth a whole lot," Mullins says. "The eggs are good and fresh. These lay enough for me and my wife and my kids' family too."

Finally the conversation turns to the cave. The Great Saltpetre Cave was on Calloway Mullins' original 7500 acres of land 150 years ago. Calloway Mullins, (Richard's great-grandfather) was a blacksmith for the railroad, and divided his vast expanse of land into smaller parcels for his ten children and their families. Calloway died at 73. "Back then old fellows worked themselves to death." Calloway had ten or eleven children and divided the land up among them. Calloway had lived three miles from the cave, on Crooked Creek, on land that Burgess Abney owns now. "There's lots of caves around there, too, he says."

Richard's great-uncle John Mullins, was fortunate enough to inherit the portion with the two entrances to the Great Saltpetre Cave. Unfortunately, John Mullins' luck did not protect him that terrible day when a rope broke. The huge 36-feetlong log beam that was being hoisted into place at the top of a house he was building for his brother came crashing down on his spine, leaving him paralyzed for the rest of his life. After John died, his daughter Ella, an older woman finally married an old widow man, Bill Carpenter. After Ella died, her husband moved back to his old house and tried to sell the property (cave included) for $1,500. Then came the small legal problem. John had never signed the deed over to Ella so there was a question of ownership and homesteading rights since Bill was no longer living on the property. When the courts finally ruled, the cave reverted back to the Mullins family, to Richard's grandfather Charles Anderson Mullins, a tower of a man nicknamed "Biggie."

Biggie sold the cave the John Lair, the father of country music in Renfro Valley, who arranged for some of his famous barn dance talents to perform in the cave. John Lair also encouraged the local churches to hold as many services in the cave as they wanted, free of charge. Lair was a World War I veteran who had been a disc jockey on a radio station in Chicago before coming to the Renfro Valley area. John Lair was well liked and it was during this time that Richard managed the cave and campground and gave guided tours, while his wife Francis Isabel Mullins sold tickets, soft drinks, and souvenirs in the shop close to the main entrance. "Many grey-haired women who took the tour of the cave said that they remembered square dances, and even church services that had been held in the cave when they were young girls," said Mrs. Mullins. "They really enjoyed seeing the cave again because it reminded them of how much fun they'd had there." Richard says that the admission for a guided tour was $2 for adults, $1 for children, and the little ones (under eight years of age) were admitted free. "We gave them a guided tour, but some had been in so many times we just turned them loose. They didn't need a guide."

The great iron gates to the cave are remnants of the old Mt. Vernon jail. "Many a prisoner has been behind those gates," Mullins says. Bill, a stone mason who built the gift shop, installed the gates. Bill lived there for about three years, but liked to drink, and didn't stay long. Before the electric lights were installed (about 20 years ago) 15 kerosene lanterns hung on posts to provide light for the cave. Even after the electric lights, the guides carried at least two lanterns in case of a power failure.

Mullins has seen more than a half a dozen houses rise and fall on the Great Saltpetre cave property and almost as many different owners. During Mullins' management, the campground had pit toilets, and a nice block shower house was added with water supplied by the same spring that provided his own water.

There was a charge of $1 per tent for camping in the campground.

The huge shelter house was also added. "We even had a woman who cooked and sold food near the back of the shelter for a year or so," Mullins says. But that didn't go over so well, so it didn't last long and I turned that part into a tool shed and work area."

John Lair also built a clay dam with a concrete bridge over the top of it to expand the campground to the other side of Crooked Creek. Richard says, "I told him that it would washout and sure enough, three years later, when the water was really high, it came crashing down, and the water just washed it away."

The cave was open to the public from April 1 to November 1 each year, and closed about five years ago when John Lair died. The new owner, Steiner Rain, just didn't want to fool around with the public enterprise aspect of cave ownership, so Richard moved back to his original homestead a half a mile away.

Mullins was not sure about exact dates in the older history of the cave, but knew that the cave had been mined for saltpetre to make gun powder during the Civil War. During that time he said that the Union soldiers slept on a couple of ledges in the North end of the cave near his property. You can still see the soldiers signatures there. The soldiers found the cave more comfortable that the extreme temperatures outside "because it stays about 58 degrees all year," he says. "It's warm in the winter and cool in the summer."

"According to history," Mullins says, Dr. Sam Brown from Lexington, was the first one to start the mining when he was awarded a contract from the government. Later another fellow, John Baker from Tennessee, took the mining business over. "Baker, his wife, and kids are buried in a cemetery down there where Calloway, his wife, and several other Mullins are buried as well."

Link with Daniel Boone? Most Kentuckians agree that Daniel Boone helped make America the great country that it is today. And his name is written in Great Saltpetre Cave, says Richard Mullins, whose family owned the land around the cave for over 150 years. "Daniel Boone's name is in there. I can show you right where to find it, in the North section of the cave near Fat Man's Misery," Mullins says.

"You have to know where to look-in a little cove area-up about as high as your head. It used to be very easy to see if you had a good light."

"The last time I saw it-it was faded so bad I could hardly see it," he says. It was spelled 'D Boon'." Mullins doesn't speculate about what might have happened to the "e" on the end of Boone. But it's well known that the legendary Boone knew more about wilderness survival skills and how to deal with Indians than knew about reading, writing, and arithmetic.

"My grandfather swears that there was a hemlock tree near the entrance of Mullins Spring Cave with 'D. Boon' carved into the bark. Everyone said that was where the Indians captured Daniel when they found him hiding in the cave," Mullins says. According to local folklore, Boone was tied with rawhide strips, then the Indians started a fire and went to gather more wood so that they could bum him. While they were gone, he held the rawhide strips binding his hands near the fire until they gave loose, untied his feet, and was gone before the Indians returned.

Whether Daniel Boone was the originator of the letters in the cave is something for historians to decide. Born in Pennsylvania in 1735, he moved to North Carolina where he was married and tried to settle down. But in 1769, at the age of 35, the wilderness of Kentucky lured and kept him until nearly 1800.

He retired to Missouri at the age of 65, and died in 1820. Most of the cave graffiti dates back to the early 1800s. Boone could have written his initials just before moving to Missouri. I'm looking forward to finding the faded inscription and looking for a date.

The weather is sunny, but cool and breezy. Two wild beehives hang from the large porch roof that protects the swing. A calico kitten and tiger striped cat wander down the path between Mullins' home and his daughter's next door. Lou and I thank him for taking the time to meet with us and give us so much information in so little time. He tells us of another larger cave, Mullins Spring Cave, that is only a half a mile from the concrete bridge that crosses Crooked Creek. It has three waterfalls, 50 foot pits, and the most beautiful formations you ever looked at," he says.

Evidently the Great Saltpetre Cave also used to have formations, but it was open to the public so long, without gates, that people broke the formations and carried them out. Some would even lag behind on the guided tours to write their names on the walls. "You couldn't keep them from it," he said.

"Lots of caves in this area, beautiful country," Mullins says. We'd like to stay and find out more, but still have the three hour drive to Cincinnati. We promise to come down again during the annual meeting on July 13 to talk further.

~ from The Electric Caver of the Greater Cincinnati Grotto, July 1990

Two Calloway Sisters

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Tue, 21 Jun 2005 14:50:00 +0000

One of the early settlers on the Upper Watauga River was Ben Calloway.

Ben had two daughters, Fanny and Betsy, who were known for their beauty and charm. Both of them are remembered in history for the problems they had with men.

Both their stories are tragic, in spite of some elements of humor in them. Fanny married John Holtsclaw, a Baptist preacher who was once moderator of Three Forks Church and they had seven children.

In 1825, after years of marriage, John ran off with the 18-year-old daughter of Bedent Baird, Delilah. They rode off over the mountains to live in Kentucky.

Well, at least John told Delilah they were in Kentucky. They were, in fact, just over the mountain from Valle Crucis (which was both their homes) about a mile from Banner Elk. After settling in a lean-to, they had a child. Then John built them a rough cabin and they settled in apparent harmony.

One of the few ways to get money in those days was to dig ginseng, which sold for a whopping 10 cents a pound. One day, Delilah wandered up in the mountains to find some "sang." While up there, she heard a cow bell that sounded just like that worn by Old Jers, one of her father's cattle.

She decided her father must have moved to Kentucky, too. The next day, without telling John, she headed off to find the bell. She found it, and her family.

It wasn't long before Fanny Holtsclaw discovered where John was living. She came over to Banner Elk, begging for work to help support the children. John gave her none, and even willed his land to Delilah. Fanny and her family struggled for years, but one grandson, James W. Whitehead, came to own all the land given to Delilah.

This wasn't the last we hear of Delilah. In 1881, aged 74, she persuaded a man named Ben Dyer to return from Texas to marry her. Basically, she promised him lots of land and money, pledging "all we have to do is sit back and enjoy ourselves." He came, saw and wasn't conquered. And then he sued her for his expenses! An undoubtedly humiliated Delilah had to fork over $47.50, the railroad fare to and from Texas. She died about 1890.

Betsy Calloway also had her problems, but, all in all, had a better time of it than her sister. She was living at home in 1819, when a handsome fiddler and hunter named James Aldridge arrived in the community. He was attractive and single and very interested in the beautiful Betsy. Soon, they married and settled in a large cabin.

Everything went fine for about 15 years. Then a fur trader by the name of Price stopped at the home of Edward Moody, which was near what is now Foscoe. Price knew "Fiddling Jimmy" Aldridge. He also knew Mrs. Aldridge, who, with their five children, was still living on the Big Sandy River on the Kentucky/(now West) Virginia border. When he went north again, he shared news of his discovery with the original Mrs. Aldridge.

That Mrs. Aldridge soon appeared on the scene. Jimmy came by Edward Moody's mill the day she appeared and shared the news that Betsy was sort of sulky about these developments, but he was sure she would get over it. She didn't.

There was no place for her to go, but she made it clear their marriage - which never really existed - was over. Relations cooled considerably. Sometime afterwards, several of his children by the Big Sandy Mrs. Aldridge appeared on the scene, further complicating matters.

So Jimmy headed up north to try and patch things up with his wife. This (big shock!) was not successful. Betsy came north to check things out and found her wayward lover living with a young girl. He returned to Watauga one more time, visiting his family in about 1838. He then returned to the Big Sandy and died at an advanced age during the Civil War.

Betsy, like her sister, struggled to survive and raise her family. She dug "sang," made maple sugar, washed and did any job that came her way. She was baptized in the Linville River, and always found enough food to provide hospitality for preachers who came by. Betsy Calloway died about 1900.

~ from The Mountain Times, Boone, NC 2001

Editor's Note - This is a colorful story, but at this time, no documentation has been found to prove it true.

The Callaways of Wylie, Texas

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Fri, 27 May 2005 14:37:00 +0000

Fred Callaway

Memories of ninety years ago on the history of the town of Wylie and the First Baptist Church were shared with me a number of years ago by a most congenial and lovable senior citizen. His name was Fred Callaway and he was born the same year that Wylie became a town. The town and the boy grew up together, although the town was known as Nickleville at that time.

On January 29, 1886 Fred was born in Nickleville, which is now the east side of Wylie. Wylie came into existence on October 16, 1886. Fred often said he lived on "the other side of the tracks." His father was James Madison Callaway who had come to this area via Arkansas after the Civil War. A veteran of the Confederate Army, he had lost an arm in this conflict. James had bought fifty five acres of land at fifty cents an acre.

His mother had been widowed by Wesley Pitts for over a year before her marriage to James Callaway. Her name was Nancy Bennett. She had eight children by Mr. Pitts. She and Mr. Callaway had only two, Fred and Della (Oliver).

Home was located on what is now Old Highway 78 just past the present location of the Wylie Middle Grades School. Fond memories of the happy times there existed for Fred until his death June 16, 1978. His mother and father were both quiet, hardworking people who loved the Lord and were active in the old Nickleville Baptist Church, a forerunner of the present First Baptist Church of Wylie. Fred remembered that his mother was the most beautiful woman that he ever saw. Her voice was most melodious and she was always a member of the church choir.

Father was a good man. He showed no partiality between his children and his stepchildren. he believed the Bible literally, according to Fred. Especially he agreed with Proverbs 13:24 concerning the sparing of the rod and spoiling the child. When Fred would get caught playing hooky or in other bits of mischief (and this happened often), James would go to the mulberry trees and carefully select two "just the right size" limbs. He then would place them under the stub of his arm and twist them together. Although he was one-armed Fred knew when Papa said lay down, he had better and "take what was coming to him."

Farming was a way of life to most back then, and Fred was no exception. At first he went to work for his stepbrother, Gus Pitts, for $15.00 per month, plus room and board. In 1905 the "love-bug" bit him. He married that year to Pearl Hembreys, and his father let him farm the homeplace. In 1913 he sold this farm and went to work for others.

In 1916 an event happened which changed Fred's life . He drove his first automobile! It was a 1913 Ford. He knew then and there that he MUST have a car of his own. A brother-in-law had told him that cars were much cheaper in Waco. Off to Waco went Fred. When he returned he had purchased a one-month old car for $500.00. In Wylie he was offered $625.00 for it.

In 1920 Fred left Wylie to become an expert automobile mechanic. For twenty-three years he worked at this trade. Most of the time was spent in Dallas, but he worked briefly in Fort Worth. When arthritis affected his work, Fred and his son, John Marvin Callaway, opened a laundry and dry cleaning establishment in Dallas. This they ran for over twenty years until grandsons took over and Fred retired.

Upon retirement Fred came "home" to Wylie. Home is where the heart is and Fred knew this. Once again he became active in the First Baptist Church. He also had time to sit and remember - the days when Wylie was young and he could go downtown and catch rabbits under the boardwalks and how the cotton must be picked.

Fred Recalls the Early First Baptist Church

The Civil War ended and many from the Southern States headed to Texas. Among them were the three strong Christian sons of Mr. and Mrs. Garrison Callaway. From Georgia to Arkansas to Nickleville (later Wylie) they came. They were James Madison Callaway, William M. (Uncle Billy) Callaway and Henry H. Callaway. All were instrumental in building the towns of Nickleville and Wylie. All were devout in their faith and were charter members of the Nickleville Baptist Church.

It was Fred's "Uncle Henry" and his wife "Aunt Sallie." (the former Sarah Elizabeth McCullough) who gave the land for the Baptist church in 1884. The present location would be called South Ballard and Oak Street. Reverend Benjamin Bishop was the first pastor. For one year the church was also used as a "free school," but in 1885 Uncle Henry and Aunt Sallie gave land for a schoolhouse as well.

For many years the Callaway family held the distinction of having the oldest member of the First Baptist. First, Mrs. Daisy Pitts, sister-in-law of Fred, held this honor. Upon her death, Mrs. Della Oliver, Fred's sister, was the oldest. Fred was next in line to receive this title. He held it with dignity for many years.

Fred remembered the names of some of the charter members of the newly formed Baptist Church of the mid 1880s. There was Charley Bishop and his family, the Munday's, the Daniel's, the Winn's and the Floyd's (one was a teacher Miss Bessie Floyd). He said he couldn't recall all of the names. After all, they had approximately three hundred in Sunday School then.

Vivid were the memories of the sanctuary. All around the building were hitching posts for horses and buggies. The wooden church faced east and was built in a long row. The sidewalk forked to a north and a south door. At the north door there was an eight foot by eight foot room which housed mops and brooms. Above this room held Fred's fascination, the church bell. Entering the south door of the building, one would note six windows on each side. The many benches were of wood and not padded. Benches were behind the pulpit for choir members.

Fred reminisced about his conversion and when he joined the church. It happened August 14, 1898, and he was baptized on August 15, 1898. Pastor was J. A. Moore of Garland. Garland was not much bigger than Wylie then. Rev. Moore would preach two Sundays in Garland and two Sundays here. Each year he would hold a two-week revival. It was during the August 1898 revival that Fred was saved and baptized. From that day on he never doubted that he was a Christian.

He seldom missed church. For five straight years, from age eighty to eighty-five, Fred did not miss one service at the church. This included midweek services and revivals.

Rev. Gilbert Calloway was pastor here then (1966-1971). His sincerity and smile were contagious.

Fred Callaway loved God and his fellowman. God and all who knew him loved Fred Callaway.

When Fred began talking about the old church bell, much time and many cassette tapes were required. It was his favorite subject, and he knew about the old bell. The melodious chimes of this ancient work of art came alive as the story unfolded.

Fred was a small boy of five years when he first recalled "the bell." It began tolling for him to come to church at 8:30 a.m. and again at 9 a.m. His words on this are as follows: "When that bell rang, I couldn't be still for mother to dress me. After she finished with me, she would go to another room. She'd tell me to sit still, but I'd slip out and head up that road as fast as my legs would carry me. When she missed me, she would fuss, but that bell had rung. "After she caught me, I'd explain, 'But, Mother, you may be late and Brother E. L. Duncan (father of the late Fred Duncan) is calling me.' Brother Duncan toiled that bell for me three times each Sunday, at 8:30 and nine in the morning and at night."

Fred recalled that it was his father who had the job of toning the old bell in the church tower. Its foundations were made of 2x4's and 2x6's. Never once did the foundation shake because of the bell.

For many years this bell sat silent behind our present educational building. Fred could not understand this, for he knew that the sounds would "bring more people to church than all of the witnesses the church could send out."

If Fred would have lived a little longer, he would have been elated to see this old church bell in a place of honor in front of the church. No one would have enjoyed the beautiful hymns which chime hourly by the Carillon Bells as much as Fred.

Henry H. Callaway

Born January 18, 1848, Henry was the youngest son of Mr. and Mrs. Garrison Callaway of Georgia. He married Sarah Elizabeth (Aunt Sallie) McCullough. To them were born the following children:
1.) Bertha Callaway (born February 19, 1880 and died Nov. 2, 1887)
2.) Jesse Callaway (born Oct. 13, 1886 and died january 1, 1951)
3.) Minnie Callaway
4.) Nettie Callaway
5.) Curtis Callaway

It was Henry and Sallie who were very active in establishing the "necessities of home." At first they donated one and one half acres of land and $50.00 to build a Baptist Church in old Nickleville in 1884. the school children began going to school there after its construction. This couple noticed the need for a building just to house classes for the children, and in 1889 they donated four acres for a new school. It was constructed in 1891.

Throughout the years Uncle Henry acted benevolently toward this town. He died on December 2, 1894 and is buried in the Wylie Cemetery.

Jesse and Bonnie Callaway

When first we moved to Wylie, we were greeted by a lovely little lady, Mrs. Bonnie Callaway, who asked if we were kin to the late Oscar Fulkerson of Quanah, who was the banker there. We told her that this was my husband's uncle. During the depression years, Jesse and Bonnie Callaway had been neighbors of the Fulkerson's in Quanah and had become close friends.

Mrs. Callaway was born November 25, 1892 in Plano to Mr. & Mrs. Lee McCrary. On April 28, 1944 she was employed at the new Johnston, Inc. at the beginning of the company here. By the spring of 1945 she was chosen to be floor lady for department B, and did a near perfect job.

Jesse Callaway was born October 13, 1886. To this union were born two sons. They were:
1.) Jesse Callaway who was born August 8, 1913 and died September 7, 1915. He is buried in the Wylie Cemetery.
2.) Charles W. Callaway lived in Dallas.

Jesse worked for several years throughout West Texas, especially in the Quanah area. From 1934 until 1938 he was Wylie's City Clerk. On January 1, 1951 Jesse passed away. Bonnie died December 28, 1976. Both are buried in the Wylie Cemetery.

John H. (Doc John) Callaway

Born in Union County, Arkansas, John H. Callaway entered the lives of Mr. and Mrs. William Callaway on July 20, 1872. They had settled here on their long migratory trip to Texas from Georgia. One of eleven children, Doc John, as he would be known after reaching maturity, attended the old Lee School, as did his brothers and sisters. He then attended the old Nickleville High School, a private institution owned by Frank McCarty.

This remarkable man remembered that when the railroad came through here, it shifted the town to become the new community of Wylie. he also recalled the new baseball suits bought by Col. Wylie with the stipulation that the team be renamed "The Wylie Rustler." From that name the town's first newspaper got its title.

Wylie, the town, boomed and prospered as Doc John grew up here. He began thinking of his future and what he would like to do to earn a living. To be a veterinarian soon became his aim. Vet courses at the Ontario Correspondence School of Ontario, Canada soon began appearing in the mail to the interested student. After completion, Doc John practiced this profession for over twenty years. In 1922 he retired, but in 1927 he opened a grocery store and service station in the Whiteway Addition. The Wylie Supermarket, Century 21 and a washateria are at that spot now. Since Doc John began this grocery in 1927, there has been one at this locale ever since. After thirteen years, Doc John wished to sell out. Jerry Swaner purchased it in 1939.

For the next six years (1940-1946) Doc John served as city marshal and tax assessor of the city of Wylie.

In 1894 he married Hattie Morris of Panola, Texas whom Doc John had met when she lived in Rockwall County. To them were born five children, three of which live to maturity. They were:
1.) Clyde Callaway born March 3, 1896, died August 7, 1902
2.) Maggie Callaway Blanton who resided in Dallas
3.) Bonnie Callaway who resided in West Texas and Wylie
4.) Maurice Callaway who resided in Dallas
5.) E. E. Callaway who resided in Riverdale, California

After death took Hattie on may 16, 1901, John remarried. This time his bride was Miss Emma McCreary (1871-Dec. 16, 1948). To this union were born two children. One lived to maturity. He was:
1.) Doyle E. Callaway who lived in Crowell, Texas.

After his retirement, this gentleman enjoyed life to the utmost - fishin', huntin', and playin' dominoes. On October 21, 1955 he died, and along with both wives and a son, Doc John is buried in the Wylie Cemetery.

William (Billy) Callaway

The middle son of Mr. and Mrs. Garrison Callaway to come here was William (Billy). Born in 1840, he married Sarah Elizabeth (Aunt Bettie) Bennett, born in 1847 in Alabama. They were wed in 1867. To them were born eleven children. One died in infancy. The others were:
1.) William L. Callaway who would move to Crowell, Texas
2.) J. H. (Doc John) Callaway
3.) Charlie C. Callaway
4.) Jim Callaway who moved to Oklahoma
5.) Tom Callaway who moved to Ford City, Texas
6.) Jesse Callaway
7.) Claude Callaway who moved to Crowell, Texas
8.) Mattie Callaway
9.) Lula Callaway Palmer
10.) Emma Callaway

All of the children had a family reunion in 1949 at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Tom Callaway near Ford City, Texas. This was reported in the Wylie News.

A happy two-story home filled with love and good fortune was just below the present Dairy Queen near the Santa Fe tracks. The children of Uncle Billy and Aunt Bettie were double cousins of James and Nancy Callaway's children. The ladies were sisters and the men were brothers.

When Uncle Billy died, he was buried near the present site of the Sonic Drive-In in a very small cemetery which has long since disappeared. After awhile his sons - Will, Doc John and Jimmy - decided he should be dug up and reburied in the Wylie Cemetery. Both Uncle Billy, who died in 1888, and Aunt Bettie, who passed away in 1902, rest in the Wylie Cemetery.

Dr. W. M. Callaway

In researching I have found out little about Dr. W. M. Callaway, an early day doctor in these parts. He was born March 23, 1802 and died May 27, 1886 and is buried in the Wylie Cemetery. It is known that he came to the St. Paul area and set up practice in John A. Walden's General Store. Soon he married Miss Dollie Walden and accumulated much land in the St. Paul area.

~ Photo and biographies from Wylie Area Heritage, Beb Fulkerson, 1990

Family line of descent:
Peter Callaway
William Callaway
William Callaway, Jr.
Jonathan Callaway
Henry Callaway
James Madison Callaway

More on this family can be found in the 1986 CFA Journal, page 58.

Edward Marion Callaway 1833-1888

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Sat, 22 Jan 2005 17:13:00 +0000

Edward Marion Callaway, the oldest son of Stephen White Callaway and his second wife, Mrs. Lydia (Logan) Bryan, was born in Howard County, Missouri on 16 October 1833. He moved with his parents to Monroe County in 1836 and to Platte County between 1840 and 1850. He was married three times. His first wife was Jane Clinkenbeard whom he married about 1858, place of marriage unknown. They were the parents of one daughter, Lydia Ann Callaway, born circa 1859 in Buchanan County, Missouri. Lydia Ann married John H. Miser in Baxter County, Arkansas circa 1881. She had two children, Henry Miser and Elizabeth Miser. Descendants were informed by Lydia Ann that her father had served as a soldier in the Confederate Army during the Civil War. As she was approximately 6 years old when the CSA soldiers were discharged, it is possible the one Edward Callaway in Missouri records was her father.

According to the single record in the Missouri State Archives and the single record in the National Archives, Edward Callaway was a resident of Monroe County, Missouri, when he enlisted. He served as a Private in Company E, 9th Battalion Missouri Sharp Shooters, surrendered at New Orleans on 26 May 1865 and was paroled at Shreveport, Louisiana on 7 June 1865. The date of his enlistment or his age at that time are not recorded.

Sometime after the Civil War, Edward Marion Callaway (pictured at left) moved to Baxter County, Arkansas, where he was listed as a teamster in the 1880 census. Evidently his first wife, Jane, died before 1870, and he married her cousin, Mary Talburt (or Talbot), daughter of Simon W. Talbert, born 1851 in Arkansas. They were the parents of one son, Walter Allen Callaway, born 21 September 1873 probably in Baxter County, Arkansas. Mary (Talburt) Callaway died before 1880. In 1882/3 Edward Marion married Susan Talburt, born 1865, a younger cousin of his second wife. She was the daughter of Walter M. Talburt and granddaughter of Simon W. Talburt. They became the parents of a daughter, Elenor born in 1884, and a son, William Edward Stephen, born 1886.

Edward Marion Callaway died in 1888 and was buried in the Henderson County Cemetery near Mountain Home, Baxter County, Arkansas.

The following is a brief outline of known information on his descendants:
Lydia Ann Callaway m. John H. Miser. They had the following children;
1.) Henry Miser
2.) Elizabeth (Lizzie) Miser

Walter Allen Callaway (pictured at left) b. 21 Sep 1873, d. 21 Dec 1911, m. Rebecca Isabelle (Belle) Phaby, 11 Aug 1895. They had the following children;
1.) Elizabeth (Lizzie) Callaway
2.) Lydia Elenor (Lena) Callaway
3.) Ethyl Callaway
4.) Bertha Callaway
5.) Thomas Edward Callaway
6.) Verna Melvina (Vernie) Callaway

Elenor Callaway b. 1884 Baxter County, AR m. Theodore Hicks. They had the following children all born in AR.
1.) Raymond C. Hicks, died young
2.) Nova Hicks
3.) Inza Hicks
4.) Bessie Hicks
5.) Essie Ruth Hicks

William Edward Stephen Callaway b. 1886 m. Castilia Smith 23 Nov 1912 in Izard Co., AR. They had the following children;
1.) Henry Erie Callaway b. 12 Feb 1914 in Baxter Co., AR, d. 21 Sep 1990, Durant, OK.
2.) Gladys Elsie Callaway
3.) Roy Avid Callaway b. 19 Oct 1918 in Baxter Co., AR, d. 22 Sep 1971.
4.) Raymond T. Callaway b. 1919, d. 1920 in Baxter Co., AR.
5.) Earnest Hobart Callaway
6.) Edward Callaway b. 1924 Baxter Co., AR, d. 1992 in McDonald Co., MO.
7.) Oleta Mae Callaway
8.) Herbert Dale Callaway b. 1930 in Broken Arrow OK, d. 1978.

This biography was researched and written by Bobbie Callaway (now deceased) who was CFA Historian for many years. It was originally published in the 1994 CFA Journal

This family line of descent is as follows:
Joseph Callaway (US immigrant to Virginia from England)
James Callaway
James Callaway, Jr.
Stephen White Callaway
Edward Marion Callaway

Two Early Callaway Businesses in Southwest Missouri

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Sat, 01 Jan 2005 18:49:00 +0000

In the fall of 1887, the St. Louis-San Francisco Railroad moved to Plymouth Junction, Mo. and renamed the new settlement Monett. Return Robert M. "Bob" Callaway, a young man of 23 years, was employed at that time by Mr. Raupp in Pierce City, Mo. six miles away. The new town grew rapidly, and early in 1888 Mr. Raupp sent young Callaway to Monett to open and manage a furniture store. Soon Bob Callaway became a part owner and subsequently the sole owner of the small furniture business, beginning a career in Monett that was to continue for fifty years. By 1890 he added a funeral service, conducted from the furniture rental building location.

The Callaway Furniture Store

A family business from 1888 through 1942, the Callaway Furniture Store in Monett had customers from the entire surrounding area and south over the Arkansas state line. In 1904, Bob Callaway erected a building on the main street (311 Broadway) with two floors plus a balcony floor which provided 22,500 square feet of space for furniture and coffin display. The building is still used today as a furniture store by Wesco (1993). As the business grew, Bob Callaway and his sons purchased furniture and accessories from St. louis and later attended the Furniture Mart in Chicago. To house the additional merchandise, a warehouse building was constructed behind the store about 1925. Mr. Callaway also opened a furniture store in Aurora, Mo., around 1920, which he sold in the mid-1930s.

Through the years improvements were made to the furniture store building and the merchandise available for sale. In addition to furniture, items available for purchase included carpets, curtains and draperies, linens, china, radios, phonographs, washing marchines and various small appliances. On April 1, 1938, Bob Callaway celebrated 50 years in business in Monett with a complete remodeling of his furniture store. A year later, in 1939, he sold the business to his two sons, Robert E. and Floyd C., who continued the business until 1942.

The Callaway Funeral Home

A pioneer mortician in Monett, Robert M. Callaway was licensed as an embalmer in the State of Missouri in 1895 (the first year licenses were issued) and was assigned state license number 14. By 1931, Bob Callaway was one of only five living embalmers in the state with a license number under 20. In the early years, beginning in 1890, the funeral service was conducted from the furniture store building. His two sons were taught to line coffins at an early age. They harnessed the bay horses and drove the funeral carriages that transported ministers and family members to churches and cemeteries. Both sons, Robert E. Callaway and Floyd C. Callaway, were licensed embalmers in the state of Missouri by the age of 20 years (Robert E., license number 1636, and Floyd C., license number 2066).

In 1918, a room suitable for casket selection, lie-in-state for the deceased, and a place for families from a distance to meet in a home-like atmosphere was set aside on the second floor of the furniture store. In 1921, Bob Callaway purchased a residence at Central Avenue and Dunn Streets, where he opened the first individual funeral home in Monett and Barry County, Mo. The remodeled home included a chapel, a private family room, a morgue and a casket display area. He was also the first in the county to provide ambulance service, motor driven funeral equipment, and an electric organ in the funeral home chapel.

In 1942, Floyd C. Callaway bought his brother's interest and became the sole owner of the funeral home which he had managed for a number of years. He had graduated from Monett High School in 1912, attended Quincy Business College in Illinois, was licensed as an embalmer on May 19, 1914, and was a Private in World War I. From 1929 through 1933 and from 1941 through 1945, Floyd was one of the five appointed members of the Missouri State Board of Embalming, serving a total of two and a half terms or ten years. After assuming complete ownership of the funeral home, he remodeled it into a Georgian colonial structure in August 1942. Floyd sold the business in 1947 and retired. The building currently (1993) is owned by and houses the office of Michael Garrett and Carr Woods, attorneys.

The above article was written by Bobbie L. Callaway, Historian, Callaway Family Association (1927-1996). She was the daughter of Floyd C. Callaway and the granddaughter of Robert M. Callaway. The article was submitted to CFA and originally published in the 1993 CFA Journal

The family line of descent is as follows:
Joseph Callaway
Thomas Callaway
Thomas Callaway, Jr.
John Farrar Callaway
Thomas Farrar Marshall Callaway
Return John Farrar Callaway
Return Robert Meigs Callaway
Floyd Cambridge Callaway
Bobbie Louise Callaway

The Life of William Richard Callaway

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Thu, 30 Dec 2004 19:09:00 +0000

William Richard Callaway, the fourth of 11 children born to William and Leah Ann Ralph Callaway, was born on Dec. 3, 1826 in Sussex Co., Delaware, later moving to Illinois and Missouri. On April 23, 1847, in Memphis, Scotland Co., Missouri he was married to Abigail Jane Cecil, a descendant of Lord Cecil of England. Abigail Jane Cecil Callaway was born December 5, 1832 in Jentres, Tentran Co., Tennessee, the daughter of Samuel Stewart Cecil and his wife, Lily Bowen Richardson. When he was 21, his father gave him a farm in Scotland Co., Missouri.

It is stated in the Portrait and Biographical Record of the Willamette Valley, Oregon that in either 1849 or 1850 he crossed the plains to California with ox-teams, taking six months to make the journey. After spending six months in the Sacramento Valley he returned across the plains to Missouri not overmuch pleased with the prospects which he had found in the west. By 1858 William Richard and his family had moved to Fillmore, Andrew Co., Missouri, engaging for some time in a mercantile business, later, however returning to the old farm in Scotland County. In 1864 he decided to make a change of home, not from necessity, but from the desire to give his strength and energy to the upbuilding of the commonwealth beyond the Rockies.

The trip was made across the plains in company with a large party all well armed and well equipped, the wagons drawn by horses. William Richard had four wagons, two teams allowed for each, besides quite a number of loose horses. After a six-month trip the party arrived in Oregon, locating on a farm near Albany, Linn County. At this time William Richard moved to Benton County, Oregon, outside of Corvallis. Two years later he purchased a farm of 640 acres, which was advantageously located on Soap Creek, where he built a house and engaged extensively in general farming.

Adding to his property from time to time, he finally owned over 1,000 acres, the Callaway Station, on the Southern Pacific Railroad, being upon this land as well as Callaway Creek. He was engaged in general farming and stock-raising and was successful in his operations. His granddaughter, Bea, said you could see Callaway Station from the front porch of the home, which made William Richard very proud. William Richard had always been a very prominent man in his area through the influence of the many good qualities which distinguished him, and as the choice of the people he was an able representative in the State Legislature for one term in 1877. William Richard died on January 5, 1897 at the age of 70, his wife dying July 25, 1885 at the age of 52.

The acreage of William Richard and his family was purchased by the U.S. Government for Camp Adair, which was activated in August of 1942 as a training site for Triangular Divisions from the Ninth Army Corps - 30,000 to 33,000 men each consisting of infantry, artillery and engineering units with the necessary support personnel. It appears German and Italian POWs were at Camp Adair from August 1944 through April 1946. It was used as an Air Force Station in the late 1950s to the late 1960s. It is now Adair Village. In order to construct this cantonment, families were uprooted, cemeteries relocated, railroad tracks rerouted and the small community of Wells was erased.

The above article was written by Nancy Schlabes Douglas, of Davis, California. It was submitted to CFA and originally published in the 1989 CFA Journal.

This family line of descent is as follows:
Peter Callaway
John Callaway
Ebenezer Callaway
William Callaway
William Callaway, Jr.
William Richard Callaway

Rev. Abner Josephus Callaway - Preserving a Memory

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Wed, 22 Dec 2004 19:06:00 +0000

Rev. Abner Josephus Callaway Obituary

Rev. Abner Josephus Callaway was born in Kemper Co., Miss., Nov. 4, 1848. Died January 1st, 1914 in Marion, Union Parish, LA. Came to Louisiana in his boyhood days, began preaching at the age of 25 years, was a strict Missionary Baptist, a zealous and faithful worker for the cause. He was moderator at the last session of the Everett Association and was the last one of the band of ministers who would not accept a salary.

He leaves a devoted wife and nine children to mourn his loss. He was a member of Mount Olive Church.

But we the members of Concord Church who have sat under his ministry are desirous of testing (testifying) through respect for his memory and expressing their earnest and affectionate sympathy with and for his loved ones, therefore, be it:

Resolved, That we tenderly condole with the family of our deceased family and minister in their hour of trial and affliction and devoutly commend them to the keeping of Him who looks with pitying eye upon the widowed and fatherless.

Resolved, That in our natural sorrow for the loss of a faithful and beloved Shepherd, we find consolation in the belief that it is well with him for whom we mourn.

Resolved, That while we deeply sympathize with those who were bound to our departed brother and pastor by the nearest and dearest ties, we share with them the hope of a reunion in that better world where there are no partings.

Resolved, That a copy of these resolutions be transmitted to the family of the deceased and as a token of our love and respect for the Christian character of a good Shepherd of his church.

The above obituary was submitted to CFA by Ruby Jacobs, who was a charter member of CFA. It was originally published in the 1983 CFA Journal

This family line of descent is as follows:
Joseph Callaway
Francis Callaway
Francis Callaway
William Abner Callaway
Abner Benjamin Callaway
Abner Josephus Callaway

From a Family Notebook, by Augustus Homer Callaway, 1920

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Mon, 06 Dec 2004 19:03:00 +0000

My father, Elijah J. Marlow Callaway, had eight children, four boys and four girls. The oldest, a boy, died in infancy. The oldest girl, your Aunt Thenia, married Frank Stephens (Frank Stephens' father) in 1861. He was killed in the second battle of Manassas in 1862. The second girl, Angie L., died at our home in Gwinnett County, Ga., in 1889. She had never married. The third, Mary, married J. C. Sawyer. She had only one child, Willie, who is in Atlanta. She died in 1881. Martha J., the fourth, died in 1899. I am the sixth child and oldest boy that lived to be grown. I was born in Webster County, Ga., in 1854. Nickes W. was born in Henry County, Ga., in 1862. The girls all died between the ages of 45 and 52. All the old set of Callaways were Hardshell Baptists. My father was about the first to break off from that faith. Soon after his marriage to mother, she was Methodist, he joined the Methodist Protestant Church and soon became a preacher in that church. None of the Callaways that I knew of ever became very wealthy. None ever entered business to amount to anything. They were all of an agriculture trend of mind. They were all of a high moral character as far back as I ever learned except one of Uncle Burt's brothers (son?). You understand Uncle Burt was my Great Uncle. He had a boy named Allen that was of a low down character. He left Georgia in about 1858 and no one ever knew what ever became of him.

I guess we have no Callaway relations in Texas outside of your Uncle Nick's family, unless it be those three brothers near Tucker in Anderson County: John, Bill and Allen Callaway. My father had an uncle, named Joshua Callaway, who was a Hardshell Baptist preacher. He left Georgia several years before I was born. He went to Alabama, from there to Mississippi, later moved on west and was lost sight of. These brothers, that I spoke of, say their Grandfather came to Texas from Mississippi when their father was a boy and that his name was Joshua and was a Hardshell Baptist preacher and originally came from Georgia. So from their names we must be from the same stock.

Grandpa had several brothers and sisters. I never knew much about any but Great Uncle Burt (Gain's and John's father). Grandpa died in 1857, said to be 103 years old. My father had 2 brothers and 2 or 3 sisters. The girls died before I can remember. Pa was the oldest boy, Uncle Wilse next and Uncle Buck, the youngest, was killed in the war between the States in Confederate service. I think my father was born in South Carolina. He was born in 1804 and died in 1869. Most all of the Callaway genearations still live in Georgia, scattered along on both sides of the Flint River from near Atlanta to Ogletharp in southwest Georgia. Uncle Wilson, or Wilse as he was called, had 4 children.

End of Augustus Homer Callaway's Notes - The full context of these notes was originally published in the 1988 CFA Journal.

Augustus Homer Callaway was born in Webster Co., GA in 1854 and died in the little town of Montalba, TX from a heart attack, just after delivering a sermon for a revival he was conducting. He was a Methodist minister. He married Georgia Ann Jackson (b. 1855; d. 31 Jan 1919) about 1874 at McDonough, Henry Co., GA. At the time of their deaths they resided at Rt. 1, Palestine (Anderson Co.), Texas. After the death of Georgia Ann, Rev. Augustus Homer Callaway married in 1921, Florence Palmer, a school teacher in Palestine, TX. He had eight children by Georgia Ann, and two sons by Florence.

The children of Augustus Homer and Florence Palmer Callaway:
Augustus Homer Callaway, Jr. - b. 1922; d. 1976/7
J. E. Marlow Callaway - b. 1923; d. Nov. 17, 1997 in Athens, TX.

The above information and accompanying photographs were submitted to CFA by Ruth Foster Anderson, Rex, GA. Ramon W. Callaway of Crockett, TX (son of Cleophus Homer Callaway) also contributed much information on this family. Frustration has arisen in trying to interpret the NOTES of Augustus Homer Callaway. There is the feeling that he mixed up the generations. Regardless of the shortcomings of the NOTES, they did enable CFA to trace the ancestry of Augustus Homer Callaway.

His father, Elijah J. Marlow Callaway was the son of Elijah M. Callaway who, according to census records, was born in 1793 in Delaware. He married Sarah "Sallie" Leary in 1817 in Jones Co., GA. Augustus Homer Callaway said that his grandfather died in 1857 at the age of 103. He was confused here. Elijah M. did not die in 1857. It is possible that he confused his great grandfather's death. Levin Callaway (b. c1760, Delaware) would have been at an advanced age if he died in 1857. We have not found a record of Levin's estate settlement to determine his date of death, but he was not on the 1860 census. Levin Callaway married Elizabeth (Hall?, perhaps) in Delaware and some of their children were born there before the family made their move to Baldwin Co., GA during the 1790s. Levin Callaway (and his brother, Jehu, who also came to Baldwin Co., FA) were sons of Levin, Sr. and Mary Callaway, of Sussex Co., Delaware. Levin, Sr. died 1784 and Mary, his wife, died on 1 November 1793 in Sussex Co., Delaware. Of their eight children only two are known to have come to Georgia. The ancestry of Levin is shown on the CFA charts in the 1980 CFA Journal

This family line of descent is as follows:
Peter Callaway
John Callaway
John Callaway
Levin Callaway, Sr.
Levin Callaway
Elijah Marlow Callaway
Elijah J. Marlow Callaway
Augustus Homer Callaway

Abraham Callaway's Family Migration

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Fri, 03 Dec 2004 18:59:00 +0000

Abraham Callaway and his wife, Tabita Wooten, were my great grandparents. Abraham was a son of Joseph Callaway and Nancy Ragan Callaway. Joseph was the son of Job Callaway.

In the early years my great grandparents lived in Wilkes County, Ga., where two girls, Nancy and Margaret, were born to them. In 1834 my grandfather, James Wylie Callaway was born to them and in 1837 Albert Hill Callaway was born to them followed by Joseph Willia Callaway in 1840.

Also in 1840, the Abraham Callaway family moved to Wetumpka, Ala., where son Limuel John Callaway was the first child born in their new home. He was later killed in action in the Civil War (1862). David Abraham Callaway was born in 1850, Xenophan R. Callaway in 1853, D. Robert Callaway in 1855, and Eugene Floyd Callaway in 1858.

The end of the Civil War in 1865 brought numerous changes, one of which was the change in the capital of Alabama from Wetumpka to Montgomery. These changes resulted in great financial losses for the Callaway family.

With heavy hearts they left Alabama and moved to Batesville, Miss., where they purchased land. By this time my grandfather, James Wylie, had reached manhood and married Lucy Ann Boseman in 1859. She was the daughter of Colonel Boseman of Arkadelphia, Ark.

Three children were born of this union: Ella in 1859, Nathan in 1861, and Eula in 1866. All died in early childhood. Later, Michael Abraham Callaway was born in 1867, Joseph Albert Callaway in 1869, James Wylie Callaway in 1871, and William Stone Callaway in 1873. In that same year (1873) a major portion of the family's land holdings was sold as the family bagan to prepare for the westward migration.

One son of Abraham Callaway, Albert Hill Callaway, remained at Batesville to carry on the family heritage there. Before moving westward, however, the family made a trip to Arkadelphia to visit their grandparents, the Bosemans. During this visit Charles Clark Callaway was born (1875), the last of five sons. In the next year (1876) a girl, Laura Lucy Callaway, was born.

The family then moved to Pueblo, Colo. From there they migrated to Silver Cliff, Colo., a flourishing silver mining town. My grandfather taught school there for two years.

The call went out for the newcomers to homestead land west of the Continental Divide where land had been set aside under the Homestead Act of 1863. The Indians on this land were taken to Unitah Reservation on the Colorado-Utah border.

The Callaway families moved to a new town in western Colorado in 1880. The beautiful town in the Uncompahagre Valley became home as the family grew with the town. As time passed, some family members migrated on to new territory.

My grandfather, James Wylie Callaway, and my father, Michael Abraham Callaway remained in western Colorado (Montrose) and are buried on Sunset Mesa. Masonic records show my great grandfather, Abraham Callaway, buried in Pueblo, Colo. I have been unable to ascertain whether or not he crossed the Great Continental Divide, as he died in 1875. My great grandmother, Tabita, died in 1884 on a wagon train in New Mexico. Her grave has not been located.

The above biography was submitted to CFA by Laura Callaway Huffer and first published in the 1988 CFA Journal

This family line of descent is as follows:
Peter Callaway
John Callaway
Edward Callaway
Job Callaway
Joseph Callaway
Abraham Aaron Callaway
James Wylie Callaway
Michael Abraham Callaway

Gibson Girl Was Unrivaled Number One

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Wed, 17 Nov 2004 19:30:00 +0000

Betty Grable, Rita Hayworth, Gloria Vanderbilt, Lauren Bacall, Ava Gardner, Doris Day, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Ali McGraw, Cher, Bianca Jagger. From the World War II era in very rough chronological order, with much overlapping and many omissions, these have been young women who have attracted a kind of national emulation. In her day each had boasted nationwide coteries of admirers who have looked to her - for whatever reasons of figure, face, dress and style - as the ideal of American womanhood.

The point, perhaps is not so much that the ideal changes with mood, but that at no time in the last four or more decades had there been a single national ideal. Clara Bow, the "It" girl of the 20s, more nearly achieved it in her time, but she was by no means without rivals.

But, at the turn of the century (admittedly before the silver screen promoted such a proliferation of candidates), for the first and last time there was an unrivalled Number One: the Gibson Girl.

Irene Langhorne Gibson of Virginia was perhaps the last of the "Southern Belles." She was unquestionably America's first pinup.

The future Gibson Girl was born in Danville, a daughter of Col. and Mrs. Chiswell Dabney Langhorne. (One of her sisters was to become Lady Astor, the first woman to sit in Parliament.) Her father, scion of a once wealthy Lynchburg family, emerged from the Confederate Army at 21 with assets of one patched suit, one barrel of good whiskey and a bride, Nancy Witcher Keene of Danville.

Chiswell Langhorne failed to strike it rich as a Danville tobacco auctioneer. But in Richmond, where he had moved his family in 1885, he eventually landed a construction contract with the Chesapeake and Ohio through the good offices of his wartime commanding officer. From then on, Langhorne reaped a satisfying share from railroading. He bought Mirador, (pictured at left) an Abemarle County mansion, as a retreat from Richmond and as a showcase for his golden-haired, blue-eyed debutante daughter.

The fame of Irene Langhorne's beauty spread, and resulted in a profusion of invitations. She starred at the Philadelphia Assembly in 1893 and at New Orleans' Carnival German in 1894, whereupon Ward McAllister requested the honour of Irene Langhorne's presence to lead the grand march at the Patriarch Ball at Delmonico's in New York.

McAllister was New York's social arbiter (he restricted high society there to 400, the capacity of Mrs. Astor's ballroom); the Patriarch Ball was the social pinnacle of the Gay Nineties. Irene Langhorne was a white-satined triumph, and not unsurprisingly became entraced with New York. She returned for the Horse Show in 1895 and was even given a dinner at the scene of her previous year's triumph, Delmonico's.

Two close friends, young but already well-known bachelor's, came to dinner: Richard Harding Davis, a swashbuckling reporter and author of best-selling adventure novels, and Charles Dana Gibson, who often illustrated Davis' work. Gibson was gaining a reputation in his own right through his drawings for Scribner's and The Century.

Gibson had acquired plenty of self-confidence along with national recognition. Undeterred by the 66 marriage proposals Irene Langhorne was known to have already received, he went to Mirador and laid seige. After ingratiating himself with Chiswell Langhorne (who admitted that the damn yankee knew how to ride good horses and take care of the tack), Gibson issued an ultimatum. He was shortly off to Europe; he wanted Irene Langhorne to accompany him as his wife.

The Gibsons were married Nov. 7, 1895 in St. Paul's Church in Richmond. A private railroad car brought the New York guests. The new Jefferson hotel opened two days earlier than originally planned. The canopy outside the church was ripped to shreds by a crowd that pushed and shoved to get a glimpse of the bride and groom, and of Richard Harding Davis, who was an usher.

According to the Richmond Tribune, the bride's gown was of ivory satin with a high corsage of chiffon and satin sleeves. The shoulders and sleeves were festooned in Renaissance lace with orange blossoms at her left shoulder. The tulle veil was fastened by a crescent of diamonds, and her bouquet contained lillies of the valley and violets. The bridesmaids wore yellow taffeta gowns and black Gainsborough hats, and carried bouquets of yellow chrysanthemums.

A European described Irene Langhorne Gibson, as drawn by her husband, as a "tall and lovely woman with a magnificent head placed on a throat that was the envy of Aphrodite; the possessor of an exquisite mouth and an Italian Renaissance nose and eyes half hidden by mysterious lids, yet thoughtful and bright with a flash that told of a lurking temper."

With his wife as "premiere" model, Gibson's position in American art was assured. He set his enchantress in every walk of life; as a proud society beauty, then as a sweet, softly delineated housewife who nonetheless would venture from home for the tennis court or the bicycle path. He placed her behind the steering wheel of a car and in a (then) rather daring bathing suit at the seashore. The ideal American woman became no longer simply a housewife. Through his drawings Gibson gave American women his blessing to play almost any sport - if they did so gracefully. He approved of their entering any profession if they kept their dignity. As something of an after-thought he conceded them the vote as long as they were so adamant about getting it. (Irene Gibson as a Democratic National Committeewoman would work diligently for the election of Al Smith in 1928). But along with a campaign badge on the woman's blouse, Gibson would depict Cupid on a horse leading her to the polls.

The Gibson Girl became so popular in the early 1900s that everyone was talking and singing about her. Gibson Girl shoes, dresses and hats swept the nation. If she disappeared for over a week from magazines and newspapers, a universal cry would go up, and shortly she would reappear.

"Gibson has drawn the true American girl," the New York World editorialized during Irene Gibson's heyday. "Before Gibson synthetized his ideal woman, the American girl was vague, nondescript, inchoate; there was no type to her to which one could point and say, 'That is the typical American girl.' As soon as the world saw Gibson's ideal, it bowed down in adoration, saying, 'Lo, at last the typical American girl.' Not only did the susceptible American men acknowledge her their queen, but the girls themselves held her as their portrait and strove to live up to the likeness. Thus did nature follow in the footsteps of art, and thus did the Gibson Girl become legion, and the world take her to its heart as the type of American womanhood."

The Gibson Girl remained enthroned until World War I, which brought an end to the Indian summer of American serenity. The Gibson marriage, however, was long and serenely happy. Gibson headed the government's pictorial publicity division during the war and in the early 20s was editor of the old, or ptr-Time-Life, Life Magazine. He died in New York in 1944, and she in 1954 in her beloved Virginia, in a cottage on her son Langhorne's property near Mirador, which had been sold in 1950.

For those who admire perspective, cleaniliness of line and delicacy of shading, the Gibson Girl drawings remain a delight. For students of style, they may cyclically prefigure aspects of future modes.

But for social historians, they are worth some thousands of words. The accomplishment of Charles Dana and Irene Langhorne Gibson - which would have astounded him, at least - was to take America on the first step toward woman's liberation.

This article was first reproduced with permission of Viginia Country, Quarterly, Spring 1980, in the 1981 CFA Journal

The drawing of the Gibson Girl, entitled "The Debutante", by Charles Dana Gibson, and the picture of Mirador, from Charlottesville Area Real Estate web site

Irene Langhorne was the great great great granddaughter of James Callaway (1735-1809) of Bedford Co., Virginia. Her family line of descent is as follows:
Joseph Callaway
William Callaway
James Callaway
Frances Callaway married James Steptoe
Frances Steptoe married Henry Scaisbrook Langhorne
John S. Langhorne
Chiswell Langhorne
Irene Langhorne (1873 - 1954)

No, the Indians Didn't Get Andrew Jackson Callaway

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Mon, 15 Nov 2004 19:34:00 +0000

Thelma M. Danilson, of Portland, OR wanted the Callaway Family Association to know that "the Indians didn't get Andrew!" It was reported by Arkansas relatives that Andrew Jackson Callaway, born 1850, went to Oregon and that "the Indians got him." He did join a wagon train which left Arkansas in 1877 and arrived at Prairie City, OR six months later. Even though Indian uprisings had subsided by that time, there were some attacks by renagade Indians that could be quite frightening - especially when the men were away.

In 1876, Andrew had married Susan Alston before leaving for Oregon. But she and their baby died at childbirth. Was she on the wagon train with him? If so, where is she buried? Does anyone know these answers?

Also on the wagon train was Sarah Ann Steele, born 1857. She was the oldest child in the Steele family who were also making that trip. Sarah had been born in Ozark and had lived in various places in Arkansas. She did not know Andrew before the wagon trip. They were married in Prairie City in May, 1878, shortly after her father, Thomas Steele, a Civil War veteran, had died. When her mother, Mary Jane Blaylock Steele, died a short time later, Andrew and Sarah provided a home for three of Sarah's sisters and one brother. The couple had four children of their own.

Andrew, who had been educated at Fayetteville Seminary in Arkansas, taught school in Prairie where he and Sarah homesteaded. He soon began to teach in other schools which were too far from his home to travel on horseback. This meant he had to be away from home for periods of time and he boarded with families in the various communities. So Sarah had to assume the responsibilities for the home, children and cattle. Bertha, the oldest and the only girl, remembered how she had to ride horseback looking after the cattle and always carried a stick to kill rattlesnakes. Often a year would pass before they would see another white woman. The nearest Post Office was 10 miles away and the nearest doctor and supply center was 80 miles away in Ontario, OR.

Often the Indians camped near the farm and, on one occasion, one of them sat in the yard for a long time sharpening his knife. Sarah was alone with the children and must have felt they would all be scalped. It is said that one of the women - perhaps Sarah - chased an Indian away with a frying pan of hot coals. In any event, the Indians didn't get them.

Andrew was as active politically as he was educationally. In 1896 he was the Democratic nominee for superintendent of schools in Juntura, OR. He finally moved to Ontario, OR in order that the children could have better educational opportunities. His oldest son, Thomas Hosea Callaway, graduated from the sixth grade - the highest grade taught at that time - in 1900 but, sadly, Andrew did not live long enough to see that happen. He died in 1898, age 48, from complications related to a spleen problem he had had for several years. The Ontario papers said of him at that time: "... a good citizen, an honest, upright man, a loving father and husband...Honest to the heart's core, true to his friends and moral convictions, fearless in his advocacy of the right, hating shams and moral cowardice, open as the day, yet, modest, unassuming and reticent with strangers. His virtues were the kind that shone brightest in the home, and in the narrower circle of intimate personal friends."

Those direct descendants of Andrew at the 1981 Callaway Family Association Meeting were proof that the "Indians didn't get Andrew," and that beloved "cousins" abound throughout the United States.

The preceding article was submitted to CFA in 1981 by Thelma M. Danilson, Portland, OR, granddaughter of Andrew Jackson Callaway, and originally appeared in the 1982 CFA Journal

Pictured in photo, front row left to right: Andrew Jackson, William Andrew and Sarah Ann Steele. Back row: Edward Cleveland, Bertha and Thomas Hosea.
The family line of descent is as follows:
Peter Callaway
John Callaway
John Callaway, Jr.
John Callaway
Thomas Callaway
John D. Callaway
Jonathan Hosea Callaway
Andrew Jackson Callaway

Dr. James Calloway, Physician of Wilkesboro, NC

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Tue, 09 Nov 2004 19:24:00 +0000

Wilkesboro Witness, Wilkesboro, North CarolinaThursday Morning, February 6th, 1879

DIED CALLOWAY - On the 25th of December A D 1878, at his residence in Wilkesboro, in the seventy-second year of his age, Dr. James Calloway (Elijah, Thomas, Jr., Thomas, Joseph Callaway).

Dr. Calloway's life and character were too well known and valued for his friends to be satisfied with a simple announcement of his death. He was born in Ashe County, North Carolina, in the year 1806. Little is known by the writer of his ancestry or family connections, only that he was a grand-nephew of Daniel Boone, of Kentucky notoriety of which connection he often spoke with peculiar pleasure. (Editor's Note - There was no direct relationship between Dr. James Calloway and Daniel Boone. He was first cousin, twice removed of Flanders Callaway who married Jemima Boone, Daniel Boone's daughter.)

Later in life he was a representative of Ashe County in the Legislature of North Carolina. Almost contemporary with this event he became a practicing physician and soon after removed to Wilkesboro, where he at once obtained a large and extensive practice, which he retained and is well known in this and adjacent counties as a physician. At that time, the writer has been informed,there was no other regularly bred physician in the whole extent of country between Statesville, North Carolina and Wytheville, Virginia; hence his practice embraced in its range a territory which now constitutes seven counties in North Carolina. His practice was consequently a very laborious one. He was sometimes called even to Virginia.

He was married twice. His first wife, Mary L. Carmichael, was a daughter of Capt. Abner Carmichael and sister of L. B. Carmichael, a name familiar to the bar of this judicial circuit, and to his contemporaries in the Legislature of North Carolina, of which he was repeatedly a member. From this marriage were born three children, only two of whom survive - Mrs. Daniel W. Adams (Mary Virginia Calloway), and Mrs. John R. Bowie (Frances Caroline Calloway).

His last wife, who is now living was Miss Annie Perry Yeakle, a native of Maryland but residing at the time of their marriage, with an Aunt in Wilkes County. From this marriage were born six children, four of whom are living.

In former years Dr. Calloway was an earnest member of the Whig Party, and though rarely an aspirant to office he extended very extraordinary influence in its behalf. It is thought that no other man in the County influenced and controlled so many votes as he did.

He was most violently opposed to secession but in 1861 he was elected to the convention, voted for the Ordinance of Secession, strenuously supported it during the war and, so far as the writer can learn was never heard to utter a regret for the vote which he then gave. Since the war, for reasons which he deemed satisfactory, he has taken very little part in politics, only giving a silent vote in behalf of the conservative principles and men. There were many of us whose affairs were embarrassing and complicated and owing to the legislative enactments during and since the war, they have continued complicated.

Owing to these enactments the war left him very much embarrassed though owning a large property in North Carolina and in the Western States. As his greatest interests lay west of the Mississippi river he deemed it necessary to remove to Kansas in 1870. His health, however, failing he remained in that state only two years and returned to Wilkesboro where he resided till his death.

The common judgement of those who knew Dr. Calloway well is that he was a man of extraordinary natural strength of mind sharpened and improved by extensive professional and business associations and of an inflexible purpose in the prosecution of his aims. He had collected a vast amount of traditionary matter connected with the war of the revolution and hence was generally interesting in such subjects, and especially useful to those entitled to pensions as soldiers, or their descendants. He was for thirty years of his life a member of the Episcopal Church, whose ministrations in his sick room during his long and painful illness gave him his greatest comfort.

1814 Map of Fort Johnson by Captain James Callaway

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Wed, 03 Nov 2004 19:11:00 +0000

In the Mississippi Region, the War of 1812 was waged by Indians. Forts, both military and family, were the basic means of protection on the exposed Missouri frontier. In 1814 Zachary Taylor sent Captains Callaway and Whiteside with a group of militia to erect Fort Johnson on the east side of the Mississippi River after the militia had retreated from the battle of Credit Island. The map of the fort constructed was preserved with the letters and papers of Captain James Callaway (Flanders, James, Joseph Callaway).

James Callaway was a logical choice for such an assignment based upon his background and experience. He was the second son of Flanders Callaway and Jemima Boone Callaway, born in Fayette County, Ky., September 13, 1783, and familiar with Ft. Boonesborough from childhood. After migrating to the St. Charles District in late 1799, he engaged in the fur trade and revisited Kentucky. He frequently was involved in public activities and by 1808 was appointed cornet of a troop of militia cavalry and served as paymaster for the Clark expedition. In 1812, he was a captain of the militia and later participated in the expedition of General Howard in 1813 and the battle of Credit Island in 1814. At various times he served on the Missouri frontier with his uncles, Daniel Morgan Boone and Nathan Boone, and no doubt had the consulting experience of both his father and Daniel Boone, to whom "forting" had been a method of survival.

Captain James Callaway was killed by Indians near Loutre Creek in March 1815. The party that went in search of his body included his father, Flanders Callaway; and he, as well as two of his soldiers, were buried where they had been killed in what is now Montgomery County, Missouri.

In 1819, a new county was created from parts of Boone, Howard and Montgomery Counties. Located west of Montgomery and east of Boone on the Missouri River, the new county was named Callaway by the Territorial Legislature of Missouri to honor the memory of Captain James Callaway. It is the only county in the state named for a Missouri Ranger in the War of 1812.

The above article was written by CFA Historian, Bobbie L. Callaway, and originally published in the 1984 CFA Journal. The photo is courtesy of the Missouri Historical Society, St. Louis, MO.

Flanders Callaway House, Femme Osage District, St. Charles County, MO

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Tue, 02 Nov 2004 19:27:00 +0000

After living for about 12 years in the Femme Osage District of St. Charles County, MO, Flanders Callaway (James, Joseph Callaway) purchased 400 arpens of land in June, 1811, about eight miles west of his original grant. During 1811 and 1812 he built a log house on this property and moved his family there near the village of Charette. In 1813 he sold his original grant to his son, John Boone Callaway. He purchased an additional 802 arpens of land near his new residence in 1815 which made him the owner of approximately 1022.5 acres. His house was in Montgomery County when Flanders died in 1829 and that area became Warren County before Jemima Boone Callaway died in 1834.

The log house which Flanders Callaway built in 1811-12 was unusual for the area and the time period as it was quite large and had two stories. It was well built as it survived several floods of the Missouri River which completely inundated it more than once. In the 1920s a porch had been added and the house had been covered with siding (as pictured in photo). In 1968 the house was completely dismantled and sold, remaining merely stacked logs until 1979 when it was purchased by the current owner and moved to St. Charles County for reassembly.

The house is now located in the Femme Osage area on a grant originally belonging to Jonathan Bryan, a near relative of Rebecca Bryan Boone. It is in the same area where the Daniel-Nathan Boone house stands, not far from Callaway Forks and the original grant of Flanders Callaway. It is being reconstructed by hand methods as authentically as possible to appear as it was when built in 1811-12. When restoration is completed, the owner plans to furnish it as it might have been in the early nineteenth century.

Robert E. Thomasson, M.D., a St. Louis surgeon, is the owner and active participant in the reassembly of the Callaway house. His primary nonmedical interest is early Missouri history including the history of the buildings, equipment and other items in his growing collection. For the 1984 CFA Annual Meeting in St. Louis, he was the host on the premises for the group tour and the guest speaker at the family dinner on Friday night.

The above article was written by CFA Historian, Bobbie L. Callaway, and originally published in the 1984 CFA Journal. The photo is courtesy of Missouri Historical Society, St. Louis, MO.

For updated information and photos visit www.danielboonefamily.org

Boxwood Manor in Callaway, Virginia

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Mon, 01 Nov 2004 19:14:00 +0000

The land for the Manor was a dowry of 6000 acres and 30 slaves given to Susan E. Callaway by her father Henry Tate Callaway (it now includes only 600 acres). The Manor was built and completed about 1845. It was a 6 room home with 5 fireplaces. The ceilings downstairs are 10 feet and the upstairs are 9 feet high. All rooms have transoms to the center hall to allow air to circulate when the doors are closed. The lower level was a dining room, pantry and ‘root’ cellar (dirt floor). The first level had a parlor, a center hall, and a combination living, bedroom. Upstairs has a center hall and 2 bedrooms. The kitchen was located outside the Manor and the food brought to the main house basement dining room by slaves. There was a unique fan over the dining room table that was connected to a foot pedal and operated by a slave to keep the air moving. The fireplace had metal arms to keep kettles warm.

There was a semi-detached building of 3 bedrooms, a dining room and a kitchen that was never completed and no one in the family could give a satisfactory answer as to how and why it was there. The floor levels did not match the front house, the walls were not completed upstairs and was torn down by Flanders Callaway, Sr. in 1945. He then built an attached building with a bedroom, a kitchen, pantry, and a bath. This changed again in 1985 to be kitchen, 2 full baths, a foyer and a large bedroom.

Family legend as told by Russell Callaway, present owner of Boxwood Manor:

When Gen. Jubal Early was looking for some soldiers that had not surrendered, he was being pursued by the Yankees. He stopped here at Boxwood Manor to change horses and my GG grandmother gave him her favorite horse “Sweet Nancy” The General's worn out horse was supposed to have been led down a set of circular stairs into the basement to hide it from the following soldiers. Hard to believe when you realize how steep the stairs were. The stairs have been removed during modifications to the house. Following is the story.

SWEET NANCY
by
C. R. Perry

Lizzie was almost out of breath when she reached Thomas Callaway's office door. "Dey's men a comin' dis way, Massa Thomas," she said as she peered through the open doorway. Then she added, "Looks as though dey might'n be in a hurry."
Thomas turned and looked out the window just in time to see the riders turn their horses into the roadway to Boxwood Manor. "I believe they're stopping here, Lizzie," he said as he rose. "You go on back to your work and I'll greet our guests," he added as he grabbed his rifle from the corner and headed out the door.
Lizzie replied with a "Yes'er" and headed back toward the manor house as Thomas cautiously headed toward the hitching post, but before he took ten steps he could plainly see that one of the approaching riders was none other than General Jubal Early. He relaxed as he eyed the other three riders. He recognized one as the General's nephew, but he did not know the other two.
Thomas called over his shoulder, "Lizzie, tell Mrs. Susan we're having guests for dinner."
"Yes sir, Massa Thomas, I'll tell 'er," she replied as she scurried into the house.
"Good evening to you, Lieutenant Callaway," Jubal Early said as he reined in his horse.
"And a good evening to you, General, and welcome to Boxwood Manor," Thomas replied as he reached for the reins of his horse. Then he added, "You wanting to kill this animal? It looks pretty poor."
"No," came a sharp reply. "You fixin' to shoot him?"
"No, sir," Thomas said as he looked down at the rifle he was clutching in his right hand. "Can't be too careful these days though, General. No telling who might be riding up. Could be some fellows up to no good, you know."
"I've heard there are some bad ones running around these mountains." General Early replied. Then he added, "I reckon they are cowardly deserters from what was General Lee's army."
"Could be, I don't rightly know, General," Thomas said as he tied Early's horse. He continued, "When I was off fighting in the 42nd with General Lee, some boys deserted after we left Petersburg but I don't know where they ended-up."
"They ended-up no good, that's where! They all need to be hunted down and shot!," was the General's terse reply.
General Early and the other riders were dismounting as Susan Callaway came out the door of the house. General Early's rheumatism was very evident as he slowly and purposefully got down from his horse. He moved around his horse, looked to his three companions and motioned toward one of the big ash trees in the yard. "You three rest yourselves under that shade tree while I take care of my business with Lieutenant Callaway."
As he and Thomas walked toward Susan he added: "If you see any of them damn Yankees that are after us -- shoot the bastards!"
"You got Yankees chasing you?" Susan asked as she motioned to the gentlemen to enter the door she had just exited. She kept talking, "You all just go on in there and I'll make sure enough dinner is being cooked for you and your men."
She did not wait for a reply; but, instead, turned toward the kitchen as Thomas and the General entered the house. Susan walked to the kitchen in back of the manor house as Thomas led General Early toward the parlor. As they entered the room Thomas repeated Susan's question: "You got Yankees chasing you?"
"I suppose. Last night I stayed at your brother Watt's house, and this morning I had to hide in his garret when some Yankee soldiers showed up looking for me. Watt's servant, Surry, sent them off looking for me down the Carolina Road," General Early replied as he took an offered cigar.
He bit off the end and spit it into the fireplace and took a flaming match from Thomas. He lit his cigar, shook out the flame and tossed the match into the fireplace. He sat in a nearby chair that Thomas had gestured toward, and then he continued: "As soon as they were gone I got on that damned old horse out there and headed this way. I'm hoping those Yankee's won't pick up my trail again until I'm long gone from here."
"Why you running from them anyway, General? The war is over! We've been surrendered! We all have amnesty! Thomas said.
Early rose abruptly in spite of his rheumatism and, with one finger raised in the air, as if talking to a larger audience, stated: "I surrendered to no one! I was not a part of any army that surrendered! General Lee surrendered after he had relieved me of my command. So now I'm on my way to join up with the only Confederate Army still fighting for our cause."
"And what Army is that, General?" Susan Callaway asked as she entered the parlor.
"Why that'd be General E. Kirby-Smith's Trans-Mississippian, Mrs. Callaway," General Early replied. "He's fighting down in Louisiana right now and, I think he is looking to move back across the Mississippi as soon as his army is large enough to offer a formidable force against the Yankees on this side."
"Do you think he can succeed, General? The last I heard every Confederate army this side of the Mississippi had been surrendered. How long do you think he can hold out?" Thomas asked.
"I don't rightly know, Lieutenant, but I do know that I'll fight for our cause as long as I can," was the General's reply. Then, as he patted the pistol holstered under his frock, he added, "I don't intend to surrender to anyone."
"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Susan said as she eyed the pistol. Then she added, "One man, with one gun against a whole army won't amount to much."
"When you put it like that you might be right, Mrs. Callaway; but, it was one man, with one gun, that turned many a battle from certain defeat to realized victory," the General replied. "I'm no fool, Madam. I'll not stand alone against an army but I will fight with one until my last breath, if need be."
"I understand, but don't be like those misguided souls up in Floyd," Susan said "Oh, what happened up there?" The General ask.
"Three fellows attacked several hundred Yankee soldiers at the courthouse up there. They wounded a few of them and then retreated," Thomas said.
"Where did they go?" the General asked as he flicked the ash from his cigar into the fireplace. "Maybe I could recruit those brave men to ride with me down to Louisiana."
"Too late, General," Thomas said. "I heard they were shot dead in a grave yard."
"Well, that's a hell of a place to get killed. Did they take any of those damned Yankees with them?" Early inquired.
"Don't think so, General. Did hear, though, that the Yankees had them buried there where they fell," Thomas answered.
"Those bastards," Early said as he shook his head in disgust. "They probably didn't even give them a proper burial."
With that Susan excused herself to ready the dining room for dinner. General Early returned to his seat and he and Thomas set silently smoking their cigars. After a few minutes General Early spoke.
"Lieutenant, I stopped by here because your brother, Watt, said you might have a good horse I could purchase. As anyone can plainly see, my old horse is about worn out. I dare say, I doubt the old nag'll make it to Carolina, much less to Louisiana."
"Well, General, I have several horses any one of which you're welcome to have. They have all been worked or ridden hard this Spring and if any of them are pushed hard they might not make it to Louisiana either."
"I thank you Lieutenant. Can we go look them over now?"
Just then Lizzie came to the door announcing that dinner was ready. Thomas thanked her and said to the General, "Let's have dinner first." Then he motioned for the General to follow him. He led him to the back porch wash basin. After washing up they went down the outside spiral staircase to the basement dining room.
As they entered the room Susan motioned for the General to sit at the head of the table. As she did so she said, "You sit there, General, you are our special guest. We don't have a special guest too often these days."
"Well, I imagine that is so," the General said as he moved around the table past Thomas and Susan's standing children, "but it looks like you have some special people here already."
"Oh, forgive my manners, General," Susan said. "These are our children, Lavinia, James, George and John Peter."
The General patted John Peter's shoulder as he sat at the head of the table. Then he said: "They are fine looking children and this is a fine looking meal you've prepared, my dear lady. Fresh greens are my favorite -- and I'm really surprised to be able to partake of ham this time of year."
"Well, it may be a little strong, General, but I think it'll be just fine. A fellow down the road brought it to us this morning to pay his grinding bill," Thomas said as he motioned to the children to sit.
"I sent some greens and cornbread out to your men, General. Since I didn't have enough ham for everyone I had some extra fatback put in theirs," Susan said. "Also sent them some of this fresh buttermilk," she added as she handed a glass of it to the General.
"Thank you, Ma'am. This is mighty fine, mighty fine," the General said after taking a big drink from the glass. "And thank you for taking care of my men; I'd most forgot about them." "You are very welcome," Susan said as she proceeded to move around the table to her seat. When she was seated she looked to her husband and said, "Thomas," and then she bowed her head.
Everyone, including Lizzie, who was standing nearby, took the cue and bowed their head. Thomas ask the Lord to bless the food, his family and home as he usually did but then he asked a special blessing for General Early and his men.
After his "Amen," amens could be heard around the table. Then, as everyone began serving themselves and passing the food around the table, General Early thanked Thomas for remembering him and his men in pray. Then he added, "What I need more than pray, though, is a good horse if I'm going to stay ahead of those Yankees all the way to Louisiana."
"Well, as soon as we are finished eating we will go down to the stables and pick one out for you," said Thomas.
"You'll do no such thing," Susan said. "If General Early needs a horse then I'll give him Sweet Nancy."
"But Mother," James Henry said, "That horse was a present to you from . . . "
Susan cut him short with, "That's right, son, and that makes Sweet Nancy my horse and I just gave her to General Early."
"But Mother," John Peter said, "Sweet Nancy is the only horse I can ride." "Then you'll just have to learn to ride another, won't you, Dear," Susan replied.
Lavinia started to enter the conversation but her Father raised his hand to quiet her. Then he said, "Your Mother has decided. General Early will ride Sweet Nancy to Louisiana." Thomas looked at George and said, "As soon as you are through eating I want you to go the stable and bring Sweet Nancy to the hitching post so we can put the General's tack on her." Then he spoke to James, "I want you to get my spy glass and go to the upper front porch and keep a look out up the road. If you see any riders coming let me know quickly."
James eagerly responded with, "I'll go now! I done eat all I want," and he jumped up and left the room.
"Can I go with him?" John Peter ask.
"No, I want you to go to the grainery and fetch a sack of feed up here for the horses," came Thomas' reply. Then Thomas turned to Lizzie and said "Lizzie, can you please put some traveling food in a sack for the General and his men. Maybe some biscuits and fatback if you got any."
"I'll get'em something, Massa Thomas," Lizzie said as she left the dining room.
Thomas then said to Lavinia, "Would you water the horses as soon as you finish eating."
General Early looked over at Susan and said, "And that, dear lady, is why your husband was an officer in our army. He always knew what needed to be done and who to tell to do it. They should have made him a major -- may be even a colonel."
The General started to say something else but James came running into the room. "They are coming, Father, they are coming," he said as he tried to catch his breath.
"How many are there?" Thomas ask as he stood up.
"Don't know, I couldn't really see them. Just a cloud of dust over the road beyond the church," was James' answer.
General Early got up, Thomas motioned to the other children to do what they were told and they, the children, scurried up the spiral staircase. He then told James to go back to the upper porch and let him know when he could tell how many men were coming. He then turned to the General and said, "We got no more than 15 minutes before they are in the yard. That won't give you much of a head start but we will keep them here as long as we can."
"I'm sure, Lieutenant," came the General's reply. "But I don't want you doing anything that will bring harm to you or your family."
"I don't plan to do anything drastic, General," Thomas said as he motioned for the General to head up the steps.
When the General, Thomas and Susan got up the stairs and into the yard they headed straight for the hitching post where General Early's nephew was already unsaddling the General's old horse. He look over the horse and said, "The boy up on the porch told me that four riders were a coming. I sure hope you got another horse a coming to put under this saddle 'cause we got to go now."
"There's one coming up from the stable now," Thomas said as he pointed to George riding Sweet Nancy up the hill from the stables.
As George reined her in Susan walked to her side to say her good byes. George dismounted and Thomas took the saddle and put it on Sweet Nancy and instructed George to cinch it.
Thomas then turned his attention to John Peter who was struggling up the hill with a sack of feed. "Hurry up, son. The General and his men have to be riding," he said. Then, speaking to General Early, he continued, "When you and your men leave go northwest along Blackwater and right on up Bent Mountain. When you get to the top turn southwest and keep going. I would avoid Floyd since some of those Yankees might still be there."
"We will heed your advice," the General said as he mounted Sweet Nancy. He continued, "And I want to thank you, Mrs. Callaway, for this fine looking animal."
"Oh, you are very welcome, General," Susan replied as she backed away from Sweet Nancy. Then she added, "You take care of this horse -- and yourself, too!"
General Early tipped his hat and then instructed his men to mount their horses and take the offered feed and food from John Peter and Lizzie. One of the men took the food and another took the feed and they all mounted and turned their horses toward the Blackwater River. General Early raised his right hand, motioned forward with it as if he was directing a charge, and they rode off. Thomas and his family watched as they headed down the path and out of sight. After a brief moment Susan said, "Well, let's finish eating and when those Yanks get here we'll be able to act as if nothing unusual has happened."
"Good idea," Thomas said as he motioned for the children to head back down the spiral staircase. As he approached the stairs he instructed Lizzie to gather the dishes the General's men had left in the yard and return them to the kitchen.
No sooner had the family sat back down at the table than James came running in saying the Yankees were just below the house, no more than three or four minutes away. Lavinia said, "The General's horse is. .." but before she could finish Thomas was already sprinting back up the stairs. When he got to the top he glanced around and then darted to the hitching post, grabbed the reins and looked for the closest place to hide the horse. After looking at his office and dismissing it as being too close, he looked at the horse and said, "I hope you can negotiate a spiral staircase," and he headed toward it.
When he got to the top of the stairs he met George coming up. "You gonna put that horse in our dining room?" he ask his Father.
"Last place they'd look for him if they suspect he's here," Thomas said. You get behind him and make sure he comes with me," he added as he started down the steps.
Well, it was a sight to see according to Callaway family folklore. Thomas and George did succeed in getting General Early's old horse down that spiral staircase and into the basement dining room. The horse remained in the dining room for sometime while the Callaway family entertained the General's Yankee pursuers upstairs. This gave Early and his men an ample head start.
General Early did make it south to Louisiana but before he got there General E. Kirby-Smith surrendered his Trans-Mississippian Army. General Early, still refusing to surrender, left the country.
Boxwood Manor still stands at the foot of the Blue Ridge in Franklin County, Virginia. It is presently occupied by John Peter's grandson, Russell Callaway, and his wife Heide. Thomas' office still stands but the spiral staircase is gone.
The fate of Sweet Nancy is unknown.
The End

The information about Boxwood Manor and the story of "Sweet Nancy" were submitted to CFA by Russell Callaway, who also provided the photo of the Manor which was taken October 2004.

Thomas and Susan Callaway were first cousins. Their respective lines of descent are as follows:
Joseph Callaway
William Callaway
James Callaway
James Callaway
Thomas Callaway Callaway

Joseph Callaway
William Callaway
James Callaway
Henry Tate Callaway
Susan Emeline Callaway

Letters To, From and About the Callaways

noreply@blogger.com (DFM) — Sun, 31 Oct 2004 19:46:00 +0000

The following excerpts are taken from letters written by Christopher Columbus Callaway (Gadah, Francis, Jr., Francis, Joseph Callaway), to his sister Sarah Callaway Tubb, wife of Jesse Tubb. These were provided by Mrs. Gibson C. Ross of Jackson, Mississippi whose family was connected with the Tubbs. C. C. Callaway was a Methodist minister, and his mother and a number of his children are buried in the Mohegan cemetery in Noxubee County, Mississippi. Certain notes have been included in parentheses to clarify the letters to present readers.

Letter of C. C. Callaway, dated July 8, 1848, and written from Gainesville, Alabama to his sister Sarah Callaway Tubb and addressed to her at Hillsborough, Arkansas.

"Your journey was 24 days, and you like your new home and are well satisfied."

He then speaks of the journey to Heaven, and says, "Only think, Sarah, that father and mother have gone on before us and also our oldest brother and sister are already there."

He had held a protracted meeting at Gainesville, and "there were 117 whites and about 20 negroes converted and joined the Methodist Church. The balance joined the Baptist Church."

"We have two of the finest children you have ever seen, one fourteen months and eleven days older than the other. The oldest, Melancthon, is certainly one of the smartest children Sumter County holds". In reference to her children he said, "I wish you a great deal of happiness in rearing them, and especially may you have great blessing to you in your son".

Their sister, Asenath Callaway, married a Flannagan and lived at Summerfield, Alabama. "I haven't seen Susan (another sister) since I saw her in your home in Kemper. I shall go to see her next Monday and take my family, and on Sunday I shall preach the funeral sermon for Bro. William's little daughter - your namesake - little Sarah. I shall preach it in Pintree, Ky., and I suppose I shall see all of our kin from Running Water there."

"I have a letter from Cousin F. W. Callaway (once Probate Clerk in Noxubee County) informing me of the death of D. C. Callaway, and one of the twins Cousin Amanda had.

Another letter he wrote from Summerfield, Alabama in 1852.

"I have not received that letter that Cousin A. M. Callaway promised to write me. I hope he will not forget it.

"Had a letter from Bro. Magers some weeks since. Magers Callaway lived at the old Elijah Thomas place. Has six boys and one girl. He is the same good man he always has been."

"Brother Frank is living in Texas. He has moved to Clinton, Texas.

"Susan is still living near Uncle Davy and will never live anywhere else as long as Uncle Davy and Bill Lagrone both live". (Bill Lagrone her husband)

In another letter of 1852:

"Do steamboats run up to Farmersville? If not, how near can you get home in a steamboat? How far are you from navigation in the summertime?"

In another letter of 1852:

"Asenath (another sister) is living in about four miles of this place (Summerfield), and has five children living, one dead".

"I am living in this little village about eight miles from Selma. Fine people, intelligent, industrious, and best of all, mind their own business. I have some appointments along the Oakmulgee Creek and in the Old Neighborhood. Have been around these in the past week, saw all of our friends. The Nally relations glad to see me, and so were all the neighbors. Old Bro. Pearson is dead. All the girls are married except Mary. I was at old Tom Barnetts and took dinner with him; and all of his girls are married except Agnes. She was the baby when we left Alabama. 'Old Phoebe' looks precisely as she did 20 years ago. Of her it may be said, 'There is no variableness nor shadow of changing'.

"I have been to see Dent Lovelady and Dolly. Their youngest daughter, Betsey Ann, married last week West Reed, old Andy's youngest son.

"Tell Cousin Amanda I was at her father's three days since and all were well, and the old man looked just as he did the first time I ever saw him. I was in his graveyard and saw his mother's grave, and what a train of memories it wakes up in mind. I ran over my own history, also a history of the whole family."

A letter from Bro. Jesse was mailed at Cherry Ridge, P.O.

"When you write tell me of Allen Callaway and if he has ever gotten home from California. Direct your letter to Summerfield, Dallas County, Alabama".

In his letter he named Sarah's (sister Sallie) children: Amanda, Frank, James, Sallie, and Matilda.

Jesse Tubb's first wife was Grace Callaway, his second was her first cousin, Sarah Callaway.

The obituary of Jesse Tubb states that he joined the Baptist Church of which his father-in-law, the Rev. Billy Callaway, was pastor.

Eugene Callaway said that the father of his and Sarah's father was Gad or Gaddah Callaway.

The following letter was written by Dr. Eugene Callaway, Sr.:

Dear Cousin Stella:

It is very interesting to hear from you especially as I did not know that the Rev. C. C. Callaway had a sister.

I also am past the three score and ten, in fact I am seventy-three years of age. I am the only son of Darby Melancthon Callaway, the oldest son and child of C. C. Callaway. I have four sons and a daughter, and thirteen grandchildren.

I have a memorandum book and in it is found some facts about the family. The handwriting is the penmanship of C. C. Callaway. I quote:

"C. C. Callaway, and Z. E. Denton (Zerilda, I think the name was) were married by the Reverend Leroy Massengale, March 8th, 11 o'clock A. M. Anno Domini 1846. (Doesn't say where) (Note- Noxubee County).

"C. C. Callaway, a son of Gad and Nancy Callaway, was born in East Tennessee, April 28, A. D. 1822.

"Z. E. Callaway, daughter of John and Elizabeth Denton, was born in Bibb County, Ala., Jan. 28, A. D. 1826."

The C. C. Callaways had several children, of whom my father was the eldest. All are dead now.

I also note here that your great grandparents, Gad and Nancy Callaway are listed in the memorandum: "Gad Callaway was born A. D. 1780. Nancy Callaway born Jan 7, A. D. 1790."

Gad Callaway died 1828. Nancy Callaway died 1842.

There is also a record, "Susan Callaway was born May 19, 1820, A. D."

I think the father of your Gad was Francis Callaway.

My father fought in the Confederate War.

C. C. Callaway and his wife, Zerilda Emerine, are buried in Greensboro, Alabama, where he lived. He was a Circuit rider and very powerful Methodist preacher, and was the first financial agent who raised the money before the Civil War to build old Southern University, now Birmingham-Southern University.

The above was originally published in the Noxubee County Historical Society Quarterly Bulletin, Number 13, March 1980. It is reprinted here with permission.