| Biographical Non-Fiction posted May 6, 2024 | Chapters: |
...10 11 -12- 13... 
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Other things I'm remembering from my twos and threes.
A chapter in the book At Home in Mississippi
Tidbits, Cures and Other Kids
by BethShelby
As I entered my second and third years on earth, my grandmother, my mothers’ mother, Annie Jane, continued to be part of my life. She lived in our home for short periods at a time, as she tried to make sure she didn’t overstay her welcome in any one of her children’s homes. She was most often at her Singer sewing machine. If she wasn’t making or mending clothes, she was sewing blocks of cloth together in various shaped patterns to make quilting squares.
Grandma seldom went outside, unless it was to pick up a chicken to kill and prepare for lunch. Both she and Mom wore bonnets when they went outside. She even made a little bonnet for me. I wasn’t allowed outside the house without something on my head and usually my arms. I had fair skin like my dad which freckled easily. Grandma seemed convinced too much exposure to the sun would do me in.
Now we’ve learned, skin cancers often go back to too many severe sunburns we got as children. My skin was never uncovered in the sun long enough to get a blister until I was in my late teens. Grandma Lay, as I differentiated between her and my other grandmother, took care of her own skin, slathering it every night with Ponds Cold Cream.
She often said my Grandmother Weir had sallow skin as a result of not taking care of herself. Grandmother Weir did have a darker, yellowed tone to her skin, but she spent much of her time outside, working in her garden, washing clothes outside, milking and taking care of livestock. She did eventually have problems with skin cancer.
I seldom had contact with anyone near my age. Although the few times I did, I seemed to get in trouble. A neighbor came to visit on one occasion with a little boy about my age. He was sucking on a token. A token was the way sales taxes were paid in the late thirties and forties. They were usually made of aluminum about the size of a nickel and their value was less than that of a penny. When purchases were made, you were required to add some tokens along with your cash.
At any rate, the little boy removed the token from his mouth and offered it to me. It was my first gift ever from a boy, and to show my appreciation, I promptly shoved it into my own mouth. It turned out to be the gift that kept on giving. He had whooping cough which I contracted from the token. Apparently, I only got a mild case of the virus, possibly due to Mom’s home nursing skills.
There were some horrible cures mothers used in those days that made us gag, but they didn’t kill us and maybe helped keep us alive. I don’t think mothers of today would dream of torturing their children with these cures. One was Cod Liver Oil. Mother kept trying to convince me this was something special which I really wanted.
“Come on. It's time to take your little fishes. You know you love your little fishes”, she would tell me, as she forced my mouth open to pour in a spoonful of the thick foul-tasting substance. Where she got the idea that I liked that nasty concoction was beyond me. It didn’t even resemble a fish. Bad as it was, it beat the Castor Oil she sometimes used. She knew better than to try to convince me I liked that. That had to be followed up with pie, or something I truly liked.
Somewhere in her past, mother had read there was health benefits in yeast cakes. It was the same thing she used to made dinner rolls. She insisted that I eat one of the little white squishy squares each day. These squares were the consistency of putty, and was likely the 1940’s answer to Gummy Bear vitamins. This was also something Mom tried to convince me was a treat which I enjoyed. I kept wondering if perhaps she had me mixed up with some other little kid who she’d once known.
There was one cure even my mom was a bit leery of. It involved putting a drop of Coal oil on a sugar cube to cure phlegm in the throat. It would cause such a violent spell of coughing you would automatically cough up the phlegm. I only remember that torture treatment once.
When I had a sore throat or chest cold, Mom would use greasy strong smelling Vicks Salve to rug over my entire body from my neck to my toes. Then, she would place heated flannel cloths over the salve and insist that I stay in bed. I felt like I was soaked in gravy and prepared for roasting, but I survived and healed fast enough.
Years later when I lived in New Orleans, I learned they had some folk cures that beat ours. They boiled roaches and used the resulting liquid for cough syrup. They also sliced onions and put in kids socks to bring down fever. Ear aches were cured by blowing cigarette smoke in the ear.
Back to other kids around my age who got me into trouble, I’m sure I was less than three when my mother took me to a party for some relative’s hundredth birthday. It was outside in some park. I still remember Mom proudly showing me off to Aunt Cissy. The lady sat hunched over in a wheel chair wondering why she was outside with all these people gathered around her.
There was a cute little boy at the party, and he grabbed my hand and wouldn’t let go. We paraded through the crowd with people saying, “Would you look at that. Isn’t that adorable.” I guess they didn’t think it was that adorable after someone had to go and rescue me from the two-seater outhouse where we’d gone when nature called.
He was the same little boy who gave me red measles when my mother took me to his house to play, while she visited with his mother. I still remember the room we were allowed to play in. I thought I’d gone to Toy Heaven or at least Santa’s workshop. It had no furniture in it, just toys scattered everywhere. Most of them were broken but it didn’t matter. I’d never witnessed anything like this, as I only had a few things to play with at home.
At that point, I decided he could be my boyfriend forever. I still told everyone he was my boyfriend even after both of us had recovered from the measles. Years later when we both turned six, I learned how fickle some first love affairs can be, but that is a tale for the future.
Little girls were a different story. For some reason the only two I remember from that time period both ended badly. Girls were no fun. At least, both of these girls were a little too prissy for my taste. We seemed to have nothing at all in common. Even at our young age, a certain rivalry was present. Alice Carolyn was a Mama’s girl. She looked down her nose at me and seemed to have no desire to get to know me better.
Linda and I might have had a chance to be friends, but when I politely asked if I could hold the doll which she carried with her, she said “No!” very flatly. My immediate reaction was to start plotting my revenge.
You just don’t say those words to an only child without repercussions which could be carried out without alerting the adults. The evening ended with her in tears and with me gloating at my own cleverness. I will admit at three, there were times when a hint of a diabolical streak was present.
I wrote that story in 2022, as to how I went about trying to get revenge. It wasn't one of my proudest moments. It's called "The Doll", Some of you may have read it already. It will be the next chapter I will post.
As I entered my second and third years on earth, my grandmother, my mothers’ mother, Annie Jane, continued to be part of my life. She lived in our home for short periods at a time, as she tried to make sure she didn’t overstay her welcome in any one of her children’s homes. She was most often at her Singer sewing machine. If she wasn’t making or mending clothes, she was sewing blocks of cloth together in various shaped patterns to make quilting squares.
Grandma seldom went outside, unless it was to pick up a chicken to kill and prepare for lunch. Both she and Mom wore bonnets when they went outside. She even made a little bonnet for me. I wasn’t allowed outside the house without something on my head and usually my arms. I had fair skin like my dad which freckled easily. Grandma seemed convinced too much exposure to the sun would do me in.
Now we’ve learned, skin cancers often go back to too many severe sunburns we got as children. My skin was never uncovered in the sun long enough to get a blister until I was in my late teens. Grandma Lay, as I differentiated between her and my other grandmother, took care of her own skin, slathering it every night with Ponds Cold Cream.
She often said my Grandmother Weir had sallow skin as a result of not taking care of herself. Grandmother Weir did have a darker, yellowed tone to her skin, but she spent much of her time outside, working in her garden, washing clothes outside, milking and taking care of livestock. She did eventually have problems with skin cancer.
I seldom had contact with anyone near my age. Although the few times I did, I seemed to get in trouble. A neighbor came to visit on one occasion with a little boy about my age. He was sucking on a token. A token was the way sales taxes were paid in the late thirties and forties. They were usually made of aluminum about the size of a nickel and their value was less than that of a penny. When purchases were made, you were required to add some tokens along with your cash.
At any rate, the little boy removed the token from his mouth and offered it to me. It was my first gift ever from a boy, and to show my appreciation, I promptly shoved it into my own mouth. It turned out to be the gift that kept on giving. He had whooping cough which I contracted from the token. Apparently, I only got a mild case of the virus, possibly due to Mom’s home nursing skills.
There were some horrible cures mothers used in those days that made us gag, but they didn’t kill us and maybe helped keep us alive. I don’t think mothers of today would dream of torturing their children with these cures. One was Cod Liver Oil. Mother kept trying to convince me this was something special which I really wanted.
“Come on. It's time to take your little fishes. You know you love your little fishes”, she would tell me, as she forced my mouth open to pour in a spoonful of the thick foul-tasting substance. Where she got the idea that I liked that nasty concoction was beyond me. It didn’t even resemble a fish. Bad as it was, it beat the Castor Oil she sometimes used. She knew better than to try to convince me I liked that. That had to be followed up with pie, or something I truly liked.
Somewhere in her past, mother had read there was health benefits in yeast cakes. It was the same thing she used to made dinner rolls. She insisted that I eat one of the little white squishy squares each day. These squares were the consistency of putty, and was likely the 1940’s answer to Gummy Bear vitamins. This was also something Mom tried to convince me was a treat which I enjoyed. I kept wondering if perhaps she had me mixed up with some other little kid who she’d once known.
There was one cure even my mom was a bit leery of. It involved putting a drop of Coal oil on a sugar cube to cure phlegm in the throat. It would cause such a violent spell of coughing you would automatically cough up the phlegm. I only remember that torture treatment once.
When I had a sore throat or chest cold, Mom would use greasy strong smelling Vicks Salve to rug over my entire body from my neck to my toes. Then, she would place heated flannel cloths over the salve and insist that I stay in bed. I felt like I was soaked in gravy and prepared for roasting, but I survived and healed fast enough.
Years later when I lived in New Orleans, I learned they had some folk cures that beat ours. They boiled roaches and used the resulting liquid for cough syrup. They also sliced onions and put in kids socks to bring down fever. Ear aches were cured by blowing cigarette smoke in the ear.
Back to other kids around my age who got me into trouble, I’m sure I was less than three when my mother took me to a party for some relative’s hundredth birthday. It was outside in some park. I still remember Mom proudly showing me off to Aunt Cissy. The lady sat hunched over in a wheel chair wondering why she was outside with all these people gathered around her.
There was a cute little boy at the party, and he grabbed my hand and wouldn’t let go. We paraded through the crowd with people saying, “Would you look at that. Isn’t that adorable.” I guess they didn’t think it was that adorable after someone had to go and rescue me from the two-seater outhouse where we’d gone when nature called.
He was the same little boy who gave me red measles when my mother took me to his house to play, while she visited with his mother. I still remember the room we were allowed to play in. I thought I’d gone to Toy Heaven or at least Santa’s workshop. It had no furniture in it, just toys scattered everywhere. Most of them were broken but it didn’t matter. I’d never witnessed anything like this, as I only had a few things to play with at home.
At that point, I decided he could be my boyfriend forever. I still told everyone he was my boyfriend even after both of us had recovered from the measles. Years later when we both turned six, I learned how fickle some first love affairs can be, but that is a tale for the future.
Little girls were a different story. For some reason the only two I remember from that time period both ended badly. Girls were no fun. At least, both of these girls were a little too prissy for my taste. We seemed to have nothing at all in common. Even at our young age, a certain rivalry was present. Alice Carolyn was a Mama’s girl. She looked down her nose at me and seemed to have no desire to get to know me better.
Linda and I might have had a chance to be friends, but when I politely asked if I could hold the doll which she carried with her, she said “No!” very flatly. My immediate reaction was to start plotting my revenge.
You just don’t say those words to an only child without repercussions which could be carried out without alerting the adults. The evening ended with her in tears and with me gloating at my own cleverness. I will admit at three, there were times when a hint of a diabolical streak was present.
I wrote that story in 2022, as to how I went about trying to get revenge. It wasn't one of my proudest moments. It's called "The Doll", Some of you may have read it already. It will be the next chapter I will post.
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