Remembering Mama (Mother’s Day)
By Bill Shepard
“If I could hear my mother pray again”
The above line would be sung over and over again and there would not be a dry eye in the congregation. The little church where I attended as a boy would be crowded, this was a special day, it was Mother’s Day.
The congregation was mainly from the village where those that worked at the big cotton mill lived. They would be dressed in their best clothing including this writer. Mama would have made certain that my best pair of overalls had been washed, and on this special Sunday, ironed to wrinkle free.
Everyone inside would have a rose pinned on their clothing somewhere. They would have scoured the village in search for a rose bush. A white rose worn would mean that a person’s mother was deceased, and a red rose would mean that a person’s mother was still living. I can remember as a child feeling so sorry for those who were wearing a white rose. I would be so thankful that the rose I had pinned on my shirt was red. The rose bush in my front yard is beginning to fill with white buds, they will be open by Mother’s Day and I will wear one on my coat. I will not expect to see others as the old tradition is not followed any longer. Like so many other traditions this one has faded also. I will wear my rose unashamedly, marna has been gone a long time, but I remember mama! Good mothers leave beautiful memories and I had a good mother; I called her mama!
I remember mama sitting at the old Singer sewing machine. It stood in the narrow hallway in our small house. In the late afternoons and sometimes at night I would hear the clickety clack of the old foot-pedal machine as it made the stitches mama was sewing. There were rest times for the rest of the family but not mama. She seemed always busy from the time she awaken when the first sound of the mill whistle would be heard. Her day always began at 4:30A.M. Breakfast had to be prepared in time for dad to eat and leave for his long day’s work at the milL When dad would leave for the mill mama would begin her house work, there never seemed to be an idle moment.
I remember marna washing the family’s clothing by hand. Mama would boil them in a big black iron wash pot before scrubbing them by hand and rinsing them through three tubs of clean water. I still have the black wash pot in my possession. It holds a wash pot full of memories! I remember mama’s hands would be red from the strong lye soap and scrubbing clothes on an old tin scrub board!
Yes, mama stayed busy! One day for washing clothes and the following one was used for ironing them wrinkle free! One day for scrubbing the wooden floors with a scrub broom made from dried com shucks! Besides all of the above there were children, five of them, to be taken care of and when old enough, to see off to school each day.
In the springtime, mama worked in the garden by our house. Those were some of my fondest memories. When dad left for work at the mill mama put a large pot oflima beans on the stove and start them to simmering, then be off to the garden. If I was late getting out of bed, (before my school days) I always knew where to find mama. In my mind’s eye I can see her there, standing between the bean rows, picking and shelling butter beans. I liked to play in and among the vines that grew along the trellises that dad had made for them. It was so much fun when I was a boy!
On Sundays mama would dress in one of her pretty dresses she had made from cloth from the Company Store! With scraps of cloth left over she would sew an apron. Mama liked to wear aprons, even on Sundays. She never had a pretty frilly one that was store-bought, but hers were just as pretty. Her aprons often reminded me of the shirt I was wearing, or my sister’s dress, even the quilt on my bed.
Like I said, mama has been gone a long time, but I still remember marna, and I miss her very much. I miss her touch, her voice, her advice, whether I asked for it or not, and her understanding when I needed it. I am certain that each of us feel that ours is or was the best mother of them all and that’s the way it should be!
Whether you wear a white rose or a red one, Happy Mother’s Day!
A big thanks to Jackie Privette Pope and her husband James who wrote to say they subscribe to the News and Press and enjoy reading it each week. Thanks for staying in touch!
Mr. Shepard is a native of Darlington, S.C., and a current resident of Piedmont, S.C. He is the author of “Mill Town Boy” and “Bruised”. He has been sharing his tales of growing up in Darlington for decades, and we are delighted to share them each week.
His mailing address for cards and letters is: Bill Shepard 324 Sunny Lane, Piedmont, S.C., 29673.
