Memorial Day Memories
Ah, blessed Springtime and beginning of Summer! Barefoot time had arrived! May 31″, the day I had been longing for since last September was here. The last day of school was forefront in this writer’s mind, other activities were second-place.
Long lines of little boys and girls marching side by side, clutching tightly the bouquet of flowers they were carrying in their hands. It is a picture out of the long past and forever worn in the mind of an old man. The year could have been any of the early 30’s, even earlier.
The only sound coming from the long line of marchers was that of little feet pounding the sidewalks that led from St. John’s Grammar School to the courthouse lawn on the town square. (Do I have any witness?) Too young to know what the meaning of what they were doing was all about, but they followed orders as they were given and asked no questions. The flowers they carried in their hands had been gathered from wherever they could be found on the day before. The bouquet in my own hands was gathered from along the roadsides, old cemetery near the village, even the ditch banks and the nearby pastures. They would eventually blend in with beautiful roses and carnations bought at a florist shop by those who could afford the purchase price.
The long march that began at the school campus and reached to the spot where the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier stood was made with little minds not understanding the full meaning of what it was all about. It would be in my future years that I came to know the meaning of Memorial Day.
The tomb would be a solid mass of flowers by the time the last bouquet had been placed upon it and would remain that way for days to follow. The long line of marchers would return to St. John’s in the same formation as it had left. Back on campus each group would return quietly to their own classroom. The last school day of the year was about to end. A proud superintendent would commend teachers and students of their performance thus far, and announce that the school day and the year was now at an end!
I headed for home, holding tightly in my hand my report card with the words written across the bottom…Promoted to the next grade level! A room number and a teacher’s name for the next year would appear also. That was a long time away, this was now, I could not have been happier!
June, July, August, and part of September lay ahead. It was all mine to enjoy.
The plum trees and the blackberry bushes were white, all promising delicious fruit in the weeks ahead. The water of Swift Creek was warming up. Mama would any day now give permission for me to go skinny-dipping at the wash-hole. It was time now to take stock to see what was left over from last year’s supply of fishing supplies. I could guess without taking inventory. A spool of black flax line, fishhooks and lead sinkers, a half dozen corks, and a new cane fishing pole was needed.
Next September seemed light years away as I thought of all the good times that lay ahead. So much can happen when you are young and carefree. Three full months of pure delight were in front of me.
Words from my favorite poem by John Greenleaf Whittier are tugging at my mind. Read them with me…….
Cheerily, my little man
Live and laugh as boyhood can!
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride.
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt’s for work be shod.
Happy if their tracks be found
Never on forbidden ground.
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah, that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!
—Whittier
Note: The writer attended St. John’s Grammar School grades 1-7, beginning in 1928-1935. The custom of marching to the town square and placing flowers on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier happened each of those years. Any witnesses? Would like to hear from you. Share your memories.
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.