THROUGH
MOUNTAIN MISTS
Early Settlers of
Their
Descendants...Their Stories...Their Achievements
Lifting the
Mists of History on Their Way of Life
By: Ethelene Dyer Jones
On
Cemeteries and Burial Customs: Remembering Uncle Dallas Collins's
Death, 1938
New
Going back to records of the Choestoe
Baptist Church of February 18, 1843 and April 15, 1843, in minutes of
church conference
hand-written by John Souther, church clerk, we discover that Choestoe
was
instrumental in helping “the church at Brass Town” (which we believe to
be the
church later called New Liberty) in the process of organizing, and
receiving
three members. Whether these transferred
from
As I view graves in the old section of
New Liberty Cemetery, containing the remains of my ancestors, I began
to think
about burial customs that were common to our people in this mountain
region
long before professional funeral homes, crematories and the rites and
ceremonies currently associated with death and dying were practiced
Because embalming had not been
introduced here in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the
body of
the deceased had to be quickly readied for burial and the funeral was
usually
the next day (or sometimes the same day) after death occurred.
My first recollection of participation
in community burial rites was at the death of my great Uncle William
Tolling the death on the church
steeple bell was also a practice when a death occurred.
It was customary to toll the bell the number
of years the deceased had lived. The
announcement via the bell went throughout the valley, and whether
people
counted the 92 tolls or not before losing count, at least they would
know that
“Uncle Dallas” (as he was respectfully called by many) had died because
they
knew of his serious illness. The bell
message was a sign to stop work in the fields and prepare a grave for
the
burial and make other funeral arrangements.
While the men worked to fashion the
casket, line it with cotton, and place over the padding a brocaded
white cloth
which had been purchased in advance and saved for the purpose, the body
was
being readied for the wake. First came
the bathing and dressing in the very best clothes the deceased had
available. For Uncle Dallas, it was his
Sunday suit, made of homemade woven wool cloth from his own sheep, and
a white
shirt, also homemade.
To dress a woman for wake, the process
might have been a bit more complicated.
Some of the women, anticipating death, would have made in
advance a
“burying dress,” and saved it ready for the occasion.
But for others, the neighbor women would
bring together appropriate cloth they might have and make a shroud for
dressing
the deceased’s body. Haste always seemed
to be necessary in preparing the body before rigor mortis
set in. Coins
were placed temporarily over the deceased’s eyes to insure their
closing.
When the casket was finished, the
body, which had been laid out on boards across the bed frame, was
transferred
to the casket and placed in state. The
all-night wake began. Women prepared (or
brought from their own homes) food for the occasion.
In these all-night vigils, people talked of
the life and work of the dearly departed.
It was all a closely-knit process of dealing with grief and loss.
Then came the funeral service
itself. I remember Uncle Dallas’s was held
in his home. Sometimes the body was
taken to the church for the funeral. Men
in the community had already dug the grave.
In case a pastor was not available, for very few of them in
those days
lived in the community but were itinerant, then someone with the
ability to
read and speak well would give the Scripture and eulogy and offer the
prayer. If singing were in order, gospel
songs that told of resurrection, hope and heaven were sung by those
whose
voices could harmonize. One of the
favorite hymns in my community was “O Come, Angel Band.”
The short trip from Uncle Dallas’s
house to
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in her “On Death
and Dying” wrote: “Watching a peaceful
death of a human being reminds us of a falling star; one of a million
lights in
a vast sky that flares up for a brief moment only to disappear into the
endless
night forever.” But somehow, Great Uncle
Dallas, and others who passed like a falling star, did not move on into
endless
night. We remember, even until now,
their lives and example, their values and principles, their faith and
hope. He and they loved us and gave us
an anchor, sure and steadfast. And that
has made all the difference in who we are.
c2010 by
Ethelene Dyer
Jones; published
[Ethelene Dyer
Jones is a retired educator,
freelance writer, poet, and historian. She may be reached at
e-mail edj0513@windstream.net;
phone 478-453-8751; or mail 1708 Cedarwood Road, Milledgeville, GA
31061-2411.]
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