Keep on singing
Winston Churchill, at the age of 65, became prime minister of Britain. With his ability to enlist the aid of governments opposed to Germany, his measures to combat possible invasion and the forcefulness of his speeches, he played a major role in leading his nation to victory during World War II.
This gentleman of dubious birth, served as a war correspondent for the London Post during a couple of military conflicts and followed a political career that was so-so. During World War 1 he served as first lord of the admiralty and was blamed for what was termed the Dardanelles disaster and was forced to resign. He held other political posts but turned to writing and published “The World Crisis” in the twenties. He received success with his new career and toured extensively, even in America, promoting his books. He had invested heavily in the stock market and like so many others, believed himself financially secure for life. The infamous stock market crash of 1929 left him in ruins. He turned to writing again to refill his coffers and published a biography of his ancestor John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough in 1933. The 30’s found him again embroiled in politics and he was active in opposing the policy of appeasing the dictators of Germany and Italy.
At the age of 79 he received the Nobel prize in literature for his writings and his oratory and that same year his paintings were on exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts. He was on a roll that year as he was also knighted by the Crown.
In his 89th year he was by an act of congress made the first honorary citizen of the United States in history. He died following a stroke at the age of 91 and his funeral was attended by Queen Elizabeth II. It was the first time a reigning monarch had attended the funeral of a commoner.
His greatest accomplishments were achieved after retirement age and after many disastrous setbacks. There was some special ingredient in this man that caused him to always press on and to live as though he would never die.
My paternal grandmother was just such a person too. She was born in 1883 in the little hamlet of Riverview on the Osage River. Her Mother died giving her life and her Father in his grief had enough presence of mind to know that the infant had to have nourishment. Since formula and baby bottles did not exist in a lumber camp and no nursing mothers were available, he saddled his horse and bundled his newborn daughter for her long ride. It was the 18th day of December and he brought her to the home of a relative by the present day Union-Williams church. It was known that this woman gave birth about every two years and could quite possibly feed this extra child. The woman did indeed have a one year old son and was able to provide the sustenance needed for her survival. The number of children in this household was thirteen and she received little attention. Fortunately with the coming of spring a childless couple, also relatives, took her and raised her as their own.
We will never know if this early on experience forged her cast iron character or not but she had an indomitable spirit throughout her long life. Just one example was the year of 1934. Not only the great depression had brought hard times to the hills but there had been a terrible drought and no garden produce had been grown to see them through the long winter. The old sow had a litter of pigs but there was no corn with which to fatten them. They lived in a rather remote part of the hills without close neighbors so even though it was against range laws, she and grandpa turned the pigs loose to forage for acorns. She then put her mind to work to discover a way to acquire the other necessities they would need until spring.
She had had quite a success with her chickens that summer and her setting hens had raised an unusually large amount of tender young fryers. Ordinarily she would have butchered these and canned them for chicken and dumpling meals when the cold north wind blew. This year they would have to make themselves content with squirrel and dumplings.
Together she and my grandfather caught the young birds, stuffed them into homemade crates and loaded them on the wagon. The next morning when it was barely daylight, they hitched the team and headed to town with their produce. Once in town she received a good price for the young fowl that had fattened on an over abundant grasshopper crop. She then took the cash and purchased material for a couple of shirts, a new dress for herself, one new pair of overalls for grandpa, coffee, dry beans, salt, pepper, corn meal and a little sugar. These store bought items, together with game from the woods, and the acorn fattened hogs would see them through to the next spring. They made it with no help from the government. They were too proud to accept charity from the relief agency and grandma would have quickly told you that she’d rather get a tin bill and pick manure with the chickens than take a government hand out.
When she broke her hip at age 85, she was told by the young attending physician that she would never walk again. I can still see her back stiffen with pride as she retorted: “Oh yes I will, I ain’t made peace with the ground yet.” (Meaning she was not ready to die or give up) She not only walked again but I saw her jig for my father and his brothers when they were playing music one Sunday afternoon. She did move into the nursing home but continued to make beautiful braided rugs, some of which I am now fortunate enough to own. She even began wearing jewelry which she felt brightened up her wardrobe. She died just one week shy of her 101st birthday.
Her entire life could best be summed up by telling an anecdotal story about the late great Ella Fitzgerald. Ella too had struggled in life and was another one of those “never say die" people. One night she was to perform and was wearing a brand new pair of slippers. Her cohorts, knowing how she moved strenuously about while performing, suggested that she allow them to rough up the bottoms of her shoes so she wouldn’t slip. She refused and went on stage to begin her show. About midway through a song she did indeed slip and fall flat on her back. She, being the trooper that she was, didn’t miss a note and continued to sing from the floor.
Churchhill, my grandmother and people akin to them are like that. Even when something knocks them on their A--, they keep right on singing!
