In 1914, when I was five years old, my mother, father, little brother, and I moved from Navasota, Texas to live with my maternal grandparents, Grandma and Grandpa Fisher. They lived in a two story white clapboard house one lot from the corner of McKinney and Brazos, at 416 McKinney Ave. Not only did Grandma and Grandpa Fisher live in the house, but so did Uncle Arthur, Aunt Lorraine, and their five- year old daughter, Dorothy. I was interested to know what it was going to be like living with so many people. In Navasota we had lived in a small cottage, just the four of us.
I loved having Grandpa Fisher home all day, especially because my Daddy, Arthur Horlock, left early in the morning to walk to work. He walked from our house on McKinney over to San Jacinto, where he worked for the Texas Company. I followed Grandpa around. He was kind to me – never scolded me and he let me watch him watch him build things in the garage. No one in our family owned a car, so without a car in the garage, there was room enough for Fisher and me to go into the garage and roam around while Grandpa worked. (My brother was called Fisher because as a baby he had white curls and resembled Grandpa Fisher). The garage had little two by four inch drawers up and down the walls full of nails, tacks, screws, files, rubber bands, all kinds of things needed by a retired lumberman turned cabinet maker. Grandpa always wore a narrow apron that held a hammer and nails.
The garage had an apartment upstairs where Elvira and Sam lived. Fisher and I went up to visit them often. The rest of the backyard which was fenced in held the back stairs. In the middle of the yard was a pot of sheets boiling away. I’ll never forget the smell; it was coal oil or kerosene, but nice and homey. Elvira washed our sheets; she would poke the pot with a long stick.
Grandpa built a house for my dog, Queenie, in the garage to be moved out into the yard when time came for the birth of her puppies. That birth took place on an icyday. I remember how cold the puppies looked because they were born right out in the yard. We thought they were dead, but once we put Brownie, Spot and Fuzzy inside the warm dog house, we noticed they moved and came to life. I thought Grandpa was a wonderful person to build the doghouse to save the puppies.
Later he built me a doll house with four stories, and in the attic there were little black dolls. Another wonderful present was a tea party table with four little pointed chairs which fit together under the table.
When Grandpa got thirsty we would go into the kitchen where he had some bottles of concentrated fruit juices. I remember how good and strong especially the pineapple syrup smelled. He would take an ice pick and chip off some ice from the large block of ice in the icebox and put it in each glass. Then he would pour in some syrup and add water to make a sweet full drink. Then I loved to watch him wipe his mouth; he wiped one side of his moustache to the right and the other side to the left, leaving his white whiskers neatly pressed down.
At four o’clock Grandpa and Grandma had tea as had his relatives back in London. His favorite food at this time was brown bread and butter and stewed fruit. Grandpa was a moderate eater. He always said: “If you want to be healthy, PUSH AWAY from the table.” While they had tea, I had a tea party with my friend, Lorna, who rolled her doll buggy and doll over to see me and my new table Grandpa had made.
One time at tea while putting three layers in a sandwich on top of each other: cucumbers, cheese and onions, Grandpa watched me, wide-eyed, take a big bite. “Child, if you keep eating such tall sandwiches, you will surely have a big mouth.” I remembered this all my life, but nevertheless, I kept on making tall sandwiches.
I was always near Grandpa. One evening after supper my family, grandparents and the other family, Uncle Arthur, Aunt Lorraine and Dorothy sat, around the long dining room table beneath a green shaded dome-like glass lamp, each one doing something different. Grandpa had turned on some of his music boxes. One musical instrument with a large metal record about ten inches in diameter turned round and round as it played. Some of his music boxes had little figures which moved and turned. That evening I was sitting on Grandpa’s lap watching him draw a ship. I guess he was thinking of the trip he and Grandma were going to take to London to visit each one’s relatives and to see the coronation of King Edward V. He did take the trip and brought me and all the cousins a mug with pictures of the King and Queen and Prince to let us know that he was thinking of us. We thought of him later when the music boxes were playing.
Grandpa didn’t scold me, but he made a rule which was not quite to my liking. “No skating on Sundays.” My mother didn’t go along with this rule, but minded him and
said nothing because we were living in Grandpa’s home. But the “No skating on Sunday” rule angered my mother.On Sunday Grandma and Grandpa walked to the Second Presbyterian Church on Main Street and my family walked to the Episcopal Church, Christ Church on Texas Avenue. I didn’t think about this then, but now I ponder this situation. Why did we go to a different church?
Then one day when I was twelve, Grandpa died. We had lived with him since I was five. I missed him. I dreamed of him, not as he was in life, but as he was down under the ground, and I was down there with him.
Other times I dreaded to go near the attic stairs because I thought Grandpa was up there in his office. I still lived with him in a way.
All those years Mama had never said a derogatory word about her father. I had always thought he was pretty wonderful. But now I began to put two and two together and ask questions such as why did my Mama change churches?
I thought about this situation. Mama was a teenager when she changed churches. I don’t know what went on between Grandpa and Mama but I know that Mama was a sensitive person. She liked having friends, so when Courtney, Gladys and Lilla begged Mama to come over to the Episcopal Church and join them in the “Girl Friendly” Club, she, a fun loving person, would want to join her peers. She could have just asked her father for permission. Mama with a loving disposition, being the youngest daughter and next to the youngest child of the nine children, and the only one who had graduated from High School was Grandpa’s favorite. But being an elder in the Presbyterian Church for thirty years with all his children members of his church (some more ardent than others) and so strict that he wouldn’t let Fisher and me skate on Sunday, I can’t imagine him consenting for Mama to change.
I think Grandpa must have had strict rules about dates, parties, etc. I can picture a scene like this. Mama all dressed up in a fashion of that day–1906, her blonde curly hair pulled up in a pompadour, with little curls escaping around her face, her blue ring eyes (a dark blue ring around the light blue) sparkling joyously as she arrives home from a dance, laughing her melodious laugh, stepping inside her parlor, and horrors! finding her father sitting there waiting up for her.
Knowing my sensitive Mama, I can imagine that she felt a sharp stab to her heart and thought, “Why would Papa do this to me?” Then as Grandpa bade the young man goodnight, she would have turned silently away, said nothing and gone to her room with a terribly sad feeling.
Grandpa loved his darling daughter and thought he was protecting her from evil. He didn’t realize that his lack of trust in his daughter would reflect way down to his granddaughter…I can just hear my Mama’s thoughts, “If I ever have a daughter, I’ll never treat her as if I don’t trust her.” And she never did. She always trusted me. I knew this, and I respected her and always did what she expected me to do.
This great trust between Mama and me started when I was twelve. All the neighbor children wanted to go to the Iris Theater where funny pictures like “Lloyd” were showing on Saturday morning. When asked by the children if they could go, the mamas replied, “You can go, if Lillian can go.” If my mama said “Yes” then Fisher and I and all the neighbors went to the show. I could always tell where Fisher was sitting in the theater by his melodious laugh.
Looking back, I understand why Mama gave me the feeling of freedom. This is a wonderful gift. I never felt tied by ropes of strictness. I was free to soar as high as I dared. I would never be held down by my Mama. This gift to me cost my Mama hard feelings. This chain of command started with my Grandpa Fisher, so he gave me this gift–in a way.
Add: I don’t know what really went on betweenmother and Grandpa, but I think that Grandpa could have been stubborn, strict, and set in his ways. He must have been strong-willed to bring up five sons to promising positions, each with a family of his own. Although my mother had been taught to respect her parents, she wanted more freedom in church ways, so she slipped away from the Presbyterian Church and joined her age group at the Epsicopal Church. Here she could think and pray as she wished, and she grew up a devout Episcopalian.