Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, Part 2

Roanoke College (formerly Virginia Institute) in late 1800s. Wiki Commons. 

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, part 2. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading. 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

There was a large garden at the back, already flourishing under Grandmother's green thumb. We had fresh vegetables galore. Their cook was named Mollie and I went into the kitchen one morning to get acquainted with her. Her baby was playing on the floor, a little pickaninny as black as the ace of spades with eyes like shoe buttons. I asked its name. "Her name's Hope, Miss Nellie, but we calls her Hopy for short."

Mollie was a genial soul and I often went in and talked with her. She told me she had a sister who was a cook to a fine family in Washington. They were Episcopalians, it seemed, and her sister begged Mollie to join that church, as she had done herself. Mollie had visited her once in Washington and had been much impressed. "She tuk me with her to the 'Piscolopian Chu'ch and we set in de gallery. It sho' was de biggest an' mos' splendiforous chu'ch I ever seen in my life. I reckon dey has chu'ches like dat in Heaven. I didn't know what it was all about, but I riz an' fell with 'em."

In spite of all this elegance, however, Mollie remained a Baptist. She told me of a friend of hers who appeared to have solved the religious problem very neatly. "When I last sees Sally, she says to me, she says, 'I'm a Catholic now,' says she. Oh, is you says I. 'Yes,' says she. 'I was a Methodist at my las' place, de folks dere was Methodists, you know. An' de place befo' dat I was a Baptis'. I always tries to suit de folks,' says she."

We were often at the Griffin homestead, and I loved them and called them cousin. Em, the daughter of the house, was a few years older than I and we were great friends. She was small and dark and a great belle. Strings of admirers. One was an Englishman who asked her to marry him every time he saw her. Eligible, too. Her brother Tom was an ensign in the Navy and used to send her wonderful silk stockings -- rare outside of the cities in those days -- and other pretty things to wear from various countries. 

He had brought them a parrot, an African one, gray with a red tail. It usually perched on top of its cage in the dining room, observing all that went on, but with little to say. They told a story of one disconcerting occurrence, however. They were Episcopalians and a convocation was being held in Salem. As their house was very large, they were entertaining a group of clergymen. On the last day of their stay, at breakfast, one of the ministers spoke of the parrot, remarking that he seemed a very moral one, as most of them swore. At which the parrot replied, "Go to Hell!" (You can't make me believe parrots don't know what the say.)

When Cousin Tom was home on leave, he used to groan over peacetime, as promotion was so slow. He remarked bitterly that he supposed he'd die an ensign. As a matter of fact, he died an admiral a good many years later. I heard his mother Cousin Sarah say to him, "Oh, Tom, whenever there's a storm, I pray that your ship may be near the shore." And he replied in alarm, "For Heaven's sake, Mother, pray that it may not be near the shore." 

There was a big college in Salem and one of the young men told me about a new president they had. The preceding one had been a fossil. And the students had done as they pleased. But this one was a younger man and was managing them very deftly. On Halloween night the students had always been outrageous, and Salem dreaded it. Last Halloween they had found an old tin roof somewhere, and a crowd of them had hold of it and were racing along main street rattling it and yelling. The President, unobserved in the darkness, grasped a corner and ran with them, yelling as loud as any of them. Under a street lamp, the youngster next to him recognized him and, in consternation, dropped off. The President moved up a little closer and ran on. Again his neighbor recognized him, dropped the tin and disappeared. This went on till the last boy had precipately [precipitously] run away. The President went quietly back to the college and Salem was surprised to be left in peace. 

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the artist's full signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley. 

Grandmother = Jane Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Aunt Charlotte = Charlotte Elizabeth Griffin Mitchell/Michel (1829-1921).
Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940); William Meade Taliaferro (1840-1913), had married Sue on October 16, 1867. He was apparently lost to "nostalgia," shell shock, post traumatic stress, war wounds, alcohol and other comorbidities, eventually committing suicide at the Camp Lee Soldier's Home in Richmond.

Mollie and Hope = not sure who they are yet.

Griffin homestead = Thomas "Tom" Dillon Griffin (1854-1938); Emeline/Emmeline "Em" Griffin (circa 1856/57-1926); "Cousin Sarah" = Sarah Jane McClanahan Griffin (1812-1903), widow of John Hook Griffin (1808-1878).

Big college = Roanoke College, formerly the Virginia Institute. The younger president was undoubtedly Julius Daniel Dreher (1846-1937).]