The C. A. Sydnor Family

Excerpts from Giles Sydnor's memoirs:

Our grandfather was fairly well educated, up to the custom of the time, but not well educated. Education in those days was viewed differently; we should recall that Lincoln's concept of "Land Grant" colleges, founded for more advanced education of the common man (farmers particularly) was not implemented until 1862.

When our Grandfather Sydnor (Giles) returned from the (Civil) war, his farm had been raided numbers of times by soldiers of both the Blue and the Gray. He returned in the fall of the year, no food nor provisions in storage, a wife and several children to provide for, and "some" emancipated Negroes who still stayed on the place, having no other place to go. Grandmother (Rebecca Royster Sydnor) had managed to keep one spotted cow hidden from both armies. We can hardly realize the conditions he faced; the economy in ruins, trading or barter power badly weakened from ravages to the farm and theft of it's properties, and nowhere to turn for aid. There was to be no money in the South for a long time to come

Into this picture were born our parents (Clement Adkisson Sydnor and Rochet Venable Raine). Dad told me he was born at midnight of May 31-June 1 in the home "Old Comfort" near Meadsville, Halifax County, Virginia. In the excitement, the exact minute of birth was not noted so they made his birth official as of June 1, 1874.

Dad (Clem) wrote that he did not recall ever playing in the fields or starting to school. "I seem to have graduated all at once into the tobacco field and the old schoolhouse." For some reason, Dad remembered May 13, 1887 as the date his dad hitched up a horse to take him to Mt. Laurel where he was to work for relatives in a country store for the next four years. He was then 13 years old. Dad's description of living conditions for his mother and his relatives with whom he lived in Mt. Laurel led us to conclude that times were very difficult for them all, and they were doing for Dad the best they could.

When Dad was 17, his brother Granville drove in and persuaded Dad to attend college. In September, 1891, Dad got together all the money he had saved, around sixty dollars, his Aunt Mache packed his trunk with his clothing, bed linens, etc. and with help from Uncle Granville, he landed at Hampden-Sydney College with fifty four other freshmen. Uncle Granville was, at that time, a student in Union Theological Seminary which was also located at Hampden-Sydney College. He studied his own lessons and helped Dad with his at the same time. Dad said, "If any one of my children ever has the opportunity to help Brother Granville or any of his family, do so. If it had not been for him, I'd still be hopping counter down in Halifax County." Uncle Granville always assumed a big brother's responsibility towards Dad, and Dad loved him for it. Dad was graduated in English (BA) from Hampden-Sydney in 1895, a member of Sigma Chi fraternity. His areas of expertise were English, Mathematics, Latin, Greek and Bible. He had a interest in the sciences, but was not as well versed in them. It seems to me that he held to tenets somewhat broader than those generally accepted by his Denomination.

Dad was handsome, tall, slender (6'1", 175 pounds), dark haired, clean-shaven, and self-reliant. He was a thorough Christian with a deep faith in God, an awareness of our complete dependency upon Him, and most appreciative of every gift, grace, mercy and kindness given us from God. He was serious of nature, requiring it of us, and tended to be the disciplinarian. Dad did not use a paddle or belt; he would cut a switch or use his left hand. (He wrote right-handed, but was a natural south-paw.) Dad was quick of temper, and had been known to grab the wrong child for a punishment. He was "country" and rather well-versed in it. He wasn't a "handyman" and would likely botch any job requiring a saw or hammer.

Upon graduation from college, for two years Dad was a tutor in the home of Mr. Samuel B. Woods, near Red Hill, Albemarle, Co., about ten miles south of Charlottesville. He then taught for two year at Hoge Academy, Blackstone, and did some teaching and was principal of Presbyterial Institute in Columbia, SC. While there, he did some graduate work at the University of South Carolina.

Dad's next five years were spent as teacher and principal of the Danville Military Institute. One of his staff for a short time was "Major" George C. Marshall, who was to become the Five Star General Marshall, US Army, in 1941 head of Joint Chiefs of Staff, and later Secretary of State. Marshall was author of The Marshall Plan that led to European recovery after the devastation of WWII. He was teaching at DMI to fill the one year interlude between his graduation from VMI and attaining the age of 21. There was an exchange of friendly letters in May, 1947 which now reside at the George C. Marshall Foundation in Lexington, VA.

During this time at DMI, the story goes that Mother was singing alto in the First Presbyterian Church choir in Danville, VA, and someone in the congregation noticed the new young man with the strong bass voice. He was invited to join the choir and there he met the lovely auburn-headed alto, Rochet Venable Raine and the result is history for 12 Sydnor children and their descendants.

A word here about our lovely mother, Rochet. She was from a fine Danville, VA, family. Her father, Charles Anderson Raine, recently home from the Civil War himself, owned a tobacco warehouse. Her strong Christian faith determined her path in life and assured her fine morals and values. In addition, she was a beautiful, auburn-haired lady, and remained beautiful her entire life after rearing a family of twelve. She was educated through high school in the Danville City schools and studied some music at Randolph-Macon Institute. An accomplished cook, seamstress, housekeeper, musician and writer, she was a great asset to Dad. She could tat and do other fancy needlework that is to be admired, sewing clothes for her babies endlessly. It was a very wise move that Dad made when he asked her to be his wife. They married in 1903.

Dad then spent a year selling shoes for Smith Briscoe, Lynchburg. He was out selling shoes when our sister Beth was born. He then spent a year with Hillary Real Estate Col, Charlottesville, VA. Dad wrote, "It was then that one of the most pleasant jobs I ever had was thrown at me. It was given me by John T. Brantley of Blackshear, GA, as principal of the Presbyterial Institute." We lived in Blackshear five or six years. Our first memories, as the children, start in Blackshear. After that we lived in Jefferson, GA and in Vidalia, GA, also in church related education.

Our father had decided that teaching and being headmaster was what he was meant to be doing in order to best serve God. In the private and church-run schools, salaries were small, ($1,500 per year) and Dad was selling insurance on the side, trying to operate a weekly newspaper and various and sundry other stop-gap jobs in order to support a growing family. In Jefferson, GA, Williamsburg, VA, and Vidalia, GA, just living day to day was precarious. We learned to like oatmeal, grits, Georgia cane syrup and blackstrap molasses, salt mackerel, fish and fruits and vegetables from local yards and gardens. Apparently, our inexpensive foods were also nutritious, because we all thrived as a result. Indeed, the twins Clem and Raine were weak and puny babies when we arrived in Georgia, and strong and healthy when we left.

Throughout the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, public school students attended classes in poorly equipped schoolhouses with often untrained teachers for only weeks each winter. Pay was pitiful. As the public education system grew in this country, the salary scale improved. So too did the private and church supported schools decline. Salaries in public schools grew while those in private institutions generally declined.

All this was by way of explaining what a fortuitous move we made next. Dad had decided to try a weekly newspaper in Valdosta, GA, and our furniture had been loaded in a box car and billed to Valdosta when a telegram from Uncle Walker Pettyjohn in Lynchburg arrived telling Dad of a public school teaching job - Latin and Mathematics - in Lynchburg High School. Those were his very subjects! When our family moved to Lynchburg, VA, our fortunes rapidly improved.

Dad called the railroad station, changed the freight billing of our possessions, and changed the destination to Lynchburg! By hired auto we went to Augusta, GA, where we boarded the Southern Rail Road for Danville. Mother kept some of the children with her in Danville at Grandmother Raine's, and Dad took Beth, Clem, Raine and me to Lynchburg where Aunt Mary and Uncle Walker took us in at 701 Federal Street. At that time, late summer of 1918, we were eight children. I, the oldest, was 14.

It is not possible for us to record, nor to acknowledge, all the kindnesses to our family, as the list seems endless. However, just as Uncle Granville was always the guiding Big Brother to Dad, so too Aunt Mary Raine Pettyjohn in Lynchburg was a perfect older sister and loving mentor to Mother, and her husband, Uncle Walker, was loving and kind in turn to us all. All of us twelve brothers and sisters realize the value of these good people to our family stability and the debt that we owe them, and I believe they would all want me now to pass that information on to our children.

We rented a frame house at 1118 Wise Street, but our furniture had been lost. Our car was found in a Lynchburg, but not Virginia, probably Ohio.

Lynchburg was by far the largest and most progressive place we had ever seen, except for changing trains in Atlanta or Savannah. Two things of tremendous importance happened the first fall in Lynchburg. The unprecedented flu epidemic of 1918 hit, disabled and killed many, and forced the closing of schools for five or six weeks. The other was the armistice ending WWI, November 11, 1918.

Later, we moved to another rented home on Madison Street, and Walker was born in that home. (With each of Mother's babies, she had a doctor in attendance, but she never went to a hospital to give birth.) Our next and last move as a family was to 1215 Wise Street into an old brick house with limited refinements and facilities. The location was not very desirable in that the neighborhood was "failing" and had become unattractive. That was the house Dad was able to buy. Mother did not like it, and while none of us did, according to the custom of the time, Mother deferred to Dad and we children certainly made no adverse comment to him. In retrospect, he did well. He had no money with which to buy and could hardly have financed a more desirable place. Our mode of transportation was "Shank's mare", but our home was well-located with respect to schools (at all levels), grocery, church, downtown, and the trolley line. Considering our needs and our means, our home was lovely.

Dad was finally able to buy a used "Liberty" automobile, a "machine" as it was called, and to me it was a good one. It was a five passenger touring car, Continental motor, with a starter, a crank, running boards, and may have had curtains. In 1924, after she had been working at a plant (Morton Mfg. Co.- Fleet's Phospho-soda and Chapstick division) for awhile, Beth bought a Willys, for her needs and our use. It was an excellent little auto. As I recall, Beth was most liberal with the entire family in permitting the use of her car.

We usually lived in very small towns. We only remember Danville, seventy miles away, as a wonderful city to visit every few years when Mother went back home to visit her family. In most of our little towns, like Blackshear, Jefferson, Williamsburg, and Vidalia, there was no movie house, no radio station until 1920, and no public library. There was no scouting, no organized recreation or childhood entertainment. Williamsburg did have a theater, at five cents for a child's entrance, where we watched Charlie Chaplin, Perils of Pauline and such. So we were of limited experience.

Cars of the day were sparse and few. Roads of the day were even more so. In 1913, there were only eighteen miles of paved highway in the entire country, and I believe they were between New York and Boston. I recall returning to VPI, where I was a student, with some classmates, and as I had more experience, I was driving. I can see those rocky-ledge-filled, red clay rutted roads now. It took 9 hours to negotiate a scarce 100 miles.

We all had a job of some kind as soon as we were old enough, and in our family, we aged old enough mighty early. I sold needles, worked in a creamery, sold Saturday Evening Posts (at five cents), worked in a drug store, in department stores, as a carrier for Postal Telegraph complete with blue cap and bicycle. The one-man police force in Vidalia did complain to Dad about my speeding in town on the bicycle. I worked in the Lynchburg gas plant, for Craddock-Terry Shoe Factory, for Blue Buckle Overalls, for Kiah T. Ford, Real Estate, for the City of Lynchburg Department of Recreation, on many jobs for two construction companies, and for Bethlehem Steel Company. Each member of the family had equal, if varied, job responsibilities, so this list was not unusual in our family.

In addition to the outside jobs, we had inside chores as well. We usually kept a cow, and it fell to the boys to attend it. We tended a garden. We divided the daily chores of making beds, washing dishes and helping the younger brother assigned to us (he was on the side of the brother assigned to him, a system with mutual benefits). When school was in session, we had homework. In our family, everyone pitched in.

In Vidalia, Dad was about the task of putting in a garden. He had a wheel hoe, a sort of hand operated plow. Dad conceived the plan of having boy power pull the plow with him doing the pushing and steering. Clem and Raine, the twins, were almost 8 years old at the time and were impressed into the pulling job. It was then that Raine expressed himself so eloquently. "We do men's work, women's work, and now mule's work!" Actually, the soil was a sandy loam and very easy to work.

Dad was forgetful, and usually he would try to help in the kitchen but would burn the biscuit, let the oil stove go haywire and smoke the biscuit thoroughly, or scorch the oatmeal, or do some similar thing. Once Dad has stopped by the farmers market and bought some sausage, a rather large quantity. We must have been ten or eleven children by then, though I was no longer at home. We always flavored our sausage meat with sage and red pepper in moderate amounts. Dad seasoned the sausage and left the kitchen on some errand. Mother came in and flavored the sausage. Dad came back, forgot that he had already done so, and flavored the sausage again - and added more red pepper for good measure. Later, Brantley told me, "Giles that was the hottest sausage we have ever had!" But in our family, it was all eaten. We would eat anything that couldn't eat back.

Eventually, we were to be a family of twelve children, ten boys and two girls who kept us straight. Giles, Elizabeth Caldwell (Beth), Clement Adkisson, Jr. (Clem), Charles Raine (Raine), Fabian Granville (Fabe), Lavelon Crichton (Lav), Ashby Kendall (Kendall), Malcolm Royster (Malcolm), Walker Pettyjohn (Walker), John Brantley (Brantley), Rochet Raine (Rochet) and William Michaux, or just plain Bill.

In Blackshear, I had been taken fishing occasionally in the juniper browned fresh streams (good fishing) and Dad arranged to take picnic groups in swimming. I can see Mother now making bathing suits out of black poplin, edged in Red. Those bloomers! Those suits were just as modest and conservative as the modern bikini is immodest and revealing. (The trouble with the bikini is that the style did not catch on until it had no attraction for me.) In Williamsburg, Max Wolfe arranged for a launch ride on the James River from Jamestown. In Vidalia, we learned to swim. For entertainment, we had an occasional circus or a church picnic, including a train ride. Daily we had morning family prayers and recitations.

Those would be our daily activities for work and entertainment. Then came Sunday! Dad's puritanical regulations required that secular things be put away. As early as we were acceptable, we were taken to Sunday School where Dad was nearly always the Superintendent. On Saturday night before or early on Sunday morning, the Sunday School lesson was reviewed. When we got to class we were prepared. After Sunday School, if we had reached six or seven, we went to church, and that was usually pretty good. But here let me tell those of you who never saw Mr. Daniels in Jefferson GA shut his eyes and pray for 20 to 30 minutes, that you have missed a real experience. I guess the Lord listened to Mr. Daniels; He is very patient, and Mr. Daniels was a very good man.

Our Sunday dinner was almost always extra, and it was good. Sunday was feast day. We all looked forward to it. Then, for the rest of the day, we might go to the post office to look for a letter from Mother if she was away visiting her family. There was no other permissible mail for Sundays, the Christian Observer having already come in. All forms of entertainment that used balls, bats, skates, sleds, pools, bikes, games, cap pistols, etc. were off limits for that day.

What we could do would be fun things. Dad was wonderful as a raconteur, and could make a Bible story so vivid and timely and exciting that neighbors' kids would come in to listen to the stories with us. On clear afternoons, Dad was likely or organize a country nature hike. For Sundays, it was permissible to walk in God's handiwork and enjoy it, meanwhile remembering who provided it. Dad didn't seem consistent in approving our walking in God's nature and at the same time forbidding us to do prescribed hoework, thereby improving our God-given mines. I feel sure Mother wanted to side with us children, but she didn't dare cross Dad on this matter either.
I recall, how in 1910 in Blackshear, GA, Christmas fell on a Sunday. I still believed in Santa Claus. That year Mother and Dad encouraged me to believe that if I was awake when Santa came, he might take me back to the North Pole with him to put in a year of constructive work helping him, and further, that they would permit it! Durn it, I slept through! That year, Santa brought me a little, two-wheel blue bike, my first and most important bike. I was permitted to see it Christmas morning, but I could not get on it, see how it felt or ride it until Monday morning. Enjoying Christ's birthday by riding a gift to make his birthday enjoyable to a six year old boy was not in keeping with the severe concept of keeping the Sabbath day holy. I sometimes think that Dad was even more severe on some of the later children than on me, but as more came along, it became more difficult to police the gang. Our tree was lighted with real burning wax candles on little cups mounted on small tin plated clamps. They were pretty, but I shudder to think about it now.

Some of us became increasingly restive under the restrictions imposed on us. I was sent off to work for Uncle Walker in construction rather early, and neither Grandmother, Uncle Turk (Ashby), Uncle Charlie, nor the neighbors practiced so severe an observance of Sundays as we did at home. I enjoyed the comparative freedom.

Looking back on it, I believe Dad was not too far from being right, but I believe he paid an awful price for the manner in which he carried out his responsibilities as agent of the Lord.

On May 9, 1938, Mother's Day, Brantley died following an accident with a shot gun. He was visiting the home of Cousin Frank Oliver and Euna in Turbeville, VA. The circumstances that made the affair doubly hurtful were the nature of the shot gun blast to the stomach, and that Brantley had left home after a difference with Dad over a grass-cutting incident. He had a date with a girl for the evening, had gotten approval from Beth to drive the Willys, but for some reason not known to me had not been able to cut the grass that afternoon as planned. Dad said he couldn't go on the date since he had not fulfilled his obligations. Brantley saw it as unfair. Brantley was a16 year old handsome lad, well-liked by all, good-natured, impetuous, all-man. Brantley's act in leaving home was probably in rebellion against Dad's discipline. Certainly, at that time, he had no other quarrels with anyone. Dad faced facts, condemned himself, and was inconsolable. Dad spent a long time in the dining room with the coffin, and what went on was known only to him, Brantley, and God. But when he had been there for a long time and I went in to try to ease his self condemnation, he said to "leave me alone with my poor boy." It was by far the worst thing our family ever had to go through.

I don't recall Dad ever again mentioning Brantley's death to me, but I'm sure he never recovered from the deep hurt that he and Mother carried to their graves. I am also certain that Dad changed his total behavior pattern, but how much was because of advancing age, natural infirmities which had developed, or his deep hurt, I do not know.

In 1944, Dad reached the arbitrary retirement age. He was not really prepared for it, because he had been such an active person. He was resigned to retirement, but didn't like it. A former student recommended Dad to Dr. J. C. Wicker, Fork Union Military Academy, as a teacher capable of doing a specialty job for him. Dad received the offer and accepted the job. He was to teach and coach in Latin and Mathematics. He was working with one group of boys who were ahead of the average and another group who were having trouble staying with the class. Mother and Dad had an apartment at the school, Dad was in uniform with the rank of Captain, and for Dad and Mother, events had just about run full circle; DMI to Fork Union.

Dad made a friend on the faculty at Fork Union in one Capt. Phil Jones. Capt. Jones owned a mountain farm/orchard at the foot of a mountain west of Scottsville. Dad and Mother visited quite a few times, and fell in love with the beautiful rugged mountain country. Capt. Jones pointed out several abandoned mountain farms which were scheduled to be sold at auction. Dad invited me to look the area over with him; he was so excited about it, his excitement was contagious. At auction, I bought a place on Appleberry Mountain, brother Malcolm already owning the adjoining place. Mother and Dad went up in the summer to fix and patch and screen in, and the Lynchburg sons helped them into an enjoyable summer life. Thoreau would have loved it, but would never have appreciated the life as much as did Mother and Dad. It was not easy access, and the road approaching from Route #29 just below Red Hill at Cross Roads was a narrow, rocky ledge in most places.

The original cabin was of logs chinked with clay. It was on an Indian route to and from, and there was a long window covered by a sliding board where food could be passed out to the Indians as they traveled through. Malcolm's tenant, a Mr. Clarence Cole, was known to be a moonshiner. He would make comments on the essential requirements for good applejack, and usually his points were made over a small glass of good applejack direct from his warehouse, and some spring water. I believe Mother and Dad has a small amount of Mr. Cole's product on hand, "just in case".

If any of the children or grandchildren failed to hear Mother "call up" the owls, he missed real entertainment. Dad, still the country boy at heart, had one evening called up for Mother several horned owls, a large and violent bird. When Mother let out some unearthly squawks one evening, giving her impression of dying wild-life, Dad and I smiled, thinking she had flipped. But she got a far away reply! Within ten minutes, there must have been eight or ten large owls flying about searching for the anticipated meal. I was fascinated that Mother could do that.

Considering the fact that Dad was by now over 70 and had suffered a serious heart attack, he did a lot of walking in the mountains. It was an eight mile trip to the mail box, and Dad would hike it alone several times a week. Mother was concerned and remonstrated Dad, "If anything should happen to you, we could never find you." Dad replied, "If I don't return sometime it would be easy. Just watch the buzzards."

Dad taught the grandchildren who eventually numbered 32 how to skin a squirrel for dinner, and tend a garden. He taught them how to remove ticks complete with heads intact and other secrets country people are born knowing. Those were some happy times for them.

After Dad sold that place for $700, he told me the new owner cut off over $1,100 worth of walnut that first fall and it couldn't be missed. He was not a businessman. But they loved that grand mountain cabin.

They returned to their home at 1215 Wise Street for some years, where Dad had mellowed to the point of enjoying his grandchildren without fear that they would turn out poorly if he didn't stay on top of all things at all times. He would crack pecans with them and tell them stories, or peel a peach or apple with great skill, dividing it into sections and passing it out to the eager audience. He used every opportunity, the seeds within the apple or peach, to teach of life and its renewal, and of God's continuing love for his children.

In some manner, we seemed to get the idea that there was a special virtue in poverty. Beth thought that Dad, in attempting to keep us from being ashamed of our poverty, might have overstated and given us the impression that it was virtuous. I no longer believe that poverty in itself is a virtue, but do believe the experiences while living a frugal life resulted in some important lessons to us all. I would not trade lots with anyone.

Goodness and kindness were a natural part of Mother and Dad's lives. Dad said to me once, "Son, it doesn't take much of a man to be kind and polite to the richest man in town. The mark of a gentleman is kindness and politeness to the man who cannot help himself." Mother and Dad remained staunch Presbyterians, members of Westminster Presbyterian Church in Lynchburg, VA, and were always looking for an opportunity to serve.

Clement Adkisson Sydnor died quickly of a massive attack while strolling in his back yard after dinner on 20 Jul 1949. Rochet survived him, moved to a small new home that Kendall had built for her, and lived there, sometimes with Malcolm home from the Merchant Marines, and sometimes alone, surrounded by loving family. She died 11 Oct 1956 of a massive attack.

No need to say how much they have been missed by all.