Post by carole on Mar 24, 2009 19:39:04 GMT -8
My Grandmother
My father’s mother was Frances Leola Walker. She was called Fanny. She was born in Columbus, Georgia, on February 5, 1859.
We called her Mammaw, and I knew her when she was in her 80’s and 90’s. She died at the age of 95, so I didn’t know her long or well. She lived in Fort Worth, Texas, and we moved from there to California when I was 2. We visited her during several summers.
She was a tiny woman with a great sense of humor and was a little bit sassy. I do remember her Southern accent.
Mammaw had five children. When I knew her she lived with her oldest daughter, a divorcee. My father was Mammaw’s baby, and it seemed to me that she favored him. He was the one who took care of her and managed her affairs when she was very old.
One of her favorite stories was when she married my grandfather, whose last name was Brown. She loved to tell people she would go to the beach and lie on her stomach on the sand, and her friends would see her and say, “Isn’t that Fanny Brown?”
When Frances was 5 years old, in July of 1864, General Sherman and his Union Army were advancing toward the capture of Atlanta, Georgia, where the Walker family then lived. This was at the end of the Civil War. At this time the foundries, factories, munitions plants and supply depots were scattered among the residential areas of Atlanta. This was done intentionally, thinking it would discourage the enemy from blowing up these industrial places and threatening the lives of innocent civilians.
Residents fled the city as Sherman neared the town, but many were defiant and were killed by the Northern army. As the army approached the Walker farm, Frances remembered her mother running into the house and returning with a Masonic apron, which she laid out upon a table in the yard. General Sherman saw the apron and ordered his men not to burn the farm, and the Walker family survived. They did turn over a big wooden vat of apple cider and took a couple of Fanny’s father’s horses.
My father’s mother was Frances Leola Walker. She was called Fanny. She was born in Columbus, Georgia, on February 5, 1859.
We called her Mammaw, and I knew her when she was in her 80’s and 90’s. She died at the age of 95, so I didn’t know her long or well. She lived in Fort Worth, Texas, and we moved from there to California when I was 2. We visited her during several summers.
She was a tiny woman with a great sense of humor and was a little bit sassy. I do remember her Southern accent.
Mammaw had five children. When I knew her she lived with her oldest daughter, a divorcee. My father was Mammaw’s baby, and it seemed to me that she favored him. He was the one who took care of her and managed her affairs when she was very old.
One of her favorite stories was when she married my grandfather, whose last name was Brown. She loved to tell people she would go to the beach and lie on her stomach on the sand, and her friends would see her and say, “Isn’t that Fanny Brown?”
When Frances was 5 years old, in July of 1864, General Sherman and his Union Army were advancing toward the capture of Atlanta, Georgia, where the Walker family then lived. This was at the end of the Civil War. At this time the foundries, factories, munitions plants and supply depots were scattered among the residential areas of Atlanta. This was done intentionally, thinking it would discourage the enemy from blowing up these industrial places and threatening the lives of innocent civilians.
Residents fled the city as Sherman neared the town, but many were defiant and were killed by the Northern army. As the army approached the Walker farm, Frances remembered her mother running into the house and returning with a Masonic apron, which she laid out upon a table in the yard. General Sherman saw the apron and ordered his men not to burn the farm, and the Walker family survived. They did turn over a big wooden vat of apple cider and took a couple of Fanny’s father’s horses.