Family: Andrews, Matilda Jane Guynes
Clan: Ross
Submitted by Jean North - November 2002
Ben & Matilda Andrews, Trinity, Texas
My grandma (Matilda Jane Guynes Andrews) was a fascinating woman to me
when I was very young! She sat quietly in her rocking chair most of
the time - on the porch or in the front room in the house. The
front room was actually her bedroom with a fireplace in it & her
rocking chair and usually a straight back chair or two which people mostly
had to bring in from the kitchen (on the side of her room) to join
her. But grandma seemed to like to have her rocking chair moved
outside on the ground to sit in the shade of the old house with her feet
on the ground. She didn't ask for much - can't really remember grandma
asking for anything - just quietly sitting and watching the kids play or
listening to the birds sing, the dogs bark, the hogs grunt, the cows lo -
or an occasional wagon passing with the people inside waving or stopping
briefly to get a cool drink of water or pass the time of day!
But where ever my grandma was - that was where I could usually be found -
sitting on the ground at her knee - listening to her stories about the
"haints" that were about or had been about in her lifetime; and
about the roving bands of young Indian bucks that came their way now and
then when her and my grandpa were married and living there deep in the
piney woods of the Big Thicket. "We always fed them", she
said - "cause they were hungry and would have killed us for
food"! They'd spot them in the trees on their horses or
sometimes afoot and let them know they were welcome.
Grandma was born on the Indian Reservation in Mississippi she said and the
one long pigtail she wore down the middle of her back or wrapped round and
round on the back of her head and her dark leathery skin bore witness to
her Indian birthright. I never told too many people about the
rock hill behind Gene Seale's old place up the road (joining my own).
As a kid I played on that old rock hill quite often. There were
rocks of ever size there - some small - some bigger than I could imagine.
I climbed over them and slid down them and loved to be there among
the trees scattered about the rocks. Us kids picked up the arrow
heads so plentiful among the rocks and we played with them and eventually
lost them without thinking or realizing that someday those would be of
great value. I have always believed that to be an Indian
Burial Ground of some sort or just maybe where the young bucks would
camp when in the area. I never told anyone because I didn't want
their graves or their spirit invaded or destroyed by anyone else the way
that people are prone to do today.
Her skirts were long - to her ankles over which she always wore an apron.
I don't think she ever had over one pair of shoes - not in my lifetime -
at least.
I loved to take her long thick pigtail down and stand behind her brushing
it while listening to her stories. I loved the feel of her long
thick hair that hung down past her rear end over the back of her rocker
while I brushed. I would stand for hours - as long as she would talk
- listening - and loving my grandma. As long as she was there and
talking, I would never go and play with the other kids.
She told me how they had come by ox drawn wagon from Mississippi -
following members of the Dancing Rabbit Tribe on the Trail of Tears - at a
distance. Some of their family had gone with the soldiers on
the trip - and they followed at a distance. The other members of the
family would go on to the reservation in Oklahoma with the soldiers and
get word back how it was there. And if it was good, they would all
join them there. They had crossed the Mississippi River by barge
pulled across by ropes attached to the other side. She was a
young girl then. Her Indian mama, Emily Whittington was married to
Harmon Guynes (story has it that Harmon saw Emily and had to have
her so he paid a 100# sack of feed to get her as his wife) and Emily's
father, Bird Waoko (in Indian) or Byrd Whittington (in English)was with
them. But when the word came back that they should not come to the
reservation because it was BAD and their people were dying like flies (it
was winter when they got there, were issued a blanket each, no guns, no
bows & arrows, not enough food and unable to hunt), they swung down
into Texas to make their home!
I was sixteen when my grandma died in the front room of the old house
where she had lived all my life. Family was all there (and we were a
large family). Some cooking or sitting around the table in the
kitchen eating or drinking coffee; others outside on the porch or talking
quietly in scattered groups about the yard where the kids were playing.
Me - I was sitting on the edge of the bed where grandma lay sleeping -
stroking her hair and her face and talking soft words of love to this tiny
ageless grandma that I loved so dearly! I never left her side for
hours, I guess, and I watched her take her last deep breath and pass on
from this life! I sat quietly with the tears streaming as I silently
said my last farewell to my grandma. As I heard someone coming into
the room from the kitchen, I rose without a word and left the room because
I did not want to be in there when they discovered she was dead. As
I slammed the door and got to the porch, the crying and the hollering
began. The next time I saw grandma, she was lying in the most beautiful
casket lined with the palest lavender and wearing the most beautiful
lavendar gown that I had ever seen in my life! I hadn't known such
beautiful things existed and I was so proud for my grandma lying there
like a princess. She was buried in Clapp Cemetery the next day with
my grandpa and their family scattered about.
There was no electricity in these piney woods in those days - no TV, no
telephone, and the only car I can remember seeing was owned by the mail
carrier. Only lamplight to see by inside and the moon and stars
outside. When world war II was declared, we listened to it on a
battery operated radio owned by Viola and Pete Stephens across from us in
the woods. And my cousin, Ora Hare, and her husband, Albert (who had
one leg only), were the first to get a telephone and we'd walk by their
house now and then in awe at the thought! We had no car, no
horse, nor wagon after my dad moved away when I was very young. We
had to walk to get whereever we went or hitch a ride on a passing wagon.
The sand was deep on the old road, with three ruts down the middle soas
two wagons could meet going down the road. If one got out of a rut,
everyone had to jump out and lift the wagon back into the rut in order to
continue.
Sandstorms were pretty frequent at certain times of the year when it was
so dry. Mom would look out across the pasture across the road and
tell my brother, Hershell, and I to get inside quick. You could see
the sand coming - blocking out the sky as it came.
