[Granville-Hough] 2 Feb 2010 - Sil and Zulu

[Trustees for Granville W. Hough]

Date: Tue, 02 Feb 2010 08:37:36 -0800
From: Granville W Hough <gwhough at oakapple.net>
Subject: Sil & Zulu, 2 Feb 2010

  One associates some particular spot on the ground with recollections, 
which can be strange indeed. One such place I will call the Sil and Zulu 
Holloway house.
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Sil and ZuluÆs House.
Our little headwaters of Clear Creek flowed from its beginning about ­ 
mile, when it went under a culvert, or bridge, then on down through the 
Jim Meadows mule pasture to Low. Near this culvert in our youth lived 
Sil and Zulu Holloway. Sil was a muscular, lean, black man of about 140 
pounds who, as a widower, had married a young woman of our community 
named Zulu, who was a huge and jolly person weighing perhaps 250 pounds. 
Zulu was embarassed by not having any children, but Sil already had 
grown children and grandchildren; and he was happy with no more 
children. But Zulu explained to one and all that she slept on SilÆs arm 
every night, meaning that she tried every night to get pregnant. I 
accepted this at face value and made up a little song which ended with: 
ôI hope she doesnÆt break his arm.ö Our black neighbors were amused by 
the ditty and began singing or reciting it. When Zulu heard who the 
author was, she sent word that she was not amused, and said to all: ôYou 
tell that little Hough boy that I am not going to hurt my Sil.ö So I 
learned that words have consequences.
I once told this story to my older brother, Harold Hough, who did not 
know Sil and Zulu, but he did recall the house being occupied by a 
family named Charlie and Maud. Now Charlie and Maud were a couple who 
argued and quarreled every day. Charlie was quick on the uptake and had 
a sharp tongue, but he was one of the funniest people he had ever known, 
said my brother. Sitting on their porch in the midst of a sharp 
argument, Maud looked out at her children playing and her chickens 
clucking and doing what chickens do and she said, in exasperation, to 
Charlie: ôYou a mean man, and I would quit you, except for two things:ö 
(looking at her children and her chickens), then Charlie interrupted: 
ôYea-aah, I got the one, and you got tÆother!ö
So, life was pretty much normal at the little tenant house by the bridge.
Another reason I remember the bridge is because of a tragedy which took 
place there. The culvert under the road usually had a small trickle of 
water, but it could carry a huge amount of water after a torrential 
rain. A young Mr. Kennedy had rented the Lace Horn place where the 
Roberts family later lived. He had borrowed his father's pair of newly 
broken mules and his wagon, and he was delayed in returning them because 
of a big gully-washer rainstorm. His father lived about halfway to Mize 
on Highway 28. Mr Kennedy was returning the mules and wagon when he got 
to the bridge near Sil and Zulu's house. The water was out of the banks 
and flowing fiercely. Mr. Kennedy could see the bridge was still intact 
so he urged the mules across. .One of the mules panicked and pushed the 
other mule off the bridge, along with the wagon and Mr. Kennedy. Mr. 
Kennedy got out but the mules drowned and the wagon wrecked. Mr. Kennedy 
cried and cried about "Pa's poor little mules." It was indeed a sad 
event, as a new mule was worth five bales of cotton. You also got 
attached to the dumb beasts and treated them like family.
Time moved on and Sil and Zulu moved away to be closer to his grown 
children. Another black family moved in from some other community. We 
did not know much about them. We younger children did know that they had 
a big dog which harassed .us when we walked to Sunday School and passed 
by the house. Then one preaching Sunday when the preacher came, we went 
to church in our T-model car. When we got home, the first thing we heard 
was a big commotion in the chicken yard. My father thought there must be 
a chicken snake, or possum, or some wild animal causing the disturbance. 
He ran into the house and got a 22 rifle and went to confront the 
intruder. It was this big dog we knew from the new family. The dog ran 
away and jumped the fence out of the yard. My father shot at the same 
time and hit the dog in mid-air, and it fell dead on the other side of 
the fence. My father and mother did not know the dog and we young boys 
had to explain where he lived. My father said we would bury the dog 
right there and never mention him again, as he did not know what kind of 
revenge the black family might take. That is what we did. (Now, my 
father was a good marksman; and in WW II, I became an Expert Rifleman; 
but I never duplicated a feat like that. My father just said it was a 
lucky shot.)
After WW II, tenant farming was pretty much abandoned, and the little 
house fell into ruin. Beavers were reintroduced into the area, and one 
of the first places they built a dam was across the road from the Sil 
and Zulu house. To me, it became the Sil and Zulu Beaver Dam.
So much for strange recollections. Grampa Hough.