Another peek into the 1920s: The Test and Study Speller

             A hardback book, 64 yellowed pages written by Daniel Starch, Harvard/U-Wisconsin, and George A. Mirick, Harvard, for “Grammar Grades” and published by Silver, Burdett and Company in 1921, was the nearest resource when it came time to write this week’s post.
           Thumbing through the small text—no data on how I came to “own” it—I discovered it was for what is now considered middle school grades. That is, for 5^th through 8^th grades.
           What struck me was a section at the end of each grade’s fundamentals titled, “Stories About Words.” The fifth grade stories were, “How We Got the Word Handkerchief,” “How a Goat Gave Us a Word,” “Who named the Sandwich?” and “How the Days of the Week Got their Names.” Imagine the teacher giving the pupils some “down” time after the spelling test, just to learn new stuff.

                                           “How the Days of the Week Got Their Names”
                “The seven days of the week were named by the people who lived long, long ago in Europe.
                “The first day of the week they called the sun’s day or Sunday.
                “The second day they called the moon’s day or Monday.
                “One of the many gods was Tew. He was very brave and they thought that he helped them when they went to war. So they called the third day of the week Tew’s day or Tuesday.
                “The king of their gods was Woden. The fourth day they called Woden’s day or Wednesday.
                “Thor was the one who made thunder and lightning. The fifth day was named for him. Thor’s day or Thursday.
                “Freya was the wife of Woden and they called the sixth day Freya’s day or Friday.
                “There was a god named Saturn who, they thought, helped them when they planted their gardens. They named the last day of the week after him, calling it Saturn’s day or Saturday.”

                 Jump to the end of the 7^th grade section to “How the Months Were Named.” When did you learn this? Remember, it’s the 1920s here.
             
               “In earliest times the Romans divided the year into ten parts or months. The first of these they named for their god of war, Mars. No one knows whether they did this to honor their god, or to give a warlike name to a very disagreeable month. Perhaps they felt about March as our own American poet, Bryant, did when he wrote—

                                               ‘The stormy March is come at last, 
                                                With wind, and cloud, and changing skies.’

               “If March was the first month, what was New Year’s Day?
              
                “The next month was the beginning of spring. The frost came out of the ground and left it soft and open to receive the seeds. Now the Roman or Latin word for open was ‘aperire.’ They changed this word a little and called their second month, ‘Aperilis’, then’ Aprilis’, and now we have changed it to April. It is the opening or spring month.

                   “No one has been able to find out certainly [with certainty?] why the old Romans called heir third month May. But they had a goddess whose name was Maia, and it is thought that they used her name.

                   “The month of June was named for a powerful Roman family, the Junius family.

                  “We have now accounted for the names of four months. The rest of their ten months they called by number, the Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, Eighth, Ninth, and Tenth month. The Fifth and Sixth months were later given other names, but the last four months of the year have kept their number names unchanged to this day.”                           

Pat here: the rest of the story? We’ll have to wait till 2014. Happy New Year.

Letters to Santa Claus in 1924

 

                The headline on page seven of the December 21, 1987 copy of The Benton (AR) Courier read, “1924: Santa Claus letters ask for fruit, nuts, candy.” The article was one of a continuing series of the “Courier Scrapbook” feature. My friend Judy Prange Smith was the editor in 1987. Here are some of those letters.

                “Dear Santa Claus: I want you to bring me two dresses and a sleepy doll and some fire crackers, oranges, apples, candy and nuts. . . Yours sincere [sic], Edna Louise Sullivan, Benton.”

                “Dear Old Santa: I am one of your little school girls. I want you to bring me a box of crayons, box of stationery, some story books, a pair of gloves and other things. I also want candies, nuts and fruits of all kinds . . . Sincerely yours, Eloise McCray, Congo”

                “Dear Santa Claus: Will you do me a favor? I want a be be [sic] gun and some shoes and a suit of clothes. Goodbye, Frank Davenport, Benton.”

                “Dear Santa Claus: Please bring me a pair of skates and a little cupboard and a pair of little doll slippers. I will close now for I just have a few minutes. Arlene Hyten, Benton.” [Arlene Hyten Rainey still lives in Benton.]

                “Dear Santa Claus: Mama says you come to see good boys but I haven’t been so very good, but I have been trying to be as good as I could, so I hope you will bring me a few things. I would like a trombone, a sand pump and a car. Please bring my little brother Billy some toys too. Billy and I have five dollars in our bank. We want our mama to send it to you to buy toys and things with, for we want you to be sure and have something for all the children. Hope you won’t forget us. Yours, J. A. Bard, Jr., Bauxite.”

[The late J. A. Bard was my uncle. During WW 2, he served as a pilot. The Bards later lived on Boone Road in Bryant where their homestead still stands.]

“Dear Santa Claus: I am a little girl five years old. I go to school. I like my teacher fine. I want a doll buggy, a tricycle, apples, oranges, nuts, candy, and all kinds of good things to eat. So don’t forget me and also mama and daddy so I will be good. Fay Del Wright, Benton.”

 [The late Faydelle Ulmer lived on Salem Road as long as I can remember. When she and her husband both died, their place was bought by a business. The house is currently being torn down.]

“Dear Santa Claus: I will write you a few lines to let you know what I want for Christmas. I want some two inch fire crackers, apples, oranges, nuts, story book, pocket knife, and watch. Oh, just everything nice for a boy. Yours truly, Curtis Carson, Detonti.”

“Dear Santa Claus: We are looking for you again this Christmas. We are good children and work lots. Please bring us something. We (Alvis and Preston) want a little red wagon big enough to hold sister. And me (Lois) wants a little red rocker large enough for me to sit in. Please don’t forget us. Alvis[,] Preston and Lois Cooper, Owensville.”

“Good Old Santa Claus: I am a little school girl seven years old. I would be pleased if you would bring me some candy and apples and oranges and a few nuts and a toy horse. I am, Your friend, Pauline Curtis, Reform.”

“Dear Santa Claus: I thought I would write you a letter so you would not forget me. I want an embroidery set, a box of stationery, apples, oranges, candy and nuts. Elise Grogan, Mabelvale.”

Pat, here. This delightful retrospective happened 12 years before I was born, but the oranges, apples, candies and nuts were staples in our stockings for as long as we hung them during the 1930s and 1940s.

 Happy memories and Merry Christmas.

If snow slows us down, then ice stops us

 

                Cocooned by sunny, vapor-covered windows this icy Saturday morning, I see cobwebs on the shelf near a blue-glass pitcher. Farther up, I notice through an upper clear pane, that the few oak leaves are blowing in the wind (Bob Dylan stole that phrase, didn’t he?).

                Buttered cinnamon-sugared bread is toasting in the oven, mostly to heat up the kitchen a little.  And also because the local grocery doesn’t stock raisin bread any longer.

I’m not taking a chance on going out for the newspaper, though reading it while drinking freshly brewed coffee is my morning ritual. Mom went out in the ice once to check on their car and fell. I think she never completely recovered from it.

Oh, there’s lot to do with the extra time: decide where to put the Christmas tree, finish decorating the windows begun last night, clean the cobwebs, write greeting cards, wrap gifts, call the computer tech company to unlock my other laptop, file my ragged nails, divide the African violet . . . .

Since it took me so long to find it, I’d like to share the pear mincemeat recipe I used again this year. With the last batch of fallen fruit, I consulted a yellowed clipping on which I had written “September 5, 2001.”

7 pounds pears, peeled, cored and cut into eighths. **

2 lemons, unpeeled & cut into eighths;

2 oranges, unpeeled & cut into eighths

2 cups raisins

6 cups sugar

1 tablespoon salt

1 tablespoon ground allspice

1 tablespoon ground nutmeg

1 tablespoon ground cloves

½ cup vinegar

Position knife blade in a food processor bowl. Add about 1 cup pears; process until finely chopped. Repeat with remaining pears. **

**Not having such, I cut (cutting board, serrated knife) the pears into plump-raisin-sized pieces—like the regular mincemeat. Later, after cooking, I fished out the lemon/orange pieces and cut them down, too.

Combine chopped pears & remaining ingredients in a large pot, such as a Dutch oven. Bring to a boil; reduce heat & simmer, uncovered, 30 minutes.

Pour hot mixture into hot sterilized jars, leaving ¼ inch head space. Cover at once with metal lids and screw bands until tight Process in boiling-water bath for 25 minutes. Serve as a relish or use to make Pear Mincemeat Pie (recipe follows). [I didn’t do this since I intended to make a pie and freeze the rest in 2-cup containers.]

Makes 7 ½ pints.

 

For a pie:

Pastry for a double-crust, 9-inch pie

2 cups pear mincemeat

¼ cup firmly packed brown sugar

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

½ cup chopped pecans

 

Prepare pastry. Combine mincemeat, sugar, flour and nuts, spoon evenly into prepared crust. Top with remaining crust. Trim edges; seal & flute. Cut slits in top of pastry to allow steam to escape.

Bake at 375 degrees for 35 to 40 minutes. If necessary, cover edges of pie with foil to prevent overbrowning.

My mincemeat-pie-loving son did eat a piece, but allowed as how he preferred “the real thing.” Which he will get for Christmas.

Meanwhile, I am enjoying the rest of it.