My grandfather’s house was built between 1908-1911. It had no water running through pipes but had a hand pump in the kitchen. There was no bathroom inside but a two hole outhouse behind the shed outside or a can beneath the bed. There was no electricity inside but was lit by candle and lamp light. My father tells me that he read many a book by the light of a burning lamp or fire place glow.
Many would consider Papa’s house in Hampton, South Carolina a shot gun house. These type houses were popular throughout the 1920’s. The oblong, and rectangular shaped house was constructed such that a breeze could flow through the house giving coolness in the summer. Being a farm house, such a breeze was warranted as snapping peas and canning vegetables went well into the night during harvest months.
Generally, the shot gun house had a kitchen unattached off to the back of the house in case of fire. Such is true of my grandfather’s 5 bedroom house. The “parlor” was located on the front of the house and was where guests were entertained. To this day, it has some of it’s original furniture including an old pump organ.
Three of the rooms had a pot bellied stove and the one that holds the most memories for me was the one in my Papa’s room.
We lived in Jacksonville, Florida and would travel well into the night to get to Papa’s after daddy had spent a full day at work. The moment we turned onto the old dark road in front of Papa’s house, we began to lay on the horn blowing it all of the way into the yard. We would be met by all of the relatives in the house and in we went with a huge box of Florida oranges which would be placed behind the rocking chairs in Papa’s room. The fragrance of the oranges comes to mind this very moment as I remember how we peeled ate and threw orange peelings into the fire.
Those were some kind of memories of the old shot gun house I will not forget. The hallway was a straight shot onto the wooden plank floors and there were 3 rooms off to each side.
By 1960 there was electricity in the old home place but in the winter it was some kind of cold. About bed time, Mama would get my daddy to drop a brick or two onto the fire, then wrap it in a blanket and put it under our feet in the “old rock”. The old rock was a huge, lumpy bed thick with blankets.
Of late, we visited the old home place with the cousins. Oh, what grand memories we had walking the lane and visiting every room in the house.
Josie
