9. Pearly Wurly Pete and the Joyful Noise
My mother was no story-teller. She was a visual artist. The memories she gave to me, as a result, were all brief, but included images or phrases that had just as much of an impact as anything my father told me. Here are three memories:
Memory: When she was very young, she remembered an older, male cousin coming to her house, and taking her to something she called a carnival. Whether this was a country fair, or the sideshow of some touring entertainment, it was a signficant event in her early life for two reasons, summed up in these two statements: she said that she had never seen anything like what she saw there (whatever it was), that she felt like she had travelled to another world; and she could not quite grasp how much her cousin spent to get them to this other world, saying that, to her, he had spent his 'life savings' on her.
Memory: When my mother was young, she remembered being taken with her family and all the relatives she knew, to a shivaree. I believe she used that word, the only time she did. She described it as follows: After a couple were married, and after the reception party, they went home to their wedding night. The rest of the guests at the wedding, however, did not leave them in peace. At night, after the couple had retired, the wedding party marched to the house, and with a great deal of noisemaking--shouting, I believe, and beating of pots and pans--they forced themselved into the house, and made the couple come down to the kitchen or living room, where they played music and sang and danced. My mother remembered very little, of course--but she carried with her images of the approach to the house, of noise, and above all an image of the rug being taken up from the floor to allow for dancing. I have no idea how long this went on, but I had a sense that it was a once-in-a-lifetime event for someone whose life, in context, was anything but 'emotive.'
Memory: Finally, my mother once gave me an early memory of hers, something that was clearly of great importance, but mentioned only once. In this memory, she was with her cousin Edith, who was her age, and both were quite young. They were sitting in a church, side by side. They were dressed in white pinafores and had bows in their hair (she mentioned that specifically). They were quiet, sitting up straight, politely paying attention. All around them sat a congregation of black worshippers, at a service, as she remembered it, in their church. She remembered, in particular, that when they sang a hymn, and worshipped with the minister, they did so in an emotional and joyful manner that she had never experienced. I remember her description as 'a joyful noise,' and although these were not the words she used, I think it captures what she was trying to tell me. She described a swirl of worshippers responding to their service with praise, shouting, and singing. And that's the full image. Two little girls dressed and sitting still, surrounded by an exuberant worship. As I say, my mother was a visual artist; but she was not a story-teller.
Context: I think all three memories tell of a young person with a very limited experience of the world, not surprising for someone with her rural and religious background. I think they effectively tell of someone who grew up with no money, no public performance or entertainment of any kind, and little exposure to people in any number. The first two memories are quite straightforward--she remembers because, in one instance, there was an older ritual at work in a community that had little of this left, and in the other remembered a kindness that allowed her to experience something no one else would give her. She thought her cousin had taken her somewhere far, far away from her world, and spent all his money to do it....
As for the third memory--this raises many more questions. If this story is true, then how did it happen, what did it mean to her, and why did she remember it so well? Here is some information that might help to understand.
My mother's early years were spent in Southwestern Ontario, where there was a large and active black population stretching back to the pre-Civil-War years and the movement north to escape slavery. There were communities, and churches, close to where her family lived, and there were many branches of her own family in the area. It's reasonable to believe that there were connections forged between farming communities, and that race-segregation was not universal. Also, my mother's religion was 'Free' Methodist, which was both abolitionist and integrationist. Particularly in that area of the country, I believe her faith may have had strong ties with black congregations, Baptist and Methodist, with similar sets of beliefs. I cannot know for certain, but this might explain some cultural connection, or at least some porous social spaces where these communities could meet.
The fact that my mother remembered this at all suggests that it was a rare, perhaps unique experience. If so, how did these two girls come to be present? There is no mention of parents, though of course they may have been there. Indeed, it may have been a meeting of two congregations for a special occasion, or an invitation by one church congregation to another to visit. We will never know.
My Own Memory: I have my own memory of that kind of experience, and with my mother, that may throw further light on these experiences.
When I was perhaps twelve, I attended our own 'Free' Methodist church with my mother regularly. On one occasion, I accompanied her to our church building, for a service held with a 'sister' denomination from a few miles away, just out of Hamilton, Ontario, in Hannon. This experience was memorable to me, because the visiting congregation had a very different style of worship to the one I was used to. 'Our' 'Free Methodist' church was very severe, formally responding to text with text read aloud, remaining silent except at very specific moments in the service, and never improvising or expressing emotion in any way. It was a very 'quiet' service. The congregation that visited us--though also called 'Free Methodist'--could not have been more at odds with this style of worship. When their pastor spoke, the congregants punctuated his every sentence and thought with shouts of 'amen' and 'praise the Lord' and 'hallelujah' and 'praise him.' They swayed, and closed their eyes in something more than prayer. They were 'in the moment.'
I also remember that, when I looked at my mother during this service and these responses, she was clearly upset. Her body was tense, her eyes faced front or stared into her hymnal, and she was, quite clearly to me, attempting to shut out all that was happening around her. She was, I believe, appalled by the spectacle--the performance of it all--and did not believe it was an appropriate way to worship. I understand now that this was consistent with her values, her personality, her way of keeping all her emotions to herself, including her personal relationship with her God. I remember, however, being confused at the time, because the swirl of performance around me was so exciting, and I had a strong feeling that I was missing something.
How does this individual, my mother, so conservatively dressed in a grey shapeless coat and a hat, still required for women stepping into a house of worship, who was so generally uncomfortable around the physical expression of worship, relate to the little girl with a bow in her hair, sitting, surrounded by this 'joyful noise'?
And how do these two images--of this girl and this woman--relate to the much older woman who, in a rare moment of talking to her son about her past, late at night when neither of them could sleep, in hushed tones, remembered this image of a girl's experience, as if it was a positive moment in her life? Perhaps I misread the tone, and perhaps she was telling me about a memory of something she didn't enjoy. Perhaps it was traumatic and upsetting when she was a girl. Personally, knowing her life as well as I do, I suspect that this experience was a rare instance of public joy.
Though I'm quite certain she would disagree, and argue that her joyful noise was all inside her.
