top of page

Mother Speaking



 

February 20, 2006

Sandy Wells: interviews


■ 'I could make a book of myself'

She's a tiny lady. When you walk into her house in Rand, you hardly notice her, so small, sitting in the corner. But Nedia Head isn't a shrinking violet! Start her talking, and she erupts with energy, laughter, and spiritual joy that has transcended a life of heartache and hard work. She values work, second only to her unshakable faith.


She loves reminiscing about her childhood and the 53 years she spent in the coal camp at Carbon working for Dr.Marvin Houck. She cooked, cleaned, and raised his three daughters. She was grateful for the work and proud of her being the Granddaughter of a slave. She turned 102 this month.

"I turned 102 last Thursday [Feb. 9). I don't even believe it. How do you act when you get 102? I don't know what to do. If I could write, I could write a book about myself. It would take a long time to write a history of my life because I've come so far.


"When I go to bed, I just lay and cry and pray, thinking of things way back. So many things pop into my mind. Just look how far things have come. Everybody got their own home. Everybody has their car, and they go where they want to go. When I was growing up, you had to walk. My grandmother got up early on Sundays, and I don't know how many miles she had to walk to church. She never missed church.

"My grandmother was a slave. She came over on a slave ship with her sister. One went one way, and one went the other, and they never saw each other again.


"She went to the Raleigh area and lived with rich people. She lived in one of the slave cabins. She was the one who made the clothes for everybody. They had someone do the cooking, and someone clean the house. They were really nice to her, she said. She had 12 children. She liked to sing. She could read anything that came along in print, but she couldn't read handwriting at all. If a handwritten letter, she couldn't read a word of it.


"I lay at night and think about what my grandmother used to do, like fishing at the river. This was when all her children were grown. She would pack our buckets with food, and we'd go to the riverbank, and she would sit all day and fish, and we would play on the riverbank. Then, at night, we'd go home just like we'd been workin' the whole day.


"I grew up in Clayton, near Raleigh, and lived out in the country. To get to town, we'd go through this dark-covered bridge. It took a long time to go across that river. It was dark at night, and there were robbers, and people would get killed going through there. Now it's all built up like Buckroe Beach.


"I started working when I was 14, but before I was old enough to really work, we would go with the wagons to Portsmouth. The wagons would load up with oysters, and they would get the children to shuck them. I would sit all day and shell oysters. My hands would sometimes be bleeding, but I'd wash them off and come back and shell oysters for them to take to market. I got a nickel for the whole day, and we were glad to get that nickel. The ones that got a dime thought they were rich. The school I went to was all black. It was a great big old building with all of them in that one room up to the seventh grade. I went to the fourth grade.


"I've had that [racism] come up on me real bad. At one of those beaches, they'd say terrible things to me. I approached the counter once to get waited on, and they called me names. And the ones in there waiting would call me names, too. I'd just go on. Now, Look how far it's come.


"We moved to Hollands, Va., when I was 13. I started washing dishes. I worked for Dr. Hollands. Everybody around there was named Hollands. My dad worked on the railroads. First, he worked on the trains, and then he started fixing rails. And that's how we got to Charleston, for him to work on the railroad.


The first man I married, he was working at a hotel in Charleston when I met him. Then we lived in Ansted where he was a coal miner, and that's when my first daughter was born. My first husband died of pneumonia. It was years before I married again.


I married George Head. He worked in the mines at Carbon where my other three children were born. So I had four children, Dee, Robert, John and Juanita. Robert, my baby son, he passed about three years ago.


My second husband liked to drink, but he wasn't the kind that would drink and not work. I'm not the kind for lookin' back with wishes because God's been good to me. But when my husband would take a drinking spell, I didn't like that. I never did drink myself, but I try to drink now, just a little swallow. A lot of people drink every day, and they're better off than I am.


My husband was sick for six long years with cancer of the throat. I had a hard time with four children and a husband sick with cancer and working. But I had some dear friends who helped me. The Lord blessed me because people have been good to me. He would show me the way even when I didn't even think I could get a way. I would think I wasn't gonna make it this time, but somebody would come along.


I worked at Carbon for Dr. [Manvin] Houck. I worked for Dr. Houck for 53 years. They's so good to me. I did their cooking. I raised Carolyn, Mary T. and Nancy, and I loved them. They're still so sweet to me. I miss those days at Carbon. Sometimes I sit and cry and say, 'Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Jesus.'

After the children were grown, there was nobody but me and Dr. and Mrs. Houck. Finally the doctor bought this place up in Lewisburg and there wasn't anybody at Carbon but me and him. He still doctored at Carbon and went home to Lewisburg whenever he could.


Carbon was hardly nothin'. There was the railroad and a boardinghouse and the doctor's office and a lot of houses. The Thomases, they owned all that. We lived way down across from the railroad. My house had three rooms. We had to get water from the spring. You had to go get it before dark. That was a terrible time.


I'd walk to work in snow up to my knees. At the first house I'd get to, they'd say, 'You gonna die!' At the next house, they'd say, 'You ain't got no sense out there walkin' in snow up to your knees!' But I just kept on going. All those people telling me I was going to kill myself, and they've all been dead so long, and here I am 102!


What was so funny, I was walking knee deep in snow and Mr. Watson (the tiny postmaster) ran and stopped me and said, 'Nedia! Nedia! The police gonna arrest you!' I got so scared. I said, 'What have I done, Mr. Watson, to get in jail?' And he said, 'Nedia, you're beating the traffic. You gonna be arrested for speeding!'


I'm glad I worked. That's good for you, when you get out and work and exercise yourself. I could get a job now if it wasn't for this arthritis. I do housework and cooking. I'm not educated for nothin' else. I get around pretty good on this walker, but I can do a lot of things sitting down, like stringing beans.


My life's been kind of hard. I love going to bed at night because I'm 102 years old, and I think back, and it's like a picture to me, like I see all the pictures, like a movie show. I can see how hard I've had to work and my children and tryin' to make a livin'. I enjoy going to bed because I can talk to Jesus, 'cause he knows all about it. I just lay there and talk to myself and pray and tears come out. And I thank the Lord because he still makes the way for me.

Comentários


bottom of page