Tag Archives: 1955-1965

Summers of Contentment: Part 4

Dear Readers,

Click this link to read Part 3, before you read Part 4. Summers of Contentment: Part 3.

After a sit-down supper in a family restaurant, we climbed back into the car.

As the sun went down, my dad and mom led us in singing.  And this was the best part of the entire day . . .

. . . We were certainly not the Family Von Trapp — yet we were all good singers, by nature and nurture.

I have written previously about vocal music, “nature and nurture,” in this entry:  A Gift From My Parents.

My father could “write his own ticket” as a tenor in any church choir.  My mother had a fine alto singing voice and lent her talent to both church choir and community chorus.

Within the “bubble of our Buick,” our parents taught us how to follow a tune, sing the melody in unity,  harmonize, sing in “rounds,” or even “weave” counterpoint melodies.

My mother taught us songs that she learned from her childhood:  Every summer, she attended Baptist Church Youth Camp at Quaker Lake, North Carolina.  [The family of Mildred Mackie, my mother’s dear life-long friend, was Baptist.]

This bit of trivia explains why my mother, raised in a Quaker home, taught her children songs which were fervently evangelical:  “I’ve Got the Joy,”  “This Little Light of Mine,” “Into My Heart,” etc.

Quaker Lake, North Carolina

The Blair Family Singers enjoyed a wide repertoire, including nursery songs, lullabies, Sunday School songs, hymns, Campfire Songs, and folk songs.

But my favorites were the plaintive Spirituals, especially those which my heroine,  Marian Anderson, immortalized, when she sang them so beautifully and bravely.

[You can listen to recordings of these songs, performed by Marian Anderson, on Spotify.]

~~~~~~

Were You There?

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, oh, oh — sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
 
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Oh, oh, oh — sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
 
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Oh, oh, oh — sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
 
Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?
Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?
Oh, oh, oh — sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?
 
Deep River

Deep River,
My home is over Jordan.
Deep River, Lord.
I want to cross over into campground.

Deep River,
My home is over Jordan.
Deep River, Lord,
I want to cross over into campground.

Oh, don’t you want to go,
To the Gospel feast;
That Promised Land,
Where all is peace?

Oh, Deep River, Lord,
I want to cross over into campground.

My Lord, What a Morning!

My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
When the stars begin to fall.
 
You’ll hear the trumpet sound,
To wake the nations underground,
Look in my God’s right hand,
When the stars begin to fall,
When the stars begin to fall.
 
My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
When the stars begin to fall.
 
You’ll hear the Christians shout,
To wake the nations underground,
Look in my God’s right hand,
When the stars begin to fall,
When the stars begin to fall.
 
My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
When the stars begin to fall.
 
~~~~~~

My parents were not, by any stretch of the imagination, theologically-oriented nor were they evangelical.

Never, as a family at home, did we read and discuss Scriptures nor did we pray together.

But, thankfully, my parents were part of  “The Greatest Generation” [author: Tom Brokaw] and were deeply committed to the family.

And, thankfully, they took us to Sunday School and to Worship Services, every Sunday morning.

I think to myself now:  My parents would be surprised to know that I learned, through those Spirituals, “The Mystery of Faith:”

“We remember His death,

We proclaim His Resurrection,

We await His Coming in glory.”

~~~~

Within the “bubble” of the Blair Family Buick, we blended our voices and sang those Spirituals, with all of our “heart, soul, mind, and strength.”

Singing connected and strengthened us as a family.

Within our family sphere, we had no idea, at that time, of the future challenges that would threaten our family.

Yet, decade after decade, our family endured.  And those songs fortified and galvanized our family for the endurance against difficulties.

So, I praise God:  For my parents, who bequeathed to us a rich legacy of the Simple Pleasures of Family Togetherness.

And for my siblings, with whom I share these memories.

Fifty years later, I still remember those songs.

As I already told you:   I was lucky.

Coram Deo,

Margot

 

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Telephone Etiquette

I may be an oddity  — but my parents taught me Telephone Etiquette.

Of course, there were no cell phones in those days [1955-1965].  The phones of my early childhood were  black, very heavy, with thick cords.  They offered no extra features, such as call waiting, call forwarding, or caller identification.  There were no buttons to punch — only a dial that rotated very slowly.

Evidently, parents do not teach Telephone Etiquette anymore — at least — not to my “wrong number” callers.   The awkward exchange follows this pattern:

*****************

[Ring, ring]

I  [pleasantly]:  “Hello.”

Caller mumbles:  “Is [incomprehensible name] there?”

I:  “Excuse me?”

Caller demands to know: “Who is this?!”

I:  “To whom did you wish to speak?”

Caller mumbles and repeats:  [“Incomprehensible name”].

I:  “I am sorry; I believe you have reached the incorrect phone number.”  

Caller demands to know: “What number is this?!”

I:  “What phone number did you wish to dial?”

The caller mumbles and hangs up — with no apology.

*****************

These exchanges always make me nostalgic about my childhood years, when my family lived on US Air Force military bases.  The Newcomer’s Committee gave each military family an “Etiquette Guide.”  Within the Guide were strict telephone rules.  Each child in each family learned how to correctly answer the telephone.  There are very good reasons for this requirement:

For example, my family spent ten years living on Vandenberg Air Force Base [AFB], the second largest Strategist Air Command AFB in the US.  Therefore, telephone communication was critical in the Air Force, where the motto is “Peace Is Our Profession.”

You see, my father’s work was in Missile Education and Safety.  Tensions between nations ran high during the Cold War and events heated up during the Bay of Pigs Incident and the Cuban Missile Crisis.  After the close of the work day, every commanding officer needed instant access to each subordinate, in case of an emergency.

We Air Force children learned to answer the phone quickly and to precisely identify the residence:

My parents coached me to say, “Captain Blair’s Quarters”  [Later, “Major Blair’s Quarters” or “Lt. Col. Blair’s Quarters”]

I always answered the phone with a strong, clear voice and said, “Captain Blair’s HEADQUARTERS.”   [I am surprised that no one corrected me.]

My parents coached me on all manner of telephone etiquette and, before I had my second set of front teeth, I could lisp the following helpful lines:

“To whom do you wish to speak?”

“I am sorry; my father is not available at the moment.  Whom may I tell him is calling?”  [We wrote down the name and number.]

If, by some rare chance, the telephone caller asked to speak to “Margot,” my parents coached me to reply:  “This is she.” 

I miss those old days and, from what I can discern, telephone etiquette in the Civilian World is on the wane.

For instance, my “wrong number” callers never identify themselves.

My early training taught me to inquire: “With whom am I speaking?”  

Yet there  is never a need to inquire about the name of the “wrong number” caller.   His name, obviously, is “Bubba.”

If ever, by some rare chance, I receive a “wrong number” telephone call from a polite, friendly, strong, articulate, clipped British voice, I plan to sit down and have a nice little “jaw” with him or her, about the “good old days.”

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