- Virginia Johnson
The Seventeenth Child, by Dorothy Marie Rice & Lucille Mabel Walthall Payne, sets down the memories of a childhood lived in the countryside of 1930s Virginia by a black woman who grew up before the Civil Rights Movement made so many gains. These remembrances are plain, soft-spoken and ring true to an age that was certainly different from the one we know. In some ways, it was a harder time as in her earliest years even basic food was very hard to come by and the sharecropping system made it difficult for all farmers, black and white, to get ahead or even stay afloat during the bad harvest years.
But it was the warmth of family, faith, shared hardship and simple joys that made those days good as well as difficult. The children worked, not only because their help was needed but because it was understood that working was a good thing in and of itself. They helped pull and tend tobacco, can vegetables, sew quilts, raise chickens, and shell corn. Lucille Payne tells of how hard it was to earn money. How sometimes her mother might not be paid much more than fifty cents for a hard day’s washing of filthy clothes in a dark and cold shed. Well, fifty cents and a hambone that might not be fit to eat without it being scrubbed, too, and sometimes not even then. But her mother said, “Well, you accept what they give you; next time it might be better.”
It wasn’t all about acceptance. Sometimes Lucille would see her mother spit in the water while she washed and she would ask her why she did that. “That helps to get them clean.” But I know she was just so angry because she had to survive. When you have so many children you have to survive the best way you can. Likewise, when white children rode the bus to their segregated school, leaving the black children to walk and even calling them names, the black children got a bit of revenge…and a chance to be better than their so-called betters with an act of charity.
There were good times--church picnics filled with glorious food and fun; playing baseball; ladies’ fishing afternoons; sliding down hills in the heavy snow—and overall there is a sense of surviving the hardships, and finally thriving after the family’s second move to the North. In her later years, Lucille Walthall Payne moved back to the Richmond area to be near her family. She told her family stories to her daughter, Dorothy Marie Rice, who set them down.
Unlike Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books, these reminiscences were not sculpted and refined into a story that reads aloud well to a young audience. There is a bit of disjointedness, but if the reader remembers these are conversations set down between mother and daughter and not a strictly-focused, highly-edited narrative that unique rhythm is very well represented. In some places, Lucille Payne’s memories are raw and clearly still hurtful to her. And yet other incidents that might be considered horrific today were believed just ordinary and not worth special comment by the author. Indeed, it is this book’s very matter-of-fact style that makes it fascinating and well worth checking out as a window to another time.