Ghosts and goblins and ... ancestors? Oh my!

With Halloween just around the corner, I thought it would be appropriate to do a column on cemeteries and cemetery research this week.

But after receiving a letter from a local gentleman who took me to task for going on a "genealogical crusade" and not writing columns like I "used to write," (I don't know exactly what he meant), I thought I would change the tone a bit.

What if, I thought, three little old ladies (distant cousins who had found each other through genealogy queries) had taken a genealogy trip together to look for their ancestors? And what if they found themselves on the last leg of their trip in an old cemetery ... after dark ... on Halloween?

With that in mind, I offer a column about the fictitious adventures of Myrtle, Edna and Gladys, three senior citizens on a genealogy quest, trying to cram every minute of their trip into productive research. I hope it gives you a chuckle. The scene ... somewhere in rural South Carolina just after dark on Halloween:

"This was a stupid idea, Edna," Myrtle said, tripping over a grave marker and dropping her flashlight. "We should be back at the motel, getting ready to go home tomorrow. Why in the world you would ever want to do a crazy thing like this is beyond me."

"Stop whining and hush, Myrtle," Edna replied. "This is the last cemetery on our list and it would be silly to go home when we were this close. I don't care if it is dark. Pick up that flashlight and shine it over here. I think I've found something."

"But it's Halloween," Myrtle said. "No telling what can happen here tonight. What if some kids ...?"

"Shut up, Myrtle, and find the flashlight," Edna snapped.

Grumbling under her breath, Myrtle groped for the flashlight, found it and clicked it on. Edna was running her fingers over the deeply engraved letters on a large, ornate grave marker.

"Bring me the corn meal. I can't quite read this," Edna said, leaning over and squinting through her bifocals.

"Oh, dear."

"What?"

"I left it in the car."

"Well, go back and get it," Edna said, exasperation showing in her voice. "We can't read this without corn meal."

Myrtle glanced back in the direction of the car. They had parked about 50 yards away behind a little country church on a dirt road. "But it's dark back there," she whined. "Can't you make it out somehow?"

"No! Go back and get it. Besides, Gladys is in the car. It's not like you'll be by yourself. And get the notebook and camera while you're there. We need to check these dates. And don't forget the brush."

"Oh ... all right," Myrtle said nervously, turning and walking back toward the car.

Edna once again turned her attention to the large marker, then shined the flashlight on the area around it. "Good-grief-Miss-Agnes," she whispered to herself. "I think we've found the whole bunch of them."

The graves sat silently staring back at her in the dim light of the flashlight. Some were simple headstones, some just square markers in the ground. But all had one thing in common ... the name "Wilson." She stepped gingerly around the area, shining the light on first one grave and then another. The rush she felt was unbelievable as she recognized some of the names. "Mahala ... Elizabeth ... Zephaniah ..." Some were born in the 1700s, some indicated Civil War service, and there were babies ... so many babies.

She heard Myrtle returning. "Did you get it?" she asked, shining the light on her friend.

"Yes," Myrtle answered a little breathlessly, handing the sack of corn meal to Edna. "Gladys was asleep." She giggled. "How can she sleep in a place like this?"

"Gladys can sleep anywhere," Edna answered sarcastically. "You know we only asked her to come along because she can still see to drive after dark. Here. Hold my flashlight and shine it on the marker."

Edna took the bag, opened it, and took a handful of the grainy meal. She tossed it at the unreadable portion of the marker and rubbed it in. Then she got chill bumps at what she saw. This was the ancestor who had eluded them for years ... their great-great-great-great-grandfather Malachi Wilson, Revolutionary War soldier, settler from England and founder of their Wilson line in America.

"It's him, Myrtle," she said in awe. "It's him."

The two ladies stood silent for a moment, each with her own thoughts about the life of this man, trying to imagine what life had been like for him during those early Colonial days. The dates didn't exactly match the ones they had, but they knew there was a possibility that the marker had been erected long after the man's death. Well-meaning relatives often make mistakes. The large markers indicated a wealthy family. Gravestones weren't cheap, even back then.

Subdued by their find, the ladies wandered from grave to grave, jotting down names, dates, relationships, and the sentimental inscriptions on the stones. They took photos to preserve the information that writing could err, and minds could forget. Flash after flash illuminated the cemetery as information was recorded.

They finished their task, used the soft brush to remove the corn meal from the markers, and started walking back to the car, satisfied that they had left the cemetery just as they had found it. Myrtle wiped a tear from her cheek and Edna, for once, was silent.

As they climbed into the car, Gladys awoke with a start. "Are we ready to go home?" she asked. "Did you find what we were after?"

You wouldn't believe it, Gladys," Edna said, shaking her head. "You just wouldn't believe it."

Just then, they heard voices ... youthful voices ... giggles ... shrieks. And they knew it was time for the teen ritual of visiting a cemetery on Halloween. The full moon suddenly came out from behind a cloud, exposing the teens who were walking among the graves, laughing nervously, making remarks, expecting who knows what. They had not seen the car. The moonlight disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Edna leaned back in the seat and smiled. "Give 'em their money's worth, Grandpa Malachi," she said, chuckling. "Give 'em their money's worth."

Gladys backed the car onto the dirt road without turning on the lights. There was no need to spoil their teenage fun. Edna tucked the bag of corn meal and the brush under the seat where it would stay until the next cemetery trip.

"Let's go home, Gladys," she said. "Let's go home."

I think many of you can relate to that story and probably have a few of your own. I'd love to hear them.

Looking for your ancestors? Got a genealogy tip? Write to The Citizen, Drawer 1719, Fayetteville, GA 30214; e-mail jkilgore@thecitizennews.com or jodiek444@aol.com.

Until next week, happy hunting!