Freestone County, Texas
Reflections




[SPECIAL THANKS to Linda Mullen for transcribing and Margaret Tolar for locating.]



Diary of Mrs. Frances “Fannie or Frankie” (Noland) Anderson
(Fannie was born in 1850.  She married Judge Asa Green Anderson on May 14, 1868 
 in Freestone County. )


FREESTONE COUNTY HISTORY With J.R. (Sonny) Sessions, Jr.
Freestone County Times:  Mrs. Anderson’s Ledger #6

  Mrs. Anderson’s ledger deals with life in the Fairfield area during her 
childhood in the 1850’s.

“Colors”
By Mary Brent Whiteside

We used to pass the Darby Church and hear them singing there
about the golden slippers that climbed the golden stairs,
it sounded beautiful and sweet,
we’d stop and listen in the street,
and if nobody noticed it,
we’d wriggle through the door a bit,
and stand on tiptoe feet.
They sang a lot about the Ark, and how the kangaroo,
and all the other animals, went in two by two.
And when they would sing the one about 
the Glory Road, they’d stand and shout.
And then they’d go all soft and slow, 
about a chariot swinging low.
Then the meeting would be over, we’d be all sorry to turn back,
for when a darkie prays and sings,
there isn’t any white or black, but only golden things.

  Well this poem turns my mind back to my childhood days, me and my chums often 
went to the Darkie meetings just to hear them sing and shout.  The white pastors 
took turns once a month to preach for the slaves at three o’clock Sunday 
afternoon in the Union Church not far from our house.  One Saturday afternoon 
several of my chums and myself went to the branch and got some Rattan vine hoops, 
this was very stylish then.  We cut the vines then rant hem in the hems of our 
petty coats.  So Sunday afternoon decided to go to the Negro meeting and wear our 
hoops, which we did.  Now the preacher would always ask us little girls to go up 
to the front seats.
  We marched in to the second bench to the front, well I did not know how the 
other girls managed their hoops but I flopped down in the seat my hoop flew up 
slapping me in the face, being so astonished and mortified I just jumped to my 
feet, pulled down my skirts and went out of that church in a rush with the other 
girls following just giggling.  We never went again, though often I have sat by 
my window to hear them sing and pat their feet with a perfect rhythm.
  If you have never heard the Church Sisters sing and shout or march on White 
Sunday you have missed a real treat.