The Ghost Who Rocked the Cradle
"Come out to my bouse when
this is over," she whispered as
we stood in the hell waiting for
the meeting to begin. "I've got
something to tell you." Two
hours later, I was settled in at
her kitchen table, sipping cold
tea and learning about a ghost
who had inhabited her house
from the first day she and her
newborn daughter arrived home
from the hospital, until the day
the girl left home to begin her
own life with her new husband.
"I didn't used to believe in
ghosts," she confided a bit shyly,
"but my feelings about the super
natural have changed consider
ably through the years due to our
friendly ghost, 'Anastasia.' My
husband and I were so pleased to
find this house that for three
years we absored ourselves with
renovation and restoration. But,
when our daughter was born, this
place began to change. Oh, it was
nothing horrifying or blood
thirsty, mind you, but little
things began to happen that had
not happened here before her
birth. You see, 'Anastasia' sud
denly came into our lives. I've
never heard of anything quite
like it. Once my husband and I
had reason to investigate more
thoroughly, the more fascinating
'Anastasia' became to us. Even
tually, we uncovered the reasons
that accounted for us having her
friendly presence here in our
home."
She continued. "First of all, we
learned that all the other occu
pants of this house before us had
no experience with 'Anastasia.'
But, we also discovered that none
of them had daughters either.
Only sons. As we dug further, we
found that the last family to live
here that DID have a daughter,
suffered that daughter's death
only three days after her birth in
the very room upstairs that our
own daughter was raised in. The
dead infant's mother, 'Anasta
sia,' was distraught with grief for
her child, and never left her
room, eventually becoming a re
cluse and an invalid. It vaa said
that she would ait by the cradle
for hours at a time, empty though
it was. She also hummed a little
tune nearly the whole night long,
and would sleep peacefully dur
ing the day. When she died, she
weighed no more than a child
herself, and was nearly seventy
years old. Old family letters
state that she was found dead,
clutching the empty cradle, and
that she was buried near her in
fant daughter in a family ceme
tery just across the yard there by
the edge of the field. I've looked
at her gravestone and her name
is there, along with that of her
daughter nearby. Everything
fits.
The names, the dates of birth and
death. Everything fits the docu
ments and what has been re
corded in writing."
I decided to stretch my legs
and walked to the kitchen win
dow to gaze out at the beautiful
mellow moon that silhouetted the
old gray headstones by the edge
of the field as she continued her
story.
"If we hadn't been so certain
that this woman was merely pro
tecting our daughter, we would
have moved out long ago. But,
from all the evidence, we actu
ally felt a little relieved that she
was sharing our daughter's life.
It was sort of like having a guard
ian angel, I guess. At least that's
the way we came to think of it."
"In the beginning, I could
never understand why our
daughter's cradle was always
swaying slightly every time I
came into her room. I'd put my
hand out to stop the motion, but
every time I'd check back, it
would be swaying again while
my daughter slept peacefully.
But then, after the photographs,
everything began to come to
gether."
"Photographs?" I questioned,
as I took my seat and poured
more tea. "How did a photograph
solve the mystery?" t
"We didn't sleep for weeks af
ter they were developed," she
confided. "It was a fitful time for
us, but the photographs also ex
plained away many strange
things, like the rocking cradle
and the soft humming our daugh
ter eventually heard each night
as she grew older. In EVERY
picture, there was a ghostlike fig
ure standing by the cradle. It had
a fog-Uke density and you could
see through it, but it was defi
nitely a woman's shape. That's
when we began to investigate the
background of the house itself
and found out about 'Anastasia.'
It was then that we realized that
the ghostly white apparition al
ways beside our daughter's bed
side was bar."
"As she grew older, our daugh
ter refused to move out of the
room. She said that 'Anastasia'
was her friend and her protector
who came to her in the night in
her dreams. She also said that
she loved the little tune, and
could not go to sleep without it.
My husband and I had never
heard the tune, but on the eve of
our daughter's wedding, all three
of us heard it. We were laying out
her wedding dress that night for
the morning service the next
day. It was quite the most beauti
ful thing I have ever heard. It
made me want to cry and smile
at the same time.
Our daughter said that 'Anasta
sia' was merely saying goodbye
to her and wanted us all to know
how much she had loved living
with her here. There has been no
evidence of 'Anastasia's' pres
ence here since my daughter left
this house. None whatsoever. Not
until recently."
"How recently?" I questioned
again. "Well, you know I have a
granddaughter now," she re
plied. "She's started sleeping in
that room some when she visits
here. Her mother no longer feels
'Anastasia's' presence nor hears
the song, but my granddaughter
does. However, what's stranger
than anything else though... are
the names."
By this time I had already
started putting some pieces of
the puzzle together by myself,
and a calm acceptance had come
over me. She smiled softly.
"My name is Ann. The ghost
was named 'Anastasia.' - Her
daughter was named Annie. My
daughter was named Anna. And
my granddaughter is named
Anny."
1 could hardly wait to open a
particular book on my shelf when
I returned home that night. My
fingers followed the lines down to
the name, "Anastasia," and si
lently I registered the meaning?
"Anastasia... the resurrection.
Rebirth."
Always hard for me to adjust to the time changes
Squirrel eviction underway
November's almost here, and
cool weather has arrived just in
time to welcome the month.
Now I guess we can stop com
plaining about the heat and start
complaining about being cold. It
When individual rights infringe on others
There has been a great deal of
debate in recent years concern
ing the right of Americans to
have access to materials dealing
with sex, incest, homosexuality,
adultry, and violence. Many be
lieve their right to indulge in
such matters is guaranteed by
the constitution and object
strongly when attempts are
made to limit access to such
materials. The right of "freedom
of speech" is often quoted as a
defense in allowing porna graphic
materials to be displayed openly
in society.
I've long supported the notion
of an individual's right to possess
whatever he wishes in the pri
vacy of his home, and feel that
right should be protected. When
that right infringes on the rights
of others, I believe controls are in
order.
I am fully convinced, and ris
ing sex-related crime statistics
support my belief, that the easy
availibility of sex oriented
materials has had an adverse ef
fect on our society. Open expo
sure to sex and violence has be
come such a normal part of our
daily lives that we hardly notice
it. But our children are and so
are many warped elements of so
ciety.
" Show Boat" background
"Show boat's coming!" Excit
ement always greeted the arrival
of the "Cotton Blossom" bring
ing music, dance, and melo
drama to the towns along "01'
Man River." The classic tale of
life among waterborne entertain
ers was told by Edna Ferber in
her novel "Show Boat" and
transferred to stage and screen
in the melodious musical by Je
rome Kern (born a century ago
this year).
Cap'n Andy's "Cotton Blos
som" was an impressive paddle
steamer floating grandly on the
Mississippi. The inspiration for
that fictional vessel was a much
humhiar craft traveling such
lesser waterways as Perquimans
River.
Researchii* her novel, Ferber
spent time on the "James Adams
Floating Theatre." That craft
looked more like a house sitting
on the water than a real boat. It
had no independent power of
movement and had to be towed to
its landing places.
Former circus and vaudeville
performer James Adams had the
craft built in 1913 at Washington,
N.C. It was 122 by 34 feet overall,
drawing 14 inches of water. It
had two main levels, the lower
one containing the 30-by-80 foot
auditorium and 19-foot stage, the
upper having quarters for the
owners and managers.
In the era between the two
world wars, the Adams Theatre
and its complement of twenty-six
multi-functioning persons played
the towns along the North Caro
lina sounds and the Chesapeake
Bay. The annual tour started in
Elizabeth City in February or
March, with Hertford as the sec
ond stop.
At Hertford the Theatre proba
bly tied up at the east end of
Grubb Street. Tickets coat the
great sum of SB cents for the
main show (90 cents would re
serve a seat) and another IS
rtfch th^venmT
Leading man-director Charles
Hunter described the typical
show as "the old-fashioned ho
kum?all about mother love,
faithful and unfaithful sweet
hearts, the lamp in the window,
an occasional villain, and all in a
play full of smiles and tears, but
mostly hilarity and fun."
A performance at Hertford ooe
night was particularly engros
sing. Sweet little Beulah Adams
(the "Mary Pickford of the Ches
apeake") played the demure
damsel in distress being offered
a drugged drink by the dastardly
villain. Suddenly from the audi
ence came a heartfelt cry from a
farmer's wife, "Don't drink from
that glass! Without losing a beat
the actress instantly the play and
threw down the potion, daying,
"You are right; I won't drink
that stuff I"
(Another time Beulah broke
her ankle. Changes were made in
the program, Hunter remarking
that it was easier to rewrite the
play for bar than to shoot bar.)
Motion pictures and the De
j Lin i it,,
frames Adam* Floating
tht 1910b ifid IMOf .
It hasn't been so many years
ago that such materials were
very difficult to obtain. "Girlie"
magazines and related items
were available, but were not
openly exposed as they are to
day. The nearest thing to pornog
raphy most people had access to
was the ladies' section of the
Sears catalog. Few motion pic
tures were shown dealing with
explicit sex, and any reference to
such matters was avoided on
television. I can recall when tele
vision seldom included bedroom
scenes, and when they did, mar
ried couples were shown sleeping
in separate beds. There was little
physical contact, including kiss
ing. Profanity was not used.
Many will recall the care used
during Elvis' first appearance on
the Ed Sullivan Show to avoid
showing his waist and hips, as
many considered his stage
movements obscene.
You could say "We've come a
long way, Baby", but not nec
essarily in the right direction.
Perhaps such stringent rules
were too harsh, but it's difficult
to believe controls aren't needed
today.
It is possible to control the
amount of sex and violence avail
able to our society without re
stricting the individual rights.
We've gone overboard in at
tempting to satisfy the desire for
an "open" society and we are
paying the price as morals de-.
dine.
It's time we returned to the va
lues of years ago by restricting
the flow of such materials. Thoee
seems funny that in the summer
time you'd give anything to find a
spot that was about 60-degrees,
and then once the temperatures
reach that point outside (or in
side if you're building's in the
shape that our office is right
now) you're trying your best to
find a nice warm spot.
I really didn't relish the
thoughts of cooler weather com
ing this year though. Some of you
may know the problems that we
incurred last year when the
cooler weather broke, but for
those of you that don't know I'll
fill you in.
It seems that surrounding our
office are several large, trees.
These trees seem to be a favorite
spot for many of the squirrels
that reside on Grubb Street and
the surrounding community. The
pecans probably are a major at
traction for than, but anyway...
The squirrels also want to find a
nice, warm spot on cool days,
and they decided that our office
was as good a {dace as any to get
away from the cold north wind.
We didn't exactly like our new
patrons, but what could we do
about it. At first it wasn't too bad.
They confined themselves to the
attic, and although they were a
little noisy, they pretty much
kept to themselves.
As autumn turned to winter
they seemed to get a little
braver, and on rare occasions
they found there way down into
the office through a hole in ooe of
the closet ceilings. All attempts
to rid ourselves of the problem
failed. We tried rat poison, which
didn't tempt the little varmints
at all, not even when mixed with
crushed pecans or peanuts.
Someone suggested moth balls.
The smell of those sure got to us,
but it didn't deter the squirrels at
all.
We finally decided to take pot
shots at the little varmints with a
BB Gun. We've got a few dents in
the walls now, but it still didn't
slow those squirrels down a bit. I
guess they thought that they'd
gotten the best of us. They cer
tainly didn't seem willing to give
up their newly found home.
On several occasions they
proved to be quite a source of em
barrasment to us. Whenever the
squirrels decided to come down
from there roost and run ram
pant through the office the girls
that work here jumped up onto
their desks to wait for the var
mints to depart. More than once
as we stood on our desks waiting
for the squirrels to go back where
they belonged we were visited by
area business people. Explaining
our predicament didn't help
much, because the noise that
they made opening the door al
ways sent the squirrels into hid
ing. I think a lot of folks just
thought we'd taken leave of our
senses. Honest guys, there were
squirrels.
The more work that is done to
our building now, the more ob
vious it becomes that we aren't
the only inhabitants of this do
main. Fortunately the noise from
the contractor's crew has sent
the squirrels in search of a more
peaceful place. .
We have been assured that
since the building is being re-con
s true ted the squirrels will not be
able to find an access spot. And
just to make sure, the contractor
removed the limbs that were
hanging over the building that
the squirrels were using as stairs
into their home.
I know I complained a lot last
week about the noise that we
were having to endure, but be
lieve me it's worth it already.
The building is starting to shape
up and the squirrels are gone.
It's worth it. .
THE
PERQUIMANS WEEKLY
Established In 1932
A DEAR PUBLICATION
Publtohad Each Tlwudor By Advance Publication* Inc. Elizabeth City. NX.
Second CM* Potlog* Paid at Hertford. N.C 37944 USPS 428-080
Jmm B. WiHianw
Editor
Ami* L Wood Dabbia T. Stalling*
Advartising Maiuicf Circulation Manager
ONE YEAR MAIt SUBSCRIPTION RATES
In-County Out-Of-County
?r no."
1 19 Wast Grubb Street
P.O. Box 277
Hertford, N.C. 27944
North Carolina fr?t Association
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