Robert S. Lancaster: Remembrance of his Parents

Robert S. Lancaster had a temper, as did all the Lancaster children; a determination to fight against all odds; sometimes with the pen and word, sometimes with more direct forms of "communication".

Uncle Red was, by his very essence, an academic. He was great hunter, a leader of men, an educator of renown and a keen student of history. He maintained a simple dignity.

He  accepted that  all men are good and bad. He accepted the bad as a personal challenge; doing his best to find the good in all people in his life.  He encouraged, cajoled, and inspired all in his presence to pursue their best self. His influence was far reaching and lasting.

My mother Virginia Lancaster Shields, and Rob's sister was recipient of many of Robert's letters, musings, and remembrances in a few notebooks, In the monumental task of going through her 26 year as an instructor of English and UGA, I found that her siblings had passed much of their writings on to her; letters home to parents from WW11, diaries of their lives in the far flung places they lived and worked.  

Red had a Doctorate in Jurisprudence and wrote extensively on the subject. I was amazed at his insight and concerns expressed in his writings for the political future of our democracy, even back to the Nixon era. He was a true legal scholar. He was in Naval intelligence in WWII and retuned to Sewanee after the war to teach political science and became Dean of the College.

I found Uncle Red's  reminiscences of his father, Robert Tazewell Lancaster, and his mother Rachel Elma Barnard very poignant.

I never knew Grandpa Tazz, He died in in 1925.  I knew Grandma Rachel well, and spent a good part of summer vacation with her and her sister, Aunt Lou, a spinster who lived with her on the farm every summer. She's another story! 

To have a handwritten remembrance about my grandparents is very special. It shows what an influence Robert's parents had on the ten children they brought into this world between 1899 and 1923.

These words were written by his hand in the early stages of Parkinson’s Disease that struck when Uncle Red was in his early 80’s. He would soon after lose the ability to write.  He lived to his mid-90’s, a testament to the iron will and physical stamina.

He became bed ridden in his last few years, yet still had a "pull up" bar attached to the ceiling above the bed. He used it daily to exercise. Uncle Red remained quick of mind and loved the company of the Sewanee faculty, active and emeritus, that came regularly at “Toddy time”.

Here are Robert Lancaster’s remembrances of his father and mother.

Papa

“What have the years taken? The immediate recall of names; eyes that saw, ears that heard. Muscles tuned to action, a sense of balance. It has not taken my memory. I can still recall faces, memories, feelings":

Start with Papa…

I can still see the great hands cleaning the briars from the grain drill; see the face redden and the veins pop out when a horse loses balance while being shod; see him shaving on the back porch before the cracked mirror, the straight razor handled with deft sureness.

See him take the fiddle and cradle it not under his chin but to his breast; hear the tune come gliding out setting feet to patting. I remember his going to play for Addie Smith on her death bed. See him take a single shot 22 rifle and dill an English sparrow in the Chestnut tree across the road from the barn: notice the sure way he mounted a horse, sending it forward when the foot touched the stirrup.

Watch with fear as he subdued a horse in the stable, his will overbearing the will of the wildly rearing beast. Watch the way he met his friends, a man of conscious worth, who’s advice was sought about planting and harvesting.

See him sick before the fire in the middle of the night; see him on the morrow do a day’s work; notice the deft way he robbed the bees, removing great slabs of honey with a knife from the old-fashioned bee gum with minor protest from the smoke drugged victims.

See him sitting before the fireplace, a child on his lap; see him in frugal moments of brightness, jocular and high spirited with his brother Albert after a covey shot.

Hear his sharp command and come running; watch him seize the old sow by her ears, thrust her nose through the fence, saying “ring it, boy, and do it quick”. Hear him talk about his own father and the one war. “Pa” he said, “fought the Yankees”, satisfaction in his voice.

Remember his fierce temper, especially in his illness, not with many, but with me who was so close to him he could vent his frustrations on me.

Tall handsome, ever courtly to women, work scarred, brown eyed and thin of face. Hero to his children-ten of them

That was my father

Go you age! You have not taken it all yet!

Mama

A woman proud of her children, happy because she could forget herself in serving them. She took things as they came and gave less thought than most to the morrow; do what each day commanded.

See her in morning cooking breakfast, hands covered with flour, fix wood in the wood stove.

Slender, Auburn haired, face fine-boned and strong, quick of temper, quick to lose it, harbored no hatreds, nourished no dislikes.

She loved all babies and knew where they came from and how they got out, cherished by friends in labor, wise in elemental things.

Hands that were green planted a sprout and produced a tree; turned to the earth, skilled in earth’s trickery.

Easy to believe, not a skeptic bone in her body, anticipating the needs of her children. Better to her boys than to her girls. Best in time of need, making do ingeniously. Loved by her neighbors; almost believing all people were her neighbors.

Caring not too much about learning but entranced by a book once in it. Knowing all family relationships, easily reciting the pedigree of a distant kinsman. She faced disaster with courage and fought her own battles. Cultivated a strong sense of dignity in company. Earned the respect of a county.

She was listened to as a prophetess; one who knew the past and was in some way in touch with the future. An earthly woman, unimaginative woman, who laughed easily, wept to herself, cultivated the smile. Proud of her children: “My daughter Maude can” ____.

 Rachel went to care for Grace in New York, conquered the subway, understood people whether in the field or on a crowded street.

Caught life in her hands and would not let it go easily. Loyal to husband, children, friends, life. Rests well in the ground.

That was Mama…

How can one not have great respect and admiration for a kinsman like Robert Lancaster!