In 1917 a young man from Georgia is far from home, getting ready to head to the battlefield in France and do his part. He stops in Paris and tries to find some small gift to send home to his mother. He wanders through shops filled with expensive perfumes and smaller items, but he doesn't have much money for luxury goods. Finally, he finds an inexpensive handkerchief in a small shop, and
he buys it, and pays to have it mailed home, to a small farm in Dooly County, and his weary widowed mother who is still raising children.
Above is that handkerchief.
I now have this modest little item and it's one of my most cherished possessions. I do not have anything else that was bought by my grandfather Algernon Thompson (who died before my birth) and I certainly don't have anything that was owned by his mother, my great grandmother Annie Lewis Thompson.
I treasure this little handkerchief.
It is falling apart. I gently lifted it out of the box and it split at every seam. However, the embroidery threads are still vivid, as you can see, and the lace is intact.
I left the photo large on purpose, so you can see the handkerchief and appreciate it.
I doubt anyone would offer me much money for it, even a museum of fabrics, but to me it is priceless.
When I touch it, I am linked to my grandfather, and linked to his mother. I am literally linked to them, through this modest piece of cloth.
I find that profoundly moving.
This is part of why I find History so fascinating.
I cannot imagine what it must have been like to live on a farm in South Georgia between 1888 and 1904. I cannot imagine a home without electricity or indoor plumbing. I cannot imagine having to quit school and go to work, so my mother and my 7 younger siblings can stay together, and keep the land. Yet, such was the life of my grandfather, Algernon Lewis Thompson. He spent many years working and sending money home to his mother, and many years as a professional soldier, delaying marriage until his mother and siblings were able to manage for themselves.
Thompson is pictured at right, in the lower left-hand corner. My father looked a LOT like Thompson.
at left, Dad as a young man with me and my brother, about 1962
The lady who raised my grandfather was always referred to as "Annie Lou Lewis Thompson" but in doing some research I found that her name was actually Augustine Lougene Lewis. Her mother was Gabrielle Scarborough. So from her, I have French ancestry, undoubtedly. I know there are French ancestors on the Henderson side, too.
I loved learning French in high school. My ancestors in heaven must have been tickled.
Below, Annie Thompson, known to Dad and her grandchildren as "Little Granny."
I can touch the handkerchief her loving son sent to her more than a hundred years ago. We are connected through more than blood. I look forward to meeting her, and my grandfather, one day, in heaven.
