te hoss up en down
ter see how dey marched."

"One song I lack'd best ob all wuz, 'Mah ole Mammy ez De'd en Gon','
'Let me Sit B'neath de Willow Tree.' Don't member uther songs now."

INTERVIEW
Sylvia Watkins
411 14th Avenue N.
Nashville, Tennessee.

I'se said ter be 91 y'ars ole. I wuz young w'en de War wuz goin' on. I
wuz bawn in Bedford County. Mah mammy wuz named Mariah. She had six
chillun by mah daddy en three by her fust husband.

Mah missis wuz named Emily Hatchet en de young missises wuz Mittie en
Bettie, dey wuz twins. We had good clothes ter w'ar en w'en we went
ter de table hit wuz loaded wid good food en we could set down en eat
our stomachs full. Oh Lawd I wish dem days wuz now so I'd hab sum good
food. Ob course, we had ter wuk in de fiel's en mek w'at we et.

Wen we'd finish our day's wuk our missis would let us go out en play
hide en seek, Puss in de corner, en diff'ent games.

Mah mammy wuz sold in Virginia w'en she wuz a gurl. She sezs 'bou 60
ob em wuz put in de road en druv down 'yer by a slave trader, lak a
bunch ob cattle. Mah mammy en two ob mah sistahs wuz put on a block,
sold en carried ter Alabama. We neber 'yeard fum dem nomo', en dunno
whar dey ez.

I wuz willed ter mah young missis w'en she ma'ried. I wuz young en, ob
course, she whuped me, but she wasn't mean ter me. I needed eve'y
whupin' she eber gib me, cause I wuz allus fightin'. Mah missis allus
called me her lettle nig.

Mah daddy could only see mah mammy Wednesday en Saturday nites, en
ef'n he kum wid'out a pass de pat-rollers would whup 'im er run 'im
'til his tongue hung out. On dem nites we would sit up en look fer
daddy en lots ob times he wuz out ob bref cose he had run so much.

Mah white folks had a loom en we wove our own clothes. I wuz nuss en
house girl en l'arned how ter sew en nit. Mah young missis wuz blind
'fore she died. I useter visit her once a Ye'r en she'd load me down
wid things ter tek home, a linsey petticoat, ham bones, cracklins en
diff'ent things. She died 18 years ago almos' a 100 ye'r ole.

De white folks wouldn't let de slaves hab a book er papah fer fear
dey'd l'arn sumpin', en ef dey wan'ed ter pray dey'd tu'n a kettle
down at dere cabin do'er. I member yearin' mah mammy pray "Oh Father
op'n up de do'ers en sho us lite." I'd look up ter de ceiling ter see
ef he wuz gonna op'n up sumpin'; silly, silly me, thinkin' such. I's
'longs ter de Missionary Baptist chuch but I don't git ter