My Early Days at Isle of Hope

Before the days of living at Isle of Hope, Georgia, just south of Savannah, I had few recollections of substance (perhaps not too many after that as well). It was during World War II and my father was serving in the navy in the Pacific. My mother, her older brother (uncle Spence), my older sister (Gray) and I stayed at the home on the bluff which was left by my grandfather to his six children. It was a great place to spend your preteen days; I was eight years old at the time. The house was large as was the backyard. I remember running through the dried corn stalks, climbing the grape (scuppernongs) orchard (the grapes were sour and not to my taste) and playing in the guest cottage. That was the backyard – but the front of the house was where I spent most of my time. The front faced the river and the pier where we kept our two row boats. A large sandbar was situated across the river.

When the tide was out  I could collect oysters from the river bank next to the pier. On occasion the grownups would gather outside and eat the raw oysters my sister and I had collected. Of course we would shuck the oysters for them. I never did and never will eat a raw oyster. Fried is OK.

Of the two boats we had, one was a flat bottom used for fishing and the other was a round bottom boat used for rowing. I loved to row that boat. My friends and I would row the boat to the sandbar and wallow in the mud. Sometimes we became covered with mud; fortunately jumping in the river provided the necessary bath.

There was a row of large homes along the bluff; large even by today’s standards. My friends and I would ride our bikes along the narrow road in front of the homes to visit each other or visit the small boat dock, country store, street car terminal or terrapin farm at one end of the bluff. People said that if you fell into the pen the terrapins would eat you alive. When I came to the rail to look at the terrapins they would stretch their necks as if they were sizing up their next meal. I never leaned on the rail. The country store was small, but provided the important things to us kids. Ice cream, popsicles, and cracker jacks were at the top of the list. The highlight of eating the cracker jacks was finding the prize at the bottom of the box. I remember finding, to my great satisfaction, a whistle.

The street car ran to Savannah. I was too young to make the trip, but I would hitch ride a no cost for short distances. I also remember a lady breastfeeding her baby on the street car. I guess that was something in those days. “You gotta do what you gotta do”. It sure got the attention of this eight year old boy.

Jackie, my best friend, and I played together all the time. We would collect eggs from the chickens in his backyard, wash them off (ugh!) and sometimes just throw them to make them break. Once, I saw the beginning of a baby chick being formed in a broken egg. I stopped throwing eggs after that. The roosters weren’t that friendly anyway and didn’t want us around. They would chase us away at will. We were a lot larger, but they had the motivation.

My family and I passed the time talking among ourselves and the neighbors in the late evenings. A nice summer breeze and a screen in porch keep it pleasant.  It seemed to me that everyone liked each other – something out of Norman Rockwell. I learned to play cards in this environment. The game was bridge, a form which is called “bid for the dummy”.  Once the bidding was over my playing was over and the three older players continued playing. They just needed a dummy and that was me. Apparently, I wasn’t up to their skill level.

Even though Isle of Hope is located in the deep South, the winters could be cold. The only heating I remember was the pot bellied stove in the kitchen and several fire places throughout the house. We gathered around the stove to get warm before breakfast and school. The floors and toilet seats were cold to the touch. Fortunately, being a boy the toilet seat wasn’t much of a problem. To preserve our food we had an ice box with routine ice delivery, none those fancy refrigerators or such.

In the summer it was swimming and fishing. We would dive into the river from any structure we could find. Whether it was a pile driving barge or the roof of one of the covered piers we would dive from it. The teen age boys would dive from the very top platform of the barge; I preferred to jump off a lower platform. Once I lost my footing and almost my life as I was about to jump off the roof of a covered pier. I slid off the roof, bounced off the concrete floating dock below and landed into the river. I managed to climb out of the water and limp home. It hurts to think about it.

On a sad note, as a young man I drove by our former home and saw that the tree I used to climb to survey the bluff, river and sandbar was no longer there. I was also told that my best friend Jackie had died of pneumonia at an early age. I still think of him.

Isle of Hope was all things to a growing boy – good people, plenty of things to investigate and not a care in the world.