Butch Had To Face The Goblins

By: John “Butch” Dale

I grew up in an old two-story farmhouse southeast of Darlington. As was the custom in those days, Dad farmed the ground for the landlord, and the house was provided for free. Up until the age of 3 1/2, I slept downstairs in a small bed in my parent’s bedroom… safe and sound. However, when my brother Gary was born in March of 1952, I was shipped to the upstairs room. The only one up there was little ol’ me. Not good. It certainly did not help the situation when Dad recited the following James Whitcomb Riley poem:

“Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers, —

An’ when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,

His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,

An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wuzn’t there at all!

An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,

An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’wheres, I guess;

But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an’ roundabout,

An’ the Gobble-uns ‘ll git YOU

Ef you Don’t Watch OUT!”

I have no idea why Dad repeated that poem over and over, unless he was trying to make sure I said my nighttime prayer, which went like this:

“Now I lay me down to sleep…I pray the Lord my soul to keep; If I should die before I wake…I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

Great…Now, not only did I have to worry about goblins, but it was now running through my feeble little mind that I could…DIE! No wonder I never missed Sunday School at the Methodist church.

Each night was a struggle to get to sleep. A night light helped, but most of the

time I slept under the covers, even on hot summer nights. I could hear something, likely mice, scratching around inside the walls, so my folks brought up a fan to drown out those noises. In the winter, the upstairs room was so cold that I could see my breath. Oftentimes, in addition to my pajamas, I wore a sock hat, coat, and gloves…but still ran the fan!

Well, I eventually adjusted to sleeping in that tiny upstairs bedroom. But when I was six years old, our landlord died of a heart attack in a field behind our house. After the funeral, I was absolutely certain that his ghost resided in the upstairs closet. Fortunately, my little brother joined me soon afterwards. We were scared to death…together. We slept in that upstairs bedroom all through our years at home. There was no bathroom up there, and since we did not want to venture too far in the darkness, many times we took a few steps, lifted the window, and urinated through the screen…You do what you have to do. Dad never figured out why that window screen became rusty.

When my wife and I had children, I recited the Riley “Gobble-uns” poem to my kids. Might as well be a family tradition…and at age 75, every day of the year…I still run a fan at night. So…all of you need to remember this:

“You better mind yer parents, an’ yer teachurs fond an’ dear,

An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,

An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about,

Er’ the Gobble-un’s ‘ii git YOU…Ef you don’t watch OUT!”

– John “Butch” Dale is a retired teacher and County Sheriff. He has also been the librarian at Darlington the past 32 years, and is a well-known artist and author of local history.