The following is a transcription of a type-written copy of Novaline Sentell's recollections of Collinsburg. I received a copy of this from Aunt Eugenia this past Thanksgiving. Eugenia appears in a couple of the photos that I attached to this write-up. You can find her directly under the windmill in the farm scene and nearly middle of front row on the Christmas porch photo. Eugenia says Novaline is pronounced ('nah vuh leen). Novaline was born in Caddo Parish in 1922 and died in Shreveport in 1993.
Novaline's mother was a Woodbridge. The Woodbridge family represents an astoundingly long unbroken line of ministers dating back to one who studied under John Wycliffe. Novaline's grandfather, George Woodbridge was the Presbyterian pastor at Minden, Louisiana for a number of years. His father was Rev. Jahleel Woodbridge. Jahleel's obituary included the following... "He was born in Southampton, Mass., February 19, 1815, and died at Wesson, Miss., February 26th, 1886. He was the son of Rev. Sylvester Woodbridge, of New Orleans, who was the son of Rev. John Woodbridge, of Hadley, Mass., who was the son of Rev. John Woodbridge, of Springfield, Mass., who was the son of Rev. John Woodbridge, of Wethersfield, Conn., who was the son of Rev. John Woodbridge, of Newberry, Mass., who was the son of Rev. John Woodbridge, of Wiltshire, England". That last John was born in 1582! He was the sixth of a succession of Reverend John Woodbridge's, the first of which is the one said to have studied under Wycliffe.
As an interesting aside... The John Woodbridge of Newbury, Massachusetts, in that succession mentioned above, married Mercy Dudley. They are Novaline's 7th great grandparents. Both were born in England but were wed in Massachusetts in 1640. The Dudley name sounded familiar when I added her to my tree. Her father was Thomas Dudley a Puritan and austere colonial governor of Massachusetts and close associate of John Winthrop. They were familiar because Gov. Thomas Dudley is a 10th great grandfather on the Keller side of the family through great grandmother, Sara Amanda Dickson Keller, Nancy Cleveland Dickson, Clara Isbell Cleveland, etc. I love it when our tree starts linking up way out in the branches. Small world.
The Woodbridge family was entrenched in the northeast for generations. I'm sure there is some story regarding Novaline's 2nd great grandfather, Sylvester Woodbridge, bringing his family to Louisiana. I wish I knew it. Sylvester served as pastor of Second Presbyterian, New Orleans for 8 years until his death in 1863 during the Union occupation of the city. Sylvester stayed in the city while many of his parishioners left to avoid the hardship of occupation.
It is interesting to me how Collinsburg made a big impression on everyone that visited. When the Sentells wrote about family, they wrote about Collinsburg. I know grandmother Lucy, who was born there, spoke of it often. Novaline was similarly impressed...
Recollections of Collinsburgh
By Novaline Armena Sentell
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| Earliest known photo of Collinsburg |
Collinsburg was a grand place, and we had many happy hours there. We spoke of it as “Pa’s House.” Without question, he was the central figure. Even this minute I can see his silver white hair shining over his gentle face as he sat in his big arm chair in front of that big wood fireplace with the big tall clock over it. (Everything was big!) He was a gentle man. I loved him dearly and with great respect and admiration. This great respect and admiration was there for many reasons. We knew he was a fine man; that he was kind to those who worked on his place and to many others; that he had done so much toward building the Cottage Grove Presbyterian Church after the old church building burned; and we knew he was very important to its continuing services. We knew he was highly respected and loved.
Every night we gathered in his room for prayers. We sat around that big fireplace, but mostly we sat around him and his big chair. And Pa read from the Bible. Then we all knelt while Pa prayed. That is an important memory to me. Sometimes the fire was hot and my knees sometimes ached, but I knew this was an important time.
I was at Pa’s house often because we lived just thirty miles away, and on Sunday afternoons we often drove up there. Also if church services were at Cottage Grove we often went, and then went to Pa’s house for dinner and the afternoon. In the summer I was there two and three weeks. The boys were there longer in the summer. We were always there at Christmas and other holidays when many others of the family were there, too. Many others!
Every night we gathered in his room for prayers. We sat around that big fireplace, but mostly we sat around him and his big chair. And Pa read from the Bible. Then we all knelt while Pa prayed. That is an important memory to me. Sometimes the fire was hot and my knees sometimes ached, but I knew this was an important time.
I was at Pa’s house often because we lived just thirty miles away, and on Sunday afternoons we often drove up there. Also if church services were at Cottage Grove we often went, and then went to Pa’s house for dinner and the afternoon. In the summer I was there two and three weeks. The boys were there longer in the summer. We were always there at Christmas and other holidays when many others of the family were there, too. Many others!
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| Novaline standing at left holding Jack McBride. McGinty is third from left carving on a stick. |
It was unthinkable that anyone there on Sunday would not go to Sunday School and church. Church services would be either in Plain Dealing or at Cottage Grove. How well we remember the Sundays at Cottage Grove. It is a beautiful little red brick church up on a hill some hundred yards off the country road. Over to one side of it is the cemetery, and we knew many Sentell's who had gone before us were buried there, and that others would be. To the other side of the church and behind it is a lovely wooded area, and this is where the famous “dinner on the grounds” took place. If we had been at Pa’s house the day before, we had smelled the pork and the mutton and the beef being barbecued all day long in preparation for this big day. Others attending the services from up and down the country roads brought dishes of all sorts, and we gathered around those long tables for the great meal.
My greatest memories of Cottage Grove, though, are of the services themselves. All five of us sitting in a pew, the smiles exchanged as Daddy gave each of us money for the offering plate; and Mama’s nice smile as she put her hand on my knee when I got restless, and she would whisper “It won’t be much longer.” There was the choir of five or six people, Aunt Beth being one of them, and Pa with his hymn book held high in front of his eyes, but his eyes closed, singing “In the Sweet Bye and Bye,” and Beth lovingly mimicking him from the choir. We also often sang “Shall we Gather at the River.” I never knew what river or why we were gathering there but I knew we were going to. It was a good congregation; everybody knew everybody, and I always felt were all friends and cared about each other and helped each other.
The Sundays at Plain Dealing church included Sunday School and Sunday School included Auntie (Dena) leading the singing. There we were-- a very large age span in this Sunday School, and Auntie very conscientiously patting her foot and leading us in singing “Bringing in the Sheaves.” I had no notion of what a “Sheave” was, but I did know I was meant to bring them in and that I was to sing about it. We loved to sing that one because Auntie always patted her foot so good while she led it. Of course, we were also there for church, and we children groaned because we were always the last ones to leave. Pa and Auntie were tending to the flock, visiting with everyone there and learning how sick or well or in need each one in the parish was. We children were ready to go long before they had done all of that.
Sunday dinner was not until around 2:00 o’clock in the afternoon which meant everybody was eager for dinner by the time we got to the table. This was a very long table in a very big dining room, and Pa gave a long blessing before we ate. The room was so big it also had a big side table where the children (sometimes ten or more) sat when lots of the family was there. There was also a very big sideboard with a big chrystal fruit bowl in the center. Always there was the white dinner cloth and napkins, always several vegetables and salads and breads along with the fried chicken and cakes. Most Sundays there was a minister there for dinner, and his family.
Pa had lost one hand in a sawmill accident, so he had an artificial hand and a very interesting fork with a knife on the opposite side of it to eat with. This allowed him to enjoy his meals easily along with everybody else.
The pantry that adjoined the dining room interested me greatly. It was big, too, and it had a marvelous smell from the wooden crate of apples, each apple wrapped in its own tissue. The pantry was filled with all sorts of interesting preserves and pickles and things that had been “put up,” big containers of flour and sugar and meal and many more things.
The kitchen was magic. The old wood burning stove that took so long to get hot but when it did it cooked such marvelous things. Good Maggie, who always had her hair tied in a white cloth always with a white apron on, seemed always in there, next to the window that looked out over the yard and far beyond to the windmill and the commissary and to the lot where the horses and pigs were kept. This was a big kitchen, cabinets, a big sink, a big work table to the side and another in the center of the room. Outside was the back gallery and the side gallery with the dairy off from it. Beyond the galleries were the backyard, the potato house, the garden behind it, the many chicken houses and the chickens. Eggs were gathered regularly, milk was brought in daily from the cow pen down the road, and butter was churned there in the dairy.
There were many rooms in this house, all of them very big, with very high ceilings and with big fireplaces. There was a big and pretty living room with a piano and other pretty furniture and, most of the time, drawn curtains. We didn’t use this room often because we were always in Pa’s room. His was a big room with high ceilings, a full teester bed and big armoire, dresser, marble top wash stand with wash basin and pitcher. In front of the big fireplace, in addition to his big chair, were more rocking chairs and other chairs and stools, and a long table with a lap and books and magazines.
I spent most of my nights there in “The Nursery,” a room which adjoined Pa’s room, and it, too, had the teester bed and a big armoire and dresser, etc. Across the long hall was Auntie’s room, which was another room I spent a lot of time in because the ladies often gathered in there. It was much like the other rooms. It was a familiar sight to see people standing in front of the fire places warming themselves. Those high ceilings and wood fires made it difficult to keep the rooms warm all over.
The telephone was in the long wide hall. Two longs and a short (or something similar) was the ring for this house. (You were meant to ignore the other rings.) To talk over the phone on the wall, you held the receiver in one hand and talked through the mouthpiece still on the wall, attached to a box. Very big doors led from the hall to the porches. I remember Auntie sweeping that long great hall one sunshiny morning and explaining to me that everybody has a purpose in life. I was about ten years old, [1932] curled up in a chair in Pa’s room, asking her to tell me more of what that meant. She was my friend, and I loved her.
There was lots of free and easy time there-- in the swing on the front gallery, walking in the front yard or along one of the many paths, playing in the orchard across the road, or moseying along on a horse.
We rode horses often. Uncle Charlie, black with a white beard, hitched mine up for me each morning until I learned how, and the ride usually included a trip to the store to get a jawbreaker or Tootsie Roll, leaving the horse hitched at the water pump while we went into the store. You went up the steps, across the porch, and then into the store This was a general store, run by Mr. Hedge. Mr. Hedge was usually listening in on the party line telephone when you went in (gathering the local news), and we would stand in front of the glass candy case deciding which piece. In the back of the store was a big wheel of cheese that he would slice from when somebody wanted to buy cheese and crackers. There was other food on the shelves and saddles and hoes and spades and whatever else someone might need.
There were not many people living in Collinsburg. Three or four white families and many black families. Plain Dealing was not many miles from Collinsburg. Maggie and Joe lived right near the big house, just on the other side of the commissary. J.D. lived out back and others lived near. The garage behind the commissary was for cars and tractors and wagons and trucks, and there was another garage over by the saddle house, and it had more of these in it. The windmill was in front, and the lot for the horses and pigs was beyond it. It was fun to watch them being fed each day. The old mill barn was next to it and a field was out behind. Plum thickets were around these fields and walking to the store and back, as well as some other places, gave great chance for finding the ripe ones.
As we entered the outside yard to Pa’s house in a car, we came over a cattle gap. Alongside of it was a gate so the cattle could get through. Coming in we passed big walnut and hickory nut trees and other pretty trees and flowers and shrubs. As we turned into the side yard, we came upon more trees and usually some cars. This is where we parked, and we usually went in by the steps to the gallery just outside the Nursery or the big hall. Sometimes we went in by the steps going from the porch into Pa’s room. Wood for the fireplace was usually stacked on his porch just in front of that lovely magnolia tree we climbed so often.
If “company” had come, they were taken on down to the Company Rooms which were two big bedrooms on another wing of the house. In the upstairs of the house were two more huge bedrooms and another great, long, wide hall between them.
We, of course, knew all the blacks well. They were our friends. I look back with guilt over the way we thought they were “different” and were meant to work in the hot fields and to live with so very little. At least none were ever hungry or otherwise mistreated at Pa’s house. (Many people were hungry in those days.) Any on his place could get food at the commissary all year long and “settle up” at the end of the year. If they still owed any then, it was scratched off and counted even.
My greatest memories of Cottage Grove, though, are of the services themselves. All five of us sitting in a pew, the smiles exchanged as Daddy gave each of us money for the offering plate; and Mama’s nice smile as she put her hand on my knee when I got restless, and she would whisper “It won’t be much longer.” There was the choir of five or six people, Aunt Beth being one of them, and Pa with his hymn book held high in front of his eyes, but his eyes closed, singing “In the Sweet Bye and Bye,” and Beth lovingly mimicking him from the choir. We also often sang “Shall we Gather at the River.” I never knew what river or why we were gathering there but I knew we were going to. It was a good congregation; everybody knew everybody, and I always felt were all friends and cared about each other and helped each other.
The Sundays at Plain Dealing church included Sunday School and Sunday School included Auntie (Dena) leading the singing. There we were-- a very large age span in this Sunday School, and Auntie very conscientiously patting her foot and leading us in singing “Bringing in the Sheaves.” I had no notion of what a “Sheave” was, but I did know I was meant to bring them in and that I was to sing about it. We loved to sing that one because Auntie always patted her foot so good while she led it. Of course, we were also there for church, and we children groaned because we were always the last ones to leave. Pa and Auntie were tending to the flock, visiting with everyone there and learning how sick or well or in need each one in the parish was. We children were ready to go long before they had done all of that.
Sunday dinner was not until around 2:00 o’clock in the afternoon which meant everybody was eager for dinner by the time we got to the table. This was a very long table in a very big dining room, and Pa gave a long blessing before we ate. The room was so big it also had a big side table where the children (sometimes ten or more) sat when lots of the family was there. There was also a very big sideboard with a big chrystal fruit bowl in the center. Always there was the white dinner cloth and napkins, always several vegetables and salads and breads along with the fried chicken and cakes. Most Sundays there was a minister there for dinner, and his family.
Pa had lost one hand in a sawmill accident, so he had an artificial hand and a very interesting fork with a knife on the opposite side of it to eat with. This allowed him to enjoy his meals easily along with everybody else.
The pantry that adjoined the dining room interested me greatly. It was big, too, and it had a marvelous smell from the wooden crate of apples, each apple wrapped in its own tissue. The pantry was filled with all sorts of interesting preserves and pickles and things that had been “put up,” big containers of flour and sugar and meal and many more things.
The kitchen was magic. The old wood burning stove that took so long to get hot but when it did it cooked such marvelous things. Good Maggie, who always had her hair tied in a white cloth always with a white apron on, seemed always in there, next to the window that looked out over the yard and far beyond to the windmill and the commissary and to the lot where the horses and pigs were kept. This was a big kitchen, cabinets, a big sink, a big work table to the side and another in the center of the room. Outside was the back gallery and the side gallery with the dairy off from it. Beyond the galleries were the backyard, the potato house, the garden behind it, the many chicken houses and the chickens. Eggs were gathered regularly, milk was brought in daily from the cow pen down the road, and butter was churned there in the dairy.
There were many rooms in this house, all of them very big, with very high ceilings and with big fireplaces. There was a big and pretty living room with a piano and other pretty furniture and, most of the time, drawn curtains. We didn’t use this room often because we were always in Pa’s room. His was a big room with high ceilings, a full teester bed and big armoire, dresser, marble top wash stand with wash basin and pitcher. In front of the big fireplace, in addition to his big chair, were more rocking chairs and other chairs and stools, and a long table with a lap and books and magazines.
I spent most of my nights there in “The Nursery,” a room which adjoined Pa’s room, and it, too, had the teester bed and a big armoire and dresser, etc. Across the long hall was Auntie’s room, which was another room I spent a lot of time in because the ladies often gathered in there. It was much like the other rooms. It was a familiar sight to see people standing in front of the fire places warming themselves. Those high ceilings and wood fires made it difficult to keep the rooms warm all over.
The telephone was in the long wide hall. Two longs and a short (or something similar) was the ring for this house. (You were meant to ignore the other rings.) To talk over the phone on the wall, you held the receiver in one hand and talked through the mouthpiece still on the wall, attached to a box. Very big doors led from the hall to the porches. I remember Auntie sweeping that long great hall one sunshiny morning and explaining to me that everybody has a purpose in life. I was about ten years old, [1932] curled up in a chair in Pa’s room, asking her to tell me more of what that meant. She was my friend, and I loved her.
There was lots of free and easy time there-- in the swing on the front gallery, walking in the front yard or along one of the many paths, playing in the orchard across the road, or moseying along on a horse.
We rode horses often. Uncle Charlie, black with a white beard, hitched mine up for me each morning until I learned how, and the ride usually included a trip to the store to get a jawbreaker or Tootsie Roll, leaving the horse hitched at the water pump while we went into the store. You went up the steps, across the porch, and then into the store This was a general store, run by Mr. Hedge. Mr. Hedge was usually listening in on the party line telephone when you went in (gathering the local news), and we would stand in front of the glass candy case deciding which piece. In the back of the store was a big wheel of cheese that he would slice from when somebody wanted to buy cheese and crackers. There was other food on the shelves and saddles and hoes and spades and whatever else someone might need.
There were not many people living in Collinsburg. Three or four white families and many black families. Plain Dealing was not many miles from Collinsburg. Maggie and Joe lived right near the big house, just on the other side of the commissary. J.D. lived out back and others lived near. The garage behind the commissary was for cars and tractors and wagons and trucks, and there was another garage over by the saddle house, and it had more of these in it. The windmill was in front, and the lot for the horses and pigs was beyond it. It was fun to watch them being fed each day. The old mill barn was next to it and a field was out behind. Plum thickets were around these fields and walking to the store and back, as well as some other places, gave great chance for finding the ripe ones.
As we entered the outside yard to Pa’s house in a car, we came over a cattle gap. Alongside of it was a gate so the cattle could get through. Coming in we passed big walnut and hickory nut trees and other pretty trees and flowers and shrubs. As we turned into the side yard, we came upon more trees and usually some cars. This is where we parked, and we usually went in by the steps to the gallery just outside the Nursery or the big hall. Sometimes we went in by the steps going from the porch into Pa’s room. Wood for the fireplace was usually stacked on his porch just in front of that lovely magnolia tree we climbed so often.
If “company” had come, they were taken on down to the Company Rooms which were two big bedrooms on another wing of the house. In the upstairs of the house were two more huge bedrooms and another great, long, wide hall between them.
We, of course, knew all the blacks well. They were our friends. I look back with guilt over the way we thought they were “different” and were meant to work in the hot fields and to live with so very little. At least none were ever hungry or otherwise mistreated at Pa’s house. (Many people were hungry in those days.) Any on his place could get food at the commissary all year long and “settle up” at the end of the year. If they still owed any then, it was scratched off and counted even.
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| Christmas 1938-- on the back gallery of the Collinsburg Sentell home. Novaline is kneeling on the first row second from right. |
Christmas was an especially happy time at Pa’s house. Each family was expected and waited for unless something important prevented their coming. And then the glad, happy greetings as each one arrived. Christmas dinner was a grand feast. Mama took oyster patties or stuffed bell peppers and others brought homemade candies and cakes and other goodies for these special meals. In the wintertime, Joe came by each bedroom early in the morning and built the fire. (I remember his knock and someone would say “come.”) And then some thirty minutes later he would come back and bring a tray of coffee. Never has coffee been so good as that! (Children got hot milk with a spoon of coffee and sugar.)
Many children and adults filled that house sharing chatter and conversation and laughter and genuine happiness at being there.
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[handwritten comments below...]
Novaline Sentell is the 65 year old daughter of my brother, Samuel Eugene Sentell. She has never married. She has spent her entire professional life as a Director of Christian Education in the Presbyterian Churches mostly at Lake Jackson Texas and Pine Bluff, Arkansas.
This write up is like she saw it and was much like it was. The only error I saw was that Pa lost his hand in the gin which was next to and run by the same steam engine as the saw mill.
1/28/'88
NW Sentell (Uncle Wes)
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