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Members Work..... FEBRUARY.
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Clayton County, Georgia
By
Barrie S Dixon
(c)2004
We’d been in the Deep South about a week and a half by the time we made it to Clayton County. Our reason for being south of the Mason-Dixon was to visit with friends. Friends with horses; friends with Mercury Cougars; friends with Chevrolet race cars. Clayton County wasn’t on our list of immediate priorities. So, why visit this somewhat insignificant dot on Georgia's map? Clayton County Court House, in Jonesboro, was the place that Margaret Mitchell went daily to research her epic, Gone With The Wind. It was here that she drew in her mind the characters of Scarlet and Rhett. And it was the plantations and houses around this distant Atlanta suburb that formed the basis for Tara and the Butler house.
This sleepy Georgia backwater is somehow lost in time. Almost as it was during Scarlets day:
A wide main street is divided by a single track railroad that one has to navigate just to cross from one side to the other. On the west side of the tracks are the shops and commercial outlets, to the east lie official buildings such as the historic Court House, the library, the schoolhouse and the tiny jailhouse. On this side of the tracks, too, is the town cemetery with it’s war memorial to those men from Jonesboro who fell in battle. And it is here that I wanted to visit for I knew there were many war graves: Not the Great War, nor World War II but graves of the local soldiers that fell during the war between the States.
The gates were closed when we arrived and we weren’t about to interrupt the peace there seemed to be within. I looked on from the outside at the graves and magnificent memorials that lay close to the fence. This wasn’t the first Civil War cemetery we had seen. Probably the third or forth on this trip and we’d seen many others such as Gettysburg and Fredericksburg as we’d travelled down the east coast but this one seemed, somehow, much more poignant than some others, dedicated as it was to those who fell in the battle for this tiny town.
What saw from without was a team of gardeners carefully tending the lawns of this tranquil place. All dressed in the same grey uniform, reminiscent of those of the Confederacy, except for their supervisor who was dressed in blue. As we drew closer we realised that it wasn’t a shovel the supervisor was holding casually against his shoulder but a 12-gauge pump action Winchester. Some gardeners, hey?! These guys were from the State Penitentiary.
We didn’t linger. It was raining!
SOUND IS ALL - A poem inspired by various pieces of music.
By Gillian W.Forster.
Close your eyes and you will see
The dance in the jungle wild and free,
The night is dark, the bodies all glisten,
The sounds are tribal for all who listen.
The dancers twirl, and stoop, and call,
They do what they want; it’s free for all.
On the other side of the world in a leafy glade,
The dance of the veils by a virgin maid,
She twists and turns to a different tune
As if inhabited by the moon.
Her grace is sensuous, her eyes seductive,
Her every move is fully productive,
But deep in the hall the orchestra plays,
A new boy, his brain like a maze
Bows his head and weeps a tear,
His heart is heavy and feels full of fear.
He is not use to the orchestra’s ways,
“You must not worry”, the leader says.
Your time will come ‘fore the curtain falls,
Your voice will ring throughout these halls,
People will applaud you and blow you a kiss,
Next time you appear they will not miss.
You will play in each and every hall of fame
And henceforth they will know your name.
So lift your head and wipe those tears,
And forever more forget your fears.
This is the moment when we all rejoice,
And thank the lord with just one voice.
The men in the jungle, the girl in the glade,
You in the orchestra are not in the shade,
Each of you make music for the pleasure of all.
Each of you make music and answer the call,
So lift your hearts and give rise to the sound,
You have the music and must make it go round.
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