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| My mamma was born in a small coal-mining village in Staffordshire County, England as the thirteenth of sixteen children. Mamma had so many stories of her childhood, and I always meant to get a tape recorder and capture those stories for the grandkids, but somehow I never got around to it. Now it's too late, and all those stories are locked inside my memory. When my sisters and I were young, Saturday and Sunday breakfasts were story time. Mamma would go back in time to when she was a little girl, and tell us things that she had done and things that had happened to her while she was growing up. But my favorite story was the one of how she and Daddy met during WW II, and how she would sneak out of her army camp to go meet him. She said she would wait for him to come up the lane on his bicycle, and all she could see of him was his head and his nose above the hedgerow, and her heart would start beating madly. |
| When Daddy asked Mamma to marry him, she realized she would have to leave her family and everything dear to her, not knowing if she would ever see any of them again. She must have loved Bud Clarke very much to make that choice to come to America, a stranger in a strange land. Daddy promised her he would send her back home to England within five years, and he kept that promise. Mother took Judy and me back home with her in 1951 on the Queen Elizabeth and we spent the whole of that summer with her family. I can remember Pappa Ross singing to Mamma as he drove us in his little rented car back to the village of Coton Park...the song was "The Sweetest Road You'll Ever Walk is the Road That Leads Back Home". That was the last time Mamma got to see her parents...they died 3 years later. |
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| Mamma was not your typical mother; she was feisty and more like a sister most of the time. I remember her teaching me how to do a "Highland Fling" in the kitchen, and standing on her head and doing cartwheels for the neighbors when I was a teenager. She was my brownie scout leader in the second grade, and took us on "penny hikes" that invariably got us lost in the woods. I also remember sitting at her feet reading a book while she was washing dishes, and coming to a word I couldn't understand. Mamma, who only had an 8th grade education, taught me by phonics. She would say: "Sound it out by syllables, Potty". She gave me a love for books and reading that I have to this day. Mamma was quick to smack us when she was angry, but she was just as quick to grab and hug. We thought she was terribly old fashioned when we were in our teens, but our girlfriends loved her. She was always happiest when she was in the yard digging in her flower beds, or sitting in her chair crocheting. Mamma could grow or sew anything. When I think of all the clothes she made for us, staying up late at night after she'd worked hard all day, and we girls just taking that sacrifice for granted, it makes me sad because I don't think I ever told her how much I appreciated her for those things. |
| Mamma never really lost her British accent, and she was always surprised when anybody noticed it. In her mind she thought she sounded just like a true southerner. Whenever any of her family would come to America to visit, by the time they left, Mamma had re-acquired a full English brogue. Mamma always took us to church from the time we were very small. We went without Daddy for years, although he was faithful to take us and pick us up since Mamma didn't drive. Then one Sunday morning while we were at church and he had gone back to bed, he said the Lord convicted him of his sins, and from then on Daddy never missed a Sunday. Much to our chagrin, as teenagers, we went to church everytime the doors were open. But as the bible promises, "raise up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." I eventually grew hungry for the Lord when I was grown, and came back to Him. What a prayer warrior Mamma was! She had giant faith. She lifted each one of her children to the Lord every night before she went to sleep. I was in a Christian bookstore one day and came across the poem below. I just stood there and cried as I read it, because I felt like whoever had written it had to have known my Mamma. |
| THE PRAYER WARRIOR |
| This morning my memory took me along to a place in my life, with days long since gone; and I saw myself then as I once used to be, while visions were stirred, and God spoke to me. He showed me a Warrior...a soldier in place, positioned by Heaven, yet I saw not the face; and I watched as this Warrior fought enemies who came from the dark with destruction for me. I noticed the Warrior would wipe away tears as all Heaven's angels hovered so near. I saw many wounds on the Warrior's face, yet weapons of warfare stayed firmly in place. I requested of God..."Please..the Warrior's name.." but He gave no reply, and chose to refrain. I asked, "Who is broken they need such prayer?" Then I saw an image of myself standing there. I was bound by confusion, so lost and alone, but prayers of the Warrior were carrying me home. I said, "Lord, please show me this Warrior so true..", and I watched, and I wept, for Mamma...it was you! Author Unknown |
| Mamma, your children rise up and call you blessed. |
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| "THIS PAGE IS DEDICATED TO MY MAMMA, A BEAUTIFUL ROSE WHO LEFT THE GREEN GARDENS OF ENGLAND TO COME GRACE AMERICA'S GARDENS WITH HER PERFUME. " |
| DORA ISOBEL ROSS CLARKE Born April 1, 1925...Died January 9, 2001 |
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