Mary Mann Hamilton

In her autobiography, published under the title Trials of the Earth in 2016, Mary Mann Hamilton tells in vivid prose of her life on the Mississippi Delta at the turn of the century. She lived from 1866 to 1936, but the part that interests her most is the time of her marriage to Frank Hamilton, thirty years from the time she was 18 until his death in 1914.

Frank got to know Mary’s family after her father died and was instrumental in sending her to Illinois to school. When she found out how far behind she was, however, she quit and studied dressmaking. Frank wrote to her every week. When her mother died, she promised to marry Frank, who had asked for her hand. He was 14 years older, a mysterious Englishman who had been in the army in Bengal, India, was well-educated and knew many languages. Mary could not believe he loved her, but he told her, “You have more common sense than most.” She admired him more than anyone, but felt she didn’t love him.

Mary was never happier than when cooking, and started out working at an 80-person boarding house. She quickly found that Frank had what he called rheumatism, as well as malaria, and drank to deal with it. Mary cared for him and wondered about his mysterious past. He said that he came from a good old family in England, but that he had been betrayed by someone close to him and that they were dead to him.

Frank worked hard managing lumber camps, but couldn’t seem to hold on to money. At the time, lumber was needed for railroad ties. Mary worked so hard that she lost her first baby, and her second. Frank was often gone. They moved to Arkansas and then to Missouri. Mary took time to rest, and writes of the fruitful land around her brother’s house. She wanted nothing more than a little home herself. Ozzie was born, and then Nina and Leslie, two little girls. Mary and Frank delighted in their children, but at six Ozzie was poisoned by a doctor prescribing strychnine by mistake.  The family was devastated.

Frank found that his health was better in the Mississippi Delta, on Concordia Island. A doctor had told him that if he found a climate that agreed with him, he should stay there. The family lived in a large cloth tent and Frank’s crew made barrel staves. Mary was thrilled to see Frank in good health and she also loved the country. She cooked for a smaller crew. By this time another son, Frankie, was born. In an epic storm, Frank saved his family by hollowing out a stump and making a little boat. That winter was a “fat” time, with presents, candy and good food at Christmas.

Mary decided to make every place they lived in a home for them all, as they kept moving from camp to camp. A great storyteller, Mary describes many of these places in detail, as well as what the children said and did. There was much laughter as well as tears, and she reproduces many of the things Frank tells her. Though she didn’t badger him about his past, she did learn some things. When Nina, who had hair and a face like his mother’s, died, Frank went to pieces.

Finally, Frank purchased some land and built a house on the Sunflower River. Mary laid out a big garden and they cleared the rich Delta land for crops. Mary taught her children to help with the work, that the home was theirs as much as their parents. They all loved it. Idris and Bruce were born, and finally a tiny premature baby, John Robert. “I always looked for neighbors,” said Mary. “If you have neighbors you’re never poor. I didn’t look for trouble. It came and found us anyway."

They lost that house, as an overbearing neighbor wanted their piece of land. To get the children in school they moved back to Arkansas. Frank and Mary felt the children were most important, in any case. “My children were my flower garden,” she says. “Each was a new kind, needing different care and cultivation.” They had many happy evenings in front of the fire, Frank reading and telling stories.

One winter when things were going well, Frank thought he might go to England in the spring and try to clear up his family problems. He told Mary of the church where his family had been members for 600 years, their names in the register. But an accident, and another bad decision by a doctor, rendered Frank an invalid. “How I loved him,” said Mary. “Even better than my children.” But she was losing him. Before he died he told Mary that it wouldn’t help anyone to learn who his family was and he preferred not to tell.

After his death, Mary lived with one or the other of her five living children, who were growing up. She was so proud of them. “They weren’t rich or brilliant, but, as Frank taught them, they were straight and honest. They had been fitted by their father’s proud blood, his ideals and the training he gave them to a life far different from the one that poverty and helplessness made the only way after he was gone.”

Mary’s life of trouble and pain, hard work, laughter, love and courage is a riveting story. Her love for her mysterious husband and her children form the backdrop of the book. I can only point to the pleasure of reading it. Indeed, she does have more common sense than most, and she shares it freely.