Posted By Bill Payer on Feb 8, 2021 | 0 comments

A Story about Daniel Island-by Bob Tuten

   The road to my dad’s packing shed and wharf passes Scott Farm packing shed and wharf, and the manager’s house. Then on for several hundred feet to Bellinger’s Island. The homes of two families and the packing shed was all that was on the island. ( an island because a small bridge covered a wet land drainage to Beresford Creek). My Uncle Pete (and Aunt Nella) was the manager of Scott Farm. They moved there one year after we did in 1935. And also moved away one year after we moved in 1941. I believe the manager my uncle replaced was a Mr. Greer. He had no children in school. Also my uncle and aunt had no children in school. All were grownup and some married.

    My buddy Isaac and I were at my dad’s packing shed and wharf. The cross beams supporting the rafters and roof were about 12 feet high and 20 feet across. High and wide enough for a truck and/or other type equipment to drive in and unload. Isaac and I were playing tag on the beams (planks about 2″ by 8″). I was trying to keep from getting tagged, and missed a step. I was out cold on the ground. Isaac ran to my uncle’s house to tell them that I had fallen and was out cold. The first thing that I can recall is me walking toward their house with my uncle and aunt, each supporting one side. My aunt was holding my right hand, which was hurting something awful, with a finger out of joint at the hand. The first thing I thought of was that I couldn’t bend my hand and fingers so that I could hold a pencil and write. I asked my aunt if school was out for the summer because I couldn’t remember. She said yes and took my hand in both of hers and pressed down real hard and fast and the finger snapped back in place. The only other thing I remember about that incident was lying down on my back in the bed of a cart the two wheel one mule cart used for hauling cabbage from field to packing shed. (The cart looked like those you see in pictures of Ireland only much larger). My uncle was taking me to my house. I don’t remember getting there.

or seeing my parents. I vaguely remember the days later as being very sore and hurting.

Bob Tuten and his great granddaughter Payton Kathleen Watson

Note: Bob Tuten helped us kick off our new feature “In Their Own Words” and recently sent Beth Bush an update (he’s doing well, just had his second Covid vaccination and offered us some more memories from Daniel Island in the late 1930s.

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