At the young and naive age of 17, Lucille said yes, so she and Buddy took off to Bristol, Tennessee from Tazewell, Virginia to get married. Aunt Lillian, Mom’s sister, and her husband, my Uncle Vince Jordan, went with them as witnesses to sign the Marriage Certificate in the County of Sullivan. That’s just what our people did back then. Nothing fancy; the families had no money to afford a large wedding.
Lucille was born on September 3, 1921 in Tazewell, VA to Asa C. Davis & Altha Rudolph Brooks. She passed away from kidney disease on January 25, 2017 in FLEMING ISLAND, FL at the age of 95. She is buried along side her husband at Grandview Memory Gardens in Bluefield, VA. Find-a-Grave # 175758420
Buddy and Lucille were the parents of four children, Ellis, Lera Gail, Larry Charles, Sherry Lynn (The Railroader’s Daughter)
Ellis Haynes Buckland was born July 1, 1939 in N. Tazewell, VA. He married Susan Floyd Perdue in 1961. Ellis passed away from cancer on July 8, 2021 at the age of 82, and my brother was buried with honors at Fort Jackson National Cemetery in Columbia, South Carolina. Find-a-Grave # 232637308
After having my first child in 1986 and as many new mother’s do, I became curious about my own identity and the culture in which I grew up. I began to ask questions of my mother, Nannie Lucille Davis Buckland, who was sharp as a tack. Mother remembered a good bit of information and knew others who could add to the recollections. Dad (the Railroader) knew plenty of cousins and had visited most of them at one point of another. Mom reached out to her sister Jo Ella inquiring about their grandparents. Aunt Jo’s hesitancy came with a stern warning that I ‘better not dig too deep because I might uncover a horse thief’. That comment sparked an even greater curiosity and indeed, I dug deeper and deeper into my maternal ancestry, tracing and chasing generations of Virginia pioneers and patriots that would later qualify me for DAR membership. What I did discover — that she did not want me to uncover, was that my great grandmother, Nancy Catherine Jessee Davis (her grandmother) had her first child out of wedlock and was subsequently married five (5) times after that. Each husband passed away and left her a widow dependent on finding the next man to support her. And so it goes in many families as they sift through the memories of the elderly or examine countless Bible entries, pictures with nothing on the back or pictures with the mother load written on the back. Obituaries, census records and cemeteries became my closest friends. Today’s entry shares the rich vein of precious keepsakes that became mine after the death of the Railroader in 1993.
(1) His mother, Mary Jane Davidson Buckland, kept a burgandy scrap book (circa 1930) with an embossed windmill on the cover. She filled it with calling cards, poems, Norfolk & Western trip passes and newspaper engagement announcements. Each of Grandmother Buckland’s yellowed pages were windows into the treasured details and valuable records of her own story – my story too! On the inside cover is a business card with L. W. Buckland, 619 Bluefield Ave., Bluefield WV. Delegate Bluestone Lodge No. 446 B. of L.F. and E. (the local unions representing N & W Locomotive Fireman and Engineers). The card indicated that Grandaddy Buckland had represented his union as a delegate in St. Paul, Minnesota at the 1910 Twelfth Biennial Convention.
Mary Jane Davidson Buckland
My grandparents own marriage announcement had been trimmed from the local newspaper and was glued in the top left corner of the first page of her scrap book. It read, ” Marriage” “Miss Mary J. Davidson, daughter of Granger Davidson and Mr. Larkin W. Buckland, of Falls Mills, were married at the home of the bride on last Wednesday at noon. Rev. S.O. Hall, pastor of the Presbyterian church, performed the ceremony. Geo. Buckland, a brother, and two sisters — Mrs. Wimmer, (bride’s sister Sally Elizabeth Davidson who married LW’s cousin Robert Bob Johnson Wimmer) and Mrs. Fields, (groom’s sister Cora Belgium Buckland) accompanied the groom to Tazewell. After a delightful dinner at the Davidson home, the bride and groom left for their home in Bluefield, where Mr. Buckland is located as a brakeman of the N. and W.” Grandmother penciled in the date down the side of the entry, March 3, 1909.
The tattered and faded clippings opened up a world of information for me to trace the lineage of so many in her family and in the community of Falls Mills. The obituary of her uncle Rev. D. A. Daugherty led me to discover his and his wife’s final resting place in Marrs Cemetery on a hillside, behind a barn where horses were allowed to roam freely. As of this date, I’d be surprised if the headstone markers are anything more than small broken pieces of granite.
A tiny one column inch press clipping confirmed the death of her younger sister Nannie Crockett Davidson McHaffa who was buried with their parents in Mays Chapel Cemetery at Whitten’s Mill.
Obits for my great grandparents are securely adhered to the pages, along with ‘Shocking Tragedies’, ‘Death of a Colored Man’, ‘Rail Man Dies in Tug River Wreck’, ‘Full Details of Tragedy May Never Be Known’, ‘Mrs. Keister is Taken by Death’. Other, more uplifting saves were the Bible Quiz and answers that ran regularly in the Bluefield Daily Telegraph, Silver Wedding Anniversaries, School Plays and Dr. O.K. Phlegm who recently made his two-thousandth trip with the stork!
(2) The antique photo album music box filled with vintage pictures of her family members and most with the names written in pencil on the back in Grandmother’s own hand writing led to more discovery. The Victorian leather book has a wonderful stag and doe on the front and an ornate clasp to keep closed. The rotating cylinder still turns flat metal springs that pluck to produce the music. The label indicates it plays ” Creoles Bells and Starts Spangled Banner”. I’m not sure of the latter but it does still play Creoles Bells.
David and Nannie Daugherty
The wonderful pictures inside lead to Clearfolk, just out the road from Tazewell. There the Gregory’s lived, and I have visited cemeteries there and walked on land where my great grandmother Eliza Greever Gregory Davidson lived growing up. I have a beautiful blue and white Chrtwright Brothers tea pot of hers which I love. To walk where she had grown up near Shawver’s Mill was surreal. Her father, Daniel Parham Gregory donated land there for the Christian Church that still stands. (2025) Daniel married Mary Jane Daugherty. Her younger brother was David Daugherty. This is the same (DD) uncle that Grandmother Buckland had posted his obituary in her scrapbook, and that Dad and I visited at Marrs Cemetery in a Falls Mills barnyard. When I turned one of the thick pages of the album to discover a picture of her Uncle David Daugherty and his wife, Nancy Lain Moore, I was thrilled.
Ellis Haynes Buckland (Buck) 82 of Irmo, South Carolina passed away July 8, 2021. Originally from Bluefield, VA, he was born July 1, 1939, the son of Larkin Watson, Jr. and Lucille Davis Buckland. He is survived by his wife Susan Perdue Buckland and two children, a daughter Teresa Christine Muller (Kurt) and a son David Forrest Buckland (Jamie) Also survived by a brother Larry Buckland and two sisters Gail (Raymond) Evans and Sherry (Kerry) Kelly. Four grandchildren, Brianna, Peter, Peyton, and Brandon. Also adopted grandson Matthew (Alyssa) Ratchford and 2 great grandchildren, Lilly and Andrew. He enjoyed his many nieces, nephews and cousins. Last but not least his fur baby Lady. He loved his family and was so proud of each one of them.
Buck served his country honorably in the United States Army, 82 Airborne Division. He attended basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina and was discharged at Fort Benning, Georgia.
Nestled in the foothills of East River Mountain, placed appropriately along narrow winding roads wrapping in and around Virginia’s rocky creek banks, are small communities where our people have lived. Falls Mills, Clearfork, Pocahontas, Rocky Gap and Mudfork are all in the county of Tazewell. The people living on the hillsides and in the hollows between the mountains have been there most of their lives. Even for hundreds of years, the traditions of backwoods life have remained the same. Countercultures gradually influenced the attitudes and practices of the young, but many continue to live simply, just as their parents and grandparents before them. Generations have lived, raised their families and are laid to rest among their deeply planted roots – beneath the show of the mountains in a region known as Appalachia.
A snow-covered log cabin in winter, symbolizing the traditional Appalachian lifestyle. This cabin was built in the early 1800’s by one of Bluefield’s first settlers, Joseph Davidson – my 4th great grandfather. In 1939 it was relocated to Bluefield City Park in Mercer County, WV.
L-R LW Buckland, Porter Jones, RC Buckland, Sr, Jackie Jones, Cecil Buckland (RC Jr) and a man named Criggar
Men in Appalachia are known by biblical names like Jacob, Samuel or Daniel. When harvest time is over, they cloak themselves in long johns, flannel shirts and heavy winter coats and hats, then disappear into the woods. Hunting deer and bear and sometimes rabbit or squirrel seems to be their passion, and also a source for providing food for the family.
After hunting season, these rugged men go back to working serious jobs like coal mining or railroading. In spite of good wages, those who are brave enough to travel deep into the earth digging out coal deposits look forward to the day they can move on to hauling coal for the railroad company. Huge iron steam engines spewing out clouds of white smoke surrendered themselves to streamline diesel locomotives. In the coal fields dust settles on houses and cars like a veil of soot, clinging to surfaces and obscuring them. Everyone knows that coal mines reluctantly give of themselves – often collapsing on those within, taking fathers and brothers to an early grave. Some workers escape being crushed in a coal shaft only to eventually fall victim to the agonizing death of black lung disease.
Christian Church on Mudfork Road in Falls Mills, Virginia
On Sundays, the families living along these ridges and within the valleys put on their best clothes. It may be a hand-me-down suit that belonged to Uncle Charlie Davidson or that special print dress with a ruffle that grandmother made. And after church, they all go to relatives houses and eat a home cooked dinner with all the fixings and talk about nothing. They sit around the kitchen table or on the front porch glider and eat dessert and drink coffee. The children play in the yard and climb the weeping willow tree until evening when it’s time to go back to church. These mountain people are serious about God’s example to rest on Sunday. God created them and their mountains; they believe it.
Not so different from the men, women in the mountains of southwest Virginia are also accustomed to hard work. It seems to be their calling in life to raise children and keep the house. The kitchens where Sarah, Mary Jane or Bertha live always smell good from cooking and canning. To avoid being wasteful, the homemaker puts leftovers on a plate over the warm stove. Cold cornbread will likely be eaten later, crumbled in buttermilk. When winter’s weather blankets the summer, Appalachian women gather by the fireplace in the living room to quilt. They embroider family names and special dates on their patchwork quilts. They look at family photographs of expressionless faces hanging on the wall and record births, marriages and deaths in the family Bible. God and family are most important.
In the fall of the year, children climb the colorful mountains painted with autumn leaves, and they run through the woods. They get stained hands from scooping up black walnuts covered in a thick outer husks and prickly fingers from plucking chestnut-like chinquapins from spiny burrs. Winter’s snow encourages the children to ride their sleds for hours on end. There’s no need for costly toys in Appalachia because they love the outdoors and have no expectation of more. They feel safe playing within the protective natural boundary of the mountains, isolated from a world they’ve never seen.
When someone dies, Appalachian people gather at a wake where they view the body and pay their respects. The women cook and take food to feed and comfort, and to show compassion to the grieving family. The men sit alongside each other with tears in their eyes, and they share stories they fondly remember. The funeral procession from the chapel to the cemetery is long and stately and somewhat presidential. Cars line up behind the hearse, following ceremoniously down winding roads to the cemetery. People gather round and the men reverently remove their hats. The minister speaks again, and everyone stays at the graveyard until the body is respectfully at rest in the family plot.
Webster defines Appalachia as the highland region of the eastern United States extending from northern Pennsylvania through northern Alabama, characterized generally by poverty. Literally, this is true. Appalachia is an area of mountains and hollows scattered with dirty, rut roads leading to worn-out wooden shacks and privies. The people work long hours and hard jobs and have little hope for relief. Nevertheless, Appalachia is much more than a region of impoverished mountain people. Appalachia is home to an honorable way of life filled with a wealth of good values, contentment, and appreciation for life. Appalachia is home to God-fearing people who know who they are and what life means – accepting the blessings of a rich heritage and salvation from the Savior.
“I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; He shall bruise your head and you shall bruise His heel.” Genesis 3:15
From the moment that Adam and Eve rebelled against God, the greatest need the world has had is a Savior. That Savior was promised in the above scripture and Jesus Christ is the fulfillment of that prophecy.
We are the chosen. My feelings are, in each family there is one who seems called to find the ancestors. To put flesh on their bones and make them live again, to tell the family story and to feel that somehow they know and approve. To me, doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts, but instead, breathing life into all those who have gone before. We are the storytellers of the tribe. All tribes have one. We have been called, as it were, by our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us, “tell our story”. So we do. In finding them, we somehow find ourselves.
How many graves have I stood before now and cried? I have lost count. How many times have I told the ancestors, you have a wonderful family, you would be proud of us? How many times have I walked up to a grave and felt somehow there was love there for me? I cannot say.
It goes beyond documenting facts. It goes to who I am and why I do the things I do? It goes to seeing a cemetery about to be lost forever to weeds and indifference and saying, I can’t let this happen. The bones here are bones of my bone and flesh of my flesh. It goes to doing something about it.
It goes to pride in what our ancestors were able to accomplish. How they contributed to what we are today. It goes to respecting their hardships and losses, their never giving in or giving up, their resoluteness to go on and build a life for their family.
It goes to deep pride that they fought to make and keep us a nation. It goes to a deep and immense understanding that they were doing it for us, that we might be born who we are, that we might remember them. So we do. With love and caring and scribing each fact of their existence, because we are they and they are us. So, as a scribe called, I tell a story of my family. It is up to that one called in the next generation to answer the call and take their place in the long line of family storytellers.
Then God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.” So God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female he created them. Genesis 1:26-27
For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. Psalm 139:13-14
With broken hearts, those of us remaining bid farewell to a remarkable woman who graced our lives with unwavering love. My Aunt Clara Jane Lawrence lived a rich and fulfilling 95 years, leaving behind a legacy that will be cherished by all who knew her. Her life was a testament to the power of family, love, laughter, and her gift of hospitality.
She opened her doors to family and all our friends. As teenagers, we felt so welcomed all those summers spent at Claytor Lake. I remember being there with her July 1969, when man landed on the moon. Funny the things that stay in your memories of someone special. Days were filled with biscuits and gravy, swimming, skiing, campfires, hot coffee and the delicious meals she prepared in that tiny kitchen. Feeding others was a reflection of her nurturing spirit, and no one ever left her table hungry. It came so naturally to her that she never missed a beat.
As many of us can attest, those summer weekends were a whirlwind of playfulness and shenanigans, which she loved.
Even as her years advanced, Aunt Clara’s spirit remained undiminished. The last time I visited her, (May 2024), she shared how content she was, and that was true; it exuded from her. Aunt Clara’s laughter was contagious, and her ability to find joy in the simplest of moments was inspiring. She had a knack for making those she loved feel cherished and valued. Her texts and social media posts were filled with humor and encouragement — each one ending with a heartfelt “I love you.”
Aunt Clara’s strength and resilience through life’s challenges were admirable, and she had plenty of experience with the hard things.
While we mourn the loss, the last of that generation in our family, we find comfort in knowing that she is now with Jesus, our Lord and Savior.
“But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep.For this we declare to you by a word from the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore encourage one another with these words.” 1 Thessalonians 4;13-18
“We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5:8
We are forever grateful for the years and her memory will live on in our hearts. I love you ❤️
The Railroader's Daughter 