Go to the homepage for the Sylva Herald and Ruralite

'Snuff and quill' and the third stage of labor

By Gary Carden
Gary Carden

Gary Carden

 Back during World War II, when Rhodes Cove was mostly cow pastures, winding trails and outhouses, I can remember sitting on the porch with my grandmother each summer watching people pass on the dirt road in front of the house.

That was our primary entertainment then, and since cars were still a novelty, we mostly observed people going to and from Ensley's store or Charlie Hensley's place up on the East Sylva Road. There were occasional cows, horse-drawn wagons and once a month the Watkins man would come through with pie-filling, liniment and cocoa.

However, a goodly part of the traffic each day was what my grandmother called "the snuff women."

My grandmother didn't "dip snuff," and she was critical of women who did.

"Filthy habit," she would say.

I realize now that snuff is every bit as addicting as tobacco, and the woman who hiked out of the Cove for a jar of Garrett Sweet were driven by the same demons that sent my Uncle Albert out at 3 o'clock in the morning looking for a pack of Camels after he has re-smoked all the butts in the ashtray.
Granny would watch a women, trudge by with her apron pocket full of quarters and a birch "snuff brush" in her mouth and shake her head. She would call to them, of course, ask about their gardens and health, but she would mutter to me in a hoarse whisper, "Pitiful, pitiful. She's a slave to that Bruton's, that Garrett's Sweet." Sometimes one of the oldest ladies in the Cove would stop on her way back home and pass the time with my grandmother. She was usually in good spirits because she had just packed her jaw with snuff, and she would confess, "I get the jitters if I don't have my dip." Then she would smile, rock and gossip.

One of the old stories that used to circulate in the Cove was about a young doctor who arrived one night to deliver a baby for a young couple and found a bunch of elderly snuff-dippers gathered about the pregnant women's bed. They had brought their knitting and spit-cans, and they sat talking quietly as they watched the mother-to-be.

The young doctor was not pleased by their presence but decided to keep his mouth shut. He examined the young women and concluded that she was in the second of the three stages of labor. There was nothing to do but be patient and settle down by the bed.

In a few moments, one of the snuff-dippers said, "Doctor, don't you think it is time to quill her?"

"Beg your pardon?" the doctor said.

"Quill her, quill her!" said the snuff-dipper.

I think we can forgive the young doctor for his reaction. He was just out of medical school, a bit unsure of himself, but very sensitive to any comment that questioned his capabilities. Although he had no idea what "quilling" was, he was equally confident that it was probably some kind of primitive folk medicine that was ineffectual and possibly dangerous.

"Absolutely not!" said the doctor. "Everything is as it should be."

The snuff-dipper returned to her chair, but she seemed dissatisfied. The clock ticked and the gathering of ladies became quieter and began to look nervously at each other.

Finally the spokeslady stood and said, "If she ain't quilled, she could die!"

As the young doctor watched, the entire group rose and left the house. When he peered out the window, he saw the ladies running a goose around the barnyard. After they managed to corner it against the fence, they proceeded to pluck a generous number of feathers from its wings. Returning to the house, one of them produced a pair of scissors. Each lady clipped her feather and removed the pith from the quill.

The spokeslady then stuck two quills in a jar of snuff and drew snuff into the quill much like one would draw up a cherry phosphate in a straw at the drug store. Gathering about the bed once more and armed with a battalion of "snuffed quills," the leader inserted two quills into the pregnant woman's nose and blew the snuff into her nasal passages. The woman gave a series of resounding sneezes, went into the "third stage of labor," and gave birth. She had been successfully "quilled."

I am confident that this is an old story since I've heard it a number of times from a variety of people. However, each time it is repeated, the speaker reverently declares that the incident did, indeed, happen for he heard the story from his own mother, and the "quilled" woman lived in his community (which may be Harlan County, Ky., Roan Mountain, Tenn., or right here in Jackson County).

Back to Archive: 03/02/00.