#literally cannot go into any room without the brigade following me

[supurrb]

my dad: if u somehow got into a huge house u would never see ur cats, u would always be looking for them

me and my cats:

[undermebius]

An examination of each of Yuki’s three short stories during the Editor In Chief ✰ Full Speed Ahead chapters

As a preface, I interpret the first poem as being in relation to Yuki’s creation, the second as being in relation to her relationship with her body, and the third as being in relation to her place in the SOS Brigade. Please keep each interpretation in mind as you read the poems to better understand my analysis.

Untitled 1

It was XXXX ago that I met a girl who said she was a ghost. I asked her name. “I have no name,” she answered. “Because I have no name, I am a ghost. You’re the same, aren’t you?” It was true. “Now then, shall we go?” Her stride was fast, and she seemed like she was alive. “We can go anywhere. Where would you like to go?” I thought about it for a while. Where was I trying to go? Where was I? Why was I here? But all I could do was stare into her dark eyes. “Weren’t you thinking of going to XXXX?” When I heard her words, I finally understood my purpose. Yes. That was where I was trying to go. Why had I forgotten? It was such an important role. It was the reason for my existence. “Well, that’s settled, then. Goodbye.” The girl disappeared, and I remained. Perhaps she had returned to where she belonged. Just as I was trying to return to where I belonged. Something white began falling from the sky. Many...white...unstable...water crystals. They were one of the wonders that fill all of space-time. This world is overflowing with wonders. I stood there, still. The passage of time lost all meaning. That wondrous stuff continued to fall, piling up like cotton. I decided that would be my name. So I thought, and in thinking so, I became a ghost no longer.

I‘m sure this goes without saying to those familiar with the three poems, but the first one is by far the most comprehensible. There are some interesting things to note, here, though. Firstly, I believe the other girl here is Asakura. In the manga, her features are vague and don’t look like any character we know, but as you’ll see with later poems, Yuki has an acute understanding of what the people in her life talk like, and this character sounds very much like Asakura. Furthermore, it is interesting to note that Yuki had a sense of wonder through which to pick her own name, even three years before interacting with any auto-evolution triggers or meeting any friends. While her reflection on this event may be influenced by her current perspective, given how reflective these poems are of herself, I believe it’s accurate to assume that Yuki is not misportraying the creation of her name, and that she always had emotions, on some level, from the moment she had a body. Moving on...

Untitled 2

Up until that point, I had not been alone My other selves once bound together like ice, soon dispersed like water, then finally diffused like vapor. One atom of that vapor was me. I could go anywhere. I went many places and saw many things. But I learned nothing. The act of seeing was the only function I was permitted. I performed that function for a long span. Time was meaningless. In that false universe, no illusion held any meaning. But eventually I found meaning. Proof of existence. Matter attracts matter. That was true and correct. It was because it possessed a shape that I was drawn in. Light, dark, inconsistency, sense. I met each, intersected with each. I did not have their capabilities, but I may have been permitted them. If I were permitted them, I would have them. As I continued to wait, would those wonders fall? Those tiny wonders.

Less words, more symbolism. Thanks Yuki. First, I believe line 2 describes the evolution of the Data Integration Thought Entity. Not literally, of course, as they have no form, that’s why she uses similes. I think them “diffusing” refers to them expanding to encompass the whole universe.

Interestingly, despite the word ‘not alone’ initially making it seem like a more positive time in her life, the rest of the poem contradicts this, describing how the mere act of having more than one sense and confirmation of her own existence was incredibly transformative for her. She says she saw everything and learned nothing, and that the idea of having a body ‘attracted her’, all but saying that the simple act of having a body was what allowed her to evolve and expand her intelligence. This is especially interesting considering how most of her kind seem to regard organics as inferior kinds of life. Here, Yuki’s thought process and what separates her from the other TFEIs is made clear: she thinks having a body is an evolutionary advantage to humans and to herself.

There’s also a hint of bitterness as she discusses not being permitted to do anything other than see. This likely refers to both her life before being given form and after. Recalling the Endless Eight, being unable to act on her own and just having to watch is obviously quite a sore spot for her. This side of her is actually quite similar to Asakura, wanting to act was exactly what led to Asakura being terminated after all, hence why she herself couldn’t bring herself to start doing it without the promise of Haruhi’s protection from her superiors.

Also, notably, there’s a lot of talk in both these poems of time being meaningless, another allusion to the Endless Eight and being forced to just watch the world proceed without her, not participating. And speaking of not participating, that brings us to the last poem...

Untitled 3

There was a black coffin in the room. “Hello.” “Hello.” Atop the coffin in the middle of the room, there sat one man. I don’t know what my expression was. “I am sorry I am late” The person within seemed to be a girl “The presentation has not yet begun, there is still time.” The presentation. I tried to remember. What would I present? I was nervous. I couldn’t remember. “There is time. Let us wait until you remember.” I remembered one thing. Just one thing. I belonged within that coffin. I had come from it, and I had returned her so I could go back to it. But I had nothing to present. The man began to sing in a low voice. The white sheet danced along with it. If the man did not move, I could not get into it. I was not qualified to participate in the presentation. If he did not move, I could not get into it. Now, two or three pages after this, Kyon says that he thinks the man is Itsuki and the white sheet is Mikuru. I think this is correct, actually. Mikuru says “I’m sorry I’m late” (without hypens, because Yuki is allergic to those), which is a very Mikuru thing to say. And it wouldn’t make sense for the man to be Kyon himself, Kyon is not an obstruction to Yuki in any way, shape or form, at this point in time. But Itsuki is.

Because Itsuki is the member of the SOS Brigade who most hastily disregards Yuki’s humanity and capacity for emotions. Not that he’s outright cruel to her, or wouldn’t protect her from harm, but he makes it very clear that he doesn’t believe Yuki is capable of having emotions.

Then there’s the coffin. Now, this is not a metaphor for Yuki dying. TFEIs cannot die, and canon has very well established that they struggle to understand the concept. Therefore, as a symbol of death in most literature Yuki would’ve encountered, it represents just that: human concepts which she hasn’t evolved enough to understand. Barricaded off from her by Itsuki. With this, one half of the poem’s meaning becomes clear: having her capacity to develop her emotional abilities denied by Itsuki...denies her the ability to develop her emotional abilities. She feels stunted by it, like Itsuki is impassable, and that she can’t do anything about him. She says that “if the man did not move”, specifically. She suggests no option she herself could take to remove him of his place on the coffin, but rather firmly states that until Itsuki gets out of her way, she can’t do anything.

She says that she belongs within the coffin. Now, in the first poem, she claims that she was going back to where she belonged, and here Yuki, after firmly deciding her name and to have a body, she has found it. Her place is not high in the sky with Asakura, but in the coffin. She belongs where she is engaging with human concepts which she cannot yet understand. This, along with her later declaration of protectiveness towards Mikuru after the kidnapping incident, establishes that she, just like Mikuru and Itsuki, is now more loyal to her friends than her faction. And that she wants to remain learning about them forever. Which is adorable. But moving on.

Next, there’s him and Mikuru “performing”, which Yuki believes herself to be underqualified for. I imagine this is about how they perform their roles for Haruhi’s enjoyment. Firstly, when Mikuru arrives, Itsuki says that the presentation ‘hasn’t begun’, meaning that it’s something that isn’t always in place, separating this from Itsuki’s place on the coffin, which is omnipresent. This fits their relationship with club events. They’re all quietly sitting in the clubroom until the ‘performance’ begins, at which point Itsuki will lead with whatever event he’s orchestrated for Haruhi to enjoy, Mikuru will follow the tune of the preplanned adventure...and Yuki will just stand there. She’s unable to come up with something to do, to participate, until brought in by Haruhi or Kyon with instructions, who aren’t present here. It’s just the three magical children, and Yuki cannot fit in with them without help. Or without Itsuki moving.

k i’m sad as shit now end post

[she-shall-conquer]

The Controversialism of Inequality

I dream of a day when the church will no longer piggy back on the latest trends. I dream of a time when the church prides itself at being better at Human Resource Management and Leadership than at Marketing. What’s new right? John Donne has been saying this for (literally) centuries! The Bible has been pretty constant about it’s messages regarding the treatment of people, and yet only now is the church getting “woke”? Excuse me if I doubt your intentions… (however necessary and faux-noble). But also, how can you raise the race issue without bringing up the topic of gender? To be clear: Racial Inequality is a REAL issue and should be discussed and I’m glad that the topic is coming up, but why did it take BLM to make it happen? I’m pretty sure (absolutely certain) that the biggest contention of prejudice addressed in the New Testament was, you guessed it, racism… Now if we do the math: The Bible is one of the best selling books of all time, one of the most translated books of all time, and the fact that a vast majority of the colonized world was colonized by “Christian” nations. Therefore, this colonization should prides itself in establishing the least racist places, with the most selfless and loving cultures and have a great deal of generosity with perhaps a slightly lower poverty gap.

Oh, wait…

That’s right, folks, we stuffed up real good on this one… And how I wish we could all return to the genuine authenticity that I read about constantly. It pains me so greatly. Its like reading Narnia and knowing that Narnia exists, so you go to Narnia and it’s Game of Thrones. Man, oh man, the disappointment. This being said, there are a lot of missionaries and missionary schools that have done a world of good, people with pure hearts and altruistic intentions — these have been besmirched and thrown out with the dirty, grimy bathwater of exploitation, greed, and contempt. Furthermore, there are countless arguments, sides to the story, and this is a very real discussion with personal implications that needs to be had amongst brothers and sisters (in Christ) in practice and in community. Just a note — if you want to effectively teach people anything, psychologically, just talking at people is possibly the worst way to do it (just saying); it’s an organizational problem that requires change and development of an entire culture. This is a debate for another day and a more researched perspective/argument.

I believe it’s important to note that Christianity was never meant to be a social revolution, there are no colour codes or banners or marches or slogans. I don’t believe that Christianity supports slavery, I mean William Wilberforce was motivated to end the slave-trade because of his faith, but it speaks about slavery and how to treat your slaves/masters. This might be confusing at first approach. From my understanding what I see is that respect, love, and one’s heart were far more important than moral absolutes, which completely does in my need for justice.

Y'all got any more of that… Captain America?

But the New Testament is also excruciatingly clear about how people in the church should treat each other. If the Body of Christ (the Church) is family, it should be the safest place, it should b the place where you can be most yourself, and where people can be most honest with you about which parts of yourself are good and bad. It’s all part of the constructive learning process. In the New Testament, the bad parts of people were confronted when they were, in no uncertain terms, told to stop being so prejudiced. They were told to stop treating rich people better than poor people, told to stop treating Jews better than non-Jews, even Jesus treated the sinner and saint with the same love and dignity — a little less dignity, but still love, towards the proud and the hypocritical. From these values arose the declaration that in Christ there is no longer man nor woman, slave nor free, Jew nor Gentile. These are arguably the three ‘-isms’ that have wrought the greatest havoc on our current world and society and have been proponents of the greatest evils: racism, sexism, and classism (I see you there, Mr. Marx). Abolished and condemned along with the sins of the world are our prejudices and our shortcomings. But as a Western Charismatic church, I do not believe we have established a church culture that is free of these things, but maybe in our attempt to address the racism in our church culture, these other two will also surface.

Please understand that this piece of writing is not so much about what the practical outworking of it is as much as it is the value structure that influences how we treat people, built into our cognition. If we can work towards addressing that, I believe the practical outworking will follow, or be addressed at a later stage, perhaps by someone else. Inequality, and subsequent abuse, on a broad scale is often the result of an inherent cultural cognition that places features on a value hierarchy: rich are more valuable than poor, white are more valuable than non, men are more valuable than women (as per history’s norm). This is what I would like to address.

Gender inequality is not the “burn your bra” brigade or anything that God-fearing Christians should be afraid of, it’s a commitment to seeing the restoration and empowerment of women — she that gave birth to you. And apparently, I’m not the only one that uses this point — in fact, it wasn’t my point to begin with, it’s the Apostle Paul’s. After the section in 1 Corinthians where he’s done talking about not letting women speak and disrupting everything by asking questions about things they don't know (you know that part where he says they should rather ask the questions at home instead of disrupting the prayer meeting, which really has a lot to do with a lack of education) he speaks about God’s view of women, where there is no hierarchical difference. Woman was made of man, but man is born of a woman. This is gender inequality, where we refuse to see the perspective and heart of God, where God uses people equally, and views people equally — what we ask is that the hierarchy of value be eliminated from, at least, our church culture so that we can start to put an end to the ghastly horrors of violence against women.

Is violence against men a reality? Yes, undoubtedly, yes! But statistics show that a vast majority of victims are female, and of those females, it is more than likely perpetrated by a male. So instead of doing the dumb pretense of guilt thing that we do so often when we finally realize we have been wrong, let us be motivated by guilt (which focuses on others and their suffering) and not shame (which focuses on ourselves). These errors in judgement and culture are pointed out to help us all grow.

The South African news has been rife with stories of rape, murder, abduction, and abuse of women, and these are only a few of the stories. Women in Sub-Saharan African have a 1 in 3 (36.6%) chance of experiencing gender-based violence in their life time, a region with the third highest prevalence in the world. Something has got to give. How can we idly stand by and just send condolences, Facebook-React with a teary face, share, re-tweet, like, or change our profile picture? It’s deeper, friends, far deeper. When will we stop and re-evaluate our culture, our societal norms? How many more of our children, our aunties, our nieces, our students, our girlfriends, our best friends, our dear loved ones must bear the burden of abuse before we start to relook at our culture? If you like me, have stumbled upon the disillusionment of discord, between what you believe, what you read about, compared to what you see in practice, here are a few considerations I humbly ask you to think about, to look into, and to build upon:

Step 1: A Product of Your Society

Research says the relationship between culture and language and cognition is reciprocal, you influence your culture and your culture influences you, and your language shapes your culture and cognition just as your culture shapes your language and your way of thinking. To understand that our value system is a much deeper social construct than our individual upbringing and our own choices and beliefs is a necessity in bringing change. Culture is so very nuanced and so very fundamental to our entire being that we cannot just make a decision to separate it from our way of life, we cannot learn information or even practices that might entirely change the way we think. Even the way we talk influences how we think and therefore what we do, this is why “locker room talk” is a problem, because language shapes culture and cognition and cognition shapes language and culture. I’m not suggesting that we just keep our mouths shut for fear of saying the wrong thing or go on a witch hunt for bad statements, but rather let’s be open to having a brother or sister give helpful, loving feedback on our comments. This can in turn help us to recognize underlying prejudices in our cognition that we were perhaps unaware of. This is not to say that you are not to be held responsible for your prejudices, but let’s all remember that dehumanizing people solves nothing at all. We should all recognise that along with our culture and our upbringing, there are certain values that come along and form apart of our cognitions and processing mechanisms — ones we need to be open to addressing and mending. This is not easy, but if we’re all on the same team of Love, Kindness, and Respect, it makes it a lot easier. This of course, on top of the fact that we are to be transformed by the renewing of our minds?

Step 2: Right/Wrong are Contextual Variables

A team can be a lot more effective when half the team doesn’t have to run with a limp (or a pair of heels/a dress, ya know). It may be crudely comparable to a soccer game where half the team keeps getting carded for using too much of their hips while running, or flicking their hair too inappropriately, or their shorts being too short, or their laces not being long enough, or whatever ridiculous reason is being used for why the other team keeps scoring. The team would (or should) no doubt be up in arms, because of how it hinders their effectiveness to play the game, which is of course the main point. It may also be like saying that certain demographic categories of players may only be in the team as subs, none of them are ever allowed to be in the starting line-up, but they’ll be used if there’s no one else left. This is not a good strategic move to enable the goal to be achieved. And for some real talk, if we had to put all the highest earning players in the starting line up, it might be that we have selected the best players, but why would we make that a rule and sell ourselves short of employing the best strategy of players and placement based on their strengths and ability according to the context? I’ll not insult your intelligence by explaining just how we do exactly this in the church/societal norms. We forget that there is a great deal of contextualization apparent int he Bible. God remains the same, his heart and values remain unchanged, but in certain situations an action is wrong and in other situations it is right. If we look at the Bible purely as a book of moral absolutes of course there will be irreconcilable contradictions.

One of the reasons I dislike personality test is because they always ask for absolutes, of which I have none in my life. There is no one action that I will always take regardless of circumstance. We all have circumstantial decisions and choices we have made dependent on our values and beliefs. Often our values remain unchanged, be it principle based or outcomes based, even though our decisions differ. What am I getting at? We need to mine the various accounts of the God we serve, as well as personally invest time and devotion, to know His heart, and His values (if serving and following Him is something we want to do), and then, with His mercy and guidance, start to evaluate our current practices and see if they really are as Gospel-oriented as we think they are, and if they are in line with His values. In the culture of the time, I understand, let the educated people teach the other people. So in that case, women don’t teach, right? But if the church is family and family is where you should be most yourself, if women can’t lead or teach, how can you substantiate women studying management, or women being CEOs or presidents, or women being lecturers? It’s a cognitive dissonance that needs to be re-evaluated. Perhaps you don't agree with women being in these “secular positions”. Why? Is it possible that where the church has failed to press on with the agenda and has been crippled and sidetracked by secondary issues that the world has caught up? Let us examine our context in light of His Heart.

Step 3: The Talking Listening Cure

I referenced Freud in this step, but it really has nothing to do with him, except for his novel idea of talking through situations and circumstances in order to understand and reach a conclusion. What he really did, was listen. So should we. Of course I don’t know everything and I never will, not even about this particular issue. I do however know that it’s not so much about the philosophy as much as it is about having and acting upon values that will shape my relationships with those around me. We are focused on the goal of love, but how do we love? This is the question we need to be continually asking. To love is to pay attention, to listen, to hear, to move towards understanding and to value (love your neighbor as you love yourself). May we not only learn to listen, but may a deep yearning and desire to listen be born within our hearts and minds, may we be malleable and teachable. Let’s start the conversations in the closets of our homes, leaning in to hear the heart of the Almighty, and looking at the Bible more holistically and in context, never losing sight of the main point: Love, Truth, Light, Hope — Jesus. And then, take it one step at a time, speaking to those closest to you, then slowly broadening the topic to your community. This may help in emphasizing that is not a “Femi-Nazi rampage” but rather an honest questioning of how to love and value others better, from the very core of our hearts and minds, which will then change how we act, what we say, and how we treat those that are ‘different’ to us.

Final Thoughts

We don’t choose these things when we are born, I didn’t decide to be born a woman, or be born with my skin colour, or be born into the social class that I was, but yet, these are things people use to attribute value to me, each with their own measurement sticks (or pencils)… We all do it to a degree, and we all have it done to us to a degree. This is not my plight to be valued or recognized, this is my questioning of our culture and values that ultimately shape how we treat others and how we mistreat others.

You want to know why #MenAreTrash? Not because you as a man are trash, but because societal values and norms more often than not establish a value hierarchy that enables men to abuse women. The concept of a man that is often taught and learned is trash. Yes, it is a generalisation, but that’s kind of how statistics work. For all the things men are allowed to say or do, even with harmless intentions, that shapes culture and in turn shapes other men, that spirals to rape, murder, abuse, that concept of a man is trash. This is a desperate plea for men and women alike to relook at what you do, why you do it, and what your underlying cognitions are — this is a call to re-examination of values, particularly in the church.

I’m not asking us to revolt, I’m asking us to structure our organization, the church, differently, where we remain true to his heart and the call He has placed upon us. I ask that we move towards a church that exemplifies the heart of God, where everyone has equal value and equal ability to contribute, regardless of race, gender, or socio-economic status/class.

I hold no sway in formal church structures, mostly because I’m young, and a woman, and not married to an elder, (give or take) so in the spirit of using what I have to do the best I can, I aim to start exploring this topic in greater detail, through research, through art, and through engagement/conversation.

[drdonckeandmdposts-blog]

AN ANGEL OF MERCY BECOMES THE WIDOW OF THE SOUTH                                                                                                                                                          I just returned in December from visiting the historic Carnton Plantation in Franklin Tennessee. While only one spot on the bloody battlefield of Franklin Tennessee on November 30th 1864, the story of that one bloody night is so incredibly horrific, that it defies the imagination. After the five hours of intense carnage and desperate hand to hand combat their would be roughly 10000 souls who were either killed, wounded or captured.                                                                                                                                                                                              Sarah North Martin was a resident of nearby Columbia, Tennessee just south of Franklin in November 1864 as both the Union and Confederate armies swept through the town during Southern General John Bell Hood’s “invasion” of Tennessee. Sarah, the wife of prominent local judge, William P. Martin, was taken by surprise on November 24, 1864 when two brigades of Union infantry under Brigadier General Jacob Dolson Cox Jr. commandeered ground on the Mount Pleasant Road. Before they were in position Union cavalrymen came hastily down the gravel road, fleeing from the brigades of Lieutenant General Nathan Bedford Forrest’s Confederate cavalry. Cox had three artillery batteries along with his troops on both sides of the road. More Confederate troops later arrived and sought to displace the Yankees. Sarah Martin’s thoughts as she and her family escaped, are part of a remarkable letter she sent to a relative:

   The fighting commenced at our house, which is situated about 50 yards from the road on a high hill. I dare not write the particulars. Suffice it to say the Yankees had possession of our home & forced us to leave. We went to Mr. Martin’s fathers’ [i.e. George M. Martin], about 800 yards nearer town, taking with us the bedding of three beds & most of our wearing apparel. We were between the fires of the two contending parties for two days, & five shells struck [his] father’s house while [we] were in it, until we had to go down to a brick milk cellar in the yard, the minie balls falling on the roof like hail. The wounded Yankees [kept] passing through the yard, bleeding & screaming with pain. We could hear the yells of the Rebels as they charged & drove the Yankees toward town. At last, when the fight was evidently beyond us, I ran out quickly to avoid the sharpshooters, & entering the [George M. Martin] house, found Gen. [Colonel Edmund Winchester] Rucker’s staff, who showed us every courtesy. Each officer took charge of one of us, & led us in the line of the house, over to [our] home; procured an ambulance and sent us down to Gen. Pillow’s. [this was “Clifton,” four miles west of Columbia, the home of Brigadier General Gideon Johnson Pillow, who was married to her husband’s sister (Mary Martin Pillow)] Gen. [Brigadier General Stephen Dill] Lee had possession of our house, & artillery was planted in several places on the hill. The Yankees [had] sacked our house, & set fire to it, but Forrest came in time to extinguish the flames, before any serious damage was done. They [Yankees] threw our wheat into the pond, burned piles of bed clothes & books, & threw our china all over the yard, took the most of twenty-two hogs, and killed nineteen shoats, took all our horses, etc. In short I cannot enumerate our loss, or tell you how the Yankees treated us. We have ever since been living on biscuit[s] & milk, without a parcel of meat, for we have no money to buy with. You can have no conception of the oppression, & we dare not murmur. Even yesterday they came & took the only animal we had, a mule. Judge M. [i.e. her husband Judge William P. Martin] walked to town to day in the rain to try to get it back, but was unsuccessful, & now we have nothing to plow with, or to haul wood, for we had been driven to hauling wood in a cart. We are very anxious to sell & move to Texas… All our negroes ran off during the fight, & went with the Yankees in their retreat to Nashville. Some of them want to come back, but we will not receive them. The Lord has mercifully preserved our health, & I hope will bring us safely through these troubled times.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Just six days later both armies raced towards Nashville for a final bloody showdown. The Union Army was delayed in Franklin due to the swollen Harpeth River. They were ordered to hold their position and dig defensive fortifications as a purely protective measure until they received pontoons from Nashville to move men and equipment across. They did not believe that a major battle would ensue their. But Confederate Lt. General John Bell Hood had other ideas. Seeing the Union Army split and penned against the swollen stream, he decided to launch an all out offensive. General Jacob Dolson on this day would awake Fountain Branch Carter at 4:30 AM to inform him that his home was being commandeered. As the likely spectre of a major battle grew more likely, the town residents hunkered down to bear a fear and horror no human being should ever have to experience. The following are a list of eyewitness accounts of that cold terrible November evening in 1864:                                                                                                                                               "The Men seemed to realize that our charge on the works would attend with heavy slaughter, and several of them came to me bringing watches, jewelry, letters and photographs, asking me to take charge of them and send them to their families if they were killed. I had to decline as I was going with them and would be exposed to the same danger. I was vividly recalled to me the next morning, for I believe every one who made this request of me was killed." Chaplain James H. M'Neilly Quarles Brigade                                                                                                                       ��                                                                               "When Conrads brigade took up its advanced postion we all supposed it would be only temporary, but soon an orderly came along the line with instructions for the company commanders, and he told me that the orders were to hold the postion to the last man, and to have my sergeants fix bayonets and to instruct my company that any man, not wounded, who should attempt to leave the line without orders, would be shot or bayonetted by the sergeants." Capt John K. Shellenberger 64th Ohio Inf.                                                                                                                                                                                                                   "When I regained consciousness I was laying in the ditch . . of running water and could feel the loose dirt fall in on me when Yankee bullets would strike the top of the ditch . . I became thirsty but had fallen on my canteen but could not get to it... I drank the water in the ditch and it was cold and good. I knew my sight was destroyed. I placed my hands under my forehead to keep my face from above water .. and fell asleep" Lt. Mintz 5th Arkansas, Govans Brigade                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   I saw a Confederate soldier, close to me thrust one of our men through with a bayonet and before he could draw his weapon from the ghastly wound his brains were scattered on all of us that stood near, by the butt of a musket swung with terrific force by some big fellow whom I could not recognize in the grim dirt and smoke.. As I glanced hurredly around and heard the dull thuds, I turned from the sickening sight and glad to hide the vision in work with a hatchet for I had broken my sword. Col Wolf 64th Ohio Conrad's Brigade                                                                                                                                                                         "The slaughtering could be seen down the line as far as the Columbia and Franklin Pike, and where the works crossed the pike . . . Our troops were killed by whole platoons, Our front line of battle seemed to have been cut down by the first discharge for in many places they were lying on their faces in almost as good order as if they had lain down on purpose; but no such order prevailed among the dead who fell in making the attempt to surmount the Cheval-de-frise, for hanging on the long spikes of this obstruction could be seen the mangled and torn remains of many of our soldiers who had been pierced by hundreds of minie balls and grape shot ... The ditch was full of dead men and we had to stand and sit upon them. The bottom of it from side to side was covered with blood to the depth of shoe soles" James M. Copley 49th Tennessee Quarles' Brigade                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                " as evening came on the neighboors began to come in . . and we went down in the cellar. Grandpa had already put rolls of rope in the windows. . to keep the bullets out. The negroes crouched down in the dining room, and all the children & grand children and neighbors in the hall cellar, and granpa walked back and forth and watched out the window." "The first sound of the firing and the booming of cannons, we children all sat around our mothers and cried." Alice M. Nichol age 8 Tod Carters neice                                                                                                                                                                                                   "The mangled bodies of the dead rebels weere piled up as high as the mouth of the embrasure and the gunners said that repeatedly when the lanyard was pulled the embrasure was filled with men crowding forward to get in who were literally blown from the mouth of the cannon. Only one rebel got past the muzzle of the gun and one of the gunners snatched up a pick and killed him with that. the ditch was piled promiscuously with the dead and badly wounded and heads arms and legs were sticking out in almost every conceivable manner. The ground near the ditch was filled with the moans of the wounded and the pleadings of some of those who saw me for water and for help were heartrending." Capt John K. Shellenberger 64th Ohio Inf. Conrad's Brigade                                                                                                                                                                                                                                "Nothing could be heard but the wails of the wounded and the dying, some calling for their friends, some praying to be relieved of their awful suffering and thousands in the deep agonizing throes of death filled the air with mouthful sounds and dying groans" Capt. Hickey 1st Missouri Cockrells Brigade                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                "I could hear the wounded calling for help in every direction. I again wanted water and thought I would again drink from the water in the ditch, biut this time it tasted of blood and I managed to get my canteen from under me and drank from it." Lt. Mintz 5th Arkansas, Govans Brigade (who has been blinded)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            "I stood on the parapet just before midnight and saw all that could be seen. I saw and heard all that the eyes, or my rent soul contemplate in such an awful environment. It was a spectacle to chill the stoutest heart...the wounded shivering in the chilled November air; the heartrending cries of the desperately wounded and the prayers of the dying filled me with an anguish that language cannot describe. From that hour I have hated war. Colonel Isaac Sherwoood 111th Ohio Infantry                                                                                                                                                                                                                   "I remember seeing one poor fellow, sitting up and leaning back against something whose lower jaw had been cut off by a grape shot, and his tongue and under lip were hanging down on his breast. I knelt down and asked if I could do anything for him. He had a little piece of paper and an envelope. He wrote: No, John Bell Hood will be in New York before three weeks." Teenager Hardin Figuers, Franklin resident moments after he emerged from shelter.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            "God forgive me for ever wanting to see or hear a battle! You had to look twice as you picked your way among the bodies to see which were dead and which were alive and often a dead man would be lying partly on a live one, or the reverse. And the groans, the sickening smell of blood! I noticed while wandering along the earthworks that all or nearly all of the Union soldiers were shot in the forehead. In front, the ground was covered with bodies and pools of blood. the cotton in the old cotton gin was shot out all over the ground. Our Union soldiers had been stripped of everything but their shirts and drawers, but the Confederate soldiers could not be blamed much for that, for they were half clothed, half barefoot and many of them bareheaded." Carrie Snyder; a Union sympathizer who happen to be visitig friends in Franklin at the time.                                                                                                                                        "In this yard and in that garden, I could walk from fence to fence on bodies, mostly those of Confederates. In trying to clean up, I scraped together a half a bushel of brains right around the house, and the whole place was dyed in blood. Nothing in the shape of horse, mule, jack, nor jinny was left in this neighborhood. In fact I remember it was not untilChristmas, twenty five days afterwards, that I was enabled to borrow a yoke of oxen, and I spent the whole of that Christmas Day hauling seventeen dead horses from this yard." Moscow Carter: Brother of Captain Tod Carter recalling what he saw upon emerging from The Carter House root cellar.                                                                                                                                                                                                 "Amid the hundreds of dead and wounded Confederates who lay thickly scattered over the field in our front....there was one lying in front of my company, only a few distant feet crying "Mother you were right, you'll never see your boy again. I'm dying out here in the dark....I'm bleeding to death. "The boy's voice became gradually weaker and weaker until we heard it no more......One of the company's new recruits, a mere boy in years, was crying as though his heart was broken. He too was the only son of a widowed mother.": An unknown officer of the 63rd Indiana.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  The carnage was so great throughout the town that any available structure was used as a hospital. To put this into proper perspective, for every single resident who resided in Franklin Tennessee (pop. approx. 900) there were 7 casualties. The Carnton house quickly became a field hospital for Confederate wounded. It was a ghastly scene of pain , torment, and suffering. The McGavocks tended for as many as 300 soldiers inside Carnton alone, though at least 150 died the first night. John and Carrie McGavock and their 9 yr old daughter Hattie and 5 yr old son Winder helped tend the over 300 men who lay throughout the home. Soon the outbuildings were filled with hundreds more until the only place to lay them were in the yard. After the battle, on December 1, Union forces under Maj. Gen. John M. Schofield evacuated toward Nashville, leaving their dead, including several hundred Union soldiers, and their wounded who were unable to walk. The residents of Franklin were then faced with the task of burying over 2,500 soldiers, most being Confederates.The following are some of the first hand accounts of the nightmarish eve at Carnton:                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             "Every room was filled, every bed had two poor, bleeding fellows, every spare space, niche, and corner under the stairs, in the hall, everywhere -0 but one room for her own family. Our Doctors were deficient in bandages, and she began by giving her old linen, then her towels, amd napkins, then her sheets and table clothes, then her husband's shirts and her own undergarment. During all this time the surgeons plied their deadful work amid the sighs and moans and death rattle. Yet amid it all, this nobel woman. . . was very active and constantly at work. During all the night neither she nor any of the household slept, but dispensed tea and coffee and such stimulants as she had and that two with her own hands.. she walked from room to room from man to man her very skirt stained with blood." Capt. William D. Gale - Lt. Gen Alexander P. Stewart's staff                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    "Give me forty grains of morphine' he called out all through the night. 'Give me forty grains of morphine and let me die!' 'Oh Can't' I Die?' ' My Poor Wife and Child!'' My Poor Wife and Child!' "OMG ! Can you get the surgeons to administer some drug that will relieve me of this torture" I did try through my appeals were in vain. " Cold presperation gathered in knots on his brow and of course (he) knew that death was inevitable. . . "I went down the steps and far beneath the silence of the stars to escape his piteous prayers." C. E. Merrill Adjutant General , Brig. Gem Scott's Staff                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  All of the Confederate dead were buried as nearly as possible by states, close to where they fell, and wooden headboards were placed at each grave with the name, company and regiment painted or written on them." Many of the Union soldiers would later be re-interred in 1865 at the Stones River National Cemetery in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. Over the next eighteen months many of the markers either rotted or were used for firewood, and the writing was disappearing. To preserve the graves, John and Carrie McGavock donated 2 acres of their property to be designated as an area for the Confederate dead to be re-interred. The citizens of Franklin raised the funding and the soldiers were exhumed and reburied in the McGavock Confederate Cemetery for the sum of $5.00 per soldier. A team led by George Cuppett took responsibility for the reburial of 1,481 soldiers. The names and identities of the soldiers were recorded in a cemetery record book by Cuppett, which soon fell into the care of Carrie McGavock. It is said that for years following the war visitors would knock on her door requesting the book to see if they could find closure from the loss of a loved whom they never knew of their fate. Carrie never failed to fulfill those requests. Carrie McGavock spent nearly 40 years of her life maintaining the McGavock Confederate Cemetery. In her later years she also would help to raise orphaned children, many of which were created by that bloody war. It was the most sincere expression of the heart and compassion she personified for so many years. Carrie died in 1905 and rests beside her husband, John, within sight of the nearly 1,500 Confederate soldiers who they protected and watched over for so many years.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    The mere thought of young children having to witness so much blood and suffering should draw deep emotions from even the coldest of souls. This was truly an experience where nightmares were born. Harriet (Hattie), Young McGavock was only nine-years-old on the day of the Battle of Franklin. That afternoon and night, she and her younger brother, five year old Winder, and their parents, John and Carrie, watched as their home became a hospital and mortuary. Hattie and Winder worked alongside their parents throughout the night, helping where they could as the battered bodies poured in to the house. The next morning, the bodies of four Confederate generals, who had been killed in the fighting, were brought to the McGavock home and laid side-by-side on the back porch. They were Patrick Cleburne, John Adams, Hiram Granbury, and Otho Strahl.

In Hattie McGavock Cowan's own words over 50 years later:

I can still sense the odor of smoke and blood. I recall how the startled cattle came home from the pastures, how restless they became, sniffing and excitedly running about the place, bewildered by the smell of the battlefield. I can still see swarms of soldiers coming with their dead comrades and lying them down by the hundreds under our spacious shade trees and all about the grounds. I shall carry those awful pictures in my mind down to the day of my death. I was only nine-years-old then, but it is all as vivid and as real as if it happened only yesterday. I overheard a man at Carnton that night say he estimated over 300 wounded were crammed in to our home. There we were in this ocean of suffering — mother, father, Winder and me — going from man-to-man doing what we could. Mother ordered the bed sheets and linens torn into bandages. Those ran out so, she told the medical attendants to use her tablecloths, towels, and father’s shirts. At one point, she used her own undergarments, put to use mending the myriad of wounds. Those who saw her were awestruck by her selfless actions. Mother never ceased in her work that long and dreadful night. She handed out tea and coffee and went from room to room making sure there was nothing else she could do. William D. Gale, of Gen. A.P. Stewart’s staff, said mother was so involved in affairs that her skirt was “stained in blood.” I remember it vividly. Some of the soldiers recuperated at our home until June, nearly seven months after the battle. There was a lot of bad, but there was a lot of good. You sometimes see the best in people under these circumstances. We just went to work and did what we could. I stuck by my mother. Chaplains, doctors, and agents of the U.S. Christian commission showed up over the coming weeks and months.

What happened to Hattie McGavock Cowan?

She married a Confederate veteran named George Cowan at Carnton on January 3, 1884. They lived in close proximity to Carnton for many years in a home known as Windermere. George died in 1919. Hattie lived until 1931 and for many old Franklin residents she was the last living connection to the Battle of Franklin. She is buried with George at Mt. Hope Cemetery in Franklin. Winder Mcgavock took over Carnton after his mother's death in 1905. He died just two years later.                                                                                While touring Carnton (which would cost over 10 million in modern day currency) visitors can still see the blood stains in the wooden floors from over 150 years ago. The operating table used by surgeons was set up "rather ironically" in the nursery. It consisted of two saw horses and a barn door. It is still on display their today. Hattie Mcgowan quite vividly retold of her memories of that bloody night in an interview she gave shortly before her death in 1931 recalling the smell of blood and powder smoke and the sounds of the intense suffering of the wounded. One can only imagine the nightmares these two children experienced for years afterwards.