Grandpa Roly

The Battle Cry of Freedom

Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow,
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom!
And every where that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go.
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom

(chorus)
Hurrah for the Mary, Hurrah for the Lamb
Hurrah for the teacher, who didn't give a particle
If all the lambs in Mary's town went marching off to school
They'd be shouting out the battle cry of freedom!

Mary had a little lamb she tied it to a well
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom!
She took a stick of dynamite and blew it all to -- pieces
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom!

(chorus)

Mary had a little lamb she also had a bear
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom!
I've often seen her little lamb. I've never seen her bare.
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom!

(chorus)

Mary had a little lamb, a little beef, a little ham
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom!
Mary had a little cake, and Mary had a stomach ache.
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom!

(chorus)

The elephant's a funny bird it leaps from bough to bough
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom!
It makes its nest in the rhubarb tree and barks just like a cow.
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom!

(chorus)

I eat my peas with honey, I have done it all my life,
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom!
It makes the peas taste funny, but it keeps them on my knife.
Shouting out the battle cry of freedom!

(chorus)

-Anonymous Scout song based on songs by George F Root and Sarah Hale

This song was a Scout song that I learned from mom, who learned it from Grandpa Roly. I didn't hear him sing much, but when he did, it was generally songs like this one. Another of hi favorites was "More Work for the Undertaker" which I ought to post here someday, but I think it's a bit morbid for my post today.

Grandpa Roly Holt died this morning. He had gotten sick while on vacation with my parents, and he spent the last month or so in the hospital getting progressively worse each time the doctors thought they had fixed or at least stabilized the problems. Mom says that at the end, he was peaceful, and the doctors had made him comfortable, and he slipped away at about four this morning with Mom beside him telling him how much we all loved him.

And Grandpa Roly was loved. It always surprised and pleased him when people did nice things for him, so it was fun for me to do things like plan his birthday party last year. Mom was in Ohio, so I put together a simple family party with cake and candles, and balloons and streamers, and a few presents I had picked up at the DI. He was as pleased a punch, and immediately went into his room to show me which suit he intended to wear the tie with. He even wanted to open up and share the Snickers bar I got him.

Grandpa Roly loved to talk, and could find a connection with any person he ever met. He remembered even the most obscure acquaintances, and could tell you the personal and family histories of the people who worked in the store where he bought the suit that went with that birthday tie (and WOULD, at great length, every chance he got).

He was a bit obsessive, and repetition comforted him, so it was often very easy to predict what he'd say in any given situation.

• Even when we were young, we knew that when he had his extended family around, he'd sing "Boys and Girls Together" and say, "A real slice of life!" as if having us around was like eating a piece of pie or cake.
  
• He loved to eat pie and cake, and anything with gravy on it. In fact, every time there was gravy at dinner, he'd tell the story of when he was young, and they were eating Meat and potatoes, and he'd asked for some gravy to go with it. "Whaddaya want gravy for with meat 'n potatoes?" his dad Harry Holt asked him. Then shaking his head, he'd said, "Boy, you'd eat gravy on ice cream."
  
• When we'd finish our vacation, and get in the van to drive home, his last goodbye would be to give the car's hood a couple of good whacks, as if to tell the car, "take good care of them." In later years, the kids would be whispering, "Hit the car! Hit the car!" as Dad was getting ready to pull out, almost worried that he'd forget, but also, sure that he wouldn't.
  
• I think that One of the reasons Mom was happy to leave the cat behind when they moved, was that every time he saw her, he's say, "Miss Kitty Cat. Your name is Kitty, and you're a cat, so your name is Miss Kitty Cat!" Every time he said it, it was as if he'd discovered a clever idea for the first time, and it honestly drove Mom up the wall.
  
• The newspaper also had a nickname. The Deseret News, which he wasn't fond of, but had to subscribe to in order to get the Church News was the "Deserted News" and the funny pages were always the "Educational Section"
  

Most of us grinned and rolled our eyes when he'd say these things for the gazillionth time, but Lizbeth hadn't learned these habits yet. Every time he'd call her "Daughter of Zion" or "Miss Liz" or "Mis Ahlstrom" or "Darlin'" or any of his other nicknames, she'd say, "No. I'm not Miss Ahlstrom. I'm Lizbeth." After a while, I think she decided it was a game he liked to play, so no matter what he said, she'd contradict him. "No. Not good morning." I think it's interesting that after he had been gone for a week or so, on this vacation, she spent a day insisting that we call her Liz because, "That what Grandpa Roly says."

Elizabeth was a little wary of him at first, when we moved into the Salem House, and wouldn't go up to him, or submit to be hugged whenever he decided to grab her (his timing on hugs wasn't always convenient for any of us). As time went on though, he realized that if he let her come to him, he'd get plenty of hugs on HER terms. Just like most good things, he was surprised and pleased whenever she would come up and give him a hug and kiss and say, "I love you Grandpa Roly." She would sit on the couch next to him, or in his lap when watching movies, and even got him to read to her sometimes. I always though it was cute to watch him read to her because even with books that we'd read so many times we had them memorized, he was discovering the book for the first time as he read it to her, and would look at a picture and say, "Oh! Look. There's the monkey!" or something like that.

He also adored Bridget. I let him hold her in the hospital when she was only about a day old, and he discovered that he was good at holding a baby. From then on, every time we'd walk into the house, his fingers would start to itch, and he would happily hold Bridget for hours on end while she cooed and gurgled at him. He'd stick his finger into her hand and say, "Grabba Holt!" and laugh at his little pun. He loved looking at baby fingers, and would say, "Look at those little fingernails!" in a hushed, awed voice every time he saw tiny fingers.

Other people know more about his years of dedicated service in scouting, as bishop of an enormous ward, and as the best clerk and executive secretary that any ward leaders could wish for. I'll let them share those stories. What I know best is the way he treated me.

He was a kind, gentle man, and he loved me unconditionally. In college, I was often depressed, and went to visit Grandma and Grandpa when I was having trouble coping. Grandma would cook for me, and we'd watch old movies together, and do crafts, but Grandpa would just get a sweet sad look on his face and give me a long hug. I never saw him angry except when he felt like somebody he loved was being hurt. He'd defend Grandma from her sisters when he felt like she needed it, and the two times I was badly hurt by people close to me, I could tell that he really wished he could give those people a piece of his mind.

Grandpa Roly will be greatly missed in this world, but I know that he will be greeted with joy in the world to come. He missed Grandma Fawnie terribly, and now they can be together forever. Goodbye Grandpa Roly. We love you.