Margaret Virginia Hensley

Ginny was a dark haired, dark eyed beauty, born of strong English stock, January 15, 1920. Her sweet nature implies she was a good, calm baby. As the song says you must have been a beautiful baby. Absolutely adored by Annie, her mother, she learned how to love deeply.

Her parents marriage did not last. Her father may have felt left out.

Grandma Hamilton, Annie and grand daughter Ginny- alone in a country house.

Grandma practiced target shooting with her pistol so all could see she was a crack shot. Nobody messed with them... until one night the threatening eyes wouldn't go away. She gave fair warning again and again. Go away or I'll shoot. POW ! Oh my Lord, what have I done?

Later on the next morning... "Miz Hamilton, kin I have that possum you shot last night?"

Always a dog lover, Jink's first legible note to her daddy was "I want a puppy."

Delwin would take her out to a movie sometimes. Perhaps the profound lessons occur in special times with the loved one we don't see much. Those 1930 movies had rich music. Who could afford sheet music? So Jink would find herself playing the melodies and harmonies by ear on the piano after the movie. Maybe that helped her stretch the memory of her special time with her daddy.

Robert Caudle won Annie's hand and took on the daunting job of supporting Grandma, Annie and Jink through the great depression in Lytle Texas raising chickens, odd jobs, whatever came along. You don't realize you're poor when everybody else is too.

Ginny to started school late, but excelled in school and started a lifelong love of learning. She was soon promoted to higher level, catching up with her intended class. Not very athletic, she made straight A's in PE by playing the piano for dance classes.

The first time dad met her he hit her with his tricycle. I think he has been making up for that since then. When the Hensleys would have to leave, Harold Jr. would be first in line to kiss her goodbye and go back to the end of the line behind his brothers for another kiss.

They married on July 20, 1942 and he went to war in the South Pacific flying photo reconnaissance. She worried that he did not have anything to shoot back with but a camera. After a few straight A semesters at Trinity, when he returned she stopped.

My brother Steve was born in San Antonio. Mom, kept her love for dad in balance as they shared the new joys of parenthood. He would come home and say- "Let's wake him up and play with him." She kept Steve quietly entertained while dad resumed studying for his Masters Degree at Princeton. When people asked- what college he went to he would exclaim Texas A&M and she would add Princeton.

As a child she dreamed of far away places. Marriage to a career Air Force officer afforded the opportunity to travel. They moved 28 times in the first half of their marriage.

I was born in Munich, Germany during the allied occupation. That may have slowed mom down in her personal campaign to conquer Europe and the Holy lands from her beachhead in the suburbs, Furstenfeldbruck. We usually moved every three years. I remember lifting my foot from lush green carpet grass of Texas to put it back down on the red dirt of Altus, Oklahoma. Wherever we moved mom and dad would sing in the choirs. Abilene, Texas; Vandenburg Air Force Base, California, Andrews AFB in Washington DC, Wright Patterson in Dayton, Ohio. We all retired from the Air Force, college and high school in 1969 and moved back home to San Antonio, where Memo and Pepaw lived. While dad was out flying B 47's protecting the free world, mom and I would spent hours talking and joking.

We always sought the humor in everything and became lifelong best friends.

I admit Mom did cheat the system once. Grandparents are supposed to obtain their nickname in life from the first grand child mispronunciation of Grandma or Grandpa. Well, she didn't want to take the chance of dad being a Paw Paw, or herself being a Mi Maw. That stuck in her craw. So she announced that dad would be named Bapu and she could be Nani. She was delighted to learn that Ghandi was called Bapu... which means little father by those who adored him in India.

Wherever we moved we church shopped for preaching and music. In San Antonio we kept coming back to First Pres for Dr. Bess and her choir. When Louis signed on we did too. For years here, mom played piano while Sally Embs led singing at retreats and pot lucks.

Mom could not remember not being a Christian. She profoundly deepened her faith as she became a discussion leader in Bible Study Fellowship. She loved the intensive study and fellowship, but was not too crazy about the homiletics. Sorry Rosemary. We have been through the program and now Steve is helping teach a group in Macon Georgia.

Mom was unassuming but open. Always ready to laugh with an open heart to Jesus and those who may need him. I'm told Mom could led joyful Bible study sessions with a twinkle in her eye, a humorous twist and special insight to take home and apply to your life. For years she prayed with a few women of the church in the small chapel behind us before the services.

She found her bliss early in life... that special thing you love to do. Hers was music. During her recent bout over the holidays with pneumonia. She would not wake up from her coma. We played Rodgers and Hammerstein tapes for her... the songs she used to play at home. She responded. She often told us- "I'm a tough old bird." She kept bouncing back but each time not as high. She never lost her engaging smile.

She and dad were the love birds of Brighton Gardens for the last nine months. Many of the staff have told me they wished somebody looked at them like that. They scandalized the doctor as they smooched on a love seat down the hall and the staff called after him- "It's alright, they're married." The ongoing struggle was how to be together enough when she was down stairs in nursing care... because they have never wanted to be apart.

She bore me, she reared me, she taught me to love and laugh... and what kind of woman to look for.

by Bill Hensley