Now in days gone by, back in rural Pickens County, Alabama - and I'm certain all over the Old South as well - swatting flies was as much a "national pastime"  as baseball.  In order to swat flies,  one, ideally, would be in possession of a fly swatter (back then, we spelled it as a single word, 'flyswatter', and pronounced it in like manner). In later years they were a single unit, made of hard but flexible molded plastic, but in my younger days they were made of wire and window screen wire. The handle was heavy gauge wire, shaped into a very comfortable and appropriately sized handle (unlike the later plastic models), to which was affixed a rectangle of flat screen wire, which was surrounded, or bordered, with a band of heavy paper, which was stitched, or sewed, around the edges of the screen.  I happen to think these earlier wire models were far superior to the later plastic, though some might disagree.

To employ one of these useful tools, one had to acquire a certain level of skill, for house flies have good eyesight, and if one just clumsily approaches a fly then rares back to swat it, likelier than not the fly will have evacuated the strike zone prior to the swatter making contact with the intended target area. Actually, the best way to kill these nasty, and clever, little pests was to act very nonchalant,  as though the last thing one had on his or her mind was to do harm to that little fly.  The best line of approach, moreover, was from the fly's rear, so as to avoid his seeing the attack developing in advance. And one could not wait 'til the moment of attack to pull the swatter back to strike, as this would cause the fly to flee. No, one must have the swatter raised already, so that the only dramatic motion at the point of attempting to make a 'kill' was the downward motion of the strike itself.  

This maneuver also required patience, as any quick move, prior to the striking motion itself, would warn the fly, which would then take off and buzz infuriatingly about the room for what would seem an interminable time before realighting, usually in an area impervious to attack, such as on the ceiling. The strike itself, of course, had to be stealthy but swift. Any hesitation would result in failure, and a tentative strike was doomed from the outset. Nevertheless, a lightness in the wrist was imperative, as in striking a golf ball, as a stiff strike was a clumsy strike, and more often than not resulted in the annoying resumption of flight on the part of the prey.

Now in my younger days, a half century ago and more, folks generally didn't have air conditioners, nor these modern 'storm' doors we have now. No, we had room fans, and sometimes, like in my Grandfather McShan's kitchen, a big exhaust fan, both designed to stir the air so as to deceive all in the path of its breeze that it was cooler than it actually was. And we had the old-fashioned wooden screen doors, which often didn't stay shut completely, and quite often had one or more holes in the screen caused by childhood 'accidents' when running out of the house with a toy, or some other sharp object, in hand. for children didn't open the screen door as one might think: they basically just barreled through it, on the run, without the slightest slowing of speed, often 'opening' the door with an extended knee. As a consequence, one would often see the entire lower screen panel on the side of the door opposite the hinges torn loose, and thus capable of admitting into the house any number of pesky flies, who invariably made their way to the kitchen, there to light on any food that was not covered. At Dinner (the Noon meal), or Supper (the evening meal), moreover, they made  it their chief purpose to buzz about the dinner or super table and light on the food in the serving dishes and on everyone's plates.

For this reason, any child past infancy soon became quite proficient with the fly swatter, and it was a constant battle of wills - for the flies a fight to the death - between man and 'beast'. At meals, also, as well as with the cook in  the kitchen during food preparation, the motion of shooing away the flies with a sideways, rudder-like waving of the hand was a routine, and sometimes, depending on the number of flies in attendance, almost constant activity. Usually, while waving the hand swiftly back and forth, one would also say "Shoo, fly, as though that verbalization would produce a better effect. Flies, especially at table, were a severe nuisance. However, for many Southerners, myself being one, this deadly battle took on more the flavor of a sport, and one took pride in one's proficiency (the swat to kill ratio) at performing this maneuver. 

I must not leave you believing, moreover, that possession of a fly swatter was a prerequisite to engaging in this 'sport'. To the contrary, any number of weapons could be employed, including, but by no means limited to, kitchen towels (the flicking motion of which was similar to the still-practiced ritual of popping one's siblings or friends on the butt with a bath towel), and newspapers or magazines, which, though not as proficient as the more reliable fly swatter, could do yeoman service in the right hands. And, when I was nineteen years old, a boy from the mountains of northeast Alabama taught me how to kill flies with no weapon a'tall, and without striking the fly! To the uninitiated, this trick is quite amazing, but once one understands the dynamics of the situation, it is quite simple. In using this system, stealth is even more important than with the flay swatter. Here's how to do it: When a fly lights on the table before you, or perhaps on the thigh of your jeans, you very slowly and very carefully ease your hands, held in a position similar to that one uses when preparing to clap for a good band at a Bluegrass festival, holding your hands approximately  five or six inches apart, to a point three or four inches above the fly. If done properly, the fly will not become alarmed until it is too late. You then clap your hands together sharply, above the fly.

Now here is the interesting part: Flies, like hovercraft and helicopters, take off vertically, not horizontally like an airplane. When you begin the clapping motion, though you do it very fast, the fly is actually faster than you are. In its effort to escape, the fly literally kills itself by flying straight up between your hands before the completion of the clapping maneuver! Thus, as I said, you do not attempt to strike the fly, as the fly will kill itself in attempting to flee. Some may find this method distasteful, due to our knowledge that flies carry disease, not to mention the fact that one now has a crushed fly, juices and all, appended to the palm of one's hand. And even if the fly falls harmlessly, and lifeless, to the earth, which I have found is more often the case than not, some remnants surely remain upon the hand. However, the challenge of the method causes me to employ it on occasion even to this day.

I should also mention that there are a few rules of etiquette involved in the swatting of flies. Now these rules don't apply if you're down at the General Store with a bunch of locals, shooting bulls and chewing the fat, but if one is in the presence of polite society (ladies) in the parlour, one must always say "Excuse me" just prior to striking that wayward fly with the audacity to interrupt a social call. And if one is at the dinner table in the presence of cultured guests, one does NOT swat a fly on the dinner table in the presence of food, and especially not while everyone is actually eating! Not even prefacing the act with an "Excuse me" will absolve you of having committed a major faux pas in such a situation. No, at the dinner table, one must use the rudder-like fanning of the hand to shoo the flies away, all the time hoping and praying that they don't become such a distraction as to interrupt the enjoyment of the meal, or the normal course of conversation at the table. Now for the guests, it is imperative that one does not comment upon the flies at table, no matter how pesky they become, and, if your host should mention the flies, you should immediately say "It's no bother" and proceed with normal conversation. 

I will close by recalling a certain restaurant we frequented in days gone by, where the food was good, as well as the company, it being a local establishment, run by long-time friends of ours and frequented  by many of our local friends and associates. Although we loved these folks greatly and sincerely, we were sometimes startled when a waitress, right in the middle of our meal, would come down on a fly, right on our table, with her fly swatter, killing it (if she did not miss her target) perhaps inches from the plate of one of us at the table. So, what did we do, knowing that this was an egregious breach of etiquette, not to mention disgusting? Why, of course, realizing that they knew no better, we employed our own training in such matters and kept our mouths shut, so as not to embarrass or offend the poor girl!

If you've not had the pleasure of the 'sport' of swatting flies, I'm sure that if you look diligently you will be able to locate a fly swatter somewhere. And with practice, poise, and patience, you will soon be quite proficient at this time-honored Southern pastime. Good 'hunting'! And keep your screen doors in good repair. 

Back to Index Musings & Memories               Also visit Antique FAQs