i. RICHARD² KNIGHT, b. Nottingham, County Surrey, England.

ii. JOHANNES KNIGHT, b. Nottingham, County Surrey, England.

2. iii. RALPH KNIGHT, b. 1350, Nottingham, County Surrey, England.

i. JOHANNES³ KNIGHT, b. Nottingham, County Surrey, England; m. JOHANNA.

3. ii. WILLIAM KNIGHT, b. 1380, Effyngham, County Surrey, England.

4. i. WILLIAM⁴ KNIGHT, b. Abt. 1410, Worcester, England; d. 1498.

5. i. JOHN⁵ KNIGHT, b. 1440, Lingfield, Co. Surrey, England.

i. RICHARD⁶ KNIGHT, d. 1571.

6. ii. JOHN KNIGHT, b. 1490, Lingfield, Co. Surrey, England; d. 1581.

7. i. GEORGE⁷ KNIGHT, b. 1510, Lingfield, Co. Surrey, England; d. 1596.

i. MATTHEW⁸ KNIGHT, m. AGNES.

8. ii. RICHARD KNIGHT, d. Eastrington, Co. Gloucester, England.

iii. ROBERT KNIGHT, b. 1533; d. Wotton, Co. Surrey, England.

iv. NICHOLAS KNIGHT, b. 1538, Gloucester County, England; m. ELYN BRADSHAW, February 09, 1559/60.

9. v. JOHN KNIGHT, b. 1540, Lingfield, County Surrey, England; d. October 26, 1611, Cowden, England.

i. ROBERT⁹ KNIGHT.

ii. RICHARD KNIGHT.

i. ALEXANDER⁹ KNIGHT, d. Worcester, England.

ii. PHILIP KNIGHT, d. Worcester, England.

iii. MATTHEW KNIGHT, b. Worcester, England.

iv. HENRY KNIGHT, d. 1639, Gloucester County, England; m. ALICE.

v. FRANCIS KNIGHT, d. August 1616, Bristol England; m. ALDWORTH.

10. vi. JOHN KNIGHT, b. October 14, 1576, in Lingfield, Surrey, England.

11. i. EDWARD¹⁰ KNIGHT, b. 1590, in Lingfield, Surrey, England.

ii. RICHARD¹⁰ KNIGHT.

iii. FRANCIS KNIGHT.

iv. FRANCES KNIGHT.

v. STEPHEN KNIGHT.

12. vi. THOMAS KNIGHT, b. Gloucester County, England.

i. FRANCIS¹¹ KNIGHT.

ii. JOHN KNIGHT.

iii. WILLIAM KNIGHT.

iv. RCIHARD KNIGHT.

13. v. GILES KNIGHT, b. Abt. 1653, Gloucestershire, England; d. in ByBerry Phila Co. Pa.

i. THOMAS¹¹ KNIGHT, m. ELIZABETH HURNE, May 06, 1649.

14. i. ABEL¹² KNIGHT, b. 1640, Gloucestershire, England; d. Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

15. i. JOHN¹³ KNIGHT, b. Abt. 1668.

16. i. JOHN¹⁴ KNIGHT , XIII, b. North Carolina; d. February 18, 1762, Sussex County, Virginia.

ii. EDWARD KNIGHT.

iii. WILLIAM KNIGHT, b. 1690, Bertie County, North Carolina; d. December 03, 1751, Bertie County, North Carolina; m. MARTHA.

i. WILLIAM¹⁵ KNIGHT.

ii. JOHN KNIGHT, d. 1771; m. ELIZABETH WOODSON.

iii. JORDAN KNIGHT, m. ELIZABETH.

iv. EDWARD KNIGHT.

v. JOEL KNIGHT, m. HANNAH.

vi. RICHARD KNIGHT, d. September 21, 1759; m. (1) MARTHA; m. (2) ELIZABETH.

17. vii. PETER KNIGHT III, b. January 08, 1738/39; d. May 09, 1809.

viii. SARAH ANN KNIGHT, b. August 25, 1742.

ix. MARY KNIGHT, b. September 04, 1749.

i. PETER EPPS¹⁶ KNIGHT.

ii. ARTHUR KNIGHT, d. April 25, 1824; m. SALLY.

18. iii. JOHN KNIGHT.

19. iv. WILLIS KNIGHT, d. July 22, 1845.

20. v. CHARLES KNIGHT, d. October 19, 1786.

vi. LUCY KNIGHT, m. BATTS.

21. vii. MARY KNIGHT.

viii. ELIZABETH KNIGHT.

22. ix. JESSE KNIGHT, b. Abt. 1780; d. December 16, 1815, Edgecombe County, S.C..

i. JOSEPH¹⁷ KNIGHT.

i. JORDAN¹⁷ KNIGHT.

i. TEMPERENCE¹⁷ KNIGHT, b. September 27, 1773; m. JAMES DANIEL.

23. i. JOSHUA¹⁷ LAWRENCE.

i. ARTHUR¹⁷ KNIGHT, d. February 07, 1834.

ii. LEWIS KNIGHT, m. (1) EADY FOSTER; m. (2) REBECCA VAUGHN, January 01, 1805.

iii. PETER KNIGHT, d. 1810.

iv. SYLVIA KNIGHT.

v. JESSE B. KNIGHT, d. 1816.

vi. LYDIA KNIGHT, m. DEMPSEY DANIEL.

vii. NANCY KNIGHT, m. WILLIAM HAINEY.

viii. TEMPERANCE KNIGHT, m. THOMAS HAINES.

ix. MARTHA (PATSY) KNIGHT, m. MATTHIAS MILLER.

x. ELIZABETH (BETSY) KNIGHT, m. GARRY BATTS.

xi. ALLEN KNIGHT.

24. xii. EDWIN KNIGHT, b. December 10, 1805, Edgecombe County, S.C.; d. January 29, 1852, Monterey, Bullar (Butler) Co., Mount Moriah Cemetery, Alabama.

i. JOHN¹⁸ LAWRENCE.

25. i. JENE¹⁸ KNIGHT.

ii. THOMAS KNIGHT, m. JULIA POSEY.

iii. AMANDA KNIGHT, m. WILL PALMER.

iv. EDWIN G. KNIGHT.

26. v. COMER KNIGHT.

vi. AGNES KNIGHT.

vii. MONROE KNIGHT.

viii. MARY KNIGHT, m. WILL YELDELL.

27. ix. LEWIS JACKSON KNIGHT, b. August 19, 1829, Monterey, Butler Co., Alabama; d. August 11, 1863, Monterey, Mount Moriah Cemetery, Butler County, Alabama.

28. i. JOHN¹⁹ KNIGHT.

ii. "JOS" WATKINS KNIGHT.

iii. ALICE MERRIT KNIGHT.

iv. AMANDA MILTON KNIGHT, m. BARGE.

29. v. LON KNIGHT.

30. vi. MATTIE KNIGHT.

31. vii. AGGIE KNIGHT.

32. viii. EANIE KNIGHT.

33. i. JULIA¹⁹ KNIGHT.

ii. BELLE KNIGHT, m. WHEELER WATTS.

iii. COMER KNIGHT.

iv. TRAIL KNIGHT.

34. i. NAPOLEON O.¹⁹ KNIGHT, b. May 14, 1856, Monterey, Alabama; d. September 02, 1941, Furman, Alabama Wilcox County.

ii. TULU KNIGHT, m. WILL LUCAS.

iii. ESTELLE KNIGHT, b. September 16, 1854.

iv. EUGENE C. KNIGHT, b. May 10, 1858; d. September 11, 1863, Monterey, Mount Moriah Cemetery, Butler County, Alabama.

Notes for EUGENE C. KNIGHT:

killed by a negro

i. JESSIE²⁰ KNIGHT, m. FRANK ATKINS.

ii. BIRDIE KNIGHT.

i. JESSE²⁰ KNIGHT.

ii. VINCA KNIGHT.

i. BELLE²⁰ STANFORD.

i. BEANIE²⁰ GRIMES.

ii. EANIE GRIMES.

i. PAULINE²⁰ COGGINS.

ii. VINCE COGGINS.

i. EARL²⁰ WATTS.

ii. T. WATTS.

iii. LUCILLE WATTS.

iv. LAURA WATTS.

i. ELIZABETH JANE²⁰ KNIGHT, b. August 27, 1883, Furman, Wilcox County, Alabama; d. 1968, Furman, Wilcox County, Alabama, buried in Palmer Cemetery; m. ELKANAH GEORGE BURSON , DR., February 20, 1914, Selma, Alabama.

Notes for ELIZABETH JANE KNIGHT:

"I told Ellie ya'll were coming," she said as in turn she greeted each of us with a hug. Her ice blue eyes warmed with the smile which welcomed us. The long black dress and lace up shoes lent a quiet dignity to the tall lady that was my father's mother standing at the top of a steep hill of stairs. The cameo which held her lace fichu in place scratched me when I reached up to hug my grandmother. I felt strangely guilty that somehow the affection that I expended on this grandmother robbed my other grandmother. My other grandmother, widowed, living on a pension and money from my mother while this grandmother lived in a grand house with Austrian chandeliers and rooms so filled with valuables that the doors were shut to protect them from small children.  I did not realize how hard won those treasures had been.

Mother smiled and winked. She'd predicted those words as we drove down the rutted road and through the gate above which hung a sign grandly pronouncing "Wakefield." "How much longer?" my sister and I had asked every five minutes since we'd left the bus stop in Greenville and our breakfast of greasy hamburgers and french fries. We'd fought for the crack in the window for a breath of fresh air and relief from the speeding cloud of smoke in which we rode. The white picket fence that curved along the front lawn of the Hawthorne House in Pine Apple alerted us that shortly down that winding road upon our left we'd spot the white plantation house up on the hill just beyond the next curve. The next curve? How about that next curve?

Gravel splattered as my father spun into the driveway in that year's model Cadillac. And sure enough as Mother said, there stood Nanny waiting on the back porch at the top of the high brick stairs.

The double doors opened and Papa emerged with Eliece close behind. "Somehow your mother knew you were coming," he said, stiffly embracing Daddy. Daddy had to lean down to hug his father and have the wet kiss that planted upon his cheek that we all received in turn. Doctors both,t hey wore the uniform of a professional, a suit and tie. It was only when leukemia weakened hi m and I saw him last in University Hospital in Birmingham dying of leukemia, that I ever saw m y grandfather in anything but sartorial splendor. Following his example, my father even washed cars in his suit.

Elliece, my father's older sister, welcomed us as well, though the smile on her lips never reached her eyes and you could almost see the sparks when she greeted my mother with the proper words. Mother responded in kind. Following behind, like a loyal hunting dog, came her second husband, pipe in hand, gravelly voice urging, "Come on in, the gas is on and the cold air is coming in."

We all trooped down the echoing hall of ebony stained wood, past the eleven foot hall mirror and antique vases into my grandmother's bedroom sitting room. There I climbed the stairs to the tester bed with the bold burgandy sunburst canopy, crawled over the Sunday funnies, and collapsed with the headache that long ride with mother and daddy smoking always produced. Sylvia, my sister , joined me.

A cluster of rocking chairs were gathered at the foot of the bed in front of the fireplace an d TV set. Nanny's chair had gold velvet cushions. To Nanny's displeasure, everyone smoked, but the ceiilings were so high and the air so cold, that the air in that room remained refreshing. Listening to the adults talk land, timber and cows, and watching the columns of smoke parry and thrust as it rose to the ceiling, I dozed off and the headache eased.

Soon the women headed to the kitchen where Nanny supervised Dorothy and the preparation for the feast in the formal dining room. Someone set the huge mahogany table with white gold rimmed china, silver (two forks, soup and tea spoons) in addition to a knife and place spoon), line n napkins and fragile etched crystal (tea and water glasses). The brocade curtains and huge oaks blocked the sunlight and the room was always dark. Dinner always began with Nanny's soup made from chicken stock with noodles and tomatoes and progressed to stuffed chicken and roast , cranberry sauce, thick gravy, dumplings turnips that Nanny had picked from her garden early t hat morning, buttermilk corn bread, and tea sweet as syrup. By the time the cake came from the breakfast room to top it off there was little room left, but no one let that stop them.

On warm days we'd head out to the wide verandah on the first floor beneath the verandah on the second floor. Green painted lattice framed the two. Sitting in the wooden rockers, we'd drink cold Coca Cola out of little bottles they'd stocked up on at their weekly trip to Selma last Friday.

Then, I didn't know the import of sitting there on that front porch looking through the plank s of the white picket fence at the top of the hill, beyond which steps went down to the highway. Across the street was another house, a small nondescript country house with a front porch looking up to the house on which porch we sat. I thought we were just watching the traffic whiz by. I did not realize that for my grandparents we were measuring a life journey that could not be measured in miles. I was an adult when I knew that my father had grown up in the house across the street. In the mornings when my grandfather had gone to the front porch to urinate in the flowerbed, he'd look up at the house across the street and dream of owning it. (Nanny spread lots of lye to counteract his morning habit.)

Over the years as scarce money had come, depression years, a time when doctors had been paid frequently in produce, he'd invested it in land. Nanny picked pecans for extra money and carried water from a stream behind the house. Finally Miss Laura Gulley agreed to sell in return for being taken care of in her old age. The demise of the ancient lady occurred after my father went off to college. Then Papa and Nanny went to New Orleans and Savannah and from the anti que shops selected a rare collection of furnishings that only later came to be appreciated.

This must have been a busy time of life for my grandmother. My father got homesick at the University and almost before my grandmother could get home, he'd show up on the doorstep. Finally she went to stay with him and give him time to acclimate to college life. But, when she cam e home, he followed. He got a job driving a truck. It only took one hot Saturday unloading tin to make him decide college was for him.

The one room school house prepared him well and he did not have to take any remedial courses . Only German gave him trouble. When my father asked the German professor for a reference t o medical school, he was wise enough to read the document before sending it on. "Mr. Burson is by no means an excellent student," he read. That reference was disposed of quickly. The University of Alabama Medical School rejected him, but he was accepted at Tulane and finished school there.

Elliece attended the University of Alabama only long enough to go through rush and elope wit h the F. Scott Fitzgerald of Wilcox County, Claude Williams, a traveling salesman. This tumultuous relationship produced many weekend parties, drunken sprees and fearful nights hiding from a husband waving a gun, one son and ended in divorce. During this time Nanny nearly raised Sonny, Elliece's son.

My sister, brother and I were children of later life. My father had finished medical school and served the Army in the Pacific before he met my mother at Walter Reed Medical Hospital in Augusta, Georgia, where that green-eyed Army nurse from Brewton, Alabama captivated the Wilcox County country boy known by his fraternity brothers at Sigma Chi as "Dude."

Nanny was old before I knew her. Elliece was her father's pet, spoiled and arrogant with tall , elegant good looks. She considered herself a Burson, a cut above the Knights from which he r mother came. Ironically,in tracing the geneaology through which Elliece entered the United Daughters of the Confederacy, Daughters of the Revolution, and Colonial Dames, I discovered t hat it is through Nanny's line that we are descended from William the Conqueror and Charlemagne, and are eligible for Magna Carta Dames, knowledge of which would have made my aunt insufferable. Elliece could dissect my grandmother with a word.

The tension was palpable on those visits. The competition between Elliece and her siblings was ever apparent. Elliece's grandchildren were our age and she was jealous of any gift or attention Nanny and Papa gave us. I sometimes think that is why she was there for those meals, not to help, but to stand between any bond that might develop.

Because of Elliece's behavior my Aunt Elizabeth could not go to the University of Alabama, but had to attend Montevallo, where she was one of their beauties. My grandfather would not let her study medicine, but insisted she become a teacher. She took a business curriculum, but became a secretary, her form of rebellion. A short marriage to Dudley Hart ended in divorce . She stayed away from these family get-to-gethers as much as possible. The strain was not worth the trip.

By two o'clock on Sunday afternoon, the long ride back to Dothan before dark brought us to our feet and the goodbyes overflowed onto the driveway as we packed into the car. After kisses all around and all the proper words, we headed back through the gate and down the road. Nanny stood there on that porch right where we'd first glimpsed her. Now looking back I realize she clung to the last sight of her only son, reluctant to return to the critical analysis that would ensue at the foot of that tester bed. In those moments she probably relived the time when that son had clung to her and was reluctant to leave home; a time when she'd had to break that unnatural dependency so that son could be a man. The bond was never really broken. When she died I watched my father sob. Thinking back now about the two houses facing each other one wonders whether the move across the street was truly progress.

Sharman Burson Ramsey

November 9, 1996

i. MALCOLM²⁰ KNIGHT.

ii. GLADYS KNIGHT.

iii. MARGARET ANN KNIGHT.

iv. OWEN KNIGHT.