Per Ron Belcher (great-grandson):
James delivered each of his children. His daughter-in-law, Daisy, had been married to Dell Girtley for about four months, when Grandmammy (Mary Francis Girdler) was about to deliver Virgil Girtley, my great uncle. Granddaddy suggested Daisy join him in the process of Virgil's delivery, which she did. His sage advice, the skill may come in handy. Daisy developed into a most skilled mid-wife, delivered many family and neighbor's children.
Also, if I recall correctly and I need to double check this as well, Grandpappy would not let his wife, Mary Francis Girdler, walk following delivery for a period of six weeks, personally carrying her when, and wherever, she needed to be out of bed.
This comment I'm sure about! From necessity, James Marion Girdler served as a dentist. Each of his teeth was self-extracted.
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Marion was not well educated and somewhere along the line the spelling of his last name changed from Girdler to Girtley. The Kentucky On-line death records shows his name spelled as Gindler.
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Medlock
written by Cecil Belcher

In Casey county, a place called Medlock,
A land made out of stumps and rock,
A family of people of by-gone days
A family of twelve they did raise.

Grandmamma wore her dust cap
She would wash her dishes,
And she would clean her house.
While Granddaddy would sit,
And look out the door,
He would sometime wonder,
Why God never gave him more.

A log house was all that they owned,
Just three rooms and attic,
Was what they all called home,
With twelve children,
They slept where ever they could,
Heating their house with nothing but wood.

Just over the way, and upon the hill,
Was where Aunt Virgie and Adie did live,
There were no children to this marriage,
And from this loss, a heart full of hurt ,
They did always carry.

Down the road just a little ways,
Was the home that Clint Cook had made,
It was nothing fancy, people would say,
It was good enough for old Clint,
Back in those by-gone days.

There was no road one might say,
To get there, it was up a creek,
Or just any other way,
Over a ledge here,
Or down a deep rut there,
You could almost say,
You can't get there from here.

Now upon a steep hill,
Where the rattlesnakes crawl,
You can still find some markers,
But, you can't find them all,
Late at night, old timers say,
You can hear the Whip-er-will call,
From some lonely hill far away.

Their children have not forgotten,
Where their love one's were laid
They have all moved off,
And have now gone away.
But you see the old one's
Who were set in their way's
Lay there covered with briars,
In all their marked graves.

Now all of the children,
Have moved off and gone,
Not many times,
Do they go back home,
Some have moved up town,
While others now lay buried,
In another man's ground.

They try to forget,
Where they were raised,
They want better things,
From life always,
I do believe with all of my soul,
They would give all they own,
If they could move back home.

The old ones have, died and gone away,
There's not much left, of the old home place,
You can go back and listen, as hard as you can,
But you still can't hear the
Voices of the little old woman and man.

They are gone now, and left not a trace,
To a much better life, than the human race.
They have gone where God's Angels will fly,
They now live, in a mansion upon high...........