Each year we celebrate the anniversary of something; birthdays, deaths, anniversary, national holidays and each year I find new meaning in these celebrations and pause for thought. A few days ago we celebrated the 176 anniversary of the emancipation of slaves. Now questions are erupting in my consciousness and about the land of my birth.
On the 1 August 1838, two years after the Emancipation Day Proclamation was passed, in thanks to God the freed slaves in Montserrat gave a silver communion cup to St. Anthony’s church. They would have seen that very same church with a sign that previously read “No slaves or dogs allowed.” In fact they were relegated to sit under a large tamarind tree while their owners worshipped.
St. Anthony’s Anglican Church was/is the oldest Anglican/Episcopal church in the Church of the Province of the West Indies (The Anglican Church of the Caribbean) built in 1636. The church was abandoned in the danger zone in 1995, due to volcanic activity. For me the church held such significance as I recall with accuracy that last time I entered and left that church. I was a teacher and my farewell was held in St. Anthony’s. I left the church with a remarkable enthusiasm for life some seventeen years ago as I embarked on my journey to the Bahamas. As an Anglican who now resides in another country in the same Province; I beam with pride to know that my island was on record of having the oldest Anglican Church in the Province.
I walked in that church yard many times and stood where the same tamarind tree was unaware of such a history with an unforgettable message. I now ask myself, did I drink from that cup when I last received Holy Communion there? Did the slaves go on to build the faith of others in the island, even the faith of my ancestors? The sign outside the church “No slaves or dogs allowed.” was taken down shortly after emancipation. The sign positioned approximately 3km from the church (not in the church yard) now reads; ‘No entry beyond this point.’
I now ask myself, where is the cup? as I retrace the steps of the former slaves in my mind. It brings to mind the fact that we have to be careful what signs we put up now, because in years to come the situations of life may force us to wear different signs. I also reflect on the fact that our past is all around us and what our ancestors did still affects us in subtle ways today. Do we realize this as we live out our lives now? I concur with a writer that once wrote the past do lingers in the present.
Do you know and understand what happened around you?
My cousin’s Facebook wall today had a photograph of my grandmother. The images invoked memories of my grandmother’s ritual of blowing me kisses through the phone after ending our telephone conversation; the figure of her looking into my eyes and seeing the simple pleasures of her smile still resonate with me. My blog today celebrates my paternal grandmother on her ninety sixth birthday. The role she had in all our lives and shared with all of us (family, friends, and well -wishers) is palpable. I recall the first time she met my husband the look in her eyes and the salutation ‘my grandson’ as if he had cometh forth from her loins. Today I remember the words, the conversations that my grandmother and I have had over the years publicly or in our private ‘whispering-galleries.’ These times are still clearly heard and held for posterity. I am blessed to have known her. I can truly savor my thoughts … now with a sweet maturity and authentic tenderness.
Today friends, relatives, and colleagues gathered for a moving service as the Daly clan said a final goodbye to the third generation of the Daly family. Alfreda Daly is from the third generation of people who have been living in Montserrat after the Daly family migrated from Ireland to Montserrat. As a member of the fifth generation I am aware that I am watching history unfold and elders are buried and infants are born. As we stand as members of succeeding generations we owe it to both our descendants and our ancestors to set aside this sadness and instead celebrate all that she was, did and stood for. As I recall the only thing that mattered to those I have met from the second and third generation – was family. As we stand in the shadow of their generation I pray that we carry the hopes and ambitions of a family that would not settle for less than they did.
Pink Rose fragrances upon afternoon air
Her life diligently seamed and greatly dear
Passion seen in eyes of children’s plans
Her smile in the faces of her grands and great-grands
Her kindness extracted in those she held near
Now a free spirit in still spring air
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Siblings were loved – remembered days of her youth
Discipline and dedication her unswerving truth
From St. John’s to brick towers in boroughs of London
Familiar voices sodden in windows a cherished one
From Hoxton to Broomfield Street train sounds crawl in air
Mild End –journey’s end- the familiar now draw near.
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Time still – a labyrinth recollections beguile
Playful jeers of her fists now commands a smile
Her expressions shone clear when sweetly sings
Firm with wit and affection – gifts she would bring
I stood in the zoo looking at a peafowl willing him to raise the train of feathers for a stunning display but to no avail. I wanted to see the spread of the feathers. It would make a great photo and a memorable moment. Now that I have had a chance to do some research on the peafowl I have learned that there has to be a reason for them to raise their feathers. I have also learned that in Hindu the peacock is a symbol of mortality and love and most times when people think of the peafowl it is usually in reference to the male with its raised train of multicolored feathers. That is why we call them peacocks – the cock part signifies that it is a male and this particular peacock was an India Blue Peacock.
So there I stood in the sun raising my arms, my daughter and husband and a random woman raising their arms as well – hoping that this peacock would somehow show us his full plumage. What struck me that day was the bold shimmer of blue on the peacock’s neck. Another lady stood by making her own observation of the peacock. She openly shared my sentiments about the brilliance of the blue. If someone would ask me what is my favorite a color a color does not come to mind. For me a favorite color depends on my mood.
On that day even the hot sun seemed cool. When I reflected on the peacock it was as if it embodied tranquility even in its colors. A few weeks has passed since by experience at the zoo but still there is something electrifying about the anatomy of a peahen’s brilliant color particularly the blue. This week shades of this hue has been revealed in several places or things namely; Bridesmaid dresses, red carpet dresses, the color of cars, that I felt compelled to blog about this.
Do you know what is your favorite color is? Is there a particular reason why you like a certain color. Is your favorite color a color that has to compliment your skin tone, eyes etc.?
Today images of Montserrat’s Agricultural exhibition held at the Groves Botanical Station came fully and movingly to life. Prae se ferre is latin for Exhibition.
March modern oxen
Trailing tracks that tractors now trek
Welcome the exhibition
Bulls midnight mating
Calf’s coming showcased
Needle craft, handy craft
Artistic highlights
Knitted stole, Sea Island cotton, crotchet
Colors dance
We grin
Products capture nature
Reminds use of schools of blue fish
Water currents and green mountain tops
Juicy tomatoes candy red
Preserved and mixed in tasty dishes
Large catch caught, process, prepared
Jumping jacks, Mahi Mahi, Wahoo
Prize winning Fisherman – a proud moment captivated
The hearty laugh of seasons
Slogan – Support local production reduce importation
Groves Botanical
Cost minimal
Participation honorable
Display trees, judge fields
Eyes examine baskets
Heaps of fruits vegetables, flowers
Farmer’s crops come together
The rhythms of our hard work
The results of our labor
The Collected outcome of what the earth birth
Potatoes, breadfruits, shaddocks
A pumpkin that two men lift
Collins Ghaut Mountain, far mountain, Farrell’s yard
Steady as he goes
Taking flight
Under the Western sun
- followed streams to open shores
His fleet of intentions sailed the Carib sea
Re-written expressions
Expressive shifts
Meanings vivid
Torque moments
The elusiveness of his time
Unsettling blots
Under the spindly evergreen
And tempest of waves
A master of his craft
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Full tilt
He would not be brought to his knees
- except to pray
The surf of his dialect reverberates
The confluence of his passions
His temperament lit by the heat of the sun
Chants for poor people – the function of his life
Cast iron convictions
Throwing out many nets
“Studiation beats education” -
Now illuminated at sunset in the January sea
An old fighter welded to his island
The Union Jack flown at half mast
Now his hull laid bare
Our Statesman John – a Montserrat Citizen
At sunset he stands on solid ground
Today many Western churches remember the dead. The names of deceased family or friends are presented in church for prayers. Someone who is reading this right now maybe gobsmacked, others who have heard of it before and do not subscribe to these rituals may discount or simply dismiss these practices.
At one time or another all of us have lost someone we once cherished and put our trust in and thinking about them does evoke some response in our hearts as multitude of memories no doubt flow. Even my three year old daughter sometimes sits down and expressed her disbelief that her grandpa is not coming back, perhaps it has something do to with it is coming up on the anniversary of his death. Sometimes still when she achieves anything she wishes he was around to share in the experience.
Recently I too have been thinking about my deceased maternal grandfather (Papa) and him kneading the bread for my grandmother to bake and how he would ensure I get hot bread out of the oven with salted butter. I think of paternal grandfather (Dada) sitting outside the house with a cap on the landing beating a pound cake for my grandmother to bake. I can now taste the cakes, using a mixer could not provide such a smooth batter as he did in kneading the cakes with all the love in the world.
In the spice island of Grenada in the Caribbean today it is a tradition for islanders to a gather their family and visit the graveyards placing lit candles on the graves as they honour to share moments of remembrance. This is a tradition that goes across many cultures and religions. Celebrations in other parts of the world include; some people wear ing masks, carrying signs, or erecting elaborate decorations to honour the dead.
According to the Columbia Encyclopedia “Some community centres invite people to commemorate their deceased loved ones with ofrendas (offerings) through alters that include food, symbols, flowers, candles, photos and other mementos. Altars in memory of the dead are also made in people’s homes.”
Whether there is scepticism or out right denial about the validity of the concept of All Souls Day; as we recall the memories of our love ones collectively today, the one thing that we all share in common is that we honour their lives that they once shared with us.
Have you ever been in awe about something then something comes up to remind you where you came from? I can not believe I partied and feted with millions of people due to the emergence of technology.
On the weekend all Montserratians around the globe and thousands of people from all walks of life tuned into Montserrat via the world wide web (internet) and radio to view and listen to the farewell activities for Soca King of The World – Arrow. I sat by my computers from eight o’clock Friday morning to after one o’clock Saturday morning. Montserrat had a link up live with the radio/television station Antigua Barbuda Broadcasting Services (ABS). Through Radio Montserrat (ZJB) we were able to view the casket, attend the Thanksgiving Service and be entertained by a Concert. ” More than 10 radio stations throughout the Caribbean and in the United States carried the service live.”
I intently tuned in as I viewed and listen to it all from my home in Nassau, Bahamas. I had my laptop on the live video streaming and the desktop on radio Montserrat. As we say back in Montserrat ‘nothing pass me’ (I did not miss a thing). During all of this I spoke to former class mates, family and friends in Europe, North America and the Caribbean. I kindly demanded photographs via Facebook from the media team in Montserrat.
As an aside something can also be said about the beauty of the collaboration between the Antiguan and Montserratian Governments, they spoke on each others behalf, they sang, partied and mourn together on the weekend as it was match made in heaven – the support, the camaraderie, jokes, the humor.
I woke up Saturday morning with endless pains as if I was actually in Montserrat during Christmas festival in December at Sturge Park. Only this time electronically I could have turn to anyone in the world that I was connected with via computer or several telephone calls to express how we were feeling and to get feedback from others as well. Additionally, I did not have to wait on the bus or friends to ‘catch me yard’ (go home) I just got up and slide into my bed in the wee hours of Saturday morning.
Then on Sunday on the television show Amazing Race there was a part of it where the contestants had a detour on their planned path. It reminded me of the time when we had a television antennae secured on our house roofs and we had to go outside and turn the pole in various directions to get a television image. I do remember the days even if it was raining or if a wind passed you had to go and try get back that signal. We used to turn the antennae in various directions ‘ north east south and west’ waiting for someone to shout to us they have picked up a signal. We have come along way in the communication era.
Many of us no doubt has missed being in Montserrat for such an occasion, in spite of our geographic location last Friday we partied and feted as if we were on our own soil giving Arrow a ‘joyous send-off’. We did Arrow proud as we were enamored by his magnetism even in death.
To put it in the words of another great son of Montserrat Sir Howard Fergus “the volume and quality of his [Arrow's] work will constitute an ever living monument with global resonance”
One of the headlines in world news today was the surge in the price of cotton. It is the highest it has been in fifteen years. I am thinking about the inflationary prices of fabrics; shirts, jeans but most importantly on mind is Montserrat Sea Island Cotton. It is a cold comfort, as I recall the many class trips to the cotton ginnery, viewing the ladies weaving the strands of cotton. I can see those finished products, the table cloths, the place mats, the shawls, belts and scarf’s. Sea Island Cotton weaving is still being used for local consumption and retail but not on a large scale for exportation. Today I also recall the first time I saw a cotton tree in bloom in The Bahamas while driving through Stapleton Gardens (New Providence, Bahamas). I was so overwhelmed I stopped, came outside and took a closer look. I touched it with such tender care that you would have thought that I was cotton laborer in exile.
I was not even born when Montserrat had a booming cotton industry. The raw cotton material was exported to Liverpool and Manchester in England; or even around in 1901 when Montserrat first experimented with Sea Island cotton with a sample seed imported from Barbados. Montserrat had turned to cotton production because it required fewer slaves than sugar. Cotton had played an important role in our island’s economy.
In the 1940s and the 1950s there was a mass exodus from Montserrat to England and as a result of this in the 1960s there was a decline in the cotton industry. In 1969 the Chief Minister announced in his budget speech that the cotton industry was losing its significance. Therefore in Montserrat we came from cotton being responsible for our improved finances in 1910 to our economic decline in 1968. When I reflect on the mass exodus of the labors from Montserrat to the UK in 1940 and 1950 I can not help but feel a profound sense of loss and powerlessness as the migration parallels our island’s current situation of the displacement of our people because of the volcano.
In reflection I am inclined to think that it may be because we are a small nation that we do not fare well even in comparative advantage (trade) or perhaps we give up too easily. I say this as cotton sustained us economically in 1910 why not in 1968? Imagine the wealth of a plantation owner in 1683 who was involved in cotton fetching (harvesting) in Montserrat. Then the price was two shillings six pence per pound compared to today’s price of over one dollar per pound.
Today countries such as India has a high demand for cotton as their stock levels are low I wonder where would we have been today if it was not for our people leaving in droves? I recall that we used phrases like ‘cotton picking mind’ (a phrase many find offensive). The whole idea of cotton resonates with me or fascinates me.
No matter what industry or service you work or have worked in chances are you have used cotton before. The next time that you put on a T-Shirt, your favorite jeans or use a q-tip remember that you are touching a part of history. What are you doing now that will resonate with future generations? It may be fascinating to your great, great grand children to find out what you did for a living. They may be amazed to know what you could buy for a dollar. They may find it remarkable to learn why you live where you live, and what activities occupied your time. I implore you to make the best of what you do now and enjoy the fruits of your labour and record it by photos or in writing because history is occurring now right before your eyes.
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