Our Second House Part #2

I have been racking my brain to come up with some sort of time post so that I could establish a time line of when we started living in Ochie and how long we lived there. But I am still not very clear on these dates. My first recollection of a real school was a sort of kindergarten school held in the Seven Day Adventist church in Milford. The trip from Grove to Milford would have been too long for a young child so I have to rationalize that we must have been living in Ochie when I started going there. I do remember walking up to Milford in the mornings as part of a procession of kids walking to school. You would walk down Main Street all the way to the center of town then hang a right at the stop sign (the only stop sign in the entire town) then up the road to Milford. I was too young to attend primary school when I started so my parents first sent me to this sort of pre-school that was held by the Seven Day Adventist church that was located almost directly across from what is now Ocho Rios Cemetery. I am not sure how long I stayed there but they must have thought me well for my first day at Primary turned out to be a remarkable day. It might have been a part of the evaluation process but I remember the first grade teacher asking me to read and when I did she took me by the hand and walked me over to the second grade teacher who then asked me to read again and when I did they walked me right over to the third grade teacher. So in one day I went from first to third grade. It gained me lots of kudos and admiration for being ‘smart’ but it also ensured that I would always be younger, weaker and not as physically developed as most of my class mates. This was not so good.

Moving to Bay introduced me to a lot of new stuff. I remember it as the first time seeing Junkuno dancing and the other traditions of Christmas. Being Jehovah’s Witnesses we did not celebrate Christmas so I was not exposed to most of it. In our family New Years was our special holiday. My father would get up early in the morning and mix his special concoction of milk, cream and port wine, a concoction I have tried so hard to duplicate without success; funny thing, recently I hard my brother Harry, whose culinary skills are renowned, lamenting at his similar failure. People have often asked me if while growing up as a Jehovah Witness I did not feel cheated out of Christmas. The answer is no. First, while we did not get presents or did anything special we still enjoyed many of the traditions other families did, like going to market on Christmas Eve night (maybe not staying as late), watching the bands and Junkuno dancing all week and experiencing all the firecrackers and excitement that would be going on in the Bay. Secondly, because my birthday was a few weeks after Christmas; just about when everybody else’s Christmas toys would be breaking up, out I would come with my brand new birthday toy. Being the only one with a new toy made mine feel special and memorable. How can I ever forget my green and yellow plastic guitar or the red fire truck that you could crank up and it goes by itself.

It was also while we lived here that my mother became that independent person she yearned to be. It was then that she first started working out of the house. Her first job was at Brown’s Emporium, a brand new store that had opened up in a new building located right across from where the clock tower now stands. The building is still there but there is so much congestion at that intersection that I can never get a good look at what it looks like today. Back then it was the most modern store in Ocho Rios selling general merchandise from clothing to kitchen appliances. I remember the store well, its newness, clean and open; and her happy face whenever I had a chance to visit here there. It was a happy time for her, she was in her element, meeting people and interacting with them all day. I felt like she worked there a long time but now I am not as sure as I was reminded recently (thanks Ilene) that she also worked iat another store, Lindo’s (I think the name was) that was very close by. It was located on the other side of the road and closer to the Bay area. This one I only remember vaguely.

Living in Bay was a happy time. Besides my bout with mumps (in a previous blogg) I can remember two other distinct experiences. The first was a mishap from riding my bike too close to a pedestrian. The pedal caught his pants and ripped it. It turns out that he was the town’s tailor and his clothes were special, and worst, the news of the incident got back to my father even before I even got home to give my version. I think I got a whipping for that one. The second was probably just as costly. My parents had sent me down to the Bay to go to the barber. But I snucked and went to the beach to play with my friends first. Sand got in my hair which I did not wash out carefully. Exactly half way into the hair cut the sand grains in my hair caused the barber’s only clipper to break (it was only one of those hand cranked clippers but it was high-tech then). He was mad which he let me know in no uncertain terms and in addition he was payment from my father for the repairs or replacement. My predicament was two fold; one, I had to go home walking through the town with exactly one half of my head freshly shorn while the other side still bushy and the second, and even more daunting task was having to explain to my parents that I disobeyed them.

Still Bay was a happy time. The house might have been only two rooms but it was a house of love and sharing. I remember Bill being there and recently I also learned that both Bernice as well as Aunt Little (more on her later) stayed with us there while they attended additional schooling.

Living in Bay was a happy time.

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