Tag: postaday2011

Travel Photo Thursday: Firefly Estate

Posted on by Marcia Mayne

Firefly was the name British author, Sir Noel Coward gave to his vacation home in Jamaica. Located on the north east coast of the island in the parish of St. Mary, Firefly was once owned by the pirate and former Lieutenant-Governor of Jamaica, Sir Henry Morgan, who is said to have used it as a lookout — the property has a commanding view of the harbor.

Statue of Noel Coward at Firefly Estate
Coward's View: Statue of Noel Coward at Firefly Estate
View from Firefly Estate
View from Firefly Estate
Firefly Estate
Firefly Estate

Coward hosted many dignitaries at Firefly including, Queen Elizabeth II, the Queen Mother, Sir Laurence Olivier, Winston Churchill, Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, Peter O’Toole, Sophia Lauren, Alec Guinness. He also entertained his neighbors Ian Fleming, Errol Flynn and Ruth Bryan Owen.

Of the time he spent at Firefly, Coward wrote in his diary, “Firefly has given me the most valuable benison of all: time to read and write and think and get my mind in order.” “I love this place, it deeply enchants me. Whatever happens to this silly world, nothing much is likely to happen here.”

He believe writing came easier when he was here, “the sentences seemed to construct themselves, the right adjectives appeared discretely at the right moment. Firefly has magic for me. . . .”.

Written on one of its walls were the first lines of his last poem, When I have fears, as Keats had fears, Of the moment I’ll cease to be, I console myself with vanished years, Remembered laughter, remembered tears, And the peace of the changing sea.

On March 26, 1973, Sir Noel Coward died of a heart attack at Firefly. He was 74 years old. He was buried in his garden at the estate.

Firefly was designated a National Heritage Site by the Jamaica National Heritage Trust. It is now a museum dedicated to the author.

This is my submission to this week’s Budget Travelers Sandbox Travel Photo Thursday series. Be sure to check out other photo and story entries on their website!

Jamaica’s National Heroes: Paul Bogle

Posted on by Marcia Mayne

Paul Bogle was born free about 1822 in Stony Gut, near Morant Bay in St. Thomas. He was a Baptist deacon and landowner.

On October 11, 1865, thirty-one years following the abolition of slavery in Jamaica, Bogle led about 300 men and women to Morant Bay Courthouse, in protest against poverty and injustice and a lack of confidence in the authorities.

Paul Bogle
Paul Bogle

The community had a number of grievances. Small farmers had been hit hard by drought the previous year and rumors surfaced that the white owners had intended to bring back slavery.

White owners, who were outnumbered 32 to 1 by the majority black population, still controlled power. And even though, Jamaicans were legally allowed to vote, the requirement that they had to be able to read and write and pay a high fee in order to do so meant only a few, Bogle among them, could enjoy that privilege.

The incident that brought matters to a head was that arrest warrants had been issued for 27 men of the village. The men were among those who had freed one of their number who had been found guilty of trespassing on an abandoned plantation and thrown in jail.

When Bogle and his group arrived at the courthouse, they were met by a local militia who opened fire killing seven protestors. Eighteen people were killed during the riot that ensued and the peaceful protest turned into what is now known as the Morant Bay Rebellion when more than 2,000 others joined in.

Fearful that the uprising would spread to the rest of the island, Edward Eyre, the British Governor at the time, sent troops to Morant Bay to quell the revolt. By the time they arrived, however, things had calmed. Unfortunately, this did not stop the brutal response of the authorities.

Nearly 500 Jamaicans were killed by troops, 354 were arrested and later executed, and 600 punishments including floggings and prison sentences were carried out.

Paul Bogle was arrested and executed on October 24th at the Courthouse. His friend and supporter George William Gordon, another National Hero, who had very little to do with the uprising, was arrested in Kingston, tried under martial law and hanged on October 23rd.

The rebellion had a huge impact on Jamaica and Britain. In Britain, it caused significant public outcry with people falling into two camps: those who supported Governors Eyre’s response and those who believed that he should be tried for murder.

Those opposed to his actions, including liberal politicians, like Charles Darwin and John Stuart Mill, set up the Jamaica Committee. Eyre was charged twice with murder but never made it to trial. He returned to the UK in August 1866.

As a result of the riot, the Jamaican Assembly renounced its charter and Jamaica became a Crown Colony.

Paul Bogle was named a National Hero of Jamaica in 1969. His likeness appeared on the Jamaican $2 note from 1969 until it was phased out in 1989, and on the 10c coin since 1991.

Jamaican $2 with image of Paul Bogle
Jamaican $2 with image of Paul Bogle

According to a friend and descendant of Bogle, many family members, fearing further reprisals by the authorities, scattered to other parts of the island, some even changed their names. However, the Bogle name still lives on and is mentioned in music by several Jamaican musicians including Steel Pulse, and most notably Bob Marley, who sings in “So Much Things To Say” “I’ll never forget no way they turned their backs on Paul Bogle, so don’t you forget no youth who you are and where you stand in the struggle.”

Jamaica’s National Heroine: Nanny of the Maroons

Posted on by Marcia Mayne

Much of what is known about Nanny, or Granny Nanny as she’s also called, has been gained from oral history. One thing, however, is clear: Nanny was an outstanding military leader who was a thorn in the side of the British in their battles with the Maroons, communities of defiant slaves who escaped plantation life for the nearly impenetrable hills in the interior of Jamaica. She outsmarted, out-planned and out-manouvered the British at every turn.

Nanny, an Ashanti, was a small, wiry woman with piercing eyes. She was born in Ghana around 1686. Nanny was brought to Jamaica as a slave. She and her brothers, Accompong, Johnny, Quao, and Cudjoe ran away from their plantation and hid in the mountains. Later, they separated to organize more Maroon communities – Cudjoe to St. James (Cudjoe Town), Accompong to St. Elizabeth (Accompong), Nanny and Quao to Portland, where they controlled an area known as Nanny Town.

Jamaican $500 note with likeness of Nanny of the Maroons
Jamaican $500 note with likeness of Nanny of the Maroons

Nanny’s influence over the Maroons was so strong, that it seemed to be supernatural and was said to be connected to her powers of obeah. She was particularly skilled in organizing the guerilla warfare carried out by the Eastern Maroons to keep away the British troops who attempted to penetrate the mountains to overpower them.

Her cleverness in planning guerilla warfare confused the British and their accounts of the fights reflect the surprise and fear that the Maroon traps caused among them.

Besides inspiring her people to ward off the troops, Nanny was also a village elder, a wise woman, who passed down legends. She encouraged the continuation of customs, music and songs, that had come with them from Africa, and which instilled in them confidence and pride.

Her spirit of freedom was so great that in 1739, when Quao signed the second Treaty (the first was signed by Cudjoe for the Leeward Maroons a few months earlier) with the British, it is reported that Nanny was very angry and in disagreement with the principle of peace with the British, which she knew meant another form of subjugation.

In 1976, Nanny was named National Heroine, the only woman to be so honored. Her likeness graces the face of the Jamaican $500 note, the “Nanny.” Her portrait is also used as the logo of the Gilder Lehrman Center for the Study of Slavery, Abolition and Resistance at Yale University. The Center sponsors research and conferences on slavery and resistance in the Americas.

Jamaica’s National Heroes: Samuel Sharpe

Posted on by Marcia Mayne

Born in 1801 in St. James, Samuel Sharpe was a deacon in the Baptist church. Although he was a slave, he

Statue of Sam Sharpe, Sam Sharpe Square, Montego Bay
Statue of Sam Sharpe, Sam Sharpe Square, Montego Bay

was also an educated man. Since religious meetings were the only forms of organized activities permissible for the slaves, Sharpe travelled widely teaching other slaves about Christianity and encouraging discussions about the fight for freedom. Sharpe became a highly regarded of the native Baptists in Montego Bay and was widely known as “Daddy” Sharpe.

He devised a plan of passive resistance – the slaves would refuse to work on Christmas Day of 1831 and after, unless their grievances regarding better treatment and their consideration of freedom were accepted by the owners.

Sharpe explained his plan to chosen supporters after his religious meetings and had them kiss the Bible to show their loyalty. They, in turn, took the plan to other parishes. Unfortunately, word reached the owners and troops, with guns drawn, were sent to Montego Bay and Black River in St. Elizabeth.

On December 27, 1831, the Kensington Great House in St. James was set on fire as a signal that the Slave Rebellion had begun. Soon after, a series of other fires broke out in the area and it was clear that the plan of non-violent resistance, which Sharpe had created was no longer possible.

Sam Sharpe Mural, Montego Bay
Sam Sharpe Mural, Sam Sharpe Square, Montego Bay

By the first week of January, the Rebellion was put down. More than 500 slaves and 14 whites lost their
 lives.  Sharpe, who had vowed that he “would rather die upon yonder gallows than live in slavery” was hanged on May 23, 1832 at Parade in Montego Bay. It was renamed Sam Sharpe Square in his honor.

In 1834, the British Parliament passed the Abolition Bill that ended slavery in 1838.

Sharpe was named a National Hero in 1975. His likeness can also be found on the $50 note.

Soulful Sundays: Desmond Dekker

Posted on by Marcia Mayne

As I write about Desmond Dekker, a Gregory Isaacs song (Love is Overdue) is coming to me from across the way. I’m thrilled to see that the music popularized by artists such as Dekker, Isaacs, Marley, Dennis Brown, etc., is holding its own against dancehall.

Desmond Dekker
Desmond Dekker, photo from the Internet

Desmond Dekker and his backup band, the Aces, won the Jamaica Festival Song Competition in 1968 with Music Like Dirt and had a string of hits that year, including A It Mek and Poor Mi Israelite. Israelite topped the charts in the UK and made Dekker the first Jamaican artist to have a UK hit. The success of Israelite paved the way for other Jamaican artists who made up the ska/reggae “invasion” of the UK that went on to influence punk music there.

Dekker was born Desmond Dacres in St. Andrew on July 16, 1945. He died in the UK on May 25, 2006. Please listen to Poor Mi Israelite and another hit, 007 Shanty Town.

For My Grandmother, Doris

Posted on by Marcia Mayne

My grandmother Doris (Dor Dor) left us ten years ago today; thirty-three years and one day after we

Dor Dor
Dor Dor

lost my Aunt Joyce.

It’s a bit ironic that the dates of their deaths follow so closely as of the three women in my family – my grandmother, mother and aunt – my grandmother and aunt were most alike in temperament.

Both were born under the same zodiac sign, Capricorn, only 9 days separating their birth dates. Both had the same easygoing nature and would find fun in any situation. One of the things I remember about them is the playful nicknames they created for people they knew. But they’d only use them behind the person’s back. My mom, the cautious one, would warn them that one day they’d call the person by the nickname by accident. Thankfully, it never happened.

A few weeks ago, I was swapping stories about her with a cousin. She told me of the time she was visiting and noticed a lone breadfruit on a tree in the backyard at my grandmother’s house. She remarked how lovely the breadfruit looked and my grandmother said she planned to cook it for dinner that evening. Shortly after that exchange, someone my grandmother knew passed by, noticed the breadfruit and asked my grandmother for it. My cousin was speechless when Dor Dor told him to “Take it, my boy!” That’s how she was. She’d give you the shirt off her back, if you needed it.

Dor Dor’s house was never empty. After her children moved away and began having families of their own, she welcomed grandchildren, close family members, strangers – anyone who felt they needed a bed or a place to stay. She never turned anyone away.

She rarely disciplined an errant child but when she did, it was swift. One slap and she had your attention. In her later years, when the great-grandchildren started coming, she’d keep sweets, small trinkets, and money in her pocket to press into a child’s hand whenever they visited.

Sometimes I laugh out loud when I remember how her face would crease and her eyes would twinkle when my mother caught her spicing her conversation with one or two colorful Jamaican words.

Dor Dor loved flowers and always said she’d be going to Heaven to plant roses. I smile now because I know Heaven is more beautiful because of her presence.

Remembering My Aunt Joyce

Posted on by Marcia Mayne

Since November began, I’ve been thinking a lot of my Aunt Joyce who passed away on this date 43 years ago. She was a beautiful woman, funny, straightforward and very popular. Everyone called her Ms. Joyce, sometimes Ms. Spence, rarely ever Mrs. Spence.

When she left us, she was only 39 – old enough to marry and have four children, too early to watch them grow up and see who would look most like her or take after her in temperament, and way too soon to see her any of her eight grandchildren.

As the only two girls, she and my mother were as close as any two siblings could be but as different as apples and oranges.  Where my mother was punitive, she was fun. Where she was strict, she was playful. Where my mother would settle for just some face cream, she needed the drama of color.

According to my mother, I got my “fastidiousness” from her. She used to tell me that whenever Aunt Joyce got paid, she would bring fabric to make dresses for me. As soon as I saw the fabric, I’d hold it up against my body and parade in front of the mirror, making sure, I guess that the color suited my skin tone and that I liked it. My mother swore I got that from Aunt Joyce because she was the one who loved clothes.

My mom was probably right. I perfected vanity at her feet. On the rare morning when Aunt Joyce was early for work, I’d sit and watch her add a splash of red to her lips, a dab of rouge to her cheeks, a swipe of pencil to fill in her brows. Like her, I never leave the house with my face bare.

She also taught me how to read a clock or at least know what numbers the hour and second hands were on. Whenever she’d yell, “What time is it?” my other cousin and I would race each other to look at the clock in the dining room and scream back, “The short hand is on 8 and the long hand is on 10!” Most times she’d yell back, “Tell me when the long hand is on 11!” and we’d try to sit still and watch the staccato movement of the long hand as it marched towards 7:55. Sometimes, before we could shout the time, we would hear her bursting through the bedroom door and both of us would trail behind her to watch as she jumped on her bicycle and head towards the gate usually throwing back some admonition to behave or a message for the woman who took care of us while she was at work.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her or something she’d say or do. Now that both my mother, grandmother and uncle are gone, I often wonder if they’re recalling the stories we remember.

 

Travel Photo Thursday: Elephants

Posted on by Marcia Mayne

There are more than 30,000 elephants in Hwange National Park, Zimbabwe so it’s not a matter of whether you’ll see a few elephants when you go game watching, but when.

We first saw this mother’s baby at the side of the road and stopped to take it’s photo when we heard the unmistakable sound of an elephant on our right. When I turned round, I noticed her ears were fully open — elephants use this technique to frighten other animals, and us. She was so close, I’m not sure how we didn’t see her first but glad I didn’t fumble the shot.

Lone Elephant, Hwange National Park, Zimbabwe
Lone Elephant, Hwange National Park, Zimbabwe

We were very lucky the day we watched as a herd approached a watering hole. The baby got there first and began drinking right away, totally oblivious to our presence.

Baby elephant at a watering hole, Hwange National Park
Baby elephant at a watering hole, Hwange National Park

Soon more came and they drank, played, squirted water on their backs, rolled around in the mud and had a good ole time.

Elephants taking a mud bath, Hwange National Park
Elephants taking a mud bath, Hwange National Park
Elephants playing at a watering hole, Hwange National Park
Elephants playing at a watering hole, Hwange National Park

We were very fortunate to catch this scene — several hundred cape buffalo near our camp. As we sat quietly watching the buffalo, we saw a herd of elephants approaching. From the corner of my eye, they looked like a dark shadow but the day was clear so I began looking more intently. Then I saw them. For animals that can weigh up to 7,000 lbs., they are astonishingly quiet and nimble on their feet. Soon, about three or four herds joined buffalos, zebras and impalas at the watering hole. It was a beautiful sight.

Elephants and Cape Buffalo, Hwange National Park, Zimbabwe
Elephants and Cape Buffalo, Hwange National Park, Zimbabwe
A lone bull elephant, Mbisa, Zimbabwe
A lone bull elephant, Mbisa, Zimbabwe

Towards the end of the day, we caught this elephant slowly making its way as if he’d had a hard day at work and was on his way home. I hoped that where ever ‘home’ was, it wasn’t too far away.

This is my submission to this week’s Budget Travelers Sandbox Travel Photo Thursday series. Be sure to check out other photo and story entries on their website!

At the Customs Department

Posted on by Marcia Mayne

For some people, it’s almost easier to give up a body part than have to deal with the bureaucracy of government. I’m one of them.

Before I left the U.S., I had shipped some personal items that I wanted to have when I arrived. The day after I was notified of their arrival, I went to the shipping company then to the customs department to pick them up.

At the shipping company, I picked up the shipping forms, paid them a handling fee and headed to the customs department. That took no more than 10-15 minutes. I was smiling until my cousin said the fun was about to begin.

We arrived at the customs office and joined a group of about 20 people who were sitting around casually. I tried to read their expressions to see who were the veterans and who were first-timers, like me but each wore the same look of resignation their eyes becoming alert only when their names were called.

Within thirty minutes, though, a customs officer was asking those who had just arrived to bring their shipping forms, passports and other identification to him. He noted our names and led us into another room where another person recorded our details in a log and gave us a customs identification badge. Since I was the addressee, I was allowed in. My cousin, who was with me, was not.

When it was his turn, each person in the group I was with walked up to a window, handed over his form to an officer and was told the amount to be paid. After paying, there was another office (downstairs) and another line to join. This time, however, there was no fee. (I still haven’t figured out why we couldn’t have completed both steps in that one office.)

Before I left the second office, I was told to wait in a designated area to be called. At this point, I went to get my cousin. (Looking back now, I can see why a second person wasn’t allowed in. There was just enough room for one person per consignment in both of the offices.)

About 15 minutes after we took our seats, I heard my name. I was shown into a cavernous warehouse, which was packed to the rafters with packages of all shapes and sizes.

Barrels being collected from the Jamaica Customs Department, Gleaner photo
Barrels being collected from the Customs Dept., Jamaica Gleaner photo

It buzzed with activity. Workers wheeling boxes and containers, talking at the top of their voices, people unpacking boxes and barrels for inspection and the beep, beep, beep of small front-end loaders as they drove a path through the crowd with barrels and packages and stuff. A set of floor to ceiling windows separated the warehouse from an open plan office where shippers, carrying sheaves of forms were being directed.

Once we unpacked everything I had in my barrel, a customs officer came to inspect them. This is where they determine the value of the goods I’m importing into the country and assess the tax to be levied. Since my items were used, I was charged a nominal amount. I paid a cashier who took my forms and gave me back a receipt and another form and directed me to a validating clerk.

The clerk, who was seated in a cubbyhole of an office a few steps from the warehouse area, stamped them, sent me to collect a gate pass and told me to return to him. When I did, he took the forms, stapled them and sent me back to the customs agent.

The agent pointed me to a security guard and said I should take the forms to him. The guard simply stamped the forms and sent me back to the customs agent who took them and said I could go. Hallelujah! All I needed now was someone to move the barrel from the warehouse to the loading dock and put it in the car.

I looked at my watch as we pulled out. It was a little past 3:00 p.m., three hours from start to finish. My cousin thought it was much quicker than the previous time she was there but to my mind, it could have been shorter. But honestly, I was just glad to get my things and be out of there.

Surrounded by Beauty

Posted on by Marcia Mayne

Each morning I wake up, a new flower has bloomed or a fruit tree has put out blossoms. The colors are bold, the combinations delightfully unexpected. Take a look and see what I mean.

Name unknown

At first, this did not appear to be a flowering plant. The leaves alone were beautiful enough. I was surprised when I noticed that a bud had appeared and even more surprised when I saw the color. I never would have expected lilac. Unfortunately, I have no idea what its name is but I’ll be asking around.

Holly
Holly

I wouldn’t have expected to see holly in Jamaica since I associate it with colder climates and the carol, The Holly and the Ivy / When they a both full grown / Of all the trees that are in the woods /The holly wears the crown.

Pink Hibiscus
Pink Hibicus

Red rather was more popular when I was younger than pink. But there’s more gradation of color on the pink than on the red.

Pink Lusitania

Most flowers are known by their local rather than their botanical names. Either way, I just love these red and pink Lusitania. That yellow in the middle was totally unexpected.

Red
Red Lusitania
Rice & Peas
Rice & Peas

We used to have a Rice & Peas plant when I was younger but the flowers were much smaller and pink and burgundy in color. And it really looked like the dish, Rice & Peas (red kidney beans), a Sunday staple. I wish I knew the botanical name.

I’d forgotten how proud Jamaican women are about their gardens and how zealously they tend them. I remember my grandmother, wherever she went, if there was a flower she didn’t have that she loved, she’d ask for a “cutting.” Usually, no one refuses – it’s the way things are. Whole conversations would start and continue over flowers, how to grow and care for them, what pests to watch out for, etc.

Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit my grandmother’s green thumb but I love flowers and love even more to be surrounded by so much beauty.