Moving to Antigua

On returning to St. Kitts with a degree in law, Daddy was immediately appointed to the post of Magistrate on the nearby island of Antigua and the whole family traveled there with him. We were, in addition to Daddy and Mammy, myself, Basil and Patrick, at that time a toddler. Sadly, baby Victor had passed away at “Alandale” with a high fever, despite all efforts to save him.

For almost a year we occupied a second floor apartment on High Street in the capital, St. John’s. A new live-in nanny, Helen Dore whom we called “Dore”, came with us from St. Kitts, as Maude had family commitments so couldn’t travel with us.

School Days in Antigua

My brother Basil and I were enrolled at the Antigua Convent High School in the primary (elementary) classes. It was there that my singing ability was discovered by a nun who taught music classes. This dates me, but I remember learning to sing the national anthem “God Save the King”, as we had to sing it every morning at assembly. There was a large photograph of King George V on one wall of the assembly hall and, on the other, a photograph of the Pope.

It was at the Convent School that I learned about posture and the correct way to sit. In class, the teaching nun would come along the aisles, ruler in hand. She would hit any girl on the legs if that girl was sitting with her knees apart. Knees must be together! The nuns also made the students practice walking with books on their heads. Don’t dare let them fall! As at the convent in St. Kitts, recess was taken up by skipping and tag. As children, we certainly got our fresh air and exercise.

The Lady Behind the Bed

Most children love an ice-cold glass of lemonade or limeade, especially on a hot day. The day on which I found the hidden bottle of ‘lemonade’ was definitely a hot day. I was dawdling here and there around the apartment, bored, opening drawers and cupboards and examining their contents. To my surprise, when I opened the cupboard under the kitchen sink, I found a bottle full of ‘lemonade’. Or so I thought.

Not stopping to think why a bottle of lemonade would be under the kitchen sink, I opened the cap, put the bottle to my lips and drank heartily. Then I realized that something was terribly wrong. Suddenly it didn’t taste like lemonade at all. In fact it was kerosene! My stomach heaved and I remember vomiting over and over, then nothing more until I woke up in bed, weak and drained, but alive.

Then a feeling came over me that I was not alone in the room. I looked up and saw a lady standing behind the bedstead, her hands holding onto the metal rail above my pillow. She was dressed in long flowing robes of pale blue, and there was a white veil on her head. She looked down at me and smiled, but said nothing. I smiled back at her, and from that moment I felt peaceful and happy and sure that I would get well.

Later, when Mammy came in to check on me, I told her about the lady behind the bed and asked her who it was. Mammy laughed and said there was no one there and that I must have been dreaming. Besides, the bedstead was pushed up against the partition so it was impossible for anyone to stand there. As Mammy left the room, she turned her head towards me and, in a quiet voice, said, “It must have been your guardian angel!” Actually, from the description and colour of her robes and veil, I believe it was Blessed Mary, the mother of Jesus and protector of children who had stood guard over my bed!

Mocko-Jumbies

As is done in the other Leeward Islands, Antigua used to celebrate its annual festival or carnival at Christmastime when, in addition to celebrating Christ’s birth, the island folk ‘played mass’. During a two-week period, there were parades and troupes of costumed revelers dancing up and down the streets, led mostly by steel-bands or iron bands. The latter comprised a group of young men who banged a variety of metal tools on old tire rims and hub caps from discarded automobiles.

According to folklore, the original mocko-jumbies were actually reminiscent of African spirits that were summoned as guardians of a village. In modern times they were people dressed in colourful costumes, dancing along atop six- to seven-foot tall stilts. I clearly remember hiding under the bed at the apartment when the mocko-jumbies danced their way down the street. Their height was such that, as they passed down High Street, they could actually look through our second-story windows!

Even though Antigua has modernized its carnival and changed the celebration to early August, mocko-jumbies are still very much a part of their carnival and also still practiced in St Kitts. Currently, children also participate as mocko-jumbies and their ability to dance hip-hop steps on those high narrow stilts is amazing.

John Bulls

Then there was the most feared carnival character of all – the John Bull. In the past it was a term used to describe an Englishman, the connotation being that of a plantation owner who beat his slaves.

In Antigua, the John Bull was a carnival character wearing rough burlap stuffed with straw. Adorning his head was a pair of wicked looking bull’s horns with sharpened tips, and at his lower back hung a tail. In his hands he carried a short length of cattle chain that he rattled to frighten onlookers.

Traveling with the John Bull was his own iron band making a cacophony of noise. In the Bull’s group there was a woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform with a fake stethoscope hanging around her neck, and a man dressed as a doctor complete with a black medical bag. There was ‘the manager’, who was another man dressed in khaki clothes like an overseer, and he carried a long leather whip with which he would beat the Bull.

Once the John Bull had an audience, the melodrama would begin. He would fling himself on the ground as though in a fit. The ‘manager’ would run up and start whipping the Bull. The ‘nurse’ would run up and apply the large, fake stethoscope to the Bull’s chest, and then the ‘doctor’ would take from his bag an enormous, fake injection needle and proceed to give the Bull an injection in his behind.

With a mighty roar, the John Bull would leap up from the ground and chase after the crowd. Adults and children alike would scatter in all directions because many a person had been hurt by the sharp horns, especially when the Bull was drunk, which he often was.

Each of the Leeward Islands had its own version of John Bull. On St. Kitts and Nevis, the John Bull is dressed from head to foot in red. Even his horns and tail are painted red. On Montserrat, however, the Bull was all in black, wore horns and carried lengths of cattle chain that he banged on the street in a fearful manner. Each had his own iron band.

Sadly, although kept alive in the St. Kitts and Nevis year-end festivals, the John Bull has all but vanished on Antigua and Montserrat. For years the Bull on Montserrat was played by a gay young man whom I knew well. When, in the 1980s, kids started to shout homophobic slurs at him calling him a ‘bull-man’, he refused to play the Bull anymore. An important part of our culture died that year. In recent years however the newly established Culture Department, under its dynamic director has been making every effort to bring back the Bull to the island’s year-end Festival.

The Bungalow on Factory Road

After about a year at the High Street apartment, our family moved to a 3-bedroom ranch-style bungalow on the Factory Road, on the outskirts of St. John’s. It had a sprawling fenced yard, in which there were mango trees, a ginnup tree, a date palm and a small arbour with a grape vine, all of which bore fruit. On the lawn off to the side was a large wooden see-saw on which my brother Basil and I used to play, under the watchful eye of Dore, the nanny.

The servant’s quarters with a separate ‘outhouse’ were at the rear of the house, and across the road there was a pasture on which cows, sheep and goats grazed. There was another larger pasture behind the house, at the end of which was a primary (elementary) school. In all, it was a very pastoral scene. We loved living there. It seemed so huge. Years later I returned to Antigua and went to see the property. I was surprised and disappointed to see how small it actually was.

Daddy, being a magistrate, often received legal documents from the court. These were brought to the house by a policeman on horseback, as there were no police vehicles in those days. I was six years old and madly ‘in love’ with the tall, dark and handsome policeman, especially as he would hoist me up onto the saddle and walk the horse around the yard. I never knew or asked his name, but would definitely consider this magnificent horseman to be my first love!

Running the Bulls!

Mammy often warned Basil and me not to go outside the gate. We knew better of course. What could possibly happen to us? One day Dore had left us on our own as the yard was fenced all around. Even though we’d been told many times not to go outside the gate, Basil and I decided to climb over the gate and have a farting competition. I don’t remember whose idea it was to do that. Anyway, Basil had the first go. Not impressive, was my opinion. Then it was my turn. I could win this with ease. Just as I took a deep breath and was bracing myself for the winning blow-off, we heard a rumbling that got louder and louder. It was a herd of cattle stampeding up from the pasture below the house. They would surely pass by our gate.

Basil was way ahead of me. He leaped over the top of the gate and into the yard while I was still half-way up the gate. I had just reached the top of the gate when a large black bull crashed into the gate, horns inches away from my flailing legs. We never told Mammy about the incident or we would have gotten into trouble for sure.

From that day until now, I’ve been plagued by recurring nightmares about a huge black bull chasing me. When this happens I wake up in a sweat, scarcely able to breathe. In some of the nightmares, the bull follows me up three flights of stairs to the topmost room of a house. I climb up on top of a closet, but realize the bull could reach me there.

Suddenly I see a tall tree outside a nearby window, and know I would be safe if I could leap across to the tree and climb down. I do so, just as the bull reaches the room, crashing through the door. It rushes to the window, sticking its head out with a mighty bellow.

With much relief, I climb down the tree. About twelve feet from the ground I pause to look down and see the same black bull waiting beneath the tree. That’s when I wake up, shaking!

In another dream I am chased by the bull and climb up a tree. The bull gets nearer and nearer, then I realize with horror that it could reach me. Quickly I start to flap my arms and suddenly find myself rising into the air, above and away from the tree and bull. Soaring is wonderful, but it doesn’t last long. As soon as I am out of danger, there is a sensation of falling and, even in my sleep, I feel a jolt as my body hits the ground. Phew! How I hate those dreams!