Made in Jamaica
I was born when Mum was in her teens away from her family and sheltered life. An arduous ordeal both for me and my mother followed the birth. Within a few months of life, I developed a severe condition which led to violent coughing and uncontrolled vomiting spasms that convulsed my little frame. That sickness swept through the small village, leaving local mothers helpless to save their babies and infants that died within days of contracting the deadly disease.
My mother woke up terrified, late one night, feeling that while she slept her baby boy had died. It was not until the next day that the distraught young mother found out that it was not her son that died, but it was her sister that had lost her baby.
In the same village was a young lad who witnessed the vomiting epidemic and became distressed that there was nothing he could do. One night, he recalled a dream that he told his mother. The voice in the dream told him to juice several green oranges, mix it with nutmeg and give it to the babies to drink. His mother urged him to tell the mothers of his dream. He did. His concoction helped. I was fortunate enough to hear the tale from the lips of the young lad himself, who was by then, advanced in years, but still blessed with a clear memory and a witty tongue.
To her astonishment, Mum was given her infant son, now much better, to nurse. Her delight in being given back the child whom she thought was dead, was short-lived. Another mother was grieving the loss of her child where my mother and aunt lived. Mum’s prayer was two-fold. Her God had brought me back to her, and now she presented me to His service. She earnestly prayed for her sister, Myrtle, the poor mother who was now grieving her lost infant.
Mum returned home to her mother for protection, where she later met the man who became her husband. Mr Albert Clarke was the son of a prominent local family whose Portland residence was on one of Portland’s many hilly areas. It could be seen from close to the main road leading into the small town of Kensington.
Both he and Mum agreed that they should start a new life in the country that they regarded as the motherland, England. She was told and believed it was “a land, ‘flowing with milk and honey.”‘ By now, she was the mother of her second child, Roderick, who she left with me in Jamaica, until the day came for us to depart our island paradise