Jamaica Home again Part 2.

    As soon as we docked, cleared customs and immigration, I telephoned home to let them know I was on my way up. Wait for the car, grandmother said, Arthur will pick you up.

But I couldn’t wati. I’ll take a cab I said. Home was the plantation manager's bungalow

up on first avenue in the Blue Mountains.home of blue mountain coffee.

We arrived and I paid the cab, waiting for me, grandmother's first words were "how much

was the fare driver?", the poor guy thought I was a tourist, and charged that rate, the same

the world over, taxi drivers. He hurriedly adjusted it after the tongue lashing from her.

That afternoon I endured the hugs and kisses only a grand mother does. The evening was

a clan gathering presided over by Judge Tucker, chief circuit court judge, my grandfather.

The Tuckers, Miles, Manley and Harris families were all there, Mum’s brother Arthur,

sisters Joan, Wynn, Dolly, and relations I forgot.

Day two started with my uncle Arthur taking me into Kingston to make his rounds of the

bars he owned or part owned. I met his friends and thought they were a funny lot. I later came to realise he wasn’t all I had been led to believe from my mother. Grandmother said

they were criminal elements, confirmed by the Judge’s remarks. But he was family he said

so a blind eye was turned. I remember I had a great time though, the girls all wanted to take

me out around the bars to meet the rest of the girls, what a time I had, especially when we met crew members. I made a fortune making dates for them in the next twelve months on

next visits. My next days during my stay consisted of fishing for marlin with Lester Tucker

and my cousin Junior, his son, up in Montego Bay, visiting family in the rest of the coffee

plantations around the Blue Mountain estates. Some of these farms were deep inside the

interior and lots of relatives, Junior, Gill, and my other cousins went to visit the fallsand

climb them. We were a rather strange lot, all with a mixture/hues of colour, typical of families living in the West Indies. (This made clear to me in later years, when applying

to emigrate to South Africa, and being classed as Cape Coloured. My father came from Bristol, a white R.S.M Royal Engineer, bloody Boers.) Unfortunately my short stay was

up and I had to bid everyne fond farewells and rejoin the ship for the trip home.

Fyffe’s were very good to me personally, and although I made other trips to West Africa

and the Canary Islands, whenever I returned to the Jamaican runs, I was allowed to take my leave there, and work the ship ashore in the U.K.

  Epilogue.

After independence in 1962, Jamaica slowly went the way of other Commonwealth countries. Unrest between political parties led to the start of the gangs initiallyset up to enforce and protect the parties areas. This led to the introduction of drugs and the Yardies (members of a Jamaican criminal group). The end result is now the tourist areas in the north are strictly policed, Kingston, and the south counties are run by the gangs. Wilmot, my eldest brother, has twice been stopped and robbed enroute into Kingston and his home broken into. Joan, my aunt, also a victim, but in true grit they stay refusing to give in. Younger members have moved to Florida, Australia, Tasmania, and the UK. The elder generation members are still living in Jamaica.

John Ford, Ex Vindi Boy 1958.

Thanks John great story.

Alan.