There was about six house in the yard and only one pipe outside by a mango tree, where everybody have to go and brush their teeth and bathe. And one kitchen too, where everybody go and cook, although sometime you use to just catch up a wood fire and cook your food on that.
I’m the last of all the eight, and I watch as all of my brothers and sisters turn twelve and my parents take them out of school and send them to a person in the area to learn a trade. But I didn’t want a trade. I wanted a profession. From I was small I want to be something important in life. I don’t know where the ambition come from, but that is what I have inside me from I born.
But anyway, it didn’t look like life was going to work out like I want. Although teacher said I had the brain in primary school, my parents didn’t have money to pay for the exam to pass and go to high school. And even if I did pass the exam, who was going pay for the uniform and the books?
Plus, you know something? My parents never think it was important. None o’ them never go to high school yet. And none o’ them never know nobody that went to high school either. But for me to go and learn a trade like making hats or sewing clothes was a normal thing.
To cut a long story short, I got to go to high school, but not the whole entire time. My bigger brother, Ezroy, was twelve years older than me, and he use to be a mechanic for the railway until a diesel engine drop on him and crush him up in 1953. Well, he use to like to gamble a lot. But he use to lose all his money because he was dunce.
So when it was coming up to exam time, I went down to the train yard by West Street and tell him that I can help him to win. He ask me how, and I explain to him that Crown & Anchor and most of those games with dice use things from maths, and I knew my maths very well.
He didn’t believe me at first, so I took him down to the market where some men had their boards set up. It was a Friday evening and everybody get them pay and the crowd was big. All the women had their baskets with their yam and banana and their fruits out on the sidewalk. And when you walk you have to make sure you watch where you put your foot—for if you step in somebody basket or knock over them things, is war.
So I tell Ezroy I need to watch how the dice playing for the first twenty throws, and when I finish now, I take him one side and tell him how to bet. But only in him head. I tell him not to put down any money. Afterward I take him one side and ask him how much money him bet in him mind and him tell me. Then I ask him how much money him make in him mind and him tell me too. Then I ask him if him ever win money like that before and him say no. Then I say to him is time to bet with the real live thing, but first, we have to make a deal. The first set o’ winnings have to go to me because I need to pay for some exams.
So that is how I get to go to high school—Ezroy. He paid all my fees until he died. That school doesn’t exist anymore. Salem College was the name. When Ezroy died I had to leave the school at fourteen, with no trade now, and go and look for work.
By the second week I get a job at National Tanning Industries, which make handbags and shoes.
But believe you me, I only spent five years on the factory floor before I got an office job. All the while I was stitching bags and shoes I use to put away a little money to take some correspondence course. In those days, high school exams in Jamaica use to come from England, from University of Cambridge. But if you didn’t go to high school you could still study and pass, because they had schools up there that would stay from there and teach you, so long as you have the money and the time. So one day I see a advertisement for one o’ them in the paper and I write to them, and going back and forth, and back and forth, is how I pass six subjects in Senior Cambridge by myself. To tell you the truth, I didn’t pass English; but I get distinction for maths.
When I get my results, I go to work extra early the next morning and wait for Mr. Parnell—rest in peace—who use to own the place. Mr. Parnell was a Englishman. And you know how they strict a’ready. So I make sure put myself together spic-and-span, and when I see him step out o’ him blue Cortina I go up to him and show him the paper with the passes I got.
He said, “Miss Thompson. Congratulations. I’m so proud of you. I hope you keep it up.”
One thing I use to love about Mr. Parnell is that he knew every worker by face and name. And let me tell you, today I know every single person who work at Herald Square.
Anyway, I said, “I don’t have anymore to keep up, sir. I pass my subjects now. What I want is to apply for a office job. But I know the people who work up there won’t give me a chance because I work in the plant and I’m not fair skin. Not that I try, but they wouldn’t even let me see a application if I ask them. I know how they stay. But I know you as a fair man, Mr. Parnell, so I come to talk to you.”
Mr. Parnell face turn red and then him start to laugh. But him wasn’t laughing at me. I just catch him by surprise.
He said to me, “Miss Thompson, we looking for somebody in bookkeeping. But we need experience, so we don’t have anything for you up there right now. But keep up the good work, okay.”
I said, “Mr. Parnell, as long as it have to do with maths, I can do it. Just let me watch somebody do it for a week. When that week done, I want you to give me a test. I don’t want anybody else to gi’ me the test—I want you—because they will sabotage me, because they don’t want all like me to work up there because my skin too dark.”
Mr. Parnell kind o’ hold down him head and mumble. What I pick out of the mumbling was, “What you saying is true. It’s not right. But I understand.”
“But if I fail the test,” I say to him, “then I don’t want to work here anymore. Because I can’t pass subjects like this and be sewing handbag and know that certain people working in the office and they only pass worm.”
So that is how I end up doing accounts, until now.
By that time I was already married and Karen was already born. My husband was a solider man—Dalton was his name—and, basically, we get married because I got myself in trouble. Stupid, man. Stupid. Lose my focus. Get my priorities out o’ line.
Marriage? I wasn’t ready for that, but that became my lot in life because I made a bad mistake. And even though it was a big mistake, I wasn’t going to add to it by disgracing myself and my family by bringing no bastard child. It was a stupid reason. I agree. But I was only eighteen, and that is how it went in those days. Plus, I had the example of my mother, who was a Mrs. She wasn’t any common-law wife or concubine.
Suffice it to say, the marriage didn’t work. My husband was an alcoholic, but I have to say he didn’t use to womanize. And by the time I left him in 1968, I had three children to care for. Karen and Andrew were three years apart. Roger came four years behind.
When I left my husband, I didn’t take anything. I just leave everything, because I couldn’t stand the arguing anymore. Next thing, I say I want to take something, and him say it should stay, and it boil into a fuss and get loud like a market, and then is just a big disgrace. Plus, whoever leave a marriage should prepare to leave everything behind.
Hopefully it won’t come to that. Hopefully you can work it out. But if it not working out, make up your mind before that you won’t make things like furniture and all o’ that hold you back. When you got to go, you got to go.
When I was walking out o’ that house, which was at 1c Deanery Road, I made three promises to God: one, I wasn’t coming back; two, I was going to buy my own house very soon with only my name on it; and three, all o’ my three children was going reach further than me in life. So it meant I had to take a second job.
By the time I had to beat my child the right and proper way, it was 1972, and I was heading up accounts at the plant, which was down on Foreshore Road—they rename it Marcus Garvey Drive later on—a hectic area near the wharf. In fact, the plant was in the same compound as the wharf, for most of those shoes we use to make was to export. A lot of other factories were around or nearby, down on Spanish Town Road. Beer. Rum. Tiles. Paper. Ice cream. Mattress. Cornmeal. Ice.
If you doubt me, you have to remember that my office was third floor—upstairs—and most of the buildings around was lower than us, mostly one-story and two-story, so we in the office could see everything. Sometimes we use to watch the white sea birds them just glide in and perch on the big red cranes they use to use to take the cargo from the ship. And you know what we do sometimes? Gamble. In fact, we use to gamble nearly every day. Not for any big money or anything, but like for who going buy who lunch. Well, you know that as the boss I was the bookie. I use to give them the odds—how many birds was going to perch on a crane in a hour? If a crane was full o’ birds, which bird was going be the next one to leave? Yes, man. I was the house. And you know why? The house always win. And I don’t like lose. I was born to lose in life, but I find a way to win. So I not going go back to lose again.
We had moved up to Havendale by that time, far from where we use to live at Deanery Road. We lived in Range between Havendale and Deanery Road. Havendale and those places was like night and day. Only new-style house was up in Havendale, and the area was not like how I hear it turn now, a place where any and anybody can live. In those days, is only bank manager and people like that use to live up there. Lawyer, doctor, politician, businesspeople. Is only people like that could afford to buy the lot. If you have a teacher or a nurse up there, it was because their husband was something else. No sir. They couldn’t afford to live up there without help.
How it went is that you had to buy the lot and get a contractor to build your house how you want it. But you had three or four that use to do most people house. You don’t have those type o’ house in New York, so I can’t even give you a example for you to see what I talking ’bout. You have to go to the older parts o’ Florida to see what I talking ’bout. Solid, concrete house with steel bar inside. And even Florida not building house like that again. As soon as storm lick Florida—boof—all the new house blow down. Frame house. All they do is clap some piece o’ cheap board together and disguise a pretty look around it. And people buy them, for they look nice. In Jamaica, frame house is what we make to keep chicken round the back. Fowl coop.
So anyway, we reach Havendale now, and everything is behind us. Progress time! Every time I think about that house is like water want to come to my eye. It was the first house I own. When you talk ’bout land space. My lot was a half-acre, and you still had some bigger than mine. And everybody use to keep up their lawn, and line it round with flower beds, and plant they croton or bougainvillea hedge beside their fence. To tell you how the land was big, when we moved there, Roger, my last boy was eleven years old, and he couldn’t throw a tennis ball to reach his brother on the back porch from down by the back fence.
But to be honest, it was hard to keep up. We were the only house I knew that didn’t have mother and father there, and I didn’t want anybody to think of my children as less. Because, let’s be frank, I was a divorcée—worse, without the schooling or the color like them. So although the two-job thing was tiring, I use to keep it up.
I use to drop the children to school every morning and pick them up every evening in the blue Cortina that I buy from Mr. Parnell for a very good price. I’ll never forget the license plate, R 7255. Boy … that Mr. Parnell. When I was thinking how to buy the house, I went to him and he lend me five thousand dollars to put on what I had saved up myself, and we shake on it to say I’d pay him back little-little over time. No paperwork. You know why? I was a dedicated worker, and although I had the chance I never t’ief.
So anyway, when I picking up the children is really on my lunchtime, because schools use to over between 1 and 1:30. What I use to do is: pick them up, bring them home, and leave them with Miss Noddy, the helper, who use to live in, then go back to the plant. When I leave the plant at 5 o’clock, I use to batter with the traffic all the way from the waterfront to New Kingston, which was brand new those days, to my second job in the office at the Pegasus Hotel.
That hotel is still there. Still nice. Tall and broad like a big domino. Blue on the front and white on the sides. But it look a little different now, because the golf course across the street, they turn into a park. I don’t know why that make it look different, but is true. You still have all the flags in front of it, so it still look official. But without the golf, a little bit o’ something gone.
I use to work at the Pegasus till midnight every night, then drive home alone to 64 Border Avenue. When I reach, I barely had the strength to eat a little dinner. I use to heat it up myself. I never use to bother wake Miss Noddy. I wasn’t like some people who use to bother their helper whatever hour they come in. Some people never have no conscience, you know.
After I eat and done now, I use to bathe off the day and go to sleep for a few hours to start all over again.
But in truth, the first thing I use to do when I go home wasn’t eat. Every night I come home I use to make a beeline to the children’s room to leave a Cadbury chocolate for them in their bed. Each one like a different kind. Roger like Dairy Milk. Andrew like Whole Nut. And Karen like Fruit & Nut. And if I ever mix them up, you see, they use to tease me and laugh and play all kind o’ jokes like bring me a slice o’ cheese if I ask for a slice o’ bread. Then when they see the look on my face, they use to just bus’ out in a laugh. In truth, we use to have a lot o’ fun. Those were very good times.
On Saturdays now, I use to drop Karen down at the Singer store in Tropical Plaza for her sewing lessons, then take the boys to YMCA, because they use to like to swim.
Then while the children at their lessons, I use to go up to the Pegasus to do any work left over from the week. If I had the time or the feeling, I would go up to the doctor’s compound at the university, where I had a doctor friend. This would only happen sometimes. I didn’t want nobody spreading rumors. And rumors was easy to start, because in Jamaica those days you didn’t have a lot of cars, so everybody know is whose car park up at your gate. And they use to watch and see for how long. Plus, that kind o’ friendship wasn’t very important to me. That kind of friendship will distract you. And next thing you know, you start to put man before your children.
Listen to me, when you decide to go it alone, you have to go it alone. When the children get big now and gone, you can think ’bout yourself. But when they small, you have to be responsible. Next thing you bring in a man on them and you think the man is the greatest thing on earth, and when you hear for the shout, as soon as you turn your back, the man taking all kind o’ step with your girl child. Or next thing your son can’t get on with him and that make the boy can’t concentrate on schoolwork—and to get an escape, now, the boy go turn Rasta and start to smoke ganja and get worthless. I see it happen. Is not guess I guessing. I telling you from experience. I giving you facts.
Anyway, when I pick them up after they lessons now, I use to take them for lunch at the hotel. After all, children should be exposed. And when they finish with they lunch, they use to do their homework in the office with me, then all of us would go home. If not, we’d most times stop off for a movie at Premiere.
When you have to be moving like that everyday, everything has to be on time. So I trained the children a certain way. I made them understand certain things. And one of them is that when I’m ready to pick them up, they must be ready for me.
Every school in Jamaica has a big tree where children wait for their parents in the afternoon, and all three o’ my children went to different schools. So if one of them late, it make the next one late, and so on down the line. When they’re late then I’m late. And although Mr. Parnell liked me, he wa
s an Englishman, and English people worship time.
Liver damage kill the children’s father two years after I left the house at Deanery Road; so all I’m thinking every day is that there’s no one to look after the children if I lose my little work. They had uncles and aunties, yes, but they couldn’t do more than take care o’ their children or themselves.
So anyway, this is how the story really start: One evening when Karen was about sixteen, I went to pick her up at school and she wasn’t underneath her tree. I nearly went mad.
When I really look under the tree, I saw a girl that look like she could be in her class. And I say could because I was too busy working to go to any PTA. So in reality, I use to hear the children calling various names at home, but I didn’t know who was who. Plus, when I use to pick up the kids in the evenings, I only use to have a little time. So it was open and shut. Open car door. Jump in fast. Shut car door. And drive.
So I clap and point to call the girl—none of the boys didn’t know her name—and she told me that Karen was gone with Claudia deMercardo to Woolworth’s in Mall Plaza to window shop, and walk up and down, and flirt with boys.
When I heard that, I thought I was going to go out o’ my mind. Now, the girl didn’t say exactly what they’d gone to Mall Plaza to do. But that is what I pick from it.
You see, although my mother wasn’t a educated woman, she had a lot o’ common sense. And from I was a little girl, I use to hear her say that you have certain signs that wi’ tell you if a girl going grow up and behave like a prostitute. And is not just because she’s my mother why I agree with her. I take my own two eyes and see it, so I take it as truth.
Take what I say and mark it. Write it down if you want. You ready? Here we go: Any girl that like to walk up and down from store to store after school instead of going home to study, because her eyes are in love with pretty things; and any girl who like to pluck her eyebrows so she can look like a big woman when she is still a child; and any girl who like to sing in the shower like she want the whole world to get excited that she naked in there—you take it from me, Ciselyn Thompson, that girl is going to be a prostitute. She have a whoring nature. She have certain intentions in the back o’ her mind.
Iron Balloons Page 9