Hartley Neita
EVERY PARENT in the village of my youth knew the parents and children in every other family. Every parent knew if anyone in the village was ill and visited or watched over the other family members.
They knew which children passed the Third, Second or First Pupil Teachers examinations.
When my sister and our friend Leo Lawson won the Clarendon Parish Scholarships in the same year, the entire village celebrated. My father, the headmaster of the school, was celebrated as the greatest teacher of all times.
The joy of all of us who won scholarships from his school to St. Simon's College, Knockalva and Carron Hall Practical Training Centres, Jamaica College, Beckford and Smith, Munro College, St. Andrew High School and Glenmuir High, such as Lauris Lawson, Rupert Webley, Imogene Smith, Lance Neita, Omar Davies and others, was shared by all.
ONE FAMILY
We were one family.
Every parent was a member of one or more of the village associations. There were the Jamaica Agricultural Society, 4-H Clubs, the Cricket and Social Club, Jamaica Welfare, Mothers' Union and Parent/Teachers Association.
Every night of the week, parents met each other at meetings of these groups. And they not only discussed the agenda of the concerns of their association or club, but also the wider issues relating to village life.
Parents remained members of the Parent/Teachers Association long after their own children left school.
Everyone was a member of the cricket club, whether they could bat or bowl. Teenagers still went to Sunday school. Retired farmers still attended meetings of the Jamaica Agricultural Society's branch.
The unity of families embraced the children. When we were out of sight of our individual parents, we discovered we were within the sight of other parents. Our behaviour, therefore, had to be impeccable.
DOG ATTACK
One of my early memories was of being attacked by a pack of about six dogs. I must have been about seven years of age.
The dogs were probably puppies but they seemed as huge as lions. My village had relatively few homes in an area of about one square mile.
Most of it was therefore woodland. The trees grew thick together. There were logwood, cotton, guango, guinep, wild cherry, plum, clumps of bamboo, cashew, mango, and trees whose names I never knew.
I had gone exploring the woods and was lost when I came upon the dogs. They circled me, yapping and barking.
I screamed and shouted for a long while until a woman appeared with a stick.
Wielding the stick from left to right she scattered the dogs, then lifted me and carried me a couple hundred yards to my home.
My arms circled her neck and for a while I trembled with fear. Gradually, I felt a comfort in her arms and was soothed by the warmth of her voice.
Of course, she knew my mother. My mother also knew her.
As she came to my house, she shouted my mother's name. "Ms. Abbie, a' have you son."
She put me down and I raced to my mother, crying once again.
While my mother rubbed my head, the woman explained what had happened.
"Go inside and lie down," my mother said.
MOTHER'S CHILDREN
For sometime I heard the voices of the women. Sometimes they laughed.
Later I herd my mother say, "Don't leave yet, Ms. Mary. I have something for you."
She came into the house. I got out of bed and watched as she placed a jar of orange marmalade which she had made in a Jamaica Welfare class, in a paper bag.
"This is for your children, Ms. Mary," she said.
Ms. Mary's children were my mother's children, just as I was
Ms. Mary's child.
