Hartley Neita

My father was one of the many elementary school principals who were rural correspondents for The Daily Gleaner. If my memory is correct, he was paid one penny for each word published. He posted or telegraphed stories about 'pretty little weddings', cricket matches, of the times when there was drought and when there was rain and, of course, funerals.

Every morning, a 'Gleaner car' serving the route from Kingston to Porus dropped off a copy of the newspaper at the police station for my father. There was also another daily newspaper, the Jamaica Standard, at the time. This newspaper was delivered by fleets of motorcycles. He woke my sister, brother and I at 5:30 a.m. every day to go to the police station to bring him these newspapers.

When I was 10 years of age, five Jamaica College boys were reported lost in the Blue Mountains. From the first report, my father woke us at 5:00 a.m. to go for the newspaper. We ran back with them for we too were anxious about the fate of these teenagers. It was a dramatic and traumatic time.

There was no radio station in Jamaica then. Nor was there television. So the only news disseminated was by the two newspapers. Only about three men in our village subscribed to these newspapers and during the day, men and women who did not came to the house to find out from 'Teacher' if the boys were found.

Carrier pigeons

Those times were far different from today. Telephones were in few homes. There were no cellphones. So carrier pigeons were used to communicate with the search parties. Lloyd Alberga of Palace Amusement was one. Journalists who joined the search included Evon Blake, Percy Miller and photographer Charles Kinkead. There were more than 200 persons searching for the boys - British soldiers, policemen (no women), scouts and concerned persons from as far as Montego Bay.

Boys attending Jamaica College were special persons. It was a part-boarding school, and was the school of first choice for those families who could pay for their sons to attend, or for those who like me (subsequently) won a scholarship. They were trained to be gentlemen. They were not known to the less privileged by their first names. Such familiarity would have bred contempt. Boarders had to wear a suit when they went to the Carib or Movies theatres' matinee shows on Saturdays. Sometimes, the cashier gave the 'JC gentlemen' free passes and was rewarded with a smile and a thank you. She blushed her joy.

Of course, there were the exceptions to their gentlemanly behaviour, like when they were unruly at Schools Champs or Manning Cup and Oliver Shield contests. At those times, it was 'youthful exuberance' and was tolerated. But otherwise, they gave the elderly and women their seats on the tramcars and in the buses. They queued at the bus stops. They escorted the blind and old across the streets.

They were specially blessed. And they were respected. So, it was only natural that there was a national concern for their fate.

Reason for choice

My scholarship gave me a choice of five schools, Munro, Cornwall and Kingston colleges, Calabar High and of course, Jamaica College. Looking back in time, I believe that the drama of the adventure of those five boys was the main factor for my choice.

So, it was inevitable that I went to the national school. A friend once told me it was because I wanted to be a gentleman. Feisty!

It was part of the tradition of Jamaica College boys to hike the hills. I never hiked to the Blue Mountain Peak. My children and a grandchild have; but I did walk many a Saturday with schoolmates such as Charles Meeks, to Cinchona, Flamstead, Guava Ridge, Chestervale, Hall's Delight, Hardwar Gap and Newcastle.

And it was on these journeys I discovered the delicate taste of the Rose Apple and the chilly-cool mountain spring water, free, for which I now have to pay.

Fervet Opus, In Campis …