I called it my throne; the seat that allows my short statue to look over the pastures and see the top of the mangoes' trees that are ripe and ready. Along the way, sits the poinsettia tree, looking down in its glorious colours of purple - fuchsias-red-green-turquoise, and that blazing red that words cannot describe.

And there walks my grandfather, silent and calm. Soon, he will look up to see that I am sitting there, waiting for him. My dog "Black Boy" is with me. He's my dog. Grandfather gave him to me. He's is my friend. He's my companion. He goes with me, always leading the way. He would always take me to where ever my grandfather is, deep in the woods, deep in the mountains of 'Ingun Head'. He was my symbolic spiritual guiding light, my protection. I could count on him; he never failed me.

There, this long deserted road stretch, with nothing but silence. Below the hillside lies an Indian Burial ground. There lies caves after caves. Silence. Nothing. The old orange tree beside the gennip tree tells a story. Opposite the road, Derris house sits. There' the Blue mango tree and long-mango tree.

I have very nice memories about my childhood. I lived with my grandparents until I turned eight. Life was simpler back then. My life was simpler back then too; carefree and happy. My grandfather was looked upon as the Town's Grandfather. He was considered rich in the eyes of many of the people in the community. Food was abundant. West Cliffe Estate had enough life -stock to feed half the country back then.

There were quite a number of trees on my grandparents' property. Numerous mango trees along with my two special guava tree. Just before my class at Redawny, I would climb the guava tree, at the back of the house, near the kitchen. The tree was just high enough for me to reach up, sit in the crook, and eat all my guavas. Lunch time, I would sometimes made my way to check out the new matures ones, just to make sure that the other school pickney didn't get to them first.

Tippins is the limp walk, so common to the Black's heritage. The old adage of saying one is a 'true Black' or one is a 'true Bremmer' bears its trademark, the same way one would identify a corporation, simply by its product line or its company logo. Thus the logo of a family.

My grandfather was born in Cuba. His family came to Jamaica as they had other relative that were living in Jamaica. The 'Black' family, the Cummings Family, the Clayton, the Daley, Pallas Family, all arrived in Jamaica, about the same time. Perhaps, family mainly of Maroon-Lebanese decent*, they had arrived.

Petition were been taken about the same time for men to go and work on the Panama Canal. In exchange for their service, they would be given 'land' in various part of the island. Later as Mr. Pallas would relate to me, that some of the land given to them were not 'farming land' as promised. Rocky land along the sea shore, hilly stony land, in-land that were parched and without a water source, such as a stream or a river, had proved fruitless during those times. Many were very disappointed. The fact that many deeds hold some family name, some of those land had longed since been abandon to other relatives.

Tall handsome and sleek was Johnnie Black. With children from two wives, he had managed to share his time between his family. His Wife Fannie had arrived from Cuba pregnant and ill. A very small-framed woman from the Gordon Family, she spent most of her time in bed. My grandfather Norman, later became responsible for his younger brother, after his birth. With the help of his Aunt Mum and cousin Berzella Gordon-Jackson, Solomon would come to know and love his brother like a father, as well as a brother. In the end, a loving brother would deed all his share of land inherited at Spring Garden (Ketto area) of Westmoreland, to his only brother. To his sister Dull, of Orange Bay, Hanover, Norman did the same. Ben, his half brother never forgets his brother Norman either.

His half-brother Ben of Montego Bay would see that Norman get his share of fruits from the Family property in Iron-Shore. So much so that each harvest of nessberry, Ben would make his way to the Hall Transport Bus Park with boxes of ripe nessberry, placing them in the hands of the conductor/conductress, Shirley, who would always see that the products get to their final destination, in Westmoreland, some one hundred miles away, at the gate of Markie. My fond memories of watching Hall's Transport made its stop by the cedar tree, and boxes after boxes get unload, and with the all too familiar message, : "You Brother Ben say to give this to you," are all memories that I will forever cherished.

[ As I write, we are still working through genealogy, and records given by the British Government, that would allowed for a more accurate findings. Therefore, I will say, "Don't blame me for any in-accuracy here." Most of the elders of Orange Hill had passed away and none think of writing down some of the history.]

The sun was hot, however we had asked grandmother to meet us with lunch. Somehow, we had longed for cook dumpling with ackee and salf-fish for lunch. Grandmother had agreed to meet us, as we would walk to meet her. Anywhere after Miss Helen corner was ok. Lemonade-aide juice is fine. I am not talking about the elegant lemonade-aide that sells in supermarkets, not that fancy stuff. I am talking about good old fashion sugar-water with line grown from the back yard or the ones people begged from their neighbour, plus the water with a piece of ice dropped in it; the same thing we call; 'beggage-water.'

Just as we turned the next corner, there was grandmother about to crest the hill by West Cliffe's gate, and up where the two kidney mango-trees stood. Under the tree she spread a towel and dish-out our lunch. Such a pleasant day, as the hills that stretch to create Ingun Heads kisses the pimento trees that line the slope.

The nice thing about our grandmother Miss Emma, is that she was always eager to please her grand-children. Both her and grandfather took pride in letting everyone know that they live for the grand-children. Well, Granny aimed to please. This wasn't to say that Miss Rhoda who cooks at the canteen wasn't a good cook either. However, The canteen does not cook ackee and saltfish. I like Miss Rhoda. It would take a good many years for me to know why Miss Rhoda took such good care of us as well. Honey Doreen and myself. Me been more fussy about food that my sister and brother. I didn't like cornmeal dumpling, so Miss Rhoda always cook just flour-dumpling for me. Often, she would have a piece of pumpkin or nigga yam on my plate. The other children get only the cornmeal dumplings Cornmeal was healthy strong stuff for growing children. The only cornmeal I liked was that which was in the roast corn that Grandpa roast for me.

I had asked Grampa if the gennips tree over by the hillside were starting to get full, and could start eating. He told me no. So, I passed on the message to the other school pickney them. A week later more of the school pickney began asking me again. Children can be persistent when they want something. Such is a young mind. Grampa reassures me that as soon as the gennips are full, he will let us know. Furthermore, he has to move the cows from the pasture, if we are going to get to the ginnep tree. "But you-no-wait" he said to me. Well we couldn't wait. One day, on our way home from school, we looked over and we didn't see any cows. Thinking that all was clear, we went towards the gennip tree. Tree start shaking, and cows start coming. Somehow, I knew that something wasn't right, as I never hear Grampa mentioned to Emma that he had moved the cows. It was starting to be summer and the cows too would change up their schedule. Instead, of grazing in the three-o-clock hours, they would lie around the pond, and rest in the shade. 'But' when they all heard the tree shaking, suddenly the juicy 'brednot leaves' that their appetites craves flooded their memories. Just the shaking of the tree branches signal a calling.

Low and behold, I looked down yonder and there was all the cows coming at a speed. Talk about cows, I mean bulls and all. The bulls that breed smokes from their nostrils. I yelled for the others to run. It would be a dash to get to the big gate and or through the fence. I stayed behind hoping that if I ma the last one, the one that could run the fastest, then I would see that the others were safe. Only I had to run leaving my shoes. Now, I have to tell Grampa what 'we' have done. My loving grandfather, my meek Grampa, with a smile on his face only words to me was; "Come, come show me where you drop your shoes." With the same gentleness, Grampa went over into the pasture and fetch my shoes. Perhaps, the only conclusion that I could draw, even at my young tender age, the age of seven, was that Grampa himself remembers that he once was a boy, he once was a school pickney and did the same things that my generation of school children were doing. Together we walked back from up Black -Gate and to the house. It wasn't before Grampa handed me a mango he had picked up earlier, and had waiting in his pocket for me. It was one of my favorites, an East-Indian Mango. The mango tree that had grown old on the bank of the pond; where the cows took their rest that day.

Suddenly Honey spotted two sweet-sops that was ripe and ready to fall from the tree. However, having them fall to the ground, means that they will surely 'mass-up' and that meant that we wont get much to eat. Grass and sour-sop don't taste that good. Honey the climber, who Granny swore 'has saw in his craches' was eager to head into the crutch of the tree and get the sweet-sop. Funny how when one is small, one do not always see danger right-away. Honey headed up, and pick the first sweet-sop that wasn't over ripe. Honey wanted the best one for himself, of-course. Honey put that one in his pocket. As he proceeded to get the real nice one, out of nowhere came the wasps. Honey got the sweet-sop, with the wasps. It wasn't before he would put another saw in the new pant that Grandma had him put on that day. We laughed all the way home, even as Honey was in trouble.

She didn't have to say a word, as someone point up in the direction of West Cliffe. Ms. Emma began walking in that direction. Its dinner time and a minute ago, all three of them was in the yard. Uncle Cleve came by and shooked his head with a grin on his face. "Aunt Emma and her grand-pickney them no easy. She mussa cook somethin' that they don't want fe eat. Well, me sure fe get a good plate a food from her."

Aunt Emma called out to me to let me know sey she soon come. I wouldn't bother to tell her that I just pass all three of them swinging over pond, on the guava tree. By now, everybody could stay a mile and hear them. But Aunt Emma worry so much about her three wondrous grand-pickney them.

By the time Ms. Emma reach out a Kusho-Hill, the pickney them had already cut through 'bush' and reach up a West Cliffe fe pick grapefruit. Only Honey head into the little bush pass the top tank, were he had set the calaban, after putting more feed around it. He was just in time. There was the balt-plate hanging from the cord. Such a nice catch today. "A bird soup dinner is better than what Granny cook," he yelled out; "plus we belly already full."

Today, I am back in Negril, Jamaica. Today, I am back at West Cliffe. Today I am back home; the year is 1964. Grandfather is planting a new field. Doreen and I are about to get into another fight. I didn't want to be bothered with her selfish way. So, I begged grandfather to take me with him. It's, this 'new grong' that is really not far from the house, so he wont have to worry about me, getting hungry. Furthermore, the huge guava tree, my popular tree is close- by. Along the caves are water-holes, so he didn't tell me to "go back".

Once there, he showed me where to sit, just so that I wouldn't get in his way. That way, he would get as much done before the sun sits too high in the sky, and the Caribbean heat sets in. Later, Grandfather sneaked off towards the pond, where on the bank a different kind of mango trees its.