Chapter 13 - Good-byes: The Tragedies of Two Men

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=146 BGCOLOR="#006699" TEXT="#080000" background="0c3085a3.jpg"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#CCCCE4" FACE="Eurostile" ><B>                    Jamaica~Noamie's Negril.Com   </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FF66FF" FACE="Desdemona" ><B>  </B></FONT><A HREF="id48.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="My BookWest Cliffe"><U><B>Home</B></U></A><B>    </B></div> <div> <B>    </B><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#CCFF00" FACE="Dauphin" ><B>Good-byes_The Tragedies of Two Men: November 13, 1980 * November 13 1979: </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="7" COLOR="#FF00FF" FACE="Pristina" ><B>West Cliffe</B></FONT></div> <div> <B>                                                                                                                            </B><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#9999FF" FACE="Baskerville Old Face" ><B>A Christmas  Story -1964</B></FONT><B> </B></div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B><IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000" background="0c4d2e83.jpg"> <div> <I>Negril: The Place I'll Rather Be</I></div> <div> <I>...</I><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FF66FF" FACE="Desdemona" >Jamaica ~ Negril</FONT></div> <bR> <div>  <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FF66FF" FACE="Dauphin" ><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Jamaica Noamies Negril.Com "><U><B>Country Road</B></U></A></FONT></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id2.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Who is Noamie?"><U><B>Who is Noamie?</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id50.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Paracme"><U><B>Paracme's Memories</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id87.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Jamaica Cowboy"><U><B>Remembering:- Jamaica Cowboy</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id74.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="The Frog That Would Not Let Me Forget"><U><B>A Frog That Would Not Let me Forget</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id66.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="BarBBarn Negril Cooking it up with Norm"><U><B>Norm's Negril</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id19.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chapter 1 A Star is Born ... The Road T"><U><B>+</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id70.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Noamies Chat Corner"><U><B>Noamie's Chat Corner</B></U></A></div> </td> <td valign="top" height=334 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <I>Chapter 13   - Good-byes: The Tragedies of Two Men</I></div> <bR> <div> West Cliffe</div> <div> Good-byes</div> <div> The Tragedies of Two Men: November 13, 1980   *  November 13 1979: ~81</div> <bR> <div>  </div> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>Chapter Thirteen</B></div> <div> <B><IMG SRC="3ef78780.jpg" border=0 width="120" height="120" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> <div> When at last I looked upon a star; a heart of gold looks back. As a rainbow breaks from the fluttering cloud. </div> <div> <FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Dauphin" >I knew who stood there."</FONT> <B>~</B><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Dauphin" >N</FONT><B>~</B></div> <bR> <div> <B><U>November 13, 1980   *  November 13 1979:</U></B><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Arial" ><B> </B></FONT></div> <div> <I><B>Good-byes- The Tragedies of Two Men</B></I></div> <div> I arrived in Jamaica. My father had passed. I got to our family home. I rushed in to see everyone, but mostly grandmother who was in the store. I ran to hug her. As I did, calling out to her, with my usual greeting I called out to her: "Grandma-Grandma, where is grandfather?" There was silence from the crowded store. Blank, stunned face looked back at me. Suddenly, it hit me. Grandfather had been dead for a year, and I had yet to grasp that reality. I burst into tears; the first time I would cry in the year. </div> <bR> <div> My grandfather's death was a tragedy. I would come to realize this, at the end of the day, his funeral day November 1979. There was no Hurst; there was no formal funeral. My grandfather funeral was a rather shabby, so shabby that when grandmother passed, it was her grandchildren that took charge. Their children, our biological mother, aunts, uncles, are all a let-down, lack-a-da-sical, worthless, is a few words, that comes to mind, if you get the message.</div> <bR> <div> I was pallbearer number one, for my grandfather. Therefore, I was to the right and the first. When the coffin arrived at the house, I took my place. No sooner had we entered the yard, that it became obvious that something was very wrong. I asked the others to stop pushing. They all looked at me, as if saying we are feeling  the same thing; no one is pushing, at least none of us; its something else, some other force(s). We were glad when we were relief of the coffin. Up to this point, the coffin was closed, as for one reason or another it was announce that it would be closed-casket. </div> <bR> <div> After the funeral was over, I approached Grandmother. I looked her straight in the eyes as I asked her the question that would make her want to forget that this period in her life was a nightmare. Who had Grandfather killed? Grandmother asked me, "How did you figured that out? My replied to her was that, it was, or should I say, it became obvious no sooner the coffin approached the yard, and there was an uncontrollable pushing that we (the grandchildren carrying the coffin) could have almost dropped the coffin. Then I asked her: "Who? Who did it?"  People had been killing each other over land issue, since the beginning of time. So, this time, there is nothing new. However, killing someone for something that belongs to them is a cruel thing. My grandfather left West Cliffe, just because someone else wanted it, demanded it. He arrived at Jack-Piece, just by trading my birthplace for a more "cattle-raising grassy pastureland." only to loose his life for it, having traded this land through my grandmother cousins. God helped us! How did things get this way?  </div> <bR> <div> <I>When you have gone that last mile of the way, there is rest, some where..."  </I></div> <div> <I>Except Grandfather found no immediate rest.. It would take years, and my unexpected return and with trials of living in Jamaica for seven months.  </I></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe</B></div> <div> <B>Chapter 13  -  Good-byes</B></div> <div> <B>The Tragedies of Two Men:  November 13, 1980  * November 13 1979: ~82</B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> I could write many things here, however, I will start off by telling you a little more about my grandfather, and as I would come to assist him in crossing over and to the light the plane where soul goes to wait on the Creator. </div> <bR> <div> I would follow as the instructions given to me, as precise as possible. I must admit that I was very nervous and cautious, as I didn't want to make any mistake. For you see, I had to "Four-Poll the land" What this meant, is that I must secure the protected area, so that no other spirit would come in and interfere. This is deeply spiritual. Grandfather spirit must be shown the way to the light. Atonement must be made. All negative energy from around the environment must be shutout. </div> <bR> <div> That night, I heard my grandfather's voice loud and clear, even after he had been gone for over ten years. He didn't have to come to me crying for help anymore. He didn't have to come to sleep in the house, in the bathroom, in the tub anymore. I could finally tell Sheriff [Cedrick] that whenever he goes to work on the house for Grandmother, he didn't have to hurry out of the house come noon anymore. Sheriff and I would laugh about these things; things that we wouldn't discuss with others. </div> <bR> <div> I recalled later as Mr. Findley would tell me: "Baby, you don't have to worry about your grandfather and him resting in peace anymore, for I have move him for you. In that I have succeed in what you have asked me to do." Although, Mr. Findley did not want to talk about it; I needed to know. I needed to know just so that I could start a new healing in my spiritual self, and start looking to forgive my grandmother Emma for what she and uncle Gyle has done to Grandfather. Yes, I held Grandmother responsible, for in the hours that she should have been praying and asking God's divine protection around Grandfather, she had allowed uncle Gyle to drag her off to some Obeah man, with Uncle Gyle looking for Obeah-man protection for himself, instead of looking after Grandfather's physical need. Need I say anymore. </div> <bR> <div> So this day, I wrote this little image of a picture of some good times spent with Grandfather. I smile; he smiles back at me. The year is 1968. </div> <bR> <div> I remember "Grandfather" Norman: </div> <div> "Sometimes, I still wake up and a picture comes to my mind;  </div> <div> of the town, people waking up early, moving about. </div> <div> People calling at the gate wanting to know what time </div> <div> shop is going to open up; a parent forgetting to buy </div> <div> 'something the night before.' </div> <bR> <div> Thus a child is waiting to get his breakfast so he/she </div> <div> can be off to school. Meanwhile, a farmer hustling by, </div> <div> trying to get as much work as possible done, before </div> <div> the sun climbs higher in the sky, knowing, that it is </div> <div> going to be another hot one (day). "  </div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <IMG SRC="15638c20.jpg" border=0 width="312" height="450" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> <FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Baskerville Old Face" > </FONT> [<I>View the Angel wings  [rays]  in my background </I>]</div> <bR> <div> Words we learn as Children: The words that are forever in ones memories. </div> <div> "Walk the good road, and age will guide you through..."</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>A Christmas Story -1964 </B></div> <bR> <div> <B><IMG SRC="3f360800.jpg" border=0 width="96" height="128" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> <div> "For two days, I sang "Christmas Eve has come again..." with grandfather [Norman] as he drank his rum, felt the mellowness and the jolliness of Christmas. His 'grung' or 'grong' has born him some wonderful nigga yams and bountiful pumpkins. This is the best time of the year for us, as Grampa loves to share-up his money. Indeed, another Christmas Eve has come again, and the orange tree is filled with oranges."<FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Baskerville Old Face" > </FONT></div> <div> We Jamaicans do not say filled; instead we used the word, 'loaded' with oranges. The two Grapefruit tree up by West Cliffe Great House is just as loaded. </div> <div> Even the cho-cho vines are loaded with cho-cho whispering the beautiful time of the year. "Oh little Town of Bethlehem," "Joy to the world", and the ever so remembered child' song of "Away In A Manger" helps to reminds this very special time. [But] it was grandpa's sweet voice that would steal the show everytime. For surely it was his "Christmas Eve that has come again..." </div> <bR> <div> As we walked the road up to West Cliffe to see that the troughs are filled with water<FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#6666CC" FACE="Baskerville Old Face" > </FONT>for the cows to come and drink, we sang our own song. That is, my brother Honey, Doreen and myself. This is 1964, and our parents are still living in England. The beautiful wild orchids grew along the grassy bank-side of the harden dirt road, as we reminded ourselves that the road was once only a tract though the vast pastureland that once link Whitehall Estate to West Cliffe Estate, and that Jim Harvey once owned all that land as a cow farm. </div> <bR> <div> Everyone had harvest their little pimento crop and so there was enough happiness and drinking to go the long way. For the last three nights Grandma and Grandpa stayed up all through the nigh as the rum flow and the drunks sings of the happy times. Happier times that had passed and the happier time that was on hand. Grandpa with his happy smiles reminds us of how far we have come, and as he would tell us the story of how he sold one of his prized cow to send our parents away to England so that they could 'make a better life for us'. He told us, how proud he was that they are our Grandma and Grandpa was that they could care for us. Indeed, I understood his reason for getting drunk and sing his happy song. We are all his happy grandchildren enjoying the freeness of his money flowing into our little hands to do as we please. Thank goodness for the changing of early childhood teeth, for, [ for] sure all the candy I ate those early Christmas would have surely left its mark on my teeth for a lifetime. </div> <bR> <div> However, it was the sweet echoes of the winter trade-winds as it blows over the long stretch of meadow-like grassy land that I remembered well. These times, the season of only during the coolers days of December that certain wild plants grows and the flowers they bloom reminds us that it is yet another Christmas season. </div> <bR> <bR> <div> I often arrived back at the house after an evening visit to West Cliffe with handful of wild flowers: The wild yellow and white mustard, chamomile, bindweed's; blue and purple, along with the flower of the wild dog rose, mixed with the every plentiful foxglove, mingled with the smell of tobacco. My fresh flowers all seems to whistle and breed the Christmas spirits as they too beckons the time of happy song. </div> <bR> <div> With a wreath of wild flowers around my head, and with a jolly-holly dancing mood, the feeling of Christmas would fill the air. What more could a child ask for? A child who didn't know much beyond the boundaries of a child. [But] it was always Grandpa who makes the season bright and mellow. All the young women would come to see him for their presents. All the single mothers would come to see him for their presents as well. He would always remind each one of the biblical verses: "threat the widows and orphans living amongst us well" and so they too would come for their gifts from a man who was forever giving to the needy, less fortunate and even those who didn't fit in any of the categories above. </div> <div> Grandpa would often remind us, that "we never know what anyone is going through and not to judge then even if they wants to be greedy." </div> <bR> <div> It's [was] Christmas Eve of 1964 and the street are swept all the way from Black-Pong down to the Tilbury and out to Orange Hill Road and where-in we would later walked to take the Harvest- Food to Orange Hill Catholic church. The huge nigga- yam weighing over forty pounds would be positioned in the church and bearing the name of Mass Norman. The long-well-fit-juicy sugar-cane twisted into an arch, carefully wrapped with stems of grape-fruits, tangerine, would become yet another reminder of my grandpa reasons for singing his Happy Christmas song of "Christmas Eve has come again..." </div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <IMG SRC="3f000730.jpg" border=0 width="256" height="371" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <bR> <div> <B><U>Christmas Poem - 1964 </U></B></div> <bR> <div> <B>--- *** Christmas Poem 1964 *** --- </B></div> <div> <B>The gentle breeze blow over West Cliffe </B></div> <div> <B>The beautiful white cow called "Butter" walks gentle to his owner </B></div> <div> <B>In the distance, all the other cows watches </B></div> <div> <B>As Beautiful Butter lowers her head to touch the hands of Grandpa' </B></div> <div> <B>Her calf just born to her has a star in its forehead </B></div> <div> <B>A beautiful bronze that has its own meaning </B></div> <div> <B>Indeed, it's another Christmas </B></div> <div> <B>Indeed it's another beautiful time of year... </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B><IMG SRC="3ef78780.jpg" border=0 width="120" height="120" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> <IMG SRC="2fe58010.gif" border=0 width="600" height="1" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <TABLE BORDER="2" CELLPADDING="1" CELLSPACING="1" WIDTH="753" BORDERCOLORLIGHT="#C0C0C0" BORDERCOLORDARK="#808080" FRAME="BOX" RULES="ALL" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" > <tR> <tD VALIGN=CENTER BGCOLOR=#666699 HEIGHT= 18 ><NOBR><div> <I>This site and its pages are Copyright 1998-2008. 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