I recently celebrated a birthday, and it gave me a chance to sit back and reminisce about the various periods of my life, a life filled with undeserved blessings, not the least of which is an unbelievable treasury of great memories. I am grateful to God and to the community in which most of those memories were shaped. I thought, therefore, I could indulge myself and share some of those memories, both with my friends with whom some of them were made, and for our children, who may need a glimpse into olden times to get their bearings for the future. I have chosen a small selection of memories from what is now a very large treasury.
I grew up mostly in the community around Scott Street, between West Street and Rupert Dean Lane. My circle of friends extended beyond Rupert Dean Lane to Augusta Street and on to Nassau Street, beyond West Street to Hospital Lane and Baillou Hill Road. It stretched up West Street to Meeting Street and well below Meadow Street. But Scott Street was my family.
It was August Monday, and three trucks were being packed. Almost everybody in Scott Street, plus the Farquharsons from West Street, the Coakleys and the Holberts from Rupert Dean Lane and Chris from near Augusta Street corner were headed for a picnic. Everybody had cooked and the trucks were being loaded with peas and rice, fried chicken, potato salad, switcher, an ice cream making machine, blocks of ice, plates, cups and napkins. There were also table cloths, umbrellas and lots of hats. The community was celebrating the August Monday holiday at Love Beach, almost an hour's ride, and everything on the trucks was to be shared. That was the community I remember.
Most of my friends belonged to some youth organization. I was a member of the Boys Brigade, but there were the Scouts, the Guides, the junior branches of the lodges and the church organizations. These organizations all shared the objective of developing and displaying character. Of course, that was not why I joined the Boys Brigade. Nor was it because I was impressed by the sharp, well-dressed big boys who could do everything, from gymnastics to precision marching to playing in a band, nor was it because I wanted to participate in the Christmas play. I joined the Boys Brigade because my grandmother marched me to Wesley Hall and said, "This boy come to join." I later found out that that was true for all my friends. On the other hand, once in, we discovered a way to behave so we felt proud of ourselves and at the same time make our parents proud. Many of the independence fighters were staunch members of those youth organizations. Those youth organizations shaped what would become a generation of extraordinary leaders.
As a youngster I was fortunate to travel to international Boys Brigade camps. I have always known that those were expensive events, paid for primarily by my grandmother. As far as I am aware, there was no loan, certainly no begging. She was a part of a community whose self-reliance was epic. Asue was far more important than a bank, and not living up to your word was a disgrace. During that period, a man was expected to have a house into which to bring his bride, and would not typically propose at least until the land had been bought or the house had been started. Friends would share their skills as community resources. On weekends, for example, they would agree whose house they would help build. Their pay would be food cooked by a wife or girlfriend and delivered to the site just in time for lunch. Many houses were built for the cost of the materials. Self-reliance just seemed to make sense.
The Zanzibar and the Cat and Fiddle were two very popular nightclubs in my neighborhood. Between them, I was treated to performances by the biggest superstars in the US, from James Brown to Nat "King" Cole and specialty acts from Cuba, Haiti and the Dominican Republic, like Plastic Man and the Silver Prince. World-class entertainment was the norm at these over-the-hill clubs, and they were always packed with tourists. It was not uncommon to see lines of tourists walking from a hotel downtown to the Zanzibar. Later I would discover that there were other clubs, like the Conch Shell, the Silver Slipper and the Jungle Club who exposed other parts of the island to the same world-class talent. There were also restaurants like the Three Queens, that were so sought after by returning tourists that many would ask to stop there on their way from the airport. Tourism was the fuel for an economy in which ordinary, over-the-hill business-persons participated. Some of them provided funding for the march to democracy.
Downtown was an important part of my life. My memories are focused on three periods of my early life. As a child I loved going downtown to walk around the Stop'n'Shop, where there was a cornucopia of school supplies, especially things to draw or paint with. I loved fishing, and the only place to get the variety of fish hooks, sinkers and fishing lines was the Ironmongery. My mother, a seamstress and a teacher, relied on the Melitas for sewing supplies as much as I relied on the Ironmongery. Then at Christmas there was the decoration of the shop windows, especially the Nassau Shop, the first to introduce moving Santa and his elves. As a child the trip downtown was a great treat.
In my late teens my attention moved to my appearance, and shops like the Nassau Shop became even more important. It was an age when spending for tailor-made clothes was in style, and having the right fabrics was important, and for awhile they had just the right stuff. On payday I would head for the Nassau Shop for a few yards of mohair or sea island cotton or a Coxmore shirt. For other fabrics we would check out Ageeb's or Father and Son's. In any case, it was a treat to go downtown to get the material for my near-grownup good looks.
Finally, I was all grown up and I discovered the other side of downtown. It was a mecca for dining and entertainment. On workdays I had breakfast at Grand Central or Lums with friends, who would all disperse as if on a signal to "turn to". Lunchtime there were several restaurants between the British Colonial and Victoria Avenue. Then at night, on occasion there might be dinner at Blackbeard's Tavern, followed by an evening of live entertainment somewhere along Bay Street, say the Junkanoo Club, where the highlight would be the irreverent and hilarious Chickie Horne (Madam Fossbottom) and sometimes a song contest. Or just to talk politics in the Barefoot Bar. Downtown was an important part of my memory of home.
As I turned 79 , I looked back and could not resist the temptation of comparing my memories with my present experience. It seems that what is said about memories may be true. In the past community life seemed more family-like, parents made important decisions for their children, people found ways to match their circumstance with their creativity, tourism existed on most of the island and all the main roads led downtown.
Has time really re-written every line?
• Pat Rahming is an architect, writer and songwriter who is passionate about the importance of the built environment and its importance to the social development of The Bahamas. He can be reached at prahming@gmail.com or via his blog "From the Black Book" at prahming.wordpress.com. He welcomes other points of view.
The post Misty watercolor memories appeared first on The Nassau Guardian.The post Misty watercolor memories appeared first on The Nassau Guardian.
Click here to read more at The Nassau Guardian
