Mr. Bartley explains how he came to be the owner of the great house. - Norman Grindley/Deputy Chief Photographer

Mavis and Dorris, two equally rotund women, were sitting together on concrete blocks by the side of the deserted country road. Neither woman was wearing shoes and Mavis had a cap on her head that covered her eyes. There was a small table in front of them with about a dozen ackees and a few overripe mangos.

"Mawning! Any ackee today?" Mavis asked, rising to her feet as photographer Norman Grindley and I drove up.

We were on the road in St. Thomas that leads to a place called Bowden Hill. We were in pursuit of a man called Mr. Bartley whom we heard, was the community expert. According to the stories told to us, Mr. Bartley has a very, well, interesting home and an even more interesting story of how he came to live there. That's all we knew and so we were on a mission to find out more.

"Yes man, Maas Bartley is at home. If you just go up deh and holla, den him will come out and talk to you. Him is very greeable," said Mavis. Dorris used her elbow to poke Mavis in her ribs. "Look yah, how dem ago find Missa Bartley so easy? You haffi go carry dem up deh," Dorris whispered.

"You want mi fi come wid you, Massa?" Mavis asked.

We agreed and the woman pushed her feet into a pair of slippers and started walking, signaling for us to follow.

It was a long climb up a steep hill with bushes on either side of the road that brought us finally to the gateway of Mr. Bartley's home. We still couldn't see the house, but a few turns later, there it was.

It was a massive structure with a rusting zinc roof and several broken windows. It clearly had seen better days.

"Dis is di great house. Is a old, old place. It deh yah since slavery days. Missa Bartley own it now and live right inside," Mavis said.

She went around to the front of the house.

Beckoning maas bartley

"Maas Bartley!" she shouted. "Is who dat?" a man's voice replied. "Is Mavis sar! Two man here wish to talk with you sar!" said Mavis.

"I soon be with dem," the man shouted back and Mavis returned to us with the news.

It was a warm afternoon and there was a strong breeze. The branches of the large mango tree under which we were standing swayed back and forth. A cow mooed in the distance.

Soon we heard the squeak of an old door being opened and saw a little man in a white shirt and shorts walking steadily towards us. "Good afternoon," he said. We introduced ourselves with the help of Mavis and explained to Mr. Bartley that we would like to know more about his house.

"Tee hee. Is my old great house you want to know about," he laughed.

According to Mr. Bartley, the house is more than 300 years old and belonged to a plantation owner back in the days of slavery. "If you walk through it you come across several secret passage and tunnel. The bottom part make out of something that look like limestone and mud," he said.

"When the United Food Company was in operation, they bought it and I used to work for them. That is how I get involved with it in the first place," Mr. Bartley said.

"So what you used to do at the United Food Company?" I asked.

"Tee hee. Well when I started working there in 1948, I was a messenger. I used to make about two shilling per week. I do that for years and them dem move mi to be a tally clerk. I used to tally di banana dem. I then become a overseer and chief clerk." the pride in Mr. Bartley's eyes was obvious.

"Come let me show you inside the house," Mr. Bartley said, an offer we quickly agreed to.

"There is an underground room right at the back. That is where I stayed when Hurricane Gilbert was here. When di rain start beat and I run down here, I come see about three of my neighbours already down here! Hee hee. Is right here we spend di whole hurricane," he said.

Mr. Bartley led us into the room. It was a dark and musty room, but surprisingly large. There was nothing in there but a few boxes and an old stove. "I don't know what di slave master dem used to do in here, but it peaceful now," Mr. Bartley said.

We left there and went around to the front of the old house. "Oh. Let me show you the servant quarters." Mr. Bartley pulled a squeaking door.

Antique utensils

There were some old rusty pots and pans and a large box that looked like a refrigerator. "This is the old cole stove and the kerosene fridge. You young people don't know these things. Dis is how people used to cook first time." Mr. Bartley chuckled, apparently at my expense.

"Come now let me show you inside the house."

We followed Mr. Bartley into what he said was the main room of the house. It was huge and everything was made from wood. There were some pieces of dust-covered furniture at the far corner. Mr. Bartley led us over there. "This is the wagon," he said, pointing to something that looked like a small shelf. "Them don't make these things anymore. I have a old time trunk too. That thing must be about a hundred years old," he said, pointing to a wooden box on the floor.

"The things in this house, maybe is me alone have them," the elderly man said.

Very proud owner

He walked us through the entire house. Room after room, the friendly man boasted about the home of which he is obviously very proud.

He finally led us unto a balcony. From there you have a great view of the sea. We asked Mr. Bartley how he managed to become the owner of a great house.

"Well when the United Food Company mash up, the government take over the great house. Dem time deh mi think about mi children dem and used all the money I had to buy the house from the government. Is really the children why I buy it. I want them to have something," he said.

Mr. Bartley's children are now all grown up and have moved out on their own. He hopes that they will someday take over the house and give it the care he believes it deserves. "I am an old man. I cannot look after this place. The ball is in their court now. This place is part of Jamaican history so I only hope that when I pass on they will take over this place," he said.

Send your comments to robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com.