A village named Palmyra

Lance Neita, Contributor

GROWING UP in rural Jamaica in the 1940s and 50s was a vastly different experience to what prevails now in present circumstances.

Storytellers have recounted over and over again enthralling tales of the lantern slide shows which were the forerunner to moving pictures. They entertain us with mouth organ renditions of the haunting melodies of nine-night songs carried for miles across the countryside. And they give hilarious stories of the odd motor car puttering through the district and scaring the daylights out of the villagers.

Those were the days when "brucking stone" to the accompa-niment of folk songs was a major income earner, where mento dances held sway before the incursion of the juke box and sound systems, and the kitchen bitch reigned supreme beside the lamplight and the traveller's flashlight.

There was a certain gentleness and decency woven into village life which sprung from the African forebear's deep-rooted respect for their village elders as seen in the tender care provided for the aging Tatas and Nanas in early Jamaican settlements.

A vivid picture of life in a Jamaican village in the early 1950s was painted recently by Shirley Samuda of Nain, St Elizabeth, retired principal of the New Forest High School in south Manchester.

Samuda's rich description is of interest as it reinforces the sometimes obscured yet empathetic and intimate contacts that the bauxite industry had with Jamaican small farmers who made lands available to the early land purchasers seeking to secure bauxite assets.

There is nostalgia, but no rancour, coming from the former residents of Palmyra in St Elizabeth, the tiny district that made way for the busy industrial complex Alpart in the 1960s. They still talk with pride about their cornfields, the prize-winning mosella yams, and the village green, their cricket field.

The cricket field, they point out, was where the Alpart Powerhouse now stands. Old-timers remember flocking to the field each Saturday to watch pace bowler Benjy Foster striking fear into the hearts of visiting teams.

The community gathered under the limbs of a Robin mango tree to buy snowball and enjoy 'back 'n front', a combination of ice cream, shaved ice and syrup mixed with Gloria milk.

It was under this makeshift pavilion that villagers too bought candy and gizzarda, pinda cake, fish 'n bammy, and One-Dagger, Captain Morgan, 'cullu-cullu', and 'bootylegger' rums.

Residents would also laugh when they are reminded that the General Manager's office now sits on what was the meat shop known as the Fifth Quarter, where every Friday it was the tradition to buy cow head, cow belly and cow foot.

Then there was the respected district constable (DC). At Palmyra, DC Rufus Mills not only set the standards of behaviour, but he was also captain of the cricket team. It was said that when DC 'sen for you', you walked straight to the Santa Cruz lock-up (17 miles away), no questions asked, and Rufus walked with you.

The Powells, who lived at the Plant Gate entrance, were known as the drummers. Come Christmas, when they started to 'knock pan' for the Jonkannu dancers, you knew that the holidays were at hand.

Palmyra had some unforgettable traditions, boasted Samuda. There was a cornfield beside Digestion, and families shared 'corn night', when the district turned out to give a full night to each family for reaping and shelling. And for cone pone and coffee.

Neighbours would also turn out at cassava time for 'morning heat' as each family was given a 'day-to-day' help, while the pot bubbled with hot gungo soup and pigtail.

The May Day Fair was also a tradition, as thousands from all over Jamaica attended the May 24 (Empire Day) agricultural show.

With the coming of Alpart came modern resettlement houses, employment, an international cricket field to replace the village green, and educational assistance and opportunities for many like Samuda who saw his teaching dreams come true.

One of the many partnerships developed between the industry and Jamaica with people great and small, embracing communities, schools, farmers, businesses and trades. The nostalgia is sometimes over-whelming, but the progress in the lives of many is testimony to a strong mutual attachment, and the stories are heartwarming.

Comments may be sent to columns@gleanerjm.com or lanceneita@hotmail.com.