Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by this author are their own and do not represent the official position of the Barbados Today.
by Jade Gibbons
Last year around this time, the utility companies blessed Barbadians with an Independence gift. Barbadians, both young and old, were reminded of what it was like to live without both water and electricity, and thereby gained a first-hand appreciation for what life was like in the 1960s.
This year, I will also give you an Independence gift. My gift to you is a narrative journey into 1950s Barbados.
The articles for last week and this week are fictional short stories set in 1955 Church Village at the beginning of the academic year. They tell the story of a ten-year-old girl named Octavia.
With my hair pulled tightly into four big plaits, I sit behind my new desk. Miss Kendall scribbles on the blackboard. She is a thin lady with caramel colour skin and curly brown hair that is pulled in a tight bun.
She wears a brown pleated skirt that comes down to her ankles and a buttoned-down blouse. It is long-sleeved and has ruffles around the neck and wrists. I think she’s very pretty.
Miss Kendall stops writing and turns to face us.
“On the board is an exercise I’d like you ladies to complete. Fill in the blanks with the verbs and conjunctions that
will make the sentence grammatically correct. You have twenty minutes.”
I open my exercise book, being careful not to tear the pages. Rubbing my fist against the crinkled page, I try to smooth out the water mark.
My mother gave me a new black lead this morning. It is long with a sharp point and still has that crisp, spicy smell of the red cedar it was made from.
I set about my task. The boy… went to bed… because he was tired. Anna __ a nurse… so she will be leaving the hospital… when her shift ___ finished. He… ran up the stairs… for his shoes. Jackeline and Daisy ___ happy…
but Tommy ___ sad.
Miss Kendall announces that time is up. I am barely halfway through. “Send your books to the front of the row.” She collects the books from the five rows and stacks them on her desk.
Turning she says, “Now take out your arithmetic exercise books, and I’d like you to write down the following timetables: the four times table, the seven times table, the ten times table and the twelve times table.”
I sit in my seat slightly perplexed; the girls around me take out their books and begin. Miss Kendall sits at her desk and starts on our books.
I raise my hand, but she does not see. I’m too afraid to speak, children are not supposed to speak unless spoken to.
I tap the shoulder of the girl in front of me. She doesn’t
turn around. I lean over to the girl on my left.
“I cah…”
“Sshhh.” She gives me a stern look. I lean over to the girl on my right. “Excuse me, I cah…”
“Ssshhhh.” She doesn’t even look at me.
I rest my head on the table. Something hits me on the shoulder. It is sharp, but not painful. Miss Kendall is standing over me. I guess she must have looked up and
seen me.
“Young lady,” she folds her arms, “why are you not writing out your tables?”
“You have my book Miss and no one woan lend me a piece of papuh.”
“No one ‘will’ lend you a piece of ‘paper’. Do you only hae one book?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Your mother did not give you three exercise books?”
“No Miss.”
The skin around her mouth pulls as she pierces her lips.
“What is your name?”
“Octavia, Octavia Niles, Miss.”
She walks back to her desk and takes up her register. She flips through it, then pauses. Her countenance immediately changes. Putting down the register, she opens her desk drawer, takes out something and walks back to me.
“You are from Church Village, are you not Miss Niles?”
“Yes, Miss.”
She gives me a weak smile and places a new exercise book on my desk.
“Please complete your tables, Miss Niles.”
“Yes, Miss.”
I open the exercise book. Its pages are crisp and smooth. It smells of… the scent is not familiar to me, but I like it. I begin from the twelve times table, it’s my favourite.
Twelve ones are twelve; twelve twos are twenty-four; twelve threes are thirty-six; twelve fours are forty-eight; twelve fives are sixty…
Jade Gibbons is an arts and business graduate with a keen interest in social issues and film-making.
