Island Girl 2Nd Edition

By L. Patricia Virgo

Island Girl is the autobiography of a nave young lady who was born on an island in the Caribbean. Her ignorance was bliss and her lifestyle was one of content until she moved to a first world country.

This new culture was very different and difficult for her to understand. Although she interacted with coworkers and fellow college students every day, in the first four years, she withdrew from reality in an effort to keep her sanity. This is a story of happiness, sadness, extreme loneliness and lessons in life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463418854

Book preview

Chapter One

On June 15, 1957 a young expectant mother was enduring labour pains in the maternity ward of a hospital in Kingston, Jamaica. She was eighteen years old and inexperienced in the ways of the world. Her mother had taken trips to New York, leaving Molly with her father and siblings, for the better part of one year sometimes. Molly had no idea as to what she was about to experience as the time came to deliver her first and only child. She obviously did not spend much time with other females communicating and understanding the meaning of love, marriage and starting a family.

It was the middle of the night and neither her husband nor her parents were with her. She told the nurse that the child was coming, but due to Molly’s youth and obvious naiveté the nurse did not pay much attention. By the time the nurse realized that this child was really coming, Molly was rushed to the delivery room walking, rather than being pushed in a wheelchair.

I was born in the early hours of the morning, and from that moment bearing a very strong resemblance to my father. From the time that I was born, certain people would just look at me and know who my father was. I wondered about that for many years, but was unable to glean much information from my family members about him throughout my young years.

My grandmother had asked that my parents live with her and my grandfather, after they were married because my mother was so young and innocent to the ways of the world. I was practically handed to my grandmother after my mother returned to her parents’ home from the hospital. My grandfather was never very fond of my father and there was conflict between them from the onset of their in-law relationship.

My parents got divorced which was uncommon at that time and my mother moved back to her parents’ house before I was two years old. My grandfather had taken my mother back home more than once before that because my father was not a good husband, according to my grandfather’s standards. As a child I was told that he left by night, travelled by sea to England and did not see us again until I was eight years old.

He returned to Jamaica on vacation from New York and spent a day with my mother and me at Bath in Rockfort near to the international airport in Kingston. By this time he had moved from London to New York with his new family which I found out about later in life. I remember my mother driving her compact, red and white Morris 1100 to this mineral bath, where we spent most of the day together. He put his camera to good use that day. I remember those pictures coming in the mail, and also speaking to him on the telephone a few times long distance after he returned to New York.

Chapter Two

My maternal grandparents, Egbert and Ella Phillips, greatly influenced my upbringing. My grandmother, whom I called Mamma like her children did, was my mother figure for the first eight years of my life and my grandfather was my strict, disciplinarian father figure for most of my childhood years. Although I was the only child of a single parent, I lived in a household of respect and discipline with more than two parent figures during my formative years.

For the duration of my very early childhood, my mother, her parents and siblings had a challenging time keeping me alive. I suffered from epileptic seizures which they called fits in Jamaica’s patois and the doctors had a difficult time diagnosing and correcting my medical problems. I definitely went to death’s door once, when the doctors gave up on me. The family was called to the bedside to see me for the last time and an English doctor looked in to find out what the problem was. From what I was told by my mother, I remained on the planet because of this doctor’s curiosity and suggestions.

I still have memories of my grandmother rushing to the hospital with me when my mother and grandfather were at work. Mamma was the only adult in our home who did not know how to drive a car. She would send the helper for a certain man who was somehow always available when we needed him. He was always willing to take us to the hospital and then the family would meet us there later in the evening. As a child I referred to this angel as the Hospital Man.

I vaguely remember being in the hospital on two separate occasions. As a result of my constant sickness I missed a lot of school between ages three and six. Jamaican children started school at three years old normally, but I started at six because of my ill health. My first recollection of the hospital is when my tonsils were taken out. I remember being there another time and my mother told me in later years that I had to be taught to walk all over again by her and my grandmother after an operation was performed on my back. In my mother’s words, fluid was drawn from my back. I had seizures from time to time during my early years and by age six my seizures had stopped and I somehow became normal, as life began to take the course as it should have been taking for a child growing up in the tropics.

Mamma was a mix of Negroid and Caucasoid races. I once heard someone refer to her as mulatto when I was little. She was fair skinned with some mongoloid facial features. I had been asked many times if there was any Chinese in my Grandmother’s heritage because some people saw this hint of Asia in her looks. She was approximately 52 tall, which was the total opposite of her husband’s height and stature. She had pride coupled with modesty and some stern nature to her personality which instilled discipline and claimed respect. She was married to a large structured man, 63 tall, whose size also demanded respect through the eyes of a child, yet somehow she was really the boss.

She was a suitable companion for my grandfather, whom I called Daddy, like his children did. She complemented him in such a favorable way, that they seemed like the perfect couple looking from the outside in. It was obvious that Daddy truly admired and respected her. It took many years for me to realize that she was also naïve, like my mother and me, although her presence and demeanor demanded respect from anyone who was around her. She was extremely wise in some areas of life, yet somehow naïve in others. She taught us respect through actions as well as words. Just like her presence and demeanor demanded respect, her polite mannerisms and parenting skills deeply influenced her children who grew up to be decent, respectable and productive citizens of society. Their presence, when they became adults, demanded respect just like their parents.

My grandmother was sheltered by her husband, which helped to keep her mind in a positive mode at all times. Only certain types of music were played and certain types of conversation could be held in their home. I remember their record collection consisting of music by artists like Ella Fitzgerald, Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, Nancy Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Mitch Miller and the Gang and Jamaican Folk Music bands and singers. I don’t think curse words were even entertained in the minds of anyone living in or visiting their home. I was extremely naïve up to my early twenties as a result of upholding unspoken, yet understood rules that were a part of the Phillips’ household.

My grandparents had five children of whom my mother is the third. My Aunt Norma, the fourth child, went on to pursue a career in the tourist industry on the north coast of the island. The oldest, Joyce, had migrated to New York with her husband, and in later years after their migration had accommodated my grandmother during the times that she was traveling back and forth, in an effort to create a better way of life for herself and my grandfather. My Uncle Ainsley who was married with two children had lived with his parents for a short time after marriage and moved to his own home by the time his children turned six and seven years of age. His children and I were the three grandchildren of the Phillips that grew up in Jamaica in the 1960’s and 70’s.

By the time I was born my Aunt Veronica was in high school. She was the last of the five children and she spent memorable times with me before she went off to college. I remember a tutor coming to give her piano lessons on Wednesday evenings. Aunt V paid a lot of attention to me. I remember her telling me stories and singing to me at a very young age. If I wasn’t around Mamma I was usually with Aunt V.

I vividly remember Independence Day in Jamaica, August 6, 1962. Aunt V came home from school with brass mugs with the Jamaican flag and the emblem with the motto, Out of Many One People, on them. She had little flags of Jamaica and there was a lot of excitement about Jamaica’s independence from Britain. I loved being around Aunt V. Her friends came over from time to time to study with her. I remember them singing in the living room and taping their voices on the old fashioned reel to reel tape and playing it back. There was a blackboard in the shed that they used to practice Math on in their last two years before college. Her boyfriend, Bunny, went to college in New York and she went to Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York after high school.

Aunt V went to college and I don’t remember her returning until after she graduated. I really missed her. Sometimes I would run into the living room to look at her high school graduation picture that hung above my grandmother’s chair, to remember what she looked like. Four years were taking forever to go by.

I missed being around her while she baked a cake on a Sunday evening. She always made time to tell me stories and I especially missed the fun times we had bathing the dogs in the yard on the weekend. She would soap the dog up and then use the garden hose to wash the soap off. Suzie was one of our dogs that lived the longest.

I remember Suzie from when she was a playful puppy up to when some of her shiny black coat started to gray. She was a black Labrador that was brought to our family when she was about three months old and from that moment she became a part of the family.

I was never able to hold Suzie long enough for all the soap to be washed off her coat during these baths that we would give her on the hot, sunny days that I took for granted while growing up on this tropical island. I would hold her as best as my little hands could, and the moment we turned the water on, she would dash, as if beginning a hundred yard race to a finish line, slipping between my hands. She would stop to shake her body to get rid of the water and then begin the dash again. Just watching this dog dart around the yard in an effort to dry herself was exciting to me as a child. That made me giggle in exhilaration as I watched her in her antics.

I missed seeing Aunt V with her friends, doing things with her and observing the closeness of the relationship when she had quiet mother-daughter talks with Mamma. I wasn’t allowed to listen or to get too close, but I didn’t move too far away during those times. When I was growing up, children could not participate in adult conversations.

My grandmother had many years of experience with child rearing by the time I came along. She paid close attention to her home with the help of someone who came in daily to keep the house clean, wash and iron the clothes and do other chores necessary for the routine upkeep of her home. She put her Singer sewing machine to good use when it was needed. She made clothes without using a pattern. I remember that foot pedal that she used to keep the machine running without the use of electricity. I never did find the coordination in my feet to operate it like she did.

She had meals prepared on a set schedule daily and made sure that we were properly nourished. The blender played a big part in the preparation of drinks which she made from scratch like egg nog, carrot juice, sour sop juice and whatever fruit she could blend to provide us with nutrients to create the balance with what was provided by the daily meals. Before we had a blender, the fruit was forced through a strainer with a wooden spoon; carrots were grated, and mixed with milk and sugar to make a drink somewhat like a smoothie, to balance the meal, especially on Sundays.

I remember her going to New York from time to time and returning months later with barrels of clothes and household goods, as well as appliances for the home. The blender was introduced to our kitchen after one of those trips.

She also worked on the night shift as a nurse at the hospital where I was born. In my mind I can still see the nurse’s hat, the uniform, the stockings and shoes all in white when Daddy took her to work in the evenings. I looked forward to going along for the ride because they would sometimes buy me an ice cream cone from the little ice cream parlor at the hospital.

Mamma truly complemented Daddy as a wife and good parent to their children. Her job as a homemaker was performed to the best of her ability. It was performed as well as the one of an extremely successful businessperson, and her profits were the results of the values and morals that were instilled in her children who in turn passed it on to their children. She went as close to perfection as she possibly could, with the rules and regulations coming from her upbringing and the principles of the Bible, to make her home a principled place of decency and respect.

Her house was always clean with everything in its proper place. Time management played an integral role in daily housekeeping. She gave instructions to the helper when needed and there were certain things that were understood that kept this place of abode neat and clean at all times. For example, on a Monday the living room and dining rooms had to be cleaned. On another day the bedrooms would be left with spotless floors and the furniture meticulously dusted, picking up and dusting every figurine on the dressers and cleaning every knob on the drawers. Nothing was left untouched.

In my younger days the helper had to go down on her knees and polish the tiles with floor wax. After applying this wax she had to use a coconut brush to buff the floors. I remember when an electric polisher (buffer) was brought from America. That was the day when the helper did not have to go down on her knees anymore to do this tedious job that had to end up with spotless, shiny tile floors. On Tuesdays the clothes had to be washed and hung to dry on the clothesline in the backyard. The washing had to be finished at a certain time so that they would be dry by a certain time. The heat of the sun was used for bleaching white clothes, drying clothes that were hung out on the line in the backyard and also for killing germs when pillows and cushions were aired in the open. On Wednesday, the clothes had to be ironed, and I can barely remember the days when we had an iron that was not plugged in the wall. This was wrought iron and the handle was wrapped in thickly layered cloth so that it could be held. It was set on burning coals to get hot, used to straighten the clothes and then set on the hot coals again to keep a high temperature.

As the days of the week went by the little things like cob webbing and dusting were done in their proper time also. The floors inside the house, as well as the tiles on the front and side verandah, were always clean and shiny. There were mats at the doors for entering the house and it was natural for everyone to wipe their feet before stepping inside the house. The dogs had to stay outside and the cats were allowed inside during the daytime only.

Although there was a lot of discipline in the air we had fun when we celebrated birthdays and holidays like Christmas, Boxing Day and New Year’s Day. My grandmother always baked a cake for birthday celebrations, and Easter bun during lent. Jamaicans have a tradition of eating bun and cheese at Easter time.

Christmas was a big event for me as a child and it was religious in our house. Christmas was about the birth of Jesus and the family gathering in our family. We attended church in the morning and I was always in a hurry to return home to have breakfast and open the gifts. The rest of the family all joined us by