My Dreams My Journey

By Daphne Forbes

Daphne was the tenth of fourteen children, born into a loving Christian family in 1940s Jamaica. Although a delicate child, she was happy and had lots of fun with her siblings in their idyllic rural home. She was ambitious, and dreamed of becoming a doctor, and eventually to have a happy fulfilled family life of her own.

Things started to go wrong when she became ill at the age of fourteen. She later became an unwed mother, to the disappointment of her family and church. She could no longer stay at home as her situation and desires had changed. This forced her to leave Jamaica and move to England in the winter of 1961, where she married her sons father. Married life was far from what she expected ...

The reality of life in England was hard for her to adjust to. She encountered racism at work, and illness in the family. In 1964, with the help and encouragement of her brother, she was introduced to the New Testament Church of God, where she received the Lord Jesus Christ into her life.

Daphne decided to return to Jamaica later in life, but that decision was not without its challenges. She had changed, and so had Jamaica.

She shares some interesting, amazing and challenging experiences and dreams from her journey through life.

Go home to thy friends, and tell them what great things the Lord hath done for thee ... (Mark 5:19).

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491880449

Daphne Forbes

Daphne is a minister, and she is convinced of God’s intervention in preserving her life for a purpose. Now retired, she has decided to write about her life experiences, in the hope that they will help convey God’s faithfulness and love.

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© 2013 by Daphne Forbes. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse December 2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8043-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-7965-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8044-9 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE:   Early Years—1940s

Mama! Mama! Papa! Papa!

Birth And Siblings

Home Sweet Home

Order In The Home

Milk And Cod Liver Oil On The Menu

CHAPTER TWO:   Who Says We Do Not Need Fathers?

Father Dearest

Prayer The Key

Prayer Verses Superstition

My Fair Lady

No Patios Please

Hurricane Harry

CHAPTER THREE:   Fun, Work and School Days

Stop Laughing And Grow Up!

Work And Fun

Ginger-Peeling Nights

Wash Days At Grandpa Spring

School Days

CHAPTER FOUR:   Bible and Church Life—Jamaica 1950s

No Dust On My Bible; Please Pray For Me

Church Life In Jamaica

CHAPTER FIVE:   Hard Lessons—1950s-1960

Call The Doctor Please

Restless On The Farm

Leaving The Roost

The Yellow Cab Mystery

Th E Final Link Weakened

Shame And Pain

CHAPTER SIX:   England—Sad Days; Trying Times—1960s

Is This Really England?

Looking For Work

When Tragedy Struck—Brother Will

My Head! My Head!

Whatever My Lot—Part I

CHAPTER SEVEN:   Ministry—England Part I

I Have Come Home

Personal Evangelism

The Man Who Did Not Turn Up

The Girl With The Loose Hem

Tears On A Letter

CHAPTER EIGHT:   No More Dreams

Strange Delivery

CHAPTER NINE:   Bitter Sweet Years—1969-1970s

No Singing Please!

Coronation Market

When An Angel’s Light Went Out

It’s A Girl!

CHAPTER TEN:   No Hiding Place—1970s-1980s

Hiding Behind The Stuff

Another Girl!

Making Progress

Whatever My Lot—Part Ii

CHAPTER ELEVEN:   Tight Rope

For Better For Worse

CHAPTER TWELVE:   Ministry—England Part II—1980s-1990s

Message In The Sky

Fresh Anointing

Dearest Sister Ena

Papa Did Not Say Goodbye

Salvation On The Menu

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:   Sixty at Last—2001

Wells In The Wilderness

EPILOGUE Lord, I Can’t Live Without You!

POSTSCRIPT Messages Given at Deptford Church

Hearing And Obeying God’s Voice

Finish Your Course With Joy

APPENDIX—Faith Building Thoughts

ENDNOTES

Dedicated to the memory of my parents,

Samuel and Belrona Strachan.

I thank God for giving me such dedicated, loving parents.

‘A powerful, fascinating story that will capture your imagination to the last page.’

Reverend Jancie Johnson

(Pastor, NTCG—Rochester)

Tentatively I came into the world

Peering into my mother’s eyes

She wrapped me warm and handed me

To a man I did not know

Why him?

There was another long before

I Am that I Am, The Eternal One

‘Appointed! Appointed!’ He had said

But why me?

Why not me?

Daphne Forbes, 2013

PREFACE

My friends asked, ‘How did you do it? How did you bounce back?’

This book has been written in the hope that it will describe my journey through life, and try to answer these questions. It documents how I remember the highlights of my life, my dreams of a bright future, my aspirations, and some of the disappointments that I faced along the way.

As far back as I can remember, I was a happy and ambitious child, but I had no idea of how I would be educated and to what degree. However, I was determined to plan my way to success. When poor health and a few hasty decisions changed things, I finally woke up to the realisation that my goals should be God-led and not just about my own desires.

I am a very private person, and it has not been easy for me to bare my soul in this book. But if no one bothered to write life stories, where would we find examples to learn from? My greatest wish is that my story will serve as a means of encouragement to anyone who may be facing similar circumstances. I hope that through sharing my story, many will be strengthened for their own journey through life.

I have used headings and sub-headings to help the reader to follow my journey as I see it. This may not be chronologically correct, and therefore, may not always reflect the true order of how incidents occurred.

In places, I have used Patios (Jamaican Creole, used mainly in informal settings by native Jamaicans). I will provide translations where necessary.

Some afterthoughts are also included to sum up my feelings on certain chapters. They are my opinions, and should be taken as such.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I acknowledge above all that it is the Lord God, the author and finisher of my faith and my life, who has kept me through good and bad times, and who inspired me to write this book. To Him I give all the glory!

With heartfelt gratitude, I want to thank my brother, the Reverend William Strachan, and my husband’s sister, Mrs Mavis Ellis, for being faithful confidantes, good friends, prayer warriors, and wise counsellors when I needed them.

I take great pleasure in thanking my brother, the Reverend Harold Strachan, for the example he has been to me over the years. Your faithfulness, integrity, and godliness have inspired my personal life and ministry.

To Mrs Ena Rodney, my sister and friend, with whom I could laugh as freely as I wanted to over the years: thank you for years of true friendship.

To the rest of my siblings in Jamaica, America, and Canada: thank you for helping to create wonderful childhood memories, which I will cherish forever.

I pay tribute to the late Reverend Ferdinand Hylton, and the late Reverend Donald Miller, who ‘held my hand’ throughout the early days of my ministry. I honour the memory of these ministers who supported and encouraged me over the years.

Special thanks to the Reverend Winifred Hylton, Mrs Lynette Berry, Mrs Enid Wright, and Mrs Hilda Lingard, who have been my prayer partners for many years. Prayer has been my strongest weapon throughout my life, and your prayerful support has been invaluable.

Many thanks to the Reverend Jancie Johnson, Mrs Annetta Minott, and Mrs Paulette McKenzie, for years of caring friendship and encouragement in everything I do.

Special appreciation to Mr Sidney and Mrs Coletta Brown (the parents of my son-in-law, Gorton); I have been blessed by your love and support: thank you.

Sincere thanks to all my brethren at the New Testament Church of God in Deptford and Rochester, with whom I have spent most of my Christian life. Your love and friendship is far-reaching, and I will always value and cherish those years of loving fellowship.

I am immensely grateful to my editors who have worked diligently to help me complete this book. I could not have done it without you.

Finally, I am especially grateful to my family whose love and encouragement kept me going through difficult times. Even when I don’t believe I am a good wife or mother, you make me feel that I am.

God bless you all!

ONE

Early Years—1940s

MAMA! MAMA! PAPA! PAPA!

‘Mama! Mama! Papa! Papa! You cover mi head, but you didn’t cover mi foot . . . !’

My earliest and most vivid childhood memory is of me aged about five, frantically shouting out in the dark in order to have my bed covers adjusted. Mama and Papa were the names I called my mother and father. Their bedroom was adjacent to mine and was relatively large considering the difficult economic times. Papa was among other things, a builder, and would use every opportunity to ensure that Mama (the woman he called his queen) had the house as she needed it, and that she was comfortable. The girls and the youngest child slept in the main building close to our parents, while the boys occupied an adjoining block to the main house.

The house was elevated on a hillside, a good distance from the main road, and was situated on several acres of farmland about a quarter of a mile from the nearest neighbour. At the main entrance was what I called the ‘enchanting apple tree’. This was because of its appealing attraction to visitors who would stop and rest under its thick, beautiful and welcoming branches after the uphill walk to the house. Its branches, leaves and blossoms, created contours that reminded me of a traditional tiered wedding cake. The blossoms were millions of delicate rose pink spikes—absolutely beautiful! When they fell to the ground, they formed a carpet-like bed, so beautiful we would reluctantly sweep them away. Before arriving at this beautifully matured tree, you would first have to climb the hilly, winding path which led up to our family home. It was a pleasant walk past a variety of fruit trees.

There were two windows and two doors in my parents’ bedroom: one window overlooked the front lawn and path to the front door, and the other faced the garden to the left towards the enchanting apple tree; and one door led to the main living room and the other to my room.

I shared a bedroom with my younger sister Ena. Ours was an average sized room of about twelve by eleven feet, with our beds quite close together. However, to a child who was afraid of the dark, they seemed miles apart. As there was no electricity in our isolated countryside house, I dreaded going to bed. Sharing a room with my dear sister made no difference to the long, trying hours of darkness.

I have often wondered whether having been born during World War II had helped engender those feelings of fear, but none of my siblings were afraid in the way I was. Papa often spoke of how the war affected our country. He mentioned the shortage of many household staples, such as kerosene oil, which was used as fuel to provide light in those days, and so that may be the reason why it was often darker than I wanted it to be.

Whilst I was like an eagle by day, enjoying my flight of life—playing, laughing and making wings with my hands, at night-time, the routine was disturbing and repetitive. My predictable complaints would range from, ‘You cover mi head, but you didn’t cover mi foot,’ to, ‘You cover mi foot, but you didn’t cover mi head.’ I would complain about anything, just to have the attention of my parents, and to keep the little kerosene oil lamp on. Later, as a teenager, I would fall asleep with a book while tightly clutching my portable kerosene-filled lamp. Papa or Mama would always have to retrieve the lamp to prevent me from setting fire to my bed.

Papa or Mama would always have to retrieve the lamp to prevent me from setting fire to my bed.

Throughout those early, formative and dependent years, I can’t remember my parents once being irritated by my persistent night-time crises, nor scolding me for wetting my bed. Instead, most of the time, I would end up as a third party in their warm, soft bed. It was a large bed with a gold and black wrought iron frame, boarded base, and a really cosy mattress. As my bed was hardly ever dry by the end of the night, if I was ever to enjoy a good night’s sleep, my parents’ cosy, dry bed was the best place to be.

My sleep continued to be interrupted by these night-time episodes, which sometimes left me lethargic throughout the day at school. I remember being quite young, and Papa taking me to Kingston. It got late, and as we were a long way from home, we spent the night at the home of a wealthy friend. I clearly recall that I actually wet the beautifully made up bed they had given me to sleep in. I did my best to try and cover my accident which I had become expert at doing. I then shamefully had breakfast and left. Papa, completely oblivious to my dilemma, happily chatted with me as we travelled home. These are some of the earliest memories I have of my childhood.

BIRTH AND SIBLINGS

I was born in St Andrew, Jamaica, on Sunday 19 October 1941, the ninth child of fourteen. If the saying is true about Sunday’s child being ‘bonny and blithe and good and gay’, then I epitomised that saying. I grew up a happy child—always laughing. This I credit to having had godly, caring parents. My parents named me Daphne, but my grandfather called me Dophnie. I loved the sound of that. My childhood home was full of love, and I was carefree and content.

God had given my father the wisdom to secure a safe and happy environment for us to live in. I disliked lizards; was terrified of noisy thunderstorms; and of course, I hated the dark. Apart from that, home was my miniature Eden. My parents had so much faith in God, our security felt assured as we slept and woke to face each new day of seemingly uninterrupted bliss.

As a household full of brothers and sisters, we were like any other mischievous children, but we suffered no major incidents. However, some of the things we got up to were innocently dangerous. I laugh every time I remember what we did to our dear brother William. He loved to sleep. We would all be up late in the evening, laughing and having fun, and he would fall asleep right in the middle of everything. One night we had had enough, so we lit a match to his heel and held it there until the heat soaked under his skin. He woke with a start, jumped up, and skipping around the room, shouted in part Patois: ‘Ah get up, an ah stan up, an ah walk all over the worl an die’—falling to the floor in sheer agony. That was dangerous and cruel. If Papa had found out, we would have been in deep trouble.

1%20-%20Papa%20and%20Mama%20with%20most%20of%20the%20children.%20I%20am%20bottom%20left%2c%20with%20Ena%20to%20my%20right.jpg

Papa and Mama with most of the children. I am bottom left, with Ena to my right

I can’t remember us going to bed on a grudge. Whilst it was sometimes difficult to tolerate my older siblings reporting my misdemeanours to my parents, life was still fun.

HOME SWEET HOME

Our family home was in a rural area, high up in the green tranquil hills of New Garden, St Andrew. It was a green, fruitful and mountainous place, with rivers running through many of its valleys. The area was good for cultivation because of its rich and fertile soil.