At a very young age, I was taken to live with my paternal grandparents as my mother and father had ended their marriage.  After the divorce my mother found it extremely difficult to raise two young children and go to work every day especially since she decided to move off of St. David's Island following the divorce. Just being away from her family was a shock in itself, as she had lived most of her life on St. David's, except for two years when she was sent to an Aunt so she could go to high school because the higher learning schools were located within the more heavily populated Parishes.

Even though my parents were divorced, they still remained friendly and at a community function, after discussion, the decision was made for me to live with my grandparents. My father placed me on the handles of his bicycle and rode me the 15 miles from that event to St. David's, stopping once along the way to buy me an orange soda in a small town called, The Flatts. I remember crying my little heart out for my sister and mother, and to this day can't bring myself to drink orange soda.

My parents home had been located near my grandparents as far back as I could recollect so I really don't remember it being a very difficult adjustment. However, I pined for my sister (she was 14 months younger than I), and I decided at the age of 5 to run away.  I started out walking through the tall cane grass in order to avoid being seen, but soon my little hands had blood flowing everywhere caused by the sharp edges which cut into my hands like fine honed knives. No matter which way I turned more cuts were added to the ones already received. Now lost and scared, I began screaming for help and a cousin was able to locate me and guide me out to safety. I had not gone very far in my attempt to run away, for I was almost 5 minutes from where I lived.  Where was I going anyway? When I arrived back at my grandparents home, grandfather cleaned me up, soothing me all the while and as soon as I was shiny and bright as a new shilling he rocked me back and forth until I feel into an exhausted sleep. Grandfather always smelled like peppermints, for in his infinite wisdom he carried a few in his pockets for me for just such times. He couldn't let Mama Helen know though, because the rule in her home was - no candy!  Carrots, cherries, yes. But, no candy! Of course, she never knew our little secret.  It was generally only when I cried, but he always had one ready for those times.

I always looked forward to the end of his work day as well as to when all the chores were done, and supper over. He would place me on his knee and tell me stories about the Pilot Boats and the ocean liners. Along with his crew, grandfather would meet the ships at sea and guide them clear of the reefs and shallow waters. Exact precision and judgement was required in order to deliver these huge ships safely through the extremely narrow St. George's Harbour channel which had been dregged deep enough to accommodate these huge floating hotels. Two of his sons followed in his footsteps. I am so proud today that this was my family's skill, and responsibility. They were born seaworthy, after having not only spent their entire lives on the pilot boats, but on their own boats as well.  I guess you could say there was a "boat at every mooring"  for every family on our island. It is like having a car in every garage in this era.

Besides the "candy" secret, we had another secret we shared and that was where he kept his money and his Will.  Neither of my grandparents used a bank. Their bank was at home.  Pa Fred gave Mama Helen all she needed to take care of the household.  Women did not work outside the home. It was unheard of - besides with all the work in the home, it would have been excessive.  After he took care of the home, he used to "hide" his money under the rug on the floor, up under the bed in the far corner. Only one person could reach it - and that was me! I knew how much he had under there and would take a little trip to the "bank" just to count it every day to ensure him that it was still there. Back then, it never occurred to him that someone could have pulled out the bed to get to it! I often wonder what happened to that money after he died.    

Innocence and purity of thought! I had to read the Will to him to ensure that what he wanted to do with his property was carried out to his wishes. I guess he thought the words would change on the paper if it was not read to him several times a month!

I flew to Bermuda just days before he died. I made it home from the United States in time to "pretend" to sit on his knee and for him to stroke my hair the way he did when I was a child. I secured his old woollen sweater, with holes everywhere in it and which had long ago lost its usefulness, but still smelled of peppermints and I kept it with me until it finally dropped to pieces from age.

Remembering back, we used to sit on the front porch during the early evening after all the chores were done and the water pumped into the tank for the next day, and make up stories using the cloud formations as our characters. We would spin tales until the sun went down. The clouds were white, light and fluffy and would move slowly on calm evenings. Pa Fred and I would weave our stories, laughing at the ability to imagine so much in such a simple setting. The clouds were my toys, and my imagination knew no boundaries there.  He was encouraging, as being a seafaring gentleman, he had spent many nights on the ocean doing the same thing he was now sharing with me.  As the sun lowered in the west, the sky would go from stages of beautiful shades of pink, blue, orange and purple.  By then I would almost be falling asleep in his arms. I cried for months when he passed, and I am sure that unconsciously I looked for him in my husband when I finally married, but that was not meant to be.  He was different from my grandmother.  He was calm and made no waves. On the other hand, Mama Helen would say something to me or to him and whatever she suggested, he would respond with great admiration and respect "Mama Helen is right, do what she says".  Then with a twinkle in his eye, he would whisper to me playfully "we'll talk about it later - our secret, eh?"

What a wonderful grandfather he was. Strong, stable and solid as a rock.