MAMA HELEN was the strong, outspoken one in the family. She ruled her "nest" she used to say.  All of her eight children, the first born when she was 14 years old, loved her.  She had four boys and four girls.  Vela, Alfred, Stacy, Evelyn, James, Doris, Olive-May and Oliver were born over a span of 20 years.  They were all tall and stately, had high cheek bones, and square brows. I loved my uncles and aunts as they all were fun to be with, were cheerful, and a niece or nephew could visit, stay over night, or even stay longer anywhere on the island. It took the entire island (or village) to raise the children. It was like going on vacation every week.  There were no telephones, so the message would be passed from house to house until it reached the designated home. 

My uncles and aunts had strong beliefs in the family structure and visited Mama Helen every day, to see if there was something needed, something to be done or just to see their parents.  My Aunt Vela married at an early age and left the island to live in Chicago with her husband, who was a Dutchman.  She still lives there and will be 100 years old in January 2000. The youngest son, Oliver Milton Martindale, was my father. He is now 81 years old. These two are the only surviving siblings.  Mama Helen would visit my aunt in Chicago and was probably the only person that I know who flew from the island in a seaplane. In this instance, she was way ahead of her time too. 

I particularly enjoyed hearing about her travels and would ask that she tell me the story over and over about a little white faced monkey that she had seen in the zoo there.  You see, I had never seen any domestic pets other than cats and dogs. I adopted a pet at that time which was a small lamb that was being raised and later slaughtered. This was always upsetting to me in the past, so I once painted his nails, nose and ears with the juice from red berries in hopes that it would not be slaughtered.  Her name was Rudolph. My grandfather relented and let me keep it as a pet.  I could just about get anything I wanted from Pa Fred as I was his his side kick and constant companion. His nickname for me was "cotton head, so called because I had soft curly dark hair. 

Mama Helen was the teacher of many skills in the family. She passed on work ethics and cleanliness and thoroughly believed that "cleanliness was next to Godliness". Church was the order of the day every Sunday - not just our own church, the Church of England, but we also had to attend the church on the way home, St. Luke's AME Church.  We walked the length of the island and back on Sundays, and attended this second service before we could rest or eat lunch. At our own church, we were instructed to sit on the very front seat of the church pew, as it had our family name attached on a brass plaque. That was something of which we were very proud. However, sitting in this seat required that you bend your neck way back to see the Clergy as he read from the Bible in a pulpit directly overhead from the sacristy.  One did not dare sigh or "suck your teeth" from disgust, as a hand quicker than lightening would emerge from nowhere and land squarely on the back of your neck or a pinch or a stern look was all that was required. 

Mama Helen was born and had lived on a small island in the St. George's Harbour. The island was large enough to house one family.  Hers.  She did not talk much about her background, and would relate very little history to me.  She had instilled in me a thirst to learn and I was an inquisitive child, who asked why, what, how, when, where?  She told me early on, that part of their lives "was not for you to know".  Some of us were brown-skinned, with blond hair and blue eyes.  Some were fair-skinned with dark eyes and dark hair, some of us were red-headed, fair-skinned with green eyes, some were dark-skinned with reddish blonde hair and blue or brown eyes.  Where did this mixture come from?  How could we all be so closely related and look so differently?  There was a reason for this and I wanted to know why!  And, being the inquisitive child I had grown up to be, I intended to find out what it was. 

The elder members of the family talked among themselves, and I planned to hide somewhere in the small home and see if I could learn something. I never fully found out except to know that someone from the Turk Islands was related to Mama Helen, had been a dark-skinned  woman married to a Irishman, (a Fox) my great, great, great grandfather.  This could have been the reason for the family secret and why there were so many varities of mixtures of colours, hair and eyes.  I learned that this lady's name was "Beana", and they preferred to "conveniently" not mention who she was.  This made me laugh because as I surveyed the island looking into faces of my immediate family, and there were quite a few of them, we all had features that were similar, only differing in others. Personalities were much the same, and almost cookie cutter in appearance and stature. Anywhere we went, people would say there goes one of those "Mohawks, they are like ducks, all walking in a row". And words like, "you better not say anything to those Mohawks, they will jump all over you, scare you and make you go back where you came from".  "They will form a ring and trap you".  "It is best to leave them alone". 

We would smile at their lack of knowledge, run off and frolic in the water, swimming in and among the fish like  mermaids, catch baby shrimp, jump from cliffs into the depth of an area called "Red Hole" narrowly missing sharp coral rock just for the thrills of it.  We would wash ashore in the surf with the shells and sand, only to run up the hill to the top of the cliff and start all over again.  We were in our own little world on St. David's, and the fear of the unknown was what kept people away from us. It was my thinking that because of mixed marriage, some of our forefathers were banned to the island.  There was a picture that hung in my grandparents bedroom of an Irish priest. Pa Fred told me that it was his father. We didn't mind how people responded to us with their lack of knowledge, we had everything God could provide for us to live on.  We had each other. If we wanted to go elsewhere, we would go by boat and visit the island of St. George's to buy "new fangled" things that had started showing up in our local stores.  Things such as clothing, and new types of materials and "real underwear".  Up until this time, all of our clothing had been made by hand, even our underwear! 

My grandmother would bleach out the bags that flour was shipped in in the sun for many weeks to get the dye out of the cotton, and we would soon be sporting "new underwear" and proud of it!  People used to tease us saying, "Those Mohawks are wearing flour bags" ! 

In later years when we were "allowed off the island" to attend higher education institutions, we walked for 8 miles everyday (back and forth) to catch the bus at what was called "The Entrance". This was the road that led from other parts of the island into St. David's Island. There was 4 miles of trees, bushes and few houses on both sides of the road, except of course, the American base lands, which was surrounded by a high wire fence.  I used to imagine that any minute lions or tigers would emerge from the high rocky area between the roadway and would jump on me, so I would run most of the way home from the bus stop.  Can you imagine doing this for 3 years and never being late? We couldn't be late, or we would miss the bus.  One bus was finally routed into St. David's to pick us up during my last year in high school.  I never understood why the Bermuda Government had not thought of it earlier!  We had given up our precious beach front land, lush with flowers and greenery, white sand and blue water that was clear to the bottom for a long distance to the depths, to accommodate their wishes and here we were the forgotten people. 

The one time I was a little late leaving home for the bus, I started running towards the stop without my shoes on.  Soon Mama Helen came bounding down the road with the shoes in one hand and my breakfast in the other hand. We could hear the bus coming around the bends and making each stop as it approached my stop.  She told me to put my shoes on while she hand fed me before the bus actually got to the stop.  The children standing waiting for the bus got a real laugh at that.  But, that was Mama Helen. She did what was best for her family in her own way. 

One day in my early teens, my grandfather brought the catch for the day home.  It consisted of many lobsters and the usual hearty fish from a very bountiful sea.  In the midst of all this fish was a very large garfish.  Mama Helen loved garfish, although most people did not eat them because they were full of tiny, sharp bones. She put this one fish aside to clean at a later time.  While my uncle James, she and I cleaned the other seafood and prepared the black cauldron with water and gathered up cedar wood to start a fire outside, a cat came along and stole the garfish!  Well, Mama Helen acted as if he had taken her wedding ring!  She ordered me to run after the cat and get her fish.  I chased that cat under porches, through the bushes, up and down lanes, through other family members' yards until the poor cat ran out of steam.  I must admit I was out of steam too.  By the time we both decided to call it quits, here comes Mama Helen, also out of breath trying to keep up with both of us, and asking me where was the fish. The cat still has the fish in his grasp and even though exhausted was not about to give up his evening meal.  She took a broom from somewhere, cornered the cat, and started messing with it.  He finally gave up and dropped the fish and ran under the house totally spent. 

She took the tooth-marked fish home, cut out the chewed parts, proceeded to clean the other parts and promptly put a frying pan on the outside fire, and fried and ate the fish!  Fish went in one side of her mouth and cleaned bones came out the other.  People still talk about the way she could clean fish bones. We all just stood there and laughed it off.  What else could we do! 

While writing these memories, I have laughed, cried and shared some of this story with my friends along the way.  As I sit back and review these pages, I am fully confident that perhaps some people will identify with this, others will wonder how we survived, and yet others will be glad it was not their lives. I want to unequivocally say that I had a wonderful childhood.  I was well adjusted, I did not want for anything, I had a loving family as well as an extended family and today, I am a happy woman. I do not think of myself as coming far from my beginnings, I think of myself as contributing to my country's adjustment, its growth and the position it enjoys today - that of being one of the wealthiest island in the Western Hemisphere. I became a responsible adult and I give back even to my country, even though most of the materials things we owned were were taken away from us to accommodate the comforts our our guests - the United States base personnel. I did not need materials possessions to be a whole person.  Even though these "things" are easy for me to obtain now, they hold little meaning for me. I would rather know that my legacy to my grandchildren, my family and my friends, has been one of caring for them, repecting them, wishing them well, wishing them success and showing them love. 

I hope that you will join me in relating your story.  The field is open to you.  WELCOME!