Feel free to comment!
Unless otherwise declared, ALL rights to postings in this blog are reserved by me, Richard Wm. Thomas, Five Rivers, Arouca, Trinidad and Tobago.
Thursday, 8 October 2009
Friday, 1 May 2009
The Bohbeen Tractor.
We used to make our own toys --tops, kites, boxcarts, slingshots what have you. But the Bohbeen Tractor held a league of its own. Follow the above design to make one yourself. Bless!
Thursday, 2 April 2009
The Seond Rape at Five Rivers Crossing.
For years and years the drains, footpaths and roads in Five Rivers, Arouca, have been deteriorating for lack of attention by the elected local government representatives and the relevant public authorities whose job it is to see after them. Yet, the only thing these individuals and agencies can see fit to do is to go onto lands over which they have no whatsoever control and which, from the 1920's, have been reserved for and used by the Five Rivers, Arouca residents and visitors as the point of embarkation/disembarkation on their journeys to and from their homes. For that is what The Crossing is --that triangular piece of land where, when travelling to Arima from Port of Spain, the former railway line (now-converted to the Priority Bus Route) first intersects with the Eastern Main Road.
As a youth, The Crossing was entirely-shaded by a majestic Samaan tree. the Big Tree --as, fondly, we called her-- was in feet as high as in years she was old --over a hundred-- and home to many arboreal or winged denizens. Within holes high up in her massive trunk lived woodpeckers, parrots, owls and squirrels, whose antics constantly bemused our eager eyes. In nests wedged in the crocks of, or hanging from, her outstretched boughs, keskidees, picoplats, sikeeyea, flycatchers and cornbirds attached their nests. And beneath --except in dead of night when jumbies prowled-- on her sprawling buttress-like roots, many a weary traveller would sit, either in hope of catching their second wind from the long walk down from the foothills of the lofty Northern Range, or of catching the next train or bus to their east-or-west-of-Five-Rivers destination.
Three hundred feet west of the Big Tree was the Five Rivers Dry River, which, at least triannually --when in flood-- would spill his precipitous banks to spew his waters like a murky blanket over the entire Crossing and, in the process, encircle the Mighty Samaan's up to her waist. But the Big Tree always stood her ground, keeping watch over The Crossing, using her luxuriant foliage to keep the Crossing safe for us, the good citizens of Five Rivers, Arouca. Thus, in short order, on every occasion, the Dry River would petulantly throw in the towel --a dry towel-- and shrink back to his natural course.
Aye! For more than a hundred years, the Big Tree sentrylike stood, as if watching, the comings and goings of Five Rivers, Arouca and guarding all who 'neath her passed against every treacherous twist and turn of Mother Nature. Aye! Yes! The Big Tree by The Crossing was, indeed, a proud bulwark; and a beauteous sight.. a most beauteous sight.
In his poem --The Last Buccaneer-- Charles Kingsley reminded that "an ending to all fine things must be". Kingsleylike, no good citizen of Five Rivers expected the Mighty Samaan to live forever. But none, too, expected that her end would come when and in the manner it did. For, sometime close to the 1981 General Elections, The Big Tree by the Forestry Division of the Ministry of Agriculture was unceremoniously felled and her precious timber hauled away to parts unknown.
The pretext for the Ministry's dastardly deed was that a different, but unwelcome, denizen had deep within her taken up residence --termites-- though, on inspection of her dismembered remains, neither life- nor limb-threatening evidence of the pesky insect was found. To this day, though suspicions are rife as to who did, none in authority has ever said who benefitted from the Forestry Division's callous act. To this day, too, the good citizens of Five Rivers, Arouca spit nothing but curses at the powers-that-be for that inconsiderate act. Some even derisively now refer to The Crossing as The Bareheaded Crossing.
Since the destruction of the Big Tree, the good citizens of Five Rivers have continued to use The Bareheaded Crossing as the hub for their inwards/outwards journeys and, over time, that hub has naturally evolved into a taxi stand --the jump-off point for ALL taxis plying north of the Eastern Main Road, between Crown Street, Tacarigua, in the west and, Lopinot Road, in the east. And, why not? For it's the ideal spot for such a purpose and, in any event, that's what it always was.
But, as is well-known to the good citizens --not only of Five Rivers-- the powers-that-be are not driven by what's best for the people when the people's money is to be spent.
So, now, in 2009, twenty-eight years after butchering the Big Tree and raping her prostrate corpse, yet, again the powers-that-be have returned to perpetrate another inconsiderate act on the good citizens of Five Rivers, Arouca --and in the same locale. For, in their mad haste to spend and spend and spend --no doubt, because the "safest" time to filch and filch and filch from the public purse would be when it's contents are released as if in flood-- the powers-that-be, through their agent, Tunapuna Piarco Regional Corporation (TPRC), abruptly moved into The Crossing and, with heavily-armed police officers ever-menacingly watching, shooed every Five Rivers resident from off their ancestral and commonly-held land to begin the task of "beautifying" The Crossing. How? By constructing a circular, concrete monstrosity. Why? Under the pretext that the spot needed to be sanitized for when Obama and them passing!
Sanitized?
For Obama?
What utter rubbish!
What utter contempt for the wishes of the good citizens of Five Rivers, Arouca!
President Obama is not on that! President Obama is about honest and open governance, about throwing open the doors and windows that, for way too long, have been kept shut, solely and firmly to cloister the corridors of power and deny the citizenry the real say in how and to what extent they must be governed!
The powers-that-be need to understand that the good citizens of Five Rivers, Arouca are on to them and, so, are demanding not only that they restore the Five Rivers Bareheaded Crossing taxi stand, but also that if they really want to sanitize things to impress President Obama, then what they need to do is to clean up their own act. That they can start doing, by coming clean in front of Chairman Uff and his Commission and by making a clean breast of it about Finance Minister Karen Nunez-Tesheira's double-dealing in the CL Financial Holdings affair plus the oh-so-many other underhand dealings the good citizens of Trinbago have been trying their damnedest, for the longest while, to have brought out in the open.
The wise is always sated with just a word.
As a youth, The Crossing was entirely-shaded by a majestic Samaan tree. the Big Tree --as, fondly, we called her-- was in feet as high as in years she was old --over a hundred-- and home to many arboreal or winged denizens. Within holes high up in her massive trunk lived woodpeckers, parrots, owls and squirrels, whose antics constantly bemused our eager eyes. In nests wedged in the crocks of, or hanging from, her outstretched boughs, keskidees, picoplats, sikeeyea, flycatchers and cornbirds attached their nests. And beneath --except in dead of night when jumbies prowled-- on her sprawling buttress-like roots, many a weary traveller would sit, either in hope of catching their second wind from the long walk down from the foothills of the lofty Northern Range, or of catching the next train or bus to their east-or-west-of-Five-Rivers destination.
Three hundred feet west of the Big Tree was the Five Rivers Dry River, which, at least triannually --when in flood-- would spill his precipitous banks to spew his waters like a murky blanket over the entire Crossing and, in the process, encircle the Mighty Samaan's up to her waist. But the Big Tree always stood her ground, keeping watch over The Crossing, using her luxuriant foliage to keep the Crossing safe for us, the good citizens of Five Rivers, Arouca. Thus, in short order, on every occasion, the Dry River would petulantly throw in the towel --a dry towel-- and shrink back to his natural course.
Aye! For more than a hundred years, the Big Tree sentrylike stood, as if watching, the comings and goings of Five Rivers, Arouca and guarding all who 'neath her passed against every treacherous twist and turn of Mother Nature. Aye! Yes! The Big Tree by The Crossing was, indeed, a proud bulwark; and a beauteous sight.. a most beauteous sight.
In his poem --The Last Buccaneer-- Charles Kingsley reminded that "an ending to all fine things must be". Kingsleylike, no good citizen of Five Rivers expected the Mighty Samaan to live forever. But none, too, expected that her end would come when and in the manner it did. For, sometime close to the 1981 General Elections, The Big Tree by the Forestry Division of the Ministry of Agriculture was unceremoniously felled and her precious timber hauled away to parts unknown.
The pretext for the Ministry's dastardly deed was that a different, but unwelcome, denizen had deep within her taken up residence --termites-- though, on inspection of her dismembered remains, neither life- nor limb-threatening evidence of the pesky insect was found. To this day, though suspicions are rife as to who did, none in authority has ever said who benefitted from the Forestry Division's callous act. To this day, too, the good citizens of Five Rivers, Arouca spit nothing but curses at the powers-that-be for that inconsiderate act. Some even derisively now refer to The Crossing as The Bareheaded Crossing.
Since the destruction of the Big Tree, the good citizens of Five Rivers have continued to use The Bareheaded Crossing as the hub for their inwards/outwards journeys and, over time, that hub has naturally evolved into a taxi stand --the jump-off point for ALL taxis plying north of the Eastern Main Road, between Crown Street, Tacarigua, in the west and, Lopinot Road, in the east. And, why not? For it's the ideal spot for such a purpose and, in any event, that's what it always was.
But, as is well-known to the good citizens --not only of Five Rivers-- the powers-that-be are not driven by what's best for the people when the people's money is to be spent.
So, now, in 2009, twenty-eight years after butchering the Big Tree and raping her prostrate corpse, yet, again the powers-that-be have returned to perpetrate another inconsiderate act on the good citizens of Five Rivers, Arouca --and in the same locale. For, in their mad haste to spend and spend and spend --no doubt, because the "safest" time to filch and filch and filch from the public purse would be when it's contents are released as if in flood-- the powers-that-be, through their agent, Tunapuna Piarco Regional Corporation (TPRC), abruptly moved into The Crossing and, with heavily-armed police officers ever-menacingly watching, shooed every Five Rivers resident from off their ancestral and commonly-held land to begin the task of "beautifying" The Crossing. How? By constructing a circular, concrete monstrosity. Why? Under the pretext that the spot needed to be sanitized for when Obama and them passing!
Sanitized?
For Obama?
What utter rubbish!
What utter contempt for the wishes of the good citizens of Five Rivers, Arouca!
President Obama is not on that! President Obama is about honest and open governance, about throwing open the doors and windows that, for way too long, have been kept shut, solely and firmly to cloister the corridors of power and deny the citizenry the real say in how and to what extent they must be governed!
The powers-that-be need to understand that the good citizens of Five Rivers, Arouca are on to them and, so, are demanding not only that they restore the Five Rivers Bareheaded Crossing taxi stand, but also that if they really want to sanitize things to impress President Obama, then what they need to do is to clean up their own act. That they can start doing, by coming clean in front of Chairman Uff and his Commission and by making a clean breast of it about Finance Minister Karen Nunez-Tesheira's double-dealing in the CL Financial Holdings affair plus the oh-so-many other underhand dealings the good citizens of Trinbago have been trying their damnedest, for the longest while, to have brought out in the open.
The wise is always sated with just a word.
Monday, 23 February 2009
Wen Joovay morning come.
Right! Joovay reach! So, continuing from wey ah leff off yestuhday, lemme give you a synopsis of what uses to achuaally go on long time wen ah was ah lil boy growin up in Five Rivers, Arouca, Trinidad, wen Joovay morning come.
Me an me two brothers de ones who was rong my age, uses to get up all excited an' as we done clean up and say we prayers we hussle outside to get ready to roll, wen Joovay morning come.
Now! We had ah shed in de bakyard dem days. It used to be ah pigpen one time. It had anodda shed too but dat was full ah stuff leff over from wen Daddy did bil over de house an' addhon de back bedroom an' kitchen. We didn' used to go dere at all it was too daynjahruss. So is de fuss shed ah talkin' 'bout eh? Is dey we had all we mas' stuff puhdong fuh wen Joovay morning come.
Fuss we would put on de dress. Not a good dress eh but ah ol' one. Dat was we basic costume fuh wen Joovay morning come.
Den we put on we pitchoil pan drum rong we neck to hang dong in front for we to beat wen we hit de road wen Joovay morning come.
Den we duttmask dem. Who own is devil or dog or wotever everybody did know which duttmask is who own so it never had no squibbling. We couldna afford to waste time cohrillin' not dis morning wen at last Joovay morning come.
De las' ting would be de hat. Ah straw hat or felt hat once it cover yuh head it go wok. In fal it had to wok cause like ah done tell yuh arredy dat Joovay morning come.
Oh shucks ah nearly fuhget! De las' item was de wissle! No ol' mas getup was complete lessin yuh had ah wissle in yuh mout' wen Joovay morning com.
An' wit some quikfyah fweet fweet fweet blass from we wissles an' rattattattattats on we drums we would leave de yard to go meet we pardnas oppazit so all ah we could hit de streets ah Five Rivers, Arouca as one. Wen Joovay morning come.
De fuss house we would hit Karamsingh own wen Joovay morning come.
Mr Karamsingh an' Mrs Karamsing an' he chirren would come by de gate to tolerate we a lil bit den share out a haypnee o ah full penny to each ah we so we could leave from in front dey gate fass wen Joovay moring come.
Mr Karamsingh las' son Sarvan wuz we real pardna but he fadda didn' use to allow him to play no mas' cause he was a strict Hindu, doh mine he shop use to sell rum an' pigtail an' ting. So we would send Sarvan ah signal wit ah nod ah de head as if to say Gosh boy! we know how yuh feel but we go blo we wissle a few blass extra an' pong we pitchoil pan drum some more too jus fuh you. Den take he fadda offerings an' leave wen Joovay moring come.
So we would continue along touchin' every gate an' not movin' till somebody come out to run someting to compensate we fuh de time an' trouble we took to make we duttmask an' beat we drum while singin' "one pong to see de queen" fuh dem. Harper, Doyle, Curryman, Rohit Mooma, Mr Nogeira. Den Samdaye, Miss Lizzy, Chase, Sahai, Fraser, Pansee, Miss Enid, Miss Uree, Payne, Sadu. Not ah house uses to escape. Dahiz how it use to go dong longtime in Five Rivers, Arouca wen Joovay morning come.
Some ah de people was cheap ah wouldn call no name. Dey would tell we dat odda mas' done pass arredy an' wen we turn to leave dey would say wappen yall not showin' we de queen? An' doh dey didn' pass change because dey big we had respeck fuh dem so we still had to show dem cause dahiz how life was does days in Five Rivers, Arouca wen Joovay morning come.
But is lie dey did lie wen dey say odda mas' did done pass 'cause it had different groups ah boys playin' ol' mas dem days an' we had ah understandin' fuh each group to roam it own terryterry. So who from 1st and 2nd Street used to wok dat area. Who from 3rd and 4th and 5th wok to suit wey dey from. An' so on. So yuh never used to bonks up pardnas from de odda parts ah Five Rivers, Arouca in your terryterry wen Joovay morning come.
Excep' if yuh was a bigger boy o ah real man who playin' mas' like jabjab, blue devil o mad bull wen Joovay morning come.
Talkin' 'bout mad bull mas' it had a mister name Ned who used to play mad bull every time wen Joovay morning come.
If yuh see he mas"! One big big big bull head wit' flare nose an' ring in it an' two big big curve horn on top. Plus ah long rope tie rong de neck dat burst like if is a real mad bull dat was tie to graze in de savannah on 5th street dat did get way an' roamin' de place wild wild wen Joovay morning come.
Mr Ned use to make it he bizniss to pass by we every year wen Joovay morning come.
But he used to make sure we home wen he passin' cause he real plan wuzzen to sho off no dam mas' but to frighten we ass good an' proper with he big bull head mas' wen Joovay morning come.
An' he well used to frighten we fuh troot wen Joovay morning come.
An' fuss he did wikkid afta he frighten we an' make we scream he would pull off he big big bullhead mas' an' laff an' say wappen to allyuh is me Mr Ned! An' give we some small change to split up 'mongst weeself. Shimps man! Dahiz wot Mr Ned used to do to we evry time wen joovay morning come.
Yes ah tell yuh. it was nice dem days. Wen I was a lil boy growin' up in Five Riers, Arouca, Trinidad. Especially wen Joovay morning come.
We used to paly we mas' not so much fuh de money but to show dat we didn' need much to make each odda happy and glad especially the one day ah de year wen Joovay morning come.
Hope you too could have as good ah time as I did wen your Joovay morning come.
Me an me two brothers de ones who was rong my age, uses to get up all excited an' as we done clean up and say we prayers we hussle outside to get ready to roll, wen Joovay morning come.
Now! We had ah shed in de bakyard dem days. It used to be ah pigpen one time. It had anodda shed too but dat was full ah stuff leff over from wen Daddy did bil over de house an' addhon de back bedroom an' kitchen. We didn' used to go dere at all it was too daynjahruss. So is de fuss shed ah talkin' 'bout eh? Is dey we had all we mas' stuff puhdong fuh wen Joovay morning come.
Fuss we would put on de dress. Not a good dress eh but ah ol' one. Dat was we basic costume fuh wen Joovay morning come.
Den we put on we pitchoil pan drum rong we neck to hang dong in front for we to beat wen we hit de road wen Joovay morning come.
Den we duttmask dem. Who own is devil or dog or wotever everybody did know which duttmask is who own so it never had no squibbling. We couldna afford to waste time cohrillin' not dis morning wen at last Joovay morning come.
De las' ting would be de hat. Ah straw hat or felt hat once it cover yuh head it go wok. In fal it had to wok cause like ah done tell yuh arredy dat Joovay morning come.
Oh shucks ah nearly fuhget! De las' item was de wissle! No ol' mas getup was complete lessin yuh had ah wissle in yuh mout' wen Joovay morning com.
An' wit some quikfyah fweet fweet fweet blass from we wissles an' rattattattattats on we drums we would leave de yard to go meet we pardnas oppazit so all ah we could hit de streets ah Five Rivers, Arouca as one. Wen Joovay morning come.
De fuss house we would hit Karamsingh own wen Joovay morning come.
Mr Karamsingh an' Mrs Karamsing an' he chirren would come by de gate to tolerate we a lil bit den share out a haypnee o ah full penny to each ah we so we could leave from in front dey gate fass wen Joovay moring come.
Mr Karamsingh las' son Sarvan wuz we real pardna but he fadda didn' use to allow him to play no mas' cause he was a strict Hindu, doh mine he shop use to sell rum an' pigtail an' ting. So we would send Sarvan ah signal wit ah nod ah de head as if to say Gosh boy! we know how yuh feel but we go blo we wissle a few blass extra an' pong we pitchoil pan drum some more too jus fuh you. Den take he fadda offerings an' leave wen Joovay moring come.
So we would continue along touchin' every gate an' not movin' till somebody come out to run someting to compensate we fuh de time an' trouble we took to make we duttmask an' beat we drum while singin' "one pong to see de queen" fuh dem. Harper, Doyle, Curryman, Rohit Mooma, Mr Nogeira. Den Samdaye, Miss Lizzy, Chase, Sahai, Fraser, Pansee, Miss Enid, Miss Uree, Payne, Sadu. Not ah house uses to escape. Dahiz how it use to go dong longtime in Five Rivers, Arouca wen Joovay morning come.
Some ah de people was cheap ah wouldn call no name. Dey would tell we dat odda mas' done pass arredy an' wen we turn to leave dey would say wappen yall not showin' we de queen? An' doh dey didn' pass change because dey big we had respeck fuh dem so we still had to show dem cause dahiz how life was does days in Five Rivers, Arouca wen Joovay morning come.
But is lie dey did lie wen dey say odda mas' did done pass 'cause it had different groups ah boys playin' ol' mas dem days an' we had ah understandin' fuh each group to roam it own terryterry. So who from 1st and 2nd Street used to wok dat area. Who from 3rd and 4th and 5th wok to suit wey dey from. An' so on. So yuh never used to bonks up pardnas from de odda parts ah Five Rivers, Arouca in your terryterry wen Joovay morning come.
Excep' if yuh was a bigger boy o ah real man who playin' mas' like jabjab, blue devil o mad bull wen Joovay morning come.
Talkin' 'bout mad bull mas' it had a mister name Ned who used to play mad bull every time wen Joovay morning come.
If yuh see he mas"! One big big big bull head wit' flare nose an' ring in it an' two big big curve horn on top. Plus ah long rope tie rong de neck dat burst like if is a real mad bull dat was tie to graze in de savannah on 5th street dat did get way an' roamin' de place wild wild wen Joovay morning come.
Mr Ned use to make it he bizniss to pass by we every year wen Joovay morning come.
But he used to make sure we home wen he passin' cause he real plan wuzzen to sho off no dam mas' but to frighten we ass good an' proper with he big bull head mas' wen Joovay morning come.
An' he well used to frighten we fuh troot wen Joovay morning come.
An' fuss he did wikkid afta he frighten we an' make we scream he would pull off he big big bullhead mas' an' laff an' say wappen to allyuh is me Mr Ned! An' give we some small change to split up 'mongst weeself. Shimps man! Dahiz wot Mr Ned used to do to we evry time wen joovay morning come.
Yes ah tell yuh. it was nice dem days. Wen I was a lil boy growin' up in Five Riers, Arouca, Trinidad. Especially wen Joovay morning come.
We used to paly we mas' not so much fuh de money but to show dat we didn' need much to make each odda happy and glad especially the one day ah de year wen Joovay morning come.
Hope you too could have as good ah time as I did wen your Joovay morning come.
Sunday, 22 February 2009
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
Why can't we revert?
There were ten of us, children, in the Thomas clan; gender-wise, evenly distributed. Daddy worked. Mammy did not. He was a police officer, at the time of my birth, a Sergeant. She, a mother, a housewife.
In our household, there were always guests, one, two or three, relatives, from St. Vincent or Grenada, the Caribbean countries from which my parents came. Those guests would stay, sometimes months on end. They did no work, except around the house, helping wash, cook, iron, tend to the kitchen garden and, to us, the younger ones.
Yet, though by the time of his retirement, in 1966, an Assistant Superintendant, Daddy never earned more than four hundred and fifty-nine dollars a month, I do not recall a time when there was not enough food to eat, nourishing, filling food. Yes! The meals, at times, being children, we found repugnant, but, eat them we did: we had no option, other than to remain hungry. As to clothes? The situation was no different, for, in a family of ten children, hand-me-down was the rule. As then, even in much smaller family units, the same pratice obtained.
Ah! Yes! The Thomas clan was a contented lot! We shared, we laughed, we cried; together. And, we fretted not over deteriorating economic conditions, for there were none over which to fret.
Until, "Boom!", somebody pronounced, "Money is no problem!"
In our household, there were always guests, one, two or three, relatives, from St. Vincent or Grenada, the Caribbean countries from which my parents came. Those guests would stay, sometimes months on end. They did no work, except around the house, helping wash, cook, iron, tend to the kitchen garden and, to us, the younger ones.
Yet, though by the time of his retirement, in 1966, an Assistant Superintendant, Daddy never earned more than four hundred and fifty-nine dollars a month, I do not recall a time when there was not enough food to eat, nourishing, filling food. Yes! The meals, at times, being children, we found repugnant, but, eat them we did: we had no option, other than to remain hungry. As to clothes? The situation was no different, for, in a family of ten children, hand-me-down was the rule. As then, even in much smaller family units, the same pratice obtained.
Ah! Yes! The Thomas clan was a contented lot! We shared, we laughed, we cried; together. And, we fretted not over deteriorating economic conditions, for there were none over which to fret.
Until, "Boom!", somebody pronounced, "Money is no problem!"
Saturday, 19 July 2008
Pigeon would dovetail nicely to reduce the cost of dinner.
From my boyhood days I've been eating pigeon.
Back then, it was Spirikee's kit which furnished the winged critters for us boys to sautée in curry or roast over open fire, on the banks of Blue Stone or Flood Gate, two of the popular bathing spots in Five Rivers, back in those days. Spirikee was an older boy, a tall chap, and one of the several who kept pigeons; his passel was, by far, the largest. We would set traps baited with corn grains or take them out by slingshot or, before the government ban, pellet gun. In later years, my supply of the delicious meat came from the rooftop of the feedmill in the Fernandes' compound near Morvant Junction, where pigeons thrive in their "millions".
The birds are hardy and also very prolific breeders and, to most people, are of nuisance value, as anyone who's been "blessed" by one would most eagerly agree. Yet, none can deny that they are an almost inexhaustable supply of protein-on-the-wing, which, even when not as imaginatively-prepared as below, none can resist.
Given the insatiable craving we have for poultry and the frustration we bear at having to fork out upwards of $60.00 for a chicken and $200.00 for a duck, perhaps now is the time for us, instead, to flock to tables where pigeon takes pride of roost? Such a change of fare would, as well, fare well for our wallets, as dovetailing the petite fowl into our routine cuisine would nicely nosedive the cost of dinner.
Oh! By the way! To this day, Spirikee hasn't a clue as to why the numbers in his flock so erratically fluttered. I trust that nary a word shall be whispered to him, since, as H. P. Lovecraft says, in "At The Mountain of Madness":
Back then, it was Spirikee's kit which furnished the winged critters for us boys to sautée in curry or roast over open fire, on the banks of Blue Stone or Flood Gate, two of the popular bathing spots in Five Rivers, back in those days. Spirikee was an older boy, a tall chap, and one of the several who kept pigeons; his passel was, by far, the largest. We would set traps baited with corn grains or take them out by slingshot or, before the government ban, pellet gun. In later years, my supply of the delicious meat came from the rooftop of the feedmill in the Fernandes' compound near Morvant Junction, where pigeons thrive in their "millions".
The birds are hardy and also very prolific breeders and, to most people, are of nuisance value, as anyone who's been "blessed" by one would most eagerly agree. Yet, none can deny that they are an almost inexhaustable supply of protein-on-the-wing, which, even when not as imaginatively-prepared as below, none can resist.
Given the insatiable craving we have for poultry and the frustration we bear at having to fork out upwards of $60.00 for a chicken and $200.00 for a duck, perhaps now is the time for us, instead, to flock to tables where pigeon takes pride of roost? Such a change of fare would, as well, fare well for our wallets, as dovetailing the petite fowl into our routine cuisine would nicely nosedive the cost of dinner.
Oh! By the way! To this day, Spirikee hasn't a clue as to why the numbers in his flock so erratically fluttered. I trust that nary a word shall be whispered to him, since, as H. P. Lovecraft says, in "At The Mountain of Madness":
"...It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of earth's dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be let alone, lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests."
Thursday, 3 April 2008
Hatna!
In a lengthy discussion with Hatna recently, we agreed that the comprehensive history of Five Rivers must be written.
So!
Stay tuned!
So!
Stay tuned!
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
Smoky Joe.
Smoky Joe's whistle's shrill blast would pierce the early morning air precisely at 6:25, every day, except Sunday or public holiday, as, slowly, she chugged and fretted her way out from the station at Railway Road (where else?), announcing to all, lower down, in Five Rivers, that, within five minutes, precisely, she would be there, straddled across the Crossing, across the Eastern Main Road, under the big Samaan Tree, waiting for us, all the while encased by the two red and white steel gates that the gateman would, at the whistle blast, spring from his little hut next to the drain and make swing to block rubber-wheeled traffic on the black tarmac road, for Smoky Joe, she had priority, the unquestioned right-of-way, whenever she passed, or for five minutes, paused, to disgorge or invite aboard, those who, of Five Rivers, Cane Farm, St Clair and Anguilla Villages, relied on her to get to and fro, on time, every time.
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
When Alma hit!
I remember Alma: she dumped floods across the central plains and lifted some roofs and while she did, to Flood Gate and Blue Stone and Kilroy Pool and Bridge River, she bequeathed millions and millions of sparkling clear raindrops, in measured dose, so that, surprise! surprise! these pools, though, thus, swollen, never disgorged became, nor turbid, instead, even more inviting to us, the inquisitive few, who ventured forth, when the winds and rains subsided, to assess what damage Alma might have wrought to our beloved Five Rivers; oh! we enjoyed that extended dip in the biting cold waters the day that Alma passed through the middle of Trinidad, from east to west, that
Tuesday,
August thirteenth nineteen seventy-four.
Tuesday,
August thirteenth nineteen seventy-four.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
