BOY DAYS WERE HAPPY, HAPPY DAYS

In The Beginning This chapter is about the small island of Young Island, as I know it now and recollection by my father and mother of what the island was in the early 1940’s. In those days and for many years after the island was called ‘Young’s Island’ until it was rebranded ‘Young Island’ when it was transformed into a Tourist Resort a few years ago. It lies in the deep, where the blue water gleams A beautiful Island, an Island of Dreams. Young’s Island is a triangular shaped island lying about 200 yards off the southern shores of St Vincent in the Southern Caribbean. From its shores it rises gradually to a height of 150 feet above sea level. It covers an area of nearly 25 acres. Today it is a fully self-contained and internationally renowned luxury island resort, frequented by the rich and famous from around the world. No one lives permanently on Young Island. Holiday makers come and spend their week or ten days and go. Some affluent Vincentians will visit for a special overpriced lunch or dinner and occasionally have a swim in its crystal clear waters with its light golden sandy beach. Young Island is the perfect place to forget what time it is, what day of the week it is and even forgets who you are. Rest and relaxation is the order of every day on this secluded resort and for the holidaymaker, every whim and fancy can be catered for. If your fancy is a swim, then it is there for you - the sea or the saltwater swimming pool; if you would like to snorkel, then it is just a matter of walking to the back of the island where there is another high and rocky tiny islet - Fort Duvernette - Rock Fort to all Vincentians, comes into view. It lies 50 yards from Young Island and it is possible to walk most of the way to the base of this old Fort which was a defensive position for St Vincent during the colonial wars for the islands. On the summit of Rock Fort some rusted cannons still point seawards where they were left by the colonizers. Around Rock Fort are some of the most stunning snorkelling and diving area in all of the Caribbean. The waters are deep and large and varied species of marine life are in abundance. One night each week vacationers on Young Island are taken by boat to Rock Fort for a Bar-B-Q picnic and are entertained by steel pan music. The more lubricated will even climb the Fort, following a flambeau lit path to its summit. The workers and staff who look after Young Island all live on mainland St Vincent. They commute daily and nightly using the free Young Island Ferry, a small replica of the ‘Island Queen in Humphrey Bogart‘s film Casablanca. This little motor vessel traverses the short distance between the mainland and the resort ferrying holidaymakers and workers virtually non-stop during the daylight hours; at night the service is “As Requested”. If you are on the small jetty on St Vincent, it takes just a wave of the hand to get the attention of the driver of the ferry who will immediately start the boat’s engine and motor the short distance to pick you up and return you to paradise. In the 1940’s Young Island was a completely different place. Same Island but it was covered mainly by cedar trees. There were also coconut and breadfruit trees and a few varieties of mango also grew on the island. The island also had an abundance of other tropical foliage and shrubs. The fauna were Iguanas, Manitou (Opossum) a few goats and of course crabs. It was on Young Island that my father developed his love for hunting and in particular Iguana and Manicou. He later became an expert Iguana and Manicou hunter and catcher and delighted in taking his friends hunting for these animals on any moonlit night on mainland St Vincent. Fishing, I was told was very good due to the abundance of sea life around the small island so the family were completely supplied with all their needs for survival. They also cultivated a vegetable patch with root crops and various herbs for cooking. There were two houses on the island – a five bedroomed bungalow perched on the top of the island, with a large public room and surrounded by a spacious gallery that was used as an observation station. This house was rented out to local Vincentians who wanted to have a quiet holiday away from their homes. The second house was for the Island’s caretaker, who at that time was my father. He did his infrequent commuting to and from the island by a row-boat which he called Queen. This little boat was also used to ferry the visitors who rented the holiday bungalow. It was during that period of time that I entered this world. I was told that when my mother started to experience ‘Labour Pains’ my Dad had to row his boat all the way to Calliaqua, the nearest town on the mainland, in order to get the Midwife to assist my mother with my birth. My Dad buried my navel string under a cedar tree; the exact spot was pointed out to me many years later by him. As far as I know or anyone is aware I am the only person acknowledged to have been born on Young Island. That fact in itself is an exceptional ‘First and only’; and with pride I always tell anyone who asks, that I was born on perhaps the smallest and least inhabited island in the world. That is unique and I love it. I was Christened a month after my birth at the Calliaqua Anglican Church and had one Godfather from Calliaqua, Mr. Fils and a Godmother from Belmont, Tita Revierre who was my Mother’s best friend. Mams, my Mother’s mother was at the christening and Edith McDowald, my father’s mother also attended. A little Feast for the occasion was held at the Church Hall because my grandparents did not want to travel to Young Island by boat and it would have taken several trips to get everyone over from Calliaqua and back after the get-together. My parents left Young Island about two years after my birth and returned to Belmont, the home of my mother. Daddy came from Murray’s Village, a suburb of the Island’s capital Kingstown. He attended school in Kingstown and therefore grew up as a Town Boy. His mother was Edith McDowald and his father was George Rose. A brother of my Grandmother Edith, whose name was Ivan Peters fought in Germany in the 1914-18 war as part of the BWI (British West Indian) contingent. He returned to St Vincent with his surviving comrades after the war with his medals and a wooden left leg. I do not know if he and others were ever rewarded for their services to the crown. My father was the youngest of five children born to his mother. Ormond Clarke was the first but he died in an accident involving a horse and cart at the young age of 16.