GRANDFATHER AND I ARE A

WINNING COMBINATION

Grandfather Bill Atkins had no siblings where he resides in the hamlet of Londonderry, it was a blessing to be staying with him and miss Pandora. Miss Pandora was the most beautiful woman, I declare in the county. not only was she pretty her ways and nature was just as classic, she was a joy and a loving step mother to me, I love her dearly, just imagine the joy of my boyhood days living in the hamlet of Londonderry with Grandfather Bill. Grandfather's home was a shy away from the little hamlet called Piaye, on the highway to Laborie, he worshiped in the parish village of Laborie, I also attended school there, every weekday I would walk a mile to the school house next to the church, as far as I can remember we were all housed in a large broken down barn type house, a section of the school was used as a bus shelter, I can remember hiding behind the boards to escape homework lessons. At the age of five grandfather enroll me in that school at Saltibus, my memory recollection of my school days, when I lived with my grandfather is vague, I don’t remember much, however I do remember walking back and forth to school, and the house we live in next to the highway, even now I think in my mind, hearing the cart wheels rolling underneath the house, grandfather harvested cocoa beans and stored them beneath the house, the house was sited upon a hill top downward slope, yes I remember clearly the trips I made to the mango orchard across the road, and the times I sneak out to visit the work men in the copra house, the ride on the tractor, miss Pandora milk shakes and bakes for breakfast, grandfather sitting near his old worn out radio listening to the BBC news, the flower bed that adorn the front of the house, the schedule monthly hair trim grandfather was awesome, smart as a whip, well educated the first son of an immigrant who visited the Island, fell in love with the place and never return to his beloved home in Ireland. Yes, my grandfather was from the Mulitó nation. I was happy on the farm with my grandfather and Miss Pandora, on the weekend I would accompany Miss Pandora to the river half a mile away, and all day long I would play in the water, Miss Pandora would have me sit on a stone next to her, while she wash the family dirty cloths. I love Miss Pandora even though she was not married to her grandfather, but they lived together as a couple, she had no children of her own, so for a long time, I was her adopted son.

THE KENVIL ATKINS STORY An Extract from the book Old Canelles

I will tell you my story if you lend me your ear. If voting were possible in my class, I would be voted most likely to fail, given the circumstances at the time, you would be right. Even though I was ambitious and applied every effort to be educated, the system did not fail me, my parents did, at an early age I was left to the care of my grandfather who was of age already, he did his best to educate me by making sure that I was going to school, and I did. However things do not always work out the way you envision, grandfather passed away, I was shipped to my Grandmother she had no choice but to accept me in her household, in her heart I was a second-class citizen, Grandma was a baker in the village of Micoud, the village where I was born, everyone knew her quite well, she turned out the best bread loves and sold it for a reasonable price, let’s us say she was not poor, nor was she rich, she could have been rich if not for the nine mouths needed feeding. The moment I arrived at the house I knew that my happy days with Grandfather would be all memory and that I had just landed into a mess of trouble, throughout the years looking back, I was only a teenager then but I was right in thinking that she had me doing all the work of maintaining the household, scrubbing floors, carrying water from the river half a mile trip, gathering firewood for the oven, retrieving food from the countryside making the five-mile walk there and back, scrubbing all utensils such as pots and pans to its original beauty, oh yes there were lots more I was made to do. At night the bed where I slept, was nothing but bits and pieces of old cloth, which is called bedding, spreading it out at night on the floor, in the morning before bagging it up grandma would thoroughly check it for wetness, I sometimes urine in bed if and when I did, she would scrub my teeth with it, or tie it around my neck, then have me wash every bit of it. I became fearful of Grandma, every night I would sleep on pins and needles hoping not to soil my bed, when I did I would take the bits and pieces of bedding, pile it up under me, and sleep the night on it, hoping to dry it up with my body heat, when she was absent she had her oldest siblings join in the fun of humiliating me. In my grandmother's house, there were nine people, and I made it ten. All those people were being cared for by Grandma. Grandfather had left her a long time ago, but he never returned, so it was only Grandma with all those mouths to feed. There was always something happening, I was but her grandson so I did not count in her eyes as being important, the other grandchildren were more privileged than I was even though some of their parents left them to her care, but those were her daughter children, to be honest, those children were being supportive by their parents. My mother and Father left me at the age of four, to the care of my grandfather, I call him Papa thinking that he was my real father, yes I up thinking that my grandfather was my real father, it that he never gave me any reason to think otherwise, not once did he mention the names of either of my parents, he never complains about them, or the supportive role they did not play in my life, instead he treated me like his son, in his care I feel safe.

TAKEN FROM THE BOOK OLD CANELLES

THEY CALL HER WORSE_MISS - HER MAJESTY:

Frankly, she could be the queen here in Canelles, there were no other woman folks to oppose her leadership, at the time she was the only woman living in Canelles, to be precise there was only two family residing in the little Hamlet called Canelles, hands down, I believe she was the queen, Canelles' only queen. Never again will you find such a woman as my grandma, Grandma Worz, a lady of character a woman of substance a woman of great virtue, my grandmother was a heroine and time was her only enemy for in time she became short-sighted but never lost her sight on a life journey, at five in the morning you could sniff in the air the smell of flour cakes. She gently turned the last one over she would say to us you boys have to move fast I have but a short time before leaving for the country five miles from whence she lives, take me with you I would always say to her and as usual she would reply one day when you are much older. Finally, that day came when Grand Ma said to me, we are all going to the country tomorrow, the road was very narrow and muddy you could hardly call it a road at all it looked more like a track, over tree trunks and under makeshift bridges across muddy ravines we push on to finally arrive in a large field, at the end of the field were several bread fruits trees from those trees’ grandma would pick her fill of breadfruits. Of course, by now one thought in my mind was the trip back, I do not believe I could carry any load back with me I said to her, child she replied here take that one giving me a medium-sized breadfruit, she then forced herself to lift a heavy bag of food onto her head. Off we would go back on the trail that would take us home to Canelles, by the time I arrived at the house I had thrown my one breadfruit down so many times that it was covered with mud, we would cook that one first grandma would say as she laughs out loud, she never showed any signs of fatigue, I thought my grandma must be the toughest woman alive and was also as strong as a lion, I admired my Grandma. No sooner had we arrived at the house than she would put on her head kerchief and striking a short stub of a pipe on the palm of her hand empty she would then fill it with tobacco and set it aflame, grabbing her large straw hat and firmly securing it to her head she would call out to us saying ‘’ I will be in the field down in the valley if you all need me’’ how I long to know what was in that field that could not wait for grandma to rest her poor tired body, OK grandma I would say half out of breath My next big adventure with Grandma Ma was soon to introduce me to the secret that lies in the field, armed with her machete and several yards of twine, she called out to me saying I am taking you with me today, To Grandma, I said, Come along, child you will soon see. We set out towards the ocean a place called Pwindaykye or Honeymoon Beach, I could tell because, on the way we met several fishermen carrying back the day catch, you could also hear the ocean waves dashing on the rocky shore, I wonder I said to myself what kind of fish is caught with a machete and that twine she is caring. Finally, I heard her say we are here, but I could not see the sea. Are you sure, Grandma? I called out to her, Oh yes, she said look around you, we are here to collect those leaves, pretending that I knew what she meant. I said Alright. Grandma went on chopping until we had a large bundle which she then secured with the twine, Make one for me, I said to her, to which she replied Maybe someday, but now you are too small for such a trip. Here, carry the machete. We arrived at the field at the back of Grandma's house I was very surprised to see her lying on the ground was hundreds of such leaves, throwing down the bundle of her head she immediately started turning the leaves over, I jumped in to help her not knowing why I was doing that, what are these for Grandma I turn around to inquire of her. Why? To make the brooms she replies they need to be turned regularly while the sun is hot, it was then I now understood the secret of the field below, whether it was food five miles away brooms or coals Grand Ma Leslie performed her task with precision perfection for my grandma was a rose, the queen of the roses. Next time, readers, I will take you down my boyhood days with Grandma Leslie, the rose. It was five o clock out of the corner of my eye a figure slipped out of the house, rushing up to my feet, running out the back door I dashed to the little track behind the house to see who it was, to my surprise it was my grandma wearing her large straw hat, one bucket in each hand, Her waist was tied up holding up a large waterproof pants, almost up to her breast, what gives I shouted to her, turning around she whispered to me go back to bed child, and back to bed I went but the thought of she is dressing like that was too much to ignore, I made up my mind to follow her next time she sneaks out the backdoor. A month later I got my big break Grandma Leslie was on the move again, this time I did not sneak around but came straight to the point and said to her please take me with you Grandma, she looked at me with a long dazed stare shook her head, then she said OK go get a change of clothes, I got so excited that I had no time to ask why the change of clothes. , moving as fast as I could, I searched the basket of dirty clothes in the room to find an old pair of trousers and a worn-out shirt stain with cashew nut stain, got it Grandma I said, child here grab hold of this sack and empty you will need it, I will I thought out loud. The track behind Grandma House move this way and that way to yet another track that leads to a half clean wider track, something you should know depending on where you want to go, the track will branch out to your supposed destination, this time our destination seems to be leading to the bay at Honeymoon, boy oh boy I always wanted to go to the bay at Pwindaykye, well it seems that my time is now, entering the track that leads to the bay I find it to be much larger than the other tracks, it even had pasted stone walk at some point. Halfway down the road well I suppose I could call it a road because the track eventually broadened and enlarged to a wide road ahead of me, honestly, I was so excited my face lit up like a firecracker following Grandma down the road, about a quarter mile or so the road passes under a huge nut tree and made its way straight into a green field of grass up to a long fence that had a large gate, darn I said to myself looks like we block what now?. But before we move on with the story let's go back to the nut tree that was in the middle of the road, my favorite thing was to go gathering nuts I boosted of knowing all the nut trees around the house for miles, but it seems there was a couple I miss as you will see later as I journey with grandma. Under the nut tree were all kinds of dry nuts some nuts were lying on the ground for such a long time they had begun to germinate, no sweat I thought grandma knew about this nut tree maybe that's why she had me take the bag, good grandma you think of everything, pick up as much as you can find she said to me and place them in your sack, this I did without hesitation, as I pick up the nuts from the ground more nuts started falling on my head, looking up there was grandma on the tree top shaking the branches, oh grandma what a gal you are you can even climb trees. We tarried about two hours gathering the nuts and proceeded straight to the fence and the large gate, moving out the railings one by one Grandma had made an opening to pass through the other side of the fence, she patiently replaced the railings and off we trod on towards the bay, surprisingly on the other side of the fence the road suddenly turns into a nice paved road made of small gravel stones cool I said, the environment also was different in as much as you could not see around you before now the trees were all gone and all you could see was open air, green grass, and a few cider trees. I could now see a small house and lots of cattle up front, a few more steps ahead took us to the back of the house I saw ducks and geese playing around, and there were also some donkeys and sheep, wow I thought this place look like a small farm on the point, yes, the point for about twenty yards ahead of us was the ocean. Splashing on the rock, sending its salty air towards us, Grandma stepped into the front door and I quickly followed her, inside the house were small stalls filled with hay and a large pot filled with fresh water trapped by a running gutter from the roof there were four huge such pot intertwines with each other. It all made sense to me yet still I wondered was that it did Grandma took that trip just to feed the animals and that was all hers, I was soon to learn the answer to my query, move along child she said to me we are just time looks like the tide is out, we must hurry not knowing what was going on I said oh yes grandma we must hurry. Stepping out the back door, she trod down a small path in another direction away from the point. Of course, I followed closely behind her, holding her skirt, and soon the track vanished. Looking ahead, I was surprised to see the most beautiful white sandy beach right before us. This beach is called Honeymoon Beach she said to me not many people come here on accord it is still unknown by outsiders only the fishermen and some outsiders know this beach, so yes, I could tell I said to her, look how long it is and white the sand is, are we going swimming grandma I asked her, goodness no child we hare harvesting sea moss today. OK, sea moss, what is it? Grandma, soon you will see, just follow close to me, yes, we walk down that long beach to the end, there she stops near the ragged rock edges at the other end of the beach. to be continued in the book History of old Canelles.

ENTREPRENEURS IN THE ISLAND OF ST. LUCIA Charles Lewis & Sons,

Charles Lewis a man who wears many hats, in a dimly lifted room big enough for seven stood a giant of a man, tall and thin with eyes each like a pin, he watched us as we shivered for he was the storyteller, we sat motionless jaws open, eyes wide with fear as he captured our very soul. Then with a sigh of relief, our voice echoed tell us again, one more Uncle Char lo. Taking down his wooden guitar, he started humming a song, now listen he says when I was young and in my prime I had ambitions, I wrote songs and composed melodies. Sings us a song then we would say, and he sang as you have never heard before, and will never again hear. Such melodies his compositions, such as I Will Take Up thy cross and follow thee, or That was a problem to me why Saint Lucia is so backward, yes indeed he sang and our hearts were made merry. Laying his guitar aside he yawned, then stretched out his hands and stood up as tall as an oak tree, smiling at us he made his way to the door, there is work to be done children he would say. The fishing nets were old and needed mending, grandmother Leslie would say, Charles, when are you planning to get this done, the sardine will soon be jumping, and hurry son mend this net. Oh yes in my youth my uncle was a fisherman, a poet, a farmer, a herdsman, a husband, and a father. I love him dearly, it was the fourth of November when I came to say goodbye, to another land I wish to travel I said give me your blessings, Charles was a holy man. Go on with faith in your heart I heard him say, well for me time has not erased the memory of my youth, those were the days when grandma would bust into a chorus of Whoever will may come, or I am a rose, those sounds are silent now only to be replay in my house of memory. And what about that holy man I left behind, he is not so holy nowadays, but his wisdom has doubled, he sits by the fire in channels and dreams of things that could be and never were. Thirty years have now passed since I last saw him, but once again proves that wisdom is around us and knowledge is plentiful, the Lord gives and someday is the reckoning. On the highway leading to Vieux-Fort, sitting under the Calabash tree, sits a man with no shirt on, only his trousers, supported by a large leather belt, supporting halfway to his navel. His name is Charles Lewis, and he is the owner of Charles Lewis & Sons, Wine. Locally brewed on the Island of Saint Lucia, in the little Hamlet called Canelé's. Come buy uncle local wine, come buy, come buy. Tamarind and Mangoes, Bananas and honey best tasting local wine on the shores of Canelés. I told you before he was a giant of a man, and once a giant always a giant my uncle Char lo. For Uncle Charles: give strong drink to the weak let him drink and forget his misery. Tougher than tough. Strong Like Lion.

GREETINGS FROM CHARLES LEWIS &

SONS WINE PRESS

On the highway leading to Vieux-Fort, sitting under the Calabash tree, sits a man with no shirt on, only his trousers, supported by a large leather belt, supporting halfway to his navel. His name is Charles Lewis, and he is the owner of Charles Lewis & Sons, Wine. Locally brewed on the Island of Saint Lucia, in the little Hamlet called Canelé's. Welcome to Charles Lewis vineyard, if you look around you will not see any grapes hanging on the vine, no not at all for this is not Napa Valley or the vineyards of Southern France, but if you look closely you will see a field of sugar cane, there is also plum trees, a few banana trees, and some potato vines heavy loaded with potatoes. Yes, indeed, this is Mr. Lewis's product, from which he extracts the substance to ferment the unusual wine, which he brews right in that very spot. The large pot located in the hut near the calabash tree is his vessel of choice to brew and ferment the wine brewed by Charles. Hidden nearby is yet another item used by Charles to create his prize-winning wine, which he nicknames Slow Battery, this wine is made from the extract of honey bee comb, and after draining the liquid from the comb, it ferments until it turns into molasses, the rest of the brewing process is still a secret, but the finished product is the best wine, produced by Charles. Here are some of the names of the wines brewed by Mr. Lewis: sugar cane wine, which is made from the juice of the sugarcane; potato wine, banana wine, plum apple wine, tamarind wine, and, of course, the slow battery wine. Mr. Charles Lewis is a man of many talents. He has, at one time or another, worn several different hats. In the early nineties, he was a grower producing bananas. At the time, he resided in the hamlet of Ravine Poss-an with his family. He later moved to Channels and built his home right next to his parents. It was the right sport for grazing animals. Among the animals raised by Charles were sheep, goats, pigs, and some poultry. Charles Lewis continued to outshine himself with the production of a sugar cane machine, which took first prize and was sold to nearby Islands. In Charles's spare time or to be precise, on the day he singled out to worship, yes Mr. Lewis was a devout Seven-Day Adventist and worshiped every Saturday, on that day you can find Charles humming out songs on his four strings guitar, sometimes busting out in a chorus or two or more of his compositions, just his recreation time.

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WHERE IN THE WORLD IS PWINDAYKYE?

Come on in! You are invited to Pwindaykye located right here on the southern tip of the Island of St. Lucia, stepping out under the lush green cider trees into a world of mesmerizing beauty. A lonely cottage standing at the ready as if to say “Welcome Home” at the entrance to the field the sign reads welcome here travelers, a crisp cool breeze blowing from the East right into your face makes you think that you can taste the sea salt as it dampens your cheeks. Behold a quarter-mile straight down inland the longhorns’ cattle, feeding on lofty sweet grass as the seagulls fly overhead, chirping an enchanting melody, only to be rivaled by the Ducks and Geese as they jockey for position to be fed by the old caretaker Safe. Yonder to the West the bustling City lights of Vieux Fort come into play as the huge jet 707 flies overhead making its way back to its home base. Dusk is falling on Pwindaykye a spectacular display of magical lights sweeps through the point as the giant lighthouse on the hill next door, casts its lights towards the East protecting friend and foe to a safe harbor. Come morning you will find Dewdrops scattered on the tall grass as they endeavored to take hold of the little soil covering the rocky pasture as if to say good morning, dear. Only the white feathers of the Albatross can be seen as they lay rested before taking their maiden flight. Now Close your eyes, envision Pwindaykye, and let me join you in a midsummer night dream of wonder. You in my heart you in my soul oh Pwindaykye, the place Grandma and Grandpa roam. ( POSITIVELY THE FIRST CITIZEN OF CANNELS ) For Pwindaykye Poetry book six of Kenvil Atkins Lewis / Raw Energy Timeless poems.