Ma Rubes Remembered She was a good woman, an exceptional Grenadian and a wonderful mother. She was also my mother’s best friend. They knew each other for years and like seeds well sown, their association blossomed into a remarkable friendship. They had a bond that took them to the market together early on Saturday mornings to purchase the fruits and vegetables and to brango with friends. And when one was spotted, people knew it was time to look for the other. It was a friendship that was rekindled in the great beyond. Their relationship prompted the one who woke first on mornings to call the other, and then the both of them thanked God for another day. Theirs was a friendship that started in the days when Grenadians lit the masanto and kerosene lamp, and it became a strengthened chord when they turned on the switch. Their friendship existed since the days of Teresita and Tanty Faithy. It is very easy for one to be attracted to a person who bountifully radiates human warmth. It is natural to feel comfortable in the company of one who communicates with a simplicity that reaches the depth of the soul. It is soothing to sit on a verandah and ole talk, and feel relaxed in the company of one who genuinely appreciates people. Ma Rubes was a special woman! I see her still. I picture her as she briskly made her way across the Carenage. I remember the occasion we left a funeral at Cemetery Hill and walked to the Market Square. I had returned to Grenada to attend a funeral and she was doing what she often did—attending funerals. We had a wonderful chat, one that felt good in the refreshing sea breeze as we passed Melville Street. I remember the time I visited her and she showed me the many hats she had. She told me of her many cherished friends in America, Trinidad, Canada, England and other places. Her friends always gave her hats so she had no shortage of hats to attend the funerals. She was proud of her collection, and as she showed them to me she tried on a few. She asked me how they looked. I think of the time that I decided to pay her a surprise visit. I had landed in Grenada, but she was not aware of that. I rose early one morning and decided to walk all the way to her house, which was about three miles from where I lived. I smiled as I thought of the expression she would have on her face when she saw me. I vividly recall walking up to steps to her house and knocking gently on the door. She opened the door and almost fell over a chair in excitement when she saw me. Happiness radiated from her face. I felt relaxed and at home and very much at ease in her company. She had so many stories to tell me about my mother, and she told me how much she missed her dear departed friend, Georgiana. We made an arrangement to visit my mother’s grave. We did so a few days later. We walked up to the grave. It was a hot, sunny day, and I recall how the sweat dripped from my forehead. Ma Rubes bent over and started clearing the bush and shrubs that were beginning to cover the grave. As she pulled the bushes, she uttered comforting words to my mother, “Georgie, we can’t let this bush cover your headstone!” I helped her clear the bush while she pointed out all the nearby graves and told me who were buried there. She showed me where Hardfoot was buried, and she pointed to the spot where Peter lay. Then it was time for us to leave. I will always remember her for the wonderful chat we had under a plum tree near her house in Frequente. The tree was laden with tempting looking plums. She told me of the dreadful mealy bug which destroyed many of the plums and other fruits years ago. The blight was gone and the trees produced bountifully again. I recall how I filled a paper bag with some of the juicy plums and took to Grand Anse beach where I sat and ate them. She is gone, but her memory will forever be etched in the minds of Grenadians who knew her. They will always remember her talented hands, which produced some of the best tambran balls one could have asked for. Her jovial personality will always be remembered, and the care and dedication she displayed in bringing up her children should always be an example for many to emulate. Anthony Wendell DeRiggs For those who lost their Grenadian Mothers. Dear Mom, it seems like yesterday Your flower bloomed so bright You showered us with tender care Our bond secured so tight. We hardly paused or stopped to think That knot was on the brink Now all the joys of yesterday Are our cherished link. You are gone but yet your pleasant glow Undimmed by passing time The precious memories are with us Of a mother true and kind. Still each day we see your face Your spirit endures long And when we’re sad and need a lift Thoughts of you are our treasured gift. One day too, our bells will sound We’ll move to a different shore You’ll be there to welcome us With blessing at the door. …………………………………………. For those today who still can hold The hands of Mothers dear Seize the time, respect and love You do not know the year. Anthony Wendell DeRiggs. In Memory of Miss Margaret’s Mother from Belmont, St. George’s Grenada. Still today, I feel the love. Years ago Miss Margaret’s mother gave me a mango. Then she saw me again And she gave me another mango. She passed away Before I gave her anything I was just a child. I pictured her today With her smile And her broomstick in the yard. A tear fell from my eyes. For still today I feel the love. Anthony Wendell DeRiggs
Posted on: Sat, 17 Jan 2015 11:24:33 +0000
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