A tribute to Smythfield

Dec 24, 2012 Letters

Dear Editor,
In the 1830s, a steam sawmill was established on the west bank of the Canje Creek by Mr. William Fry to supply lumber for the construction of Fort Canje, now the psychiatric hospital. When emancipation took place and the freed slaves began to leave the nearby estates, Mr. Fry employed many of them to clear the area and plant canes, and applied his steam engine to grind the canes, and so a small sugar estate was established.
This employment of the former slaves was a great offence to the former masters of the estates they left; but the Governor, Sir James Carmichael Smyth, was pleased with the idea of this new estate started on the free system and gave Mr. Fry the government land. In gratitude to this Governor, the place was called Smythfield (Temehri – The Journal of the Royal and Commercial Society of British Guiana, Vol. 2, 1883, Page 268).
Smythfield later became a coconut estate with a few tenants, and was incorporated in the town of New Amsterdam in the 1970s. Below is a poem about growing up in Smythfield before it joined the town.

SMYTHFIELD
Smythfield was a wonderful place to grow up free and wild,
Now Smythfield is not the place to be a carefree child.
No better place for children no matter where you seek,
As this idyllic estate on the banks of the Canje Creek.

Adorned with the healthiest coconut trees of all;
Oh, the thrill to climb between the branches of the very tall.
And since it was forbidden by the rules of the place,
You bruise your chest scampering down if someone gave chase.

Then there was ‘Building’ where the factory once stood
And soaked the land with sugar and blue collar blood,
That fertilized the fruit trees, the largest to be found,
With fruits the sweetest and the juiciest around.

All types of wild fruit in the woods as you roam free,
From monkey apple and gulajamoon to glamacherry;
The doves and humming birds hunted by sling shot
Added that extra flavor to the tasty bushcook pot.

Buck crabs ran wild in Smythfield mid their mating roles,
And off season you still load up by invading their holes;
Then hand fishing or with hooks, nets and giragiras,
There were always patwas, hoories, hassas and sherigas.

The adrenaline flowed freely with wild donkey rides
And fisticuffs without the law or adults taking sides,
With the race to build a kite noisier and bigger,
Or swim down Backdam trench or across Canje River.

Then progress came to Smythfield as it joined the town;
Carved into house lots where trespass laws abound.
Out went the rainwater drum with the outhouse ramp,
And bills replaced the calabash and the kerosene lamp.

Still the innocence of Smythfield is one to be told,
As it was born at emancipation in the days of old;
And named for the Governor who gave the land
To create the first estate never in slavery’s hand.
Kingsley Harrop-Williams

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A tribute to Smythfield

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