Easter—the time when the interior comes alive

Mar 27, 2016 Features / Columnists, My Column

---

Today is Easter Day, when Christians would flock the churches. They would be celebrating the resurrection of their Lord and Saviour. When I was a lad my parents were into the church. I remember the midnight mass in the days when Den Amstel did not have electricity.
Night is made for sleeping, so you could imagine how it felt when your parents would wake you up and send you to bathe then get dressed for the midnight mass. These days children are not asleep at 10 and many are on the streets because the parents seem not to be in control.
The altar would be decked out in white and the brass candle-holders would be gleaming. The church would be full and by the time the service is over people would be going home in groups. Back then homes had no security grills and doors were protected by flimsy locks, but no one sought to invade them. People did not have to worry about being robbed on the streets.
Of course there was fear in the hearts of the young children. I had to pass by a cemetery. In fact, the church, St Jude’s Anglican, at Blankenburg, was in the middle of three cemeteries, one to the north, one to the west, and the third to the south.
To my young mind there were ghosts, and every piece of paper in the cemetery sent flutters through my heart.
Normal Sundays were soup days, but Easter Day was different. In our poor household, sardines were the choice dish.
These days are a far cry from then. I hardly go to church, choosing to spend the day resting or watching the children raise their kites. Kite flying was not a big thing in our home because my stepfather pushed religion to the limit. He contended that flying kites was making a mockery of the Lord. That didn’t mean that in the days leading up to Easter that I did not fly a kite, but I couldn’t let my parents know.
I am certain that my mother went along because she didn’t have to worry about finding money to buy kite paper. In Dem Amstel, boys made their own kites. To buy a kite was a travesty.
There were the cricket matches, called fête matches. The players did not worry too much about who won; the drinks at the end of the game were more important. In my teenage years I played quite a few fête matches. I couldn’t drink too much liquor then; that came later.
Then there were the parties and not at the night clubs, because there were none. Dances were held at the Community Centre. By then I had moved to Beterverwagting, where there was a cinema. These offered interesting movies on Easter Day and parents were not averse to sending their children.
I was starting to gravitate to girls, so Easter Day was one opportunity to steal a kiss. We didn’t walk in together because of the prying eyes of the adults, but whoever went in first kept a nearby seat. Life as a youth was just enjoyable.
These days, Easter Day is still fun, but there are no fête matches for me, unless I am a spectator; no night clubs because the music is beyond my comprehension; and not too much alcohol because I hate the next day feeling after a good binge. Television has replaced the cinema for me.
The best Easter Days were spent at Bartica. There was the Bartica Regatta. It seemed as if all of Guyana headed to Bartica. There were not many hotels, but just about every visitor had a relative there, so there was no problem with accommodation. The boat races were nothing but extraordinary.
There were a few disasters. None occurred during the river swim from Kaow Island to Bartica, a one-mile swim, but some occurred during the boat races. One year a fellow died, so the organisers merely placed his body on a buoy and continued the event. Of course there were criticisms of that decision.
Then one year a young man died on the beach. I still don’t know how. Hundreds of people surrounded him, but he went under in about two feet of water. When someone missed him I remember Terry Joseph, a friend, found his body mere inches from the seawalls, in water that was no more than knee-deep.
The beach was always full of people. There was music, drinks of course and a lot of fun. But the greatest fun came at the beauty pageant. The very people who were hugging each other during the day were now fiercely divided. And Bartica had some beauties. There was Verda Andrews who went on to become Miss Guyana and Pamela Apple, who lent her name to a joke that still does the rounds.
It is said that she was at the Luckhoo Pool in Kingston when someone recognized her as the Bartica beauty queen. Some radio announcer immediately thrust the microphone into her face and asked her some questions about Bartica, and how she was enjoying her reign as regatta queen. Then he asked her about her favourite dish. The joke is that Ms. Apple replied, “Pyrex.”
This year there would be another Regatta Queen dubbed Miss Bartica Beach. Instead of the pageant being staged on the beach, it would be at the Bartica Community Centre. That would be exceedingly crowded because if it is one thing that Bartica supports, it is their Beauty pageant.
Then there is the Rupununi Rodeo, a calendar event. That is another fun event with lots of girls, the type we now see a lot of in the city. Many coastlanders would head there, too. I have not gone there in years. And there too the people would judge their beauties.
I will not be there, sadly enough, but I will still have a grand Easter Day, and I wish everyone the same.

---

---