It was not easy leaving home to serve in the Royal Air Force just one week before Christmas in 1944. As I left, preparations were in top gear for the holiday season.
I recall my last longing glance at the ham hanging from the ceiling – this was part of the traditional curing process of hams – and the teasing process as well, I may add.
There was another anticipation on my part as well: looking forward to serving in the Second World War. So there I was, at 18 years old, making my way to the wharf and entering the Pierhead, where I boarded a boat and set sail for England.
The war years is a story for another time, but I returned home in November 1947, again by boat, to the delight of my parents.
Jobs were hard to come by in the years after the war, so I was lucky to land a pick at The Barbados Advocate in February, 1948. My options were the police force, the civil service or journalism.
I had equipped myself for this field of endeavour by doing a six-month course provided by the Royal Air Force, where I completed courses in shorthand writing, typing, basic math and bookkeeping.
I placed third in that class, which included men who were all older and many of them had lost limbs in the war.
Studying among them was a challenge in itself, but I was motivated to do well because I saw so many others who had disabilities but were prepared to study and return to normal life. I felt blessed, so I was determined to work hard.
Always on the go I became a journalist because I didn’t like being confined to an office. I liked being out on the road and I always enjoyed meeting people.
I used it to build up many friendships, not only with locals but also with people from all over the world. I am naturally competitive, so I sought to get the best grades and I was above average in both typing and shorthand.
“Cub reporter” was the title of my first position at The Advocate.
That meant I had to go to places with more senior reporters like Harry Pilgrim in order to learn the craft.
The Courts of Barbados would be where I would cut my teeth as a reporter. It was an interesting place to work – never dull.
I also had to do stints at the airport and the seaport.
One of the first court cases I reported on was about some men gambling under a tree at Halls Road, St Michael. The police raided the place and arrested ten of them. They withdrew the charge on one guy, as he would turn state witness.
I did not know this because I took my information from the charge sheet and did not bother to attend Court for the first hearing. My report in The Advocate gave the names of ten men who were charged, when there were only nine.
The next day a lawyer accosted me in court and said: “Tony, I got yuh, boy.”
When I asked him what he meant, he explained.
So The Advocate had to pay for my mistake, but I learnt never again to use short cuts in court cases.
I recall writing about a case involving a man who used to dilute the milk he sold to customers.
In those days there was no Pine Hill Dairy and farmers would sell cow’s milk by the bottle, but this particular guy was known for stretching his milk by adding water.
He was always before the Courts and one day he came up to me and said: “Skipper, give muh a break. Don’t write me up this time.”
Ha-Ha!
The Courts used to be very busy with people like political activist Eric Sealy and Ashton Gibson who had returned to Barbados after living in the United Kingdom.
It was a place where you would meet men and women of all kinds and conditions. And, of course, you had many Court characters as well, who spent the entire day going from court to court to discover other people’s business.
NEXT WEEK: Other adventures.