On behalf of the Mittelholzer family and for my own research purposes I am looking to acquire anything regarding Edgar Mittelholzer and older books about Guyana. Please feel free to email me at firstname.lastname@example.org
Illustrious Exile: Journal of my Sojourn in the West Indies by Robert Burns, Esq. Commenced on the first day of July 1786
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In 1786, the Scottish poet Robert Burns, penniless and needing to escape the consequences of his complicated love life, accepted the position of book-keeper on an estate in Jamaica. The success of his Poems chiefly in the Scottish Dialect made this escape unnecessary. Thus far is historical fact. In Andrew Lindsayâs novel, Burns indeed goes to Jamaica and then to the Dutch colony of Demerara where, into the world of sugar and slavery, he brought his propensity for falling in love, his humanity and his urge to write poetry. In 1997 a small mahogany chest is found in a Wai Wai Amerindian village in Guyana. It contains Burnsâ journal from 1786 to 1796, when he died.
Andrew Lindsayâs novel is a work of imaginative invention, poetic description and meticulous historical reconstruction. As a fellow Scot who has settled in Guyana, Lindsay brings an incomerâs fresh eye to the Caribbean landscape and imaginative insights into how Burns as a man of his times might have responded to slavery. Not least, Illustrious Exile contains some brilliant versions of Burnsâ poems, as written in the Caribbean.
About the Author
Andrew O. Lindsay was born in Scotland in 1946. He studied English at the University of St Andrews where he gained the degrees of MA and B.Phil. He spent his professional career at Madras College, St Andrews, much of the time as Principal Teacher of English. He was able to take early retirement in 2003, a move that allowed him to devote himself to writing full-time.
Andrew has always had a strong interest in the life and works of Robert Burns, and is a past president of St Andrews Burns Club, one of the oldest in Scotland. His partner Eve is a daughter of the late Denis Williams, the distinguished Guyanese archaeologist, author and artist, and Andrew now regards Guyana as his second home. The more he grew aware of the history of the once great Demerara sugar plantations, the more he became intrigued by Burnsâ virtual silence on the subject of the slave trade, particularly since the poet had seriously contemplated emigrating to the West Indies. The result was Illustrious Exile(2006).
He is a past winner of the Sloan Prize for Scots writing with a short story The Ken-Sign, which remains unpublished. He is currently gathering materials for a collection of short stories based on the varied experiences of âreturneesâ in Guyana. As a Scot in Guyana his own experiences raise issues of identity that he is exploring further in poetry and prose. (Courtesy of Peepal Tree Press)
Marie-Elena John is a former Africa development specialist. She and her husband and two children divide their time between Washington, D.C., and Antigua. This is her first novel. (Courtesy of HarperCollins)
Before the Legend: The Rise of Bob Marley
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Coinciding with the 25th Anniversary of Bob Marley's Death (May 11, 1981) NEW BOOK FROM AMISTAD/HARPERCOLLINS ISBN: 0060539917; On Sale: 05/02/2006; Format: Hardcover; Pages: 224; Bob Marley was a reggae superstar, a musical prophet who brought the sound of the Third World to the entire globe. Before the Legend: The Rise of Bob Marley goes beyond the myth of Marley to bring you the private side of a man few people ever really knew. Drawing from original interviews with the people closest to Marley -- including his widow, Rita, his mother, Cedella, his bandmate and childhood friend Bunny Wailer, his producer Chris Blackwell, and many others -- Legend paints an entirely fresh picture of one of the most enduring musical artists of our times. This is a portrait of the artist as a young man, from his birth in the tiny town of Nine Miles in the hills of Jamaica to the making of his debut international record, Catch a Fire. We see Marley on the tough streets of Trench Town before he found stardom, struggling to find his way in music, in love, and in life, and we take the wild ride with him to worldwide acceptance and adoration. From acclaimed journalist Christopher John Farley, the author of the bestselling biography of Aaliyah and the reporter who broke the story on Dave Chappelle's retreat to South Africa, Before the Legend is bursting with fresh insights into Marley and Jamaica, and is the definitive story of Marley's early days.
About the Author
Christopher John Farley was born in Kingston, Jamaica, and raised in Brockport, New York. He is a graduate of Harvard University and a former editor of the Harvard Lampoon. He is the author of the bestselling biography Aaliyah: More Than a Woman and the novels My Favorite War and Kingston by Starlight. He is also the coauthor of Martin Scorsese Presents the Blues. He has worked as an editor and pop-music critic at Time magazine and is currently an editor at the Wall Street Journal.
Muscular Learning: Cricket and Education in the Making of the British West Indies at the End of the 19th Century
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This study is a major contributopn to the debate on cricket and society in the West Indies. This book was written with passion and imagination and inspired by CLR James's masterpiece Beyond a Boundary. The book explores the role of theat quintessential imperial game-cricket and education in the shaping of identity in the former British West Indies from the latter years of slavery to 1900.
About the Author
Clem Seecharan is a Professor of Caribbean History and Head of Caribbean Studies at London Metropolitan University. He is the authour of the 2005 Elsa Goveia Prize winner Sweetening Bitter Sugar: Jock Campbell the Booker reformer in British Guiana 1934-1966.
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This may be the smallest fort ever constructed by the Dutch overseas. Kyk-Over-Al: the historic name of a small island, about 1.5 acres in size, is located at the junction of the Mazaruni and Cuyuni Rivers.
In the late 16th century, Europeans began to trade in the West Indies for salt, which was at that time a `luxuryâ in Europe. European trade goods were exchanged for indigenous products such as annatto, which was used as a dye in Europe.
However, the trade was not economically viable as the quantities of items supplied by the indigenous peoples were insufficient. Thus depots were built to collect and store produce until the arrival of the ships. Two depots, one at Nibie, a small village on the Abary Creek, and one on the Pomeroon River, were established for his purpose.
The latter was soon removed during the early part of the 17th century to a small island at the junction of the three rivers, Essequibo, Cuyuni and Mazaruni. A small fort armed with a few guns was constructed. It was named Fort Ter Hoogen in honour of an influential Dutchman. However, this appellation soon gave way to the descriptive name Kyk-Over-Al (See Over All).
The British governed the island in 1666 for a short period. However, it was recaptured and fortified by the Dutch. Activities reached a peak in 1670, when a great deal of trading was done with the local tribes.
By 1716, the island became overcrowded and this resulted in the decision to construct a new house for the Commadeur at Cartabo Point. Dutch administration was relocated to Fort Island, closer to the mouth of Essequibo River. In 1748, most of the buildings were demolished and the materials were used to construct a sugar mill at Plantation Duyenenburg, which was located along the Essequibo River.
During the boundary dispute of 1897 between Venezuela and the British Guiana, excavations of the foundations of the remaining ruins and the bricks of the lower course were undertaken to clarify the builders of the fort. The samples taken were analysed in England. These examinations revealed that the bricks used in the construction of the fort were of Dutch origin. This knowledge was used to substantiate the claim that the British had inherited territories formerly occupied by the Dutch.
In June 1910, the island was thoroughly cleared of its undergrowth by an order of Governor Sir Frederick Hodgson. Many parts of the fort, including the stone ramparts and brick pavements complete with relics of Dutch occupation such as canon balls, glass bottles and several clay tobacco pipes were unearthed.
The ruins revealed that the ground floor was used as a storehouse for food and goods received from the indigenous and a magazine. There were three rooms on the top floor - one for the soldiers, one for the Commandeur and the other for the Secretary of the colony of Essequibo.
Today, all that remains of the fort is a brick arch.
On July 20, 1999, the island was declared a National monument. This site is maintained and managed by the National Trust of Guyana.
(Courtesy of http://www.landofsixpeoples.com)
Isabel Adonis,Elizabeth Alleyne,Caz,CleanSlate,Cyril Dabydeen,David Dabydeen,Hope McMillian,Michaela V. McRae,Pertamber Persaud,Jeremy Poynting,Guoyan Rampersaud,James C. Richmond,Zaira Simone,Kamanie Singh,Jacqueline Ward,Wyc Williams
Kalipersad came around afternoons to do fix-up work for Tantie Ivy. He was a nice boy, the oldest son of a decent widow woman, which was why Tantie said she had been willing to hire him. "Most chirren these days headin' for disaster, and they spreadin' it as they go," she would say. "But, Kalipersad, I give you work to do because I know you willing to work, you need to work, and I can trust the work you do. You understand what I saying here? I know I can trust you." Some people said that another of the reasons Tantie Ivy had hired him was that he was a dark-skinned Indian, and she was a Creole, so she knew what it meant to be looked down on due only to the color of your skin; and it was true that there were women who wouldn't give Kalipersad a glance, and other people who would choose to ignore him because he was as dark as a Creole. Some people said that Tantie Ivy trusted no one not to raid her house—she kept so many possessions hidden away in a special storage room in her cocoa house; but Kalipersad's presence served as proof of protection to the neighborhood, and she kept a constant eye on Kalipersad whenever he was around. Whatever prompted her trust in him, though, Kalipersad was grateful for it. It was Tantie Ivy's trust which, in large part, fed and clothed him and his family—that, plus the little sweet shop Ma kept in the front of their house.
His mother had been a widow for even longer than Tantie Ivy: Tantie's mister had been dead these five year and nine month; Kalipersad's mother had been a widow since Kalipersad had fifteen years, and now Kalipersad was a strong young man with twenty-seven years. Overnight, his mother's widowhood had transformed Kalipersad's boyhood into manhood. Kalipersad's father had worked for the Trinidad Forestry Service; in the spring he had sowed seedlings, and in the fall he had felled trees—a lot of teak and mahogany, since the Forestry Service often planted for financial and enviromnental profit, both, with a view to export, and Americans liked teak and mahogany. But one fall day, Kalipersad's father went into the forest and didn't return home in the evening. For months afterward, Kalipersad had had a recurring nightmare: he heard a knock at the front door, and then his father's voice calling, "Why you lock me out? Why you wouldn't wait for me before closing up? Why you locked me out?" But then, right as Kalipersad reached the door, all he would see was his mother's laundry quivering in the slight night breeze. Tears would be running down his face because he'd failed him—he hadn't reached his father in time—so he would run into the forest in a desperate search for his father, and he wouldn't be able to feel his running legs, or hear or smell anything around him—until he heard an echoing crack, and knew that he was going to die just as his father had, was going to be crushed to death, and he could feel the crushing weight on his chest. Then he would realize that he was still breathing, still alive, still crying and feeling the crushing weight on his chest but, thank God, still alive. And his father was still dead. And he, along with his mother, was still responsible for the family. Well, really, he alone was responsible for the family. That was simply how things were...
At first he had worked for Trintopec, but then the oil boom fizzled out. Next, he took a fifteen-hour-a-week retail sales job in one of the men's clothing stores in nearby Port-of-Spain, but his wages were barely enough to pay for transport and work clothes... He had been invited on many occasions—well, "invited" wasn't quite the right word—but Kalipersad continued to refuse to join the limers at the foot of Hopewell Trace; he intended to find other, more stable, means of making money, and so Tantie Ivy hired him for weekdays after her husband died. A man dead and buried was no good for making household repairs—but then Kalipersad came along and, as Tantie Ivy often remarked, "Kalipersad, you save me from disrepair and despair!" That would give the two of them a good laugh: imagine her needing rescue and him the hero! She was a big old Creole woman who weighed eighteen stones if she weighed an ounce, and he was a short, wiry, dark East Indian with such a baby face that, whenever he crossed the threshold of the rum shop, he was teased: "You not allowed in here, boy! You got to wait ‘til you a man before you can come in here!" Not only was his physical stature in question at the rum shop, but his authoritative stature was also in question at home: he worked hard to provide for his family, yet no one—especially his younger brother Jagdeo—accorded him the degree of respect which he believed he deserved. So, secretly, he liked being Tantie Ivy's hero.
"There you is, Kalipersad! I almost think you not coming today!" Tantie Ivy guffawed with a mulish rasp. "You don't come today, and I was going to need to call my oldest and ask he to visit me this weekend—just to make repair on that gutter there. See that gutter?" "I apologize being late, Tantie." Kalipersad shrugged his shoulders and gazed at the ground. "Look at me, son," she demanded. "Everything okay?" His forehead fell. "‘Okay' got nothing to do with it!" he snapped. "What?" "Oh. Sorry, Tantie. I not mad at you. I mad at Jagdeo." "Mad for what? What it is you mad about, Kalipersad?" "You know I don't stand for nothing from Jagdeo, Tantie. I only he big brother, not he pa, but you know I work to take care of he." "Yes, son, I know that..." Tantie Ivy nodded her half-gray head in affirmation. It was a little bit gray on the sides, but almost white down the middle, and looked like a skunk's coloring. Nature funny that way, she thought. It give you what it give you, even if it look wrong at the time. "I will not stand for nothing from Jagdeo!" Kalipersad cried. "What he does think? I putting food in he mouth by sitting on my fanny all the day and looking pretty? I break my ass for that kid, and he don't say thanks—and he is going to get me in trouble!" Tantie Ivy didn't normally stand for cussing, but this time she ignored it. She patted Kalipersad's hand. "Come now, boy. What got you vex so? Tell Tantie what the problem be." "Jagdeo is the problem—he and those limers he spend he time with." Kalipersad's dark face turned even darker—black, like a vulture's feathers—as the blood rose under his skin. "Well, I ain't like the limers much, either, son, but I don't think they is that bad—a little careless with they mouths, maybe, but they is more talk than action. You know that," replied Tantie Ivy. "Don't forget, Jagdeo still a boy. He just doing what you never thought you could or should do, so you might not understand."
"No Tantie. You wrong. When Jagdeo started to lime, I told myself, ‘Give he six month or a year. He will soon tire when he sees that liming alone ain't enough to make he a big man. A big, big man does get a job and take care of heself and he family, and then, if he want to, it okay to lime with he friends.' But Jagdeo don't believe that. He tell me, ‘Lots of the limers ain't have regular jobs. As they need money, they find work.' But Jagdeo ain't even worked irregular. Ma no longer has any control over him at all, and neither do I. He considers only heself and how to fulfill he desires. Is like you say—he headin' for disaster, and he spreadin' it as he goes." "It is that serious? You sure?"
"I wouldn't believe it but that you tell me it." Tantie Ivy wagged her head sadly. "You a good boy, Kalipersad. I know you going to do right by Jagdeo and the rest of you family. You ain't ever done any less than that. I expect it of you. Remember that. And beside, if you don't keep you backside clean, don't come around here no more." She finished her speech with a chuckle, but Kalipersad wasn't sure where the humor was.
With that, Kalipersad escaped to the corrugated roof and the gutter repair. From the corrugated, Kalipersad could look down on all of the homes on Hopewell Trace—and he could see the limers, Jagdeo included. They had a big grocery bag full with local weed that the one they called "Brownie" grew in his garden, which was in the bushy part of the already lush village of La Mére. Bushy and hot—that was a dangerous combination. Most residents of La Mére took pride in what a cool place it was to live—not hot and crazy like Port-of-Spain; anyone who heated things up was not appreciated. At home he would talk to Jagdeo—again. He would try to talk to Jagdeo as a brother, not as a father, and to approach him as a peer, not as a judge. "Don't you know that dope will dupe you, man?" he would say. Maybe that would get Jagdeo to laugh. If only they could laugh together, perhaps they could communicate... Would Jagdeo know what "dupe" meant?... Kalipersad spent his afternoon brooding, and pounding nails, and brooding, and twisting wire, and, when the boys on the block started to play their evening game of football, he took that as a signal to dismount from his perch.
"I not finished yet," he told Tantie Ivy. "I'll finish tomorrow. Okay? Good night, Tantie." "Good night, son," she said. "See you tomorrow."
As Kalipersad passed through the back part of Tantie Ivy's land, on his way home, he rehearsed what he would say to Jagdeo. He already had the first sentence: "Don't you know that dope will dupe you, man?" But what could he say after that? He was so angry at Jagdeo, and so scared of him, both at the same time. Jagdeo was uncontrollable, unpredictable; he needed discipline. "Don't you know that dope will dupe you, man?" Jagdeo might laugh, and then Kalipersad might respond, "You have no trouble laughing in my face, and that is okay, but dope will make you laugh in the face of the law, and it may even make you laugh in the face of death someday. You can laugh in my face all you want, but you best square away your life where drugs is concerned." No. Jagdeo would either continue to laugh at him and not hear the rest, or would tell Kalipersad, "Go back to church, preacher man!" That was one of Jagdeo's favorite sayings to direct at Kalipersad. Try again. "Don't you know that dope will dupe you, man?...You know what ‘dupe' means? It means dope will play you for a fool, man! You like playing the fool, and having the world laugh at you behind you back?" But then Jagdeo would say something like, "Better the fool I is than the fool you is, brother!" How could he reach Jagdeo? He'd been trying for years, and he'd never succeeded yet. He would keep on trying, though...
When Kalipersad reached home, he saw a police car in front of his house, and the front door open.
Ma was screaming, "No! No-o-o! I not invited you in here! This my house, and shut allyu mouth talking about my son!" Her screams trailed off into a long, inarticulate wail followed by choking tears. Ma was incapable of believing anything bad about any of her children. Kalipersad burst through the front door. "What the hell is going on here? What you are hassling my Ma for? Eh?" "We here to search you house," said the policeman. "You what? For what? Is this on account of Jagdeo? I going to beat he hide raw! Where's Jagdeo?" A voice from behind the policeman said, "My guess is he either out smoking weed, or jumping my little girl's precious bones, man." "Shut allyu mouth!" shrieked Kalipersad's mother. Kalipersad walked over to her and hugged her. He clasped her strongly, and she began to tremble in his arms; he was afraid that, if he released her, she might shatter, like a dropped piece of china. "I here now, Ma. Let me handle this." Then he turned to the anonymous voice. "How you do know so much about Jagdeo? Who is you little girl?" "Dularie Ramroop. Allyu may call me Mr. Ramroop. And you little brother got my little girl in the family way. And I going to see that he damn well straighten up! I know he don't like it, but he got to behave like the man he is now." "Yeah," Kalipersad agreed. "You is right. He do. I know he been heading for problems. I guess I just been hoping that it wouldn't come so soon." "Is nine month soon enough?" Kalipersad felt his blood rising again, but was also aware that he was more enraged at Jagdeo for his actions than he was at Mr. Ramroop for his words—so he apologized the best he knew how. "I been trying, but I ain't been able to control him." "Yeah, I know," snorted Mr. Ramroop. "You don't have any control over him, but I will have. I will make him have—starting now." "We searching this house—at once," said the policeman then. "Duty calls, and I'm answering the call." Kalipersad's nightmare sensation returned for the first time in years: he felt the crushing weight on his chest, but now he knew beyond all doubt that he was awake and alive. "You not doing any such thing! What you think you going to find here anyway?" Kalipersad stood akimbo, his elbows sticking out like a challenge. "Dope," replied the policeman. "We got a tip." "I bet you did!" Kalipersad's look shot bullets through Mr. Ramroop. "You need to arrest Jagdeo, that fine. He in trouble, he need to learn he lesson. Catch he wheresoever you see he misbehaving with the law. And, as for you and you little girl, Mr. Ramroop, make Jagdeo do whatever is right by allyu. Punish Jagdeo—that all right—but don't punish we family." "Excuse me, Mr. Kalipersad," the policeman said. "I got a job to do."
Next day, Kalipersad showed up at Tantie Ivy's house, as usual. "What I tell you before, boy?" "What?" "What I did tell you before? I hear about what happen at you house last night— the raid. You a nice boy, Kalipersad, but I can't place myself in this kind of position. I is a lone old lady. People know it. I have to watch out for myself. I compromising myself if I associate with a boy whose house is raid." "I ain't understand, Tantie." "Sure you do, son. You always did understand. I was clear with you on that. You know I don't make no joke. I tell you, you always welcome here as long you keep you backside clean. But, boy, things is now a mess. I don't associate with people who have trouble with the law. Otherwise, they will think my house worth raiding." "Who will think?" "Whoever matters. Whoever thinks I might have something of some value here. Thieves. Policemen. They have no discretion when they raid. You have to agree with me. Tell me I'm right... I sorry, Kalipersad, but you can't come around here no more. Good luck, son." "But, what you are going to do without me, Tantie? I watch out for you good." "You should look out as good for you own as you do for me—and I going to look out for myself." Kalipersad continued to stand there, immobile, unbelieving, aching. So, he couldn't protect them forever; but that had been his primary motivation for the past twelve years. Once more, he had failed someone who he loved—first Jagdeo, then Ma, and next Tantie—and, long before any of them, he had failed Pa. No one remained. He was alone. In his own way, Kalipersad died a little bit right then, crushed to death, the same as his father. "One of these days," said Tantie Ivy, "you will understand. Nature funny that way. It give you what it give you, even if it look wrong at the time.
Posted by jebratt ::
Friday, March 31, 2006 ::