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| Frank's Birth Certificate. Click to expand |
Everyone should have one of these: a birth
certificate!
This document shows the date I was born, my father’s full
name and my mother’s birth name and her married name also. The place where I
was born is called Calivigny. What a strange name for a colony of the British
Empire!
To me, the most important fact is that I have a mother and a
father. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. My dad has roots in Ireland, England,
St Vincent and Barbados. My mother has Scottish and African roots.
And so begins my tale.
As my birth certificate states, I was born on the island of
Grenada, which is 12 miles across and 24 miles long and was named by France
(before they lost it to the British).
The story goes that my father, a prosperous farmer, married
his cousin and raised five children. All of them were girls. During a storm my
father went out to make sure the cattle were okay. He got soaked to his bones.
His wife went out to feed the pigs. She slipped and died where she fell.
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| Nutmeg |
You can imagine his dilemma. He had to look after the farm
and five daughters. On top of this, his grief tugged at his heart. His oldest
child, Ermintrude, could see her father could not cope.
One day she took him aside and told him about a young woman
who might make him happy.
“Whose family is she from?” he asked.
“The Marshalls,” Ermintrude answered and handed him their
address.
My father sent a letter to the family to arrange for a time
to meet the young lady. Upon receiving an invitation, and being a no-nonsense
man, he dressed in his Sunday best and saddled up his horse. He covered the fifteen miles to the Marshall
estate in a few hours.
When he arrived, Mrs. Marshall ushered him into the drawing
room and sat him next to her younger daughter. To his surprise, Mrs. Marshall
had two daughters. Her older daughter, Rica, was recently widowed. Rica served
tea and supper. This way Mrs. Marshall’s younger daughter could spend time
getting to know my father. My father was impressed with Rica’s skills.
Mister Marshall, a prominent nutmeg estate owner, arrived in
time for the evening meal. At the conclusion of supper, Rica began to clear the
dishes. My father got up from his chair and said, “Mister Marshall would you
give me your daughter…” Before he could finish his question, the younger
daughter, began to tremble.
My father continued, “Your daughter Rica’s hand in
marriage?”
Rica dropped the platter from her hands. Her younger sister,
who was relieved not to have to marry a much older man, quickly gave Rica a big
hug. Mr. Marshall extended his hand to my father. “Welcome to our family, Walter.”
***
Frank Banfield was born on the tiny
island of Grenada forever ago. He likes to write about the trials and triumphs
of family members. As one of fifteen children Frank is likely to be writing for
some time.
See all of Brian’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend
retreats here.
