Remembering my Grandparents at Ashford
The manager of a plantation had a great responsibility and that was to supervise all agricultural operations. The manager was responsible for all hiring and dismissals. In addition he was often a J.P. (Justice of the Peace) and would witness documents for labourers. His comfortable lifestyle of a “Country Gentleman” was contrasted by his lack of cash. Even though I was a little boy I was fascinated by the fact that the plantation managers often lived in mansions, with a cook, maid and other staff, but were usually quite poor in terms of income and possessions.
Kathleen made a little extra money by keeping chickens. She always had fresh eggs. One day one of the hens swallowed a large fortyleg (fast running centipede.) Once the fortyleg hit the crop it sliced through the skin to freedom. When I told Granny she was not phased. She just picked up a needle and thread. She caught the hen and stitched up the crop. I addition to keeping chickens, granny made butter. This butter was not salted and it was almost white. It was put into 16 ounce glass jars, usually recycled jam jars.
Amy Kathleen Davis, my grandmother.
Malcolm drove a very old car which he often had to crank to get it started! The crank would be inserted in front near the radiator grill, and he would get hot and sweaty turning the engine. This reminded me of my clockwork toys which had to be wound to run! Malcolm was easy going and drove slowly. In contrast, my grandmother, Kathleen was always saying,
“Step on the gas, M!”
Malcolm and Kathleen with automobile, possibly at beach house
Grandad used to make the best hot buttered toast I have ever eaten. He served the first breakfast, called “tea”, at the crack of dawn. I recall being shocked that a man, especially a Planter, would prepare food in a kitchen! Malcolm would slice the bread and put it into a pop-up toaster. He would butter the hot toast with Kathleen’s fresh butter. Malcolm would boil a kettle of water and steep a few teaspoons of loose tea in a china tea pot. It was then strained into cups. The milk we added was from the plantation.
After this simple hot English style tea and toast, I loved to accompany Grandad to supervise the milking and feeding of the cows. After this was done, we had a heavier breakfast around 10 am or 11 am. This was more like lunch, but it was called breakfast by the Planters. The word “brunch” was never used.
Later in the day, my big brother Anthony and I used to ride on the donkey cart that collected the aromatic cut sour grass for the cows. This was a coarse grass, bothriochloa pertusa, that covered much of the land that was not suitable for sugarcane.
Pat Every (nee Rogers) says that Malcolm always kept a fresh set of hot peppers soaked in wine next to his plate. He applied it liberally. My parents (Herbert and Marjorie) also did this. They had a small crystal bottle that was filled with small round “Bird Peppers” that were covered with Sherry
According to Anthony, Grandaddy was recognized as an excellent planter, and his plantation was always scrupulously neat. I do recall that the place was tidy.
Huge Bullmastiffs roamed the yard, including a mature motherly female called Jill. As soon as a dog left a pile a worker would throw white lime on it and scrape it up with a shovel. Flies were a problem, so animal droppings were dealt with quickly. Anthony, I and Mrs. Elliot’s grandchildren would “bury” Jill in the sandpit. She loved the attention and would stay quite still as he was buried. At some point Jill would flex her powerful frame, rise effortlessly to her feet, and walk off, slowly wagging her tail.
Jill loved children, but she and her fellow canines were not pets, they were protectors. During the day, labourers could freely walk through the yard and the dogs would not interfere. After sunset, these same dogs changed their personalities and became aggressive towards all but close friends.
My family would often go to Cattlewash on the East Coast, and sometimes my grandparents were there. The sea there is deadly and I was terrified of it. After the sugarcane was harvested, Malcolm and Kathleen would also have time to visit that coast. Grandad would lift me up, put me on his hip and wade into the rough sea. Unfortunately this grandfather was not very tall and the waves would pass over my head. This made me more afraid, and I avoided the beach. My parents were amused that I would not go near the sea!
It is amusing to note that I did not learn to swim until I was about eleven. I started snorkeling at that time, and my mother thought it was dangerous for me to be diving while not being able to swim! She sent me for swimming lessons!
Next: Life at Bushy Park
