All the Sevens ... or Way Past My Shelf Date

I’ve been feeling guilty as I haven’t updated my blog for about four months, and wondered what I should write about next. Well, today is my birthday and I’ve reached the august age of seventy-seven … so I thought perhaps it was time to blog about myself for a change. The first thing to think about was what should I call this post? The title “Way Past my Shelf Date” came to mind, based on that wonderful quote from Psalm 90, verse 10: “The days of our lives are threescore years and ten …” which would seem to suggest that to live beyond seventy is to do so on borrowed time … Which is why I prefer “All the Sevens”. In my teenage years and somewhat later I used to go to the Sergeants’ Mess at Up Park Camp with my pal, Sheila Bewley, whose older sister, Dawn, had married a Sergeant, Andy Taylor, who was stationed there. There we played Tombola, a type of British bingo, which, if I remember correctly went up to 99, and was not played under letters like B I N G O , but had its own language. So 77 was “all the sevens”, 99 was “all the nines”, but 66 was “clickety-click”. 21 was “key of the door” … any number ending in zero was “blind”, i.e. 50 was “blind 50”, yet 11 was “legs eleven”, and so on. Perhaps there are some of you out there who remember all this …



I was born on May 31st, 1935 at Nuttall Memorial Hospital, at Cross Roads, Jamaica

The hospital was founded in 1923 built on land purchased by the Diocese of Jamaica and commemorates the work of the Reverend Enos Nuttall, Bishop of Jamaica, after whom it is named.  My parents, Michael Levy and Maud Smedmore, already had one son, Mickey, born 2 April 1927. They were then living at 7 Anderson Road, Woodford Park. My father was a civil service clerk in the Government of Jamaica. There is a photo of my brother, Mickey, probably taken at Anderson Road

 I have no memory of this place to go on, only the photo.

 When I was six months old my parents bought the house at 5 Holborn Road. I found an advertisement in the Gleaner of 5 August 1935 advertising the house as follows:

 I guess they must have bought the house at that time. It’s the only home I remember. Here’s a photo of my parents with me as a baby in front of the house at 5 Holborn Road --

My earliest memory of my birthday is of my fourth … I vaguely remember having this huge tube, like a very large Christmas cracker, which when opened contained all sorts of goodies. I don’t remember the contents, but I do remember dragging the container around the yard of our home at 5 Holborn Road. Somehow this was much more fun for me than whatever had been inside it.

I remember my childhood as being a very happy one. In a way I was almost an only child, as my elder brother, Mickey, was eight years older than I was and would have nothing to do with me. I realize now that, as the only male child in the family he had been quite spoiled until I came along … My mother’s aunt, Aunt Tess, made much of me and poor Mickey’s nose was quite out of joint, as we used to say. This led, of course, to ill feelings on his part, which I now understand, but did not at the time.

Our family was not that large. There were, of course, the aunts and uncles, all Smedmores, and of whom I’ve written before in my blog. I knew nothing about my father’s family on his mother’s side, the Da Costas, something I have always regretted. On the Smedmore side I had two cousins … daughters of my Uncle Lucius who had married Carrie May Burke, aka Maisie. They were both older than me. There was my cousin, Marjorie

And my cousin, Gloria

Marjorie had been born in 1925, so was two years older than my brother, Mickey, thus ten years older than me, and Gloria was born in 1927,a few months after Mickey. Both of them would have considered me as a mere child, so I really had not much interaction with them. I had another first cousin, whom I never met.  This was my cousin, Walter Berner, the only child of my father’s sister, Essie, who had married Cort Berner, and who lived in the United States. He was known as “Bunky”. I never had the opportunity to meet him, but I have made contact since with his daughter, Cheryl..

In my next post I’ll reminisce some more about my childhood memories.

 

All About My Mother .-- Part 2

Why did I call my mother a feminist, a description she probably wouldn't have agreed with? Mainly because she went out to work, in spite of the objections of her mother and her two older sisters. She worked as a teacher ... and this is where I wish I had asked more questions! My mother was taught by Miss L. McDougal and later became a teacher at Miss McDougal's school. I have never been able to discover Miss McDougal's first name ... yet I actually met her, after I was married and had returned to Jamaica for one of our regular visits. My mother and I were shopping downtown and ran into Miss McDougal. I vaguely remember a very elderly lady and could not now for the life of me describe her, but what absolutely struck me was the love and respect my mother showed to her. I think each of us has at least one teacher from our school days who made an impression on us and it was obvious that Miss McDougal meant a great deal to my mother.

It has not been easy trying to find out about this period in my mother's life. Thinking about it now I have to confess I don't even know what schools my two aunts went to. I was, however, able to find out the name of the school my mother attended ... it was called Victoria Girls' School and was located at 28 Victoria Avenue, and its Headmistress was Miss McDougal. I found this information through research in the online edition of the Jamaica Gleaner, which has been a tremendous resource.

Among my mother's possessions is a photograph of her in an attractive costume, holding a tambourine, and it was this photo that prompted me to delve more into her school days.

There is nothing on the photo to say where it was taken or what the occasion was, but I think I may have discovered that! After numerous searches in the Gleaner on the name "McDougal" I came across a couple of stories about prize giving functions at Victoria Girls' Secondary School. One in particular may hold the answer to the mystery of the photograph. This is from the Gleaner of December 20, 1912, and begins:

"The breaking-up of the Victoria Girls' School, No. 28 Victoria Avenue, conducted by Miss McDougal, came off sucessfully at St. George's Schoolroom by kind permission of the Rev. J. L. Ramson on Tuesday night last; His Grace the Archbishop presided during a portion of the function and, on retiring, his place was taken by Mr. McFarlane, Principal of the Mico College".

The story goes on to relate that Miss McDougal, after giving a report on the school, announced that she was closing it and taking the position, offered to her by Sister Madeline, of Headmistress of the Deaconess Home School. This new school would become Arcadia School ... more of that later ... but to return to my mother ... further on in the story is the following:

"The programme was then proceeded with and the children acquitted themselves remarkably well. The Ribbon and Tamboureen [sic] Drills, which were admirably executed, were highly appreciated, as was testified to by the prolonged applause of the audience".

Surely this photograph has to be of my mother doing the Ribbon and Tambourine Drill! She would have been about eighteen at the time.

After she left school my mother taught under Miss McDougal at the Arcadia School which was located at 13 West Avenue, Kingston Gardens. In the Gleaner of May 22, 1922, I found a report on the Prize Giving at Arcadia School. The pupils had recently presented an operetta at the Ward Theatre, the proceeds of which were donated to the Wortley Home Orphanage at Constant Spring. In her report on the work of the school Miss McDougal thanked "her assistants, viz: Misses Berry, Noad and Smedmore for the whole-hearted interest and careful training of the pupils to which alone the success of the entertainment was undoubtedly due". In the prize list is the following: Form IVb prize, awarded to Muriel Dias by Miss Smedmore; Form IIIb prize, awarded to Olga Holtz by Miss Smedmore.

My mother got married April 27, 1926, but she seems to have kept a connection to the school even though she did not work after marriage. The Gleaner reports on May 19, 1927 on yet another Arcadia School Prize Giving at which my mother, now referred to as Mrs. Levy, awarded the prize for Cambridge Senior Exam to Geraldine Bodden. By now, however, she was the mother of a young child, my brother Micky, who was born April 2, 1927, and her teaching career was over.

All About My Mother ...

I should have had this done for Mother's Day but other stuff intervened ...

My mother always told me that she and my Dad were engaged for seven years. Why, I asked? Well, he had to help support his mother who was a widow. He was the eldest son ... the two younger boys, Leo and Joe, had gone to the United States, and the only girl, Essie had also left for New York. The funny thing about this story was that my grandmother Levy was afraid that Leo and Joe would be forced to join up during the First World War. (My father, apparently, was not considered fit enough to join up .. I think he had flat feet). Since the Americans weren't in the war then it seemed a good idea to send Leo and Joe to the States. Well, I never did find Leo's immigragion record, though I'm still looking. He probably went to the States before Joe, who sailed to New York aboard the ss Catherine Cuneo on August 28, 1917. Considering that the U.S. had entered the war in April 1917 this particular reason doesn't seem to make a lot of sense where Joe was concerned! At any rate, my Dad remained in Jamaica, the sole support of his mother, as my grandfather, Leopold Levy, had died in February 1917 in Santiago, Cuba.

But this is supposed to be about my mother. She was the youngest girl of the three Smedmore girls, the only one to get married and the only who ever actually worked outside the home.

This picture was taken before she was married to my father. I think, looking back now at what I know about her, she would have been considered a feminist for her time. Yes, they did have to wait to get married because of my father's responsibilities, but I gather there was also some opposition to my father from my grandmother Smedmore and my two aunts, Sylvia and Elma. Which brings up another interesting fact about the Smedmore family. Not too many of them got married, and most of those who did married later in life. (Except for my uncle, Lucius, who defied the family and got married at the tender age of twenty-five.) When I asked my mother why three of my uncles and my two aunts never married her response was that the men had never found a woman as good as their mother and the women had never found a man to equal Papa.

This opposition, however, did not deter my mother and my parents were finally married on April 27, 1926, at Kingston Parish Church, and as the reception appears to have been held at 49 Beeston Street one must assume that the family came round in the end. In fact, Julian, my mother's youngest brother, was best man.

Things must have been difficult for my parents at the beginning of their marriage. They could not at first afford their own home and lived at 49 Beeston Street for some time. My brother, Michael Owen Dey Levy, known to all as Micky, was probably born there on April 2, 1927. I don't know how long they lived there. One of my Da Costa cousins remembers visiting my Grandma Levy at her house at 22 Beeston Street and recalls that my Dad came over to visit with his friend, Joe Kelly, and a little boy, which was most likely my brother. Here is a photo taken at 49 Beeston Street of Micky with our cousin, Marjorie, eldest daughter of Lucius, and our aunt Elma in the background.

Micky was probably about four or five when my parents moved to a house on Anderson Road which I think they probably rented. I wish now I'd asked what the exact address was. In fact, there are a lot of questions I wish that I had asked my mother ... this is the main regret of most genealogists who come to family history later in life and realize that they've missed the opportunity to talk to the family elders and get all the facts and stories...now lost in the mists of time.

The First Man in My Life ....

.... was my father, Michael Leopold Levy. (I've borrowed the heading for this post from Sandra Martin, whom I heard read from her new book, The First Man in My Life: daughters write about their fathers, published by Viking, 2007).

This is a picture of my parents and myself, at 5 Holborn Road, probably taken shortly after they had moved there. I remember as a child that my father would carry me around on his shoulders and sing to me in a high sweet tenor voice such oldies as "Silver Threads Among the Gold" or "I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen". He would also sing opera arias ... this may be where I got my love of opera. I definitely remember him singing "M'appari" from the opera, Marta. And he would tell me stories ... he made up a whole series of tales about two little dogs, Blackie and Whitey, who just happened to exist on the label for Black & White Whiskey.My father was the breadwinner of the family .... my mother had worked as a teacher before she married but didn't work after marriage. As I mentioned in a previous post, they lived across the street from each other in Kingston. My father worked in the Jamaica Civil Service in the Administrator-General's Department which he joined in 1908, at the age of 19. He had attended St. George's College, on North Street in Kingston, a Catholic boy's high school, which had been founded by the Jesuits in 1850.

This photo of St. George's College is from the website of the St. George's College Old Boys Association, Ontario Chapter.

My father eventually rose to First Class Clerk and by 1948 was promoted to Trustee in Bankruptcy. I remember that as long as I knew him his hair was perfectly white. My mother said it had been like this from his youth, though it does not look quite like that in their wedding picture. This is a copy of the photograph which appeared in The Gleaner when they were married on April 27, 1926 at the Kingston Parish Church.

My Dad was the most easy-going guy I ever knew. Although he had been brought up Catholic and had gone to a Catholic school, he went along with my mother who was adamant about remaining Anglican (and high-church Anglican at that) and so they were married in the Kingston Parish Church, after being engaged for seven years, as my mother told me ... but that's another story.