A breeze was coming through the shutters of an old wooden house in the tiny village of Tranto. A bay leaf and a gum tree grew along the side of the road that led to the house. Opposite the trees, some red ginger lilies, white hibiscus and purple orchids were growing nicely under the sun. Behind the old house was a trio of fruit trees: orange, grapefruit and tangerine. At the front, in the yard, there were cotton, coco and coffee trees. This was one of only four houses in the village. The Milbranche River flowed on one side, next to a banana plantation. A steep, steep hill and a valley were next to a mountain on the other: together, these obstacles prevented the passage of any vehicle.
“I found your book evocative of my own childhood in Guyana and Saint Lucia—early rising in the dark, cocks crowing, candles and tilly lamps at night, with charcoal fires and wood smoke.”
“I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed reading your book. The England you describe is the one I grew up in but from a completely different perspective of course. Fascinating to read about it from this point of view. I remember so many people like the awful Miss Appleby and the cultural attitudes implied by her. So interesting to get just a tiny peak into the lives of so many people that made that journey to England and the culture they came from and sometimes even returned to.”
Saint Lucia: Judy
“Read your book. Loved it. Made me cry a little. Reminded me of my childhood.”