MAY THE LORD bless those who came up with the idea of the boardwalk at Hastings, Christ Church, as well as those who designed and constructed it; and I believe I speak for many.
There’s nothing like arriving at the boardwalk for a brisk walk at dawn and anticipating what the colours in the sky and the cloud formations will be on that particular morning; these vary in some of the most fascinating ways.
The sky will keep changing its blue, purple, pink and orange according to the light, and walkers may even indulge a childhood fantasy by imagining the clouds taking on animal or human shapes. At times low-hanging clouds form what looks like a mountain range along the horizon adding another dimension to the seascape.
Some mornings, though, when it is heavily overcast and bright rays of light shoot out from under some dark cloud, or suddenly the light penetrates to cast a glimmering pathway across the water, it is not difficult to imagine nature relaying some message of hope where where such a need exists.
Some may argue that my having been born in St George is one of the reasons I still find the sea to be such a source of wonder. Its different moods and colours absorb me.
While I think the calm tide mirrors more of my personality, I have to admit the rush I get from high tide and pounding waves. I also reflect on the fact that thezse bashing waves will cause the sharp-edged rocks to become perfectly smooth in years to come, a lesson nature teaches us about adversity, time and patience.
And of course there are the “regulars” whom I can recognise from a distance by now just from their manner of walking. There is, for example, the popular moderator whose tolerance with the callers must be considerably enhanced by his vigorous early morning strides and the fresh salt air of which he obviously takes full advantage.
Then there is one lady who caught my attention. I had seen walkers accompanied by other people, by dogs and even carrying sticks, but never one carrying her coffee cup. I subsequently wrote a poem called Morning Coffee.
Another regular is the lady who never seems to run out of humorous anecdotes or comments. She sympathised with me on one occasion because the politicians hadn’t yet “run sea in St George” as promised.
One of the most gratifying sights I’ve witnessed so far has been a turtle laying her eggs. I’m told that turtles shed tears in the process and I wonder if they do so because there’s little chance of ever seeing their young ones once they’re hatched. No doubt there’s some scientific explanation for the “tears” but such facts could hinder freedom of the imagination.
It is unfortunate, though, that an otherwise harmonious Boardwalk experience could be marred by this business of “speaking”. In a short story Cat Up A Tree by William Sansom, a character remarks: “Perhaps one day it will be agreed that finally the most critical words of all are ‘good morning’.” A bit of an exaggeration perhaps but even so, we Barbadians used to think that saying “Good morning” was important. It was good manners. But things have clearly changed.
I would prefer not to make any assumptions relative to what I know of certain “hang-ups” among some groups in our society. It is entirely possible that in the early morning hours, some people would prefer not to communicate with anyone, however briefly.
Some might fear that a simple “Good morning” could lead to unwanted personal or social complications. Some might be genuinely half-deaf or half-blind. I myself may have been guilty of not responding to a greeting because I was too busy gazing out to sea.
So, on behalf of those like myself who still believe in the importance of human relations, here’s what I suggest: somebody could make a few dollars selling “Good morning” T-shirts. The greeting should be printed both front and back.
Once I’m wearing these shirts I’d be “speaking” to all and sundry with no bother as to who responds or not. I would then be free to turn my full attention to my reasons for going to the boardwalk: to keep stress at bay, to keep fit and most of all, to be caught up in the beauty of another Bajan morning.
• Esther Phillips is an educator, poet and editor of BIM: Arts For The 21st Century. Email eephillips7@hotmail.com
