The Grenada Junior Academy
While we were day chartering with Kim mum & dad decreed that Graham and I should go to school and Robin to evening classes. So Robin worked on Kim during the day, dashing off up the hill to the college as soon the charterers had been offloaded at the yacht club jetty. She was studying for O-Levels. Graham and I were enrolled in a small school, the Grenada Junior Academy. Run by a rather eccentric old englishman, a former cruising sailor. To the fifteen boys enrolled in the school, he was "Major". The school was the ground floor of the Major's house, on the edge of white sandy beach several miles north of St. Georges. To get there, we walked from the yacht club to the market place in the center of town. There we caught a local bus that made its way the half dozen miles up the coast, dropping us off just up the road from the school.
Sometimes the buses were the small Datsun, Toyota or VW vans. For a van built for about ten people these could hold at least twenty-five locals and a few goats and chickens. Other times there were converted lorries with gaily painted wooden buses built on the chassis. These had open sides and rows of wooden seats. The buses were always filled to bursting and had two tone horns which blared at every opportunity. They all had names from a Reggae song.
Of the fifteen boys at the school, three of us were white and the others local black kids. We ranged in age from about ten to about sixteen. I don't know the politically correct words to distinguish between us. But at Major's school, color was never an issue. The other white kid was Kevin, my age, the youngest son of another cruising family, also settled in Grenada for many years.
We studied the usual subjects at our various levels, maths, grammer, biology etc. We also studied religion. Having been brought up in an athiest family, and being an augumentive type, I got into trouble on discusions on evolution. Arts and crafts is the area I remember best. We didn't paint but we worked a lot with papier machie. We built meticulus models of local fishing craft. We each had a section of garden allocated to us and we had a time during the day when we tended to them.
My patch of garden was about six foot by ten foot. I grew everything from tomatoes to peanuts. Potatoes, carrots, radishes, peas, corn, yams, marrow, all grew like mad in the tropical climate, even in the sandy soil. There was great rivaly between us. We fertilized, watered and nursed those little lots, each trying to produce the best, first. In the back garden we each had a lime tree. It was an out and out race to see whose tree grew the fastest, they grew inches a day, sprouting a paler green of new growth at the top.
The Major was a good designer and a fine carpenter. Over the previous years he had built a fleet of brightly painted kayaks. There was little money around so they were built of the cheapest materials but the result was very good. We had a water sports session a few times a week. We paddled and swam and romped in the shallows.
Once, a school of porpoises were sighted in the bay. Scrambling for kayaks, the older boys got to them first. The dolphins jumped and frolicked around them. By the time I got there, the fishermen had arrived. They caught them up in their nets and dragged them ashore. We were horrified; we dashed along the beach as the fishermen hacked the beautiful creatures to pieces. Most of us cried; we couldn't bear to watch. But people need to eat, I told myself.
As its name implied, the school was run in military style. As with most caribbean schools we wore a uniform but this one was to be worn with dignity and pride, the Major lectured. White shirts and blue shorts. White sailors cap with school badge. Peaked caps for higher ranks. Blue amwhatsthings and a white strip down the side of the shorts. Another school badge on the shirt pocket. Regulation shoes. As you can see, I hated the iniform.
Everyday we lined up at assembly and several times a week we were marched around the cricket field, a small platoon. We stood at attention, about turned and stamped our feet, on command. "Knees toghether!", yelled the Major. Sweat appeared on my brother's brow as he strained to bring his bow legs together. "Whats this?", cried the Major, as he rattled his cane in the two inch gap. "I can't, sir.", gasped my brother. The Major threatened to strap him to a pair of broomsticks though fortunately the matter was dropped. But Graham's knees recieved a hot glare, everytime the Major's eye was cast over the parade. Me, I got sunstroke and threw up on parade. Major was unimpressed.
My brother and I were not cut out for military life. We were both suspended for two weeks for fighting in the street. While in uniform, what a disgrace! Dad put us to work on the varnishing, a constant chore on a boat in the tropical sun.
However, I have good memories of the school, although we were only there a year or so. I didn't learn much maths but the garden had been a valuable experience for me, as had the handicraft sessions, both things sorely lacking on the boat. The school was good for the local kids, opening up their minds, broadening their horizens, and instilling them with pride.
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