Audrey’s Song
Audrey’s Song – Sep 20, 2017
It was a broiling hot day in Bridgetown, Barbados. As I walked along Swan Street, there was the usual hustle and bustle of shoppers, vendors, and limers. As I walked I observed the many stores and the merchandise for sale in and outside of the shops along Swan Street. I also noticed the many people strolling. Many locals, beautiful people and some tourists mingling along the shopping road. As I casually walked along, paying little attention to almost everything, and not particular attention to anyone, this little old lady with this patched up squeezebox caught my eye. Initially, I walked pass her and decided to turn around to chat with her. I was curious about the story behind the squeezebox.
I introduced myself and asked if I could sit in the chair beside her. With a lovely smile showing her decayed lower teeth, she beckoned me to sit. I am Stan, what is your name. Audrey, she said, quite delighted. Audrey, I said, that is a most interesting instrument. I imagine there is quite a story behind that. Oh, I’ve had this box for over 45 years, she told me. A lady gave this to me and I have done my best to keep it up ever since. Well, it looks liked you’ve done a great job keeping it going, I said.
Audrey went on to tell me how she once travelled to Canada to visit her son and tried to find a new one. But she said the new ones were in the music stores very far away and they had black and white keys. I smiled reassuringly and nodded. Audrey seemed very delighted I stopped to chat her up, so I asked her to tell me her story. She replied, “you don’t have enough pencil and paper to get everything”. I said I would do my best to remember.
Audrey told her story, not chronologically, but as the thoughts came to her memory. I was not prepared for her story, I only wanted to know about the squeezebox because it reminded me of one we once bought for our daughter. When I was a girl, around twelve years old, my mother would tie me up in the yard naked and beat me in my head with a stick. I have scars all over my head. Look, she said, as she removed her hat and moved her fingers along the roots of her white hair to show me a number of scars on her head. My mother would beat me so bad and then wouldn’t let me in the house. I would have to walk miles to my uncle house to just to find a place to sleep.
Things were really hard for me growing up. My stepfather would tell my mother not to let me in the house, then she would be angry and tie me up in the yard for a long time and beat me in the head. Several times throughout her story, Audrey reflected on the beatings she received from her mother. When I turned twelve, my stepfather had a donkey cart and he would make me go with him to cut grass and dig provisions. Sometimes I did not get to go to school, so I missed a lot of learning. I barely learned how to write my name.
Why was your stepfather not nice to you, I asked. She looked away and then told me when she left home to play, once she returned he would tell the mother she was out with men. Then my mother would beat me with sticks. When I turned 15 I had my first child and by the time I was 24 I had six children. My mother continued beating me even when I was pregnant and she put me out of the house.
How old are you? I asked. Playfully she said. Guess. I flattered her by saying 61? No she laughed, I am 79. I wanted to lighten the story. You are lovely. She gave me a big smile and told me she had nine children in all, two had passed, and now she has five boys and two girls. Twenty five grandchildren and 30 great grandchildren. You are blessed with so many family, I said. Yes, I am thankful for the children. In spite of everything I went through with my mother and stepfather, I praise God for my children. They all did well, got good jobs and got their own houses. One of my sons is a manager here at Cave Shepherds, she said proudly.
So how come you still playing this old squeezebox, I asked. She continued her story, by telling me about a special man in her life. After some time, she continued , I moved out by the Vaucluse Plantation and the Manager there, a white man, was one of the kindest people I ever met. He would try to help anyone and he even help me get a house. Back in those days, I could go to him and ask to borrow twenty dollars and he wouldn’t hesitate to lend me. That’s the kind of man he was.
Some people said I went mad studying after this man, but it was all the licks I got in my head from my mother that drove me mad. So I does play this squeeze box because it helps me to keep my mind good. I remember when I used to sell papers out here, I would pass out and people would say they helping me, but when I wake up, my money would be gone. That’s awful, I said.
Audrey, looked at me and smiled. She said, in everything give thanks and praise the Lord. I am at peace and I am happy. Even though my mother beat me and my stepfather treated me badly, I am still here and I am at peace. All them licks hurt, but the doctor said me head was bad and I couldn’t work, so I have been living on a pension since I was 45 years old. I am grateful for my children and grandchildren. My boy as old as he is came by me house the other night just to sleep.
Play me a song Audrey, I want to hear your song before I go, I asked. She sat up straight, concentrated and played the prettiest tune the old cow dead pun. I did not recognize the song, but I was honored she played for me. I thanked Audrey for her song, gave her some money and told her next time I pass through I would stop and see her.
Footnote: Depression and mental illness are still underdiagnosed and undertreated in black communities and even more so in the Caribbean. Audrey reminded me of my mother who told a story about a doll someone took from her as a child and she never let that story go even into her old age. From personal experience, mental illness, knows no age, color, or creed. Be aware of those around you crying out for help.
Thanks Audrey for sharing your chair, your time, your story, and your song. But most importantly, thanks for reminding us of how important it is to trust in the Lord for our strength when everyone else around us seems to abandon us.
Dr. Stan Brooks