Rector Richardson was a tall red man of Scottish descent. He was a rather quiet man but interacted well with the parishioners of St. Margaret’s Anglican Church. It was unusual to see a Caucasian Rector in Barbados, let alone way up in the country. However, the parishioners loved this unassuming, Caucasian, spiritual leader. One of these parishioners was Ms. Branch.
Ms. Branch owned the rum shop in St. Margaret’s Village, St. John, just down the hill from the Rectory, and just before the St. Margaret’s Anglican Church where Rector Richardson ministered. Ms. Branch was a tough and assertive woman. Disappointments and hard times shaped the person she had become. Ms. Branch ran the rum shop as her life depended on it because it did. Ms. Branch never married, but she had seven children from her common law husband before he escaped his responsibility and bolted for Trinidad. In spite of her tough survival exterior, Ms. Branch was also very compassionate and caring and trusted food and rum to customers who could not pay.
Rector Richardson was one of Ms. Branch’ customers who could not pay at times. However, he was a man of the cloth, so he received extra credit from Ms. Branch. The Rector had a little secret that he kept hidden from his parishioners. After many years of downing the leftover backwash sacraments, he succumbed to the devil in the spirits and was now a heavy drinker. This secret remained secured between Ms. Branch and Rector Richardson for many years. Ms. Branch and Rector Richardson worked out a little code, so nobody knew about the transactions. The Rector would send Mark, his son, with instructions to speak only to Ms. Branch. Mark would say to Ms. Branch, “de Rector send muh to collec’ de off’rings.” Ms. Branch would disappear in the back and then produce a closed bag to Mark.
It was a blustery, rainy, wet day in St. Margaret’s Village. The skies were overcast with dark clouds blocking the beautiful scenic view looking East towards Martins Bay. Even the animals sensed something was up. The dogs were barking uncontrollably, while the other animals moved about restlessly, each making their sounds. It seemed that Ms. Branch sensed something was coming; she was more aggravated than usual.
As evening came, Mark turned up at Ms. Branch rum shop. Several regulars were liming, playing dominoes, card games, eating puddin’ n souse, and drinking, as usual. Mark navigated his way to a far side of the counter and whispered to Ms. Branch the usual phrase, “muh dad send me fuh de off’rings”.
“Offering?” Shouted Ms. Branch. “Go tell ya fada to cum down hey”.
Mark turned beet red and quickly departed the shop. Ms. Branch big chest was heaving up and down, but not a word. Everyone knew something was amiss, but no one expected what came next.
Rector Richardson turned up at the rum shop, dressed in full ministerial clothing. He was about to bless Ms. Branch. “Can I speak privately wid ya, Ms. Branch?”
“Yes, Rector, come over here to de side where the rest won’t hear we.”
“Ms. Branch, I send de boy over to get the offering and you refuse to send it. How could you do that to a man of de cloth?”
Ms. Branch looked at the Rector and said, “gimme a minute, Rector Richardson.” She disappeared into the back for what seemed like an eternity to the Rector. She was only gone three minutes, long enough to down a good shot of Mount Gay, before addressing the Rector. “Rector Richardson, you owe me so much “so in so” and “dis n dat” money that you en’ getting another bottle a rum outta hey. Take ya drunken tail out me shop right now.” The whole shop fell silent as the Rector retreated, in embarrassment, from the shop.
Ms. Branch was blue and started cussing everyone in the shop that tried to scold her for speaking such harsh words to the Rector. She was not moved. The Rector had run up a large tab, and she had grown tired of feeding his habit for free. Once Ms. Branch calmed down, she went to the container of puddin’ n souse, served herself, suck she teet, then sat down at a table and calmly asked her daughter to “pass de hot sauce”.
This is based on a true story. Faces and places changed to protect the guilty.
Stan Brooks