Driftwood Camp

Ian Gill

Description

Driftwood Camp is an oilfield Camp located on the southern coast of Trinidad and so called because of the huge amounts of driftwood washed up on the beach mainly from the Orinoco River. The camp was set up to accommodate British nationals hired to exploit the oil resources at the behest of Winston Churchill to aid the war efforts for World War 2 1939-1945.

The novel covers the period 1958 to 1964 when many colonies were moving to self government including Trinidad and where change was the order of the day. Dr Eric Williams had led the peoples National Movement to power in 1956 and ultimately to internal self government Independence; eventually Trinidad and Tobago became a Republic.
The white British staff enjoy all the benefits of Camp life in strict contrast to the black villages who provide servants, maids, washers and yard boys for the Camp occupants. In their jobs the white "A" staff are highly trained, organised and competent but privately engage in sexual adventures that have serious repercussions.

Sujets

• Vie de famille
• Adolescence et Vie de Famille
• Histoire
• Americas
• History

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 19 février 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456630492
• Langue: English

Extrait

Driftwood Camp
 
a novel by
 
Ian Gill
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Copyright 2018 Ian Gill.
All rights reserved.
 
 
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
 
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-3049-2
 
 
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
 
Contents
 
DORIS
MAUREEN
THE BOYS
BEVERLY
THE GREAT ESCAPE
THE BEACH
THE VOLCANO
THE SHIP
POMERAC TIME
DUMB CANE
STEPHANIE LA TOUR
THE LIBRARY
PREPARATIONS
ARRIVALS
THE BALL
DANCE CLASSES
BACK IN TIME
CHICKENS
MARBLES
KITES, TRACTORS AND TOPS
MEDICINE
ALICE AND FREDDIE
DOGS
TEENS
STANDPIPE
SHOPPING TRIP
EXCURSION
THE FLAGS
MR PROCTER
THALIDAMIDE
WASHER WOMAN
THE KITCHEN
IT TAKES A VILLAGE TO RAISE A CHILD
BEACH LIME
GUABINES
BUTTERFLIES, BATS AND ANTS
CARONI BIRD SANCTUARY
SPORTS DAY
KAREN
THE CLUB
ENCOUNTERS OF A STRANGE KIND
TRAVELS
LIFE AND DEATH
HALLOWEEN/CHRISTMAS/NEW YEAR
RESEARCH AND DISCOVERY
CRICKET SEASON
GRIEF
MONTY
DAIRY LIFE
TANTIE MAUD/EZEKIEL
KEVIN
DEVON
CAMP AGAIN
BRIDGE
WILKEY ISLAND
 
DORIS
It was a steaming hot, sunny Saturday morning. Doris was walking along the asphalt road that led to Driftwood Camp in the hope of being able to sell her vegetables, all of which she had grown at the back of her small humble one room house. Humble for sure it was, and definitely not fancy. But it was not just her house, it was her home, and she kept it neat and tidy. After all order was part of her nature - a place for everything and everything in its place. It had a window on each side and two doors. The front door was fitted with a lock that worked with a long black key and the back door was secured with a latch that led to her personal latrine.
This was a small narrow structure with a door made from an assortment of materials; the top of the latrine was capped with a sheet of galvanize that someone had discarded but it worked well enough to keep out the rain. It was the same type of galvanize that you would find on very old buildings, galvanize that was never painted and which in spite of looking rusty and weathered seemed to last forever. The galvanize sported an artist's palette of varying brown and grey shades and was really far too big, creating an overhang on all sides. On occasions when Doris was outside, caught by a sudden down pour, this provided shelter especially from ‘bucket -a-drop’ rain. The roof was held down by two large stones that she had pulled out of some building material that had been left at the side of the road. Doris was enterprising and independent. She did not see problems, she saw opportunities. She kept largely to herself, remained on good terms with everyone, went to Church religiously and enjoyed good health. She was blessed.
The house itself was made of tapia, with a thatched roof of carat palm leaves that she had cut from a bushy area of land that formed a boundary to the nearby sea. It had been hard laborious work, cutting and dragging the leaves, which proved to be heavier than they looked. She could not count the number of trips that she had made. There were many. They were hard. Definitely long.  But she could easily recall the sweat that poured down inside her clothes, dripped down the center of her large breasts and fell from her brow into her deep brown eyes, stinging her and causing her to blink and stop to wipe her face.
She used a scarf that one of the ladies from the camp had given her which was frayed at one end and would have been condemned as rubbish. Doris gave the old scarf new life. She carefully stitched up the frayed end using a needle and thread and a decorated thimble that her mother had given her as a family heirloom. She treasured both the thimble and the scarf and kept the latter clean and folded neatly in the front pocket of her starched dress.
Doris had purchased the cutlass that she used to cut the carat leaves, from a hardware store in the junction owned by two Chinese brothers who wore’ slapats’, shoes made of wood and a piece of canvas nailed across the front. She carried the’ punyah ‘or ‘gilpin’, as it was often called, back to her home. wrapped in Gazette paper and tied with brown string. 
She had sharpened the cutlass on a large round, smooth stone that she had collected on the beach. Doris had come across the stone while the tide was out leaving a wide expanse of yellow- brown sand. The retreating water had left puddles wherever there were stones and this stone lay there in the middle of this pool of water that the sun had heated up. Bringing that stone up the long winding road was a labor of love. She had had to stop many times to collect her breath but it was worth it. Every time she stopped, her chest heaving, her heart thumping like a drummer gone wild, she would say, " Lord give me strength, ease this heavy load.”
The stone held a place of prominence on a wooden stand made of ’two by four’ wood at the entrance of her front door, next to the three wooden steps that led into the house. The stairway even had a rough wood railing. While the house had been painted in yellow ochre, the short concrete pillars that held it up were ‘white- washed ‘to match the wooden windows.
Doris had learned construction of a tapia and carat roofed house from a lady called Eulyn who lived at the other end of Long Village, so called because most of the houses had been built at the sides of the narrow road that led to Driftwood Camp. She had met up with Eulyn in the Siparia market one busy morning when both were taking issue with a vendor on the price of cloth for curtains. The two struck up a casual conversation. 
"So you does live around here? “inquired Eulyn. Eulyn was a woman who was known to be ‘farce’, or what people commonly referred to as a ‘maco’. She liked to know every body's business and built a career out of that. If you wanted to know who slept with who," which man does beat he wife,’ "how much rum that man drink last night and how he spen' all the grocery money," then you had only to put the question to Eulyn and all the lurid details would gush forth like water from a stand pipe.
"Well I live in Coora now. " Doris paused as though in deep contemplation and then slowly said, " but I want to leave and go further south." She said it with a ‘steups’ in her voice.
"Hmm, like you need to move girl? You know the village I live in, Long Village have some government land that you could put up a house and find a job down there. Most everybody squatting, only one or two have deed."
Eventually that led to Doris making the move. Becoming friendly with Eulyn, she mentioned that she had entered into a relationship with a Grenadian man called Dolphus Gabriel. It had started out fine but he became abusive and she said the last thing that she needed was a fist on her face. Well Eulyn was told all of this in the strictest confidence, but she was a ‘mouth open, story jump out’ woman, so soon the whole village had the details to which they added information.” Doris had had to go to hospital, " “She arm did break.” “A next time she lip well buss,” "She loose a teet'." and on one occasion," She did close to dead.”
All these ridiculous stories annoyed Doris no end. but being of a strong constitution, it was all like water off a ducks back. And she was grateful to Eulyn for all her help, but from that time on she had learned to keep all her business entirely to herself. She summed it up this way; “If you don' talk they kyah hear and they kyah repeat and say they get it from the horse’s mouth."
Doris reached the camp, on the way stopping to let two green, hand- painted jitneys pass. Both were Ford Pilot V8 World War 11 surplus that the company had secured at low prices. They were driven by the white men who lived in Driftwood Camp. In fact, everybody living in Driftwood Camp was white and with few exceptions, were English. Standing still on the edge of the road of course was not necessary as it was wide enough, but balancing the large rectangular wooden tray on her head, filled to almost overflowing with her produce, she would none the less stop out of caution and turn her head to watch them pass before continuing on her way. She feared they might dodge the occasional pothole and” lick her down.”
"Good morning Corporal Fraser good morning private Julien. How you all today? "
"Good morning Doris, go ahead girl. I see you have some ‘lacatan’: we will take one each. Shift changing at 11.00 and that will keep us till the van come.” Their eight -hour shift had started at 3AM. Private Julien lifted the gate for Doris to pass. He pressed down on the heavy concrete block on the inner side of the black and white iron pole from which the gate had been made. He began eating one banana handing the other to the Corporal. The two field police were smartly dressed in starched and pressed khaki shorts and short sleeved matching jackets with epaulets and a row of shiny brass buttons down the front. A thick brown leather belt with a square brass buckle completed the outfit. Their boots glistened from spit and polish efforts and' elbow grease.’ Light brown socks reached up to the top of their calf muscles. They both wore khaki caps with the peaks made of polished leather. The maroon head bands proclaimed them to be members of the Trinidad Petroleum Company, T.P.C. Field Police Force.
Doris walked up the 'oil- sand pitched 'driveway of the first house perched on a hill overlooking the guard hut. The guard hut itself was a small white wooden building with a red roof, three windows and a door and big enough for a small desk and three chairs, the third for any visitor who the officers needed to speak with. Next to the black ro