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TWO YEARS ago, end of the third school term, I found myself arbitrarily relating to my own children my father’s strongest memory of World War II: at his secondary school, any time they heard the drone of a heavy aircraft, all pens, including the teacher’s, stopped in the air above exercise book pages and then went flying, as everyone rushed outside, those on the ground floor spilling out the windows: why waste time on corridors when there might be Spitfires and B-52s in the skies of British Guiana?
But why had that story jumped out of my mouth?
FIRST DAY of the year and Y’Boy remembering when he did first go away to the Cold and find out that white people’ country doesn’t have Old Year’s Night, them does have New Year’s Eve. That-self is one of the answers Y’Boy would give, if he ever had was to ask himself, like he does ask other people every week, “What is a Trini?”: “A Trini is somebody who celebrates Old Year’s Night, not New Year’s Eve”. Some people wouldn’t see no difference, but Y’Boy – and, Y’Boy suspect, most Trinis – would nod they head, and chuckle to theyself, and winks at one another: Y’Boy done know he never had as good a time at the best New Year’s Eve party in Foreign than he had at the worst Old Year’s Night in Trinidad.Read more
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