A few years ago, I took a trip to Grenada. Someone gave me a gift to carry for a woman there. I called her when I reached and she asked her son to pick up the gift. He asked me for directions to the house where I was staying and I told him that I was residing close to the spot where Empire Cinema once stood. He told me that he had never heard of Empire Cinema.

Immediately I thought that someone had failed to pass on information, and I recalled the days Grandma spoke to me and told me of places and things that were familiar to her when she was growing up.

She used to speak of the Drill Yard and Ballast Ground and the time when a few motorists had all the streets of Grenada to themselves. Back then, the older people made the time to speak to the young ones and to remind them of their heritage.
I gave the young man a little story about the Empire Cinema and I told him of the times we stood in long lines to purchase tickets for the matinee or midnight show.

This book "Recollections of an Island Man" is made up of stories that I remember. It is not a researched book; it is simply the way I remember certain happenings and people. I did not live in all the areas of Grenada so I can only write about what I know. It is not based on detailed character studies but brief sketches.

When I departed for Brooklyn in 1978, I left with my thoughts of the exciting and not so exciting times I experienced. Lodged in my mind were stories of characters and events that appealed to me. Lurking in my consciousness were stories of Christmas and Carnival and of school days and times I sat and listened to Nansi stories told under the breadfruit tree.

Although I currently live in Brooklyn, I still cannot shake the thoughts of the early morning sea baths and the times I climbed the very tall mango trees. Lingering in my mind is the bush tea that I drank, the spanking I got at school, the coal pot on which we roasted the corn and breadfruit or boiled the ham. I met other Grenadians in Brooklyn who had their own stories to tell. I sat and listened and the inclination to tell stories from Grenada and Brooklyn intensified as the voices of others spoke of similar experiences. Then the outlet for doing so became a reality.

A friend of mine nicknamed Revo told me of a Grenadian Discussion Group Website hosted by Cable and Wireless called Spiceisle Talkshop and moderated by Mr. Brian Steele. I accessed that site and began writing stories and poems, mostly based on my growing up experiences in Grenada.

As I wrote, the wonderful e-mails came from England, Canada, Trinidad, USA, and various other places. I felt the happiness in the words of those who were hungry for the nostalgic feel of the life they once knew. I laughed with those who found humor in the appealing colloquialisms and expressions.

I read the encouraging words of people on the Talkshop who adopted nicknames as Vanni, 1 Luv, Judy, Queen Maccomeh, Aim, PI, Lavandula, Spiceislander, Tagwa, Spider, Slice, Ackee, Bakes and Fishcakes, Bathway, Kesri, Spanish Eyes, Snow, Corporal Naught, CPD, Skyrone, Gouyaveman, Lord Hungry and Mr. T.

I was moved to action when they advised me to put my work in book form. My friends, co-workers and family advised me to do the same. This I have done, but it is not merely a book about Grenada. It is a book of the human experience seen through my eyes. The stories dwell on happenings that mainly occurred during the 1960's and 1970's. It is a book that is intended to grasp the attention of those who believe that the human story is basically the same all over the world.
Somewhere in a distant land, a fisherman will undergo the blazing heat of the sun that Mr. Cliff in the book experienced. Someone will sing a hymn for the dead and indeed there are those who will always curse the politicians.

And all over the world there are those who would find comfort in the bottle just as readily as the rum drinkers of Grenada. People will continue to yearn for the Christmas or holidays they knew as little children and yes, many would find enjoyment in a little exaggeration, nonsense and humor.

I was thrilled when I receive the following e-mail from a woman who was born in Boston:

"Hello Anthony,

I am a woman living California who recently bought a house in Carriacou with my husband. I'm originally from Boston and your pieces take me home.

A Bostonian's childhood is about snowmen and ice skating, but chases, pranks and nabbing sweets are all part of it. A lot of Bostonians go back and forth to Carriacou, and one said to me, "Isn't this like being in the forties" (1940's). That's why we love Carriacou. In the present it reminds us of what we miss from our past.

We live in a beautiful town, Sausalito, right on the water in a houseboat with its special wonders (the soothing hum of boat motors, a resident seal who makes calls underwater every night, our seagull friends who drop mussels on the roof to crack them open). The past, the present, Grenada, Boston, and San Francisco all can be loved the same way that you convey the love of your history. You aren't telling us your past, you are reminding us how to think. Your impact is so great. Thank you-please keep the stories coming."
Stephanie Burns

For those who are concerned with the fading hallmarks of our culture, this is my attempt to help you relive certain aspects of a cherished past.