Saying Good bye: Death and Dying in Woodlands District in the Fifties

Basil Waine Kong

I grew up in Woodlands District, St. Elizabeth Parish, Jamaica. My grandmother who raised me (Mrs. Rosella McKenzie) believed that when people died, they get to talk with God about others left behind. If the living want a good report, they must have excellent relations with others and particularly for those who are going home. In our community, the care and feeding of those who are in the process of dying was treated with great reverence. Granny was particularly helpful to the sick and unabashedly reminded them that they should not forget to recommend that God send her a special blessing when they saw Him. Sick people in our community were always treated with kindness as a testimonial of their virtue with an expectation of a reward. Duppy have power. Occasionally, someone felt a need to clear their conscience and confess their sins before they pass on. This, however, always implicated others, so the chalk man would be called to make sure he or she stop “talking”.

Everyone believed that death is a journey of the soul from this world to a better place where there is no pain or sorrow. It was a curiosity to me that a land of milk and honey with angels flying about was the best they could do to motivate the living to do God’s will.

The death of a loved one would be accompanied with the tolling of the bell at Springfield Moravian Church calling the entire community to gather at the home of the person who passed on to pay respects to the deceased and to comfort the bereaved. Some of the women would wash, anoint the body, tie the big toes together and tie a scarf around under the chin and around the head to hold the mouth closed. The corpse will be dressed in his or her best clothes and made available for the viewing. The men measured the body, dig the six foot grave (east and west), in the church cemetery or family plot and construct a simple cedar box to specifications---all done in the dead person’s yard. Granny would invariably say: “Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for you and me.”

Other women would immediately start a wood fire on three large stones, cooking in a washed out kerosene can. The white rum and water would help to drown out their sorrow as well as quench the thirst of those assembled. For the following nine nights, the community would gather to keep vigil on the family, pray, play dominoes, sing and dance with tambourines, cry, tell dumpy stories and talk about the life of the dearly departed.

While men were restrained from showing much emotion and may cry quietly, women wailed. Granny said the nine night (set up) custom started because they didn’t want to make a mistake and bury a person who was not dead so they would wait nine nights to give the person every opportunity to wake up. Lots of noise were made in an effort to wake the dead. A second reason is to ward off evil spirits and assure that the dearly departed is not prevented by the devil from their ascension into heaven. Generous contributions from neighbours would cover the tremendous cost of the food, drinks, and materials for the funeral. Often a cow was butchered. For the carpenters, grave diggers, the women who prepared the food and the body for burial, this was a labour of love and no one expected to be paid.

The number of songs at the wake was endless and as most people could not read, a song leader would (track) call out the next line of a song for everyone else to follow. My favorite nine night songs were:

Mi sa mi ole man dead and he no lef no will; He lef a likkle piece of land fi feed the whole a we; but mi bigger breda tief it way from wi; Glory be to God, Glory be to God fi de whole a wi.

"Adam in the garden hide him self, hide himself, hide him self; Adam in the garden hide him self, hide himself from God"

"You have longed for sweet peace
For grace to increase
You have earnestly and fervently prayed
But you cannot have rest or be perfectly blessed
Till at last you are on the alter laid"

After the ninth night, the coffin would be nailed shut and transferred to the church. The entire community would attend with men dressed in black suits and the women in white dresses. The choir would sing, the minister would preach and pray, and the family would weep being supported by friends who would fan and hug them. The attentiveness of friends kept grieving family members from hurting themselves when they inevitably fainted. About a dozen people would offer affectionate remembrance and the spouse was expected to wear black and be in mourning for six months.

After the service, the six pallbearers would pick up the coffin and start a parade to the burial site at the church yard or to the family plot with everyone singing as they walked. A second service took place at the grave. The coffin would be placed over the grave and finally lowered to the bottom. I can still hear the sound of the two ropes as they were pulled out after the coffin came to rest. Several people would say: “Good bye Mass Georgie, see you soon.” No one left before the last shovel of dirt is tossed and many would linger for hours after to partake of the vittles that was provided. Granny would remind us that dust to dust, ashes to ashes was the way of all flesh. Soon and very soon, we all have appointments to see the King. She just wanted to remind us that she does not want to be looking all over heaven for her family so we better live a good life so we could join her up there. For the following weeks after a funeral my brother and I would have nightmares and wake up screaming as we dreamed that we were being covered with dirt.

As scary as funerals were to us, Granny always pointed out that once upon a time, people lived forever. There were no births and no deaths . But the people asked God to give them children and He said that would only be possible if people would also accept death. They unanimously agreed and so it was that every time a child is born, someone dies. In Woodlands District, Invariably the news of a death was always accompanied by news of a birth.