my school was in the cemetery yard at Stewartville. One time I was challenged to crawl inside of an old broken tomb, there was some boards over the hole so a person cannot fall in, I went in and stretched off

You were brave bhai,all the taboos about burial ground,if you point

towards it,you have to bite your fingers.

You ever spit behind you back so jumbie don't follow you.

bro when yuh small wha the rass yuh care about danger and taboos, is one more thing yuh gat to brag about

na say in your mind psalm 23 or hanuman chalisa,now living

in NA no fear,an old jewish cemetry in my street bordered by

two houses.

My bragging days was 'borrowing' a box of colour chalk, but we did not know what to do with it. Only teachers used it.

We had to hide and put it back in the cupboard, or suffer the consequences of Jairam Jee, the head teacher's favourite, telling on us.     

Guyana school days were the bestest...my furthest memory goes back to when I was 3 years old..my mom enrolled me in a private bottom house kindergarten...the first day at school she came to the school looking for me after dismissal time..thought something was really wrong...only to find out I left with my cousin and went to her house, had lunch and was playing doll house and forgot I had to go home ..she could not believe I actually 'crossed the road' at age 3...guess I was 'hard ears' and independent since a kid.

Miss Hooper, an older woman from Fyrish, was my kindergarten teacher.

It took me years afterwards to realize why she put me to sit in front of the class, because my Mom said I was her angel.

A younger teacher subbed  for Miss Hopper once and I believe my doing caused her to leave.

During one of her lessons as she paced in front of the class, I reached down to pickup my slate on the floor, as she  stood in front of me.

When I lifted my head, it was in her dress and I believe her embarrassment caused her to leave.

I was surprised at her decision to leave, because at that time,  I did not know what was under her dress. But me did know bubbie had milk.

After Miss Hooper returned, she put me to sit in the second row. I guess she did not want any embarrassment from Tola, Jr.

good one Tola, I had a nice laugh on that one, I can just imagine the class laughing when that happened

this Tola fella mus eh prappa ruckshan when him bin lil

The slate never fell, it was dropped....on purpose, wanna bet?

Tola, you lucky den boys din start callin you "Da Lizard"...

As the song, the lizard run up she foot an it disappear......

My favourite school lunch was curry boiled eggs, with vegetables and rice.

Well, it was more like brunch, because I would eat the eggs on the way to school.

I don't remember my mother or sisters preparing my lunch, but with deep emotions presently, it was always there for me.

I never did thank them and now they are no longer around.

We give back to the world, what others gave us.     

In primary school I used to full up my bag with tamarind and pepper and salt, and loved to sit in the back with my gang and eat during class...got quite a few lashes for that..

But one of my favorite delicacies was black sugar cake (burnt sugar), my friends hated it...so as not to eat infront of them I used to buy it when they are not looking and take it home..probably had that for dinner some times..

Black sugar cake [burnt sugar] or as we call it, 'sakal-gatta'.

We would use empty sardine tins with shingles  removed from nearby houses to make sugar cakes.

At that time all of the houses had shingles removed at a certain height : The height of children in the neighbourhood.

Placing small rocks on the ground to hold the tin and sugar, we would make a fire to burn sugar cakes.

During the days of our children in Canadian grade school, I spoke  to their class  about penfriends and my stamp collection with  envelopes received from different countries.

A special treat was sugar cakes. I always did my presentations in  the afternoon, because the students would be 'wired' from  multi helpings of sugar cake and it was not fair to  the teacher to have them all day in that state, but their parents did.   

Its interesting to note, that years later when the children became adults, I would be told that is one of their special memories of school days.

Guyanese burnt sugar cakes.

I have a scar about the size of quarter on my right shoulder. I don't remember when I got it, but I was told that I demanded some sugar cake while it was still hot.

My late sister Elaine suggested that I wait, but I demanded some NOW.

She put some in my hand and being hot I shook it away and it landed on my shirtless shoulder. A special memory of my sister Elaine.          

My first day in kindergarten, a bottom house class in Uitvlugt Casbah. Teacher: Miss Waterman. Brand new slate and pencil. Her son Randolph Waterman sat next to me. He knew the drill and made me comfortable. When class dismissed, Randolph got beef soup lunch while I waited for my mother to pick me up. Randolph gave me a piece of beef. Born in a Hindu family, that was my first taste of beef. Back at home I asked my mother to buy beef. She got the truth out of me and warned sternly not to eat at Miss Waterman's again.

A story concert with an audience of a few thousand, that was broadcasted on national radio.

………………………………........................

You know how this works…this is the part of the show where you send us your stories. They have to be true stories and they have to be short. After that it’s up to you…we’ll read everything you send us and we’ll read some of our favourites here on the radio.

He writes…

I grew up on a sugar cane plantation in South America.　 It was a fun place to live: we swam in the creeks, ate a lot of sugar cane, drank coconut water and ate　tropical fruits like guavas and passion fruit.　

At Christmas time, however, the stores sold North American apples. We called them ‘Christmas apples’. And at Christmas time when I was a small boy, I　would be　given a handful of coins, tied in a handkerchief so that I wouldn’t lose them, and sent to the Lall’s store to buy one. I was taught the following phrase:

“Can I have a BC # 1 Golden Apple Please.”

I didn’t understand that I was asking for an apple from a specific place – I knew very little about the rest of the world -- all I knew was that if I said that, I would be given a special　apple in exchange for those coins.　

The　apples　were so expensive that　we could only afford one. And I would bring it home and my parents would cut it into wedges, and then cut the wedges in half - so everyone in our family of twelve could have a piece. 

We even ate the core. We always wanted more but imported apples were a luxury. Sometimes a visiting relative　might buy a second and that was a real treat.

In 1967, I moved to Canada.  I came to Vancouver to go to school. I got a part time job at a　shelter　for homeless men near the Cambie Street Bridge.

In front of the main post office, where the library is now located, there was a Chinese grocery store where I shopped.  The woman who ran it was kind to me. She gave me credit so I could buy groceries between pay cheques.

One evening I stopped　on my way to work to get a snack. As I waited in line　to pay, I noticed a stack of　apple crates in the corner.

On the crate there was a sign. The sign read: “BC #1 Golden Apple”.

And that is when it dawned on me that the name of those special Christmas apples was the name of where they had come from. BC was my new home – British Columbia.

“Oh, my goodness,” I shouted.  “They are from here?”

Everyone in that little grocery store looked at me with astonishment. There were  tears running down my face.  

I was overwhelmed with longing to share one of those apples with my family one more time.

That story came to us from…

good story Tola, I had a chuckle there

Hi Tola, I like this thread. I'Ve enjoyed reading everyone's recollections thus far. Like most of us who write on this forum, I went to a Bottom House School. I have a single memory of that school and it's not fun at all. I've written about some of my early school memories on my wordpress blog. I might share the link here. Still deciding

Please do Miraver, it might  be fun reminiscing about your younger school days.

I believe this site has mellowed quite a bit, with certain trust established, because more posters know each other personal information.

I wrote a lot of short stories about my life in Guyana and plan to publish a book of photos I took from 1960-67, during Guyana struggle for independence.    

Best wishes with yoir publication! Do share with us as you see fit.

Ah, I like your short story about BC apple.

How about your memoir?

The publication is mainly to form links between Guyanese parents and their children born overseas, about their parents life in Guyana.

It is more like sharing, than profit making. 

Regarding my memoirs, Dove suggested to be my ghost writer, but her new life is keeping her busy. Maybe we will catch up at Pussers in Water Front, BVI for a pain-killer. Nuff you game ?

If it were not for Dove, our Guyana foundation reports might not have been published.

Anyone knows what ever happened to Queenie ?   

No one talking about High School days.....those were fun too..used to go for 'A' levels Chem lessons on Saturday mornings in Albertown...and after that it was party time at the Dark...great after lunch parties.

I was talking about my high school days Alena,  after exams time was cards we use to play all day in class