Free Island Songs by Alex Wheatle Page A

sing with the same faithful heart as his fellow villagers. Instead, he shifted his eyes to glance upon the people who he thought still despised him. Hortense had none of her father’s concerns, her shrill voice rising above the congregation’s roar. Earlier, theexcitement had proved too much for her and she wetted her drawers. Amy had given her a spanking but even this could not quell her joy for the day ahead. She was the first of her family to join the march and she made sure everyone heard her voice. Although Jenny’s spirit was uplifted by the lively call and response led by her grandfather, she still stole dismissive glances at the children who lived in the shanty huts and wore the same frocks they always did, only today their dresses were a little brighter. Sporting her favourite pink outfit, she said to herself, “yuh say me Papa ah devil mon but at least he cyan buy me ah pretty frock! Wha’ cyan ya penny-ketching papa buy yuh?”
    Dressed in his most striking dark suit and white shirt, Isaac stood outside his wooden, stone-built church and clapped his hands when he sighted his flock sluicing down the hillside. He bade a special welcome to those who attended church rarely, shaking the men’s hands firmly and kissing the women upon their cheeks. “Praise de Lord!” he bellowed.
    The donkey owners secured their beasts to tree trunks and when everybody was ready, Isaac ushered them inside the sparse building. The food bearers laid their baskets around the plain altar which displayed a single flaming candle in a brass holder and an old leather-jacketed Bible on its bare wooden top; local legend had it, eagerly fanned by Isaac and his father, that the Latin Bible was the only personal belonging a Spanish priest had left behind before fleeing from the English in the 17 th century. Isaac didn’t know of anyone who could read it.
    There were three clay basins on each side of the church, sitting below open windows. Neville, his face solemn, filled them with blessed water, bowing his head as he did so. Then from a crocus bag he was carrying, he dropped mint leaves, grapefruit halves, quarters of watermelons, sliced limes and dandelion flowers into the bowls. When he had finished, Neville turned around and saw that the church was packed and everyone had taken to their simple wooden chairs; women, some of whom had kicked off their muddied footwear to stretch their toes, were cooling themselves with homemade fans, the men using their white handkerchiefs to dab theirbrows. The church was beginning to emit a fresh, fruity aroma that the flock were grateful to inhale.
    Looking at his most proud, Isaac stepped up to the pulpit and gazed out upon his congregation, offering them a broad smile. Mouthing a silent prayer while closing his eyes, he blessed the food. He then raised his arms and prompted, “let us sing!”
    “ We plant de fields an’ scatter de good seed ’pon de land …”
    The service lasted two hours and even the birds nesting in far-off tree tops heard the joyous singing and praise of the Most High. Before worshippers were given license to leave, Jacob, Isaac’s son, walked respectfully among the flock, accepting donations.
    Standing straight-backed outside his church, Isaac shook hands with everyone as they filed out, offering thanks and the good grace of the Lord to protect them. He even seized a surprised Joseph’s mighty right paw with both hands, grasping it hard and seeming somewhat reluctant to let go. Joseph, feeling mightily abashed, for he only ever attended church for harvest time, weddings or christenings, smiled weakly, looking around for Amy to save him; she was purchasing box juices from a vociferous vendor who had suddenly appeared outside the church door with his creaking cart. Hortense and Jenny soon quenched their thirst with guava juice while someone nourished the donkeys with crushed sugar cane and water.
    Following half an hour of susu sessions, where the good people of Claremont