It is almost impossible to accomplish anything worthwhile single-handedly and this book is testament to that fact.
To all those who made the story possible because our paths crossed.
To all those who helped in any way to give life to the idea of chronicling these memoirs.
To my mentors, those who I interact with in the physical realm and those who have impacted my life through their written word.
To Ian Boyne, who was the first person to read my rough draft, and gave his honest feedback.
To Marguerite Orane who reminded me that I needed to tell my story and if the publishers were not responsive, I should self-publish.
To Robert Harris for his professional guidance and diligent work in producing the finished product.
To my parents, Linda and Eustace Palmer for teaching me the value of hard work and commitment.
To my brothers, Gairey and Steve, who are always there for me.
To my beautiful daughter, J’Nae, who monitored my progress and kept me on track every step of the way. She was a constant reminder that this book needed to be completed.

The Dream
Growing up in the hills of Manchester, Jamaica, in a little district called Topsham, I would lie on the soft grass in front of my yard and gaze at the soft clouds drifting slowly and aimlessly. It was at those times that my mind would also drift slowly. I would think of my little district, the people at Maidstone Seventh-Day Adventist Church, the people at Coley’s Mountain All-Age School and those I would pass on the road. Those busy looking after their ‘grung,’ moving their cows and goats, keeping shop, or doing nothing. I knew everyone.

I often wondered what lay behind all that. What was happening outside my little world? Whatever it was must surely be much more important than anything that could happen in Topsham. I would often dream of what I would become, how I would do it, how important I would be, and how I would make Mama proud of me. That was my dream, to make Mama proud. I would go higher than the very tall star-apple tree in front of the yard – the tallest tree I knew – and everyone would know that somebody from Topsham could be somebody important.

You see, that star-apple tree at our gate was a landmark. Everyone knew that tree. It was used to give directions, measure distance travelled or left to be travelled on one’s journey. It was an imposing natural edifice, a challenge to those who sought to pick the stingy ripe fruits when we were gone to church on Saturdays. And a challenge to keep the yard free of the never-ending stream of leaves that it shed constantly.

I had big dreams and was certain they would come true. I attended Ms G’s basic school at Endeavour starting at the age of three, and have fond memories of reading ‘Mr. Joe’s reading book.’ On a nice day we would go on a nature walk in the hill behind the little basic school and gather leaves and seeds to be discussed later in class. I remember collecting the bright red beans from the hard, brown, dried pod of the poinciana tree. These we called John Crow beads that we used to make collages, musical instruments, and eyes for dolls and animals.

I walked approximately two miles to school each day and back. Sometimes I would get a drive with Maas Aubrey in his green Morris Oxford van or Maas Lloyd in his big white Chevrolet van. It was always a wonderful feeling to hear the sound of any of these vehicles because it meant sweet relief to tired feet, especially during the rainy season.

Failing Common Entrance
At Coley’s Mountain Primary School I thought I was brilliant. Well, so they all said! I had no difficulty with my schoolwork and everyone expected me to pass the Common Entrance Examination at the first attempt. My teachers even expected me to get a government scholarship. But on that fateful, or should I say regrettable, Saturday mid morning when the Common Entrance results came out in the Daily Gleaner, I was in church. When the buzz started that the results were out, I felt a slight level of anxiety, but nothing nerve wrenching. I heard that Lee had passed, but heard nothing about me. Could I have failed? Was this a mistake? If I had failed my Common Entrance then my life was surely over. I searched. My name was not in the Daily Gleaner and no matter how many times, or how carefully or frantically I combed the fine print amidst the continuous flow of tears, no Sandra Marie Palmer was to be found. I had failed! That was my first real taste of disappointment. Little did I know there would be many more disappointments on the long road ahead. My best friend, Lee, had passed for Bishop Gibson High in Mandeville and that made it all even worse. Lee was my friend from as far back as I can remember. We played jacks, spoke about the future, went to church and sometimes to the library together. She lived next door and
we visited each other’s homes regularly. We even had our own private bank; complete with bank books, purses, and a vault. Interest was earned on savings by putting in additional money that was not recorded in the bank book. After a certain period when the contents of the vault were checked, the additional money was divided in two and entered in our passbooks as interest earned. Our purses were made from Gold Seal butter boxes and were ideal for carrying coins. The purse was her idea as she was the artistic one. She could draw well, and created her own cartoons. She sang both alto and soprano. She was the one with the ‘good hair’ and ‘brown skin.’ So everyone said. To this day, I do not understand the strange way in which she formed her letters when she wrote, and how she held her pencil. But she was my best friend and I loved her. I wanted to hug her and say congratulations like everyone else, but I couldn’t. I could not be happy for her, at
least not at that time. I was trying to cope with my disappointment and the feeling of shame and embarrassment I had caused my school and my parents. The principal of Coley’s Mountain Primary had tried to comfort us into believing that the Ministry of Education or the Daily Gleaner had made a mistake. He was sure that I had passed. After waiting for days and weeks and realizing I
would not be getting a letter from the Ministry, as Principal Sanderson had promised, Mama transferred my two brothers; Steve and Gairey; and I, to Nazareth AllAge School. This was the same primary school from which my friend, Lee, had passed. My mother placed us into the capable hands of Mrs. Beryl Foster; the principal and teacher for the Common Entrance class. Mama knew best, she always did.