I scanned Mother's photos of the Richmond Pen and put them up on Flickr. They are the last four photos in the Jamaica album - three of the Pen and one of Mom, Noel, and Rowley lying on the lawn there.

Mom said five complete families lived in that house simultaneously - her grandparents and several of her aunts and uncles, with spouses and children! She tells of the fun it was, growing up with all the cousins to play with, of an aunt who was not normal and who was kept in private rooms, and of her Grandpa, Simon Soutar, sitting in his office on the top floor - it was the only room - and looking through his spyglass towards Kingston harbor when one of his ships was due.

Here's what she wrote about living there (the "family" consisted of Simon, Jessie, and 10 children):

"The family at first lived at Temple Hall, in the mountains of St. Andrew, a 1200 acre estate about 25 miles from Kgn. When the children became of school age, he bought Richmond Pen, 100 acres about 5 miles from Kingston , near the little village of Half-Way-Tree . On this estate was the foundations of the farm house, two-feet thick stone walls enclosing a cobbled floor. The interior was divided into several compartments with [?????] doors and windows - all surrounded by a cobbled walk-way edged by thick stone arches. Upon this foundation Grandpa built, pagoda-like, 3 storeys containing 10 bedrooms, large dining room, drawing room & another room he called the front piazza. This opened on to the veranda which encircled this first storey.
"I spend the first 20 years of my life in this house, which I will try to describe.
"When I was about 8 yrs Grandpa died. He had been for his early morning walk around the estate apparently, felt ill, and lay down under one of the trees. The dog that accompanied him ran barking back & forth. My brother, Noel, followed the dog to Grandpa. He passed on peacefully, his hat over his face. He had no religious affiliation & is buried in the cemetery of St. Andrew Parish Church at Half Way Tree."

For a class she took, mom wrote an account of weathering a hurricane at the Pen.

This is a reaction paper my mother wrote for a biographical writing class she took at a local community college 17 years ago. While visiting her last week, I came across several of her papers, and decided to transcribe them for the purpose of sharing with the family. Here is the first.

9/2/90 “HURRICANE” Fay Schulmeister

Learning Log

I enjoyed the author’s economical use of language, which nevertheless gave vivid descriptions of the passage of the hurricane. He also managed to reveal his personality. I got the impression of a sturdy, practical person and a perfectionist. I admired his gut instinct to leap to what he saw needed to be done. I appreciated his recognition of the forces of nature, to be accepted and dealt with.

The description of the onslaught of the hurricane, and its passage, reminded me vividly of hurricanes experienced in Jamaica In my youth, although my experiences were inland. One particular occasion I recall particularly.

We were a large family, of three generations, living in a five-storey house built of stone, stucco and wood, with many windows, jalousied walls, and doors. At the warning everyone sprang into action, through long practice knowing exactly what to do. Doors, windows and jalousies had to be battened. Storm lanterns were gathered, cleaned and wicks trimmed, then filled with oil. Matches were put to hand. The estate workers and house servants waited it out in the stone-enclosed first storey. The family gathered on the second floor.

We felt the changing atmospheric pressure, saw the lowering black clouds, heard the light wind and rain. Then, all at once, came the impact of raging winds hurling what seemed like leaden sheets of rain against the house. There were sounds of creaking wood, of tree branches snapping and being blown against the house. We wondered if the roof would hold – one crack and the wind would roar in and lift it of. It was awe-inspiring to watch tall coconut trees whipped almost to the ground, and not breaking.

Then came the threatening silence of the eye. We braced ourselves. Suddenly, with unimaginable viciousness, winds and rain raged, seemingly from every direction.

After several hours all was quiet. We were thankful the roof held, and set about unbattening doors and windows. No one had been hurt, our house had withstood damage, and soon there was a joyful chattering as we all exchanged observations.

I was impressed by the author’s use of unusual verbs and similes to convey the impact of the rage of the elements; for example “The wind …. Ripped the water like a black sheet. It hammered like a fist.” I also remarked his winding down to normalcy, with his whiskey, and his return to peaceful placidity.

(Instructor’s note: “Do you think he was right to cut the ropes on the other boats? I enjoyed your description of the hurricane you experienced. (+) )