Open Writing

It sits on the brow of the little hill, unashamed of its dilapidated appearance. It seems to defy time and weather and every assault against its right to exist. The old house - no longer a house, but an assortment of decaying boards, fallen windows, torn roofing and rotted floors. It has now taken on a dissolute character, attracting all kinds of vagrant low life: illegal kittens and marauding tom cats, snakes and lizards and the occasional mongoose. Rats and mice have staked out their claims and dare anyone to evict them. But the house does not seem to care!

Now it is coming to the end of its life. It is a danger to its location and a threat to the environment. Any day now a strong gust of wind could send it hurtling down the hillside. It has to be taken down.

I am sorry to see it go. It has been no ordinary house. Its history inspires respect and admiration, like a brave old warrior being finally laid to rest, his battles fought and his challenges met.

Over eighty years old, the house started life as my grandmother's cottage. It was located on the lower slope of the hill behind my parents' house, but after a while Grandma decided she no longer wanted to live 'in back', so she had a thriving young nutmeg tree cut down to make room for its relocation.

I remember that Sunday morning when the house was moved. The village men quartered it, and dragged it piece by piece up the little hill. And by the end of the day, there it sat on large boulders piled up on top of each other, as though it had always been there. There was a maroon, a big cook-out, to celebrate the moving.

Grandma died in 1955 just before Hurricane Janet struck the island, flattening most of the houses in the village with its violence. A young widower with seven children, the youngest only two years old, lost his entire house to the swollen river. Being totally destitute, the young family moved into the little cottage, which had bravely withstood the fury of the storm.

With only two small rooms, the cottage seemed to take on elastic proportions, accommodating the large family with resigned philosophy. For almost a year they lived in its cramped quarters, but there was laughter and play in the yard, and companionable fellowship with my family. When they moved to their own dwelling the house took on other duties, as kitchen and eating area for our growing family. Later, it became storage space for agricultural products, with its usefulness expanding as new demands evolved.

Storms large and small battered its ageing structure, yet it stood undaunted over the years. Then Hurricane Ivan, followed closely by Hurricane Emily, vented their fury on its decaying structure - still it stood, in grim defiance against every onslaught.

Now it is coming down, by human design. It must make way for a new carport. An eyesore to the surroundings, it cannot be allowed to continue in its degenerate career. But it is with a spirit of respect that the hammer will wield the final blow. It has been such a brave little house!

© Lytrice Adams

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Lytrice writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au