Oliver Jones. Marthe Sansregret
Many nights I have sat alone in some hotel thousands of miles away from home and my loved ones.
Sometimes I’ve said to myself that life is strange, especially when I reflect on how as a youngster I had no desire to be a full-time musician. Perhaps this can be explained by the lack of self-confidence that plagued me as a young boy. Or maybe it was a result of my early philosophy that if I never expected or dreamed beyond my means I would not be disappointed (a theory I wouldn’t recommend to any young person today).
I do believe that even when I was quite young, my family, friends and many others in my community already knew that something very special would happen for me. I was perhaps the only one not aware of the God-given talent I was born with.
My music has given me everything in my life: an education, a wonderful opportunity to travel the world. But, most of all, it has given me the confidence to dream that the little boy lacked for so many years.
There are many people who have given me a hand up, a shoulder to cry on. Too many to fit into one book. To them and to all who may one day remember to tell a shy youngster: “Don’t give up, you have something special” – Thank You!
A special thanks!! From my wife and I to a tremendous lady we met six years ago and are now privileged to call our friend, Dr. Marthe Sansregret – someone who cares.
OLIVER JONES
CHAPTER I A Quote from Memory 1896–1934
Making music is so natural to Oliver Jones that at first it seems his life must have been easy – a success story. In fact, recognition came to him late in life, and by then, even in his wildest dreams, he wasn’t expecting it. Oliver went through many different stages before tasting international fame, and through it all, uppermost in his mind but rarely mentioned, there was the memory of his ancestors – a memory that would have had him take another path.
The source of this memory lay in West Africa many generations ago, when the chiefs of African tribes sold the strongest of their young people as slaves to European navigators. Once they were marked for this tragic fate, groups of a dozen or more of these young men and women were crowded into cages hardly big enough to hold three people sitting down. They were kept there for up to two weeks, suffering from heat and dehydration and fainting or dying until the ones who had survived were herded onto slave ships for the infamous middle passage to the New World.
Upon their arrival on the island of Barbados, Oliver Jones’s ancestors were handed over to a plantation owner, and the relation of a dominating master over a submissive slave began. Living and working conditions were terrible, with overlong hours, back-breaking labour, and continual forced servility. Many of the slaves were treated worse than animals on the sugar plantations. They owned nothing, not even their identity. When a child was born to a slave, the slave owner would choose a first name and simply add his own family name, registering both on the white page of a bible. Oliver’s family name, Jones, was created in this arbitrary manner.
In 1807, the slave trade was prohibited in British-owned territories, but it was three decades before slavery itself was abolished by the British Parliament. August 1, 1838 was declared Emancipation Day. Following emancipation, however, the slaves were obliged to spend several years as indentured servants in a cruel apprenticeship system, and the relation between owner and slave became one of master and servant. But there was no turning back for the former slaves.
Oliver Jones’s free forebears obtained a plot of land in the St. George Valley and began to grow fruit and sugar cane. His father, Oliver Wesley Jones, was born at Drax Hall in 1896, and two years later, his mother, Jestina Louise Burrowes, was born in Waverly Cot in the same parish.
The two families, who would be joined several years later, lived according to the traditions of their ancestors and the Protestant faith. The language they spoke was English and their education was modeled on the British system. Grandmothers raised the children while their parents worked on the plantations adjacent to the villages.
Things should have gradually changed for the better. However, economic depression at the end of the nineteenth century, the fury of the hurricane of 1898, and a smallpox epidemic in 1902 made living in Barbados increasingly precarious.
That was why, in 1913 at age 17, Oliver Wesley determined to change the course of his life. He discussed the idea of immigrating to Canada with his brother, MacDonald. He had heard that in this faraway land, there was plenty of work for strong and courageous people.
Even though their decision may have been partly due to youthful bravado, there was not much future on the island for young men dreaming of getting married and raising a family. Worse, it was unlikely that they would be able to give their children something that was a cherished value for most Barbadians: a good education.
Because Barbados was a member of the British Commonwealth like Canada, their chosen destination, the immigration procedures were not prohibitive. The two young men began to imagine what they would achieve once they got there. However, to qualify for entry, they had to fill out forms and produce their birth certificates. Once they had these official documents in hand, they realized they were not born of the same father and mother, and that they did not even have the same last name. Oliver Wesley’s was Jones and MacDonald’s was Pyle. On the birth certificates, there was no indication that they were even half-brothers.
On the island, there were so many half-brothers and sisters that sometimes a leap of the imagination was needed to figure out who was related. Oliver Wesley’s maternal grandmother and MacDonald’s were sisters and they had decided to give their own last name, Harewood, to their respective grandsons. In Barbados, the grandmother’s word was law in the family. Grandmothers had their own way of raising their grandchildren. They taught the lessons of life according to the principles of their ancestors and the rules of their religion, insisting on the paramount importance of always telling the truth. The boys had always accepted each other as brothers, until they found out that their pious grandmothers had stretched the truth a little in this matter.
In spite of this discovery, the two cousins, who were born the same year and had always played together and attended school together, did not see any reason why their brotherly relationship should not continue. But from then on, each one used his father’s last name, and kept the memory of the mix-up as a story they would tell their children later on.
Preparations for the voyage reached the final stage. Oliver Wesley and his cousin MacDonald, neither one afraid of the future, bade goodbye to the family and set out on their new adventure. They made for Bridgetown, the capital of Barbados and the port of embarkation for ships sailing on the Caribbean Sea. They brought with them their modest belongings, including a few photographs of their loved ones. For a personal reason that he never divulged, Oliver Wesley wanted the trip to be strictly one-way.
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In Halifax harbour, after a rough voyage, Oliver Wesley and his cousin had their first encounter with Canada. They were exhausted but full of hope. After a life that had sometimes been cruel to them and their family, they were prepared to do any type of work, however menial or difficult it might be.
The first job assigned to them, working as coal miners, would be a real challenge. They had never been inside a mine in their lives. Also, to reach the mining town in Cape Breton, they had to board a train, a means of transportation they had never seen before. When they arrived in New Waterford, Oliver Wesley and MacDonald were taken to a mean wooden shack, a place they would soon learn to call home.
Early the next morning, they heard the mine whistle pierce the air. Only when they were being lowered into the pit did they realize what their work would involve. The bottom of a mine is hardly an inviting place. As they watched the experienced miners – some of whom had spent their days underground for more than thirty years – Oliver Wesley and MacDonald had a new sense of what courage and sacrifice meant. Respectfully, they listened to the men singing and whistling to lighten the burden of their work.