Mrs. J

We met Mrs. J on a recent trip to the Saturday market in St. Johns. Javier was interested in taking pictures of people in the market and I was on the hunt for some herbs and spices to enhance my culinary endeavors.  It was in the middle of the market that we stopped to ask a vendor about a curious shaped seedpod that was among the wares she was selling. ‘Mrs. J’ was more than happy to provide us with all sorts of facts about the pod. We learned the pod is affectionately known as  ‘stinky toe’, which refers to its shape and the scent it emits when it germinates.

Mrs. J was curious about where we were from and we began a friendly banter that lasted most of 30 minutes. We learned that she worked in the Kings Cross train station in London for British Rail for 11 years followed by another 14 years in a smaller station before moving back to retire in her home island. All of her children, grandchildren and other family are still in the London area. One granddaughter is attending an excellent university there and her pride bristled when she spoke of her.

One of Mrs. J’s brothers died in England when she was in Antigua and she traveled to England for the funeral. In her suitcase were thirteen 1.5 liter bottles of Cavalier rum for the gathering after the service. Although she doesn’t drink it was imperative that she bring a taste of home for her brother’s family and friends in England. She smiled as she told of the customs officer at Heathrow who did not charge extra duty when she learned that Mrs. J had traveled from the Caribbean to bury her brother. ‘Ders good people all over dis world!” she exclaimed with a toothy grin. 

Mrs. J went on to tell of the respect and protection she garnered in her work in the stations. She would hand out a ‘bob’ to some of the young men when they came through and told her of their plans to meet a new girlfriend. One time, a shady character bought a ticket to Brixton from her and tried to swipe the money he’d laid on the counter and the ticket as well. As quick as could be, she grabbed a pair of shears she always kept handy and stabbed the would-be thief’s hand. The bleeding thief went to the station manager’s office to complain about the mad woman who stabbed innocent passengers. The manager phoned Mrs. J to hear her story and after only a moment, turned to the thief and told him to get out before the police where notified.

It felt as if we could stay all day to hear Mrs. J’s entertaining stories of her 72 years of living in Antigua, England and her visits to New York, which she proclaimed with a forthright directness, “Me no like America. Too busy. No one will stop to talk, dey all working.” We said our goodbyes and felt so glad that we were able to stop and talk with Mrs. J.