ODE TO ELIZABETH Nee McCalla BOLTON

On 18th July 1927 Elizabeth McCalla was born.  My Grandmother.  She prided herself being royalty hahahaha.  As she was born the same year as the Queen and was graced with the name Elizabeth.

There are so many stories to give you about this woman, but she was classy, graceful and had the spirit of no one I know.  The same spirit she passed down to myself as she took over the mantle of bringing me up, as my mother had three of us, one after the other.  My Grandmother stepped in and said Valerie is mine.  

My Grandmother was a shrewd operator, but also a big softee at heart, not that anyone would know it.  She said exactly what she was going to do and put up with the crap, but in the end the crap made sure it had to live with her, not her living with it. 

After coming to the UK in the Windrush era, she settled down in North London - Harringay and brought over her children, |Ronald Bolton, Violet Maxfield and then at the age of 48 she had Sharon Bolton in the United Kingdom.  I know 48, shock bloody horror, who does that?  But yes, she did...Love that woman, talk about gound breaker hahahahahaha.

As I said she worked as a Nurse for years and took the hearts of so many people and was a stalwart in her church in Stoke Newington.  

She moved moved from Harringay to Hackney, taking myself and Sharon with her and we resided in Colvestone Crescent and Mildmay Grove before deciding in 1976 to imigrate back to her homeland of Jamaica.  She had meticulously with her husband Mr Bolton (my PAPA) and built their dream 5 bedroom home lavishing in Willowdene, Spanish Town.  It was all full of ex-pats from the UK, USA and CAN|ADA.

My Gran was so strict.  |Even if a boy stared at me, she called him out.  She would shout fromn the vernandah 'Is what you looking at eeh'.  She is not a dog, she is not interested' Go away'.  Now imgine that in Jamaican Patois and the look to go with it!!! Lol not many boys looked in my direction.  She was so coy at not letting on, that she knew about my crush on my first ever childhood romance from a distance.  I used to hang out with boy every girl wanted in my area.  He was the dead look like for the original young Michael Jackson.  He cme from a well to do family and he was adorable.  We shared everything, we just hang and shoot the breeze, taught me to ride a motorbike all before the age of 14 on the rough roads of Jamaica.

Oh did I forget to say, yes my Grandmother took me way with her to Jamiaca and there I stayed and ws chooled until my return on my 16th birthday.  4 and half years of great eye opening wisdom in the West Indies.  At first, I hated it.  I felt cheated that my other siblings were left behind, so why me?  But in hindsight, it was the best thing that ever happened in my life.  I got to grow with a difference, a sense of humbleness, not being spoilt with things I could have in the UK. Don't get me wrong I was certainly well off in Jamaica, more than some, but I learnt to achieve and do things with the use of the mind and simplicity.  

BACK TO THE  STORY

So Keithin, my childhood crush was a tad older than me but he was the true gentleman.  My Gran got on with his family and little did I know they were grooming me to be his girl.  I was going to be the one.  Keithin was wild, adventurous, a traveller, an awesome guy.  To be honest it was like living in the sunshine, by sea daily, being children turning into adults, not a care in the world.   typical Movies 4+ on the sky channel.  Then one day I was told he was going away for a while to the America. I was heartbroken, but as time went by he wanted to come home, by then there was a full blownscale political war going on in Jamica in the 80's and after watching my best friend being shot one day after school, I finally demanded to come home to the UK.

Luckily before I left I got the chance to see Keithin and betrothed that I would be back and we will get together.  So off  I gointo the sunset and we would write letters to each other and loved from a distance.  I still have those letters somewhere in my loft.  A few years later, I got a letter letting me know that Keithin had been killed in a motorbike accident.  I cannot explain my devastation but I will save that for another story, but my Gran made me know, she knew and hoped he was going to be her son-in-law and all this time we were keeping it quiet she knew.  That ws the perception of this woman God rest her soul.

She ensured I was in church every day of the week.  I| sang from the age of 6 and was a child singing prodigy back then.  God knows what happened to me now (as I roll my eyes).

Anyway, she was really strict and made sure that my dreams were never distracted, that my dreams were achievable.  That no matter what anyone threw at me, I can overcome them regardless of the pain.

I watched my Mum (gran, but I called her Mum), in pain for as long as I can remember.  She had an accident in the early seventies in the Hospital where she worked, almost breaking her ankle, but she never ever got it treated right and it became her worst nightmare in the latter part of her life.  It hinder her to no end.  (That's why you should always check out any injuries, for as time goes on it will become arthritic and cause problems\).

Mum had heart ailments, but was in Church speaking to the youths, guiding them, taking them in like a refuge.  The amount of young ladies that she had taken under wings are countless.  These ladies are now pillars of their community, here in the UK, USA and Canada.  Her energy and devotion for these youths never waivered.

Her compassion, was boundless. She was feisty, direct, but it worked. 

She loved me with all her heart and it showed.  She ensured I got into the best schools and I passed with flying colours.  She encouraged my endevours when I opened up the first community centre in Spanish Town for the youngsters to do things and supported me when no one else would.

Going back to a little story, which is not pleasant.  I can't give it too much of the story away as it will hurt the people or remind these people what they did to her, but my Gran owned a house in Colvestone Crescent and as I said she would take in lodgers/family.  

I recall my poor Grandmother being set upon by members of the family calling her names, due to jealousy and spreading malicious gossip about her.  Family meetings were held and she tried to fight her corner to disperse the jealousy coming from her own flesh and blood, but to no end.  This prompted my poor Mum to sell up and come back to her homeland.  I watched as she was spat at from her sibling's children and I could do nothing about it, but watch, as I was too young to even say anything.  But what I do recall was her silence, her strength to look to god, not hate her family and keep it moving.  I knew deep down she was hurting.  I knew deep down she was not going to stoop and I knew deep down she did not want to let me see how weak and hurt she was.

What I did was to not ever associate with that part of the family.  To be honest I do not think they even recall doing these awful things to her, they were children and all but one of her siblings have now departed this world, so to save their embarassment I'll say as little as possible, but that has lived and scarred me forever and I have never ever forgotten and find it hard to forgive them, as she has.

Now that she has passed on 5th November 2017 all the memories are flooding in and the tears won't stop flowing, but her death has opened the floodgate and some great childhood memories, I am looking forward to writing about.  

I can't write anymore, as I cannot see the screen or the keyboard through my tears and the words are starting to sound so muffled in my head due to the pain of not being able to pick up that phone and hear her voice shouting 'Valerie is that you?  Hello, Hello' in her strong jamaican accent. 

Thank you for reading.  

R.I.E.P Mum