Page 9 - Daphne Hart - 89 and Feeling Fine
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her, she would leave me there for a while, hoping I
would learn the craft. She had one of those hand-crank
sewing machines, and all I did for hours was turn the
handle. My little arm would grow tired and numb, but I
dared not stop, for she would yell at me. I never learned
much about sewing; all I did was long for my mother to
return and take me home.
Tracing My Family’s Story
My two half-brothers are gone now, leaving me as the
last one able to tell the story of my family.
The Harveys are plentiful, thanks to my older brother,
Hubert Harvey, who had many children—not just in
Rose Hill, Manchester, but also in Clarendon, Jamaica.
One of his sons, Roger, is somewhere in Ontario,
Canada.
A Mother’s Strength
My mother was a hardworking woman. I picture her
carrying me along wherever she went—cooking and
cleaning for other people, struggling to provide for us
without a father figure around. At only five years old, I
would surely remember if there had been one.
Life must have been difficult for us, because when my
mother mentioned that we would be going home to the
country, I was ecstatic!
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