Diary
The pines is a
compound with a single entrance and a road leading down the hill to a dead end.
Large square quadruple units line this wide road, with parking facilities
either side. The boom is serviced by two men in uniform, one called Mr. Jone and another called Mr. There are
several gardeners. One calls himself brownman. I was also advised to call him
brownman, but found that difficult. He then offered Alan as an alternative. The
compound was designed and built by Alberga Graham and Associates. It is a
highly l;uxurious and much desired place of residence. Diplomats and members of
leading Jamaican families liove behind the bastion. We did too. We moved. Mr
Seaga’s sister lived there too. She suffered from cancer. She didn’t like
children and told me that the houses weren’t really meant for children, that
the compound was really meant for people without children. She told me this at
the pool. As I said we moved. Just before we did a Jamaican moved in, a tubby
gentleman, I don’t know his name. He was very rich, many airconditioning units
attached to the outside wall, he had his part of the garden personalised and
expensively relandscaped. He lived opposite the badminton court. The children
no longer played there because he would start shouting at them. He had his
parking place tarmacked with especially shiny tarmac which distinguished itself
easily from the more faded grey stuff us ordinary residents used. One day
soldiers entered the compound with guns. Our wealthy man was not at home. He
turned out to be a suspected drug-dealer who had ensconced himself in the
fortress of respectability and fear that was the pines. Later he returned, when
the heat was off. The British Diplomatic
Community, many of whom lived in the Pines, were shocked.