Tell them
There was an awful drought
That many of our folks don’t know about
Some opted to sail to British Guiana
Fearing they’d die in an awful manner
But whether they lived or whether they died
Our stalwarts stood firm on Anguilla.
Tell our children
That there was a not too long ago time
When our feet were bare
And there were lice in our hair.
Bedbugs attacked like a blood-thirsty gang
And we heard the songs mosquitoes sang;
Scorpions and centipedes stung
And when we touched that thing
It was woodslave dung.
Tell them
There were thorns in our feet
And gaping cavities in our teeth.
In our best Sunday clothes
We trod dusty roads.
We thanked our God for the stars and the moon
And the Holy prophets who informed us of doom.
Tell the children
Our fathers ploughed the seas
And bent their backs in Macoris cane fields
Went to England, Canada, the USA
And for years from their family stayed away.
Tell the grandchildren
We had no phones
In any of our two-roomed wooden homes,
No fridge or fan with electricity
No bright lights with which students could see.
On this parched land, no running water
To meet basic needs of our sons and daughters.
Tell the youth
We were the forgotten
The prodigal child seventy miles o’er the horizon
The bubba-johnnies who obeyed their rules
The people with four one-roomed schools
If they were proud of us, they seldom spoke
And we were always, always the source of their
joke.
Weekly our schooners graced their shores
For food and varied stuff galore;
There our men went to cut sugar cane
After six months, to Anguilla again
Some treasured shillings in the pocket
Of their mouldy, faded, lint-filled jacket.
Tell them
That Anguillians cast a vote
For a Premier who seldom graced our coast.
One seat in a House twelve hours away
So whether PAM or Labour, this I say
An Anguillian would never have earned the fate
To be the leader of that three-island state.
Tell our young men
That Atlin had a dream
Like numerous visionaries before him
To defy their sinful twisted Statehood
That would definitely do us no good.
So, for two feisty years we joined as one
In meetings and meetings and demonstrations.
Young leaders traveled there and everywhere
Hoping someone would listen, lend an ear.
Finally, we deported the St. Kitts police
On thirtieth May. They departed in peace.
Tell the youths
That there was an invasion
From England, the Mother of our nation
We were given our own radio station.
The British soldiers four years abode
Built more and better schools, paved our roads.
Tell them,
We fell down but we got up
And wondered when the wobbling would stop.
Our flag flew high, our flag flew low
But in all its flights, we honoured each hero.
A fifty year old baby is what some may see
But a fifty year old man is as gray as can be.
Tell them we’re wiser; tell them we’ve been tried
Tell them we’re still together fighting side by
side.
Difference of opinion will plague any shore
But love for Anguilla in our hearts will endure.
Many are wondering just where we may be
They haven’t been back in decades you see!
But our Government lives here,
There’s a flood of light
And everywhere there’s a phone in sight.
Tell the children,
They need to know
That though Anguilla’s small
God has blessed us so!
It’s now half a century, for a nation that’s young
But God still helps his people to stay strong.
We did stand up for Anguilla
The strife was two years long
There was a noise of battle
But now a victor’s song.
We must humble ourselves. Ah yes! We must pray
And from our wicked ways we must turn away.
Then God will hear from Heaven, He will heal our
land
Our land Anguilla, with its salt-white sand.
Tell our children
And our children’s children
They need to know the history
Of this flat island that we all love so.
2016//2017
