A former Canadian Minister of the Environment was quoted as saying, ‘Fire a Civil Servant and save a tree’. This statement was in recognition of the importance of trees to the nation and also a rebuke to public servants for the unnecessary generation and duplication of documents in government offices. While this declaration may have no relevance to the threat to the survival of trees on Anguilla, our tamarind trees are non-the-least threatened. Many of our larger century-old tamarind trees are now disappearing due to the ravages of man and nature, and it is our duty as stewards to protect these centenarians.
Tamarind trees on Anguilla date back hundreds of years. They were introduced into the Caribbean from West Africa in the 1700s and have thrived here due to the conducive soil and climate. Over the years these massive, stately, trees have become part of the island’s cultural heritage and are recorded in many of our historic deeds and wills.
They were once ubiquitous in Anguilla, found often on the fringes of crop fields, providing shade to the haggard farmers during the heat of the day, and shelter for their livestock. These trees were also the hubs for the singing, dancing, feasting, imbibing, ‘ole talk’ and all the fun and frivolities associated with the tradition of jollification. At night they became the scenes of many jumbee stories and rendezvous for forbidden love: both of which were often intertwined.
Because our capital town, The Valley, sits on the largest track of arable land on the island, and because this land was mainly owned by the government who traditionally respected and protected its value through the years, The Valley has now grown into a unique blend of ‘town and country’. Farm land, livestock pens, and large trees, are at home in the middle of our business and administrative districts and tamarind trees are an ever-present part of that mix.
Due to the location of our childhood homes, my brothers and I, along with a ‘posse’ of our like-minded friends, spent most of our weekends and school vacations playing sports on Burrowes Park (now Webster Park), or roaming and making mischief in Pope Hill, the farmlands of The Valley Bottom, and the Anglican Church ‘bushlands’. In our ‘walkabouts’, tamarind trees often offered us respite from the heat of the midday sun and shelter from the rain. The tart fruit provided the energy we needed to keep going until sunset, or serious injury, whichever came first.
While much of what we did was harmless, there are some activities, which, if they were recounted, might merit further investigation. Although we might be saved by the ‘statute of limitations’, there could still be some damage to the stellar reputations of many of our now upstanding citizens.
For my part, I had an affinity for climbing trees, just to be alone and unnoticed. I had realised that we humans seldom look up. These centenarian tamarind trees were my favourite refuge. I recall a group of older boys from South Hill who came to Burrowes Park to practise some aggressive driving skills for several days. Our ‘posse’ looked on in envy. One day, in reaction to something we did, they all jumped off the pickup and chased us. All the other boys, ran to the east through a thicket of trees and into the safety of our yard. I decided to shimmy up a tamarind tree (which still stands) and watched our pursuers run pass and later return to the park, oblivious to the fact that there was a little boy, one of the fugitives, cowering overhead.
From the vantage point up a tree, you often hear things you are not meant to hear. Take for example, as a first former, one day after school I was reclining in one of the two tamarind trees at the western side of the park, when two fourth form boys came by. It was athletics season, so they began by discussing the upcoming Valley Secondary School Sports Day. Soon the conversation shifted to the belle of their form, whom they both fancied. After a long and heated debate during which they each expounded their own merits and chances, they decided to agree to disagree, but both left convinced that they would win her hand. Both of these young men have since excelled in their chosen professions. One reached the pinnacle of the Anguilla Public Service, and the other is a renowned physician working in the Baltimore area in the USA. In case you are wondering, the Public Servant ‘got the girl’, and they are now living happily ever after. They know who they are. (No DMs please.)
One Saturday afternoon, some years later, I was again up a tamarind tree. This time it was the one opposite the old Valley Health Centre. A female Police Officer and another lady stopped under the tree to chat. It was not police business. While they conversed, a car came from the direction of the Anglican Church. On taking the right turn, the faulty passenger side door flew open (right-hand drive) and out tumbled a very rotund woman who was the wife of the driver. After rolling over a few times on the gravel-covered pavement, she came to a stop. She gingerly got up and brushed off her knees and elbows. As she hobbled back towards the vehicle, the Police Officer briefly interrupted her conversation to shout to the driver, calling him by name, “You too careless, you need to get that door fixed”.
Over the years many of our big tamarind trees have suffered the worst from our quest for development. In the area of The Webster Park, several trees have lost the battle in the last 30 years. One of the most recent casualties has been one at the football grounds which was inflicted with ‘cruel and unusual punishment’. I have been told it was done because it was too close to the light pylon and scoreboard. I am still trying to determine which of the three was there first. In my opinion, with foresight, both of these built structures could have been erected in positions which would have negated the need to slaughter this ‘centenarian’.
Hurricanes have also wreaked havoc on many of the older trees in the area. Two of the most notable being Captain Blue Tamarind Tree, which stood opposite the old Dental Unit, and one at the ALHCS entry to The Webster Park. This one in particular was a hardy survivor. My father, as Agricultural Officer responsible for government-owned arable lands at the time, had rejected a request by someone who was desirous of cutting it down to build a coal kiln. A few days later he was awoken in the middle of the night to see the tree ablaze. He rounded up as many of the ‘Plot’ (agricultural department) workers as he could muster and they used dirt and what water they could transport, in the old Morris Oxford, to put out the fire and save the tree. Many of us remember the tree several years later with a charred hollow where the heartwood would have been. It was there where John W. Proctor, one of cricket’s most ardent fans, sat every Saturday afternoon. He would leave his grocery store in the hands of his trusted assistant, on the busiest day in the week, to watch his seven sons and others battle in the local cricket league. It finally succumbed to hurricane damage some fifty years after the fire.
Recently, the upgrading of The Valley Main Road was approved for construction. While I have not seen the final plans as yet, I have a fear that more of these ancient trees are again being threatened. As a former public servant, as a rule, I do not criticise public officers openly for their plans or decisions. I prefer to make a private call to the office concerned. But, as I said, I have not seen the plans for this road so this is more of a ‘pre-emptive strike’. I am therefore appealing to the engineers and designers to do all they can to save our iconic tamarind trees. Should you decide, however, that you definitely must decimate one or more of these endangered centenarians, I will have no further public comment. I am pleading with you, though, before you destroy any of these ancient trees, PLEASE LOOK UP because there just might be a little boy hiding up there!
