Once they started commuting to the mainland to attend St. Joseph’s Convent School Vanessa and Rachel settled into a routine, a routine that I automatically became a part of. They had begged to be allowed to commute, and were eager to prove that it could be done. It entailed a certain amount of sacrifice on their part, not being able to participate in extracurricular activities being one of them, but they were happier living at home and therefore didn’t mind the dent it made in their social lives.
Each day the girls arrived home at 5:30 rumpled, tired and above all HUNGRY. As soon as they stepped off the boat they would ask, “what’s for supper Mom?”, and I tried hard not to disappoint them too much! During the tourist season I was always busy, and at times cooking a tasty hot meal at home for them was onerous to say the least. I could never put pizza in front of them without feeling guilty, they had been fed pizza too often while growing up and disliked it. The restaurant’s daily special or lasagne would do in a pinch but was regarded as take-out, not REAL food made at home. Supper was important, it was what they looked forward to after a long day on the mainland, and I did my best to please them.
The girls almost always had their homework completed by the time the Admiral dropped its ramp in Admiralty Bay, they would sit in the restaurant/bar area and use the tables provided to get it done. The cabin had air-con, a huge luxury back then, and cold soft drinks to slake their thirst after a hot day in Kingstown. Vanessa and Rachel also had the use of the Captain’s cabin behind the bridge, a privilege they appreciated and never disrespected, at least not that I know of! They trudged off the ferry each evening looking extremely disheveled with Danny Chambers tucked between them, a different sight from the tidy girls who had boarded at 6:25 that morning.
Once home, dinner was served immediately, I had to get to work and the children had an after-dinner routine that had to be reckoned with! The Convent School was VERY strict when it came to the cleanliness of its students, and the girls had to pass inspection before they entered the building each day. For some bizarre reason this routine included the scrubbing of shoelaces, a job that was relegated to Rachel while Vanessa ironed the pleated skirts. Once the shoelaces had been hung to dry, shoe polish was applied to the white running shoes (plain white with no brand-name logos allowed) to cover any scuff marks. The shoe polish was carried with them at all times; if their shoes got dirty between the Grenadines wharf and the school they were quickly touched up on arrival. I assumed this zealous behaviour would wear off after a while but the girls took it very seriously, and their evening routine remained constant the entire five years they attended the Convent School.
I got up at 5:00 each morning to wake the girls, then made their lunches while they bathed and dressed. Vanessa was always ready first, while Rachel often had to jump into the car with shoes in one hand and hairbrush in the other. I cannot recall ever missing the ferry but we certainly came close a few times well! The girls would scoop Danny between them and march up the ramp, ready for another day in “tung”. Danny, the son of my baker Carmen, had been born blind. The School for the Blind was located near the Convent School, and Vanessa and Rachel guided Danny there every morning and collected him every afternoon. That’s how Vincentians today recall my children. They say, “Oh yes, the twins from Bequia that walked the blind boy, I remember them!”
