|
(03/27/23)
|
Junglepixiebelize - Recollections of a Gringa Pioneer
Nancy R Koerner - Copyright@2023 - All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
"Bitti Jammy! Bitti Jammy! " (The British Are Coming)
Whump, whump, whump, whump, whump, whump…
The resounding staccato of the helicopter beat loudly overhead, as my small son and I came running out of the house to watch in fascination. “British Army,” I said, shouting and pointing. “British Army,” I repeated, as he looked up in wonder. My little boy was practically dancing with joy, exclaiming his excitement in unintelligible baby-babble. These were not the large Pumas of Her Majesty’s Air Force, but rather the small aircraft of the British Army Air Corps – the little Gazelles that flew over the Macal River, from time to time, and along the western border of Belize, keeping an eye on Guatemala.
The resounding staccato of the helicopter beat loudly overhead, as my small son and I came running out of the house to watch in fascination. “British Army,” I said, shouting and pointing. “British Army,” I repeated, as he looked up in wonder. My little boy was practically dancing with joy, exclaiming his excitement in unintelligible baby-babble. These were not the large Pumas of Her Majesty’s Air Force, but rather the small aircraft of the British Army Air Corps – the little Gazelles that flew over the Macal River, from time to time, and along the western border of Belize, keeping an eye on Guatemala.
The brief distraction that the choppers provided was always a thrill. Life on Alta Vista was indeed “hard, but sweet” – just as Don Ponce had said – but other than the changing of the seasons, it had also settled into such a repetitive sameness that one day blended into the next. I had begun to feel as if a crucial element was missing. There was no one with whom to share new ideas. Sure, I had Belizean neighbours within a mile or so and, as long as the conversation centered on crops or babies, there was plenty of common ground. But I couldn't discuss existential philosophy, black holes in space, innovations in technology, or the hottest new rock group. Although my physical world had expanded, my intellectual sphere had been shrinking.
It helped that I had always had a rich inner life of creativity: writing, music, and handicrafts. During my hippie days in the States, I had been in craft shows, selling macramé and handmade jewelry using beads, silver wire, and silver chain. In fact, I’d still had some of those supplies left over. So, when Dicky Simpson gave me a few tiny pieces of mahogany, I’d carved a few simple pendants using an Exacto knife and hung them on silver chains. Not that I had a market for them. Nor were they great works-of-art. But I did seem to have a knack for it, and it was fun. After that, I had experimented with other mediums, such as cow-bone, rosewood, and other exotic hardwoods.
And still, once or twice a week, the little British helicopters flew over our modest homestead.
************
The idea had come out of nowhere. I had used piece of a large cardboard provisions box, and found some black paint and a brush. When my husband came into the house one afternoon, our son tagging along, he saw me sitting on the floor, painting a large capital “T” on the cardboard.
“What are you doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that for?”
“I’m making a sign to persuade one of the helicopters to land,” I replied, with a grin. “I thought it would be fun to have some visitors. So I’m going to invite them in for tea. Invite them in for ‘T’. Get it?”
He laughed out loud. “Brilliant.” Clearly, I had made my point. “What a great idea! I love it! Do you think they’ll get it?”
“If you help me make a landing pad, I think they will. There’s a fairly level spot up next to the ruin.”
“Perfect,” he said, immediately expanding on the idea. “We can drive a stake in the ground, tie a rope to it, and use it like a compass to mark a big circle. Then we’ll chop it low, and use limestone rocks to make a big white ‘H’.”
************
The thumping of the rotor blades could be heard long before the helicopter came into view. My husband had just come from the river, so he sprinted past the house, and headed straight for the landing pad. I dashed to grab the sign and follow, but I was no match for my eager son, who was already out the door.
The British were coming.
"Bitti Jammy, Bitti Jammy," he shouted, pointing. I didn’t understand. "Bitti Jammy, Bitti Jammy!” Again, he yelled happily,
above the roar of the rotors, and pointed again.
Then I smiled. Of course. “British Army.”
I held up the sign with the big “T” while my husband and son jumped and waved their arms. The lithe aircraft hovered; they had definitely seen us. But then, it looked like they’d changed their mind. The chopper ascended and canted eastward, rising just above the height of the eastern ridge, and paused. They were calling in their coordinates to Airport Camp, and making known their intent to land. Then, the Gazelle hovered directly above our little landing pad, and began to descend. The noise and wind were tremendous as the whirling blades came closer to the ground and flattened the surrounding bush.
"Hello," said a very English voice, as the man jumped out of the helicopter. He extended a hand. "I'm Captain Tony Martin, Army Air Corps, Regiment of the Worcestershire and Sherwood Foresters. How do you do?"
We introduced ourselves. “Thank you for dropping in," I said, laughing.
"We saw your sign and, quite frankly, were charmed by both your thoughtfulness and very innovative invitation. This is my copilot, Lieutenant Hugh Worthington."
************
From that time on, we became good friends with Her Majesty's Forces. I had always assumed the English were very proper and stuffy, but quickly found that they were really fun – and funny – with a wonderful dry sense of humor. The pilots not only enjoyed having tea with us that day, but they bought the crude wooden pendants I’d made. In those pre-souvenir days, they were grateful to find something original in Belize to take back to UK.
Soon the British began to come on a regular basis. Officers arrived in helicopters or Army jeeps on Sunday afternoons, sometimes six or eight at a time, bringing their friends or wives to socialize or go swimming in the river. The officers were not only great guests, they brought copious quantities of steaks, hamburgers, and legs of lamb, complete with mint sauce, beer, twelve-year-old Glenfiddich Scotch, and chocolate bars. After spending over two years in Belize, we had long ago given up vegetarianism, and were grateful for such variety. Meanwhile, I had kept carving little pendants, and the soldiers kept buying them.
On one such visit Captain Tony brought me a special gift. It looked like the thin branch of a tree with a hard white material encrusted on the surface, and it smelled like dead fish at low-tide.
It helped that I had always had a rich inner life of creativity: writing, music, and handicrafts. During my hippie days in the States, I had been in craft shows, selling macramé and handmade jewelry using beads, silver wire, and silver chain. In fact, I’d still had some of those supplies left over. So, when Dicky Simpson gave me a few tiny pieces of mahogany, I’d carved a few simple pendants using an Exacto knife and hung them on silver chains. Not that I had a market for them. Nor were they great works-of-art. But I did seem to have a knack for it, and it was fun. After that, I had experimented with other mediums, such as cow-bone, rosewood, and other exotic hardwoods.
And still, once or twice a week, the little British helicopters flew over our modest homestead.
************
The idea had come out of nowhere. I had used piece of a large cardboard provisions box, and found some black paint and a brush. When my husband came into the house one afternoon, our son tagging along, he saw me sitting on the floor, painting a large capital “T” on the cardboard.
“What are you doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that for?”
“I’m making a sign to persuade one of the helicopters to land,” I replied, with a grin. “I thought it would be fun to have some visitors. So I’m going to invite them in for tea. Invite them in for ‘T’. Get it?”
He laughed out loud. “Brilliant.” Clearly, I had made my point. “What a great idea! I love it! Do you think they’ll get it?”
“If you help me make a landing pad, I think they will. There’s a fairly level spot up next to the ruin.”
“Perfect,” he said, immediately expanding on the idea. “We can drive a stake in the ground, tie a rope to it, and use it like a compass to mark a big circle. Then we’ll chop it low, and use limestone rocks to make a big white ‘H’.”
************
The thumping of the rotor blades could be heard long before the helicopter came into view. My husband had just come from the river, so he sprinted past the house, and headed straight for the landing pad. I dashed to grab the sign and follow, but I was no match for my eager son, who was already out the door.
The British were coming.
"Bitti Jammy, Bitti Jammy," he shouted, pointing. I didn’t understand. "Bitti Jammy, Bitti Jammy!” Again, he yelled happily,
above the roar of the rotors, and pointed again.
Then I smiled. Of course. “British Army.”
I held up the sign with the big “T” while my husband and son jumped and waved their arms. The lithe aircraft hovered; they had definitely seen us. But then, it looked like they’d changed their mind. The chopper ascended and canted eastward, rising just above the height of the eastern ridge, and paused. They were calling in their coordinates to Airport Camp, and making known their intent to land. Then, the Gazelle hovered directly above our little landing pad, and began to descend. The noise and wind were tremendous as the whirling blades came closer to the ground and flattened the surrounding bush.
"Hello," said a very English voice, as the man jumped out of the helicopter. He extended a hand. "I'm Captain Tony Martin, Army Air Corps, Regiment of the Worcestershire and Sherwood Foresters. How do you do?"
We introduced ourselves. “Thank you for dropping in," I said, laughing.
"We saw your sign and, quite frankly, were charmed by both your thoughtfulness and very innovative invitation. This is my copilot, Lieutenant Hugh Worthington."
************
From that time on, we became good friends with Her Majesty's Forces. I had always assumed the English were very proper and stuffy, but quickly found that they were really fun – and funny – with a wonderful dry sense of humor. The pilots not only enjoyed having tea with us that day, but they bought the crude wooden pendants I’d made. In those pre-souvenir days, they were grateful to find something original in Belize to take back to UK.
Soon the British began to come on a regular basis. Officers arrived in helicopters or Army jeeps on Sunday afternoons, sometimes six or eight at a time, bringing their friends or wives to socialize or go swimming in the river. The officers were not only great guests, they brought copious quantities of steaks, hamburgers, and legs of lamb, complete with mint sauce, beer, twelve-year-old Glenfiddich Scotch, and chocolate bars. After spending over two years in Belize, we had long ago given up vegetarianism, and were grateful for such variety. Meanwhile, I had kept carving little pendants, and the soldiers kept buying them.
On one such visit Captain Tony brought me a special gift. It looked like the thin branch of a tree with a hard white material encrusted on the surface, and it smelled like dead fish at low-tide.
|
"It's called black coral. Not a true calcium carbonate, but more like a dense underwater wood. It grows only in very deep water. The local chaps out on Ambergris Caye use it to make jewelry." Handing it to me, I examined the piece minutely. "I realize it doesn't look like much now,” he admitted. “But when it's sanded and polished, it’s black and lustrous. They carve it into sharks and dolphins and crosses. Some of their stuff is lovely. I just thought maybe you'd like to try working with it. Also, you might want to consider coming down to Airport Camp and bringing your carvings to the Officer's Mess. I promise we’ll ply you with tea and scones,” he added, with a wink.
"That's so very kind of you, Tony. Thank you. I'd love to experiment and see what I can come up with. And I’ll certainly consider your invitation.” My creative little mind was already racing with possibilities... |
|