TRIBUTE TO MY FATHER NOBLE BRANCH

BY LISA BRANCH 07.AUG.09

Before the disease of alcoholism ravaged our father’s life, leaving him to wander the streets of Kingstown as a broken man, there was the Noble Branch that we knew and loved, that maybe many of you didn’t know.

To his siblings, there was Noble, the fearless little brother who made up for stature with wit and boldness; a pint-sized boy, who step for step could match his older brothers in feats of daring that made Dolly Branch fall to her knees several times in the course of a day. From that eventful day on October 22, 1938 when Noble Joris was born, the Branch household never lacked for mischief and adventure. From the little toddler who literally learned to swim the Barrouallie seas before he could walk, to the audacious teenager, who, during detention in Mr. Eustace’s office, ate the headmaster’s lunch, there are enough stories of Noble’s escapades in the annals of Branch history to write the great Vincentian novel.{{more}}

To his nieces and nephews, there was Uncle Noble, the loveable rogue who had a special place in all of their hearts. To a group of children in Park Hill, there was Daddy Noble the only father figure in their life. But to his children, there was Daddy, a father who was before his time; a father who took the time to play with his children when it was considered unseemly for men to play; a father who introduced us to the classics as soon as we could talk; who told us stories of Jason and the Argonauts, of Julius Caesar, and of the Prince and the Pauper. A father who spent countless hours playing Monopoly with us, and who even translated a book of French fairy tales to amuse us, instilling in me a love of, and a foundation in French that was to put me ahead in the language in High School, and was later to give me an opportunity to live for several months in France. The broken man you may have seen belied his earlier zest for life, his love of mischief, his incredible sense of humor, and the extraordinary artistic talents of this very gifted man. His drawings, sculptures and calligraphy were scattered throughout our home, and evidence of his handiwork could be found everywhere, from intricate furniture designs to electronic contraptions and mechanical devices. There wasn’t a thing my father couldn’t “fix”-plumbing, cars, radios….

Above all, there were the songs. What my father could do with a guitar and his voice was beyond description. There is no corner of our memory that does not resound with the echoes of those strumming chords and sweet clear voice, singing everything from Elvis Presley’s “Peace in the Valley” to Marty Robbins “El Paso” to Jim Reeves, “We Thank Thee.”

The music, coupled with his movie-star good looks (Gale swears Humphrey Bogart, but to this day, I cannot look at a Glenn Ford movie without crying) my father held us spell-bound in a magical time and place, the precious nature of which can never be scarred even in light of all the later pain and devastation in our family life.

Yet vivid as they are, if I were to close with these pictures, the story would be incomplete. You see, the most important perspective of all is that in this man, was a precious soul relentlessly pursued by a loving God who would not let Noble go. Through the years, as we would pray for our father, we would sometimes get discouraged as things seemed to go from bad to worse. Time after time when I prayed for my father, God would bring a special scripture to my mind: Exodus 20: 5-6. …I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand {generations} of those who love me and keep my commandments. Many times, in the context of my father, people had quoted the first part of that scripture, about God punishing the children for the sin of the fathers, but God has made it abundantly clear that his mercy and love are as much a part of his character as his justice, and whereas punishment goes to third and fourth generations, mercy and love will go beyond to thousands of generations.

God has indeed shown that through all the years of wilderness wanderings, He remained faithful to my father, compassionate, protective, loving. And when it was time for Noble to go, God worked through the kindness and generosity of Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Ermine, Aunt Edme, Uncle Bill, and Auntie Shirley, to bring him to the care of his eldest daughter, our sister Diane, who tended him with extreme patience, gentleness and love during the last days of his life, ensuring that his final days were spent in comfort and security.

Shortly before he died, I had a conversation with my father. I told him that I heard that he’d said he didn’t want to die and go to hell, and that he wanted to see his mother again. I asked him if this was so. He told me yes. I told him that hell was not a place he had to go, since Jesus had died to make sure he didn’t have to go there. He told me that he realized this, and that he had asked God to forgive his sins. Startled, and a little unconvinced, I said to him, “Exactly what did you say to God?”

“I asked him to forgive my sins” was his simple straightforward reply.

I am assured that the same eyes of a gentle, compassionate, God who looked into the eyes of a prostitute and said: “Your sins are forgiven” looked into those of my father in his last days and spoke those very words to his heart.