Tribute to my Aunt, Peggy Ince-Hull: My Centre Player

by Andrea Bowman

My earliest remembered memories of my Aunt, as opposed to someone else’s planted memories, place me walking down Mc Kies Hill with her. We were going to netball. I was bouncing with three-year-old excitement about my pleated white skirt. The netball match was being held in town, on Back Street. I was the only child in Granny’s Mc Kies Hill household for close to five years, and I was quickly branded “an incessant talker”. Most likely I had talked about this and similar outings ad infinitum.

When Aunty Peggy returned from Winnipeg in 1967, I was now five years old and the word ‘Winnipeg’ was as glamorous to me as was the beautiful, life-sized doll which she had brought me. I named that precious doll Rhonda. A few years ago I donated her to the Craft Centre, hoping to have her permanently dressed in Garifuna colours.

Aunty Pegs centred me from an early age in a very practical manner. Her approach may be summed up as, ‘take nothing for granted; always be prepared’. She fixed things; she sorted out the details of how things got done. From pre-school, primary and secondary school to university, Aunty Peggy made the enquiries, organised the forms, the applications, the delivery, the postage and the follow-up, with deft efficiency and few words.

When the others, in the persons of Clare; the crib-mates Simi (Simone) and Nickie (Monique) separated by one month; Yves; Nadine and Dane, joined our field of play, the rules were clear: the structuring of extra-curricular activities also fell under her purview. I did not develop my Aunt’s athleticism although I tried. Her daughter Nickie inherited this and my beloved Staff House was the beneficiary. I am the sports fan cheering too loudly on the side. She always looked at me head-on and often met my energy with, “You see your face-whey dey find you?” and this tended to make me reflect if not do a double-take.

She named me ‘Annie-Laurie’ and her words,”what sense that make Annie- Laurie?” provided the guardrails as I grew into a sense of myself. She did not indulge in fluff neither did she tolerate fluff. Her centre-court passes were strong and deliberately targeted: no time-wasting on the field of play. Her warmth was direct and unadorned, her eyes smiled. She wrapped us all in a protective security which yet allowed us to make our decisions. “Ask Shaka if he really wants to continue those visits to that home?” This protection was also nourishing. She provided our whole family with Granny’s mauby after Granny had passed.

She was our baker, bread and sweet-bread for everyone, every Saturday: stewed beef and her rice and peas special every Christmas. There was none last Christmas.

With age came illnesses from which our Headmistress House, National netballer and Captain of the 1963 West Indies Netball team, consistently rebounded. But last year she had a fall which took us all down. For me, the only up-shot of this was the increased Whatsapp messages which I received from her and the landline calls which I made to her. On Sunday morning video calls courtesy Len and Aunty Shirls, I saw our Pepsi Girl fading. Her stoicism in this phase was instructive. I selfishly wanted her to hold on until I got home. We were counting down the Sundays, but then the whistle was blown. She has left the court and we have to continue on our fields of play, having been guided, having been shown the way. Because Aunty Pegs is central to our lives, her physical absence does not change this reality. We are either centred in a way of being or we are not.

She centred us with the love of her warm, clear-sighted practicality. I am grateful for the precision of her centre-court play. I hope that we do her proud as we continue to navigate this field with necessary pivots and by-passes. Free shots have to be earned.

Aunty Peggy had sent me my first watch from Winnipeg-a bright navy blue one, when I was four years old. There is a picture of me sticking my hand out in this watch when Clare was christened. We all suspect how she would have reacted to this picture. Her eyes and her words,”so you feel?” would have fixed me. Thank you Aunty Pegs, I truly stand on your strength. Rest well.

Love, Annie Laurie.