Beryl — the beautiful

"No, darling, it is you I’m talking to" and her large beautiful brown eyes met mine. "Are you not the dancer who acted as "Ti-Jean" in Derek Walcott’s play Ti-Jean and his Brothers last year at the Little Carib?"

I replied, "Yes, I like to think of myself as an actor but definitely not a dancer." I introduced her to my wife. Beryl, bubbly and bursting with effervescence as ever, embraced and kissed her, declaring in her stage voice, "You look lovely, dearie."

In a flash, she turned to me again, "Come to the Carib on Tuesday." I replied, "Miss Mc Bernie, I can’t dance." She retorted, "What dance? You don’t have to dance. Just a little step like this." And right there, in the grocery, she gave me a brief demonstration. Turning to my wife, she said, "Make him come. Bye, dearie," and she disappeared.

Poor me. Where was I going with two left legs? But I went out of politeness, determined to tell her that I definitely would not be able to participate. As soon as Beryl saw me enter the Carib, she said, "Oh, you came. I thought you would not come. I got somebody else."

Beryl would often be seen on the Western Main Road waiting for a taxi. I would take her up and drop her wherever she wanted to go. One night, about ten o’clock, I asked where she wanted to go. "Just take me somewhere, where I can cool my head." I told her I was going to my home. She said that that was just the place she would like to go.

Of course, my wife was surprised to see her. Beryl sat down and made herself comfortable. We had tea, biscuits and cheese. She talked and laughed a lot, delighting us with one story after another.

My group, The Strolling Players staged performances at Beryl’s two theatres — Doctor Beulah at the Little Carib in 1986 playing to 574 paying theatre-goers and a few years later, We Crucify Him at her Folk House in Panka Street.

When you work with Beryl, you have to expect the unexpected. For rental of the Folk House, she wrote my receipt on a Republic withdrawal form. While the audience was hearing about the savage slaying of our Saviour from the actors on stage, they were also hearing and smelling, the frying of bakes by busy Beryl from the wings where her kitchen was.

Once she complained that not enough air was coming into the theatre and accused Richard Jules who was extra extra large of "blocking out the breeze." I had to change my house manager immediately.

Long before those productions, I met Beryl at Woolworth, congratulated her on an award she had received recently and told her she was a great achiever. She thanked me and for the first time I saw Beryl express sadness, "But what does it all mean in the final analysis?...Nothing!"

With that, she tousled the hair of my little son Richard, about four at the time holding on to my hand, saying, "But this is something. He is so cute. Give me a kiss, sonny boy," and she left hurriedly.

One Sunday morning, my wife and I were attending high mass at Mt St Benedict. I was holding up Richard who was not yet three years. The Abbot came forward, made the sign of the cross to the congregation with great gesticulation, chanting in Latin, Dominus vobiscum. Richard immediately announced in his well projected toddler’s voice, "Look, a man dancing the twist."