Forest Reserve, like an abandoned movie set

Rose-tinted lenses colour the past — life was so much better back then. Stories are told, lauding the virtues of growing up in Toco or Princes Town; Charlotteville or Castara; St James or Belmont; myth and reality become indistinguishably blurred. For many, community, not country, is the defining marker of our roots!

The spontaneous demonstration of community spiritedness is an increasingly important feature of rural life. The manifestation in anniversaries, commemorations and other observances and rituals serves as root and anchor, reinforcing a sense of belonging.

I was fortunate to witness such an expression on Sunday March 9 — the 20th anniversary of the Forest Reserve community annual homecoming. This was my first visit in over two decades to an area I knew very well since a teenager. Sadly, in a physical sense, Forest Reserve, a thriving community of households, is no more. The landscape has the look of an abandoned movie set! The staff club, dispensary, two church buildings and a school bear silent witness to crumbling decay. Where are all the former family homes? Remains of derelict houses stand in defiance, but as inevitable victims, of the encroaching shrubs, bamboo and dense, aggressive foliage. Forlorn images of abandonment flash by as we drive in.

This is the sad back drop to an evening of fun and leisure. Happily, it does not dampen the enthusiasm and buoyant spirits of the assembly of Forest Reserve born and bred, their families and friends. The old talk is rich; picong flies thick and fast. It’s difficult to remain unmoved by the infectious camaraderie and genuine good feeling. Young and old stand riveted at a portrayal of the sailor dance by four costumed individuals gliding gracefully to the jam of the live steelband. The barmen are overworked; the cuisine five star rural Sunday best!

People are alive in animated conversations, peppered with flashbacks recalling former glory: national sportsmen — Selwyn Murren, Bertrand Grell, Euric Bobb, Allan Callender, Rupert Ferguson bantering good-humouredly about exploits, still fresh in memory, many decades later.

The pain and anguish underlying the lament about the decadence and neglect are real. The complete disappearance of an entire community and its neighbouring settlements astounds. But, the indomitable human spirit prevails. Nothing intrudes to diminish the unbridled joy and pleasure of childhood friends (former neighbours) meeting, greeting and reminiscing as mature adults, in surroundings now drastically changed.

The houses, old landmarks, the village folk are no more — collateral damage of modernity and oil industry rationalisation. Forest Reserve, the physical entity, may no longer exist. But the spirit of the real Forest Reserve resonates vigorously and with vibrancy in the hearts and minds of all who once lived, played and worked there. Their houses are gone, but the community never lost their homes! For home is where the heart is.

Yet a nagging question persists: for how much longer will the homecoming be observed?

Thanks to the folks of Forest Reserve for allowing me to share in a unique experience.

Winston R Rudder

Petit Valley