Since I strayed from my attempt at levity last Friday - and wrote about “Contention, Confrontation and Stress” - today I’m determined to be as light as a feather. (Let the intellectuals, analysts and “commentators” engage you elsewhere.)

Discussing the August holidays, or this particular month these days, suggests that I should spend a paragraph or two reflecting on Augusts past.

Simply put, in “my days”, of the fifties-to-seventies, August was the long-holiday month for pupils and students. (We spoke of “school-children” and not of “vacation” then.) After July end-of-term exams, you got your “Passing Paper” to a new higher class, hopefully. Later, it was better to say and use the better term “report” - as some of us actually did not “pass” to a higher class.

Whatever our fate at the end of July, we set out to enjoy the long August holidays. A few paragraphs later, I’ll share Charlie de Florimonte’s August joys with you but to me August included either observing or being a part of the excursions, the treats, the camps - most held way out of Georgetown. Of course, August of my time was when city boys and girls would be taken, on bus, train or steamer to rural and interior relations to `spen’ time’ meaning spending a holiday, replete with such rural pursuits as bush-cooks, hunting, fishing, bird-catching and making new pals with `country-people’.

My own memory of the old-time August, being so much a vacation month for the youth, was captured in the expression: `Like you go to school in August?’ - meaning that you were somewhat slow, even daft, since no schools were opened in August. How things have changed! (Are schools ever closed these days?)

In the wider society of adults and work and organisations, one pondered the yearning for self-reliance and political independence and economic advancement as the fifties saw 1953 then the local politics of `55 and `57 - Jagan-Burnham-Jagan and some of the more colourful politicians of the time. We rode big bicycles and yellow buses with space; listened to juke-boxes at the Barn Dances, Sub-parties, Picnics and Bottle Sports. Radio Demerara ruled supreme as there was no TV, no VCR, no Internet. Life was less stressful; the streets and mouths and minds of man much cleaner! There followed the turmoil of the `sixties, independence, republicanism, a brief period of economic buoyancy and promise, then marking time and standing still. Those who did not stand still voted with their feet and fled during the late `seventies into the `eighties.

Fast forward to this month’s August. Where are we? And what do we do - and have? Well, you should know. It’s not for me to bore you. But if you wish to read on here is my take on where we are: fitfully and cautiously today, we hope that the brutal crime-wave of the past fifteen months is over; we yearn to breathe and stay out late - anywhere - again; we witness, in this holiday month, the usual government-opposition parliamentary tussles, one-upmanship and who is “brighter” and fit to lead; supposedly “Freedom month”, this August sees some activities related to issues of Emancipation and its consequences.

Like recent months of August, this August accommodates those “come-back Guyanese” immigrants from the Caribbean, the UK, Canada and the USA. They come with love, and little “show-offishness”, for their summer. They go, for the first time in their lives, taking locally-based relatives, to Kaieteur and the newer resorts. They love Guyana more dearly this August. But circumstances would never see them actually staying in the land they love.

This particular August, 2003, also witnesses some strange quirks in the weather - rain, sun, rain, too much raid for “August month”. Sport-wise and culturally, there are some pleasant developments of note. We actually hosted various sporting events - which means we do have accommodation, transportation and food! Cricket, Squash, Tennis, Boxing, Cycling - all these and more are happening here this August - in smelly, mosquito-filled, DEC-salt Georgetown.

But it is the literary/cultural vistas which seem to be opening, with connections to Guyana, which fill me with personal satisfaction - and motivation - this month. I was impressed with the fact that the 2004 Mashramani National Committee is already up and running and the virtually one-man secretariat is active. I’m not as impressed with what I suspect will be our contribution to the Suriname-hosted Carifesta but hope the Caribbean audiences are pleased. After all, we should show those Surinamers a significant thing or two, since we started the thing in `72!

After the August One Emancipation Festival, our brothers, sisters and cousins living in Mr Bush’s/the Native People’s USA are hosting a Guyana Folk Festival. Love the idea myself. So read me on “loving Guyana from afar” next week. This August finds Roy Geddes celebrating three anniversaries as all that nudges the steel-pan art-form into the limelight. Oh, Paul Cort sings at the Centre on Sunday too! What rich cultural fare this August brings!

Perhaps that’s why, as the modern-day Internet is plagued by worms and viruses, I am motivated to write, produce and have printed by year-end, my compilation of proverbs and place-names and a series of short biographies under the theme “Guyana’s Unsung Heroes”. The latter has begun with the Roy Geddes Story. Now here are three excerpts from Charlie de Florimonte’s Ole-Time Kitty - of Augusts Past.

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From Florrie’s Kitty

Everyone of us, over 55, should have fond or other memories of where we grew up. The nostalgia of the issues, scenes, smells, sounds and characters of our formative years should be recorded. They gave me a sense of past and present identity. And love of place. Three snatches from Florrie on August in Kitty.

“As I write this piece in the middle of the August school holidays, I wonder how our youths will employ their endless leisure hours ... in the 1940s a large plot of land was donated to the children of Kitty by a Mr Farnum, to be used as a playing field. This is the playing field now located in Subryan-ville. The facility in its early days, saw the likes of Ken Farnum of Barbados, Laddie Lewis, Rocky McPherson and a host of other cyclists and athletes performing there.”

“Another famous character was Joe Taylor whom we teased by nick-naming him Deadsnake. He was the village crier, who was often engaged by the Village Council to make important announcements. He made his presence known by ringing a large school-bell and shouting “Hear the sound of this bell and hear what the marshal has to say!”

“And East Indian villagers engaged him to announce deaths and burials. With great solemnity, he would strike his gong and announce: This is to announce the death of Dhanraj. He will be buried on Saturday at the Hindu Ground, Pike Street.”

And: “In former times we relied on the trusted “Doctor Shop” to treat our minor ailments and for more serious cases there was that fixture in the community - Dr Bissessar. At the Doctor Shop we relied on Mr Ting-A-Kee, JD Persaud, Mr Debidin or Mr Francois, where us youngsters were taken during the August holidays for our ritual “clean-out”. And the standard clean-out was a “Bilious Wash” administered in a large druggist measuring glass.”

Any memories? Over-fifties, start writing!

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August I Love...

1) Love yes, but the photograph, on the front page, of the gentleman’s head on the roadway in Mahaica, was another salvo in the debate: Publish and be damned/The public’s right to see/They don’t or shouldn’t publish that on the front page/or at all.

Oh, and it was gruesome. And unkind to grieving relatives. But remember, the public must see and know. And the `paper must sell. After all, I’m sure if the head belonged to the publisher’s father, or the editor’s brother, it would have been shown! Right?

2) The lull is only applicable to the dramatic. Crimes are still on. Get the guns and knives out of waists and pockets! Search us at the fetes and entertainment centres; at bus terminals too - and discos. Search! Let the GHRA and lawyers come after you’ve prevented death, police!

3) Happy August!

`Til next week!