I was twenty-four years old when I was released from the Kingston Penitentiary. My marriage was over. I was living in my parents’ house in Vineyard town. No one knew what to do with me.
I was depressed.
There was an older white man that everyone remembered from the docks, Edmund Bayne- he’d been in Kingston starting in the mid-fifties, working for the British government. He went back to England once the transition to sovereignty was completed and there was no real work for him at the ports.
Through this man, there was a long-standing informal work abroad program for young Jamaican men. Mr. Bayne would help arrange guest worker visas and it would offer the opportunity for two years’ work on the docks in Cornwall. Most of this was unskilled labor.
My former manager at the customs office was one of the few people who’d reached out to me once I was back in society. He helped arrange for Mr. Bayne to offer me a spot as a guest worker. I was extremely thankful for his help in guiding me towards something. Anything.
Because of my professional qualifications, I was told, “We’ll get you on as a dockworker but when you get here we’ll put you in the office. You’ll get a slight pay rise, and if we have time, we’ll help you get some training as a bookkeeper.”
