By Raffique Shah
July 02, 2017

In 1950, when I was four years old, my father moved the family from a sugar company cottage in Brechin Castle (now Rivulet Road) to a rented house near the Croisee in Freeport. The house, two bedrooms sitting on stilts about five feet high (I’m writing from childhood memory), was located off a sharp bend in the Freeport River, the main watercourse in what I call Greater Freeport. In fact, its eastern boundary was the meandering river, and because the land was lower than the road, level with the river-bank, whenever it rained heavily for more than a day, which occurred several times every rainy season, our yard was flooded, the swirling waters ranging from a few inches to maybe three feet.
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