Nothing can make a person more conscious of our limited existence on this earth than the loss of a loved one. I became extremely aware of that reality when my mother passed on May 12, 2006 at the ripe old age of 91 years and 45 days. At her death, my mother still read the Royal Gazette daily, and was able to converse about the contents of the news with absolute clarity.

Unfortunately, she had to die in order for me to fully appreciate what a tremendous guardian and role model she had been for me, her Grandchildren and relatives and friends. This all came out resoundingly at a funeral service that was indeed a celebration. Some highlights included an impassioned tribute from her grandson son Christopher and his son Kyle; Shangri-La Durham/Thompson read a beautiful poem she had composed on behalf of her mother, my mother's lifelong friend; Grand Niece Betty Ann Seymour read the obituary and after reading, commented on the spiritual relationship she had the privilege of enjoying with my mother; Great Nephew Pastor Trevor Woolridge returned from the US to give words of comfort to the family; Presiding Elder Malcolm Eve gave a stirring Eulogy; and Great Niece Betty Ann Simons provided a musical background of stirring music that was a fitting tribute to my mother's upbringing in the Pentecostal church.

However, the most stirring memory that will remain with me forever was the singing of "Blessed Assurance" by a choir of the grand nieces and grand nephews. This choir was put together by Niece Francis Ann Wedderburn within three days. The members of the Choir had not had a single rehearsal but sounded as if they had been a choir for years. This was one of the most important highlights of the funeral service because it illustrated two of the greatest characteristics of the descendants of Walter and Louisa Smith. They tend to be very musical and very religious.

I wrote the obituary and commented on the valiant attempt of my mother to shelter me from the extensive racism that existed during my primary and high-school days. However, I did not relate her extreme generosity with respect to my well-being. She would tell me often, "Calvin you can have my last penny if you need it" I admit shamefacedly that I often did request and receive her last penny during my first and second years at Queen's University; money which she scraped together from her meagre salary as a maid.

My mother had two over-riding ambitions for me. One was to become "a preacher of the Gospel" and the second was to do what I could for "my people" after I received an education. I failed totally to deliver on the first. However, I tried to deliver on the second when I was invited by Lord Martonmere to return to Bermuda to become Bermuda's first Government Statistician. My mother was overjoyed. She considered that by accepting the responsibility to integrate the higher administrative positions of the Government, I was helping my race.

From teaching me to read by introducing me to comic books gathered up at her many workplaces to not being afraid to defend me against the bigotry of the times, my mother was a giant. Perhaps because she did not have the opportunity to pursue a career in education because of my untimely arrival (women had to resign as teachers in those days if they had a child out of wedlock) she tried to pursue her dreams through those she counselled and otherwise assisted.

Ever since her funeral service on May 19 I have been afflicted daily with thoughts of her and what a remarkable influence she made on my life and convictions. She loved Dr. Gordon whom she referred to as "a fighter for our race". This may not seem to be a great statement today. However, let me assure younger readers that when Dr. Gordon was in his 'hey day', he was not the idol of Bermuda's Black aristocracy that he has become since his death. Upper class black Bermudians avoided him like the plague. However, Bermuda's 'worker classes' worshipped him. This was perhaps, in part, because Dr. Gordon so often neglected to charge them for his services.

One of my mother's proudest moments was when I was asked to thank Dr. Gordon at a forum held at Crawl Club. To appreciate the tenor of the times, none of the Senior officers of the Club were in attendance at the forum even though it was being sponsored by Mr. Oliver Caisey whom I believed was the chairman of the Sports Committee. I was the assistant secretary of the club.

I don't remember much about the evening except that when asked by Oliver at the beginning of the forum to thank Dr. Gordon, I ran downstairs looking for the President, Secretary and Treasurer of the club to tell them that one of them must thank Dr. Gordon for his fine effort. The president's response still rings in my ears. "I don't know why Oliver (Caisey) had to bring that crazy man to this club. Now I'll have to spend next week pleading to the liquor merchants not to withdraw our credit and our mortgage". Over the next month, the bedraggled president had to do just what he said would happen. When I informed my mother about what had happened, her response took me completely by surprise. "I hope they suspend their license; than maybe those men would do something worthwhile with their money instead of spending it on rum".

The antipathy between the club people and the Church served as a wedge between black people that prevented them from combining to fight the exploitation of the black worker classes and by extension, the white worker classes. It was not recognised at the time that a tiny white oligarchy ran the island at the expense of all Bermudians. Saltus and Bermuda High were the schools built for the White upper classes. Whites in the lower classes could only attend these schools except by scholarship.

It was by that route that Dr. Stubbs, "another Hamilton Parish By" was able to attend Saltus. I knew John because my mother was his mother's maid. I delighted in reminding Dr. Stubbs of that fact when once at a PHC Forum he was lauding the fact that he was a poor white and therefore understood the plight of black workers. I was Chairman of that particular meeting and I gently reminded him that as poor as he was, my mother was his mother's maid. However, Dr. Stubbs' point was that we were all being exploited by a small Oligarchy that included some of the better off blacks. When I told my Mother about the forum, she said "You know Calvin, apart from you, he was one of the brightest little boys I ever cared for". Of course no one could be better than her little Calvin.

I have taken this time to document a minuscule aspect of my experience with my mother because I believe that it is appalling that most Bermudians spend their whole life sustaining and maintaining a family and that this requires a far greater effort than presenting a piece of legislation to Parliament that Civil Servants put together. I believe that when we write obituaries to our loved ones, we should make an effort to describe the vital contribution they made to our lives and not the meaningless capsules that all too often are the only memorial to their valuable existence.

calvinnorthrock.bm