My earliest recollections of my dad are warm but punctuated by memories of the tumultuous relationship between he and my darling dear mom. They must have met sometime, I assume, in
1962-1963. He was a corporal in the Jamaica Constabulary Force; a police officer and she a new arrival to Kingston Jamaica by way of Balaclava St. Elizabeth. He would have been about 33 years old, and she must have been about 18 years. I arrived in the world in January 1964. My Brother Christopher in 1966.

I have powerful memories of at least one argument where little Neville had to intervene in a physical confrontation between, he and my mom. My weapon of choice was a broom. I was not a match for my dad. I will not say much more here. Suffice it to say that my dad was a charmer and my mom, a looker.

I remember us living in several different areas in Kingston. Dad was not only a policeman but also an excellent carpenter. I had many trips to Harman Barracks in Vineyard Town as a child, where he was known simply as Mitchie. There were trips to Caymanas Park, the horse racing track where dad was charged with guardian the day’s receipts. To this day I remember the 1973 Jamaica Derby. Dad did not take us but asked me to pick a horse for him. I would pick King Pin ridden by George Hosang. I listened intently on the radio to the race. Of course, I was a neophyte and only 9 years old. King Pin did win the Derby, but dad did not put any money on the horse. I remember being disappointed.

I also remember his taking my brother and I, sometimes together sometimes separately, on the mail truck from Kingston to all parts of Jamaica. That was one of his duties as a Police officer- guarding the mail. These memories of my dad sustain me to this day. They imbued in me what real policing and police look like.