Mac was a man of many parts to all of which he paid full attention, some demanding more time than others. He was an enthusiastic scout leader at Queen’s, hence ‘Scouter Mac.’ As writer and poet I remember his small book of poems Blue Gaulding of the late 1950s. At the time he was a member of a branch of PEN (an international writers association) which had been founded by the late AJ Seymour who was his boss at the Government Information Service (GIS). The interest in steel pan playing that cut across social boundaries to an extent saw Mac entering musical festivals as a soloist on the first pan. At a festival one year, his powerful dramatic rendering of his folk-style poem ‘Old Higue’ won him first prize and great acclaim. The poem soon became a standard item at mixed shows. From Mac I received a lesson on “the distinctions between pronounciation and enunciation,” something he said he had learnt from the late Lynette Dolphin, his one-time music teacher at Queen’s.
As a folklorist he was a dedicated hunter of words, beliefs, proverbs and other forms of verbal expressions and lifestyle. His collection was given a boost during the time of employment at GIS where his research was located in the country areas. His findings were carefully classified in notebooks as ‘African Chapter,’ ‘East Indian Chapter’ and ‘AmerindianChapter.’ Other contributions were also recorded, nothing escaped his attention. In this respect I was quite surprised to see that he was not listed as an informant in Dr Allsopp’s pioneering work A Dictionary of Caribbean English Usage.
During the 1970s Mac was held in high respect by university linguists George Cave, Drs John Rickford, Ian Robertson and Edwards, which allowed him to extend his technical knowledge. Mac’s notebooks, tapes and other materials which he took to New York, should be located and acquired as soon as possible for repatriation to their real home in Guyana – the National Archives.
It was his interest in the ‘jumbies’ of folklore that led him and John Criswick (an English art teacher at Central High School) during the early 1960s to go hunting jumbies (unsuccessfully) in graveyards. I owe my knowledge of folksongs to his collection. Songs we used to sing during our drinking/conversation sessions on Sunday mornings. This took a prescribed form. We drank in folk style using schnapps glasses (shot glasses) to “fire one” chased by water to punctuate a particular point or statement made. It is the best stylistic way I know of to become inebriated to any degree.
We also had special birthday celebrations beginning evening-time November 22 (his date) to early November 23 (my date). Along with a small group of friends we talked, sang, drank and cooked. As friends left Guyana in the 1970s, similar style parties were held. First was the ‘Practice Farewell Party’ on hearing of the impending departure, followed by the real party later. In the 1960s while at the Guyana Broadcasting Service he, along with others including Corsbie, Taitt and Savory were sent to the BBC to study broadcasting. Mac later produced a programme for the GBS based on his abiding interest in the folk. The format was interviews of old villagers and items of interest and history.
He did run into trouble because he did not use the official term ‘Comrade’ as a term of greeting during the programme. One result was a questioning call from President Burnham who knew him personally. Mac explained that the term had no application in folklore.
The Comrade Leader to his credit dropped the matter. Another weekly radio programme of his received great attention. Writers of short stories submitted entries for broadcasting. Among the notables were formidable storytellers Roy Brummell with hilarious happenings from Dartmouth Essequibo, Rooplall Monar with his Demerara East Coast equivalents and Fire Chief McDowell with urban type stories.
Mac’s moral courage was unquestionable. When the official dress code was established – shirt jac and Latin American guyabero replacing shirt and tie – it coincided with an African revival as well. Mac began to wear African style shirts and “Jesus boots” – sandals without socks. This got him into trouble. He should be wearing “socks and shoes.” Mac argued that “socks and shoes” went with “shirt and tie” and though socks and sandals were acceptable he argued that sandals as tropical wear did not demand socks.
His down to earth outlook also caused a stir when in the early 1970s he married Rosie from England who was teaching at a secondary school. They went to the registry, Mac ‘towing’ Rosie on the pillion seat of the popular Honda P50 (a 50cc moped that was rapidly replacing bicycles in the late 1960s).
They even had a photo in the newspapers. Mac was never one to stand on ceremony when it seemed out of place and threatened progress.
It was during this time when I was teaching Art at Berbice High School I noticed that women in the ‘Ancient County’ had a liking for dress cloth of a striking blue colour. In discussing my interest using this colour as the theme of a square painting he came up with the term ‘Berbice Blue.’ I never did the painting but used the colour in other works. It did lead however to a poem dedicated to him – Blue Square. (Dedicated to Wordsworth MacAndrew)
Plotted canvas,
so square so blue.
I fix marks, from
the storehouse of time.
The will to art is a strange folly.
In the bewilderment of it all
archaic dreams re-assert
ever-present covenants between
mankind and the game.
It was around the mid-70s that Mac, for reasons that escape me, left the GIS. He turned to publishing a small newsheet reporting on what he knew best. Mac soon left for New York where he was employed eventually to edit adverts published by a real estate company. Naturally he got into trouble with ‘American English.’ Subsequent problems with his eyes meant leaving the job and worse yet, compromised his lifelong reading habits. It is, rather than has been, a privilege to be friend and ‘Soul Brother’ to Albert, which was the way I greeted him. The following are my parting words to his indomitable spirit.
Requiem for Mac
Trees whisper to each other,
as memories do from the forest of time.
Friendship never dies, like
the eventuality of flowering plant
but forges links
in the chain called humanity.
