Memories of Christmas were washed away for a policeman who lost his wife and children on an early January morning in 1988, in Smithfield, New Amsterdam, Berbice.
While the horror of the killing wracked the small village in Berbice, Commander of the Essequibo Coast, Donald Pearson stood at the Parika stelling receiving the news that his wife had been brutally murdered and doctors were trying to save the lives of his young children.
He stood there trying to grasp the reality of the report as quiet moments with his wife slipped in and out of his mind; as the sound of his daughter’s laughter faded; as images of Christmas lights dissolved into the blinding lights of a police patrol car speeding down a dusty road in Essequibo.
It was on January 13, 1988 that Donald received a message from Police Headquarters in Georgetown that he should travel home immediately. He was told that there had been an emergency at his home and he was needed by his children. He said he struggled to hold on to the memories of his family that morning when he walked into the New Amsterdam Hospital and was told that his son had succumbed to his injuries, that he no longer had a wife and that his 11-year-old daughter was battling for her life. (She also eventually died.) That day, Christmas seemed a mile away, but the memories of the season haunted him, reminding him of moments he would never experience again.
“Christmas for me is a time for family… a period to gather and share with them. It was fun time for the family,” he said, remembering his last Christmas with his wife and children weeks before they were brutally murdered by a neighbour.
“We would look forward to Christmas; the music, the cakes, the drinks, the pepperpot, the memories of past Christmases, and the masquerade bands dancing in the streets… bamboo guns firing in the air. People carolling by the street corners; I looked forward to being with them… Bringing home little gifts for Donna [his daughter,] listening to Junior [his son] carry on about his cows and animals; watching Florence get excited about the decorations, the preparations, making the Christmas special,” he reminisced.
He said that during that last Christmas he had made an effort to be at home with his family. The responsibility of his job caused him to be away from home a lot, so Christmas was special because he would take those days off to be with them and they would enjoy each other.
He reminisced about the early days when his children were younger and he and his wife Florence would take them out on the streets to watch the masquerade bands. “They were afraid and would shy away. But not Junior, he would be brave even when he was frightened,” he said, remembering that the girl, the younger of the two, would hide her face and hold on to her mother for dear life.
“Smithfield was a small quiet village. Nothing dangerous. Everybody knew everybody. That Christmas when I went home we threw a party for the family and everybody came; my friends, her friends, the kids’ friends, our family. That’s Christmas…everyone. Donna got many gifts that day. She was like a light bulb, pretty and full of life. That child meant the world to me. She would take out her toys all the dollies, teddy bears and tea sets and show off with her friends. But she was loveable and she loved me. Junior loved his guns… playing cowboy and Indian,” he said. “I spent two days with them. Everything was perfect. I tried to make the most of it and make my family happy. I remembered the quiet moments shared with Florence; that Christmas we planned to buy a new car for the family. We made plans,” he said smiling slightly.
After the holidays he returned back to work in Essequibo with promises of returning soon. He never imagined that he would have to return earlier than planned. He didn’t know that the plans made with Florence would be forever shattered. He didn’t expect that at the end of a perfect Christmas a tragedy would come. He never realized that life was a breath that could leave faster than it came.
Weeks after Christmas, their next door neighbour was seen sharpening his cutlass. The following day Pearson’s family was dead. Their neighbour, ‘Packoo Man’ (the only name given) walked into the house with a cutlass and an axe while Florence, Donna and Junior were eating breakfast and slaughtered them. There had been ongoing issues between the Pearsons and ‘Packoo’ and it was surmised that the man waited until Donald Pearson left for Essequibo to attack his family. The murderer then drank a bottle of Malathion and hanged himself by a window in the couple’s bedroom. The only survivor of the slaying was a young boy who was a close relative to the family.
“There was no Christmas in Smithfield for me after that,” Pearson related, adding that Christmas now meant something more. “I don’t celebrate with the decorations and fancy things anymore. Christmas has grown beyond embracing my family, it means cherishing them and the time you have. Christmas is just another day but it’s special nonetheless. It’s the day to cherish and remember,” he said.
