I grew up in Guyana hearing that our capital was labelled ‘The Garden City of the Caribbean’, but it was something that never engaged me. I had never travelled, never seen the other cities; also, I was a West Dem boy, born and raised. Apart from my time at Sacred Heart School, when I boarded Monday to Thursday at my DeSouza cousins in Carmichael Street, I spent no time in Georgetown. During my years at Saints I used the ferry every day to go home to Vreed-en-Hoop, and after Saints I worked at ‘the Base’, now Timehri. Georgetown and I were virtually strangers; I am still learning the place after moving back here eight years ago. Of course, I remember how pretty Main Street looked with those large rambling trees, and Lamaha Street with its graceful two-storey estate-style houses sporting acres of wood, and D’Urban Park was a beautiful sight with acres of open green, but ‘Garden City’ wasn’t in my lexicon when I migrated in the 1950s.
It was only when my music became popular, with Tradewinds travelling the Caribbean, that the phrase began to take