As a young man in West Dem, Guyana, living at Vreed-en-Hoop, going to Saints Stanislaus on a scholarship, I made many trips to my father’s farm in the Pomeroon, sometimes by train, sometimes by bus, linking up with the ferry to Adventure, and then by bus to Charity, and boat to the farm. On the trip to Charity, the main order of business was a series of buses, Guyana-made wooden bodies on imported chassis frames, making the trip back and forth every day, and what a colorful bunch. One that stood out for me was owned and operated by an Indo-Guyanese, Kas, who drove the bus, and handled all the trans business with the help of two on-board young men who did all the heavy lifting, loading and unloading, everything from luggage to the large galvanized milk cans that would go out full in the morning, on the carrier atop the bus, returning empty later that day on the return trip. Kas would simply slow down approaching a stop, and one of the loaders would hang on the ladder at the back of the bus, swing the empty can out by the handle, deposit it gently onto the abundant parapet grass, and Kas would blow his horn for the owner to come and collect it; I never saw him stop once to make the delivery… he would go down to first or second gear, loader would reach out and make the deposit, and Kas would change gears and get back up to speed….smooth as silk.