“When ah draw me box han’
I doan wan’ nobody baddy me”
These two lines, repeated with the same melody, are from a Guyanese folk song I collected from my close friend, the late Wordsworth McAndrew, folklorist.
It was December, Sacred Heart R.C School was closed. At home I occasionally overheard Lydia, my Mother, conversing with female friends, saying she had “…to go throw box.” In those times, children did not ask questions; it was considered rude. A child “was to be seen not heard.” Victorian values operated, affecting children in particular. A child misbehaving anywhere could and would be sternly corrected by any stranger, who was generally regarded as “Aunt” or “Uncle”. Woe betide you if they knew your parents and made a report.
Being of an imaginative nature, every time I heard the remark “box hand” I would try to imagine Mum going somewhere to throw boxes. First question was why throw boxes at all and what kind of boxes were they, certainly not those my Dad, John, encountered at his waterfront workplace at Sandbach Parker. These were wooden things, which were hard to handle. The only possible remaining source would be the Chinese Grocery on King Street. It was fairly close to my home, a Carmichael Street tenement yard near Church Street. The grocery usually piled cardboard boxes on the roadside for the sanitary workers to collect in their brick-red covered horse drawn wagons.
That question having been solved, the next was: Where did the box throwing take place? It had to be daytime, judging from my Mum’s remarks, because I could not think of anyone throwing boxes at night unless it was moonlight and involved some kind of magical obeah ceremony for purposes I preferred not to think about. Throwing boxes also needed space. The first that came to mind was the nearby Parade Ground, but I had never heard about anyone, including my friends, who witnessed this. They most certainly would have reported the spectacle and invited me to the event. Boxes, therefore, definitely had to be thrown in a secret location. The next location in my vicinity that came to mind could have been the St. George’s School Hall but I could not see the English Archbishop granting permission for a questionable activity of dubious origins. In any case even the noise from throwing empty cardboard boxes would have attracted attention from my friends and I. We often sailed boats in the nearby trench. Finally, whatever happened to the boxes after being thrown was another mystery.
Years passed by. I was about twelve when one day Mum sent me on an errand “to throw the box hand.” The addition of the word “hand” immediately compounded the original question, sending my imagination into a wider spin. I saw myself employing several unique hand techniques for throwing boxes. Such accomplishments once demonstrated to my friends would certainly command respect and enhance whatever prestige I might have enjoyed from my pencil copies of comic book heroes. The mystery however was finally going to be solved because this time round I asked questions and was given the following fascinating account.
“Throwing box” was a savings scheme practiced among the working class, where six persons formed a group taking into consideration twelve months of the year. The foundation of the practice is based on mutual trust, the reason groups were formed among close friends. One member collected a fixed amount of money monthly from each of the other five. Members took turns to do this, with each receiving two “box hands” during the year. A wonderful ethical practice within groups was to allow someone in pressing financial difficulty to move to the head of the queue.
The folk song takes on great significance of course when a “box hand” is collected near Christmas, the preferred period. Any approach to borrow money is quickly rejected. The Season of Joy, meant My Season of Joy. Despite the rejection, sharing of some kind did take place for those in dire need of help.
The “Box Hand” for me meant opening my puzzling box at Christmas to retrieve savings made during the year. My Dad usually made a narrow opening on the side of a sardine can to receive coins then nailed it to the wall to be removed at Christmas time. On his Friday payday I was given a shilling and encouraged to develop the habit of saving, which is one of his greatest gifts to me. One memorable Christmas, after admiring it for months, I was able to acquire a cheap copy of the well-known British Barlow pattern two bladed penknife from Kawall’s Hardware Store on Regent Street. My first tool. A revered, more expensive example is one of three in my collection.
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Instead of the term Box Hand used in Guyana, comparative ones in Caribbean include “Meeting Turn,” indicative of its activity, and “Sou-Sou, which I believe is of French origin because the word “sou” means coin. The activity of contributing to the common pool is West African in origin I have been told. The Box Hand principle is exemplified in a memorable historic occasion in Guyana by the collective action of Villagers on the East Coast Demerara using their resources to purchase the villages of Victoria and Buxton after Emancipation. One can perhaps make a case for its politicization during President Burnham’s attempt to create a Socialist Cooperative Republic, something that I feel was designed around the Box Hand tradition to operate at national level and which also further extended the practice.
One institution, the Small Industries Cooperative Bank, did a fine job by extending small, low interest loans to individuals and very small groups to finance their enterprises. A supervisor ensured success by visiting those to whom loans were made to see that they were correctly used. I particularly remember the lady who made a living by sewing school uniforms at home. With a loan, she acquired an industrial sewing machine to replace the world famous domestic Singer Sewing Machine in her home. Her output increased significantly. A young man who had a bottom house bicycle repair business was able to extend it by acquiring a welding set to repair damaged frames. At one time while at the University of Guyana, I even planned to throw a Box Hand with my close friends. It did not happen regrettably; some went on leave and others emigrated. The monthly Box Hand could have financed a few interesting projects involving bottles.
Another very effective application of the Box Hand principle was the Friendly Burial Societies, which had a working class membership. These societies, unlike the throwing of the Box Hand, had to be registered officially. Each month, members paid a small sum, which was deposited in a bank. When a member died, his or her family received a fixed sum towards burial expenses. At the end of the year, the interest from the bank was shared among members. The commendable efforts of the Box Hand and Friendly Burial Societies, humanistic in intention and practice, served their working class membership dutifully in the effort to ameliorate the effects of poverty.
These institutions served my family, earning my everlasting gratitude. I respected both and do hope they still exist in one form or the other. Regardless of the state of the national economy, there are those who will always need help.
A happy season to all and continuing good health in 2022.
