Negril love story

[Ja. Jewel]

Re: Negril love story

That's just beautiful, Marilyn....gave me goosebumps, reading it! ...their 2 boys are very handsome (Scottie's moniker on Negril.com)...thanks for posting it.

[Marilyn]

Re: Negril love story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Shezuk</div><div class="ubbcode-body">I just sent it to my mum. She will love it. </div></div>

Shez I love reading it tooo...for all the gloom and doom and doubt on these relationships I always point to this one as my equalizer....but I must point out that it was a GOOD MAN that steered this one in the right direction, and that to me makes the difference.

[Marilyn]

Re: Negril love story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Ja. Jewel</div><div class="ubbcode-body">That's just beautiful, Marilyn....gave me goosebumps, reading it! ...their 2 boys are very handsome (Scottie's moniker on Negril.com)...thanks for posting it. </div></div>

I always say when those two elements get together they almost always make the prettiest children.

[Laurel]

Re: Negril love story

what a lovely love story ....

I have 'chatted' with him ... encouraged him to link with Mr. Big Man when it comes time to dress up his yard with nuff plants ~

their place is located not far from us ... he mapped it out for me a couple weeks back - I can not visualize the location tho -

[MsExced]

Re: Negril love story

Thanks for this Marilyn, what a beautiful story

All is not lost.

[Marilyn]

Re: Negril love story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Laurel</div><div class="ubbcode-body">what a lovely love story ....

I have 'chatted' with him ... encouraged him to link with Mr. Big Man when it comes time to dress up his yard with nuff plants ~

their place is located not far from us ... he mapped it out for me a couple weeks back - I can not visualize the location tho - </div></div>

Let's see

A man who loves me
A house overlooking Negril

&lt;sigh&gt;

[Marilyn]

Re: Negril love story

I hope he doesn't kill me for sharing this, but we women need to know that such exist.


When I emailed him and asked him to send it he sent it right away, and then added that he was currently out of town on business and thanked me for asking for the story that day because he re-read it himself and said that it made him realize that he missed being away from her all the more.

&lt;heavy sigh&gt;

[MsExced]

Re: Negril love story

I hope he does not object Marilyn this is too beautiful not to share.

Tell him he has renewed my hope.

&lt;heavy sigh too&gt;

[Marilyn]

Re: Negril love story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Ms Exced</div><div class="ubbcode-body">I hope he does not object Marilyn this is too beautiful not to share.

Tell him he has renewed my hope.

&lt;heavy sigh too&gt; </div></div>

Girl don't you know it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am going to send him a link to this thread.

[A_J]

Re: Negril love story

Sorry, but it sounds to me like a made-up fairy tale.
And you guys called *me* a storyteller! :-)

[Bandana]

Re: Negril love story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Marilyn</div><div class="ubbcode-body">Just in case there is someone out there who has not read it, or someone who might just need a happy thought, here it is again.


Negril Story

For Beverley, 1974 is a year forever etched in her memory. From a love filled and joyous childhood growing up in rural Westmoreland, Jamaica, to the sudden traumatic experience of her mother dying in her arms from heat stroke. The rhythm of life changed dramatically for this little 10 year old girl. Her father, taking sick soon after her mother’s death, propelled the family into abject poverty. And as those childhood years began to pass, while her friends were out playing, she found herself caring for her sick father, washing and ironing clothes, cooking, sweeping and cleaning their tiny little house without electricity or water, which had now become more of a prison than a home.

And in those days, she often cried.

She cried because her father was unable to work and provide for them. As she would drink her morning tea, she cried out of hunger because sometimes that morning tea and some crackers would be her only food for days at a time. She cried because she only had one uniform to wear to school. She cried because sometimes she didn’t have a pair of shoes to wear and the kids would tease her. She cried because she could not understand how a life, like this, could be worth living.

But most of all, she cried because she wanted her mother.

Her father begged his little washbelly to keep her faith in the Lord Jesus; yet, she could not understand how the Lord could be so cruel to an innocent little girl. Though still, she obeyed her father. Holding ever so tightly to what little faith she could manage. As the tears would fall, she prayed and prayed that someday, somehow, a better life would find her.

By 1983, Scott had left college, and was pursuing what he loved most: Reggae music. Playing guitar in a band, backing up a singer from Kingston, he realized he was playing music from a country he had never been to, and he wanted to have a better understanding of Jamaican culture. So he bought a used guitar and amp to give away to any aspiring musician he might meet, and headed to Jamaica.

During the same time, very little changed for Beverley. In fact, things had only gotten worse. In December of that year, she gave birth to a baby boy, but the boy's father was unable to support them. She felt so disillusioned and alone.

Once again, she would cry.

By the spring of 1986, she was becoming desperate. Her father recovered his health enough to plant and tend some yam in their yard, but with a small child, life, for her, only seemed to be one struggle after another.

An older woman next door to her, named Daphne, had for years, traveled to Negril to sell orange juice and banana bread to the tourists on the beach. She asked Daphne if she could accompany her to the beach and after months of prodding, Daphne reluctantly agreed. So Beverley borrowed enough money to buy a sack of oranges, squeezed them into rum bottles, went to the bush, cut some aloe, and headed for Negril. By the end of her first week in Negril, Beverley had sold all her aloe and juice. She had more money that week than she had seen in an entire year. She bought a stove so she wouldn't have to cook over a wood fire anymore, a brand new outfit for her son and a radio for her father. She even bought herself a new pair of shoes.

The second week on the beach was a little slower as it was getting closer to Easter and &quot;season&quot; was coming to an end. On Wednesday morning of that week, as they waited to sell their goods, while seeking shade under a coconut tree, Daphne called out to a man walking up the beach. She said she recognized him from the previous year but couldn’t remember his name. He replied, &quot;Yes&quot;, he had been coming to Jamaica for three years and, “Yes”, he also remembered her from his last trip. He then reminded her that his name was Scott.

As Daphne went out to greet Scott, Beverley followed behind. Daphne introduced Beverley and as they met, she asked him if he would like to buy some orange juice. But he declined, saying he had already bought some, and proceeded to make his way up the beach. As he left, he added that if he saw her on his way back, perhaps he would help her out and buy a few things. As the afternoon ended, Daphne suggested to Beverley that they should head home for the day, as business had died and tomorrow would be another day. Beverley agreed.

At that same time, Beverley noticed Scott walking toward her on his return from up the beach. He smiled and said he wanted to be true to his word and would now buy some of her orange juice. And even though she had sold all that she had, they talked for a few minutes until it was time for her and Daphne to catch their bus back to the country.

As they left to catch their bus, he told her that if he should be up hers way tomorrow, he would stop again.

So it was, the next morning. He stopped and they talked for about an hour. The next day he spent a little more time, and by the week’s end he was bringing her mangoes, because she had told him that mango was her favorite fruit. And they would have lunch from the Fisherman's Club and sit underneath the coconut tree in the front of the vacant piece of land where now stands Negril Gardens. As the afternoon would pass, they would watch the fisherman in their tiny boats come onto shore with their fresh catch while the tourists played volleyball on the beach in front of the vacant lot next to Alfred’s. And she would eat a mango and peel him an orange, and they would talk… And talk.

They talked about life. They talked about culture. They talked about how different, yet how much they were alike.

But a lot of the time, they simply sat and looked out over the sea. Enjoying each others presence, while a soft, soothing, breeze flowed over their face.

At times she would suddenly get up and disappear into the bush and he wondered if he had said something to offend her, however, she would later explain that she had to hide from the police, for they could not catch her selling goods on the beach. And he would ask her if she would like to go out at night to a show, but she always made up an excuse. For at the time he did not understand that if she went out with him at night, people would talk because back then, only prostitutes would be out with a white man at night.

When it came time to leave the island, he asked her for her address so he could write, and she gave it to him. And as he said goodbye, he told her in five months he would be back in August for Sunsplash, though she feared that she would never hear from him again.

As he sat in the plane, waiting to take off, he stared out at the hills surrounding Montego Bay, and a million thoughts raced through his mind. He marveled how God reveals the most precious things in life which find you when you least expect them. And as the plane lifted off, he realized he needed to return to Jamaica as soon as possible.

Within a week he was back in Negril. Walking up the beach to look for her but she was nowhere to be found. And for three days he returned to the same spot under the coconut tree, where she would peel him oranges and eat mango, where the fisherman would bring their tiny boats to shore with their fresh catch, and where the tourists played volleyball, but still he would not find her.

On the fourth day, depressed and dejected, he thought about returning back to the States. Refusing to believe that fate was about to deal him a losing hand, he turned back to walk one last time past their magical spot. It was then that he spotted Daphne. She explained that because &quot;Season&quot; had ended, Beverley was not coming down from country anymore, but she had come down for one last time because she had some extra oranges.

Scott explained to Daphne that he needed to see Beverley, so Daphne told him she would take him up to the country. He had never been to the areas outside of Negril, and he wondered to himself whether or not it would be safe to go. But he felt he had to go, so they caught a taxi and headed for the country.

As they traveled past miles of cane fields and made their way up into the hills, he wondered, where he was going, and would he be safe. He did not see any white people and he wondered if something happened to him, how anyone would ever know. But most of all, he wondered if Beverley would be there and would she be happy to see him.

When they reached her yard, Daphne took him behind a rickety little house badly in need of repair. As he rounded the corner of the house, his heart started racing and he felt week in his knees. He was excited. He was nervous. He was a little bit afraid. But there she was, making some tea on a brand new stove, and when she turned around and recognized him, her face lit up with a beautiful smile, and she walked over to him and in disbelief, took his hand, and offered him a seat on the doorstep.

As he looked around the yard, he saw a way of life far removed from the pristine beach of Negril. How could anyone live in such a battered old house? A kitchen in the open air of the back yard. A 55-gallon drum to catch water funneled from off the roof. A little bucket of water behind a few pieces of zinc to serve as a shower. An extremely humbled feeling came over him as he sat on that doorstep, now surrounded by an endless stream of neighborhood children coming by to see just what this white man was up to.

And as he looked out past some Plantain trees, he saw an elderly man walking toward him from a garden. He was frail, and arthritic. His face showing the effects of years in the hot sun. Then, outright fear gripped him as he noticed this man walking towards him was carrying a machete.

He smiled at the man, but the man did not smile back and for an instance, it seemed as though his life flashed before his eyes as he remembered his thoughts in the taxi about being safe and disappearing with no one ever knowing. And, as the elderly man took a step passed him, he turned, smiled, and said, &quot;Forgive me. “That was not very nice to pass by you and not introduce myself.&quot; He introduced himself as Brother Wood, and said he Beverley’s father, and was very pleased to meet him.

In that same year, Scott made five trips to Jamaica to see Beverley. She told him she always dreamed of becoming a dressmaker so he bought her a sewing machine and she started taking classes. And she never returned to the beach to sell aloe and orange juice. Instead, she chose to stay in the country, learning to sew and sell a few dresses. And they would write each other letters weekly and he would send some money so she could take care of her father and her son. And sometimes she would call him from the payphone at the Town Square.

Then, in 1988, Hurricane Gilbert struck the island. As he watched the devastation on the news in the States, for twelve days he had no way of knowing if she had survived, or if her family was okay. So as soon as they cleared the airport he flew down to find her. But before he left, he scraped up all the money he could and bought a small diamond ring.

When he found her, he put the ring on her finger and her face lit up with a beautiful smile, and they hugged each other as tight as they could stand. That was in September of 1988. By March of 1989, they were married up in the country. And the goats wandered outside the church, and the cows were mooing during the ceremony, and the sun was shining. It was the happiest day of his life.

She arrived in Miami in April, became pregnant in May, and gave birth to his son the following February. It was another happiest day of his life. And with another son, along with her son, the five of them now make their home in the Florida Keys. Soon a time will come when they'll send their children off to college.

And on some land that they bought in Negril a few years back, which sits high atop a hill overlooking the beach of Negril, they plan to build a house. A house with a verandah, where they will sit and look out over the sea and the spot where they first met, enjoying each others presence, while the soft, soothing breeze flows over their face.
</div></div>

[applepie]

Re: Negril love story

very beautiful........so happy I read this.

[Marilyn]

Re: Negril love story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: A_J</div><div class="ubbcode-body">Sorry, but it sounds to me like a made-up fairy tale.
And you guys called *me* a storyteller! :-) </div></div>

Hi AJ

No a lot of us actually know this guy. IF you think the first part sounds like a fairytale, I don't dare put the updates on the kids he sent me, they have to sound like the all time perfect family of all times.

He can't log on because of this dang board, or he'd tell you himself.

[Marilyn]

Re: Negril love story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Bandanna</div><div class="ubbcode-body"><div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: Marilyn</div><div class="ubbcode-body">Just in case there is someone out there who has not read it, or someone who might just need a happy thought, here it is again.


Negril Story

For Beverley, 1974 is a year forever etched in her memory. From a love filled and joyous childhood growing up in rural Westmoreland, Jamaica, to the sudden traumatic experience of her mother dying in her arms from heat stroke. The rhythm of life changed dramatically for this little 10 year old girl. Her father, taking sick soon after her mother’s death, propelled the family into abject poverty. And as those childhood years began to pass, while her friends were out playing, she found herself caring for her sick father, washing and ironing clothes, cooking, sweeping and cleaning their tiny little house without electricity or water, which had now become more of a prison than a home.

And in those days, she often cried.

She cried because her father was unable to work and provide for them. As she would drink her morning tea, she cried out of hunger because sometimes that morning tea and some crackers would be her only food for days at a time. She cried because she only had one uniform to wear to school. She cried because sometimes she didn’t have a pair of shoes to wear and the kids would tease her. She cried because she could not understand how a life, like this, could be worth living.

But most of all, she cried because she wanted her mother.

Her father begged his little washbelly to keep her faith in the Lord Jesus; yet, she could not understand how the Lord could be so cruel to an innocent little girl. Though still, she obeyed her father. Holding ever so tightly to what little faith she could manage. As the tears would fall, she prayed and prayed that someday, somehow, a better life would find her.

By 1983, Scott had left college, and was pursuing what he loved most: Reggae music. Playing guitar in a band, backing up a singer from Kingston, he realized he was playing music from a country he had never been to, and he wanted to have a better understanding of Jamaican culture. So he bought a used guitar and amp to give away to any aspiring musician he might meet, and headed to Jamaica.

During the same time, very little changed for Beverley. In fact, things had only gotten worse. In December of that year, she gave birth to a baby boy, but the boy's father was unable to support them. She felt so disillusioned and alone.

Once again, she would cry.

By the spring of 1986, she was becoming desperate. Her father recovered his health enough to plant and tend some yam in their yard, but with a small child, life, for her, only seemed to be one struggle after another.

An older woman next door to her, named Daphne, had for years, traveled to Negril to sell orange juice and banana bread to the tourists on the beach. She asked Daphne if she could accompany her to the beach and after months of prodding, Daphne reluctantly agreed. So Beverley borrowed enough money to buy a sack of oranges, squeezed them into rum bottles, went to the bush, cut some aloe, and headed for Negril. By the end of her first week in Negril, Beverley had sold all her aloe and juice. She had more money that week than she had seen in an entire year. She bought a stove so she wouldn't have to cook over a wood fire anymore, a brand new outfit for her son and a radio for her father. She even bought herself a new pair of shoes.

The second week on the beach was a little slower as it was getting closer to Easter and &quot;season&quot; was coming to an end. On Wednesday morning of that week, as they waited to sell their goods, while seeking shade under a coconut tree, Daphne called out to a man walking up the beach. She said she recognized him from the previous year but couldn’t remember his name. He replied, &quot;Yes&quot;, he had been coming to Jamaica for three years and, “Yes”, he also remembered her from his last trip. He then reminded her that his name was Scott.

As Daphne went out to greet Scott, Beverley followed behind. Daphne introduced Beverley and as they met, she asked him if he would like to buy some orange juice. But he declined, saying he had already bought some, and proceeded to make his way up the beach. As he left, he added that if he saw her on his way back, perhaps he would help her out and buy a few things. As the afternoon ended, Daphne suggested to Beverley that they should head home for the day, as business had died and tomorrow would be another day. Beverley agreed.

At that same time, Beverley noticed Scott walking toward her on his return from up the beach. He smiled and said he wanted to be true to his word and would now buy some of her orange juice. And even though she had sold all that she had, they talked for a few minutes until it was time for her and Daphne to catch their bus back to the country.

As they left to catch their bus, he told her that if he should be up hers way tomorrow, he would stop again.

So it was, the next morning. He stopped and they talked for about an hour. The next day he spent a little more time, and by the week’s end he was bringing her mangoes, because she had told him that mango was her favorite fruit. And they would have lunch from the Fisherman's Club and sit underneath the coconut tree in the front of the vacant piece of land where now stands Negril Gardens. As the afternoon would pass, they would watch the fisherman in their tiny boats come onto shore with their fresh catch while the tourists played volleyball on the beach in front of the vacant lot next to Alfred’s. And she would eat a mango and peel him an orange, and they would talk… And talk.

They talked about life. They talked about culture. They talked about how different, yet how much they were alike.

But a lot of the time, they simply sat and looked out over the sea. Enjoying each others presence, while a soft, soothing, breeze flowed over their face.

At times she would suddenly get up and disappear into the bush and he wondered if he had said something to offend her, however, she would later explain that she had to hide from the police, for they could not catch her selling goods on the beach. And he would ask her if she would like to go out at night to a show, but she always made up an excuse. For at the time he did not understand that if she went out with him at night, people would talk because back then, only prostitutes would be out with a white man at night.

When it came time to leave the island, he asked her for her address so he could write, and she gave it to him. And as he said goodbye, he told her in five months he would be back in August for Sunsplash, though she feared that she would never hear from him again.

As he sat in the plane, waiting to take off, he stared out at the hills surrounding Montego Bay, and a million thoughts raced through his mind. He marveled how God reveals the most precious things in life which find you when you least expect them. And as the plane lifted off, he realized he needed to return to Jamaica as soon as possible.

Within a week he was back in Negril. Walking up the beach to look for her but she was nowhere to be found. And for three days he returned to the same spot under the coconut tree, where she would peel him oranges and eat mango, where the fisherman would bring their tiny boats to shore with their fresh catch, and where the tourists played volleyball, but still he would not find her.

On the fourth day, depressed and dejected, he thought about returning back to the States. Refusing to believe that fate was about to deal him a losing hand, he turned back to walk one last time past their magical spot. It was then that he spotted Daphne. She explained that because &quot;Season&quot; had ended, Beverley was not coming down from country anymore, but she had come down for one last time because she had some extra oranges.

Scott explained to Daphne that he needed to see Beverley, so Daphne told him she would take him up to the country. He had never been to the areas outside of Negril, and he wondered to himself whether or not it would be safe to go. But he felt he had to go, so they caught a taxi and headed for the country.

As they traveled past miles of cane fields and made their way up into the hills, he wondered, where he was going, and would he be safe. He did not see any white people and he wondered if something happened to him, how anyone would ever know. But most of all, he wondered if Beverley would be there and would she be happy to see him.

When they reached her yard, Daphne took him behind a rickety little house badly in need of repair. As he rounded the corner of the house, his heart started racing and he felt week in his knees. He was excited. He was nervous. He was a little bit afraid. But there she was, making some tea on a brand new stove, and when she turned around and recognized him, her face lit up with a beautiful smile, and she walked over to him and in disbelief, took his hand, and offered him a seat on the doorstep.

As he looked around the yard, he saw a way of life far removed from the pristine beach of Negril. How could anyone live in such a battered old house? A kitchen in the open air of the back yard. A 55-gallon drum to catch water funneled from off the roof. A little bucket of water behind a few pieces of zinc to serve as a shower. An extremely humbled feeling came over him as he sat on that doorstep, now surrounded by an endless stream of neighborhood children coming by to see just what this white man was up to.

And as he looked out past some Plantain trees, he saw an elderly man walking toward him from a garden. He was frail, and arthritic. His face showing the effects of years in the hot sun. Then, outright fear gripped him as he noticed this man walking towards him was carrying a machete.

He smiled at the man, but the man did not smile back and for an instance, it seemed as though his life flashed before his eyes as he remembered his thoughts in the taxi about being safe and disappearing with no one ever knowing. And, as the elderly man took a step passed him, he turned, smiled, and said, &quot;Forgive me. “That was not very nice to pass by you and not introduce myself.&quot; He introduced himself as Brother Wood, and said he Beverley’s father, and was very pleased to meet him.

In that same year, Scott made five trips to Jamaica to see Beverley. She told him she always dreamed of becoming a dressmaker so he bought her a sewing machine and she started taking classes. And she never returned to the beach to sell aloe and orange juice. Instead, she chose to stay in the country, learning to sew and sell a few dresses. And they would write each other letters weekly and he would send some money so she could take care of her father and her son. And sometimes she would call him from the payphone at the Town Square.

Then, in 1988, Hurricane Gilbert struck the island. As he watched the devastation on the news in the States, for twelve days he had no way of knowing if she had survived, or if her family was okay. So as soon as they cleared the airport he flew down to find her. But before he left, he scraped up all the money he could and bought a small diamond ring.

When he found her, he put the ring on her finger and her face lit up with a beautiful smile, and they hugged each other as tight as they could stand. That was in September of 1988. By March of 1989, they were married up in the country. And the goats wandered outside the church, and the cows were mooing during the ceremony, and the sun was shining. It was the happiest day of his life.

She arrived in Miami in April, became pregnant in May, and gave birth to his son the following February. It was another happiest day of his life. And with another son, along with her son, the five of them now make their home in the Florida Keys. Soon a time will come when they'll send their children off to college.

And on some land that they bought in Negril a few years back, which sits high atop a hill overlooking the beach of Negril, they plan to build a house. A house with a verandah, where they will sit and look out over the sea and the spot where they first met, enjoying each others presence, while the soft, soothing breeze flows over their face.
</div></div>


</div></div>
Dana is this your first time reading this?

[Marilyn]

Re: Negril love story

<div class="ubbcode-block"><div class="ubbcode-header">Originally Posted By: applepie</div><div class="ubbcode-body">very beautiful........so happy I read this. </div></div>Glad you enjoyed it Apple