Books by Beverley Clarkson

This is the second book in a trilogy about my family. The memoir is based on my mother's journal, which she wrote when I was a child. I have vivid memories of her reading to me about an abandoned little girl, not wanted by her own mother, her cruel aunt, nor years later her husband. My mother was that little girl and she spent a lifetime trying to reconcile the many shortcomings in her life. Throughout the book, my memories intertwine with her writings creating a tapestry of emotions and life experiences.In the 1920s, my mother, Daphne, experienced the cruelty of poverty, forced to wear gunny sacks as dressings, no shoes and the emotional scars of not being wanted as a child in Jamaica, British West Indies. She arrived in Indianapolis, Indiana, in the harsh winter of 1950 to a rebuke from her Jamaican husband, angry with her for not leaving their three children with his parents on the island and joining him in America years before. It took him five years to meet immigration standards and to save money for airplane fares. Daphne was thrust into a new life with challenges of finding work, observing Jim Crow laws of this city with institutional racism, defending her offspring from their father, and finding meaningful experiences for her children in this new country, where three more children were born.The book takes the reader through a full circle of life-supporting death while grasping the legacy of reading, writing, listening, and love. Gifts were given freely and rightfully! Love wasn't given to Daphne as a child, but my mother shared, willingly, her love in abundance, enriching the lives of her children, family, and friends. My mother deserved all that was good and "Rightfully Hers," in life.

Three generations of women born from the same ancestral line; yet separated by vastly different and inequitable life experiences. Beverley, the youngest, was raised in the U.S. during the late 40's and 50's in a relatively stable middle-class home. She never knew abandonment or isolation. She never knew the scratchy feeling of itchy burlap next to her skin, or the callous, stone-like crusting beneath her feet from not having shoes; her mother Daphne, on the other hand, experienced this and more.Daphne grew up during the 20's and 30's in Kingston, Jamaica and knew poverty and anger well. Abandoned by her mother Phyllis, she was robbed of her childhood. Her earliest memories were filled with images of her Aunt screaming at her for being a burden. As a child, she worked for her keep by doing all of the domestic chores in the house while taking care of her Aunt's children. Throughout Daphne's life, Phyllis refused to acknowledge the pain and tragedy of her daughter's childhood; never once telling her that she loved her. However, she did let Daphne know, "Girl children ain't nothing but shit!"In stark contrast, Phyllis grew up at the turn of the 20th century in Jamaica, BWI. She attended the best boarding schools, rode in the finest horse carriages, grew up with house servants and ate meals served on bone china prepared by the family's cook. The socio-economic contrast of their lives was startling but fell second to Phyllis' failure to love her child.Over the years, the responsibility fell upon Beverley to help her grandmother and support her mother through a lifetime of emotional omissions. Ironically, it was Phyllis whose life would come full circle. After a generation of her abandonment and neglect of her child, Phyllis ultimately needed the help and support of both her daughter and granddaughter. The work is poignant and emotionally telling with graphic visualizations of life's crushing blows.