Having a ball in Hector's River

It was a fine day to be out in Hector's River, Portland, and a rowdy group of would-be footballers was making the most of it. On a sandy patch of land near the sea, the group was far advanced in a game of football in which four coconuts served as goalposts and a pot-bellied middle-ager acted as referee. I was watching the goings-on from a nearby embankment, finding much amusement in the efforts of the chubby 'official'. An ill-directed kick by one of the taller players soon brought me into the action.

Plop! The ball landed about 30 feet from where I was standing, bouncing twice before settling in the midst of some bushes. That was the first time most of the players realised I had been standing there.

"Oy!" someone called out. "Kick dah ball deh!"

Now I have no aversion to assisting a band of seaside footballers, but the ball landed in the region of a formidable bush, and to retrieve it, I would surely be forced to take a scrape or two. I hesitated.

"Di ball! Kick back di ball!" someone else yelled.

I glanced at the ball again, then back at the players who were becoming increasingly impatient. A decision had to be made. Not wanting to anger the already riled-up players, I dived into the bushes, emancipated the ball and then kicked it triumphantly back to the makeshift field below. I gave myself a once-over and was relieved I had only a few minor scratches. Nothing to complain about.

I was, however, a bit let-down when the game resumed without as much as a thank-you wave. The referee had taken the opportunity to rest his legs and seemed to be dozing off as he laid on the sand. The game continued regardless.

Feeling unappreciated, I walked off, heading further up the road. It wasn't my first time in Hector's River, but I don't claim to know very much about the place. What I do know is that it offers tremendous views of the sea, is full of friendly people, and has lots of unused land. I wondered at that moment why the men were playing football on that tiny stretch when there was all this open space available.

CHATTING WITH BECKY

I noticed a man riding a bicycle on the opposite side of the road. He was heading my way. As he got closer, he gave a wave and nodded. I did the same and he lowered his feet, rubbing the soles of his shoes slightly on the ground, eventually bringing the bicycle to a halt. I walked over to him and introduced myself. Now that I was closer, I noticed he had a gold cap on one of his front teeth. He was about 60 years, by my guess, and was completely bald.

"Dem call me Becky," he said. I thought that was an odd name for a man and, apparently, he guessed what I was thinking. He quickly offered an explanation. "It short for Beckford."

I told Becky I was walking around Hector's River, taking in the sights and sounds. He asked me if I had gone down to the beach. I told him I hadn't but had got a good view of it.

"Yuh must go get a swim, man," he insisted. "Portland water nicer dan most. Like how yuh seh yuh ah gwaan look round, it woulda good if yuh hold a cool off inna di sea."

I told Becky that I would make plans to do so on my next visit. I asked him what life was like there.

"Wi love water," he said. "Everybody know seh Portland people love go sea, but right here into Hector's River, it more serious. If one week pass and wi nuh go sea and enjoy wi self ah must something wrong."

I suggested that that must be a fun way to live.

"Yeah man!" Becky exclaimed. "Dat's why mi tell yuh, just plan and come back wid yuh wife or girlfriend next time and come hold a swim. Nothing nuh nice like dat inna life. Come back come swim ah Hector's River. Nothing nuh nice like dat," he said.