Ursula Raymond: A librarian ahead of her time

Poet, playwright and former librarian EINTOU SPRINGER recalls her colleague, friend and mentor Ursula Raymond, who died in October 2019

I was the omniscient 19-year-old; cleverer by far than the senior librarian in charge of the very tiny room which housed the West Indian Collection.

In the late sixties, inspired by the continuing fervour of the independence movement, as well as the scholarship and charisma of Eric Williams, the people came.

Ordinary people, armed with the notes they had taken from the political and historical education in Woodford Square. They wanted to read for themselves, to know, what “the Doc” was talking about.

I was banished to the tiny airless room, because, I was told, I lacked “desk presence.” Black skin and natural hair and the absence of linen suits would not do to serve the elite clientele from St Ann’s and Maraval in those pre-1970 days.

The profession at that time was definitely a browning one. The building was 20 Queen’s Park East. Ursula Raymond presided over the tiny airless room.

I had been properly prepared for a love affair with Caribbean literature by attending the best secondary school in the entire world, St George’s College. Gloria Valere, Slade Hopkinson and Aubrey Garcia had made sure of that.

So, secure in my superior cleverness, I was sure that Miss Raymond was unaware that I was taking the books home, without permission, reading them, absorbing the contents and returning them surreptitiously. Then came the inevitable day of reckoning. Miss Raymond was invited to appear on a new TTT programme, Issues and Ideas, to discuss Caribbean literature, and the work of the unit. She never even looked at me; but, in the most formal of tones, instructed me, that since I had been reading the material in the collection so avidly, I was to be entrusted with the responsibility to speak to the unit and its contents on TV.

“You will go on Issues and Ideas,” she ordered, in a voice that brooked no discussion.

I went. My knees shook. It was my first time on television.

My “banishment” was to become a significant point in the shaping of my life’s work.

After that, she shared a lot with me. At Christmas time, I could hear her singing parang. Her favourite was Coro, Coro, Coro.

She shared her survival secrets of being a single mother, and ignored, though well aware of her colleagues smirking at her having children out of wedlock. She would say to me, “Child, if you have apple to eat every day, what would be special about Christmas, eh?”

Her mentorship of me was just symptomatic of her caring and concern for young people. Our society is full of unsung heroes, who create, produce and most importantly, mentor. In time, I would be in charge of the West Indian Reference Library in Belmont. In that space, with her encouragement, support and mentorship, I was able to make that space a formidable centre of cultural and literary activity. We promoted the traditional Carnival arts, brought stickfighters up from Point Fortin, hosted from Lord Pretender to Auntie Beryl and yes, even Kwame Ture, before the disgraceful ban was officially lifted.

The library at Piggotts Corner was everything Ursula and I dreamed and hoped a heritage library would be. By that time she was deputy director of Library Services. When Ursula retired, Angela Bernard, as deputy, continued the support.

Eventually, the West Indian Reference Library, morphed into the National Heritage Library, with the integration of the library services that preceded the establishment of Nalis. For a while we occupied the public library building before moving into the Nalis building, a process gestated and eventually birthed by Pamella Benson, Lynette Comissiong and myself.

The Heritage Collection at Belmont was merged with the Public Library Heritage Collection. That now seemingly abandoned building was the first custom-built library building in Caribbean. Shame!

Ursula must be shaking that wise and visioneering head of hers because the Heritage Library floor of Nalis has been inaccessible for use for about two years now; because Caribbeana is not regarded as a specialisation; because there is no ongoing training in Caribbeana.

Staff do their best, but Google is inadequate to answer questions as to our history and culture...and they do not read the books. There is also an absence of mentorship.

Ursula lived her Caribbean culture, outside of her involvement with the books, the scholarship. She espoused an ideology of Caribbean-ness. She had worked for a while at the Institute of Jamaica. She also worked at the UWI St Augustine library and the Carnegie Library in San Fernando. She played the guitar pan; she was part of the Jamaica National Dance Theatre Company when she lived and worked there. Her regional heroes were Bolivar, Garvey and Castro. She, therefore, understood my involvement in 1970. She had a clear vision of the role that national literature should play in representing our people to ourselves; and, in so doing, promote self-pride, self-analysis, introspection, and the possibility of transformation.

As we rightfully restore our historic buildings, the National Heritage Library division of Nalis is starved of funds to buy the books and periodicals that tell our story; that celebrate our republic, our region.

Our Library Association is seemingly moribund and unable to do the advocacy that is necessary.

I want to apologise to Ursula and tell her it is my pain as well that, as a society, we do not seem to value and recognise the possibilities in our national literature, in which I include our kaiso.

Ursula had such a presence! Such a spirit! Such charisma! She lit up every room she entered. She had a great command of the English language and a wit that could sometimes be biting.

As a fledgling, young poet, I offered these words to you Ursula with love and thanks. As we mourn your passing, for you were not “in the celebration of life foolishness,” I reproduce them here. Rest well in the arms of the Saviour you loved and served.

Kaleidoscope

for Ursula Raymond

In fevered rush to share, I thrust with force a flood of words at closed unwilling minds; with joy watch them yield slowly – hesitantly – then with warm rush of response, sweetened by unaccustomed pleasures, come back for more and more.

Insatiable now unfulfilled now by offerings serving but to tease.

Awesome power gives shape to minds; staunches thirst with words that baulk the parched winds of ignorance.

Fearsome – the weight to serve – parallel the moving machine’s might by centred heritage give my people light – ignite sparks for imaginings; stab with conscious kaleidoscope all darkness.