“I was born in the Blue Mountains of Jamaica, halfway up the John Crow Mountain, somewhere between Fellowship and Coopers Hill in a small village of some three hundred people called Brookdale in the parish of Portland.

Quite why it was called Brookdale was always an ironic mystery to me, as I never found a brook, not a proper brook anyway, and as for the dale, that had disappeared along with the brook, I suppose, a long, long time ago.

The local name for our village was also ironic. It was called Hambrooks and, being a village of Seventh Day Adventists who saw pork as unclean meat, calling the village Hambrooks was interesting.

We grew up as God-fearing Christians who trusted God in every part of our lives. He – yes, it was HE – looked after us through the week, kept us away from the devil and brought us all to Church on Saturdays, where we worshipped him all day.”

So begins “Walking In The Shadows Of Death”, my personal journey through chronic illness.

Walking In The Shadows Of Death

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