Archive for the Poems Category


Posted in Articles, Arts, Black British Literature, Black History, Books, Community, Culture, Current Affairs, Education, History, Literature, News, Newsletter, Poem, Poems, Publications, Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 17, 2017 by

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Read the new Breaking Ground: Celebrating Writers of Colour booklet

SPEAKING VOLUMES has begun the next chapter of the Breaking Ground project with the launch of a new booklet celebrating writers of colour. We hope that the booklet will be a valuable resource both at home and overseas, demonstrating the wide and varied literature of the UK whilst raising the profile and giving a platform to 200 contemporary British BAME authors.

Read the brochure in full by clicking on the link below


Posted in Articles, Arts, Black British Literature, Black History, Books, Community, Culture, Current Affairs, Education, Fiction, History, Literature, Music, News, Newsletter, Poem, Poems, Publications, Reggae, Short Story, Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 22, 2016 by

300x300-512x512+55+47_11234323Norman Samuda Smith is a talented Author and former playwright. He is the first black British born novelist to be published in the UK, what an accolade to have under your belt. He has achieved so much and is so understated, but has done a plethora of work in which opened the doors through his writing of what it was like growing up as a black person in the UK.


In 2013, Norman self-published three of his books, Britannia’s Children, Freedom Street, and in celebration of its 30th Anniversary, his ground-breaking novel Bad Friday; which was first published in 1982 and republished in 1985. In a rare appearance, we at Sounds Beautiful Radio hosted a two part thoughtful and personal interview with him by our very own presenter ‘Westfield John’. It was a pleasure having Norman come into the studio for this interview. So sit back and listen to the full account of his surprising stories.

Listen to part 1 of the interview here…

Listen to part 2 of the interview here…







Posted in Articles, Arts, Black British Literature, Black History, Books, Community, Culture, Current Affairs, Education, Fiction, History, Literature, Music, News, Newsletter, Poem, Poems, Publications, Reggae, Short Story, Television, Theatre, Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 11, 2015 by

The aftermath of the German bombing blitz of Birmingham 1940


Former Son of Small Heath now Hollywood actor David Harewood travels back to his native Birmingham, UK to look at his city’s Blitz story. During the second world war, Birmingham’s factories were crucial to war production, and although the city was heavily bombed, much of the destruction was kept secret. David uncovers this story and talks to victims of the Blitz. He also goes up in a small plane to recreate the German bombing raids – from the sky he is able to see that the house where he grew up in on Oldknow Road in Small Heath, was sandwiched between two major targets. Watch the episode here…

Check out the article published November 2012 here on PANTHER NEWSLETTERTRIBUTE TO THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF SMALL HEATH here…


Posted in Articles, Arts, Black British Literature, Black History, Books, Community, Culture, Current Affairs, Education, Fiction, Literature, Music, News, Newsletter, Poem, Poems, Publications, Reggae, Short Story, Television, Theatre, Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 15, 2015 by








You can also view PANTHER NEWSLETTER @


This issue of PANTHER NEWSLETTER is dedicated to my Dad

Frederick William Smith


Sunrise: January 9 1924

Sunset: November 20 2014




In this relaunch issue of PANTHER NEWSLETTER we have our SPECIAL GUEST, Birmingham’s Treasure Tonya Joy Bolton, check out her engaging interview. My lifelong bredrin Beresford Callum returns with another fascinating FEATURED STORY highlighting his encounters with the paranormal and his book review in the FEATURED ARTICLE. We also have THE MUSICAL COA-COA BASKET, and everybody’s favourite, THE CULTURE CORNER.





me 23


Greetings and welcome to the relaunch issue of Panther Newsletter.

My Dad’s health hadn’t been at its best in recent years. I give thanks I was able to fly out to California and spend quality time with him during his brief recovery in the summer of 2014, together with my brothers, sisters and extended family. Although we knew it was a matter of time, nothing prepares you for the inevitable news when it arrives.

He passed away November 20 2014 aged 90 years young. We gave him a good send off and celebrated his remarkable life.

He is survived by his wife of 38 years Dorothy J Smith (The Director), his children, and a multitude of grandchildren and great grandchildren. He will be deeply missed by us all.

Dad – Our General – I know your love-light will continue to shine and guide us – them and those you loved the most.

‘Everyting  Bless…’



© 2014 Jermaine Samuda Smith


Dad with my children, Daniel, Shereen and Jermaine; Birmingham, UK 1998.

To Grandpa the general…

Even though you were far away, visions of you are so memorable. All of your letters, cards and phone calls. You never forgot us at all.

Thanks to you Grandpa, I know my roots and where I’m from; and because of the teachings you passed onto my Dad; I hear it every day from him in my ear-drums.

I work hard every day Grandpa like you did, trying to make ends meet. Me and my Dad sweating hard. I’m staying out of trouble and standing firm on my feet.

Work was hard at the start, I didn’t want to carry on; but how can I give up when I remember your words saying, you’re proud of what I’ve done.

All I know is I’m proud that I’m your Grandson.

You are my guiding star, the General, my champion!!

We love you Grandpa.

Rest in Peace.

From your England tribe.


*All rights reserved.  No part of this poem may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the writer Jermaine Samuda Smith.*



© 2014 Norman Samuda Smith


He showed me how to be a man. He’s helped me, advised me and guided me. Sometimes I haven’t agreed with him along the way. He’s strong and gentle too, and I strive to be like him every day…

I’m blessed to be his son, it was written from the start. He’s a supreme father, loving, kind and smart.

He’s not a chic dresser, but he’s trimmed and very neat; with his casually smart clothes, to the shoes he wears on his feet.

He doesn’t hang out at the pub, he doesn’t drive a flashy car; and when he takes a vacation, he doesn’t go too far.

He doesn’t dine on fine cuisine; to him: ‘Fast food nuh sweet,’ he always has rice on his plate, when it’s time for him to eat.

He has a humble house in California, which has all what he needs. He keeps his garden cut nice and short; he grows vegetables and fruits and he trims all the weeds.

He used to work long hours, to earn an average pay. Even when he was sick or tired, he turned up for work every day.

He worked as a mechanic, a builder, a variety of jobs. His pay just made ends meet; but the few good friends and family he has, makes his life complete.

He has never had much money, his life is not for show; but still he’s the richest man, I will ever know.

He’s not well-versed in poetry, the theatre or the arts; but he has wisdom, knowledge and overstanding of life, something that he constantly imparts.

He loves the simple things in life, for riches he doesn’t thirst, cos he knows what’s important, he puts his family first.

The wealth that God has given him, to treasure in his life; loving sons, daughters, grandchildren and great grandchildren, and a very special wife.

To many he’s just a simple man, but he’s the greatest man I know. A man of great dignity, honour, strength and pride; he’s my Dad, my mentor, my hero.

Bless up Dad!  –  Rest in Peace…


“Nuff Said…”


*All rights reserved.  No part of this poem may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the writer Norman Samuda Smith.*





by Grace Patricia Pinnock


a sense of belonging

I was recently in touch with an old schoolmate of mine. We were pupils of Washwood Heath Comprehensive School, Birmingham, UK from 1973 to 1975. Grace Patricia Pinnock now resides in Spanish Town after migrating from England to Jamaica, her parents’ homeland in 1991 and found it to be a place which she can truly call home.

Her book, A Sense of Belonging, published by Arawak Publications, Kingston Jamaica (2012), is her personal account of being British born of Jamaican descent.

Grace tells of her ‘Jamaican’ childhood in England, her discontent with the subtle forms of racism in the British education system, the search for her identity, her wrestles with the decision to move from England to Jamaica, and of the challenges she faced to begin her new life in Jamaica with its traditions and culture that she was raised to honour and respect.

It also gives some insight into why one British born Jamaican identifies with the island of Jamaica and questions whether the British born person of Jamaican or other West Indian descent will ever be truly accepted as Black and British in the UK.

You can get your copy of

A Sense of Belonging here…

Check out Grace’s blog too @



Winter has stepped away, Spring is here. We all look forward to Summer Time when we pray for the sun to shine and everyone has continuous smiles on their faces. To get y’all into the summer time mood, here’s a tune my brother and my son threw down during a jam session in the recording studio; their version of SUMMER TIME: listen up and watch it here…



Posted in Articles, Arts, Black British Literature, Black History, Books, Community, Culture, Current Affairs, Education, Fiction, Health, Literature, Music, News, Newsletter, Poem, Poems, Publications, Reggae, Short Story, Television, Theatre, Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 15, 2015 by

“My work gives me profound insight into the challenges faced by marginalised groups. I’m really passionate about exploring hard-hitting subjects and engaging people through the arts and changing lives…”

She’s been described as multifaceted and multi-talented; a writer, performer, producer and Empowerment Specialist, born and bred in Birmingham, UK who’s been writing from an early age. Published in numerous anthologies and academic journals, she’s performed extensively throughout the Midlands and internationally. The founder of the not for profit organisation ICU Transformational Arts; you can add business woman and entrepreneur to her many accolades.

The SPECIAL GUEST in PANTHER NEWSLETTER  this issue is Birmingham’s Treasure…




I recently hooked up with Tonya to talk about her and her work. Check out her engaging interview with me here…


Posted in Articles, Arts, Black British Literature, Black History, Books, Community, Culture, Current Affairs, Education, Fiction, Literature, Music, News, Newsletter, Poem, Poems, Publications, Reggae, Short Story, Television, Theatre, Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 15, 2015 by


© 2015 Beresford Callum

While my primary objective in writing this story is to relay an experience with the paranormal, I also wish to provide a slither of information regarding adversities encountered by rural students during early to late 1970s in order to attend a traditional High (Grammar) School education. Hence, sometimes the background to a story is more meaningful than the story itself. This is my exact sentiment regarding this story. Leton, Brenda, Everald, Clive, Audrey, Daphne, Laxton, Audrey F, Clifton, Leighton and Sideone I write this for us.

For readers to fully appreciate my experience that Thursday night, I find it necessary to first outline the circumstances (High School) which lead to me being in Hog Land Street after dark (between 9:30-10:00 PM every week day night) and secondly, the recent history behind this famed locale.

Hog Land Street

It was pre-1980 Jamaica, before the rural electrification programs of the late 1970s, before the restructuring of the island banana industry in the early 1980s, before the decline of the citrus orchards in the Cave River Valley and most relevant to this story, an era when rural transportation was very poor. The Verma-hollis Savanna on which my village – Aenon Town is located, was considered one of the most fruitful districts in North-Eastern Clarendon or South–Western St. Anne. Fruitful was a euphemism for very rural, highly cultivated and thickly bushed and pitch black after twilight. I lived in a sub-section, off Aenon Town’s main thorough fair, called Hogland. Adequately named by my distant relatives (freed slaves) who brought the tract many! many!! years ago, after selling a pig.

The banana trees on either side of the parochial motorable leading to Hogland were enormous. From the ground where they were rooted to the top of their heart leaves they towered almost 20 feet. As the leaves on both sides matured and curved downwards, in many places they formed a semi-canopy 12 – 15 feet above the 10 feet wide road. This semi-canopy covered the street for roughly 200 meters before it broke.

The canopy broke for approximately 150 meters between the Sutherland’s shack and Clarence Richards’ cottage. My mothers’ house was roughly mid-way between the Sutherland’s shack and the Richards’ cottage. Between my mothers’ house and the Sutherlands’ was what had become a legendary ‘duppy yard’. Beyond Mr. Richards was no man’s land – bush, open meadow and lands previously a part of the Penrhyn sugar plantation and cattle estate. Bez 1

20 meters from the Sutherland’s towards my mothers’ house was the Reverend Bridges’ house. At the corner of the Bridges lot there was a large mango tree and a footpath running perpendicular to Hoglands’ Street. It leads to the houses of the Earthnuts and the Flamingoes. Roughly 10 meters beyond the Reverend’s house 50 meters from my mothers’ house in a natural depression was the sub-divisions’ public standing pipe where all the families collected water.

No house in Hogland had indoor plumbing or its own water supply. Drums were either filled via guttering when it rained or through 5 gallon buckets filled at this community pipe and carried home. I can remember our house having two 80 gallon drums which I would fill up on Sunday mornings. Depending upon the amount of water remaining in them, I would have to carry anywhere between 16 and 32 buckets. Most members of the community skilled at balancing and carrying these buckets on their head but I could never do it. I swung my bucket from one hand to another every trip.

I was a long way from Small Heath now! A few months ago all I had to worry about were skinheads, Hells Angels, stealing apples and breaking into the ice cream van that was parked on Hugh Road. That was a walk in the park. This was the wild frontier, Hogland was famous for four things; gambling, vulgarity, family feuds and hauntings. My mothers’ house was built in the middle of the family grave yard. ‘Always wanting to be by my people’, she considered the site most appropriate.  I was 15 years old and relatively new to the community. My living situation was further compounded by the fact that there had been at least three horrible Ghost (duppy) assaults within the past four years. There was the destruction of the Richards family, a deadly phantom bull incident and the bombardment of the house next door to mom’s (‘the duppy yard’).

Exactly what precipitated the attack on the Richards’ is unclear. I was not a witness to the event but I heard the family’s lamenting just before daybreak that Sunday morning. Based upon the eye witness accounts of a handful of men gambling in the street that night it was as a Tornado. In a blitz attack, a duppy swept through the common-law couple’s two room cottage, creating havoc. Furniture demolished, windows and china broken. When the dust finally settled, two of the children had died and their father, a well-known coach driver, would never fully recover. Mud Root as he was popularly known, had been slapped by the duppy in the face so hard, his neck and his left cheek remained irrecoverably distorted for the next 10 years of his life.

The phantom bull incident occurred a few years prior to that of the Richards family. A mother (Ms. Flamingo) and her 11 year old daughter (both residents of Hog Land) coming from shopping at the local fresh market were attacked in broad daylight by a phantom bull. In an attempt to escape the furious ‘Bull’, the child tore from her mothers’ grip, jumping into a nearby creek. It was during the regions rainy season. Seasonal streams, brooks and rivers were at their peak. Despite the mothers numerous attempts, her innocent child never resurfaced until two days later. Was it an enigma? There was no bovine on the meadow that day!

Bez 2

Despite the destruction and death, neither the phantom bull nor the Richards family incident (both stories which, I will put to pen in detail at a more opportune time) made the newspapers or the local news. As I mentioned before it was a pre-dawn blitz attack, carried out with military precision. The demon was there one minute and gone the other.

Possibly the most spectacular duppy attack in Central Jamaica (the parishes of Clarendon, St. Anne, Manchester and Trelawny) was about 18 months before – the early 1973 bombardment of the Gold Tooth’s’ house. Our family had just moved back to Jamaica from Birmingham (England). Our house was in the process of being built on land that had been in the family since the emancipation in Jamaica. The Tooth’s were our neighbors before my parents migrated to England in the late 1950’s. I didn’t witness the event, as we were staying with family friends in Kingston. Based upon eye witness accounts, it was a five day event. Almost a Biblical as the plagues of Egypt – the ghosts began with hot boulders, then followed with ants and flies. My Readers!!! Hogland Street made the national News. It was as a once in a lifetime event, thousands of curious spectators came from miles by the bus and truck loads to witness the unbelievable. I will save you readers the gory details for another time.

I should get back to my original story. You are probably wondering what circumstances had a 15 year old out so late in the boon docks on a school night? High School!!

High School

High school was almost a luxury; and as with all luxury items, it came at a high price.  Giving children an opportunity to acquire a high (grammar) school education came at a high price to the parents. Attesting to how fortunate one was to be selected for high school was the fact that spread out over 7 miles in my village only 12 (Leton, Brenda, Everald, Clive, Audrey I, Daphne, Laxton, Audrey F, Clifton, Leighton, Sideone and Myself ) of probably 180 kids of high school age attended.

A child going to high school siphoned a larger percentage of the family’s funds. Other siblings often felt cheated having to do more of the house chores and at the same time sacrificing their share of whatever the family finances was supposed to buy. High School students may have been fortunate but they paid an equally high price. The transportation system was very poor. Traditional high schools were few and normally distances away from homes. Transportation generally limited; one bus out early in the morning and one bus back home late at night, high school students only saw their home, parent and rest of the family by the light of day on weekends. Both child and the rest of the family paid dearly. Over the course of 3 – 5 years High School students became strangers in their own homes. Siblings gradually grow indifferent to each other, even enemies. As immediate families became estranged, those with whom they regularly rode the bus became surrogates. So it was between Sidone and me.

Sideone was an Ennis and my senior. She also lived on Hogland Street. Negroid and Indian mix (what is referred to in Jamaica as Coolie Royale), she possessed a rare beauty and an air of confidence which came from her not being oblivious to her assets. I was often dumbstruck when we walked the 200 plus meters of street common to us, at night.

This was especially true for students living in Dry Harbor Mountain villages, for only one bus (Metro) went through Frankfield, where the nearest High School was located.

Beginning in a higher mountain village (Troy) at a ridiculous hour every morning, Metro skirted the hills passing through Aenon Town where I got on at 6:00 AM. Passing Aenon Town the bus navigated the cockpits’ isolated hills and valleys to the lowland petit metropolis of Frankfield. Frankfield was the first point on the busses route where public transportation became readily available. Leaving Frankfield Metro would continue letting off passengers until it got to the fishing town of Rock River. Students were picked up at roughly 7:00 PM. This however was the drivers return journey, fatigued he would drive slower, there were more frequent stops and more time spent socializing. Metro never got to AT before nine o’clock in the evenings. Hence, students that travelled the Troy Metro were not only accustomed to arriving at school late, but also getting home late and walking the last 5–30 minutes home in total darkness.

Shared experiences such as being bitten by the fangs of hunger, raiding citrus orchards, the disappointment of a bus not turning up in the evening countless times and the pains of having to walk home bonded us. I would do my past travelling companions (drivers, conductors, higglers and regular) great injustice if I didn’t say it was very much a family affair for us. Dry Harbor Mountain community members, operators’ of the Troy to Rock River Metro all had as much invested in our high school education as immediate family members. If for some reason a student was not at the bus stop on a school day, knowing Metro was the only bus out, the bus was parked, and the driver blew the air horn making a horrendous noise disturbing all who still slept at that hour. Simultaneously, regular travelers enquired regarding his welfare. Why no school today? Many times I overslept. Awakened by the horn I would throw my bag over my shoulder, holding my shirt, shoes and socks in my hand run get dressed on the bus, so as not to delay other passengers too badly. At night if students were hungry they were fed by higglers either going or coming from market. 

The Duppy

It was sometime during the 1975 – 1976 academic year. As usual the Troy to Rock River Metro dropped the Aenon Town kids off Late. Late was relative. It was probably a few minutes after ten o’clock. In rural 1970s Jamaica, all except die hard gamblers and those of dubious reputations would be in bed. It was a full moon. I can remember vividly, walking through the Street one could not help appreciating the tranquility, how the marled (crushed Limestone) street glowed or the silvery hues covering the vegetation as the different leaves reflected the light of the moon. Absolutely beautiful!!!

We were totally relaxed and I was somewhat happy with myself that night.  After two years of doubt, low self esteem and pride I had managed to strike up a semi-intimate conversation with Siddone’. Roughly 20 meters from the South’s was a large mango tree, here every mans’ heart throb turned right unto a foot- path that lead only to two houses – hers ( the Earthnuts’ and their neighbor the Flamingoes’. She would be home before I got to the community stand-pipe.

As I took a few steps beyond the mango tree I noticed a male looking figure bent over the faucet. He was of average height and built, dressed in light colored clothing. It seemed as if he was drinking water. I advanced counting the possibilities as to who it was. My curiosity was largely born from being happy to see someone else in a normally lonely section of my journey. At about 5 meters the person assumed an upright gait faced me directly. I had a good hold on the physique and facial features of an individual in the community but this face was indistinguishable. Figuring it was a stranger, I still considered it a pleasant surprise. His next move left my heart pounding and my every muscle paralyzed. In a single step, my figure of average height moved from the stand-pipe fixed on the embankment to my left over the width of Hogland Street into the fields on my right.

It only took a millisecond for the adrenaline to kick in but then it seemed forever. I ran the final 40 yards to my house in hysterics crying Haa!! Haaa!!! Haaaa!!!! And yelling for my mother – MOMMAH! MOMMAAH!! MOMMAAAH!!!

The aforementioned already had me running very fast. Senses heightened about half way into my 40 yard run, I heard Sideone scream and then something rustling through the bushes. She was roughly 30 yards to my right and directly in what I projected to be the ghost’s path. Chivalry was out the window. It was everyman for himself. Involuntarily my body gathered an extra burst of adrenaline, my feet went into overdrive and don’t think the road runner could have caught me.

Bez 3

The Aftermath

Bonded through adversity, intimacy out of the question, Siddone and I continued to accompany each other through Hogland Street for another two years. We never spoke of that night until the summer of 1994. How we laughed!!  She hadn’t seen a thing, she screamed because of my hysterics. The rattle through the bushes was her book being hurled so as not to hinder her quick retreat from whatever had scared me. The bag coming in my direction was a fluke. That was the last time we spoke. She was called for higher services a few months later. May she rest in peace.

I did not discover the identity of my ghost or the location of his grave until roughly 32 years later in 2008 after relaying my experience to the 92 year old matriarch of the Flamingo family (Mother Glover). Mockingly she laughed and said “I remember hearing you that night!! Also Ms. Earthnut (Sidones’ mother) and I talked about it the morning after!! It was nobody but that Mass Eleck. He had always been a wicked and barefaced old man. He is buried in the Lesley family plot over there”.

For the purposes of this story I placed two of my friends in the relative positions of what I considered to be Mass Elecks’ step on the night of our encounter. The first (white shirt) marks the position of the old stand pipe. The other (red, black and yellow shirt) marks the limit of his stride. That stride was approximately 21 feet in length give or take a foot.


*All rights reserved.  No part of this story may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the writer Beresford Callum.*



Posted in Articles, Arts, Black British Literature, Black History, Books, Community, Culture, Current Affairs, Education, Fiction, Literature, Music, News, Newsletter, Poem, Poems, Publications, Reggae, Short Story, Television, Theatre, Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 15, 2015 by


“One good thing about music, when it hits; you feel no pain.”

Bob Marley (1945 – 1981)

Music has always played an important role in all our lives, especially Reggae, the music genre first developed in Jamaica, strongly influenced by traditional African, American jazz and old-time rhythm and blues. Reggae owes its direct origins to the progressive development of Ska and Rocksteady in 1960s Jamaica. THE MUSICAL COA-COA BASKET salutes the legendary artists and recording studios from out of Jamaica who have placed reggae on the musical global map.





(The Voice of  Thunder)

Prince Fari

Prince Fari – 1944 – 1983

The 1970s is the decade recalled as the golden age of roots reggae, primarily due to the fact that during these years many legendary artists came to prominence. Amongst those singers, DJs, vocal groups, musicians and producers perhaps the best-loved by the UK audience was the man known as Prince Far I – not so much a DJ in the classic style, but more a chanter of words. Watch and listen up here…



alton Ellis

1938 – 2008


Alton Nehemiah Ellis, better known as simply Alton Ellis to all reggae connoisseurs, was born on September 1, 1938, in the Trenchtown area of Kingston, Jamaica;  an area of Jamaica that was home to other leading musicians, including Bob Marley, Bunny Wailer and Peter Tosh. He was a prominent singer, songwriter, producer and concert promoter, referred to by many as the “Godfather of Rocksteady,” an R&B American-styled Jamaican music genre.

Ellis excelled at both sports and music at the Boys’ Town school, and made a habit of breaking into the school after hours to teach himself to play the piano. He and his younger sister, Hortense, started out like many other Jamaican performers, by competing on well-known talent shows like Vere John’s Opportunity Hour.

The 1959 R&B song “Muriel,” which Ellis recorded as part of the duo Alton & Eddie and with producer Clement “Coxsone” Dodd, topped the Jamaican charts. Ellis was working as a construction worker at the time. Due to the success of “Muriel,” he became a constant presence on Jamaica’s music charts throughout the 1960s and early 1970s.

Many of Ellis’s follow-up tracks became instant classics, including the love songs “I’m Just A Guy,” “Girl I’ve Got A Date” and “Get Ready Rock Steady,” which started a dance craze in 1966 and became Ellis’s signature tune. “Rocksteady” produced songs of love and longing, and blazed a trail in a Jamaica dominated by hard-edged, horn-driven ska music and its spiritual, rebellious cousin, Reggae. Ellis also used his distinctive tenor to infuse new life into cover versions of hits like Johnny Taylor’s “Ain’t That Loving You” and the Delfonics’ “La La (Means I Love You).”

Ellis spent several months living in the United States and three years in Canada, finally moving to the United Kingdom in 1973, where he continued to record. In 1970, he was inducted into the Hall of Fame at the International Reggae and World Music Awards. In 1994, he received the Order of Distinction from the Jamaican government, in recognition of his contribution to the island’s popular culture.

Ellis died of multiple myeloma, a form of bone cancer, on October 11, 2008, in London. He was 70 years old at the time, and was given a state funeral in honor of the legacy he left to Jamaican music. He was survived by several children and many grandchildren.


Source: © 2015



(Click on each track to listen)

Muriel – Alton and Eddie

I’m Just A Guy – Alton Ellis

Girl I’ve Got A Date – Alton Ellis

Get Ready Rock Steady – Alton Ellis

Ain’t That Loving You – Alton Ellis

Breaking Up – Alton Ellis

La La Means I Love You – Alton Ellis

It’s True – Alton Ellis

Black Man’s Pride – Alton Ellis

Sitting In The Park – Alton Ellis

Willow Tree – Alton Ellis

I’m Still in Love with You (Girl) – Alton Ellis (featuring Hortense Ellis)

It’s A Shame – Alton Ellis

Reason In the Sky – Alton Ellis

Too Late – Alton Ellis (featuring the late Augustus Pablo)



Hortense Ellis



Hortense Ellis, younger sister of the “Godfather of Rock Steady” Alton Ellis, a  singer who was regarded as Jamaica’s first locally based female singing star.

Hortense Mahalia Ellis was born in Trench Town area of Kingston, Jamaica, on April 18, 1941; to a railway worker and a housewife who sold fruit at the market. One of seven children, Ellis began performing in local talent shows at an early age. In 1959, at age 18, she made a splash with her version of Frankie Lyman’s hit, “I’m Not Saying No At All,” winning a prize in the process. She recorded several duets with her brother, Alton Ellis, who became a superstar in Jamaican music and worked with several important producers including Ken Lack, Arthur “Duke” Reid, Clement “Coxsone” Dodd and Lee “Scratch” Perry, but raising her children took precedence over her career.

By 1962, Ellis was touring the Bahamas and Trinidad with producer Byron Lee and his band, the Dragonaires. They became quite popular at local Caribbean holiday shows, including “Christmas Mornings,” “Easter Spectacular” and a New Year’s show. She was awarded the Silver Cup as “Jamaica’s Best Female Vocalist” in 1964, an award she won again five years later.

Inspired by Alton’s success, Dodd paired the brother and sister for several duets that became classics, such as “Breaking Up Is Hard To Do.” Dodd also produced several “female” versions of Alton’s hits for Hortense to record.

In 1971, Ellis married Mikey “Junior” Saunders and worked on new recordings under the name Mahalia Saunders. She had five children in rapid succession, and her priority began to shift from her career to raising her family. While touring was a challenge, she continued to record periodically, working with producer Gussie Clark in the late 1970s on one of her biggest hits, “Unexpected Places.”

After divorcing Saunders and living in Miami in the 1980s, Ellis returned to her beloved Jamaica, where she was diagnosed with throat cancer. She died of stomach complications on October 18, 2000, in Kingston, Jamaica, and was survived by eight children.

Hortense Ellis was a singer who always sought to put her total energy into her performances.


Source: © 2015



(Click on each track to listen)

I Am In Love – Hortense Ellis

With All My Heart – Hortense Ellis

Everybody Needs Love – Hortense Ellis

Can I Change My Mind – Hortense Ellis

Hell And Sorrow – Hortense Ellis

I’m Just A Girl – Hortense Ellis

Mark My Words – Hortense Ellis

Melody Life – Hortense Ellis

Sectretly – Hortense Ellis

I Shall Sing – Hortense Ellis

I’m Still In Love With You (Boy) – Hortense Ellis

If You Knew – Hortense Ellis

Unexpected Places – Hortense Ellis

Jah Creation – Hortense Ellis





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