John Marques

Known to many as “Uncle Reggie” John Reginald Marques was a go-getter, a man of can-do spirit, a bit of a Renaissance man and a maverick with an unpredictable bent.  Few can forget seeing him riding around the village, ladder or gutters balanced on one arm as he steadied and navigated his bicycle with the other free arm;  or moved around on roofs, fixing gutters without the benefit of any safety equipment, or pitching in on the construction of family members’  homes.  Everyone in the village knew where Uncle Reggie lived and they came to seek help with their water pipes, gutters or carpentry needs.

He was a man of many moods, skills and many interests.  He always gave a sympathetic ear to those who needed to be heard, and was willing to lend a helpful hand.  He did not suffer fools gladly, however, and anyone who fell afoul of him was likely to be treated to an alternative vocabulary of adjectives and nouns.

When he was not on his full-time job with the Department of Water Works, guttersmithing/plumbing or doing carpentry on the side, he was tinkering with tools or appliances he was inventing or developing. Many may remember the time lunch was being prepared in his invented pressure cooker and ended up on the ceiling because the top blew off. Thankfully, no one was injured, but the pressure cooker affair didn’t slow his zeal for inventions.

He liked to read, and in his spare time he could be seen pedaling down to the Georgetown library, his home away from home. He read voraciously, borrowing the maximum number of books allowed at one time. His interests were wide-ranging and his reading lists allowed him to discuss diverse topics and converse knowledgeably about distant parts of the world as though he was a World Ambassador.  As young children we were convinced that some of the animals of his story-telling were figments of his imagination.  As we grew older and wiser, we realized that he was more knowledgeable than we imagined.

Then there was his mandolin.  He seemed to love it more than anything else as no-one was allowed to touch it.  He was not a serious or accomplished player; he simply strummed and serenaded his lady love, Erna, whenever the mood hit him, and if he had imbibed in some spirits, he would belt out operatic tunes until he tired himself out.

Reggie was attentive to the needs of his immediate and extended family, especially his sister Lucy who assisted in his upbringing after the death of their mother. Christmas was his favorite time of year; it would not be Christmas in the Marques home without the pungent smell of “garlic pork” wafting through the house on Christmas morning.  That time of year Reggie readily put away his mandolin and would instead man an empty bottle and a spoon to keep the time and rhythm of the well-known holiday drinking song --- aaahh, something about drinking … and rum … on a Christmas morning . You know which one I mean.

Easter got no less of his attention. Reggie would make kites and on Easter Monday, he would lead us in the exodus of parents and children heading to the sea wall to fly our kites. We stayed until we were tired, or the ginger beer and cake ran out.

Reggie reluctantly migrated to the USA in 1982 and enjoyed his golden years among his growing family of grandchildren and great-grandchildren, watching movies, singing operettas, regaling everyone with stories of the old days, and keeping in touch with a dwindling circle of friends. He was in full control of his faculties to the end and never lost his thirst for knowledge or appreciation of the nuances of life.

Some time ago, while discussing the merits of the Bible story of Methuselah, who supposedly lived for over 900 years, Reggie pondered the literal accuracy of the story realizing that had Methuselah actually lived for those many centuries he would have outlived his children, his grandchildren, great grandchildren and several generations of relatives and friends. He thought of the purpose of living such a long life, chuckled heartily and said. “What do you think Methuselah looked like when he died? He couldn’t look good.”

Born September 9, 1920; in Plantation Content, Mahaica, on the East Coast of Demerara, British Guiana, he was the youngest of four children of Lovenia Jardine Marques and Manoel Marques.

He leaves to mourn him, Erna his wife of sixty-nine  years;  seven children: Neville, Elizabeth, Carol, Maurice (deceased), Rosalind, Charles (aka Robin) and Jacqueline, 18 grandchildren:;  great-grandchildren and many relatives and close friends. He will be lovingly missed.