By Andrea Downer, Gleaner Writer 
Sitira Lynch (centre) with her daughter Veronica Lynch and great grandson Aron Parker. - Ricardo Makyn/Staff Photographer
WHEN SHE was born at the turn of the century, crinoline was still in style, electricity was unheard of and the first world war had not yet started.
One hundred years ago, Sitira Lynch was born in Warsop, a tiny district, tucked in a corner of Trelawny, high in the cockpit mountains. 'Aunt Cit', as she is called, lived in what she refers to as a wattle and daub house with thatched roof with her parents and nine siblings. But her family was not limited to those with whom she shared a house. She was
surrounded by numerous uncles, aunts, cousins and other distant and not-so-distant relatives, who also lived in the community. She said there were so many
members of the Lynch family
living there, that the community was named after them.
"A Lynch Town dem call di place whey mi come fram, yuh know," the feisty centenarian said with a chuckle, as she sat on her daughter's verandah in Waterford, St. Catherine, where she has lived since her husband died 12 years ago.
MARRIAGE
And it is in Lynch Town that Aunt Cit met and married William, the father of her two children, Veronica, who is now 70 years old and Alva, who died five years ago.
Life in Lynch Town, according to Aunt Cit, was good. She claims those days were better than now, even though she had to walk
several miles from Trelawny to Balaclava in St. Elizabeth to sell ground provisions every Saturday morning.
"Mi walk chack go Balaclava an' reach back in time fi cook mi dinner," she boasted. She said she would leave before daybreak at 5:30 and would conclude her business and return home by 3:00 in the afternoons. She said sometimes she would not reach as far as Balaclava with her tray of coco, banana, baddo and the yellow yam, as she would sell off all her food on the way.
In those days, things that are now considered simple, were looked at as major blessings. Aunt Cit says she considered herself lucky when she could hire a donkey from the district to carry her load to market.
"Sometimes mi hire Bredda Fed donkey," she stated.
When asked how much she paid him, she said she simply bought tobacco at market for his pipe. So, since she had to go to market every week and a donkey would assist her, why didn't she get a donkey for herself?
"Lawd! Mi couldn't afford it!" Aunt Cit exclaimed incredulously. "Dem deh time deh, when yuh have one donkey, yuh proud of it; it come in like when people nowadays own car," she explained as she chuckled and shook her head at my naivety.
Farming is still the main occupation of persons living in rural Trelawny, and Aunt Cit says that was the case 100 years ago. "Mi use fork plough land and go inna hill go look yam stick an' dig gutter. All 250 yam stick mi look inna one day," she explained. She said she was assisted by one of her grandsons, Winston Parker.
The one time she ventured from home to work as a domestic helper was short-lived as she said the husband of the woman with whom she worked, tried to be 'fresh' with her and she would not stand for it so she packed her things and went back home after three months. By her shaky calculations, she could have been about 13 at the time. She said her mother died when she was still in school and she her nine siblings had to fend for themselves.
"Everybody had to fin' something fi do fi help themselves," she stated.
Aunt Cit says in those days, favour was the popular currency and not money.
"Nobody don't really work out," she explained. "Dem deh days deh when one somebody have something fi do, whether buil' a house or plant dem ground, everybody come together. Today yuh come help mi, an' tomorrow mi come help yuh back."
But when money was used, 'quattie, truppance, shilling and two an six' were taken from 'thread bags' with reverence, as there weren't a lot to go around.
Veronica, who said she spent most of her life in St. Elizabeth with her grandmother, has fond memories of the holidays when she would return to Lynch Town to the bosom of her large family.
"Mi still memba Miss Liz gungo peas soup wid di hole heap a corn pork inna it," she said rubbing her knees with a satisfied grin. "Dem deh time deh when one somebody cook, everybody get out a it, Miss Liz nah cook har dinner an no sen' fi me come gi mi. Ah Christmas time did nice!" She continued. "All one whola hog and one whole cow dem used to kill an' corn it. Every morning dem put it ova di fire, di smell alone meck yuh feel like yuh coulda eat it without cooking it. Fi months wi still have corn pork a eat."
One hundred years is a long time for anybody to live, and according to Aunt Cit, a lot has changed in that time. She has exchanged the cool climate of Trelawny for the sometimes punishing heat of St. Catherine. The community in which she now lives is no longer her extended family. Burglar bars protect her from real and imagined dangers that lurk beyond her doorsteps. Aunt Cit says that of all the modern day ills, the high crime rate is the most frightening. When she was growing up in Lynch Town, people unusually died from natural causes, more often than not, in their beds.
However, death does not seem to be on Aunt Cit's mind. Her daughter says she has very few ailments. Her knees that carried her faithfully for all those years are now showing signs of strain. She says she cannot move about as freely as she used to. Apart from that, a stomach ulcer, and lack of sight in one eye, all is well with Aunt Cit. From where she sits on her daughter's verandah in Waterford, her view of the world might be limited, but she has 100 years of memories to keep her company.
