Ida James was everything to this angry teenage girl

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 14: I came home last week. I drove from the airport. I deliberately did not ask the taxi driver about events of the past week. I did not want to talk or think about horrible things. Ida James murdered.

For some things there are no words.

When I first met Ms James the social workers’ offices were at Teucer House on Cedar Avenue. I was barely a teenager. 

My friend had been assigned to her as a client and I tagged along. It didn’t seem bad and she seemed approachable.

I would never have admitted it to the older girls but I liked tagging along with them when they had to make their mandated visits to see Ms James. I suspect secretly they didn’t mind it as much as they pretended either.

It was a safe space, an easy to be place, a place without all the judgments, which adults inevitably make when dealing with so-called troubled youth. 

Ms James had an easy way with us, firm when needed, but generally you just knew that your well-being was genuinely important to her. 

Ms James was a great teacher. She taught us important life lessons without us even knowing we were learning.

She was an avid student herself, always seeking new knowledge. 

I remember her office was always filled, and I mean filled, with papers books and magazines. 

Once she caught me reading an article in one of her periodicals. After that she’d photocopy things she thought might be of interest. 

I’d stash the papers so my girl friends wouldn’t tease me; take them home and read everything she gave me. She had great posters in her office too.

I remember the one that said ‘Children Live What They Learn’. That was her mantra.  When I became a mommy nine years ago I was given a copy.

My first experience of a court was when Ms James took me to the Special Family Court. 

Arrangements were being made to send me to West Indies College High School in Jamaica after being expelled from our public education system.

It’s a long story. Weeks before I was to go Ms James realised that I had no legally recognised parents. That’s an even longer story. 

She took me to court to have me made a ward so that the Department of Social Services would bear legal responsibility for this angry 13-year-old girl who was being sent to school so far from home.

I teased her and told her that meant she was like my mama. She looked like she was gonna pass out at the thought of it.

Over the years her office moved. She was at the old hospital wing and later moved to Victoria Street. I’d go and look for her wherever she was. 

Sometimes I’d just go because I missed her but most times because I needed to be heard. She was one of the few people that I could talk to who understood me and who I didn’t have to explain the complicated details. 

I learned that on occasion she had to defend my presence and the time I would take up talking with her.

I guess those responsible didn’t understand that in a very real way she had remained my guardian throughout my teens and even when I was a woman and guardian, and warrior in court with my own charges and clients.

I still relied on her and she never let me down.

The next time we were in court together was for my call. I wonder if she remembered all the drama of that first appearance together. If she did she didn’t say. She just smiled.

Ms James was proud of her West Indian ancestry. She was an independent thinker. We’d retell each other the wisdom that had been passed on to us from parents and older relatives.

She respected everyone. She was very knowledgeable about this community. She knew its history both general and personal. She never betrayed confidences. She was a pioneer in the field of social work in Bermuda.

With her death we have lost libraries of information and knowledge. Even recently she continued to attend conferences and lectures which she found empowering and which she shared. She shared information on everything from budgeting to dietary matters with everyone whether you wanted it or not.

Ms James first trained as a nurse but saw the need on the island for a different kind of care. She committed herself to caring for those in this community who often could not care or advocate for themselves or their children. 

So many of the things we take for granted in the area of social services were hard fought for and obtained by her on her watch.

So much of what I’ve learned about fighting for the dispossessed and other peoples’ children I have learned from her and what she did for me and so many others.

She taught me that service is not something you give but the price paid for living in this world.

Ms James was my teacher, my sister, my guardian, my counsellor, my friend, and yes even though she resisted it, she mothered me too.

Before I travelled she was heavy on my mind. I walked past her former office and thought about how I used to pop in when she was there but now it had been months since we had spoken.

I told myself I’d call when I got back and arrange to see her. Instead I got a call about her. 

Tears fall down like rain for this great soul whose business on this earth was unfinished. It is unbearable to talk or even think about horrible things.

For some things there are no words.

Victoria Pearman is a barrister and attorney and the managing attorney of Juris Law Chambers.