In Jamaica, most people attend funerals to pay tribute to the dead or to provide support for the relatives of the deceased. In many instances, their presence serves to satisfy both imperatives.

There are those among us who have some rather strange reasons for making an appearance at these events. My sister, Sharene, would often turn up for the funerals of people she did not really know once she got word that Barbara Gloudon would be the eulogist.

I must confess that the promised presence of Mama G ( as I fondly referred to Mrs Gloudon ) was certainly an added incentive for me to make an appearance on these occasions as she would often steal the spotlight from the dead with her distinctive humour and seemingly improvised recollection of their exploits. Mama G was one of a kind, and I would enjoy any opportunity to be in her company.

I would meet Mama G on happier occasions, such as banquets and awards ceremonies, where we would usually find time to talk about the latest happenings or any topic which had caught her fancy. A constant feature of our chats was her hallmark humour.

Mama G was not only witty, she was funny.

I recall how (in one of her many eulogies) she described her deceased friend Marguerite St Juste as “a wicked woman” for making her sons Brian and Francois each believe that he was his mother’s favourite. Her comments were greeted with peals of laughter inside the Saints Peter and Paul Church. In that very same tribute she told her audience how she and her friend Marguerite were able to find and marry two fellows from what is now the Twin Island Republic. Mama G had married Ancile Gloudon, a brilliant horticulturalist, while Marguerite had wedded Franklyn “ Chappy” St Juste, an outstanding cinematographer.

Interestingly, the last time I encountered Mama G was at Chappy’s funeral. I realised then that it had taken some effort for her to make it to Chappy’s farewell, but given her firm sense of loyalty and the unwavering support of her daughter Anya, she would have had it no other way.

I would cautiously approach any invitation to share a panel or stage with her (which we did quite a few times) out of fear I would not be able to make sense in the thrall of her captivating humour. I remember being on a panel with her, discussing one of her favourite subjects: the social and political significance of Miss Lou. She was obviously pleased with how things were going and playfully leaned over to me and declared in one of her not-too-soft whispers: “Dem know me and you? Dem think wi easy?” I struggled to suppress the laughter.

Mama G and her audience would sometimes lose track of time during her presentations, so mesmerising was her storytelling skills. I remember being on a panel with her at the Diasporic Conference in 2006 when she started to relate the story of how her sister-in-law, or it might have been her cousin, was able to quell a mutiny among inmates at a mental institution in Britain.

The inmates were incensed that things had gone to pot “as the blacks now have the keys”. In giving her account of the averted insurrection, Mama G not only exhausted her allotted time but also that of the other speakers (including me), who did not seem to mind. Who would have objected to Mama G taking her time and ours.

Then there were those days when I would get a call and the person on the other line would simply request:”Please hold for Mrs Gloudon.” This could serve as a prelude to a range of conversational possibilities. There were those occasions when I would entertain the familiar requests and would quickly realise that I was on Hotline discussing some topical issue with Mrs Gloudon. However, it didn’t matter whether I had been properly apprised of the impending interview, Mama G was certainly allowed to take liberties with me.

There were the other times when the call from Mama G would give way to a simple query, “When yu comin’ to watch the pantomime, how much ticket yu want?” I would turn up with members of my family and be treated not only to products of her dramatic imagination but to tasty examples of her culinary skills. Mama G could not fit easily in any box. She was defiant of descriptors and marched to the beat of her own drum .

As I salute Mama G’s remarkable life, it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge the outstanding contribution of her siblings who have achieved national and international acclaim for their contribution in various endeavours. Their accomplishments are given added significance when viewed against the backdrop of the Goodisons’ humble origins. Mama G’s sister, the internationally renowned poet and author Lorna Goodison, described her as the locomotive in the family. Mama G ensured that they all pulled together. They pulled it off in fine style and we are much better as a result. Thank you, Mama G. Love eternal.