Harold Woodrow Willacey, Barry Street Kingston Jamaica.   If you happen to have be on Barry Street in the heart of downtown Kingston, Jamaica, you might come across Harold Woodrow Willacey. Born in 1927, Manchester, Jamaica, Harold sits patiently for his next customer. Amidst these chaotic and dangerous streets. Harold quietly types away on his German made vintage classic Olympia typewriter; letters, Resémé’s, applications, and pretty much anything that people bring to Harold’s attention.. and all this for the same cost of a cup coffee back in London. Harold has been quietly plying his trade downtown since the 1960s. Harold was in the RAF during the Second World War, based in England. Shortly after the war he sustained an injury while working in a bike factory, damaging his neck so severely that he decided on a doctors recommendation to go back to Jamaica, to a warmer climate. Harold has fond memories of England, despite never receiving compensation for his injuries. He remembers playing football and “winning the respect of the English men”-due to his ball playing skills-”scoring a goal and getting lots of whistles and cheers.” He was still only a teenager then and still remembers it well. Harold goes on to say, “black people were not considered to know anything in those days”. Harold recounted a story for me of the day, while working in London after the war he went to the Wimbledon dog track and his old friend Tommy an English workmate. Tommy had asked Harold to place some bets for him; on the first race, the third and the fifth. Instead of following Tommy’s instructions to the full and putting all remaining cash on in the sixth race-he didn’t fancy it as it as was odds-on favourite. The dog lost anyway, so Harold carried all the money onto the final race and the dog he picked went on to win Tommy met Harold off the train at Victoria and took him in for a pint to commiserate, thinking he had lost all his money, on the six race. “Oh socks! better luck next time”, Harold recalls Tommy saying,