from the idyllic images of white sand and aqua-coloured waters, my earliest memories of growing up in Bermuda are a million miles from the picture-postcard images most people have of my home island. Following the assassination of the Bermudian governor Richard Sharples in 1973, there were large-scale riots in and around my home town of Hamilton, the capital, and as mobs wandered the streets smashing windows and torching public buildings, a four-year-old Leonardo Shaun Goater was smack bang in the middle of the unrest, excited by all the commotion though not actually involved.

So for all those who imagined my early days were spent lying on a beach with a fishing rod in one hand and a cool drink in the other, think again ? and there was no affluent sea-front home for the Goater family, either. We lived on Court Street, right in the heart of the ghetto, next to the Spinning Wheel nightclub, which is still going strong today. We had a yard, but in truth the whole of Court Street was my yard ? I knew everyone and everything on my little bit of turf, and though it probably stretched no more than a few hundred yards in either direction, it was my world and I loved it.

During the riots many roads were blocked by burned-out wrecks and cars sped past our house at all hours, often loaded with planks of wood, bricks and anything else that could be used to cause damage. I even saw the odd machete ? but thankfully no guns ? and even an impressionable young kid like me could see that the guys were intent on causing some serious damage. There was one occasion I remember vividly because I had strayed too close to the action and was affected by a tear-gas canister fired by the police. My eyes were stinging and I couldn't see a thing, and although I could hear my mum shouting to me from down the street, I thought, 'Yeah, but what are these guys up to and what are they going to do next?' At that age it's all a game, but the neighbourhood guys were always looking out for me and they knew where to draw the line.

If I was too near danger, they'd turn around and say 'Shaun, it's time to go home ? you need to go now', and mostly I followed their advice ? mostly! Even the so-called bad guys knew that kids needed to be kept away from anything underhand, and they made sure you were ushered away if you got too close. Maybe that was the big difference between then and now. Right up to the age of 12 all the other kids I knew who grew up with me were kept out of harm's way as much as possible.

My granny ? Dorothy Dillon ? was a popular and respected figure in our neighbourhood and I believe that's why the older guys used to make sure I didn't become involved in anything I shouldn't. I think they knew that if I had come to any harm they would have had to answer first to her, and then to my mum, and then to my aunts ? and only a fool would risk the wrath of those ladies! People who were probably into drugs, stealing and other types of activities the police would have been interested in knew where to draw the line, and so, while I may have witnessed things most kids of that age would not normally have seen, it was always from a distance. If anyone did try to sell weed in the alley that ran down the side of Granny's house she'd be out in a flash to tell them in no uncertain terms what she'd do if they didn't take a walk, and I can assure you they walked away every time and didn't try again.

My granny was a large, heavy-set lady and was in her mid-forties around the time of the unrest, and she was also at the height of her powers. When she raised her voice everyone listened ? and she could make the house rattle if she was aiming a verbal volley at somebody. The house where I lived in Court Street was hers, and along with my mum, Lynette Goater, there was my aunt Idae Mae and another of my mum's sisters, known as Mama Julie.

I also had cousins who lived there or stayed a short while, and at times it was hard to keep track of who was stopping over and who was living there, but I loved it because it was always a happy place to be, and exciting. The house was the centre of the Goater family's world; friends and neighbours would stop by, or if it was late, family members would sleep over.

It was also a place where relatives stayed when they were trying to get on their feet. When their fortunes improved they'd move out and find their own home. My mum and I moved in and out a couple of times over the years, but no matter where we went my granny's house was always there for us and felt like home. I remember the fantastic parties she used to hold there, too. There were so many people there you'd have thought they were block parties. She would sometimes ask me to dance in the middle of the room and I and my cousins, who had one or two fancy moves up our sleeves, lapped it up. The parties would go on into the early hours of the morning and for me, aged five or six, it was normal to stay up, trying to join in the fun. Of course my mum or aunts would tell me it was time to go to bed and I'd say, 'Yeah, yeah, I'm going up now', before sneaking back into the midst of everything.

There was no time to watch TV back then, because there was always something going on ? that is, unless my mum and granny were watching the late afternoon American soaps. Man, they didn't budge until those shows were over ? and some of them seemed to go on for ever! During the day it seemed as though the whole neighbourhood would stop by to say 'Hello' and have a chat, and of course everybody knew me because I was 'connected' to the Godmother! In fact, I believe the only difference between Don Corleone and my granny was that if she had ordered a professional hit it would have been with a well-aimed slipper, rather than with a revolver. Financially my mum and I didn't have much, and I suppose we were a working-class family, but I have nothing but happy memories of those days on Court Street. When we moved out for the first time it was only a couple of blocks, to an area known as Happy Valley.

At this point you may be wondering why I've not mentioned my dad, and the answer is fairly simple: he was not around, and it would be almost twenty years before I knew for sure who he was.

He is not even mentioned on my birth certificate and from the day I was born my mum raised me on her own. She was 22 when she had me, and all through my early years I lived with my mum, granny, aunts and cousins. Not knowing or seeing my dad was not a big deal for me because I'd never known anything different.

I never asked my mum 'Who is my daddy?' because all my cousins were in the same boat, none of their dads was around, it was perfectly normal and there was no stigma at all. I was not down and out, I was healthy, I had food and clothes and I was happy with my lot. I was okay, and if my dad was not around, so what? That's how I felt, and I can't say I have changed right up to this day. Certainly I didn't get everything I ever wanted, but everything I ever needed ? like football boots, or my first bike ? I got. Sometimes I would say to my mum, 'Hey, I want that', or 'I really need this', and she would reply, 'No, no, no, you don't really need it and you ain't getting it, I can't afford it', and I would get over it. But she always found the money for the things that she knew would enrich my life or help me develop.

mum worked around the clock to bring in enough money for us to live a comfortable life. Her main job was at the Bermudiana Hotel in Hamilton. Many of my family used to work in the hotel trade, often as housemaids. I could turn up at my mum's place of work and the chances were that I would see someone I knew or was related to, so tracking her down was never a problem. My aunts Pam, Julie and Maxine and my uncle Clyde always seemed to be working at the same place as my mum ? it was definitely a family business. Mum was always a popular figure, because apart from being a good-hearted and happy woman, she was a mean pool player, and also a good footballer! She was as competitive a person as you are ever likely to meet and in later years her first words during a transatlantic phone call would be, 'Did you win?' So you could say the secret of my success can be traced back to my mum and her career with the Bermudian Cosmos ? named after their idols, the New York Cosmos, whom mum watched on TV whenever she had the chance.

I was playing football myself by this time and spent a lot of time with the Caisey brothers, Albert and Clinton. Albert was one of the best left-backs of his day and on a typical afternoon we would chill out at their house and then go and play football for a few hours on the nearby field. We'd play various skills games ? one-touch, two-touch or keep-ups ? and cricket until the sun went down.

Mum often worked two shifts at the Bermudiana Hotel ? one during the day and another in the evening, as a waitress. She worked there for fifteen or twenty years, pretty much all through my formative years, in fact. If she worked late, I'd stay at my granny's ? where else? When I was around 9 years old we moved out to West Pembroke, about a five-minute car ride from Court Street but still considered 'town' ? and a real journey for Bermudians when you consider the island's size! We moved to Marsh Folly when I was about 10 and again mum would work late. As I got a little older I'd be on my own, sometimes until about ten o'clock at night, but I'd stay up until she came home because she would bring back something nice for me to eat ? steak or fish from the hotel ? and it was a treat I looked forward to. She always cooked something for me to eat before she went to work, but I would always save room for the hotel food and I'd say, 'Yeah, that's fine and I'll eat it, but bring me home some steak, mama!' I told my friends, 'Yeah, my mama can cook really well ? we eat steak every night!' Living in Marsh Folly had a major impact on my life because it was here that I became good friends with Andrew Bascome, who would eventually, in my opinion, become Bermuda's best footballer. He became my mentor and, in many ways, a father figure, even though he was only about six years older than me. I first met Andrew at West Pembroke as I walked to Victor Scott primary school. I had been kicking a tin along the street, doing the odd step-over here and there, and I had seen Andrew a couple of times on the journey when, one morning, he came over and said, 'Come on then kid, what have you got for me?' urging me to take him on with the tin can. I took up the challenge, and started to look forward to our daily little battles. When we moved to Marsh Folly we discovered that the Bascome family lived virtually next door ? and I suppose you could argue that destiny was already edging me down a particular path. I soon became close friends with Andrew and his brothers, Herbie Jr and David, and I suppose it was my good fortune that they were all talented footballers.