In the quiet hills of Clarendon, where modern amenities have long arrived late, one woman arrived early—and stayed. For nearly half a century, Nurse Lauretta Bailey has stood at the frontline of life itself, ushering over a thousand babies into the world and tending to generations with a spirit as unyielding as it is tender.
Now 77, Bailey isn’t just known—she’s woven into the very identity of Thompson Town.
Born in St Ann with dreams of nursing sparked in childhood, Bailey’s path was far from easy. Becoming a mother at sixteen may have closed one door, but it opened another: midwifery. That pivot—fueled by determination—set her on a path that would define not only her life but the lives of thousands.
Assigned to Thompson Town in the 1970s, Bailey initially resisted. “There was no water, and I saw people fighting for it,” she recalled. “I didn’t want to come.” But she did—and never left.
What followed was a life of resilience, defined not by comfort but by care. When hospitals were far and electricity was absent, Bailey transformed her own home into a makeshift birthing centre. Babies were born on lounge chairs, under kerosene lamps, sometimes even on porches.
Her house became a sanctuary. Today, the street where she lives is known by locals as Nurse Corner.
What distinguishes Bailey isn’t only her clinical service—but her humanity. She has ridden mules through dirt paths to reach women in labour. She has declined opportunities abroad, including a lucrative nursing offer in the UK, choosing instead to serve the people who needed her most—those in her community.
“I was offered a chance to migrate,” she once said. “But I couldn’t leave. This is home. And home is who you serve.”
And serve she did—with compassion, resolve, and a quiet dignity that left deep impressions. In a time when soap was scarce, returning farm workers brought her boxes of it. In a country strained by shortage, her reputation never was.
Now, a formal tribute is underway. On May 31, Thompson Town will honour her legacy at the local high school. But for the residents, no ceremony could fully capture what she’s meant.
“She’s an angel in human form,” said one former resident, now abroad. Others, including former colleagues and those she mentored, speak of her with reverence.
“She’s the kind of nurse they don’t make anymore,” said a former supervisor. “She didn’t just clock in—she gave her soul.”
Bailey, true to form, downplays it all. “I’m just thankful,” she said. “I’ve lived a long life, I’ve been loved, and I’ve been useful. What more is there?”
For Thompson Town, there’s no question: there is only one Nurse Lauretta Bailey—and they were blessed to have her.
