Trevor went to Jamaica in 1975 to study for the Common Entrance. This exam has  been renamed to the GSAT for the past twenty years and might probably still go through another change soon. It was the elementary school exam that separated the 'men from the boys' ad determined what level high school you were eligible for in the public school system - good, better, best.

Trevor was coming from a Canadian school system to attempt this somewhat intimidating exam for the first time. Local students would have been exposed to and prepping for this exam for at least a year.

Trevor went to a country school (where this was family) and in a couple of short months of study gave this school - Brown's Hall Primary - one of its first full ride scholarship passes in history. He then attended St. Jago High for four years. 
The Jamaican educational system is full of exams. Exams to enter the 'right' schools and exams to guarantee a spot in University and all of these exams are created in London or Cambridge and scattered like leaves among some commonwealth countries.

It was not clear for years to me, when Colette who is younger got ahead of him, but she did and was poised for University a year before. When he realized this he accelerated himself with his schoolwork and took all the external exams a year before his graduation, effectively ending his school years. But he also told me this somewhat painful story. He had gotten into some trouble for something or the other and the headmaster gave him an especially hard whupping. So much so that he might have bled or couldn't sit for days. That also contributed to his resolve to get out , by any means possible early and the GCE and LONDON exams gave him that ability.

Trevor spent his third birthday on a transatlantic cruise to Canada that would be home for the next ten years. But he almost missed that boat.

There were some brightly colored vitamins that looked exactly like the candies that our dad would bring home on a Friday and as a toddler he just helped himself to a generous dose
on Tuesday. I am not sure how he was discovered (details get lost with time and the fact that clearly I wasn't there), but my dad describes a Nottingham fog that was so thick you could barely see in front of your face.

In order to save him, my dad stepped out into the street and walked slowly behind a neighborhood bus, being guided by it's taillights.(It was not uncommon for conductors on a foggy day to walk in front of a bus to guide the bus driver). The fifteen minute walk to the hospital took them both over an hour, where his tiny tummy was pumped.
A few months later he left - safely.

He would return on his own forty years later..