Discover the remarkable life of Cynthia Elaine Martin (1916–2011), a St. Kitts–born singer whose faith, music, and generosity touched communities in New York and the Caribbean for nearly a century.

February 14th, 2026

Dear Cousin Cynthie,

You loved a hat, you loved a stage, and you loved us without condition—and somehow you made all three look effortless.

Her Early Life

Cynthia Elaine Martin was born on November 21, 1916, in Basseterre, St Kitts to Ann Sophia Thompson, age 18, and George Cunningham Adams, age 28. From the beginning, her life would be shaped by movement—across oceans, across communities, and across the quiet spaces where service matters most. She was my maternal grandmother’s first cousin thusly my first cousin 2x removed.

Cynthia made her first public appearance as a singer at the age of fourteen. Even then, her voice was already doing what it would continue to do for nearly a century. It would bring comfort, faith, and connection.

She immigrated to the United States when the was still quite young, carrying with her not only talent, but a deep spiritual grounding that would define her life’s work.

Life in Harlem New York

In 1952, Cynthia Elaine Martin married George Clarke in New York City, New York, when she was 36 years old. Three years later, her daughter Lauren was born on August 23, 1955, in Harlem, New York. Though Cynthia brought only one child into the world, her capacity for motherhood extended far beyond biology.

As one account beautifully notes:

“Cynthia Adamı Clarke would travel long distances by bus or train to sing to a sick acquaintance, or at a funeral, a birthday celebration or a wedding in the name of brotherly love even for persons she had just met.”

Service did not end at borders. Whenever, through the years, Cynthia traveled home to St. Kitts and Nevis on vacation, her greatest joy was to vist with patients at the nation’s hospitals and sing for them or do whatever she could do to help. She found satifaction in comforting the dispossessed. She would perform at the schools and entertain both teachers and pupils, give concerts at the churches and donate the proceeds to the repair the churches.

Her contributions were also woven into the national story. It is worthy of note that Cynthia sang with the One Thousand-Voice Choir when St. Kitts and Nevis attained Statehood in February of 1967. And when her Alma Mater the Basseterre Girls School was in need of repair, Cynthia single-handedly collected two thousand dollars to that end, and to beautify the school yard she planted the huge flamboyant tree which still grows there beautifully to this day.

Although Cynthia has brought only one child to this world she mothered many. She taught her daughter and those around her the virtues of sharing, love and care—lessons lived daily, not simply spoken.

Her later years were marked by both loss and endurance. Her mother Ann Sophia passed away in October 1977 in Bronx, New York, at the age of 79. Her daughter Lauren passed away on April 27, 2008, at the age of 52.

Personal To Me 

Cousin Cynthia or Cousin Cynthie is the first person I’ve written about thus far who I knew personally. I knew her from her many visits to St.Kitts in the summertime and during Christmas/Carnival. She would stay with us at the house in Nevis Street aka the Ark. Every morning  you could hear her call for us to bring her tea in bed. Cousin Cynthie was beautiful, exotic and eccentric to us. Here was this woman from Harlem, New York who would come to spend time with us in the islands. She was quite personable and generous. She would always bring something for EVERYONE no matter how little. She went from neighbor to neighbor and gave them a small token. It could be a bag of pretzels, pasta, rice. She always had various American snacks to pass around to us children.

On the other hand, she was quite demanding. Beyond the tea in bed, she would enlist our help to “clean up this whole house”. Mind you it wasn’t just any ole house. The Ark had 8bedrooms, 3 kitchens, a big living room, a dining room, 2 1/2 bathrooms and a wash room. It was huge! She would dig into every nook and cranny of the dusty house. She had us sweeping, dusting and mopping for literally hours. She would open doors to places that had never been opened in my whole lifetime. Places like the room under the stairs. This was not just light chores. This was drudgery in our teenaged eyes.

The room under the stairs was just like the secret room upstairs. These were the rooms of legend and were not meant to be meddled with. The family lore was that the secret room upstairs, was filled with skeletons and/or gold coins.

As teens we absolutely hated the work!! No sooner when we were done in the house, here she came. She would gather us up along with the other neighborhood children to work in the Garden. This garden was in the Basseterre Girls School yard. She felt the school yard needed “beautifying”. We hated this project even worse!!! (We couldn’t see her vision). She would have us digging and planting and watering in the hot sun for hours. We endured. However, some days we absconded. We simply ignored her laments for tea or for help undertaking her cleaning and planting projects. We always felt slighted. She did lots of instructing and managing and we did lots of working and sweating. We loved her but absolutely despised the chores! I remember her calling for my brother and his answering in a fake voice that “he went up the basketball court”. A few seconds later he bolted over the Epworth school yard wall and was gone. 

Ever the performer

One of my fondest and proudest memories was of her singing at the Basseterre Girls School. This was whilst I was a tiny student there. She was on stage belting out an aria to some unknown opera that I was clueless about. Yet I looked up in awe and whispered to everyone, “That’s my cousin.” Actually she’s my grandmother’s cousin so my friends would just smile probably thinking how could that older lady be her “cousin”.

Cousin Cynthie was a classically trained soprano. She could hit high notes only angels dared to sing. It is rumored that she sang at Carnegie Hall. I haven’t found any evidence of that. (She was more than good enough to make the cut. So I’m continuing that legend)

Her singing talent was immeasurable. Her poise, her grace and her control was phenomenal. The two songs that she sang that were my favorites were; “There’s no Hiding Place Down Here and Silent Night”. She could lift the roof off with those high notes.

One day she asked me to sing for her. She listened keenly and she told me I had a “nice voice it just needs to be trained”. That’s my biggest flex. Cousin Cynthie “The Diva”, said I can sing. Regrettably, I’m no real singer like all the over divas in the family tree. They can SANG. I’ll stick to writing. lol (I’m hoping to do a follow up blog with just the family Divas singing.) 

Performing Off Stage

One year I recalled her getting dressed up on Christmas Eve as Santa Claus. She was in full gear, the bright red suit, the black belt, the black boots. This was complete with the white beard and a big red bag of toys. She came down the stairs yelling Ho!Ho!Ho!  My brother was so afraid he bolted for the front door. Me, I was fascinated. I remember she gave me a pretty doll whose face was filled with saw dust. I don’t know why I loved the squshy feel of the doll’s face but I did. It made an unfamiliar squish/squash sound that was quite soothing. 

Cousin Cynthie loved the carnival festivities. She would get dressed in a colorful clown suit with her bells jingling. Even at her advanced age she would be seen in the clown troupe dancing all through town. She lived life to the fullest. I remember one year she brought her daughter Lauren home for summer. She was as cute as a button. I could remember her wearing black shiney Maryjane’s with frilly socks. She was delicate and doted on by her mom. Cousin Cynthie was also the picture of generosity. My dad told me that even though she was related to us on my mom’s side of the family; she would welcome him to her Harlem home for good food and great conversation. I remember going to her home in Harlem for the first time. When I walked in my first year teacher portrait was placed prominently on her living room table. She cackled and teased me. She said I cannot believe Renée Clarke, who hated to go to school (I sure did lol) is now a teacher. She spoke such kind words to me and made me feel welcomed and loved. 

I remember when we first moved to America, Kate (my mom but she called her Kathleen) went to Harlem to visit Cousin Cynthia. We didn’t get to go. Cousin Cynthie sent Kate home with a complete haul for our new apartment. She sent a stunning, frilly, silk and satin bedroom set for me. This was complete with the most beautiful curtains, bed skirt, bed spread and matching pillows. For a girl of sixteen who had her own bedroom for the very first time in her life, it was heavenly!! I cherished my space that she helped me to curate.  

The Hat Lady

The last time I saw cousin Cynthia was on the 2 train in The Bronx. That day I decided to be extra cute, so I put on a micro mini skirt. As I stepped on the train here was this lady in a huge hat. What I didn’t mention yet is that she was KNOWN for her extravagant hats. She told me she was a milliner in her younger days. Cousin Cynthia loveeeeddd a hat. The bigger the better with a feather or two or five. So here she was in one of her massive, original, handmade hats and me sitting across from her in my micro mini. I was shooketh. She looked at me, gave me a once over then struck up a conversation like there was nothing out of place. For a West Indian child (we are always children no matter our age) that was an act of love. No criticism, no rebuke, no judgement just her and I chatting on the 2 train on a Sunday afternoon.  

The End of an Era

The last time I spoke to Cousin Cynthie she was experiencing memory loss. I would talk to her and she would repeat her questions to me over and over. I told her I had a baby boy and she was elated. However, by the end of the conversation she thought she was talking to my mom. She was so elated to speak to Kathleen. I cried after the end of that call as I knew that was the end of an era. At her daughter Lauren’s funeral I asked her how is it she was so strong and not crying. She intimated, “if I start crying I would never stop.” She lost her only child but persevered.

Cousin Cynthie was one of those people in my family who loved both my mom and I fiercely and unconditionally. No judgements, no criticisms, no rebukes. To honor her, I decided to “bring her” to my late mom’s funeral. My mom passed in 2016. I bought the biggest, most exotic, most extravagant hat I could find. I wore it to my mom’s funeral. I know they both were ecstatic!

Measured in years, Cynthia lived a long life. Measured in impact, she lived an expansive one—full of song, faith, hospitality, and a quiet insistence on showing up for others, again and again.

She was our oldest living relative for many, many years. Cynthia Elaine Martin died on January 5, 2011, in New York. She was 94 years old. A life well lived!

I’m still wearing the biggest hat, with the biggest heart full of love in your honor,

With all my love.

Renée

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