From long ago and far away, a reader wrote to me of his memories growing up in Bermuda. I asked if we could tell his story of humble beginnings, strong family ties, and his very real personal success. Here in his own words, is his story. It has been edited for space constraints and comments added where appropriate.

"Martha, I just read and was touched by your recollections of Christmas long ago - your One Apple And One OrangeFrugality in the Christmas season. I could feel, smell and taste those memories myself, as I had a very similar experience growing up on St. David's Island in the 1950s. Your tale of the store-bought fruit, reminded me of the days when we would steal one of my Uncle Grover Lamb's water melons, not because they were any better than those my dad grew, but because they sure tasted better after we outran Uncle's buck-shot!"

In those days, electricity was very unreliable. Everyone had lots of candles and kerosene lamps. My Grandfather Claude showed me an old Whale Oil Lamp, told me stories of the `Good ole Days" when whales were as important to St. David's Islander life as Belco is today.

Turtles were not then an endangered species, appearing on many dining tables, as did mullet roe (considered a great delicacy), gathered in the traditional hundreds of years mulletting fishing process.

Local fishermen made their own nets. My Uncle Gilbert Lamb even made his own hemp ropes. Cranking the ole rope-making handle, was great fun for about five minutes, but it soon became too much like work for most, thus another local art lost to time.

Even small children had a role to play in the day-to-day life of the family. Water did not come out of a fancy tap. It was the children's responsibility to keep the water tub full, by dipping water from the tank twice a day by hand. If you were lucky, you would catch one or two small fish, and then take great pride in putting them back to help keep the tank water clean.

Taking a bath was not much fun, and was to be avoided if at all possible by a nine-year old boy. Everyone in our family bathed from an ole metal tub that did double-duty as a washtub. That and the ole glass washboard were the main wash tools for all laundry days.

You were expected to help the ole ladies living alone whenever they asked. If you accepted a few shillings from them, in addition to cookies and candies for your labours, you might receive a stern parental lecture on doing for others with out expecting payment.

Most people could not afford a car, many using horse-drawn carts. Twice a week, Benji, the Portuguese vegetable man (and his horse and cart) came all the way from Bailey's Bay. One year, as Christmas approached, Benji arrived at the end of our street. One large juicy-looking mango caught my eye, but I had no money. I coveted that mango and as I looked longingly at it, he picked it up from the box and handed it to me. I will never forget his kindness.

Christmas presents were few, often hand made. My mom made dresses for my sisters from flour sacks, as beautiful as anything to be found in Front Street stores. Even though short on material things, our home was full of love, warmth and comfort at holiday time. Virtually everyone opened their doors and welcomed all who came to visit.

Living in St. David's in the late fifties and sixties was not easy. Back then, a man's honour was so important, security was not a dirty word, and even though segregation still existed, there was much more mutual respect between different people. With the exception of the Air Force Base, we were a close-knit society reliant upon each other. It provided structure in our lives and it was a comfort to know where we fit in.

During those years, a series of incredible people and positive events influenced my future life. It happened that my father, while aspiring to be a master carpenter, took a job instead with Shell Oil at the airport, refuelling civil aircraft. He was also a fisherman - when the catch of the day was worth the price of gas for the ole Seagull engine, and he raised all of our produce.

One evening, at age five, my Dad took me to work with him. I was told to sit still in the Shell oil truck, while he and the crew refuelled an airliner. The Captain up in the cockpit noticed me sitting there, and asked if I would like to come up and visit. That was a defining moment! I was hooked on flying and airplanes, an abiding passion to this day.

The social system back then was not conducive to encouraging a young coloured boy to reach beyond his social class. Black people, especially, were quick to remind me of my `place'! Yet Mrs. Eunice Kennedy, my first-grade teacher at Francis Patton School, saw something in me that everyone else did not, as did Wing Commander Ware, Bermuda's first Director of Civil Aviation. In spite of comments made as to "why such an important man would bother teaching a dumb island boy to fly," these two people deserve the credit for the `wind beneath my wings', helping me soar above and beyond our island home. My father's mom gave me the ultimate key to my future success, telling me that God gave me power to choose. Make good choices and you can do anything. She was so right!

Again this year, I will spend Christmas here in the Middle East, doing my part to improve this part of Space Ship Earth, close to were "it" all began.

Blessed? Compared to so many unfortunate souls in this region, we are so very blessed, a fact I try to impress upon my children. Yet, I see in their eyes that they don't really appreciate my words, as they have known only a time of plenty. Somehow, though while working longer and harder to buy all those luxuries that have become our necessities - we have lost our community way!

There are days that I long to return to my native St. David's Island to spend the rest of my days, dipping water, and living the simple, but immensely satisfying life of my childhood, with chickens, ducks, cats, a few goats and a dog; those days when we rose with the sun and retired when it left the daylight skies, sinking beneath the ocean. Those days when my extended family, friends, and visitors were all that mattered, instead of the all powerful dollars of today.

Happy New Year

Captain Randy Pitcher

Air Transport Flight Operations Expert.

Captain Pitcher was a airline pilot for 25 years, and is now employed with the International Civil Aviation Organisation (ICAO), a division of the United Nations, where his responsibilities include assisting third world countries establish their Civil Aviation Authority, training and inspections, writing Air Laws, developing Regulatory Manuals, and day-to-day regulation of local and international airlines.

Happy New Year -Readers, Martha Harris Myron