In 2024, I wrote an article entitled The War Brahmin, a Royal Naval Auxiliary Fleet Ship.

Martin Buckley, former manager of the Book Mart, shared it with men who had been employed on similar vessels and as a result one of these men, Barry Dixon, who had lived and attended school in Bermuda from 1963-1974, responded. Barry went on to join the Royal Fleet Auxiliary and later acquiring a degree in systems analysis and computer programming before retiring in 2014. He now lives in Plymouth and is in possession of memoirs written by his father who arrived in Bermuda in 1937 to join his father, who was employed in the Dockyard.

Barry has passed some of this information to me in the hope that I would share it with the people of Bermuda. I have selected the notes on his arrival here in 1937.

George James Dixon Jr, like his father George Sr, was born in the port town of Sheerness in Kent.

In 1936, his father signed a two-year contract to work as a skilled painter and signwriter in the Bermuda Dockyard.

The following are the recollections of his son George Jr who travelled with his mother in 1937 to join him. Prior to this, 17-year-old George had worked 48 hours a week in the Sheerness Dock Yard as a boiler cleaner and attended night school three nights a week, which was compulsory and a condition of his employment.

His recollections begin thus:

“The following pages are an attempt to describe the events of my lifetime.

“At the time of writing, it is August in the year 1998, and I am now 78.

“It will not be an easy task, the passage of years having faded the memory somewhat.

“It has been written in the interest of family members who may come along in future years, and for anyone else who has the time and patience to read it.

“I can only hope now, that I will be able to complete it before St Peter comes to lead me away, which he will surely do, eventually.” - George James Dixon

George Dixon died in 2000 leaving the following recollections:

We left England early in March 1937. My mother who had been seriously ill had sufficiently recovered to make the voyage. Her brother came to Sheerness from Gravesend to escort us to London and all the way to Liverpool, our embarkation point. We boarded the ship late in the afternoon, two hours before sailing time.

The Oropesa was an elegant-looking ship with its single buff-coloured funnel, green and white superstructure and ranked masts. It was quite impressive, even on that drab and dreary March afternoon. We were met in the ship’s foyer by Mr Ross, the steward allocated to us. He had been informed of my mother’s health challenges and assured us that he would do all he could to make the voyage comfortable. My mother and I had two berthed cabins next door to each other. I had another 17-year-old boy as a cabin mate and our mothers were in the adjoining cabins.

The ship sailed just before darkness fell, and by morning we were well into the Irish Sea, but steaming at reduced speed due to heavy sea mist. It was calm and although very cold my cabin mate and I explored the ship which carried three classes of passengers — 1st, 2nd and 3rd. The latter known as “steerage.”

The ship’s voyage schedule encompassed a brief call into the busy port of La Rochelle, a city on the west coast of France and a seaport on the Bay of Biscay. More passengers embarked and we took on a small amount of cargo destined for South American ports. We anchored early in the morning, several hundred yards off the waterfront. It was the first sunshine we had seen for weeks. That morning we watched cargo being offloaded from the barges which had come alongside, aided by tugs.

This tranquil picture was marred by the pathetic sight of several dozen embarking passengers. Most were refugees of Jewish origin, fleeing out of Germany via an overland route through France. They were tired, hungry, and in some cases, dirty. This was first-hand evidence that what we had been reading in our national newspapers was true, and that a state of turmoil existed inside Germany. Most had little or no luggage, their possessions being only what they could carry with them.

The ship’s staff lost no time in getting them aboard and into their third class accommodation, witnessed by passengers lining the ship’s rail. Most were very elderly people escorting young children, of which we would hear about later from a Mr Christie, one of the refugees who spoke fluent English.

My mother made conversation with Mr Christie, a Jew, a writer and a journalist. He revealed that his business had been closed down and possessions confiscated by the Nazi police and everything of value had been taken from him. His bank account had been “frozen” except for sufficient money to leave the country. He said compared to some, he was very lucky, as many of the younger Jewish population were being rounded up and transported to so-called labour camps.

With all the new passengers on board, we sailed late that afternoon and headed out into the Bay of Biscay and into the Atlantic beyond, our next port of call being Bermuda.

Although it was getting noticeably warmer, we soon experienced our first rough weather and many went down with sea sickness.

It was in the Azores area that it really turned rough, but Oropesa took it in its stride, pitching and rolling, taking water over the bow and at times, flooding the well deck. Conditions in the third class areas were deplorable and wretched. The pitching of the ship could be likened to being on a giant see-saw. My main problem was being unable to sleep properly due to the ship’s motion, and equally as bad, the creaking and groaning of the ship itself. A reduction in our speed helped matters a little, but not very much.

We had two days of this weather before it became noticeably warmer and an increasing number of flying fish were seen skipping from wave top to wave top.

With our course being roughly south-west, the remaining part of our journey proceeded without incident, and without seeing any other ships. Twelve days after leaving Liverpool in the early hours of the morning on March 17, 1937 and we made Bermuda landfall and were directly off the Dockyard proper.

Like most other dockyards, it looked rather drab and uninteresting even on that brilliant sunny morning. It was just a line of two-storey buildings and workshops, dominated by a very large 80-ton crane on the dockside, and two conspicuous clock towers above one of the largest buildings. I found later that only one was a clock tower, the other a clock-faced high tide indicator. There were no trees and it looked just what it was; a naval dockyard, but a brighter one than the one I had worked in a few weeks previously.

The Oropesa had barely settled to anchor before the tug/tender Sandboy steamed out of the ‘yard’ to come alongside. Prior to this the luggage of the few disembarking passengers had been assembled, and work commenced immediately for its offloading. We left the ship and stepped aboard Sandboy and there was my father, dressed in tropical rig. My mother and I were overcome at that moment and tears flowed. Mr Parker, the tender master, seeing our emotions allocated us his day cabin.

Within 25 minutes the tender was inside the Dockyard breakwater and docked adjacent to the 80-ton crane where a crowd was waiting. It was very warm and according to my father, the temperature was about 75 degrees Fahrenheit. The bright sun gave rise to considerable glare but my father had brought sunglasses and two casual hats.

At that time motor vehicles were not allowed on Bermuda’s roads and everyone had to resort to their own two good legs, ride a bicycle or hire the services of horse and carriage liveries. There was an inter-island ferry service and a railway service which operated from Somerset to St George’s. Awaiting us at the dockside was our transport into Somerset — an open carriage, drawn by two fine looking horses. The driver was impeccably dressed in white and wore a white topi sun helmet. It presented a picture of Victorian days.

Taking the journey into Somerset, I noticed several warships tied alongside. There were two risers, HMS York and HMS Exeter and also several small sloops, including HMS Penzance and Dundee who formed a part of the American and West Indian Squadron. The most important factor for the “Yard” was the 10,000-ton capacity floating dock permanently moored in the South Basin which we observed as we passed through the Dockyard South Gate.

With the horses taking their time, we proceeded to Somerset crossing over a tiny bridge locally known as Cut Bridge, which spanned a narrow cut leading to the open sea on the western side. The different colours of the sea on the right side were almost unbelievable and stretched seaward as far as one could see. The brilliant sun combined with the crystal clear water was almost unreal — a panorama of pale blue and green with contrasting brown reef areas standing up from the white sandy bottom which threaded it’s way between the reefs like a white pathway.

Continuing on, we passed another small bridge spanning a shallow cutting leading from the seaward side into an enclosed area of shallow water of about two acres. The driver informed us that it was a grave yard dating back from the days when the Dockyard was built and contained the bodies of convict labourers conveyed from England to work on its construction. The Black Plague killed many of them, and they were buried in the purposely flooded grave yard, now known as The Lagoon. As we progressed the local fauna became more prominent, dominated by cedar trees. Oleanders stole the show and masses of pink blossoms seemed to be growing everywhere.

Leaving Ireland Island we crossed another bridge connecting to Boaz Island. This was a much larger one, built entirely of wood, and had a span of 150-200 feet. We paused midway to view the water beneath, which being so clear and shallow, gave the impression of looking into an aquarium. Small multicoloured fish were in abundance as were waving coral sea fans with their purple “foliage”. It was a wonderful sight, enhanced by the beauty of the surrounding waters.

In comparison, our ride across Watford Island was featureless with very little vegetation and drab looking buildings, all a part of the Dockyard complex where many of the men from the UK had their living quarters. It was apparent that this part of Bermuda was influenced entirely by Naval and Dockyard activities and all the buildings had an “English look” about them.

Bridge four – Little Watford Bridge connecting Boaz Island to Little Watford Island soon appeared. It too was of wooden construction but much smaller than Gray’s Bridge. It was known locally as “Piano Bridge”. The heavy and equi-spaced floor threads emitting a loud rattling and rumbling noise as the horse-drawn traffic passed over the treads which were not fastened down. Here again we had an aquarium-like view of the waters beneath. I saw my first large fish, identified by our driver as a grey snapper and a common fish around the shores during the summer months.

Just a few yards further we came upon another bridge much bigger than any of the others and of steel construction. Watford Bridge had a rotating centre span which was opened for the passage of masted sail and ferry boats. This was a laborious task requiring considerable hard work by the two bridge keepers turning two crank handles by hand. One of these keepers was Edgar Holman, who became a good friend of mine. Watford Bridge was larger than the others and spanned the stretch of water connecting the Great Sound to the open sea.

Before the bridge was built in 1903, a rope drawn shallow draft cum barge was the only means of crossing from Somerset to the Dockyard islands, whether it be horse and carriage or pedestrians.

A hurricane in the early 1900s caused severe damage which destroyed the barge, separated Somerset from the Dockyard. The decision was made to replace the 1903 bridge in 1954 and again in 1983.

Ahead of us was Somerset and our temporary destination in the village-like atmosphere of Mangrove Bay. There was a little beach of pure white sand fringed by a row of screw pine trees and oleander bushes tucked away in the corner. It was difficult to accept that in mid-March it was warm enough for a few swimmers to be enjoying the water.

We stopped for lunch at the apartment of one of my father’s friends before moving to our temporary accommodation aptly named Hillcrest, at the top of Scott’s Hill. It was owned my David Harris, a former shipwright at the “yard”. His wife soon had us organised and we had our first Bermuda “get together” in the cool of the evening. We were only there for three days but it allowed us to acclimatise ourselves in the Bermuda day to day routine which was all very strange to us.

Cecille Snaith-Simmons from the writing of George J Dixon Jr.

With sincere thanks to his son Barry Dixon.

For added interest: My father Charles Snaith also arrived in Bermuda on the Oropesa from Jamaica in 1929 and later purchased Hill Crest from David Edmund Harris who was returning to England to retire.