George James Dixon Jr and his mother arrived in Bermuda from the UK In 1937 to join his father who was already employed here in the Dockyard. The first chapter of his memoir was published in The Royal Gazette on Saturday, June 13 to the great delight of his son Barry Dixon who now lives in Plymouth, England. The publication of these memoirs to the people of Bermuda had been the wish of his father who died in 2020.

I am greatly honoured to have been selected to go over the notes and prepared them for publishing to the Bermudian public courtesy of The Royal Gazette.

This is the continuation of George Dixon’s first writing:

Bermuda at that time had no industries as such to support its economy, but nevertheless, it was obvious that it was a prosperous little country with a booming tourist trade, mainly from the USA and Canada. Commercial air travel was, at that time, almost non-existent but it was well served by several shipping companies, Furness-Withy and Canadian National Steamships to name but two. On average, several thousand tourists would arrive every week during the peak months to live ashore in hotels and guesthouse accommodation, thus creating employment for the local inhabitants. It was also a winter haven for numerous very wealthy Americans who had property here, all of which boosted the Islands coffers.

That Bermuda was a “holiday island” would be an apt description for those late 1930 days, with no unemployment, no income tax and last but not least, its dry acceptable semitropical climate, clear seas and lovely beaches.

Those first few days at “Hillcrest”, Somerset, with our gracious hosts David and Lillian Harris, allowed us to sum up the immediate area at our leisure. There was no doubt that Somerset was a very pretty place. The profusion of pink oleanders were very impressive and grew everywhere in great abundance. To a lesser extent, so were hibiscus.

The first place to receive my close attention was a small picturesque bay below Hillcrest namely Cavello Bay, which overlooked the wide expanse of the Great Sound. There was a flimsy wooden jetty for the daily ferry service out of Hamilton. The bay was by no means deep and it was quite easy to see the bottom and the abundance of marine growth and the myriads of small multicoloured fish.

There were several children fishing there and I soon learnt to identify the pretty blue and yellow angelfish, sergeant majors and snappers. The arrival of the ferry put a temporary stop to the fishing activities but the arrival of the ferry itself was quite interesting. It was named the Coralita. This ferry was about 60 feet long and diesel driven. It also had two decks. The top deck was covered by a large sun awning. I was quite fascinated by the fact that no one seemed to be in any particular hurry to board and the foredeck was crammed tight with bicycles belonging to the passengers. This was a normal procedure and everyone seemed to have one.

Prior to our arrival my father had been making inquiries regarding permanent accommodation for us. He had received several offered by various Somerset property owners. Many were too far from my father’s workplace, bearing in mind that there was no public transport in 1937 except one’s own bicycle. This would have meant four to six miles for him.

Our choices were whittled down to one particular bungalow located on the western side of Somerset Island and close to an area known as Daniel’s Head. It was approximately three and a half miles from the Dockyard, a cycle ride of approximately forty minutes — using Bermuda’s leisurely time.

This bungalow had originally been one large building, but the owner Mary Ingham had shrewdly converted it into two self contained apartments — each one having its own entrance and water catchment tank. My mother fell in love with it right away and so it was that we became new tenants and a part of Somerset proper — very rural, quiet and pretty.

Having decided to take the apartment, that’s when the work started for all of us. The major task was purchasing all the bits and pieces for the new home. We were able to get most of the furniture from the Dockyard surplus stores, and with the help given by “Dick” Roberts the shopkeeper, whose general shop was in proximity and sold everything from A-Z, was invaluable to say the least. As soon as he heard the property was to be occupied, he came to visit us with his wife. They were charming people who lived in a bungalow a few hundred yards up the road with their 12-year-old son and a Great Dane dog.

Mr Roberts soon weighed up our circumstances and requirements and it was he who arranged the supply and delivery of our new kerosene cooking stove the same day we took up residence. This and other pieces of household equipment had to be obtained from one of the main shops in Hamilton, which by road was eleven miles away.

When my mother’s friend Mrs O’Callahan heard my mother’s account of the property, she too showed interest in the empty adjoining apartment and on viewing it she and her husband decided to take it as well. This was an ideal set-up as we were all very good friends and came from the same home town in England.

The bungalow was aptly named Palmetto Grove as it had several palmetto trees and an abundance of oleanders around the boundary, plus a large cedar tree at the entrance.

There was a twice weekly freight service between Somerset and Hamilton operated by our landlady’s husband — Graham Ingham. This was an open wagon with side seats, drawn by two horses. It left Somerset every freight day at 6.30am encompassing a journey of several hours with the horses walking at a steady pace most of the time.

Once in the city the driver and his helper would collect whatever was required from the various stores and load the wagon for the return to Somerset, dropping off and “in between” arriving back to Somerset in the early evening. It was a service well used as none of the shops were available in Somerset. Our cooker and most of our household items came by this method. The horses set the pace and it was no use in trying to hurry. It was a small example of this Bermuda way of life — slow, peaceful and relaxing.

A major victory for my mother was mastering the cooking arrangements, especially the kerosene-fuelled stove which had three in-line but separate burners. Each burner had its own small enamelled chimney. The fuel was contained in a large glass container located at one end of the cooker and the bottle had a light spring loaded filler cap.

In operation the fuel bottle was placed on it’s end and upside down with the filler cap resting in the hollow trough. When in position the filler cap valve opened slightly allowing the fuel to flow into the trough until it reached the filler cap which would become submerged. From there, a pipe fed oil to the burners each of which had a circular wick and its own flame regulator. There was a portable oven placed over two adjacent burners. It was a very efficient unit and catered for all our cooking needs including all the usual Christmas fare.

Continued in Monday’s newspaper

• Cecille Snaith-Simmons from the writing of George J Dixon Jr. Mrs Snaith-Simmons is a retired nurse, historian, writer and author of The Bermuda Cookbook