curiosity which drew so many Bermudians from their beds last Saturday morning to wander the once-fine public rooms of the Bermudiana hotel? All three, it seemed.

The scene was ghostly. Dust everywhere. Prices scrawled on walls. Pillows, mattresses, furniture and lamps stacked in the public rooms. Collapsing ceilings, empty shops, doused chandeliers.

In the once-lively bar, ceiling fans turned lazily in the darkness; bottles of angostura bitters and Worcestershire sauce still stood on a counter; the fire extinguisher provided a droll touch on the mantelpiece.

The glory belonged to yesterday. Today was about cobwebs and cash.

A woman, perhaps a fan of The Price is Right, took the frank approach with a hapless helper.

"How much is that there light?'' she demanded, pointing to a chandelier.

"$750,'' the assistant responded.

"$750!'' our lady of words exclaimed. "You people must be fullish. I'll go abroad and get a new one cheaper than that!'' But this wasn't comparison shopping day. It was a case of unscrew it, unplug it, lift it and lug it.

And terms were strictly cash. No credit cards, no cheques. Just straight runs to nearby ATM machines.

Mind you, there were some instances where prices did seem a tad fanciful -- like the rack of old computer floppy discs for $10.

"Excuse me,'' said a local artist to the burly passer-by. "If I bought these, could I write over the top of them -- you know, use them again?'' "No, you'd need to unlock the code,'' the man assured.

"Shucks, I wanted to find out what wages they were paying in 1987,'' she confessed. "Mind you, I've just saved $10.'' Mounds of pillows were stacked like sandbags in front of the once-glorious cedar reception counter. Too late for check-in, they couldn't hold back the tidal wave of bargain hunters either.

"Mamma, check these pillows,'' a tyke called out. "Forget it, chile. I'm not buying no dirty second hand pillows.'' In fact, an informal poll indicated that second-hand pillows had the cachet of a nasty disease.

"A pillow's personal , man. I'm not going to sleep on someone else's pillow.

I mean, you don't know who's been lying on it.'' Foam-core blankets, reduced to an unsavoury heap on the dining room floor, were also iffy.

"I came 'specially for blankets, but these are disgusting!'' a disappointed shopper declared, watching boats in the harbour through the holes.

"I'm sure the animals at the SPCA would like to sleep on them,'' a by-stander suggested.

"Yeah, well they can come and get 'em too,'' she snorted.

There was a certain feistiness among the browsers.

"It's the recession, you know,'' a middle-aged woman explained. "Before that, Bermudians were scornful about buying anything second hand, but there's a marked difference now. You can see it here today. They want bargains.'' Heaps of dusty drapes also came in for close scrutiny.

Two women in their on-the-town, spangled ganzi suits, oblivious to the obstruction they were causing, carefully unfolded and examined each drape as if it were fine gold.

"I'm looking for rips,'' Inspector 12 explained. "These could work cleaned up, but I don't want no rips. I'm not into sewing.'' Fifteen minutes later the duo were still peering into the weft.

"I dunno, what you think?'' "Girl, let's just do it. What can we lose? It's only four pairs, I mean to say.'' "Yeah, but what about the Christmas bills?'' "They can wait!'' That's how bargain-hunters are -- singleminded.

The handwriting was literally on the wall: "No single beds! No single box springs!'' But there were plenty of double, queen and king size mattresses and box-springs to go 'round.

The decisive got 'em up and moved 'em out smartly. Women who didn't look as if they could lift the skin off a rice pudding dug their designer sneakers into the marble floors and hauled freight like pros.

A man agonised.

"Oh dear, what should I do? The price is right but I can't handle a soft mattress,'' he fretted.

"Well, put it on the floor and try it out!'' someone suggested.

Reluctantly, he obeyed.

"Man, this is all right!'' he smiled. Pause. Frown. "But how am I going to get it home?'' "Tow it on your bike, bi!'' There is an extraordinary camaraderie which settles over events like this, a sort of "we're all in it together'' philosophy. Everyone helps everyone else.

From the former lounge sturdy wicker chairs, complete with fitted cushions, moved like hot cakes.

An ex-pat was gearing up for houseguests.

"These are perfect,'' he pronounced, stacking two for take-off.

A housewife was less sure.

"Should I or shouldn't I?'' she agonised. "I thought they'd look nice on the porch ... or maybe they'd go nice in my living room ...'' "Couldn't your husband come and help you decide?'' a friend asked. "Him? He's useless. He wouldn't come out for his own funeral,'' she said.

Hotel art is in a class of its own. Innocuous and insipid, it is best used as occupational therapy for carpenters. Never was it more redundant than today.

"I'm buying this for the frame,'' a well-dressed shopper apologised.

"You don't want that, the corner's split,'' her spouse barked.

"But dah-ling, we could glue it...'' "Don't be silly. Put it back...'' The motley collection of kitchen equipment represented the worst end of kitchen abuse.

"They should be ashamed to put these out,'' an ex-diner huffed. Bric-a-brac, of which there was plenty, included wastepaper baskets, ice buckets, bits of hotel china, filing trays, the odd coat hanger and tiny tablets of soap.

"I don't believe this. They're selling soap? '' a woman exclaimed. Sure enough, at the bottom of a cardboard box were those gift-wrapped slivers so beloved of hotel managements everywhere.

A small box caught the eye of the artist.

"Oh great,'' she chirped. "A ballot box! I've always wanted a ballot box.

How much is it?'' "$5'' said the cashier.

"$5? For this? It's not worth $5!'' "It's tree wood,'' the cashier offered.

In the chipboard era, perhaps this was significant.

"Just you wait, later in the day they'll be glad to take a dollar,'' she vowed.

Dozens of brass-finish reading lamps stood, like redundant flamingos, in a room off the lobby. In the dimness it was difficult to see the flaws -- so Miss Try-Before-You-Buy did the honours.

"Plug it in there,'' she ordered, directing buyers across the lobby. "Not all of them work. Oh, and check the bases -- some are not very steady.

'' Even so, at $10 each they were selling faster than pizzas.

"These things cost a fortune down town,'' a bystander noted, pushing sales along without benefit of commission.

Where once people frittered their holiday time in elegance, today they grabbed bamboo table bases and plate glass tops.

"I'll take one of these,'' a bachelor decided. "I've always fancied eating off a table.'' But would they team up with his wicker chairs? A young English woman was only too happy to oblige. "Oh yes dear, perfect!'' she pronounced.

If you could move it it was yours. Admiring the fine brass fixture over the entranceway, a lady told the security guard she fancied it for her bedroom.

"Well, if it's still here when I knock off I'm putting a screwdriver to it myself! Yes sir, and I'll only give them $50-$70 for it too,'' he said.

Little did they know -- it had already been sold.

And then there were the nostalgia buffs. You could spot them a mile away.

Unhurried, they moved, as if in a daze, with a pained, faraway look in their eyes and sad, sad faces.

These were the people for whom the closing of the Bermudiana came as a personal blow.

"My parents had a beautiful home on the fourth floor of the original Bermudiana. It was, as the English say, a good address,'' Mrs. Jean Hannant said. "I can remember them throwing furniture, carpets and silver out the windows during the fire.

"The hotel was beautiful -- so elegant; a real showplace. There was a wonderful ballroom, and in its heyday a theatre where people like Christopher Plummer, Kate Reid, Edward Everett Horton, Franchot Tone and others appeared.

"I'm glad my parents aren't here to see this. It breaks my heart every time I walk by. But, to tell you the truth, I'm thrilled that something has finally been decided upon. I just hope they make a beautiful job of it.'' On learning that the present building would be razed to the ground, however, Mrs. Hannant said: "That makes me feel even worse. I would like to have seen this turned into an Arts Centre.'' Entertainer Mr. Ted Ming was equally nostalgic. Standing in the former dining room, a host of memories came flooding back.

"My memories go back to 1959. John Johnson and I were 14 or 15 when we started out,'' he recalled. "I played guitar and John played congos and maracas. We played three evenings a week for cocktails. We used to stroll among the guests, and that's how we got the name the Strollers.

"There's a lot of memories ... a lot of memories ...'' he said sadly.

Watching the hustle and bustle was an exhausted Mr. Ian (Dundee) McGavern, who worked in the boiler room when he was 15.

"May Wingate, Martin Dixon and I have been here nearly a week bringing this stuff downstairs by trolley and elevator,'' he said. "This is only two and a half floors, you know. There are still three floors to go!'' No, don't watch this space.

GREAT SALE! -- Bargain hunters Jeff Koller and Christine Barritt are all smiles as they leave the Bermudiana Hotel sale with their purchases. They were among hundreds who flocked to the redundant building in search of sale goods last weekend.