We Revisit England

It was decided that our vacation in England would be of a one-month duration, so we chose the month of July - August, since it would also embrace the holiday period when schools would be in recess, and the children would be available, thus adding to the enjoyment of their grandparents. I had been saving my vacation leave from previous years, and so it was easy to arrange for a month's absence from work without any problems.

It was July, and Emma and I flew out of Ontario airport via Los Angeles on a direct flight to London's Heathrow Airport. Our Jumbo Jet was a 747, with nearly 400 passengers on board, and there were all the facilities on the plane that one could expect. Two different movies were shown, and for a small fee, you were provided with stereo music with your individual earphones. The meals were good and we arrived in London in the early morning hours to see Ron, Maureen and Paul waiting for us.

After an absence of many years, England seemed much the same as when we were last there. We spent the first part of our holiday with Maureen and her family at their home in Eastcote Avenue, Greenford, which is just about one and a half miles from where we had previously lived in North Wembley. It was nice to see the mother country once again, but after living in the U.S.A. for so long, it was impossible not to notice the great difference in life styles between the two countries.

We got in touch with Michael and his family who lived in Canterbury way across on the other side of England towards the Straits of Dover - North Sea side - and we arranged to spend some time with them. As a matter of fact, Michael had decided to spend his summer holidays in the beautiful resort of St. Ives, on the Cornish peninsular, and he asked us to join them there for one week.

We visited many friends we had made when we lived in England, and we were also able to renew a lot of old acquaintances. Emma even visited her former club in Greenford while I looked up many of my old colleagues both at Walker the Chemist, and at the Euston telephone exchange.

Our trip to St. Ives was the longest I had ever taken in a small car. It was Michael's Mini Austin, and we travelled over what was easily the widest part of Britain, east to west. The journey took about twelve hours, and considering that the little car was very heavily laden, it stood the trip extremely well. We passed through lush English countryside, and towards evening were skirting along the Bodmin Moors. St. Ives was not reached until well after dark, but Michael, who drove all the way, did not have too much difficulty in finding the house he had rented for the weeks vacation.

The Cornish peninsula is a fascinating part of Britain, and its coastline and beaches are a source of great attraction in the summer months. Our house was built on high ground, and it overlooked the bay and frothy blue water below.

By reason of the Geographical nature of the country, the streets in Cornwall are narrow and winding, but cute. Formerly a tin mining centre, it is noted for its fine clay and pottery, and its fishing, and the colour-washed stone houses seemed solidly built. Cornwall gave me the impression of being a favourite place for second homes, and for people in retirement, no doubt due to the mild climate of the area.

Each day we would make excursions by car to the several beaches that abound here, and on one of these we saw what looked like an outdoor theatre built into the cliffside and looking down on the beach.

On another occasion, we took a coach tour to St. Michael's Mount, a lofty island of granite rising some four hundred yards off the shore of Mounts Bay on the English Channel and quite close to land's End.

At low tide a natural causeway links the island to the mainland, but when the tide is in, access to St. Michael's Mount is gained by small boats which ferry you across.

A twelfth century monastery sits atop the island, part of which is now used as a tourist attraction. Ownership is now in the hands of Lord St. Levan, having passed through his family over the last three hundred years. At the moment, however, most of the upkeep of the property is provided by a national trust.

At St. Ives the nights were cool, and days warm and pleasant, and we really enjoyed a delightful week of English summer there. At the end of our stay in this Cornish setting, Emma and I left for London and Maureen's home using British Railways, thus making it easier for Michael and his family to return to Canterbury. Maureen and Ron met us when we arrived at the station near their home, and the ensuing week we spent with them was very enjoyable. Paul had grown into quite a big boy, and he was thrilled when, on two separate occasions, I took him out to see London the way I always liked to view this great metropolis.

We joined the Underground train near the house, and went as far as Westminster Bridge which is on the River Thames. Getting onto the Thames embankment, we walked along it for well over a mile, enjoying the river scene, with pleasure boats going in both directions filled with holiday makers. Once the main source of traffic through London in early English history, this river still has a fascination and great charm for all. Some of the finest photographs of the city could be taken from many of the bridges which cross it, and on a clear sunny day it is a truly remarkable sight.

Paul and I walked the glorious stretch along the river from Westminster bridge to the Victoria Embankment Gardens. We took pictures there, then we strolled across to Trafalgar Square where he fed the pigeons. By then we were somewhat hungry, so into one of the Lyon's restaurants nearby we went and had a meal. Fully refreshed, we walked back to the river and visited Cleopatra's Needle and the Sphinxes, taking more pictures with Waterloo Bridge in the background. We then climbed up Hungerford Bridge, which has a pedestrian footpath going right across the Thames to the Waterloo side. In the centre of the bridge we stopped to take pictures from that vantage point, obtaining splendid results depicting river scenes with St. Paul's Cathedral and the Savoy Hotel as background, with Paul, very often in the foreground of it all.

On our second visit to London, Paul & I (also with Vi, his paternal grandmother) took a somewhat different route. In deference to his grandmother we chose a less strenuous tour.

We took the train to Kensington High Street and visited the world famous Derry & Toms Roof Gardens.  What a beautiful sight and what great pictures it provided. We pushed on to the Albert Memorial and took a series of pictures, afterwards visiting the Museum close by, and the Albert Hall.

Before we left for California we had to spend some more time with Michael in Canterbury. It was therefore arranged for us to go to his place and take in as much of the local scenery as we could. So back to Canterbury we went. Michael's home was in a little cluster of houses called "Somner Close". It was within walking distance of Canterbury Cathedral, and we were able to make a grand tour of this historic building.

Erected as a walled community by the Romans in 200 A.D., Canterbury is the primary See of England, and is outstanding as a religious and cultural centre. About one half of the circuit of the city walls still stands, but of the original six gates, only one, the West gate remains. Much of the architecture of the cathedral is Gothic in design, and it contains the tomb of Edward the Black Prince. Archbishop Thomas Beckett was murdered in this cathedral, and his shrine there attracts many visitors. It was my privilege to stand on the sacred spot and have my photograph taken, which is now among my prized colour slide collection.

While in this area, we visited Dover Castle, a solid Norman structure built by William the conqueror. From the top of this ruggedly built stone fortress we had a clear view of the Straits of Dover and the surrounding countryside.

Unlike so much of urban England, the rural atmosphere of this important centre of the United Kingdom made us appreciate how peaceful life could be, and how much enjoyment could be had in surroundings that were just right.

My brother Frankie, who lived in Earl's Court, and whom I had not seen for many years, had been resident in London for a very long time and I decided to spend a day with him and enjoy his company. I made no mention of him or my sister Edna since we parted as small children, but, in a nutshell Edna got married to Bolton Applewaithe, and Frankie, still unmarried, left Guiana and took employment in Aruba for a long time, finally settling in England even before I arrived there in 1960. He was now an established officer at Somerset House, and was very securely fixed. He chose a bachelor type of existence, and had his 'digs' in Longridge Road. We spent the day going through Holland Park and doing the various joints in Earl's Court Road. Frankie was a complete extrovert, and very likeable. We certainly enjoyed each other's company that day.

Our one month revisit to England was a complete success, and we enjoyed every moment of it.

Wedding Arrangements | Disappointed re trip to Canada | Journey to Trinidad & Return to Georgetown

Shortly after returning to Georgetown, and while actively engaged in the arrangements for getting married, I received a most disappointing letter from Bookers Shipping Department who were the agents for Canadian National Steamships, owners of the Lady Boats.

As previously stated, I had booked passages to sail on this line to Canada, and the information

I received was to the effect that I would only be allowed to proceed there on condition that I would be taking up agriculture, and that I was required to have a capital of not less than one thousand dollars (Canadian). This was, unfortunately 1930, the year of the great depression, and Canada had high unemployment. As a result, restricting immigration to special occupations was a protective measure to help the economy.

This news came as a great shock to us, but I decided to go ahead and get married anyway. This called for a revision of all our well- made plans, and it was agreed that after the wedding, Emma would continue with her job at C.A. Phillips & Co. and I would go to Trinidad and try to obtain employment at W.C. Ross & Co. which was a large pharmacy owned by Bookers of British Guiana, my erstwhile employers.

And so, on September 18th 1930, Emma and I were married at a quiet morning ceremony in St. Andrews Presbyterian Church by Rev. Leslie, the Moderator.



The bride was given in marriage by Frank Drayton, an old friend of her family, for like myself, both her parents had passed on. My best man was Bolton Applewaite, a son of my guardian during my teenage years. After the reception, we motored up the east coast and spent four days at the Belfield Hotel’s “honeymoon” suite.

On the 5th day after our marriage, I sailed for Port-of-Spain, Trinidad, leaving on one of the Lady boats. Emma remained in Georgetown, putting up at the home of Mildred Mansfield until such time as I could stabilize my position and send for her to join me. It was late afternoon on the following day that my ship pulled into Port-of-Spain harbour, and after very brief customs formalities, (there was very little of this in 1930) I decided to spend my first night in the Miranda Hotel, a fairly unpretentious place quite close to the shipping area.

The trip from Georgetown took thirty six hours, and it was uneventful, at least for me. This was the first time I had been abroad, and perhaps under normal circumstances, I would have been quite thrilled.  Unfortunately, I could not help thinking of our disappointment in not being able to go to Canada, of what the future held in store for us, and last, but by no means least, of the girl I left behind……

Before I was out of bed next morning - my first morning in Trinidad - my brother Jack, whom you will recall had migrated there several years ago, and who had learnt of my arrival from a newspaper report, came over to the hotel and invited me to stay at his home in the city. And so, once again, after an absence of about sixteen years, my eldest brother came back into my life. I had lost all contact of Jack & his wife for quite a long time, so that his invitation to live with him was very welcome.

Packing up my things I left the hotel, and went along with my brothers to his home in Abercrombie Street. Here I met Maggie, his wife, and I was given a room for myself. The house was comfortable and reasonably large, with a lot of space towards the back.

Jack had got on rather well, and at this time he was government shorthand writer for the legislative council in Trinidad. He had a cruising speed of 240 words per minute in the Pitman system, and his job was considered quite good. He had a large and well appointed office at the Red House, and his workplace was within walking distance of his home.

After I had settled down a bit, I went to interview W. Webster manager of W.C. Ross & Co. in Frederick Street. Mr. Webster was a Scot and was previously manager’s assistant of the British Guiana’s Bookers Drug Store during the time I was employed there. He therefore knew me quite well and was glad to offer me a job, even though it was only a small bit, assisting in the production of Bay Rum, a toilet lotion, and also in the goods receiving department.

During my previous experience in pharmacy, I had taken and passed the intermediate examination for Pharmacists so I accepted this little job and concentrated on my studies at home, intending to take my final exams in Trinidad and thus become fully qualified. Both British Guiana and Trinidad were at this time British possessions, and there was reciprocity in respect of qualifications and examination requirements.


But fate decided that I should return to the country of my birth, and this is how it happened:- About five months after my arrival in Trinidad, there was a disastrous fire in Georgetown which resulted in the death of Cecil Cregan. He was employed as chief clerk at Bookers. Drug Stores there, and was a good friend and former colleague of mine. He was burnt to death in the conflagration. Following the vacancy which arose as a result of this, Emma made an appointment with J.A. Adamson, manager of Bookers Drugs, and asked that I be considered to fill one of the positions which were bound to occur. With my background of work, Adamson readily agreed, and I was recalled to Georgetown to fill the position of Customs Clerk.

This was early in 1931 when I returned to my old home town, and Emma and I went to live at Mrs. Bryce’s boarding house in Robb Street.

The customs work I was given was quite new to me, but I pitched into it even though it involved a lot of running around in all sorts of weather, in and out of hot warehouses and bonds. Coming back to the office after several hours of outdoor work, I had to do quite a bit of clerical work, and in an effort to master the job in the shortest possible time I probably overdid it. After just one month in the new occupation, I contracted Influenza, and instead of taking time off and recuperating fully, I simply continued to work as usual. As a result, my condition worsened, and before long the firm’s doctor ordered me to hospital, since pains developed in the region of my chest. The condition was diagnosed as Emphysema. At this point in time, Alexander Fleming had not discovered Penicillin, nor were the Sulpha drugs developed. By modern standards I was given very primitive treatment, and I do remember drinking vast quantities of Parke Davis’ Palatol and Creosote with Guiacol.

In the end I had to have rib resection, after which a tube was inserted into the pleural cavity, and the area drained. In spite of it all I survived. Dr. George Mearns performed the operation.  Leaving hospital, I spent a full month recuperating at the home of Emma’s sister, Dorothy, at Springlands on the Courantyne coast near to the border of Dutch Guiana. Dorothy was the wife of Dr. Jabez Taitt, who was as I recounted earlier in this autobiography, the medical officer stationed at H.M.P.S. during my boyhood days there. He was now serving as G.M.O. in this country district of Springlands.

Returning to work after my convalescence I was given less strenuous indoor occupation, and gradually regained my health.

Our first little home was a rented two-bedroom house in lower Charlotte St. and on Xmas day 1931 Gordon, our first child, was born. I remember preparing our Xmas dinner that day, roasting the chicken all by myself, Emma being too anxious to do much in that respect at the time.
Six to eight months later, we removed into a neat little cottage in Light Street. This place was owned by my firm, Bookers, so it was more or less reserved for employees.

This home will always be associated with several important aspects of my life, for while living here I qualified as a pharmacist in 1933. It was also while living here that I was given the Management of Bookers Bourda Pharmacy, one of my firms many branch stores, and here also was born our second son, Michael. By a remarkable chain of circumstances, this very house and a smaller one next door, in addition to the pharmacy which was located at the corner of Regent and Light Streets, were all purchased by me just twenty years later, and successfully operated as Gilkes’ Bourda Pharmacy for seven years before I sold out and went to England to take up residence there. My son, Michael, who was born in this house, also had the distinction of lifting his bride over the threshold when he occupied it as his home after returning from his honeymoon.

Having taken and passed my Final pharmacy exam in 1933, I was now a registered pharmacist, and was promptly appointed to the management of my firm’s Bourda branch. We moved over to the apartment located above the business, and I settled down to my first real job of serious pharmacy.

During the five years I spent there, the building was enlarged to almost twice its size, both the apartment above and the shop below. There was also some modifications in the cottages next door. Our elder son Gordon, started out to school while at this location, attending Cicely Pilgrim’s “Montessori” establishment in Carmichael Street. I can clearly recall the many sleepless nights both Emma and I spent during a spell when both boys, then aged about three and five years, contracted whooping cough, which lasted for quite a long time. The finest medicine was a syrupy liquid called “Pertussin” What a contrast to the present mode of immunizing against, not only whooping cough, but diphtheria and tetanus as well, with a single injection of D.P.T.

One of my achievements while managing this branch, was winning a free, two-week trip to one of the Caribbean Islands. This was an offer my firm made to its branch managers who reached a certain sales level for Ferrol, a cod-liver oil extract & iron preparation, which it manufactured. Having won, I naturally chose to go to Trinidad, and was able to take Emma along. We lived at the home of my brother Jack, who had moved up the ladder of success quite a bit, and owned a delightful home in the select residential district of St. Clair. We did a lot of sightseeing in his new Pontiac, visiting many of the beauty spots on the island, such as the Blue Basin, Mayaro and Manzanilla beaches, and the Nursery at St. Augustine. We also took in the magnificent views from the tops of such heights as Lady Chancellors, Fort St. George and Mount St. Benedict.


After about five years at Bourda Pharmacy, I was promoted to my firm’s largest branch, in New Amsterdam, Berbice. New Amsterdam is a little town situated near to the mouth of the Berbice river. It was the next largest town after Georgetown, the capital city, and served as a supply centre for the several and large sugar plantations on the Courantyne coast. Almost all of these sugar estates were owned by Bookers, so it was quite important to hove a large supply depot in New Amsterdam. Apart from catering to the needs of the population of this little town, I had to keep the hospitals of the sugar estates fully supplied with drugs and medicines, and since this area contained the largest and most of the sugar plantations Bookers owned, there was quite a lot of work involved in operating this branch.

Some of the names of these sugar estates were quite unique, such as “Port Mourant”, “Skeldon”, “Albion” and “Rose Hall, Canje”. This branch also carried a comprehensive stock of groceries, and also the largest refrigerator I have ever seen. The estates purchased most of their food requirements from us, but this section was taken care of by a colleague, Arthur Fryer, who was a grocery-trained man.

Here was a great big rambling building with the business below, and my living quarters on two floors above it. There was so much space in the flats above that our furniture was almost lost there. Of the four large bedrooms, we started by using only two. Later on we allocated one of the others to our domestic help, who lived in, and we afterwards fitted up the last one as a guest moon. There were so many windows in the house, that when rain started to fall, and we began closing them, before we could complete the closing phase, the rain very often had stopped!

Our daughter Maureen was born in New Amsterdam, and she was a welcome addition to her two brothers. It was really lucky for us that a large Catholic school of the elementary type was located obliquely opposite, across the road at the corner of Main and New Streets, so it was a simple matter to enrol the boys there. The name of the headmaster was Crawford.

It did not take me long to realize that in the interest of progress, extensive renovation and rebuilding would have to be done to this structure, and so plans were drawn up, and a brand new two storied warehouse was built at the rear of the lot, and substantial alterations made to the existing building. It seemed that whichever branch I managed had to have extensive repairs done, which of course created a hardship while the work was in progress. During my four years tenure at this job, there were several incidents that stand out in my memory. One was a historic bicycle ride with a friend, Cyril Grant, forty miles along the Courantyne road to a health resort called No. 63 Beach, and back home the same evening, making a total of 00 miles covered for the road trip. I even turned out to play field hockey the following afternoon, whereas my companion Cyril, who was 10 years younger then I, was too sore to attend.

Another incident was when Gordon, our first-born, fell off the balcony of our house, which overhung the street, fracturing both bones in his left forearm, and one in the other. He had to be picked up from the street, rushed to hospital, have the fractures set and finished up with both arms in slings.

New Amsterdam, and indeed, the greater part of the county of Berbice, was notorious for its mosquito infestation, and swarms of these insects would make life almost intolerable after dark, Fortunately for us residents of the town, however, our mosquitoes were the salt-marsh type, neither Anopheles nor Culex, so they were really more of a nuisance than a health hazard.

There was also that memorable trip Emma and I took to the great Kaiteur Falls during our life in Berbice. We journeyed to this wonder of nature with a party of about thirty from Georgetown, and travelled to this marvellous waterfall on the Potaro river, going along the overland route. It required a whole weeks travel, first by train, then by river steamer to Bartica, then by covered truck through one hundred and one miles of virgin forest, then by small open boats to a point called Tukeit just below the escarpment leading to the falls. We finally climbed this steep ascent for roughly one hour in order to reach to the top of this glorious wonder of nature.

On the way we passed lots of interesting places end sights, stopping and spending a couple of nights at pre-arranged rest houses, one of which, built near to the Denham Bridge and overlooking Garraway Stream, commanded a never to be forgotten view of river and forest scenery. The sight of Kaiteur was truly majestic and awe-inspiring. I climbed to the edge of a cliff and looked down upon this mighty river, cascading from one level for 741 perpendicular feet to another level below, before continuing for another couple of hundred feet in a sloping descent, until it reached its lower level about a thousand feet from the spot where I was viewing all this. Looking at the spume as the water tumbled over the edge in its drop straight down, I had to wait for several seconds to adjust my vision to the fantastic picture below. Suddenly the entire gorge would be enveloped in a sheet of white mist, then it would as quickly disappear, and I could see the beautiful ferns and tropical foliage on the rocky wall behind the falling water.

Without warning, three or four rainbows would appear in all their splendour, no doubt produced by the rays of the sun shining down upon the whole scene. Then everything would cloud up again, and keep on changing appearance time after time it was truly magical. The roar of the falling water was like the deep-throated sound of a giant orchestra way in the distance.

We stayed atop Kaiteur for the greater part of that day, drinking in all we could of its unspoilt and natural beauty, returning to our base camp at the foot of the escarpment after a rather tricky descent. On many occasions we had to cling to snail shrubs and branches of trees to avoid accident. It was, in my opinion, the best way to see this waterfall. Nowadays, people go there by plane, landing on the river just above the falls, missing all the thrills and fun that we had.
An attempt to introduce and foster outdoor sports to my Berbice staff was made when I got permission from the governing body of the Wesleyan Church next door to our building, to use a vacant lot of land at the back of their church. I requested and got support, financially, from my firms head office in Georgetown as well as from other well-wishers, and proceeded to put the land in condition for playing both tennis and volley ball. Several months were spent putting in subsoil drainage, filling and levelling spots, and rolling and mowing the surface. T.S. Harrington, who was in charge of the Pure Water Supply in New Amsterdam and a friend of my branch, donated the fixtures for the tennis and volley ball courts, and so we began to use the ground. At the start the staff was very enthusiastic, and at one time we had competitions, teams from other local clubs taking port. On one occasion, a team of volleyball players, captained by my younger brother Frankie, came all the way from Georgetown to do battle with us.

After a couple of years however, interest in sport seemed to wane, and it came to an almost dead stop by the end of the fourth year, when I was once again transferred on promotion from Berbice back to our head store in Georgetown, at the corner of Main and Church Streets.

World War Two had started while I was stationed in New Amsterdam, and strict price control of everything imported was imposed by Government. I was therefore given the responsibility of fixing these prices, and since any price in excess of the profit margin allowed by government was a serious offence, punishable by heavy fines and dire consequences - it was quite a job.

I was also given supervisory control of the wholesale department, which not only supplied all stocks to the eight branches the firm then operated, but dealt with many of the other independent drug businesses as well, in addition to supplying the other sugar plantations in the county of Demerara. The second world war years were difficult ones for a young family such as mine. Shortages occurred not only in foodstuffs, but also in commodities like bicycle tubes and tires, and many household necessities. The streets of Georgetown were flat, no hills, so cycling was a very popular method of transport.

During this period, blackouts were enforced, and I, in company with other staff members joined the local equivalent of the British Home Guard in which I was appointed a Fire Warden. Training was provided by the Georgetown fire Brigade, and after we were deemed sufficiently competent, we were taken out with the regular fire-fighters for active work during their practice sessions.


1945 will always be remembered as a black year for Bookers. It was the year of a disastrous fire which ravaged the business heart of the city. So far reaching was its effect that both Banks, Barclays and Royal Bank of Canada declared a moratorium in order to sort things out. Also destroyed by this fire was the government savings department of the general post office, where a great number of the ordinary man-in-street kept his savings.

The trouble started at Bookers Drug Stores, yes - the place where I worked, and what is more, the fire began on the floor immediately above my desk. At that time my firm manufactured a product called “Limacol”, which is a toilet lotion containing alcohol. Incidentally, this product is still made by them, but in a strictly rural area, away from the city. Allegedly the conflagration was caused when a large quantity of alcohol, which was about to be converted into Limacol became ignited. It came out in an enquiry afterwards that a workman was using a blow-torch in the vicinity of the alcohol vapour which set the place alight. One of the firms’ employees, a young man named Morris was burnt to death, and in no time at all, the entire huge building was ablaze.

From the nature of the stock held, it was difficult to control the blaze, as all sorts of very inflammable items were stored and sold from this huge business. With a head start such as this, and with the aid of an adverse wind, in a very short time, the fire had spread to several large businesses in this the very heart of the down-town area.  There was little that I could do personally, so I jumped on my bicycle and rode dazedly home….

There were many hardships for us, the staff, following this fire, and after a couple of temporary locations, in which we tried to reorganize ourselves, we finally arose, like the Phoenix from the ashes, to even greater strength than before.

We had removed once again, to a three-bedroom house in upper South Road, directly opposite to Queens’ College across an open field. Our two sons, Gordon and Michael had been attending the Government School in Broad Street since our return from Berbice, and it was from this Broad Street School that Gordon qualified for a place at Queens’ College, after taking an annual examination for this purpose.

With his brother now a pupil of the best school in the country, we enrolled Michael in the preparatory division of the same college, thus ensuring his entry there at a later date. A couple of years after his admission to Queens’ College, Michael was successful in gaining a middle school scholarship, which provided him with free tuition at this seminary for several years, taking him right through college at no further expense to his parents.

While living at this South Road home, I recall taking my two sons, Gordon and Michael as well as Leslie Melville, one of their college chums and a good friend of our family on a weekend tour of the area where I spent some of my boyhood years. We visited H.M.P.S. Bartica, Cartabo Point, and the ruins of the old Dutch forts at both fort Island and Kyk-Over-All. We joined the early steamer in Georgetown, and travelled out into the Atlantic Ocean along the coastline, entering the Essequebo River at Parika.

Continuing from Parika we stopped for a short while at fort Island (a former Dutch fortified area) then proceeded up river for three or four hours arriving at Bartica (the terminus) late in the afternoon. We had booked sleeping accommodation on the ship, but on the following morning we rented an outboard motorboat and toured the Mazaruni river, stopping at H.M.P.S., where I lived as a boy for five years.

We afterwards visited Cartabo Point and Kyk-Over-All, where we inspected this tiny island, which at one time in the history of this region, provided such useful fortifications for the Dutch who then occupied the country. We inspected the stone and brickwork erected by those early settlers and noticed that some of the archways were still in a state of fairly good preservation. It was both an educational and a pleasure trip, and the boys thoroughly enjoyed it.

Maureen, our older daughter, started school at this point, and became a day pupil of St. Roses Ursuline Convent. Our second daughter and last child, Marsha, was born while we lived here, but in the interest of health we changed our residence and went to live at the corner of North Road and Oronoque Streets. We did not spend too much time in this North Road place. It was, unfortunately, an apartment, with another one above, and to say the least, we did not have the type of neighbour in the upper apartment who would make life in the lower level even just bearable.

During our residence here a rather serious accident happened to Gordon. He was kicked by a prancing racehorse called Swiss Roll owned by the Lams’ and after a court action which resulted, we received damages money in settlement of the case. The injury was to Gordon’s knee, and we sent him on a little holiday to his uncle Jack in Trinidad to recuperate during the summer vacation.

Having changed rented houses so many times over the last ten years, we were becoming tired of these frequent removals. We therefore decided to buy a place of our own, and with a great deal of help from my employers, Bookers, we purchased our first home in a residential area in Queenstown, at the corner of Almond and Oronoque Streets.

The acquisition of this property was one of the major steps in my life. It was a nice little home with three bedrooms, and was set well back from the road. There was plenty of yard room on bath sides of the house, and quite a number of fruit trees such as Genips, Mangoes, Downs, Cherries, Bananas, Limes, and even three full-grown Coconut trees, all bearing fruit and nuts. It was really a great adventure for me, and without delay I started to have work done on the property to improve it. The kitchen was remodelled, the zinc corrugated roof painted with anti-corrosive, window awnings erected, and bathroom improved. Lastly, I undertook the colossal task of raising the level of the yard about one foot.

The property next to ours was built on somewhat higher ground, and in the rainy season the accumulated storm water would drain on to our land causing it to flood. Fortunately, at that time, the City Water Commissioners were putting in a new water purification plant, and a large area within half a mile of us was being excavated for the erection of a sedimentation system. I arranged to have well over a hundred truckloads of earth brought into our yard, the only cost to me being that of transportation.

After the earth was spread over the whole area of the yard, I then put on a layer of crushed sea-shells which produced a really nice finish. As if this were not enough, I then proceeded to do a lot of cement work on the front entrance leading to the gate, and to most of the space below the house.

I had to admit that I really overdid things, doing too much, too quickly. Added to this was the financial strain involved, and before I knew it, I had developed the characteristic pains of peptic ulcer. My firm’s doctor requested X-Rays, and a duodenal ulcer was disclosed, so I was ordered to St. Joseph’s Mercy hospital for rest and treatment. I spent one whole month there and the doctor, S. Bettencourt-Gomes was really good to me. My employers were also magnanimous, they paid all expenses, without its affecting my usual salary. Upon my return home from hospital, I had to take life a lot easier, and was able to enjoy many happy years in our little home.

One of the privileges that senior employees of Bookers enjoyed, was a three to four month vacation every four years. Round trip passage to the Caribbean islands was also paid, in addition to an advance of your full salary for the period of your vacation. As luck would have it, my turn came around a few months after my hospitalization, and I was thus able to make good use of it. We leased our furnished home to a friend of ours, Seton Olton and his family for four months, boarded out our two boys and Maureen at the Taitt's, while Olga and Hilbert Holder, two of our best friends kept Marsha at their home.

Emma and I then took off on holiday, visiting Trinidad, Barbados, St. Vincent and Antigua. We spent about two or three weeks with my brother Jack in Trinidad, and then flew over to St. Johns, capital of Antigua spending one month there with Foster & Sybil McDonald. It was our first visit to Antigua, and we thoroughly enjoyed this lovely windswept little island and its friendly people.  The sea-bathing here was superb, and I recall one of the beaches we swam at called Half-moon bay, which had the shape of a very wide crescent, with surf-bathing on one side, and calm, glass-like sea on the other arm of the inlet. I also enjoyed a lot of tennis during our stay here.

In the days of the buccaneering pirates, when the kind of people like Henry Morgan roamed the Caribbean waiting to prey on Spanish shins passing by, the island of Antigua played an important part in helping to achieve this end. Lord Nelson, that outstanding British sea-dog used the natural deep water and concealed harbours of this island to hide his ships in, before sallying forth to do battle with the enemy and so help to place Britain in the position of a leading sea-power. To this day, English Harbour and Nelsons Dockyard remain in a state of partial preservation to the memory of this famous Admiral who played such an important role in the British Navy of his day.

Emma and I visited both of these relics of past years, and we were shown over the remains of “English Harbour” where the ships docked, and we also had the pleasure of visiting Nelson’s quarters. The wooden bed in which he slept is fairly well preserved, and we couldn’t help thinking back on those rather robust times as we gently touched the rails protecting it. When we tried to collect the sea anemones below the surface of the water of Nelson’s Dockyard, they would simply fold up as if in resentment of our approach.

Another memorable evening spent while in Antigua was at the Beach Hotel, where we were guests at a delightful dinner there. This hotel was built like a huge ship, complete with windows shaped like portholes. There was afterwards a party on the lawn, and the hotel being built near the sea, the lawn was on a cliff which overlooked the water.

After a really jolly month spent on this beautiful island, we flew into Barbados, and put up at the Mandeville’s who were the people with whom Gordon lived during his training there as a cable & wireless operator. (Incidentally, he was now employed at Cable & Wireless, Georgetown, as a fully fledged operator). In Barbados, we sea-bathed frequently, and took in most of the sights.

Although a very small island, it is truly wonderful, with very friendly people.
Barbados is usually referred to as Little England, and there are many reminders of the Mother country in the names of several of its places and monuments. There is even a Trafalgar Square.

When I was a boy at school, I recall my schoolmaster telling me that during the period of English history when Oliver Cromwell was Lord Protector, he would rid the country of recalcitrant persons by saying to them “I’ll Barbados you!” He would them proceed to banish them to this little island in the Caribbean, and no doubt, for this reason, a strong flavour of English life and custom is now present there.

Leaving Barbados we visited St. Vincent, another of the Windward Islands. We spent a short time in its capital, Kingstown, and then we rented a delightful bungalow at a sheltered resort called “Villa”. Villa was separated from a high rocky promontory called Young‘s Island by a calm body of delightfully blue water which was really a swimmer’s paradise. Our bungalow was right on the water’s edge, and we often took boat rides in small craft over to Young’s Island.

Before we left “Villa”, we joined a party, and partly drove and partly walked up to the summit of the “Soufriere”, an extinct volcano, and having reached the edge of the crater, we looked down into the lake way down below. To give some idea of how far down this crater lake was from the edge of the lip, we tossed rocks into the lake, but the rocks would disappear from sight before we could see them strike the surface.

From St. Vincent, we flew over to Trinidad on the last leg of our journey back home. We still had a few weeks of our vacation left, and spent viewing more of the scenery of this lush island, its oil fields, pitch lake, and lastly, attending the famous “Carnival” celebrations which is one of the high points of life in Port-of-Spain.

We sailed for home after a truly glorious vacation leaving Trinidad by shim, called the Alcoa Pegasus. After that disastrous fire which my firm sustained in 1945, the drug department was, we thought, permanently located in Water Street in new premises purchased, between Resaul Maraj on one side, and Fereira & Comes on the other. Everything as going well, and the firm was now almost back on its feet again, when, horror of horrors, Resaul Maraj’s business on its left, caught afire, and once again Bookers Drug Store was razed to the ground. Fortunately at that time, a huge stone and steel complex called Bookers Universal Store was just about completed and constructed on the site of the original l945 fire, and the Drug department was re-opened on a smaller scale into a section of it. At this point also, there was fission of the department into (a). a retail outlet and (b) a wholesale and manufacturing depot. The retail department was, as stated, occupying a portion of the Universal store, and I was appointed Manager of it. The manufacturing end was located at La Penitence, which is on the fringe of the city of Georgetown.

The opportunity was also taken to make a fresh start by revolutionizing the entire concept of retail drug merchandising, and to this end, the services of a Specialist from Boots the Chemists of England were engaged. The name of this man was Denver Williams and he proved to be a great help to me personally in the years to come.

My energies were now fully absorbed in my new job, and I sold our Oronoque and Almond Street home, making a profit on it which enabled me to liquidate all my debts, and provide what was my first “nest egg” in the form of a bank balance. This was to come in very handy in a very short time.

We then rented a two-storied house in Church St. and lived there. It was near to the corner of Cummings Street, and the Lamaha Canal ran right in front of the building. I also invested in our first automobile, a brand new Morris Oxford.  During one of the annual visits of Jock Campbell, the London, England Chairman of Booker Brothers, my employers, it was decided by the Board of Directors to dispose of several of their branch stores.

Being completely conversant with branch management, I decided to make a good try at acquiring the Bourda Pharmacy at the corner of Regent and Light Streets. I had managed this branch for several years, and knew its possibilities, its customers, and the general area quite well. The great snag was, where was I to get the money for its purchase? After thinking the matter over, I placed an overseas call to my brother Jack, in Trinidad, and he readily agreed to supply the funds necessary to buy the business. Following his telephone promise, he cabled me a cheque for twenty-two thousand dollars, and he and I entered into partnership and became owners of Gilkes Bourda Pharmacy.

Life as a country boy (1915)

Once again, in another of those occasions where great decisions have to be made, my father is, to all intents and purposes, submerged in the hinterland. I place the date at around 1915. I remember we were in the throes of World War 1, and it all comes back to me now.. .the graphic accounts of fighting soldiers. I have a vivid recollection of pictures of Russian Cossacks pulling heavy artillery knee deep through snow and slush. As a small boy, all this held me spellbound, and I simply failed to realize the full impact of a holocaust such as that was.

The only close relation we had at this time was my uncle Fred, the brother of my deceased mother. He was employed as a prison warder at a special institution for long term prisoners at His Majesty’s Penal Settlement, (H.M.P.S.). This place was located about one days’ travel from Georgetown by train and river steamer up the Mazaruni River at a paint just below “Kyk-Over-All” (look over all), a former Dutch fort which stood at a strategic position on a little island at the confluence of the Mazaruni and Cuyuni Rivers.

My uncle was married to my father’s daughter by his (my father’s) first wife, and although at first glance itwould appear that this was a family intermarriage, upon examination it was obvious this was not so. They had one son, Herbert. He was six years my senior, and the family lived in a small apartment at H.M.P.S.

My uncle and my half sister, his wife, were poor people, and my everlasting gratitude goes out to them for agreeing to take my three year old brother Frankie, my six year old sister Edna and myself, aged nine, to live with them in their humble home.

My elder brothers Jack and Eddie remained in Georgetown with friends. Jack was forced to leave college, and found employment at Garnett and Company, one of the prominent local firms then. Some years later at an early age, he got married, and he and his wife left the country for Trinidad. My other brother Eddie was encouraged to follow in my fathers footsteps and worked in the interior, in search of gold and diamonds. Several years later he was drowned in a boating accident, just off Cartabo Point.

And so, Frankie, Edna and I were thrown together in completely new surroundings, and here we spent many years of our lives in what I can only regard as one of the most important periods of our chequered existence.

His Majesty’s Penal Settlement (King George V was the reigning British monarch at the time) was the most unique place. As previously explained, only prisoners with long sentences were sent there and the situation of the settlement was ideally suited to discourage any attempt to escape from incarceration.

Built on a well-planned sloping bit of hilly terrain, it rose gradually from the river’s edge to the crest on which stood the prison, completely surrounded by a massive wail. Its location was on a curve of the Mazaruni River, so that a deep, almost mile-wide body of swift flowing amber coloured water bordered it on two sides, and virgin jungle on the remaining edges.  In addition to this, the river was notorious for its Pirai fish, a voracious and attacking species of Piranha.

Escape via the jungle would have been extremely difficult as well, because it would have taken weeks of rough going through the tropical rainforest to reach any sort of civilized community. To penetrate the jungle, one would also have to run the gamut of flooded creeks and streams, venomous snakes like the Bushmaster and Labaria, in addition to avoiding brushes with pumas, wild hogs, and various creatures.

During the five years I lived at H.M.P.S., several prisoners made escape attempts, but to the best of my knowledge not one was ever successful in gaining his freedom. These attempts usually ended in recapture due to near starvation in the forest, or drowning in the river. I once saw from the window of our home, the outstretched arm of a prisoner rising above the water on the surface of the river and then disappear. When the body was recovered, it was found to be a case of suicide, since the body was weighted. The poor man must have given up all hope of ever being free again, and so decided upon ending it all in a watery grave.

As another instance of how secure the Government considered M.I.P.S., several Germans living in Georgetown, the Capital City of British Guiana, were sent up to this Convict Settlement for protective custody during the War years of 1914-1918. It must be recalled that during that period Britain was at war with Germany, and British Guiana was then a Crown Colony of his Majesty’s (George V) Empire.

One of the unique features of M.I.P.S. was the fact that it was almost self-supporting. When the convicts realized that escape was very difficult, they quickly settled down to a fairly peaceful performance of their several duties. The entire settlement was run like a miniature town. The whole outfit was a Government project, with the various amenities which go into the making of a self-contained community. As was expected to be, it was a completely restricted area, restricted to the personnel employed there, and their families. Friends and visitors were of course permitted to come and stay for a reasonable length of time, but Passes had to be procured from the authorities.  

The number of Warders employed was approximately forty, and free houses were provided in four or five different locations on the settlement. Many fringe benefits were regularly supplied to the staff, such as a weekly supply of cut firewood, maintenance and cleaning of the grounds and area around the apartments and the daily removal and disposal of the chemical toilets and garbage. There was no sewerage or septic tank installation at that point in time. The prisoner count varied with the City crime, but an average of two hundred prisoners was always present. These convicts represented the entire labour force and were divided in various gangs in the carrying out of their allotted tasks. Many were skilled in various trades, to which they were best suited. The largest group was the farm gang; it comprised about forty prisoners, and about four warders were assigned to supervise this particular lot. I remember my uncle being in charge of this Farm Gang for quite a long time, since he had some previous experience of this vocation.

The Farm was principally livestock. The resident families were supplied daily with milk (fresh) of a delightful quality, and meat was also available about twice a week. Things like sweet potatoes, plantains, peas and vegetables of all sorts were also grown, and sold at reasonable prices to the homes. There was another group of prisoners referred to as the Forest Gang. These would cut timber in the adjacent forest, and pass it on to a small group who operated a small sawmill. The firewood supplied to the homes was also delivered by the Forest Gang.

Baking of bread was done every day by those of the prisoners with baking experience, and sold to us all, while small and select groups were engaged in an engineering shop, others in a granite quarry on the southern periphery of the settlement. The granite was blasted out of a solid large hill using sticks of dynamite and the stone was afterwards used to surface the roads, the surplus being shipped by barge to Georgetown, where it was also put to use on road-work. Every opportunity was used to make the place as self-supporting as possible, and it also served the useful purpose of keeping the convict community fully occupied.

There was a rather unusual feature at M.I.P.S. It possessed a Dry-Dock, in which all the Government river and coastal steamers were docked and repaired. The double water-tight gates of this dry-dock opened into the Mazaruni River and the ships which came for repair and painting steamed right into the open dock, when the double gates were closed; the enclosed water pumped back into the river, and the ships lowered gently onto the keel blocks at the base. In this manner the entire hull of the vessel became exposed, and repair and painting quite easily done.

It was always a thrill for us children to see this operation in progress, and between repair jobs, the dock proved to be a very good swimming place. It was there, with the aid of a large floating plank of wood and some willing friends that I really acquired the art and ability to swim.

The penal settlement was managed by a superintendent of prisons, and during the time I lived there, this august person was Harold Frere, afterwards Sir Harold Frere. The name was obviously French in origin, and he later married the daughter of Sir John Harrison, who at that time was Director of Agriculture in Georgetown. There was also an assistant Superintendent - N.M. King. They both lived in great mansions surrounded by beautifully landscaped gardens, all kept in apple-pie order by prison labour. Each of these gentlemen had a tennis court on a portion of his grounds. The Superintendent, Harold Frere, was a great lover of motor boats, and kept two such crafts, one of which, a covered speed-boat, very sleek and trim, was named “Hecuba”. It was a real delight to see it skim ever so gracefully over the surface of the river. The other was a rather large two-decked Cabin cruiser named “Ducalion”, in which he and his party would go on longer trips up or down river for pleasure. So much for the top brass.

As young children, we would enjoy hanging around the main gate of the prison enclosure, and through the rail watch the Warders on afternoon parade as they emptied their six-shooter revolvers of bullets, taking home only the empty weapons, but leaving the ammunition in the safe keeping of the prison. All in all, even though we were in poor circumstances, eking out a meagre existence, life was not at all uninteresting.

My sister, my brother and I all attended the local school. In a small community such as this, the pupils hardly exceeded forty. The head-master was a short stocky person named J.A. Sobers, and his two assistants were his wife, and a younger man whose name was Lewis. There we were taught the basic 3 M’s, and just as much as a tiny country school could provide. It was a great step down from Sharples school in Georgetown, but we were content. There was a fair amount of organized recreation, and in this respect, just a couple of hundred yards from our home, was a large sports field which was kept pretty well manicured by prison labour. Field athletics were regularly organized here, and very often invitations would be sent to the city of Georgetown, and athletes would travel up to M.I.P.S. to take part in sports, adding both interest to the events, and providing the necessary competitive element so essential to all sport.

During my life in this country setting, I became a Boy Scout. Lewis, the assistant teacher at our school, organized a troupe, and so, at about the age of twelve, a completely new dimension crept into my life.  Scout craft proved to be great fun, and in our particular location, close to both forest and river, we had an excellent opportunity really to extend ourselves.

On one of our scouting forays through the forest, a labba was shot by our scoutmaster, and I volunteered with another boy, to cook this delicacy. I ought to explain that a Labba is a much sought after rodent when hunters go a-hunting. It is somewhat like a rabbit in size, and is regarded as one of the tastiest of bush-meats.

Part of the system adopted at M.I.P.S. was to encourage self-support, and in this respect, large garden plots were allocated to the families. I have no doubt that this really started me off in my love for gardening. Between my uncle and myself we grew, or tried to grow, everything possible under the sun, from peanuts to potatoes. We did produce beautiful crops of sweet potatoes, peas, cassava, bananas and a wide variety of vegetables and greens. This certainly proved to be a welcome addition to our larder, and even if I might sound like bragging, we really made a success of our home garden.

The health of the population of M.I.P.S. was taken care of by a resident G.M.O. (Government Medical Officer) and a couple of trained Dispensers. A dispenser was a sort of doctor’s aid, and by virtue of this it was he who did little things like minor surgery, such as lancing and draining an abscess I once developed. Simple teeth extraction was also done by him.

By one of those strange quirks of fate, one of the doctors stationed at the Settlement while I was a boy there was Dr. D.J. Taitt. Dr. Taitt, Jabez to me now, is still alive. He is the widower of my wife’s sister, Dorothy.

The spiritual needs of the populace were taken core of by am Anglican minister, whose name I recall was Rev. Papworth. There was a chapel within the prison walls, in which he conducted religious services for the prisoners, using another building near to the schoolroom for the general public.

There was a canteen where food and other items were purchased. It would be a supermarket by today’s standards, and it was operated by individuals under some kind of franchise from the government. Items not available here were ordered from Georgetown, and my uncle dealt with the once famous firm of Smith Brothers and Co. Once a month a box of our special supplies would arrive by steamer, and the opening of it would be quite an event.

There was a twice-weekly steamer service from Georgetown. The trip took almost a whole day, leaving the city which is situated on the Demerara river at six a.m. heading out into the Atlantic ocean for a couple of hours, then entering the Essequibo river at Parika, afterwards proceeding for several hours until the Essequibo met the Mazaruni river. The situation of M.I.P.S. was no more than about forty minutes by steamer from this meeting of the two rivers, Essequibo and Mazaruni.

It is impossible to say how long this convict colony existed before my advent there, but it was easy to see from the type of buildings there, several of which were made of hewn square stone, the rugged walls, and the general layout of the place, that the Dutch may have started all that work before the British came into possession.

Along the well kept roads which wound and curved gently around the hill, H.M.P.S. was in reality a giant size hill sloping away to level land where it reached the jungle edges) there were dozens of Mango trees of every possible variety. These trees were all within easy walking distance of the homes, and it was great fun to wake up at the crack of down, carry the biggest basket one could find, and fill it full of the most succulent fruit which had fallen during the night. My favourite species was the Ceylon type mango. It was a large orange-shaped fruit with a thin pale skin, an aromatic and spicy meat inside, and a very small seed. There was a single tree which bore this type of fruit, and it was near to the prison gate. For many many months, this particular tree was the home of a two-toed sloth, and perhaps this fact made the tree all the more famous.

How could I ever forget the fishing we enjoyed in the small ponds and trenches in the “back dam”. We had a special method of catching fish, without rods or honks or any of the orthodox paraphernalia. Our gear would be a couple of pails, shovels, a few bits of wood and a piece of fine chicken wire. Selecting a long and narrow trench in which we had proved there were fish, we would block off one end and set up the chicken wire at the other. Since the terrain tended to slope somewhat, with a little encouragement, we would help to drain the water away, trapping the fish in the blocked part of the trench. Very often we had to use the pails to bale out the last of the water before collecting the fish.

When my sister Edna, my brother Frankie and I left our Cummings Street residence following the death of our guardian, Mrs. Mc Allister, and went to live with our uncle at H.M.P.S., the three of us were still quite young. We really enjoyed the change of scenery, and the new environment in this truly country setting. Those were the days before Radio and Television, and as a result, one’s entertainment took on a completely different aspect to that enjoyed today.

My uncle was an extremely good raconteur, and I could recall his specialty of giving graphic and detailed accounts of the various works of fiction he had read. We would all go visiting friends on an evening, and he would spend a couple of hours relating to his spell-bound audience the complete novels he loved so well. Some of his favourites were, “The Count of Monte Cristo”, “Beulah” and many of Dumas’ works and Marie Corelli‘s. He certainly had a dramatic way that easily captured our attention and respect.

There was also another side to my uncle’s disposition; he had a violent temper and although he seldom vented it on the three of us - Edna, Frankie or myself - the worst flogging of my life was administered by him when a gold watch and chain, belonging to my half-sister, his wife, was missing. For some unknown reason, he concluded that either my brother Frankie or I was responsible for its loss, and decided to extract am admission from one or both of us. Using a leather belt, he lashed our bare backs for quite some time, but since neither of us knew anything of the watch’s disappearance, we just told him so. Frankie was a full six years younger than I, and in an effort mainly to save him from further agony, I told my uncle I had tossed the watch into a nearby Canal after I had damaged it. Although this stopped him beating my brother, it increased his attention to me until it finally stopped. It was not until many years later, when I was about 18 years old and working, did I discover that the real culprit was a servant who was then working for us and who lived in on the premises.

There were dozens of other memories I could recall, and looking back over the years spent in this environment, I hove to admit that in spite of the poverty in which we lived, we somehow contrived to enjoy ourselves. Once again, and in all sincerity, I wish to express my undying gratitude to my uncle and his wife for giving us the opportunity of being a part of their immediate family, .at a time when we most needed someone to take care of us.

Life as a partial orphan (1914)

Following the death of my mother and my sister May, and the consequent disruption of our lives, the five of us children went to live with Mrs. McAllister an old friend of our parents. We removed to a small house in Cummings Street, and must have spent at least two years there.

By now I had started to attend school - St. Thomas’s School - more commonly known as Sharples School. My two older brothers also attended this school and Jack, the eldest, received a free place at Queens College having won a Mitchell scholarship. He was truly the brainy one.



There are many memories of these school days that still linger with me. It was certainly the largest school in Georgetown and definitely the most outstanding. Sharples school was notorious for turning out the most prominent judges, lawyers, doctors and people of real quality and this was only possible because of the competence and discipline of teachers like De Weever, Blackman, Spooner, Marshall and Weeks, serving under the mastermind of the headmaster, Daniel Sharples. My sister Edna and brother Frankie were still too young to attend school.

My recollections of life at this period were still scant, but I do recall some very salient points. This was about the year 1914.

As there was no pure water supply nor a sewerage disposal system in the city of Georgetown, the water which was drunk was collected from the rainfall on house roofs, and stored in wooden vats in the yard from which the supply was drawn off via stopcocks. This roof washing was run into the vats by means of guttering and pining, and since most of the roofs were constructed of galvanised corrugated sheeting, when it rained, the din created by the tropical downpours was quite something to hear. The final bit of piping which connected roof to vat was placed over a 12 inch square of fine wire mesh, which prevented leaves and other bits of stuff from being washed off the roof into the vat.
These vats created a grave health hazard to the population, as mosquitoes inevitably found their way through openings at the top end, laid their eggs, and bred very profusely.  The Anopheles mosquito was the most unwelcome species, and at that time, malaria was a very prevalent disease.

I can remember the method then employed by the city health service of introducing live little fishes into the vats to consume the eggs and larvae of the mosquitoes. There was, however, piped water in the city of Georgetown, but it was not notable. It was pumped straight from the Lamaha Canal - a man-made canal - and connected to the houses. Usually there were connections to the kitchen sink for dishwashing, to the bathroom for showering and also in the yard at ground level.



The colour of the water was brown, as the Lamaha Canal was an open reservoir into which leaves and vegetable matter fell and decayed, imparting a rich brown colour to the water. It did not pass through any purification system. In times of drought when the stored water supply in the vats ran out, individual attempts would be made to decolourise and purify the Lamaha “pine-water” so as to make it fit for drinking.



There was no sewerage system at this time either, and it was quite common to have to use an outhouse in the yard to dispose of body wastes. The better homes were equipped with flush toilets leading to septic tanks, which required individual attention by the respective owners.

As regards the outhouses, these were just little huts built over a cesspool into which faecal matter was deposited direct from the body. By today’s standards this condition would be quite impossible in a city, but then, it did not seem to bother anyone. When these cesspits became full, arrangements would be made to have the stuff pumped out, and a city excavator would be sent to take care of the situation. The excavator was in reality a tank truck and it carried hoses which ware inserted into the pit. Then a suction pump would be started and the matter drawn out from the pit into the tank-truck. I have seen this done both manually, using a large hand operated pump manned by four to six men, and also by means of the engine power of the truck.

Either way, it was a messy operation especially if the connected hoses (somewhat like oversize hoses of fire engines) developed a leak, or worse, if one of them should burst! It was common practice for the crew of the excavator to use a large smokepot on the top of the vehicle during the operation to help mask the malodorous effluvium. What a contrast today to find Georgetown with a robot sewerage system, and a sophisticated potable water supply!

The rain water vats have long since gone and the disease malaria, completely eradicated. This was also a period of great poverty for my family, and it is truly amazing how we existed on the small pittance we received. We were forced to live on the barest necessities, but fortunately we managed to survive, and even seemed to keep good health. Who knows? - perhaps we survived because of the simplicity of our lives.

As I said, we lived in a small house in Cummings Street and the Queenstown area was not very far away. At that time, however, Queenstown was mostly a series of open fields in which people who owned cows and other cattle would let them graze. Children would go there at Easter time to fly their kites, and having a lot of wide open spaces, boys in particular would go there and play “bat and ball” - a modified children’s version of the game of cricket. I recall quite distinctly how one evening my brother Jack, then a teenager, returned home from one of his frequent visits to these Queenstown playing fields covered with cow dung and smelling quite offensive. It turned out that he was involved in a fight with other boys there, and for ammunition they used heaps of partially sun baked cow excrete, the tops of which would be firm but the underside quite moist, warm and really smelly. Did Jack stink!!

By the time I attained the age of nine, our old guardian, Mrs. McAllister, whom we called “Da-Da”, died, and this brings me to another turning point of my life.

My Mother (Theodora Victorine Gilkes)

I can only remember my mother for a few years. She died before I was seven years old. But the little I do recall of her was that she was beautiful, and a devoted parent.

She was Eurasian. Her father, I was told, was an Indian, from India, who arrived in British Guiana on one of the several ships which brought indentured workers from that sub-continent. this was the policy of replacing labor on the sugar plantations, following the abolition of slavery, as the freed slaves simply refused to work for their former masters any more. This maternal grandfather was bi-lingual, and acted as interpreter for the laborers who came to work for the English owners of the plantations. He married into one of the families from England, and had two children, a boy, Frederick, and my mother, Theodora Victorine.

My mother was my father’s second wife, and I here mention the fact for the very good reason that some time after my mother died, one of the children of my fathers first marriage - my half-sister - played a very important part in my upbringing during the most impressionable years of my life.

As a member of the Salvation Army, my mother was one of its staunchest supporters, and I was often taken to the Central Hall in Alexander Street, just around the corner from our home in Charlotte Street. There is not a great deal more I can remember about my dear mother. She died at the age of thirty-three, leaving six children. I have already enumerated Jack, Edward, May and myself in a previous chapter on early memories. Two other children were born after me, namely a sister, Edna and a brother, Frank. Frank was a baby of six tender months at the time of her demise.