MEMORIES OF OLD CAYMAN By
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This is a digitised version of an article from The Cayman Compass's print archive. Occasionally, the digitisation process introduces transcription errors, or other problems.
See the article in its original context from November 1988.
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The old folks had many frightening tales to tell of devastating blows, many of which swept the entire island like perhaps that which we so sorrowfully hear of our neighbours in Jamaica.
As a boy, I listened to tales of 1902, 1907 and of 1917 when I am told there were three terrible blows in one year. My grandfather always sadly spoke of the loss of his big wall house in 1917. During the succeeding years that followed 1917, there were quite a few brushes and near misses. up until the tragic year of 1933.
That year, will always stand out in the memory of those Caymanians who witnessed it and are still around today just as 1945 stands in the minds of the Japanese people.
I am hearing people today speak of the most deadly and the worst hurricane of the century as being our latest visitor, Gilbert.
Such people will have to be under 65 years of age to begin to think in that light. At that time I was just 10 years of age but I remember as well as though I had been 20.
For the sake of those who only read as history about 1932, let me review a few facts.
First, the November 1933 disaster had three major destructive factors. First, there was one whole week of torrential rain before the actual blow took place. By the time the hurricane arrived, the land was already flooded.
All this was termed as being November flood rains. In those days a week of rain was nothing strange or uncommon so that particular flood was taken for granted.
Secondly, when the hurricane arrived it carried with it a tidal wave. I am not sure that the wind velocity could be measured in Cayman at that period but let me say that my story is not hearsay or a book account.
I, and a cousin of mine, explored the very strength of the storm. Times were when we crawled on hands and knees to reach where we wanted to go. We saw whole houses being swept before the wind and waves like so many wooden crates.
Zinc and thatch leaves, along with pieces of boards, were like flocks of birds flying in the atmosphere but two young fools were spared to talk about it.
Now, if we may sum up the effects. In East End one could stand in Jackson's Square in the lower end of the bay and look straight to Old Isaac. One could look from Corlin Bluff straight down to Old Isaac point. There were only two houses left standing whole on the the entire waterfront. We used boats to reach the hill to go into the interior where the cattle and the cultivation were kept.
There was only one death recorded in Grand Cayman-that of Jim Price at Spotts who was crushed to death between his kitchen and house. However, our dear Sister Island suffered a wound, the scar of which remains to this day with more than 60 precious lives being lost.
What was the comparison of then and Gilbert? I answer, none! As a postscript, in the very strength of Gilbert's furty, in the early hours of Tuesday morning, there was a banging on my house which was very frightening.
I took my flashlight and ventured around the house trying to discover the source of the racket and soon found that two lengths of guttering had been turned into a pipe and were struggling to free themselves from the eave of the house. A few shingles were flying here and there. The rain was only a heavy drizzle and the waves were surprisingly low. It was nothing alarming to remember but of course I was an old salt who has weathered many hurricanes, typhoons and even a cyclone on the ocean. I have been down in the depths of the ocean with only two life jackets to bring me back to the surface when the ship on which I sailed rolled over in a 65-knot wind. I survived only by God's great love and mercy. That story is a book by itself.
During my last five days sailing with National Bulk Carriers, I experienced the worst weather I had ever seen during my 20 years at sea. The Universe Defiance was at that time classed among the world's largest ships. We were on the north coast of France enroute to Rotterdam, Holland when a cyclone struck in a force beyond all comprehension.
That supertanker behaved like a banana boat out there just barely holding headway in the mountainous seas that dashed her. Those who were on the bridge for the 4 am watch remained there with no relief until late afternoon.
Word came from the bridge at noon that the forecastle door had been broken open and volunteers were needed to secure it for the safety of the ship.
An attempt at that time was made by the captain to turn the ship around, stern to the weather; at which time we all back aft rushed to try to reach the boat deck for what good it would done us. However, the captain, sensing the great danger to ship and crew, straightened her back in the wind.
Then the loudspeaker in the crew mess-room, where everybody was huddled, cackled: "This is an emergency; we are in great danger. Men are needed to secure the forecastle door."
The bosun asked: "Who will volunteer to go with me on the deck?" Two brave sailors from St. Vincent said they would.
They put on their oil skins and seaboots and started to go but returned quickly saying the wind was too fierce for their heavy gears so they stripped to their shorts and left with a heaving line for each one to secure himself to the other.
They secured the door as valiant men but as soon as valiant men but as soon as they had mounted the catwalk a terrible sea struck them taking down the catwalk and washing the men overboard.
The bosun reported three times having washed overboard and back on deck but one young seaman never made it back. Somehow the life line must have come loose from him and he was recorded as being lost at sea.
The other seaman and the bosun both suffered bad bruises and fractures but escaped with their lives. We proceeded into Rotterdam where pipe lines had to be renewed; a new catwalk from bridge to aft had to be built and one new lifeboat had to be obtained.
As for me, five days later I was on my way to Jamaica to marry my darling girl. I sailed beautifully ever since. Don't underestimate the power of the tempest; no one knows its strength.
No, thanks be to the great God, there was no caparison between hurricane Gilbert and November 8th and 9th, 1932. Let's hope those dates never be repeated in Cayman.
