Wheaton’s Way: Celebrating 50 years in the Cayman Islands

On Monday, 11 Aug., my family celebrated 50 years in the Cayman Islands. Wow.

That same date, in 1975, my parents and three children (with the fourth very much on the way) set down in Grand Cayman, with little sense of how our lives would be forever changed.

The airport was not the modern edifice we have today – it was a simple, one-storey building.

As my Dad remarked, when I reminisced with him for this column, “Cayman airport looked like something you might find in central Africa. Customs was basically a roof for shade and there were chicken netting walls for security.” And, he added, with almost a quiet sigh of joy, “It was great.”

We had been living in the village of Dunmore East, Ireland, for four years prior to our journey over. Actually, not a bad training ground, as that too was a small community where neighbours looked out for each other and everyone was welcoming. It was also set on the water where fishing and sailing were important going concerns. In moving to Cayman, we basically exchanged seagulls for ching chings.

I know I’ve written about our early days here before, but that’s the great thing about being considered in the ‘senior’ category by cruise lines – people expect you to forget stories you’ve already told and patiently listen as you repeat yourself.

When we first arrived, we stayed at the old Holiday Inn (where The Ritz-Carlton, Grand Cayman now resides). You should Google the pictures of it – there are definitely a few on the Internet. It was a cross between a hotel and a motel, really, as in some cases you’d walk along an open balcony to get to your room door.

I don’t recall a lot about the rooms themselves, although very bright colours come to mind, but I can’t forget the chairs – big neon-green things with white PV-pipe frames. As children, we thought we died and gone to heaven when we saw the swimming pool and beach. The Irish seasides of pebbles and cold, cloudy water very quickly became a distant memory, as we swam through the various depth sections of the pool with small white bridges overhead, connecting the main deck to the centre bar.

We didn’t know anything about Dad’s job that had brought us to this magical place, but subconsciously hoped it would all work out.

Mum was very pregnant with my youngest brother, Michael. There she was, with three kids under the age of 6 and a newborn on the way. The Navy Seals had it easy.

When we left the Holiday Inn, we moved into what we simply called ‘the green apartments’. The building is still there – owned by the same Thompson family – but it is now a private residence. It’s next to Rackam’s in town.

We were downstairs on the right, and Dawn and Mike McTaggart and their sons lived in the apartment on the left.

Mum gave birth to Michael in early October, “ruining Gabrielle’s birthday”, he acknowledged many years later, as she was due her celebration two days hence. Sure, a baby brother was nice ‘n’ all, but how about some attention and a party?

Mum always said that Dawn (who sadly passed away in 2016) was a godsend to her as she navigated mothering an infant in a new land, with a 6-, 5- and 3-year-old constantly round her ankles.

I was old enough to be enrolled at St. Ignatius, while my siblings initially went to Bud Gordon’s Preschool off Walkers Road, known as ‘Mr. Bud’s’, and often we’d be given lifts to and from school by other local families.

We became familiar with our residence surroundings, such as the open-roofed cinema across the road that played kung fu movies at night. So loud was the audience response to some of the fights on screen, that we could practically follow the plot from our living room. I’ve spoken to others older than I, who went to that cinema, and they said that the second level was basically a ledge with no railing. Amazing that more patrons didn’t take a nasty spill onto the crowd below.

Wholesome Bakery, with its patties and milkshakes, was always a huge treat. Ask anyone who was around in those days, and they’ll tell you that the spicy beef in curried pastry mixed with an icy-cold vanilla shake would trump any three-star Michelin restaurant’s offerings. Miss Rose Thompson was the one behind the counter, handing them out to eager hands. She was also our upstairs neighbour at the green apartments.

Dad became a member of the rugby club almost as soon as our plane hit the tarmac. He also befriended local seamen, as he was an avid and proficient sailor himself. In fact, in December 1979, he crewed for Captain Dalson ‘Capt. D’ Ebanks on the Pious Puffin yacht as they took her from Cayman to Key West. I think George ‘Ed’ Bush was also part of the crew. There were many tales, believe me, and we didn’t realise until many years later how lucky we were that Dad made it back alive.

(And, no – I am not referring to a result of over-carousing in Key West.)

My mother, who had been a teacher in Cheltenham, got a job at the Cayman Islands High School. My parents both trod the boards for the Cayman Drama Society, which held productions in Constitution Hall in the ‘70s. Mum (and we children) later performed in the Inn Theatre in the Royal Palms Hotel, before it unfortunately burned down.

Dad got the small part of a French pirate in ‘The Cayman Triangle’, released in 1977. Starring many local characters at the time, not the least of which was Reid ‘Durty Reid Walker’ Dennis, it didn’t exactly have Tom Cruise shivering in his timbers, but it certainly was a fun film to watch at the time. These days, it is a time capsule, featuring unique people and landmark buildings we have lost over the years. If you’ve ever wanted to see a wrinkle-free Barefoot Man, get a copy.

Our family befriended locals and other young expats alike. Cardinal DaCosta, ‘Uncle’ Bill McTaggart, Graham Thompson, Arthur Hunter … all and more were the very definition of Caymankind. Like so many others, we hadn’t really planned to remain in the islands for many years but, as time passed, the idea of leaving filled us with dread.

When we moved from the apartments, it was into a house as part of the Sun Sand Cottages lane, where Ms. Piper’s now resides. It was a lovely little neighbourhood, and we had access to already pristine beach that expanded dramatically after a strong nor’wester. We had no TV, no Internet … we kids played all day by the sea with our friends, eating seagrapes and stepping on burrs. Hard to believe there used to be so many burrs on Seven Mile Beach. Their green stalks would spread out between the bushes and the sand (before all the development) and needed to be avoided at all costs. Otherwise, it was back to Mum, who always said she would pull it out of our feet on the count of ‘3’ and promptly did it on ‘1’. Every time we believed her. After all, she was a good, churchgoing woman.

We would walk to Royal Palms and the bartenders we knew at the beach bar would make us virgin piña coladas. It’s the strangest thing – they never could seem to get the measurements right. They made too much every time, which means we inevitably got cups with some extra in them. We’d drink them on the walk back, the sun on our shoulders, basking in our idyllic life.

Of course, our family ended up remaining in the islands. We kids went to the government schools, where we made lifelong friends. Dad was president of the Rugby Club for a good many years; Mum was awarded the Cayman Islands Certificate and Badge of Honour for services to education, and went on to teach at the Cayman Islands Prep School. As we grew up, we got involved in local theatre and musical groups, and are still very much part of that community.

Pirates Week, Carnival, the Agriculture Show … we looked forward to all events with great enthusiasm. As children, waiting for Santa to come along on the back of a flatbed truck, throwing out sweets along the road, was one of the highlights of the season. And, of course, bundling into the car to see all the Christmas lights.

We danced to Radley Gourzong and the Happy Boys, got taught Bob Marley songs in music class at school, and climbed trees to grab mangoes and guineps in season.

I was driving through town just a few days ago, and it was really nice to see some of the old Cayman homes still standing in the Royal Bank area; the waterfront building that houses Artifacts and Penny Black; and all the historical places that haven’t been moved or torn down. I’m all for the modern conveniences we enjoy today, but now I’m this side of 50, I too can look back and mourn some of that island magic we’ve lost in the name of progress.

But, if I really want to cry, I just have to think of the three-bedroom, four-bathroom house we rented in the ‘70s. It was a stone’s throw from Seven Mile Beach and $400 a month. Yep – get out the tissues.

To the Cayman Islands from the Wheaton family: Sincere thanks for allowing us to make your home ours for the past 50 years. Here’s to many more memories to be made in the future.