Well, the last week has been one rife with nostalgia. What with Red Sky at Night at the Harquail, and then the Cayman Compass releasing decades of online digital archives for everyone to pore through, I took a deep dive into the history and culture of the islands.
I honestly can’t remember the last time I attended Red Sky. It always seemed I had something going on that night, or I was away, or the idea of parking miles away gave me pause. But we had visitors, and a host of local acts were on the stage – including the legendary Swanky Kitchen Band – so there was no excuse not to go along.
The entire event has become a well-oiled machine, with distinct areas throughout the grounds to visit. There were arts and crafts vendors lining the walkways, and food and drink options to suit all tastes. If guests didn’t want to take their chances trying to snag a parking spot in the surrounding backroads, there was an ongoing shuttle service from Camana Bay to the Island Heritage building, a stone’s throw from all the activity.
As one of our friends had dodgy knees, I offered to drop the group as close to the front gates as possible. I’d easily find somewhere to put the car – I am a Master Parker.
Three circles of the area later, not to mention pulling over numerous times to allow others to get past, I gave up and pulled into a spot somewhere between Harquail and West Bay Road. We had got there for the second half of the proceedings, so I guess I thought there would be those with young ‘uns leaving at the same time. I’d see a family walk towards some SUV or the other with prime placement; stop to pat pockets or look in a bag for (supposedly) keys (Ha! I knew my patience would be rewarded!); and then extricate a binky or similar, followed by moving off into the darkness.
In the end, I could either accept that I was going to actually have to walk a few feet for the first time in ages, or keep doing lazy circles until the RCIPS helicopter showed up to take a closer look. I went with the former.
It can be difficult for private property owners that live nearby events, as not everyone respects their land and just shoves a car on it anyway. But there was one resident on the top side of a ‘T’ junction along the route that clearly wasn’t having any of it. At the mere hint of people zeroing in, their dog barked the night down. That, plus limited street lighting, definitely got the desired effect.
The weather could not have been more idyllic that evening. It was cool and breezy, with the coloured bulbs hanging around the property swinging slightly in place. If anyone has ever wondered about how many artists or creative people there are on the island, they would have got their answer in spades. Table after table, row after row of paintings, sculptures, pottery, handmade jewellery … and some seriously blinged-up accessories, were out in force. I saw lots of faces I recognised; just a wonderful sense of community.
Inside the theatre, fashion shows and dance performances enchanted audiences. In the Caymanian Village, one local tradition after the next was explored and explained to anyone who attended. And on the festival stage, well-established artists and up-and-comers like Future Fobia displayed their musical chops.
I, unfortunately, did not make it to The Studio Theatre events, but I saw the pictures from the masterclass in kitchen band music with Swanky, and they depicted a packed room with violinists, percussionists and even an accordion player coming together in harmony. I really hope this gets repeated in the future so I can go.
Of course, Swanky on the festival stage were as great as ever. Here’s pitiful – as I built myself up to stand from my chair and go to dance, there was Ms. Lucille Seymour (who is going to be 82 this year) cutting a rug (well, a gravel) right in front of the band. She was stylish, as usual, and full of energy.
I’ve got to get back to the gym.
As if the aptly titled ‘Guardians of Caymanian Culture’ weren’t enough, none other than original drummer from Third World, Grammy-nominated Willie Stewart, got behind the kit and began pounding away. Arms moving in a flurry, he played with a gusto that belied his age. To give you a hint, he started Third World with his mates when I was 4 years old.
I’ve got to get back to the gym.
I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Stewart at the band soundcheck. I told him he had amazing teeth. Yup, still got it.
What was truly wonderful was to see Javee of Hopscotch behind the mixing board, as his Dad – the late, great Charles ‘Greggie’ Gregory – had done so many times before with Swanky, particularly as Greggie was such a huge fan of Third World and Willie Stewart. We all got the warm fuzzies.
After a wonderful night, I ran (stumbled) to get the car to pick up everyone. It seemed so much further on the return journey, and I almost wondered if I’d gone the wrong way, but (BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!!!) nope, I was on the right track.
Our visitors had a great time, and I was so glad we’d gone. We spent the rest of the weekend just relaxing, and as my work week began, I got back into emails-and-meetings mode … until I saw the story about Cayman Compass launching the digital archives.
I knew it was in the works, but I don’t think I’d appreciated the length and breadth of the project until I clicked on the link and started delving.
For someone like me, and my family, who have spent over 50 years in Cayman, this is a priceless treasure trove. Of course, I put ‘Wheaton’ in the search bar to see what it found, and what followed was articles, photographs, copies of the original pages of the paper from decades ago. I saw my Mum in a musical in the George Town Town Hall. My Dad – without his beard! – jumping in a line-out at the rugby pitch in 1978. My sister and her artwork; my brothers when they played squash competitively as kids (I had completely forgotten); and some pics of me in my twenties when I worked for government in Computer Services.
I’ve got to get back (you know where) …
As each new page popped up, I’d see photos of people we knew years ago, or businesses that no longer exist, yet remain firmly in our memories of the past. Before I knew it, I was two hours down the rabbit hole, yet I’d barely scratched the surface.
This extraordinary archive is something we should be sharing with anyone, far and wide, who has history with Cayman. I’m including the link here, just in case you missed it before.
Truly remarkable.
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