Few people are aware that within the great dystopia that is the Ministry of Health, there is a small department known as the Hansen’s Disease Control Unit which is dedicated to monitoring the presence of the disease in the nation and treatment of its now-mercifully few victims. This dread affliction is better known, however, as leprosy.

Since time immemorial, this severe ailment has been a bane to society and a curse to those who suffered from it, since not only does it result in horrible physical deformities if left untreated, but was also considered to be highly contagious. 

Accordingly, lepers were outcasts and in Trinidad during the early 19th century, the situation was no different. Lepers spent the day wandering the streets, begging for charity, and a small population of these unfortunate people resided in the Laventille hills to the east of Port-of-Spain. During the administration of Governor Sir Ralph Woodford (1813-28), there were plans to implement an asylum for the lepers, but then as now, this humanitarian government project came to naught as L M Fraser recounted in 1891:

“In September, 1814, the Alcalde of the First Election, Don Bartolomeo Portel, called the attention of the Board to the increase in the number of lepers in the town of Port-of-Spain, and the matter was formally brought under the notice of the Governor with an expression of opinion on the part of the Board that it was most desirable some steps should be taken to separate these unfortunate creatures from the rest of the population. A few days later the Governor informed the Board that the question had already been for some time considered by him very seriously and that with a view to forming a Leper Asylum, he had ordered a survey of the island of Monos. 

“Mr Maingot, the Surveyor General, had however reported that there were so many residents on that island who would be entitled to compensation for the resumption of their lands by the Government, that he had been compelled to abandon that scheme on the score of expense.”

At Cocorite and abutting the coast was an old armoury that was owned by the Ordinance Department of the British government. During the tenure of Governor Sir Henry McLeod, this property was bought out of funds from the colonial purse and put to use as a leprosarium. Despite this commendable move, the disease continued to ravage the population as Dr Louis De Verteuil noted in 1857:

“Leprosy is, unfortunately, very prevalent, and, of late years, appears to be even on the increase. It is much to be apprehended that the malady will continue to spread, and thereby entail an increasing amount of misery. Parents should, therefore, be awakened to the necessity of checking all predispositions to the lymphatic temperament, by strict attention to food, habitation, cleanliness, and exercise in the open air. An asylum was established under the government of Sir Henry G McLeod, and is still maintained at the public expense, for the reception of lepers who are not in a position to support themselves. But as it is generally left to their option to enter the asylum or not, those only who make application are admitted, and, of course, lepers, who prefer a mendicant life, are seen going their rounds and begging, not only on the highways, but in the very streets of Port-of- Spain. Surely this ought not to be tolerated.”

With the primitive medical treatment of the time and being staffed by underpaid warders, the leprosarium was a place of terror despite its scenic location. In 1867 Archbishop Gonin made a request for Dominican Sisters from France to come to Trinidad to assist in some of the work of the church which included care of the lepers. Those volunteering for service were trained at Lyons and between the end of 1868 and early 1869, a total of 15 sisters had arrived in the island.

The selflessness of these holy ladies cannot be overestimated for one must imagine the loathsome task they undertook in the care of patients with festering sores and decaying limbs. Tragedy struck shortly thereafter, since nine of the sisters were carried off in the yellow fever epidemic at the end of 1869. Their remains were interred at Lapeyrouse Cemetery where a simple marker records their ultimate sacrifice. Nevertheless, the remaining nuns served as they could with their ranks supplemented from time to time. 

Next week, we will look at the eventual fate of the Cocorite Leprosarium and how it led to a paradigm shift in an island society.

On December 29, 1921, acting Governor of T&T, T A V Best, proclaimed Chapter 8 of Ordinance 42 before the Legislative Council in the Red House. The idyllic holiday homes and simple farmer-fisherman lifestyle of the island of Chacachacare was changed forever, for this piece of legislation immediately appropriated all land thereupon (except that belonging to the Roman Catholic church) to be property of the Government and orders were issued for all inhabitants to clear out forthwith.

This draconian move was intended to clear the space for what would become known as the “Molokai of the Caribbean,” that is to say, a leper colony.

In the months following the declaration, the Public Works Department began a massive construction drive which saw an entire village being established at Sander’s Bay, complete with a bakery, mess hall and administrative offices as well as an infirmary. Male and female inmates were to be lodged separately, the latter in small cottages.

There were chapels as well for the Roman Catholic and Anglican faiths with a small Hindu mandir being added later. A Delco plant provided electricity to some of the buildings, while the patients’ quarters had to make do with kerosene lamps.

As the facilities neared completion, the transfer of patients from the Cocorite Leprosarium (in service since 1845) began under the supervision of the police to ensure that none would attempt to escape the enforced exile that awaited them on the desert island where as ever, water was so scarce, it had to be carefully hoarded in large concrete cisterns.

One interesting situation that arose from the movement of the first patients is that those who were only mildly affected by the disease were transported first. They worked alongside the Public Works labourers in the building process and received a small wage for their services.

As detailed in one of my earlier articles on the Cocorite Leprosarium, the lepers had been cared for since 1868 by Dominican nuns from France. Their selfless devotion did not now wane in the face of the transfer and they intended to follow their charges thither. A convent and chapel dedicated to Our Lady of the Rosary were built at Marine Bay and perched on a steep incline. To get to the settlement at Sander’s Bay would entitle a strenuous row in an open boat and every evening upon completion of their duties, the sisters would face a brisk climb to their quarters. 

The relocation of these valiant Sisters began in September 1926 and not without some sadness, since the Reverend Mother Thomas Nigay, who had loyally served at Cocorite since 1890, died before the move after a long illness.

There was further grief upon arrival at Chacachacare since Prioress Mother Marie was dying and would breathe her last on the island three months later. Her remains were the first laid to rest in the little cemetery of the nuns on the island where in the coming years, others would join her, having given their lives in the service of the sick. A motor launch servicing the leper colony was named in Mother Marie’s honour.

The official inauguration of the new “Hansenian Settlement” was performed on November 18, 1926, the last patients and their caregivers having arrived barely a month before. This final batch of lepers were those who had been so ravaged that they could not walk and had to be carried about on stretchers.

It is quite difficult now to appreciate fully the feelings of those who moved to Chacachacare. For the patients, it would mean that there would nevermore be contact with family and friends except by the occasional letter. Whatever emotions the Dominican Sisters felt must have been quickly suppressed, for they plunged into their duties with no delay.

In time, it became obvious that in order to ensure the proper care of the most incapacitated patients, a night shift would have to be initiated at the infirmary in Sander’s Bay. Once again, the brave nuns were ready to assist and a small hostel was prepared for those who chose to work overnight rather than return to the convent. 

Dr Ferdinand De Verteuil, a hard-working physician from an old Trinidadian family, acted as medical superintendent on the island until the arrival of Dr Welch, an Englishman, on October 10, 1926. It is interesting to note that the superintendent was housed in one of the old holiday homes at Rust’s Bay along with his family that included several small children.

• Next week, we continue our look at the history of Chacachacare.

In 1927, Archbishop John Pius Dowling arrived at the newly-commissioned leprosarium on Chacachacare to bless and consecrate the chapel and convent of the Dominican Sisters. It was not altogether a joyous occasion since one of their Order, Mother Marie, was now a leper herself having contracted the dread disease in service to the patients. 

There was also an early trauma to cope with since on July 17, 1928, a storm struck the island and the roof of the convent was blown away, forcing the sisters to seek shelter among the patients. Moreover, the launch which transported them from Marine Bay to the lepers’ village was driven aground and destroyed.

The sisters were assisted in their medical duties by paid government nurses who, for twice the normal salary, lived on the island in a “two weeks on-two weeks off” shift system. Understandably, the zeal of the paid nurses for the care of the lepers was not equal to that of the nuns. 

Life for the lepers was not easy by any stretch of the imagination. Males were housed at Cocos Bay and females at Sander’s Bay, which were connected by a bridle path. Because water was scarce and rationed, those who were able presented themselves at the concrete cisterns every morning with a container to obtain a scanty supply from the custodian. They were not allowed to bathe in the sea either and those caught wading out more than waist-high were clapped in a small jail at La Tinta Bay.

Food was also poor and in short supply but the patients were not allowed to fish to supplement their rations. There was, however, a small vegetable garden where some corn, tomatoes and ground provisions were grown for use in the mess hall. In one of the uninhabited bays, pigs, fowls and goats were reared to provide meat and eggs. 

Those not rendered immobile by their affliction worked at small tasks in the patients’ village at Sander’s Bay for 25 cents a day. Women were taught needlework and crochet and assisted in the mending of linens. Needless to say, there was no such thing as visitation rights since relatives were not allowed on the island nor could the patients leave for extenuating circumstances such as bereavement. A strict watch was kept on the main jetty to ensure that no unauthorised contact from the mainland took place.

In the early 1930s, Dr Urich was the medical superintendent. Unlike the kindly Dr Ferdinand De Verteuil, who for years was in charge of the leprosarium at Cocorite and oversaw the move to Chacachacare, Dr Urich was perceived by the patients as a hard man. This perception was only heightened in 1934 when he decided to cut the stipend paid to working patients from 25 cents to 12 cents.

The little money the patients earned allowed them to purchase small comforts of life whenever the government steamer visited the island on its mail run. In response to this measure, the patients went on strike and raised a howl of protest which ended in the colonial secretary dispatching a commission of enquiry to the island and restoration of the old wage. While there, the commissioners observed the almost complete lack of recreational facilities for the inmates and ordered the issuing of cricketing gear and other equipment as well as the construction of a sports ground. 

Sander’s Bay, however, contained one grim reminder to all patients about their eventual fate. Fronting the sea on the eastern side was a small box-like structure that served as a morgue. On the hillside behind, the slope was cleared of trees and dotted with plain white wooden crosses. The sisters were not spared either. In 1935, Sister Ena was diagnosed with leprosy and went to Sander’s Bay where she lived in a cottage shared with Mother Rose who was to die in 1937. 

Her remains were interred at the patients’ cemetery which is now lost in the scrub forest which has covered the site. In later years, a plaque was raised to her memory in the graveyard of the sisters.  Whenever a sister passed away, the steamer servicing the island would make a circuit and blow its horn three times while a flag flew at half-mast on deck. 

Leprosy was not the only danger. The rigorous workload combined with the general hardship of life on Chacachacare took its toll on the sisters, many of whom were now old women, having given a lifetime of dedicated service that began at Cocorite.

•Next week, we conclude our look at the Chacachacare Leper Colony.

By the 1930s, hope had dawned somewhat for the lepers of Chacachacare. New treatments were being used in an attempt to force their disease into remission, but the painful injections of the chemicals were an ordeal all of their own. Nevertheless, several women and children were discharged and mercifully allowed to leave the island. 

Periodically, there were several more episodes of the sort throughout the decade. Dr Urich was replaced as medical superintendent by Dr Muir who had specialist training in the treatment of Hansen’s disease. Nevertheless, admissions of new patients continued to rise, with the population ballooning to 395 by 1940. With the outbreak of World War II and the arrival of American forces in T&T in 1941, the pace of life changed. 

In 1943 six hundred men of the US Marine Corps were stationed at Chacachacare where a large submarine net had been laid across the Bocas. They had no contact with the lepers but provided help for the Dominican Sisters by constructing a cable-tram from the jetty to the convent to enable the nuns to transport supplies more easily. The 900 odd acres occupied by the Americans were separated from the leper colony by a barbed wire fence. 

In 1946 electric generators were landed and installed with some difficulty, but they allowed patients a new form of recreation in the form of movies which were screened weekly. Dr Muir’s successor, Dr Campbell, did much to improve the living conditions of patients. Some thought was given to closing the settlement, but this was never done.

The Government passed certain regulations at the end of the 1940s which required nursing degrees for medical staff, which of course placed the hardworking Dominican Sisters at a disadvantage although they had done this work and so much more since their arrival in Trinidad. 

Dr Mackay who succeeded Dr Muir in 1948 introduced new treatments which were painful but effective, increasing the number of people discharged. A school for the children on the island was established and staffed by Sisters of Mercy who arrived to relieve the Dominicans. These new nuns did not remain long, departing in 1955. 

By 1950 specialist surgeons were visiting the island to perform reconstructive surgery on the faces of inmates whose features had been horribly disfigured by the disease, depriving them of noses, eyelids and lips. Amidst the scattered and abandoned medical records visitors come across in the ruins of the old hospital one may find invoices for prosthetic noses among other things.  

In 1952 the Dominican Sisters left Chacachacare, handing over to paid government nurses the care of the lepers to whom they had given their all for nearly 80 years. Throughout the decade and into the 1960s, numbers fell at Chacachacare as medical treatments proved effective and more patients were discharged. There were also several Hansen’s Disease treatment centres across the nation which stemmed the admission of new people to the settlement. 

As the stringent controls on outside contact began to relax, inmates were visited by various religious groups and social workers to enhance their quality of life. Mr Rudolph Sitahal, a national awardee and music teacher of many years, recalls visiting Chacachacare where he played his signature lap-steel guitar and interacted with the patients. Art and craft classes were conducted as well, with periodic exhibitions of the work produced at the National Museum in Port-of-Spain. 

The last medical superintendent of Chacachacare was Dr Walter Von Crosson. Dr Von Crosson deliberately volunteered his services on the island. Under his administration, activities were gradually wound down and on July 23, 1984, sixty-three years of exile at Chacachacare ended as the last patients were transferred back to Trinidad. 

Today, the island has returned to the forest. The buildings are empty and vandalised. Patient records flutter about like confetti, left where they were last placed. The shell of the convent and chapel where the brave Dominican Sisters lived still stands and the little graveyard containing the remains of nine of their order and one Sister of Mercy stand as a solemn reminder of the great price they paid for their unfailing devotion.

Instruments and operating tables rust in the old hospital and the ancient house where the medical superintendents once lived at Rust’s Bay is now a derelict ruin. The patients’ villages at Sander’s and Cocos Bays have vanished as the dry scrub forest have reclaimed them. Chacachacare and its ghosts are now at peace. 

Coffee may have been first cultivated by the early Spanish settlers who in the 17th century planted cacao in the fertile Maracas Valley of the Northern Range. Coffee, like cocoa, grew well in the cool valleys of the Northern Range and was not exported in any significant quantities but consumed locally. 

The beans were picked and “parched” or dried before being stored. When ready for the breakfast table it would be ground in a brass mortar or, in the more elite homes, a patent coffee grinder. Though not as highly regarded as Jamaica’s Blue Mountain variety, Trinidad coffee was considered to be highly aromatic and delectable. 

In 1838 a reasonable quantity of the product was exported to the UK not exceeding 20,000 pounds. This was due to the runaway popularity of the coffeehouse in London, which became a social space for trading opinions and ideas over a steaming brew. On the production of the bean, DeVerteuil wrote the following in 1857:

“As Trinidad has never exported much coffee, that which is grown in the island has no repute. Nevertheless, very good coffee might be produced here, and in abundance; it might even be cultivated on hilly parts. The bois immortel is planted along with the coffee to afford its protection of shade; though the latter has, in some cases, been known to thrive sufficiently well, within the intervals of the cacao ranges. The quantity exported, in 1853, was 64,115 pounds; but the greater part of this was coffee from the main-land the island producing, generally, only a sufficient quantity for home consumption.”

Despite its economic potential, coffee remained a secondary crop to sugar until the 1870s when massive land reforms under Governor Gordon saw the opening up of lands in the Central Range to peasant proprietors. Charles Kingsley wrote on this in 1869-70 thus:

“These Montserrat hills had been, within the last three years, almost the most lawless and neglected part of the island. Principally by the energy and tact of one man, the wild inhabitants had been conciliated, brought under law, and made to pay their light taxes, in return for safety and comfort enjoyed perhaps by no other peasants on earth. In 1867 there were in Montserrat 400 squatters, holding lands of from three to 120 acres, planted with cacao, coffee, or provisions. Some of the cacao plantations were valued at 1,000.”

As a result of the land reforms of Gordon, cocoa production skyrocketed fuelled by high world market prices. Coffee simultaneously found a boost in production. By 1883 exports had reached over 40,000 lbs and thereafter experienced a steep decline in production to a new low of 4,438lbs in 1888. This was due to lands being rapidly converted to cocoa which led to coffee being sidelined. Production rose to 20,000 lbs in 1892 but never again reached the levels of the 1870s and 1880s. 

In 1893 the following was written.

“Of the minor agricultural products of the colony, coffee is perhaps the most important. The coffee plant thrives well and bears abundantly in every part of the colony, yet the quantity produced is not even sufficient to meet the home consumption. Of late years, however, coffee has been receiving more attention, and the area under cultivation has been considerably enlarged. The fact that the beans can now be profitably shipped ‘in the parchment’ is likely to give a further stimulus to this industry. The quality of Trinidad coffee is equal to any produced either in the East or West Indies.”

During the early 20th century, in the poorer districts of East PoS, where the barrackyards abounded, tiny one-door coffee shops began to spring up in numbers, being operated mainly by Venezuelan refugees fleeing political persecution. These sold strong black coffee and sandwiches made from hops bread and fillings such as ham, cheese and buljol. The powerful black coffee was an appetite suppressant in a time and place where empty bellies were not easily filled. 

Some coffee is still grown locally and those fortunate enough to know where and by whom can count on some freshly roasted beans being served when visiting the countryside. For those not so lucky, pick up a bag of Hong Wing coffee to see what real coffee is supposed to be like.

For a generation, Hong Wing’s pungent aroma dominated Broadway since it was bagged and sold from an ancient building that had stood since the middle of the 19th century. Sadly, the march of progress has removed this icon from Broadway, though the good coffee produced is still commercially available for true connoisseurs.

To most of us, Gaspar Grande or Gasparee Island is a quiet place occupied seasonally by holiday homeowners or renters. This minute limestone rock just off the northwestern peninsula is far richer in history and heritage than we can imagine. 

Perhaps because of the lack of water, the Amerindian presence on the islet was non-existent or temporary. The place takes its name from Gaspar Percin de la Roque who was granted the entire island by Don Jose Maria Chacon, the last Spanish Governor, in 1783. The conditions were suitable for little other than cotton cultivation, but since this was then the dominant cash crop in the colony, almost the entire 330 acre extent was soon covered with sea-island cotton trees. 

Quiet cotton plantation though it was, Gasparee was of strategic military importance to the Spanish colonial authorities since Spain was at war with Britain in the end of the 18th century. Slaves bound to the cotton plantations on Gasparee were pressed into work terracing sites for forts and batteries, as well as cutting a roadway to the top of the hill and dragging up the heavy artillery needed to reinforce the position. 

A considerable number of cannon, mortars and shot were landed but the earthworks and walls were not completed in a timely fashion and lumber (mainly wooden barrels) formed a crude redoubt while the cannon lay in disarray while they were slowly put in place. 

A small flotilla of Spanish warships under the cowardly Commander Apodaca were anchored between the island and Chaguaramas bay. It remains to be told in another column how in February 1797, the British Admiral, Sir Ralph Abercrombie, swept into the Gulf of Paria at the command of an overwhelming force and wrested Trinidad from the Spaniards, and how Apodaca set his ships ablaze without the slightest resistance. 

Upon the assumption of British rule, Sir Thomas Hislop, governor, set about strengthening the colony’s fortifications which included the incomplete Spanish fort at the eastern end of Gasparee. My friend and fellow historian, Jalaludin Khan has exhaustively documented the remaining military relics of Gasparee, from the Spanish times straight up to World War II and is able to identify most of the earthworks which once made the island a stronghold. 

Bombshell Bay is so known for the cache of mortar shells discovered there, which are large metal cannon shot, hollow inside, and filled with powder and smaller balls. Hislop’s fortifications on the foundations of the Spanish emplacements can still be seen, but it requires a keen sense of history to find anything else. 

After the period of construction ended, it appears that cotton cultivation terminated at Gasparee and whaling became the main economic activity. From Gaspar Percin de la Roque, a Bermudan whaling captain, C A White, acquired in 1826, the piece of flat land later known as Pointe Baleine. Here he established a whaling station, complete with coppers for rendering the blubber into oil, and targeted the herds of migrating humpback whales which passed through the Bocas annually. 

Whale oil was then traded globally much like petroleum oil is today, bringing in great returns to investors. Unlike the whaling operations of New England (made famous by Herman Melville), whaling in Trinidad did not employ large ships but were “shore” stations where lookouts were posted on the hilltops of the Bocas Islands to signal the men below when a herd or single whale was sighted.

Sturdy longboats, each manned by a dozen rowers and a harpooner would be speedily launched and the slain whale then laboriously towed inshore for processing. It is also recorded that a small amount of springy whalebone was also exported from Trinidad, being much in demand for ladies’ corsets in particular. 

Being able to only snag eleven whales in his first year of operation, White was soon bankrupt, with his holdings being auctioned in 1828 to another whaler named Joell who had a station at Chacachacare. Joell carried on his trade here until 1833 when the operations at Pointe Baleine were taken over by the Tardieu clan of Monos Island, who for generations have been the intrepid fishermen and adventurers of the Bocas islands. 

Jean Baptiste Tardieu, the patriarch and clan head, was in partnership with a firm of German merchants in Port-of-Spain, Gerold and Urich, who made arrangements for the sale of the casks of whale oil produced at the whaling stations. In the shade of an ancient silk-cotton tree which still stands, the whaling station of Pointe Baleine carried on into the 1850s. 

Next week we look at another transformation of Gasparee Island.

In the latter half of the 19th century, Gaspar Grande or Gasparee Island was in a slump. Aside from a small settlement of fishermen at the defunct whaling station at Pointe Baleine, there was little or no economic activity. This was about to change, however, as the bays on the northern side of the island began to attract the attention of some of the wealthier families in Port-of-Spain. Vacationing “down the islands” was becoming fashionable and soon, comfortable residences were erected on Gasparee. 

These provided a welcome respite from life in the capital city and many of the homes carried the names of their owners as Harry Vincent recorded in 1910: “Given a holiday even of only a few days’ duration, there is nothing like clearing out, bag and baggage, from A to Z, and betaking one’s self far from the madding crowd.

Here the much-be worried mamma will get a short respite from the ever-recurring bothers of household cares, the small fry will be in a heaven of enjoyment (and dirt) from morning until night, and as for the pater, with his fishing rod, gun and budget of literature, so long as the commissariat holds out, he ought to be as happy as a king. 

Gasparil boasts of 13 residences, most of which can be hired or leased, Pointe Baleine, Fort Dragon, St Mary’s, Acham’s, Herrera’s, Bourne’s, Sorzano’s, Bodu’s, Goodwille’s (two houses), Savary’s, Bombshell Bay, and Gamble’s. As regards fishing, there are no banks of any importance round Gasparil, but the rock-fishing, both “ligne dormante” and “ligne voyante” is often fairly good.”

One of the first purpose-built hotels in Trinidad was established in the early 1900s at Gasparee by the grocer, Ernest Canning. It consisted of a large house with cool rooms and a well-loved diving platform where athletic people could risk a dive into the waters off Pointe Baleine.

Even at this time, there were still vestiges of the old whaling station to be seen with a couple huge copper boilers on the land, once used for rendering blubber into oil. The Pointe Baleine Hotel was sold to the Corsican businessman Terami and appropriated during World War II by the Americans under the Bases Agreement. The hotel never re-opened. 

At Bombshell Bay, the site of the old Spanish fortifications, almost the entire property was owned by Charles Conrad Stollmeyer. The Chinese Association acquired the place from him which included a large dwelling house and several outbuildings where remnants of the fishing families of the island still lived. These people had left off their old trade and were now employed as domestics, boatmen and other ancillaries at the holiday homes.  

The magnificent limestone caves of the island were also just beginning to be noticed for their stunning beauty as well as the aquamarine pool inside. Vincent writes:

“They are situated at Pointe Baleine, the western extremity of Gasparil, immediately facing the First Boca or Boca del Mono, on lands belonging to Mr J B Todd, which have been tunnelled through by Dame Nature in a most wonderful manner, and offer to the eye a marvellous exposition of stalactite and stalagmite, basaltic pillar and crystal column. With the exception of some families who periodically visit the Bocas Islands for a holiday, on sea-bathing and fresh air intent, these picturesque phenomena are unknown to both Trinidad inhabitants and foreign visitors. The few American and English tourists whom I have met, after braving the descent, have expressed themselves as being both surprised and delighted, one lady going so far as to say that she had seen nothing in Europe to compare with them, not even at the far-famed Capri.”

Gasparee once again became a military emplacement when in 1939 a 4.7 inch howitzer was hauled to the peak of the island. It was originally installed at Nelson Island but moved because of the more strategic location of the latter place. At Pointe Baleine barracks for soldiers were erected. The guns seen on the island today were originally assigned to coastal batteries at Pointe-a-Pierre and Point Fortin. The original weapons placed in 1939 are at the Military Museum in Chaguaramas. 

In the 1980s, a grandiose scheme was implemented at Gasparee which saw an artificial beach, piped water and a large water-slide being constructed, and a resort named Fantasy Island come into being. Its business model was based on the timeshare system but this seems never to have materialised.

Today, Gasparee has returned to being a private and serene community of holiday homes with the awesome caves being a main attraction. The peace that was broken upon so often has now been restored. 

Puerta de los Hispanoles (Port-of-Spain) was initially founded towards the end of the 16th century when the Spaniards finally established a permanent settlement at San Jose de Oruna (St Joseph) in 1592.

Since the main highway to the sea was the Caroni River, a landing place with a tiny garrison of half-starved soldiers was stationed on a mudflat where later the town was to be built. Three years later, Sir Walter Raleigh, the intrepid English privateer, swept into the Gulf of Paria with the double purpose of finding the fabled city of gold, El Dorado, and punishing the Spanish Governor, Don Antonio de Berrio for some treachery meted out to Captain Whiddon, another Englishman who had landed some months earlier.

Raleigh enticed the entire garrison aboard his ship, plied them with wine and then massacred them all before proceeding to San Jose to burn the town and kidnap the Governor. 

Things were not much better in the 17th century, as the fortifications at Puerta de los Hispanoles seems only to have consisted of a mud redoubt with an inner palisade of picketed logs, forming a wall around a guardhouse and armoury of sorts. 

The fortification again proved useless in 1716 when sloop commanded by a young pirate named Edward Teach hove into sight. Later known as the fearsome Blackbeard, he was then a protégé of the infamous sea-dog, Benjamin Hornigold. Teach plundered a brig loaded with cocoa and bound for Spain before burning the ship while the garrison quaked behind its mud walls.  

The arrival of Don Jose Maria Chacon as governor in 1784 saw changes taking place as he was dissatisfied with the weak defences of the island. Moreover, the capital had moved from San Jose to Puerta de los Hispanoles. In addition to forts at Gasparee Island and on the Laventille Hills, Chacon had the sea fort moved to a small mole or island near the shore where a stone wall enclosed a blockhouse and six cannon.

The new defence was named Fort San Andres.  These precautions were to naught since in 1797, Admiral Ralph Abercrombie came to Trinidad at the helm of a huge military force.

The little fort could do nothing since the British fleet lay too far off for cannonade and the landing party came ashore too far to the west to be targeted. Moreover, the Spanish admiral, the cowardly Apodaca, had abandoned his ships and burnt them without any attempt at resistance.

The detachment at Fort San Andres was small and many were sick from yellow fever. Given the hopelessness of mounting a defence of any sort, Chacon thought it wise to capitulate. The island passed into British hands. 

The British retained Fort San Andres as a civil defence post, reinforcing the walls and replacing the guns. The blockhouse was also renovated and used to accommodate a small detachment of police officers (from 1851) and soldiers of the West India Regiment whose presence was necessary to maintain law and order on the waterfront. For a short while, the building also served as a customs office.

A signal staff was erected in 1813 within the battery and it was used to send and receive messages from Fort George), which were transmitted by a series of flags and balls hoisted up on the pole which would be spotted by the signalman at Fort George via field-glass. The fort is described in 1855 thus:

“The old Sea-Fort which formerly existed at the King’s, now Queen’s Wharf, may be numbered among the “things that were;” it exists, but only to remind the old inhabitants of its use in former days, particularly during Martial Law. There are a few iron guns on it, but they are scarcely ever used, and the flag-staff" serves to hoist the Union-Jack on the arrival of a Ship-of-War or some state day. The eastern room once used by Military Guard, is now occupied at night by a few Policemen.”

 Development of the area known as Sea Lots in the 1870s and 1880s saw the little islet on which the Fort stood gradually encroached upon by land until it was left high and dry. From 1936-1951, the Traffic Branch of the Trinidad Constabulary was housed at Fort San Andres. The Fort still exists, although the original blockhouse is gone. It is now to the west of Citygate and is home to the Museum of the City of Port-of-Spain. The cannon and the stone breastwork built by Chacon may still be seen. 

Though the British wrested Trinidad from Spain in 1797, it was many years before the Church of England gained a footing in the island since the French-speaking, highly cosmopolitan population was almost entirely Roman Catholic. 

The Holy Trinity Cathedral in Port-of-Spain was consecrated in 1823 but the scattered nature of the Protestant population outside of the capital made establishment of other chapels quite difficult. About halfway between Port-of-Spain and San Fernando is the district of Couva. 

In the early years of the 19th century, sugar was already the dominant monoculture and large estates such as Brechin Castle and the extensive holdings of the Rostant family. The village which emerged as Couva was to become a mercantile and administrative centre as well. Long before Chaguanas emerged as the most important town on the Caroni plains, Couva was a thriving settlement as detailed by J H Collens in 1887:

“Passing another of Mr Cumming’s estates, Exchange, on the right, and crossing the road, we enter the Couva Station. Here, in a cluster, are the post-office, warden’s and savings bank offices, Roman Catholic Church and School, and police-station. The last is a creditable building of concrete, containing also the court of the S J P, Mr John A Harragin.

Couva is a fast-growing, flourishing district, comprising four villages—Exchange, California, Spring and Freeport. The eastern direction of the road lately crossed leads to the new Presbyterian Church and School now in course of erection, near which is an excellent manse; the sites for all these have been generously given by Mr Cumming from the lands of Camden estate; then come Spring village, Spring and Caracas estates (Mr J Henderson), and finally Philippine (Mr L Preau), on the borders of Montserrat.”

The prosperity of Couva and its increasing prosperity meant that there was a large enough concentration of English officials and planters to warrant the erection of a church for their needs. A small wooden church dedicated to St Andrew was extant by 1826 on lands of Exchange Estate, but this seems to have been largely through the efforts of resident planters and not through any actual involvement of the Anglican church. 

The chapel was expanded in 1844 which coincided with a colony-wide expansion in the presence of the Church of England, driven by the powerful influence of the strongly Anglophile attorney general, Charles William Warner, who was seen as the great enemy of the French Creoles and the Catholic church in his lifetime.  

In 1883, the Rev H M Skinner rebuilt the old church which had become termite ridden. This new church was designed to accommodate 300 people and was tastefully constructed in cedar, with stained glass windows by Wailes and Strong of Newcastle. It was described thus by Collens: 

“The western direction of the cross-road above alluded to leads past the Roman Catholic church, a wooden building lately somewhat improved by the addition of a tower and spire. On the opposite side is the Anglican Church of St Andrew, which, thanks to the energy of the Rev H M Skinner, rector, is a well-designed, roomy structure, with nave, aisles, chancel, porch and vestry, erected in 1883 at a cost of between $7,000 and $8,000. The interior fittings are of cedar, the stained windows being the workmanship of Messrs Wailes and Strong, of Newcastle. Its length is nearly 100 feet, breadth 34 feet, and it will seat 300 people. Beyond the churches is Mr Cumming's Perseverance.”

Rev Skinner’s chapel served the district until 2000 when it was replaced by this modern, yet tasteful structure. The main part of the church, its aisles, sanctuary and transept pay homage to the original design of the wooden church with its peaked roof and gothic windows. The belfry tower, with its Norman battlements and steeple, are a not incongruous addition (dating to the 1920s), as is the wheelchair ramp.

The whole structure is reminiscent of an English countryside chapel. The tower is decorated with a metal relief sculpture of Jesus. During renovations in 2000, part of the cemetery was sacrificed to make way for a car park. The grave markers were removed, but the names of the deceased were recorded on brass plaques and affixed to the wooden pews.

A single marble slab from 1869 was salvaged and placed near the new church on the northern side under the eaves. It was the tombstone of Joseph George Bowen who died at eight years and was the son of the warden of the district. The cemetery itself contains many interesting 19th and early 20th century graves, including some magnificent marble statuary, which has equal nowhere else in Trinidad.

It was primarily the labour needs of the sugar industry, particularly those of the extremely powerful William Hardin Burnley of Orange Grove Estate that provided the impetus for the importation of indentured labour from India.

Indeed, almost a decade after the last stalk of sugar cane was ground at Usine Ste Madeline, there are stereotypes which bind indelibly, the Indo-Trinidadian to the canefield, either by dint of misunderstanding or lack of research into the diverse ways that many had of earning a living. 

Far from being bound by their ‘navel-strings’ to the cane, there were several other productive sectors which the ex-indentureds and their descendants quietly began to dominate within the first three decades after the arrival of the Fatel Rozack in 1845. 

The penchant of the newcomers for animal husbandry, particularly cattle, was evident since for both Hindu and Muslim arrivals, this had been a matter of course in their homeland. It continued in Trinidad which prompted Dr Louis De Verteuil to note in 1857:

“They are much attached to their cattle, especially the cows, and from them mainly the public get their supply of milk. A Coolie will never sell any of his cattle to the butcher for slaughter.”

This statement was especially pertinent to the Hindu population to whom the cow is a sacred animal. In rural districts, most people of Indo and non-Indo descent kept a cow or two as a store of wealth, since banks were generally not used even where accessible.

In and around the large towns however, particularly Port-of-Spain and San Fernando, the Indians found a niche as the suppliers of fresh milk daily to thousands of consumers. In Port-of-Spain, this supply largely stemmed from Coolie Town, which was the settlement of Indians along the Western Main Road that developed on the lands of the old Peru Estate in the 1860s. Known as St James today, many of its residents kept cows which were pastured on lands in the shadow of La Vigie or on the fallows near Cocorite.

Livestock was also reared by Madrassi immigrants at Boissiere Village in Maraval who were tenants of Madame Poleska de Boissiere of Champs Elysees Estate.

In those days, the princely sum of one dollar a month paid at the Town Hall on Knox Street would permit the owner of cattle to graze them unreservedly at the Queen’s Park Savannah. Indeed, there is the ruin of an old drinking trough, hidden in some bushes near the Pitch Walk which is a reminder of this time. Many of the Indians of Coolie Town and the two Boissiere Villages took advantage of this opportunity. There is at least one record of a courting couple who were put to flight by the charges of an enraged bull.

Every morning, the swish of fresh milk hitting galvanized pails would be heard as the preparations for the day’s sales began. It was a not entirely groundless accusation of customers that the milk was often diluted. Many echoed the sentiments of a lady in Sam Selvon’s epic novel, A Brighter Sun which is set in WWII-era Trinidad and wherein Urmilla is accused of this subterfuge with the statement, “Allyuh Indian too wutless. Allyuh does sell water flavour wid milk.” Sometimes, depending on the source of the water, debris would be unwittingly mixed with the milk and according to one local historian, this once included a healthy dose of live tadpoles!

Sales would be almost unanimously conducted by women, although men did make the rounds in donkey carts sometimes, with milk in empty rum bottles, stopped with twists of brown paper in place of a cork. This would be done on a route system wherein the bottles would be quietly placed at the back doors or service entrances to middle and upper-class homes and with the money being collected at the end of the week.

Women would hit the road barefooted with a four gallon pail balanced gracefully on their heads and hawk their wares with a piercing cry of ‘MIL..LL.LLK” in the cool air. They would sell to the occasional customers who had to provide their own containers, paying about 12 cents for a pint of fresh milk, doled out with a tin dipper. These milk sales provided a considerable income for many families.

With the increasing urbanisation of Port-of-Spain and the availability of pasteurised milk at groceries along with the powdered variety, the milk sellers of St James and Boissiere Village had by the 1950s faded into the sepia-toned memories of yesteryear.

The headquarters of the T&T Police Service is one of the most imposing buildings in the capital. Located on St Vincent Street, it became a permanent home for the Trinidad Constabulary (forerunner of the TTPS).

The original constabulary was in a rented building on Frederick St, but during the tenure of Sir Henry Turner Irving, funds were allocated for a grand new edifice. Constructed in 1876, it originally accommodated a police court, residence of the inspector general of the Trinidad Constabulary (precursor to the Commissioner of Police), the Volunteer Fire Brigade (until that body moved to its own headquarters in 1895), and a parade ground. A detailed description of the facility in 1888 is as follows:

"A lofty, substantial edifice, built in the Italian-Gothic style, of limestone, obtained from the Piccadilly (Laventille) quarries. It cost the immense sum of nearly £90,000, but it is one of the few really fine buildings in the town, and the massive clock-tower, with the large arched galleries above and below, serve to give it an imposing appearance.

"There is a residence attached for the head of the force, besides quarters for non-commissioned officers. The spacious, well-ventilated dormitories present a smart and orderly appearance, as do also the store-rooms and kitchen, etc, clearly indicating a military supervision.

"The lofty recreation-room is furnished with newspapers, draughts, dominoes, etc, for the use of the men. The buildings form a hollow square, with an arched entrance-passage, leading to a large open quadrangle within, which is used as a parade-ground. When the Volunteer Corps was first started this was for a long time its head-quarters, and it is only quite recently that it has migrated to the new Drill Hall in Tranquillity. The police vote for 1886 was £28,134.

"The armoury contains Snider rifles, revolvers, swords, all brightly burnished, and ready for immediate use, if need be. Here are also the head-quarters of the Volunteer Fire Brigade, a voluntary institution, with a few paid firemen, who, of course, have to give the whole of their time. The engines, hose, and other appliances are well kept, always ready at a moment's notice night or day, and have on more than one occasion proved of the greatest practical utility.

"Curiously enough, in 1882 this fine building, in spite of its being the fountain-head of the police and fire brigade systems, and although it was even then comparatively new, was completely gutted by a disastrous fire which broke out in the lamp-room. It was restored two years later at a cost of £15,452, with concrete floors for the upper galleries and court-house, iron staircases, and fire-proof roof, rendering it much more substantial and less liable to destruction by fire than with the pitch-pine floors and staircases which the former building had.

"Mention has already been made of the well-trained band of the police. It is under the direction of Mr Rudolphsen (late Bandmaster of the Royal Military College, Sandhurst), and plays regularly on certain days at fixed places of public resort in the town. The courtesy of the authorities will doubtless allow you a peep at the photographic album of criminals, by which you will get a glimpse of a few of the rascals of Trinidad, though doubtless there are a good number whose physiognomies do not adorn this art collection.

"The view from the top of the tower opens out a delightful panorama; the ball on the flag-post is regulated to fall precisely at mid-day (Greenwich time). In this building the Stipendiary Magistrate of Port-of-Spain holds his daily court ; and here, until quite recently, was held the weekly Petty Civil Court. All these courts are obliged to have a good staff of interpreters. This is a natural consequence where the races of people are of such a mixed character. And, with regard to the oath, a Christian must be sworn upon the Testament; a Mahometan, upon a part of the Koran; a Hindu, over a vessel of clear water to remind him of his own precious Ganges."

Perhaps the most recent memory of Police Headquarters is the gutting of the building by fire during the 1990 attempted coup. For years afterwards, the shell remained derelict until it was restored and once again has attained its former glory. Aside from its primary function as a police station, it also houses a museum of the Police Service which is well worth a visit

All through the grim years of the Great War or World War I (1914-18) T&T showed its commitment to the British metropole in the enlistment of scores of men for service in Europe. These troops were divided along the established colonial lines of colour, being separated into the Public (black) Contingents and the Merchants and Planters (white) Contingents. 

When the conflict ended, the Public Contingents arrived home first. They were ferried ashore on a crowded barge like cattle, marched two miles up to the Queen’s Park Savannah where they were tersely addressed by Governor Sir John Chancellor and disbanded. Their commitment to the ‘mother country’ was discarded like so much garbage. The emotions of dissent, alienation and rage felt by these men would eventually boil over into the first real throes of a labour movement in the colony. 

The treatment accorded to the white contingents was certainly different. They were treated as heroes for whom the best could never be too good. A whirlwind round of parties and fetes began in their honour and it was deemed fit that some permanent establishment be initiated in appreciation of their service. This was piloted by the wife of Leon Centeno, one of the richest cocoa planters in Trinidad. 

The very same governor who had dismissed the black troops without a second glance, supported her initiative and offered the site of the recently-relocated St Ann’s Boys’ Government School as the site for a serviceman’s club. This spot was just southeast of where Belmont Circular Road joins the Queen’s Park Savannah.

Funds were raised through balls and dances at the Queen’s Park Hotel, the Grandstand and Prince’s Building (now the location of Napa) with the cocoa estate owners and white merchant class being generous subscribers since it was for their sons the effort was being made. 

The building spot was leased to the incorporated Sailors and Soldiers Club at the price of one shilling per year. Associated with this organisation was the Royal Air Force Club which would also have quarters in the edifice, being a separate annex to the back of the premises. 

A large, two-storey structure was designed by Dr Maxwell Johnstone and erected at considerable cost. On the ground floor was a gallery complete with an in-house bar and a dining area opening into a courtyard. Large arches, reminiscent of Spanish architecture, defined the outer façade.

Upstairs functioned as a hostel with showers, dormitories and private rooms available for members. 

On June 14, 1922, the Sailors and Soldiers Club was handed over and then began the round of social occasions which was to define its existence for the next 35 years. Annual Christmas balls and Carnival Dances were held here along with benefits for charitable causes.

The club facilities were ostensibly open to all servicemen of the Navy and Merchant Marines but, of course, given the prevailing prejudices of the time, it was tacitly understood that this was an invitation extended to whites only. 

The years of World War II saw the club being constantly utilised as many people occupied its hostelry while fund-raisers for the Empire were held in the gallery. Its courtesies were expanded to include officers of the American forces stationed in the island from 1941 under the Bases Agreement.

In 1957, the lease of the Sailors and Soldiers Club expired and was not renewed. It was a different social environment altogether in the post-WWII years which saw the dismantling of many of the old exclusionist establishments in the face of the rise of a wave of nationalism which had found its face a year earlier in the political ascendancy of Dr Eric Williams—a wave which would in a few years lead to Independence.

The building became the location of the Central Library. The administrative functions of this department as well as book storage moved to the old clubhouse. Many people can remember the iconic ‘bookmobiles’—the rural mobile library service—being parked here. 

Despite the change in usage, the RAF Club maintained its activities in the portion of the structure that it was originally allocated. Like most historic buildings that fall under the purview of the public sector, the clubhouse began to deteriorate from a lack of maintenance. In a couple decades after the Central Library moved in, the collapsing ceilings, cracked walls and malfunctioning plumbing heralded the inevitable fate that came in 1984 when it was finally demolished, ending an interesting chapter in the history of local built heritage.

Archaeological evidence suggests that in the area known as Perriman Corner, Delhi Road, Fyzabad, a settlement of Amerindian peoples existed as far back as 350 AD. The coming of Europeans in the 16th century may not have impacted them since there is nothing to indicate that the community lasted into the colonial period.

The district became part of the Ward of Oropouche in the County of St Patrick under the local government system established by Governor Lord Harris in 1849. Heavily forested and of rugged geography, it was not cultivated until the 1860s when some indentured Indian immigrants whose contracts had expired, settled on the fringes of the Oropouche Lagoon in the area known today as Avocat and here, cultivated rice, vegetables and ground provisions . 

The village itself was founded in 1875 by the Rev Dr Kenneth Grant of the Presbyterian Church’s Canadian Mission to the Indians (CMI). As part of the conversion process of the CMI, Rev Grant arranged for a number of former indentured immigrants (who had served their five-and ten-year contracts on sugar estates in Oropouche and Rousillac) to settle on ten-acre blocks in an area where there were lands suitable for cocoa cultivation and rice production.

In paying homage to India, the settlement became known as Fyzabad. A chapel and day school were established first on the junction of the path that later was called Delhi Road and the bridle track that connected the settlement to St Mary’s Village, Oropouche which was then a small town and the location of the district court, warden’s office and police station.

Gradually, a mixture of ethnicities settled in the area including a few Chinese merchants. Cocoa was king, and almost every substantial resident of Fyzabad owned cocoa lands which covered the Delhi Road, Guapo Road and Oropouche Road. A description of the multitude of people in Fyzabad was written in 1912 by H M Saville as follows:

“On our way back we passed through a small settlement called Fyzabad, a name which clearly denotes the origin of many of its inhabitants. While waiting in the buggy until Mr Fitzwilliam had transacted some business here, I was interested in watching the school-children as they passed, and a more mixed lot I never saw. Some were coloured in all shades from nearly white to nearly black, many were East Indians, some were even Chinese, to say nothing of other combinations of these different strains. A few of the best mannered ones spoke to me as they passed. Most of these were East Indians, by race if not by birth; while, however, there was no foreign accent in their nicely pronounced salutation, “Good morning, sir,” there was something decidedly foreign in their manner, a kind of retiring diffidence not often found in these democratic days, even among negro children, who readily assimilate English manners.”

The purely agrarian nature of Fyzabad was to make a dramatic about-face in the early years of the 20th century. As early as 1910, a number of prospectors led by Arthur Beeby-Thompson began prospecting lands near the village in the area known as Forest Reserve as part of a larger survey begun some years earlier in the Guapo-Vessigny region to determine the presence of large oil deposits.

The initial exploration in the latter district was marred by some controversy in the acquisition of leases from estate owners (in those days, it was legally possible for landowners to retain all mineral rights except those for coal and gold and these could be sold or leased). It appears that a relationship developed between the oil men and Thomas Geddes Grant, a commission agent and the son of the Rev Dr Kenneth Grant to whom Fyzabad owed its establishment.

The younger Grant quietly began acquiring leases from the cocoa proprietors in areas indicated as being potentially rich in oil. In order to save the expense of purchasing the land outright, only the mineral rights were bought for a fraction of the value of the oil that would later be extracted from the properties. Grant was to sit on the board of directors of the resulting Apex Oilfields (one of the largest oil companies in Trinidad when incorporated in 1919) until his death in the 1930s.  

Simultaneously, another syndicate was leasing lands in Forest Reserve from the colonial government. This company became known in 1913 as Trinidad Leaseholds Ltd and operated a refinery at Pointe-a-Pierre as well. The oil age had begun in Fyzabad and it was to change both the physical and social atmosphere forever. 

The outbreak of World War I in 1914 coincided with the birth of the oil age in Fyzabad. The production coming out of the new wells at Forest Reserve exceeded all expectations. One particular well produced over 138,000 barrels between 1914 and 1917. 

Christened “Helena” after the wife of the manager of Trinidad Leaseholds Ltd (TLL), Mr H Korrhaus, it still produces small quantities over a century after it was first drilled. 

The heavy labour of clearing the dense forests and then preparing the drill sites exceeded the capacity of the local labour force which seemed to lack both the brawn and the numbers to successfully meet the needs of the oil companies. This was even more evident after 1919 when Apex Oilfields came on the scene with its formidable manager, Colonel Horace C B Hickling. 

Hundreds of hardy workmen from Grenada and St Vincent settled in the Fyzabad district to remedy the labour problem. Capable of performing monumental feats of strength and endurance, they soon had progress underway. 

Forests and cocoa trees gave way to huge camps of pre-fabricated bungalows which were meant to accommodate white expatriate staff. Apex and TLL employed a number of South Africans, ostensibly for their “experience in dealing with coloured labour.”

Fyzabad became a town of segregation with the working class living in appalling conditions—crowded and unsanitary—around the village itself, while the expatriate staff dwelt in relative comfort on the camps, having electricity, hospital services and other amenities. There were even chapels for the Roman Catholic and Anglican faiths so that the expatriates need not journey into Fyzabad to worship among the coloured folk.

In World War I was the first mechanised conflict in global history and it became apparent to the stakeholders in the oil industry that it had an important role to play in the matter as far as the supply of fuel went. In 1920, a major accident occurred at one of the wells near Fyzabad which blew out under pressure and ignited, sending streams of burning oil along the canals and waterways, causing much damage to property although it is not known if the incident resulted in fatalities.

The rapid expansion in oil exploration saw the formation of many small companies with “roughneck” operations. One of these was Dome Oilfields, established in the mid 1920s by Bunsee Partap and a syndicate of San Fernando businessmen to exploit a rich plot of oil land on Guapo Road.

Managed by a young local white driller named Robert Wade and cobbled together using outdated, used equipment, Dome Oilfields struck it big from the start and it promised enormous wealth to its owners. 

On December 8, 1928, Dome Well number three was completed, capped with rusty valves and left unattended while Wade went to celebrate and his bosses did as well. By the time leaks were discovered in the capping, things were already beginning to get out of hand. Wade returned along with Partap, San Fernando merchant Ralph Sammy, and several others including Sammy’s wife and daughter. 

While starting his Ford Model T to focus its lights on the well, Wade triggered an explosion by igniting the natural gas escaping from the well. In the resulting holocaust, 16 people were incinerated on the spot. The fire burned for several days, and just like in the 1920 explosion, a river of burning oil flowed from the site and set the land around aflame. The Dome Oilfield tragedy did not end here but has an interesting sequel which will be documented in another column by itself.

The oil wealth of Fyzabad did much to change the face of the village. Aside from the crowded huts occupied by the immigrant labourers and their families, the main business thoroughfare was transformed. Shops, bars and dancehalls sprang up almost overnight as Fyzabad became a boom town. There were two cinemas as well, one catering mainly to the working class and the other to the oilfield staff.

The Trinidad Government Railway had reached Siparia , just a couple miles away, in 1914 and large weekend excursion parties arrived in Fyzabad to take advantage of the good times. Not a few of the weekend visitors were women of dubious reputation from Port-of-Spain and environs who were coming down to meet their “keepers”—that is to say, oilfield workers who kept them flush with cash.

Nevertheless, wages remained relatively low for the labourers on the oilfield, which combined with the obvious discrepancy in living/working conditions between white and coloured employees, brought one firebrand Grenadian immigrant to the forefront.

He came to Fyzabad in 1921 along with hundreds of his countrymen from Grenada to work in the expanding oilfields, and the name of Tubal Uriah ‘Buzz’ Butler will always be associated with that town. 

In brief, growing discontent with the pay and working conditions at Apex Oilfields and the lack of a unionised workforce saw Butler being thrust to the head of an assembly which, on June 2, 1937, delivered terms to Col Horace Hickling, manager, which were summarily rejected. Butler was charged with sedition and went into hiding. 

The standoff between labour, the oilfields, and then the police became very tense indeed since Butler could not be apprehended due to the many people who risked their own freedom to keep him out of the hands of the colonial authorities. On June 19, the now-wanted Butler addressed a meeting at the Emporium Hall which was interrupted by several policemen under the charge of Inspectors Power and Liddlelow. 

One of the officers, Constable Belfon, was delegated to read the arrest warrant which led Butler to ask the crowd “Are you going to let them take me?” The response was an attack of bottles and stones aimed at the police who retreated. Power was struck on the head and later died.

Corporal Carl “Charlie” King, who had attempted to lay hands on Butler, was separated from his comrades. He ran to a nearby shop and leaped out the back window, breaking his legs. Kerosene was poured on him by the mob and he was set ablaze. The place where this happened is still known as Charlie King Junction. 

In the days that followed, Fyzabad became a warzone. The rioters barricaded the main roads into the downtown section and it was a full three days before the charred remains of Corporal King were recovered. An English policeman, W S Bradburn was shot dead while on patrol and in retaliation, the police killed an innocent bystander, La Brea Charles.

These tumultuous events made Fyzabad the spiritual birthplace of the modern Trinidadian labour movement and the Labour Day celebrations held here annually include a march which culminates at Butler’s gravesite (he died in 1977) in the ironically named Apex Cemetery. 

A brick Roman Catholic chapel dedicated to St Thomas More was constructed in 1940 and a year later, a new school was founded in an old bungalow donated by Apex Oilfields. This institution was established by a well-known educator and poet of Tobagonian origin named Harold Telemaque.

Called the Fyzabad Intermediate Anglican School, this place has risen to become one of the best-regarded secondary schools in the south of the island. 

A government primary school was constructed at Pepper Village to the north of Fyzabad at a later date. During the 1950s, Fyzabad remained a flourishing town. A new police station was built nearer the settlement since the old Constabulary (still to be seen) occupied an Apex structure and the interests of the oil barons in those days took precedence over the needs of the general populace.  

In 1960 Apex became part of British Petroleum. The oil boom years of the 1970s saw a spike in the economy of the district with the opening of a large Hi-Lo supermarket, a strip mall, and even a new secondary school. A branch of Barclays (now Republic) Bank was opened there as well. 

The good times were not to last forever, for with the plummeting of global oil prices, the 1980s brought recession. The old Apex holdings were once again to change hands as they became part of the new national oil company, Trintopec.

The straitened times showed itself in the gradual deterioration of the once-posh housing camps, with their swimming pools and tennis courts as well as the closure of Hi-Lo and one of the two cinemas in the town (although the Universal Cinema managed to soldier on until 2004). 

A new complex inaugurated by the government for the facilitation of cottage industries did little to stimulate self-employment. For many years, Fyzabad remained in a slump, even after a new state oil company, Petrotrin, was incorporated in 1993. It is only within very recent years that there has been some growth of the town and new modern buildings in place of the old ones.

A large private park and recreation facility on the old Trinidad Leaseholds Ltd lands is a major attraction. Nevertheless, there is still enough of the old Fyzabad to remind visitors of what was in the roaring heyday of this oil boom town. 

Car guys in Trinbago of the 1950s and 1960s would remember a greenish motor oil of excellent quality called Duckham’s which at the time was second only to Castrol in the world as a manufacturer of this commodity. What few realised was how intimate a connection Duckham’s had to Trinidad’s early oil days. 

Alexander Duckham (1877-1945) was the son of a successful mechanical engineer which was a career that he himself followed. After a short stint working for a syndicate distributing heating oil in Britain, Alexander was advised to study the chemistry of lubricating oils which he undertook with a passion.

In 1899 he purchased his first automobile and founded Alexander Duckham and Co, which specialised in motor lubrication. The firm was so successful, it led Duckham to think about vertical integration of his operations by finding a source of crude oil which was the basis of his refined motor lubricants.  

The company had assembled a small team of chemists and specialist engineers over time. One of these people was dispatched to Barbados where in 1896, the West India Petroleum Company had drilled several wells. In 1905 the Duckham’s geologist arrived in the Turner Hall area of that island to assess the potential of the wells which were producing a significant output.

For whatever reason, the man’s report back to his superiors in London was not favourable and Duckham immediately cabled a message for him to examine Trinidad instead where since 1902, productive wells had been drilled at Guayaguayare by Major Randolph Rust and the presence of the Pitch Lake indicated the existence of sizeable petroleum deposits. 

The evaluations and surveys of the Duckham’s man paralleled and coincided with similar work being done in the Guapo area near Point Fortin by petroleum geologist, Arthur Beeby-Thompson. This latter oil pioneer was to prove that Trinidad had vast oil reserves and was to be the driving force behind the birth of the local oil industry. 

Thompson had formed the Trinidad Petroleum Company in 1907 and was voraciously acquiring leases on Crown lands as well as from private landholders in the southwestern peninsula in the Guapo, La Brea, Fyzabad and Point Fortin which promised great returns. Duckham was then forced to look elsewhere for his crude oil which happened to be at a location not traditionally understood to be part of Trinidad’s oil belt even today. 

In the rolling hills of the Central Range was the little village of Tabaquite. It had barely existed until the cocoa boom of 1870-1920 when global prices skyrocketed, resulting in a rapid expansion of production in Trinidad. A large number of estates sprang up in this area which was eminently suitable for cultivation and which yielded great rewards for the planters both large and small.

It was a highly mixed population which formed the main settlement in the early 1890s, consisting of white proprietors, Afro and Indo Trinidadian smallholders, Chinese merchants and ‘cocoa panyols’ from Venezuela who provided skilled labour. 

The thriving cocoa economy of the Central Range led planters to petition the colonial government for a railway line since the only communication was by an almost impassable bridle path. The authorities extended a railway line south of Jerningham Junction in Cunupia in the 1890s which bisected Tabaquite and Flanagin Town. Part of this line boasted a railway tunnel which when commissioned in 1898 was named after then acting governor, C C Knollys. 

Tabaquite was described by H Marshall in 1911 as follows:

“Up to now we had been travelling over flat country ever since leaving Port-of-Spain, but on approaching the end of our journey where we passed through the only tunnel on the line, we had reached the spurs of the Montserrat Hills, at the foot of which lies the little settlement of Tabaquite. Near the railway line there was a good track, on the far side of which were three or four stores at intervals from each other, a few cottages of the poorer class were within sight, and the rest was bush, forest, or whatever else one might choose to call the surrounding foliage.”

It was this railway line and the immediate advantages it provided that was to prove instrumental to the area’s place in oil history. The Duckham syndicate investigated seepages of a light crude in the cocoa woods near Tabaquite around 1906 and determined that there was enough evidence of petroleum to warrant further investment of resources in the area. 

Next week, we will look at what happened to Duckham and his exploration for oil.

Tabaquite, a sleepy cocoa belt village, in the early 1900s was to have a unique place in Trinidad’s oil history as well as British military history. 

A report forwarded to British industrialist Alexander Duckham from his geologist in Trinidad confirmed the presence of extensive oil deposits. This document gave Duckham the confidence he needed to capitalise a new company to the tune of 50,000 pounds sterling.

Trinidad Central Oilfields was the result in 1911 and leases were obtained for a large parcel of Crown lands in the Tabaquite area. The presence of the Brasso-Caparo line of the Trinidad Government Railway gave an added motivation to the oilmen.

Initial returns were positive and based on the reports sent, the First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, decided to convert the British Navy’s fleet from coal fuel to oil. There was no pipeline system at the Tabaquite operations and oil was directed from the wells through earthen drains into a large pit or sump.

Tabaquite wells produced much natural gas as well as light crude and in 1912, one of the wells ignited sending a flash flood of burning oil downhill. Five men who were monitoring the flow to the sump we killed when the flaming tide overtook them. Crude was initially exported in barrels using railway flatcars to Port-of-Spain where they were shipped to the Duckham’s plant in London for refining. 

In 1914 applications were made for a refinery at Tabaquite which was completed a year later. The plant distilled several grades of fuel for local consumption. Kerosene (also called ‘pitch oil’ since it was first distilled near the Pitch Lake) was made and this was an important product since, at the time, there was no electric power in the island outside of Port-of-Spain.  

The kerosene was packaged at a small cannery near the refinery and thus the commonly known “pitch-oil tin” came into use. A high grade of petrol was also manufactured which was retailed in metal drums in Port-of-Spain under the brand TRICENTROL. It was preferred by motorists since it left fewer carbon deposits on vehicle engine parts and thus reduced the need for cleaning of valves and cylinder heads. 

Problems began to crop up with the railway authorities regarding the requests from oilfield management for the use of large American 40-tonne tankers on its lines as opposed to the smaller ten-ton British ones that had been in service up to 1915. This combined with increased output led Trinidad Central Oilfields to pursue the shipping of oil from its own coastal port via a pipeline. Claxton Bay, over 20 miles to the southwest, was selected as the terminus and a series of massive iron tanks capable of storing more than 14 thousand tonnes of oil were constructed there. 

Even in the Unites States, there were no pipelines at the time of this length for transit of light crude which made the Tabaquite-Claxton Bay trajectory a world first. Over hills and flat lands it went and a portion rested on the sea bed at the terminus since there was not enough deep water to permit oil tankers to draw near the shore.

A long iron jetty, constructed in the 1880s for use of sugar estates, became the loading point for oil. The crude exported from Claxton Bay made its way to London where Alexander Duckham produced a superior grade of motor lubricant, as well as aviation spirit for the newly-formed Royal Air force which was formed near the end of World War I (1914-18). Such had been the importance of marine and aviation fuel from Duckham’s, that several visits from Admiralty officials were made to Trinidad in order to hasten supplies.  

Duckham himself was a keen pilot and one of the pioneers of aviation in Britain. 

Output at Tabaquite fell steeply in the years following 1919. This had been feared since the early days since the geological reports indicated the deposits were shallow in depth and easily drilled but not nearly as extensive as those in the southwest. Trinidad Central Oilfields had incorporated smaller oil leases in Guapo, Barrackpore and even Mayaro, but the pending exhaustion of the main Tabaquite field was imminent. 

In 1939 Trinidad Central Oilfields ceased to exist, with its remaining assets being acquired by United British Oilfelds Trinidad (UBOT). Alexander Duckham died in 1945 and the company he founded in 1899 managed to soldier on as a maker of lubricants until 1968 under his son Jack, when it was assimilated by BP and the Duckham’s brand vanished into history.

Steaming callaloo with crab claws poking from the tureen, a rich oil-down with plenty of coconut milk, slippery ochro rice and sweet toolum are a part of the local food culture that every schoolchild has been taught, owe their origins to our Afro-Trinbagonian ancestors. 

What is not as widely known, however, is that these viands are rooted in a history of great deprivation and oppression, the like of which few of us today can even begin to comprehend. The jaded and highly pretentious Mrs Carmichael, a slave owner at Laurel Hill Estate in Tacarigua, published the following in 1834:

“Every field Negro has two pounds of excellent salt fish served out weekly and head people have four pounds. A pound and a half I allowed for every child from the day of its birth until 12 years of age when full allowance is given. This is the most favourite food of the Negro, and they prefer it to salt beef or pork, a small piece of which they relish occasionally.”

This is a prime example of the hogwash that the plantocracy recorded into history—the image of the happy, well-fed slave and the paternalistic master. Indeed, there were legal minimum standards that planters were obligated to meet, but since the law was practically never enforced and there was no real abolition society present in the colony to advocate the human rights of enslaved people, these were almost never met. 
 
On June 30, 1800, the new British military governor, Lt Col Thomas Piction, issued an ordinance which proclaimed a certain weekly allowance of salt meat or fish and carbohydrates in the form of plantains or cornmeal. Provision grounds were to be given where possible and in lieu of those, slaves were entitled to an additional ration or cash compensation. The harsh reality was a far grimmer scenario.

These stipulations on the provisions of slaves formed a base upon which an entire cuisine was to be built. More often than not, planters neglected the regulations for minimum allowance because of the high cost of cornmeal, salt cod, herring and other foodstuffs which had to be imported from the United States.

The consequence was malnutrition on a vast scale and infant mortality rates that would stagger the sensibilities of any modern person. Historian Judy Raymond, in her epic work The Colour of Shadows, which was published this year, points out that according to Adam Hoschild:

“Male Caribbean enslaved workers were three inches shorter than those in the American South. Women were likely to go without and be even more undernourished in favour of their husbands and, of course, their children.”

The lack of protein in the diet of enslaved people led to many health issues, but also created gaps where innovation thrived as a matter of sheer starvation. Where there were provision grounds allotted to slaves, these were issued not out of any great compassion for their condition, but with the expectation that after a 12-hour day of gruelling toil and in whatever spare time allowed to them, slaves could cultivate provisions to feed themselves and thus absolve the masters of the expense of having to do so with the exception of the occasional addition of a rotten herring or two. 
Indeed, as Ms Raymond points out in her book, that casks of herring thought unfit for white consumption were bought up in Barbados by planters who then issued them parsimoniously to their slaves—and Barbados was considered to be one the better colonies as far as the feeding of slaves went. 

Those who were fortunate enough to have provision grounds could, by much hard work, grow surplus food which could be sold at market on Sundays or sometimes to other slaves. One or two judicious planters may even have bought their greens and roots this way. The sparse imported foods were combined with such crops as the slaves themselves could raise.

Yams were relatively easy to grow along with cassava, eddoes and other roots such as tanias and dasheen. They provided a substantial portion of the diet since they could be cooked in a variety of ways. Coconut milk, extracted laboriously from grating dried nuts, was added and the oil-down appeared in the pantheon of local dishes.

The ubiquitous plantain could be fried or boiled and then pounded, giving us another Sunday favourite in the form of pounded (pong) plantain. Breadfruit, brought to Trinidad from St Vincent by a Diego Martin slaver, also became a staple.

Next week, we will delve further into the history of Afro-Trinbagonian food.

It would be hard for a continental dweller to understand that in an island as small as Tobago, there could be great diversity and isolated communities though the extent of the place is only 116 square miles. 

Anyone who has travelled off the beaten path extensively knows that in the northeastern part of Tobago, the little villages and their populations are of a very different stamp from those on the Leeward coast. Charlotteville is one of the most tranquil of these. 

Kalinago or Carib people were the earliest inhabitants and may have lived here in relative seclusion right into the middle of the 17th century. 

In 1633, Jan de Moor, the Burgomaster or mayor of the Dutch town of Flushing sent forth an expedition of his countrymen who happened upon this rugged part of Tobago. The Dutchmen were displaced by the natives and the place remained serene for a while. More Dutchmen came in however around 1650 and of course, brought with them the evil of slavery which they used to transform the verdant slopes into sugar plantations. The constant wrangling for Tobago between the English, Dutch and French from the late 17th and throughout the 18th centuries meant that the original Dutch holdings at Charlotteville went into abandonment for a while. This was during the golden age of piracy in the West Indies and several buccaneers made the island a base for their operations. One in particular, Captain John Phillips, anchored frequently in the deep blue bay and it is possible that the cove called Pirate’s Bay is named for him. 

There was some stability in Tobago in the period 1760-81 when it is possible that the area became known as Charlotteville for good since it was the name of the wife of King George III. Certain land grants were made in accordance with the law of the time to settlers who were expected to clear the land and cultivate sugar. The original grantees appear to have been Abraham Markoe, E Hawkins and Alexander Stewart. To what extent they undertook propagation of sugar cane is not known. 

In 1777, a year after the United States wrested independence from Great Britain, American privateer John Paul Jones and others like him, sought to harass the outlying districts near Speyside and Charlotteville, plundering supplies and produce from the estates, as well as timber when they could find it. They were put to flight by British Men of War which is possibly how the bay fronting Charlotteville got its name. Recognising the need for greater security in this remote part of Tobago, the British constructed a battery which became known as Fort Cambelton and is a scenic viewpoint today. 

The deep harbour and relative isolation of the bay also made it a reconnaissance point for French forces who took the island in a strong military assault against its governor, Mr Ferguson. A period of struggle ensued with Tobago being bandied back and forth between France and England until confirmation of British dominion in 1815. 

The hurricane of 1847 wiped out most of the cultivation in Tobago creating economic hardship. Wesleyan Methodists were preaching in Charlotteville from as early as the 1850s but a permanent chapel was not erected until 1923. 

Since Emancipation occurred in 1834, sugar production had steadily declined. The formerly enslaved persons farmed small gardens in the hills for a while but with the spike in global cocoa prices in the 1870s, this began to be the dominant crop near Charlotteville. A number of immigrants from Grenada had settled here and brought with them the knowledge of cocoa cultivation. Enough was produced for sale right in the area and also for sale in Scarborough. 

In those days, only a bridle path connected Charlotteville to Speyside and villagers relied on a coastal steamer for communication. Some of them became small traders, taking produce as far afield as Port-of-Spain to trade and sell, returning with manufactured goods which were much cheaper and in greater variety than what was available from Scarborough merchants. 

The coastal steamer remained the primary link with the outside world until the road was improved and expanded in the 1940s by the public works department. A vibrant and profitable fishing co-operative developed in the village which sold fresh and salted fish in large quantities.

Today, Charlotteville remains one of those places a bit off the beaten path and more reminiscent of what life in Tobago was like at the dawn of the 20th century, as yet untouched by the influence of commercial tourism. 

Last week we looked at how Sangre Grande emerged from the forests to become a major cocoa trading centre. It was a rip-roaring environment and was described in 1910 as follows: 

“I strolled about Cunape village, as Sangre Grande is locally called, to see what changes had occurred in four years. My impressions were that business had increased, judging from the number of fresh “shacks”  that had been run up and the congested confusion of carts, barrels and boxes, etc, but the proportion of loafers, that is, five to every one working-man or woman, was unaltered. 

“Every provision shop, and their name was legion, held loafers of all sorts who did nothing (as far as I could see), but sit round on barrels or lean up against the counters and doors gossiping and living seemingly on the combined smells of the shop, which were undeniably strong, and afforded probably all the nourishment these idle ones needed. Outside one of these temples I saw a man, very drunk indeed, and it was yet early in the day, and finding his face familiar to me as that of an old wood-squarer, I asked Harris, to whom he had spoken a few maudlin words, if he were not in that line of business. Harris answered that he was a detective, which left me furiously to think over the Machiavellian methods of the Trinidad Police Force. 

“The messages having been made we got under way, the faithful Harris acting as Jehu. Wheeling to the right, before the Court-House, passing the Cunape River over the Brooklyn Bridge, we gallantly breasted the hill leading to the official portion of Sangre Grande. Here, near the Catholic Church I was struck by one of the first emblems of progress, a large unfinished building which looked as if the designer had intended primarily to erect a replica of the Taj Mahal, but, having changed his mind, had chopped it up into little cubicles like a Chinese gambling house. Harris, who I found was brimful of information, told me that the building had been designed and erected by an Indian fellow citizen, a remote descendant of ‘the Lion of the Punjaub,’ at least his name had the same terminative Singh, who had amassed unto himself many shekels and was determined to show ‘dem half-bit buccra’ of Trinidad how to build a house. 

“Up past the houses of the official dignitaries, DMO, Warden, etc, over the Sangre Grande River, and again up the hill where the flourishing plantation of dear old Doctor Thomas is situated. Here, I would have made a short call on JP, an old friend of prehistoric days, but he had also gone to chant The Maple Leaf Forever. Through Sangre Chiquito on and on, cacao plantations innumerable on both sides of the road laden with pods, purple, scarlet, yellow and green... ”

One of the first cinemas to be erected outside Port-of-Spain was at Sangre Grande in 1919. A very important establishment in the town was the Marlay Store which was a very large emporium owned by a Chinese businessman. In addition to being a buying agent for cocoa, coffee and tonka beans, Marlay’s also boasted a grocery, bar and soda water factory, with its own unique branded bottles being imported from the United States.  

Sangre Grande went into a temporary recession when the cocoa economy tanked in 1920 but by 1941 a new source of income was on the horizon. That was when the United States Air Force and Army began clearing the El Mamo forest near Cumuto for the construction of the Wallerfield Airbase and Fort Read. Suddenly, the area was of serious importance. Cocoa suffered as labour left to work for American dollars but the rumshops and cinema had a field day since the Yankee boys sought entertainment. 

The Trinidad Government Railway ended its Sangre Grande line in the 1960s which inspired the kaiso composed by Houndini, Arima Tonight Sangre Grande Tomorrow Night. Despite these setbacks, Sangre Grande remained the largest town of eastern Trinidad. In time, its little health centre was replaced by a district hospital which today has expanded to embrace many important medical functions including oncology. Only a few of the old buildings still stand and the fate of the old colonial post office is always in question. 

Hopefully one day people will realise the importance of history to the nation and clamour to see it preserved.