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Stories Shared by our Alumni

William (Willie) Ward (’65),  Jay Bilyeu, Ed Erich, Rick Sproule

William (Willie) Ward (class of ’65): I want to share this with the group. This is about my first experience with a Bobbie, having been in B’da for about 3 weeks and deciding to explore my end of the Island, along with my kid brother Phil and a friend named Billy, whom we had met at McGuire AFB while spending time in the TLQ waiting to fly to B’da. Anyway, we were out checking out the Island when we came upon a large number of 55 gal. drums. They were sitting outside of what looked to be an abandoned house, which sat up on a cliff overlooking a very nice beach. We decided to make a raft with them, so we rolled the drums down to the beach so that we could tie them together with a very long rope that we had also found. We had about eight of them down on the beach working on getting them together for our raft. After awhile, we saw this guy standing up on the top of the cliff hollering down at us. Being as he was quite a distance away from us, it was hard to make out what was being said. So being kids, we kept on working on our project, just about the time we had everything ready to go, along came this guy in a funny looking dark blue uniform and a blue pith helmet upon his head.

When he began to talk and ask us various questions, we looked at each other in amazement and asked what the hell are you saying? When we tried to explain to the Bobbie that we thought we were on vacant property which it turned out not to be. We found out that in B’da, it might take 2 to 3 years to build a home, thus why a place would look abandoned, because they saved up to pay for their materials as the house is being built and when it’s finished it was paid for in full. What he wanted us to do was to haul all of those drums back up the cliff and put them back on the owners property. Of course it was a lot harder to move them up hill than it was to roll them down hill, after some Yankee ingenuity, we rigged a block and tackle and hauled all the drums back up the hill. After all was said and done, we were marched home to our parents whom were not very happy about this whole incident. There were countless things that we could have been charged with. Damn, after being on the Island for only 3 weeks, I already had become a criminal. We were all grounded for 2 weeks, the only thing we were allowed to do was to go to school and back. After that incident, we all kept a wide berth away from the law.

Jay Bilyeu (JayBilyeu@cs.com): One of my favorite memories is sight seeing in Bermuda after our arrival (1962) with my grandmother, aunt and cousins. We had a VW Bug and it was like the proverbial phone booth. We drove around with: 1. My Dad in front left… 2. Grandmother-front right… 3. Cousin-front right… 4. Aunt-rear left… 5. Cousin-rear left… 6. Mom-rear right… 7. Me-(16 years old)-Rear right… 8. Brother -far rear left… 9. Sister-far rear right… It really helped to be able to open the roof!

Ed Erich (thinice1991@yahoo.com): Dad went to Bermuda in Feb. of 62, my mother and I flew down for Easter Vacation for a week. First time on a big plane for me, although we lived next to what is today BWI. Anyway, we were invited over to a guy worked with for dinner one evening. Rodden Dasinger, he gave me a lot information about how to be there and the fun I would have when we moved to the Island. Also introduced me to Rick Hollingworth, boy did he teach me a lot. We went back to Maryland for the rest of the school year. Returned to the Island in mid June, Dad had a cyrus and bought a car before our return and handed me the bike. I guess I had been there 2 days and was on South Shore Road, near Mermaid Beach, dedicated to find out how fast a stock bike was up about 36 mph, of course that lasted a minute and this black car pulled up behind with a blue light on top. You got it, the bobbies had me for the only time, learned to hide after that. They were very nice, told them I just had gotten there and didn’t know any better, they gave me a break. They never did catch me again, like I said, learned to hide in garages and golf courses, they would go on the golf courses. I guess in July, I came across a first gear and installed it, took three days to take the engine apart and rebuild it the right way, by Christmas, I could put a in new crank shaft in less than 45 minutes and one beer. Ed

Rick Sproule (rsproule@sbcglobal.net): When I first flew over the Island, I was awestruck by the sheer beauty of the waters around Bermuda. Today, some forty plus years later, I still carry the memories of those beautiful waters. Sometimes, when I would visit the harbor area, I would notice that because the sky and the water were the same color, the boats there seemed to be floating on air. As we disembarked the plane and entered the terminal, we saw my dad waiting for us. He directed us to the parking lot where he had his brand-new car to show us. It was a black Morris Mini-Minor. This car was smaller than the Volkswagen Bug and it was soon stuffed with suitcases and the five members of my family. I still don’t know how he managed the trick of stowing gear and people away. I sat in the back seat, behind the driver-dad person-and we began what was to become one of the most familiar refrains that I would hear for the next two years. He said to stop goosing him. I was oblivious to any wrongdoing and protested my innocence until he would calm down and then he would accuse me again. Over the course of my riding in the back seat of that car, I seemed to always be sticking my feet in his posterior. Of course the accommodations were so cramped that my knees were near my chest and I probably did bump him. Finally we arrived at what was our home for next three years. It was down a driveway that was six or seven feet lower than the street it was on. You could stand on the front porch and view the underside of the cars traveling down the street. The backyard was about forty feet wide and fifteen feet deep. There were three small banana trees, which only produced one bunch of bananas in three years. They were not very sweet. There were also two papaya trees in the back of the lot and a chicken coop we never made use of. Dad took us in the house and explained that it had been built in the 18 hundreds. I guess it is a testament to building with stone that homes last so long there. The reason that limestone was used to build homes was that as an atoll island, the only material that there is a lot of, is limestone. There are no forests and all the wood is imported at some expense. The blocks of limestone were larger than what is used I construction in the States. He went on to explain that the white roofs that were terraced were built that way to catch water which would be all the water we would have all year. The terraces would drain into a large storage tank under the house and the water in this tank was it for drinking, washing or flushing. He went on to explain that there were small fish living in the tank that fed on any algae or critters that might wash down into the tank. It was important to keep them in the dark or they would breed like crazy. Mom was a trooper. I could tell she was not comfortable with the necessity of the water arrangements as she was a two shower a day person. Still we persevered and were soon flushing the toilet with the water we used to wash dishes-and bathwater was also used for this purpose. Dad told us if we ran out of water, we could buy some from the hotels who had whole hillsides covered with white terraced rain collectors, but that it was very, very expensive (the two verys were his and we believed him as he didn’t like to exaggerate). The biggest cultural shock was TV. It only ran on one channel from six till eleven and was only one network. I no longer remember which network it was, but I know it wasn’t NBC and so I never saw “Bonanza” while I lived there. I’m also sure that it was not the one that carried my favorite show, “Have Gun Will Travel.” The radio station I listened to was WYNS in New York and they played rock and roll. There were many things that weren’t available or were utterly different from what we had Stateside, but that one that bothered me the most was the loss of potato chips. They had a potato chip there that came in one of those cans like you find popcorn in. Sadly, they were always stale when you opened them. One of the first things I purchased when I came home was a bag of potato chips. I was in “hog heaven” as I consumed them. My family was transferred to Bermuda during my high school sophomore year. I had been on the school’s first student council and was just joining the “Rally Club” in order to get a school letter. To say that I was devastated wouldn’t begin to describe my emotions. My last week at school, I cried every night because I was so overwhelmed by self-pity. I had never flown before and the prop planes in those days were really primitive. The roar of the engines was a constant and I seriously doubt anyone could have slept on one of those flights. After many hours of noisy, bouncy flight, I had a new respect for my dad who was flying B50’s back then. When we arrived on the Island after a really grueling series of flights and connections, it was a strange new world. Cars were on the wrong side of the road and I have never seen so many bikes. The homes were all bright colors and the air was oceanic and salty. Dad had rented a house on the street next to Salstus Boy’s Academy and when he told me that it was an all-boys school, I was even more devastated than before. In my mind, I pictured myself as dying a virgin. I spent the next few nights crying myself to sleep. After a few days, we wet over to the school and tried to register in the spartan Salstus lifestyle. They were very happy to accept me until they learned that I had no Latin. Turned out this was a deal breaker and they wouldn’t take me. We walked home and Dad was frowning while I was grinning with my grin on high-beam. Turned out the Mt. St. Agnes also had a Latin prerequisite. So it was that I was admitted to Whitney Institute, which turned out to be a lot like what I would later see in the school that Harry Potter attended. At first, I found the similarities disturbing until I realized that all English schools are similar, just as all American schools are similar. This began my future with the British school system. Whitney was built in the 18^th century and felt old and forbidding a hundred or so years later when I arrived. I’m sure that it had witnessed the dark days of the American Revolution and yet it stood like a white-washed monument to the lasting nature of homes built of stone. “Practical Pig” had it right with his brickwork much to the displeasure of the bad wolf. It was a large two story building with the gym lockers located down in the basement. We were required to wear school uniforms, which included ties, sweaters and blazers. The school colors were forest green and gold. Often, when I watch the Green Bay Packers, I have a feeling of nostalgia that overwhelms me. Different grades were called forms. Juniors and Seniors were sixth form. I started in the high fifth form and worked my way up and out. The classes were changed when the bell person would go outside and ring the hand bell to let us know that time enough had passed and it was time to go to our net class. I always thought they should yell “Hear Ye, Hear Ye.” Classes were dull and the teachers were terribly British. I soon found out that the easy ride was over because every test was essay questions only. It seems the British had not yet discovered true/false or multiple guess questions. It meant I had to be creative with my answers because I seldom ad any idea what would answer the teacher’s questions. The math teacher was Master Sutton, who somehow earned the nick-name “Fluffy.” He was the oldest teacher I have ever seen. His white-hair and thick glasses finished the cartoon- like qualities of the man. He was gruff and inflexible, but respected by all. Or maybe he was feared by all. Misbehavior called for the cane to be applied to the student’s open hand and it was dispensed in front of the entire school at morning assembly. Morning assembly was new to me because unlike here, they have no problem with praying in their school meetings and so each day was started with scripture and prayer. They also had a class each day to study scripture and most of what I know of the Bible was learned in that class. We used the same Book year after year. We just traveled a little further into the Book each year and I suspect that the goal was to reach the end by the time we graduated. We never made it. History and English were taught by Mistress Watson. She was an anorexic appearing lady with a very stern nature. She was unkindly given the nick-name “hockey stick with hair.” The guy bestowing these nicknames was Lee Estis. Lee, at one point, gave me the nickname, “Eskimo.” While in class one time, the teacher asked what nationality “Sproule” was. My dad’s dad had been Canadian, so I replied that I thought it might be Canadian. Lee said, “Canadian? You must be an Eskimo,” and it stuck with me for the next two years. Lee stood about six foot two and weighed over three hundred pounds. He was the original “Fat Albert.” He was slower than a snail, but he was wonderfully gifted as an athlete and could make a basket from one end of the court to the other. When we introduced Rugby to the Island, Whitney won all their games because we would hand the ball to Lee and he would drag most of the other team hanging from his every appendage until he could no longer drag all that weight and then he would hand off the ball and we would score. He was an exasperating guy and would sometimes push me over the edge. His method of subduing me was to push me down and sit on me. A little bit of that would go a long way and I quickly found myself gasping “uncle.” I hope that Lee is well and truly happy, for he was the stuff that legends are made of.

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