Great Grandfather Nicoll’s Family

I’ve just come across this ancient book which records all the Nicoll family births – twelve children between 1876 and 1895. Unusually for the time, all but one survived to adulthood.

Bert Lee’s Death Confirmed as 25 December 1915

Through the Gallipoli Association, I’ve discovered this great little publication.

The writer gives a much more honest description of life in the trenches at Helles than Bert’s letters, which were sanitised for his mother’s benefit.

On pp 69/70 he writes:

The Division (the 42nd) remained on the peninsular till the 29th of December. Dysentery abated and the flies banished,but gale and storm carried on the strain, and frostbite was added to the men’s trials. The Turks seemed to have much increased their supply of munitions, and the loss of life continued day by day. ‘Asiatic Annie’ and other guns across the strait showed renewed activity. A mine explosion on the 4th December killed one of our men and injured eight. Two popular privates, Hancock and Lee, were killed on Christmas Day.

One singular innovation was the Turkish practice of shooting steel headed darts from their aeroplanes. Their chance of striking any man was, luckily, very small.

This, added to the original photo of Bert’s grave provides conclusive proof that his date of death was 25 December, not 24 December as shown on his army and CWGC records and his grave at Twelve Tree Copse cemetery. Whether this discrepancy is due to administrative error, or a deliberate effort to airbrush out the fact that people were killed on Christmas Day, we shall never know. But I am inclined to the latter version.

‘Summer Cloud’

The marina waterfront had excellent shelter from all but off shore northerly winds, being at the entrance to the Careening Hole, a short deep water arm off the main bay behind the thick hurricane protecting mangrove covered coral reef, and where I tied subsequently fitted out the Westerleys tied up alongside an old half submerged fishing craft, and near Robin’s steel hulled Parkwood 28 called ‘Summer Cloud’.

This was the boat in which he and Jill and their three boys arrived in Tortola after travelling by Geest cargo boat to St Lucia and then sailing up through the islands to take up his appointment as Surgeon to the Virgin Islands in 1965. Some time before our arrival, while on loan to a friend, it had been wrecked on rocks near the West End, and having been abandoned half full of water awaiting an insurance settlement, was by now in a poor state, the engine seized up and quite a bit of gear missing.

I think Robin hoped I might be able to resurrect her to add to the fleet, but with the other boats to deal with it was a task I never fulfilled

This is a picture of a similar boat.

Tortola Day 1: 18 November 1968

We slept badly, because of mosquitoes and the first of many intermittent power cuts, as we all sweated profusely being unaccustomed to the humid heat.

The next day we set off in the jeep for a look at the island, te road up from Long Swamp to the top of the ridge being quite hair-raising. Down the other side was the delightful curved Cane Garden Bay, where the children had their first bathe. We also became acquainted with the beach ‘mimmies’, sometimes known as ‘no seeums’, irritating little blighters which attack bathers and other beach users in the late afternoon.

That evening we dined at the Fort Burt Hotel, an interesting round shaped building of Napoleonic look, and beautifully appointed located on the SW corner of Roadtown Bay above the Tortola Yacht Services premises.

Robin & Jill’s Bungalow

Of single story construction with four bedrooms,m balcony facing the bay used as a dining area, and bathroom and shower, it also had, like most recent dwellings,to supplement the indifferent town water supply, a water tank which stood about five feet from ground level at the front on concrete foundations, which served as a massive 40,000 gallon fresh water supply, fed from roof collected rainwater.

To the front separating the house from the tree lined main road into town to the right was a patch of rough grass followed by a field and bushes.

Across the road were mangrove shallows at the head of the bay beyond which, through a thicket of coconut palms, could be glimpsed a tantalising prospect of the sea.

Our arrival coincided with a major reclamation project on the shallows which was to be called Wickhams Cay, the work being carried out by a dutch dredging company using a suction pump.

On our arrival we had little time for other than a sort walk on the Wickhams Cay foreshore, before a pleasant dinner and catching up on news and planning the days ahead.

Arrival in Tortola: 17 November 1968

Our first impressions of Tortola, as we were driven to Robin & Jill’s home were decidedly mixed, tinged with apprehension as the road, once it had left Beef Island by way of the newly opened Queen Elizabeth II Bridge across the narrow dividing channel, passed through the villages of Parham Town and Long Swamp, on the shires of Fat Hoggs Bay, neither place likely candidates to feature in ‘Country Life’, both bordered by what appeared to our unaccustomed European eyes, dilapidated and ramshackle shanties fringed by an assortment of accumulated rubbish.

However climbing the first of several steep sections of the main road, this culture shock was soon forgotten as the full magnificence of Drake’s Channel unfolded before our eyes, first near Maya Cove, then near Paraquita Bay, and again at Hoggs Valley point near the evocatively named Brandywine Bay where we soaked up the sight of Ginger, Cooper, Salt, Peter and Norman islands strung out in a chain about three miles offshore, the the US Virgin Island st John in the distance to the west and Virgin Gorda to the east. Quite breathtaking.

We continued along the eastern shore of the wide Roadtown Bay past Fish and Baughers Bays, the latter being the location of scrapyard type activity, with Roadtown to the west backed by the steep sided mountain ridge topped by Mt Sage and what remained of once thick tropical rain forest, a little sparse by 1968.

Then after passing Fort George and Pasea Hall Estate we arrived at Robin’s government owned bungalow near the Agricultural Department, and not far from the Treasure Isle Hotel.

Antigua to Tortola

We awoke from a broken sleep somewhat refreshed, and after a brief swim in the blue seas, and a breakfast attended by a delightful waiter called James who satisfied every need of our restored appetites, the taxi arrived to take us on a brief look at Nelson’s Dockyard at English Harbour. It was Caroline’s 15th birthday.

After our tour, we returned to the airport to take a LIAT flight to Beef Island via St Kitts, an island which seemed to be well cultivated although very dry, with a pinnacle shaped mountain top predominating. I recalled that it was here that the future Admiral Lord Nelson met and married the widow Nesbitt, before his later dalliances with Lady Hamilton in Italy.

Before taking off from Antigua, the Islander plane being rather small, we had a problem with Sherry’s cage, and it was with some reservation the pilot allowed her to be held by her leash till we were met at Beef Island by Robin and Jill at about 3pm.

Evening in Antigua

We obtained the services of a taxi driver known to Robin called Mr Downs who took us to the Lord Nelson Club Hotel on the northwest Atlantic coast, run by a charming lady called Mrs Fuller.

Following a delicious steak dinner and a brief stroll on the beach drinking in the magic of a tropical night when the stars always seem so much brighter than at home, we all turned in for a much needed sleep to the sound of the surf booming on the coral reef off the shore.

That night I had my first experience of the dreaded ‘mozzies’. I don’t know if it has something to do with overactive sweat glands, but they not only over indulged themselves here in Antigua, but got progressively hungrier and more avaricious the linger I stayed in the West Indies, at times making life almost unbearable.

Flight to Antigua

Having had little or no sleep for over 24 hours, and having been taken to the airport to board the BOAC VC10 flight for Antigua, I was about done it. The children throughout the whole event were as resilient and marvellous as children often are under difficult circumstances, and I will be forever indebted to them for their forbearance and understanding. Gareth was of course not yet two years old.

We arrived at Antigua at about 4pm local time after an uneventful flight, our course curving over Newfoundland en route. As we stepped off the plane at Coolidge Airport we were hit by a blast of tropical heat and humidity, not helped by a heavy rain shower which drifted across the tarmac as we walked to the terminal building, causing my suit to steam as though in a Turkish bath.

Whilst awaiting the usual immigration and customs clearance, our family labrador ‘Sherry’ , who had travelled in the plane’s unlit, unheated cargo hold, was being wheeled across in her cage, making it quite clear by her barking that she’s had enough! Not normally a noisy dog, her vocal strength and repertoire on this occasion knew no bounds, and had the West Indian handler wide-eyed and terrified as he muttered ‘him bad dog’ under his breath, and quite unprepared to release Sherry for a little exercise and relief after her 12 hour ordeal.

Unfortunately the poor dog had to wait even linger for the vet to be located and authorise release. When she did leave her cage, her barking stopped, and after uncrossing her legs and relieving herself (not I regret to say against the handler’s legs), her tail began to wag again as usual.

The Tattersalls Pack Up

No packing up of anything we were taking with us on the flight was done until the eve of our departure on 16 November 1968. However, working all night with the help of our good friends the Larcombes, the Chivers amd the Mittons, we somehow managed to cram everything we might need in a tropical climate and a fee personal possessions into a number of large suitcases. My father, who had joined us in Chiddingfold for the last day or two, kindly agreed to supervise collection of stuff for storage and to hand over the keys to the agents or new owners.

Needless to say, a number of irreplaceable items disappeared due to my lack of personal supervision, including a piece of hardwood timber I had obtained from the wreck of my old ship HMS Conway, and which I’m sure my father thought was junk firewood. Also missing were some loose photos in a chest of drawers and Pauline’s mother’s old solid brass preserving pan.