BERMUDA

Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 63, Issue 4491, 17 October 1941, Page 3

BERMUDA

HER CORAL BEAUTIES. SEA GARDENS AND CRYSTAL CAVES. LOWER-OCEAN LOVELINESS. (By E.T.) Exploiting the beauties of the Bermudas is the workaday job of the average Bermudian. In spite of the war, about 5000 visitors a month have to be fed, housed and amused. Nearly all food is imported; enormous luxury hotels out of all proportion to the size of the islands provide shelter; and lovely little Bermuda itself, without effort, does the entertaining. These are the most northerly of all coral islands, and are famous for the amazing sea gardens of the encircling reefs, and for. the crystal caves of the Harrington Sound district. “‘Once upon a time . . .”—the unfailing formula to all enchantment, is the right beginning to a story of sea-gardens and crystal caves. “Curiouser and curiouser!” might follow it. Modern under-water exploration, and the research of such geologists as Dr William Beeby, have brought forth all manner of details for the satisfaction of science in many parts of the world. But the sense of mystery remains as deep as ever, not less for those who have looked on the mystery than for those who may only have read of it. Though you may not realise it the first time, the instant you take your seat in the glass-bottomed boat to view the sea-gardens you have entered the theatre. And, drama or comedy, no two performances are alike. The pearly shore seems more than two miles away. There is suddenly a great deal of sea, and there is something oddly comforting in the sight of big black Sam, who, with another, keeps the oars. They chew gum. Unaware of the confidence their phlegmatic appearance gives you, they chew on. You lean forward and look down, and the curtain is raised. A PISCATORIAL PANORAMA. A princess, in obvious distress, flashes upwards. Her agitation is too great for her to care that the palace garden is all about her. Trees and flowers are quite unlike anything seen on earth, but so is the exquisite princess. She is an angel; a fish, if you will, but angel-fish are high caste beings in these waters. A spraying mauve cactus moves in an underwater breeze. The princess darts away, her story, her hundred greens and blues and golds, lost to you for ever. Across your vision a great, slow-moving fellow, of some pomposity, takes himself. He is deliberate and assured, in gold trousers and black coat. He has soft topaz eyes, but his face is green, and with a sigh you know that the princess has no hope.

Black Sam, with moving jaws and complete unconcern, moves the little boat on. Here is the next scene. Pink and red and white, the coral palace is the work of an artist. It is bound by no convention, by no period of architecture. Terraces of brilliant sea grasses and anemones and waving purple sea-fans roof caverns that can only be guessed at from above. But military matters are in progress. An orderly flock of yel-low-and-black striped sergeant-majors moves forward. A general is expected surely. And almost at once a large brown fish with white tail and orange fins arrives. Business is urgent. Without a glance in the direction of the hovering sergeant-majors he passes on, followed by the mayor

and corporation in full robes, and hordes of little sightseers.

Another scene, and you almost cry out. There is a dark rock, seeming close enough to touch, are the sinister tentacles of an octupus. He crawls, and all horrer is in the movement. But he is far away in reality and probably absorbed in some excursion to the other side of the rock. Above him on a ledge of red coral a seaurchin with wicked spikes and clusters of heavy purple grapes are steady under a mass of waving, trailing' seaweed. Baek in Hamilton, Bermuda’s capital city, your favourite dish is listed for lunch. But, remembering the princess, you pass over “Angelfish Bermudiana,” and wait for the lobster salad with mixed feelings.

UNDER WATER EXPLORATAION

At the Government Aquarium, in another- part of the islands, one may explore underwater in bathers and diving helmet for ten minutes at a shilling a minute. In the crystal caves of Bermuda Annette Kellerman years ago made her famous moving picture, Neptune’s Daughter. The caves descend hundreds of feet into the earth and under- the sea bed. Stalactites and stalagmites form a new world of mystery. The theory is that thousands of years ago Bermuda was flung up from the sea in the course of some terrific volcanic disturbance. Coral insects then proceeded to build upon the limestone rocks, and the caves had their beginning. Limestone deposit in solution drips perpetually from the roof and hardens on the floor of the caves. The chief delight of the guide is to dumbfound tourist, swith details of how many centuries it takes for a crystal column to form. But what he has to tell is less awe-inspiring than the music he strikes with his wand from the great organ in the Leamington caves.

In the one called Prospero’s Cave there is a crystal bust sculptured by Nature in somt other age which bears an extraordinary resemblance to Shakespeare. Certain scenes from The Tempest might well have been staged in these caves. In another cave nearby Tom Moore, the Irish poet, is recalled by the lagoon that goes by his name. Walsingham House where Tom Moore spent much of his time while in Bermuda, is about a mile from the caves by road.

Except for human voices and human footsteps, there is no sound within the caves. Electric lighting finds out the farthest corners and shows the way down hundreds of steps to the inky, ice-cold waters of Cahow lake. A hundred thousand glistening stalactites grow from the roof. The “dead” ones are those which no longer have the nourishment of water that is required. Their day is done. They sound no music when struck, but their beauty endures, blending with the rose, gold and silver brilliance of the “living” rock.

And overhead, above ground, farmers plant onions and potatoes and Eastei- lilies. Swimmers bathe in Harrington Sound and call along the beaches. The ting of bicycle bells and the trotting of horses in the sunshine proclaim that all is normal. The iron gates of the caves shut, and a mystery of mid-ocean remains aloof, secure, impenetrable.