In the following weeks there were many rumours of plots to get rid of the Premier and one actual plot to install John Stubbs in his place, but Swan survived. The Referendum Bill did not. Having refused to accept the Senate amendment, John eventually announced that a committee of ministers was to be appointed to draft a Green Paper setting out the pros and cons of independence, that the existing Bill would be dropped but that in the next session yet another Bill providing for a referendum would be put before Parliament.
In March 1994 Bermuda had a well-earned rest from all the scheming and feuding over independence. After months of planning there was a state visit to the Island by the Queen and Prince Philip – the first since 1975. A committee had sat for months devising a programme which would suit everyone, and everyone’s part had been rehearsed. We even had the whole Cabinet on parade on the Sunday before the arrival, learning where they were to line up and in what order, how a bow should be executed (from the neck not the waist) and how the royal hand should be taken assuming it was offered (not in a vice-like grip). We were prepared.
The Queen had left the royal yacht in the Bahamas and was coming by air, and at 2.25 p.m. precisely on Tuesday 8 March 1994 Gilly and I arrived at the airport. In a moment or two the plane had landed and was taxiing down the runway towards us. Miraculously out of the roof there appeared the Royal Standard and at 2.30 p.m. the doors opened and the Queen came down the steps. I presented Gilly and the Premier at the foot of the steps and after a twenty-one gun salute and the inspection of a guard of honour came the presentation of all the other dignitaries.
The plan then was for the Queen to go to St George’s for a walk-about in the town square – travelling in the Daimler which was now twelve years old and temperamental. An American had offered us the loan of his Rolls-Royce and to ship the car from the States for the occasion, but the Queen had been adamant that she did not want that sort of fuss. If the Daimler had broken down, we would have been in a fix because the restrictions on car size in Bermuda from which only the Governor was exempt meant that the Daimler was the only big car on the Island: but it had been gone over from top to toe and was looking right royal, and we hoped it would not disgrace us.
After the walk about in St George’s the Queen was supposed to get back in the car to go down the road a little way to the Tucker House, a lovely seventeenth-century National Trust property, but she delighted everyone by ignoring orders and striding off down the street on foot. Gilly and I then left for Government House, to be on parade there when the Queen arrived.
Government House was packed with Easter lilies and looked superb. For months workmen had been about the place carrying out repairs, redecorations, carpet cleaning etc. The Bermuda National Trust had undertaken the refurbishment of the royal suite where furniture had been touched up, chairs reupholstered and the canopy over the four poster bed cleaned. We had been very lucky with the canopy. During the preparations for the visit a member of the recce party which had come out from London had insisted on Gilly lying on the bed and looking skywards. She did so and saw for the first time that the canopy was in an advanced state of decay. I, in my turn, had made a complete fool of myself over the lavatory. At a dinner party I had enjoyed myself explaining how hideous was the loo in the royal suite and how I had insisted on its replacement, but after dinner when I was invited upstairs for a wash and brush-up I discovered that our hostess was the proud possessor of a loo similar in every respect to the one I had had removed to please the Queen. On returning downstairs I had difficulty looking the lady of the house in the face.
The Queen arrived at Government House at 4.15 p.m. and there was an investiture in the dining room. A short time to change, and then we were off to the Speaker’s banquet at the Southampton Princess. Trumpeters from the Bermuda Regiment had been assembled to blow a fanfare as the Queen entered the vast ballroom in which nearly 600 people were waiting to dine. The Speaker, Ernest DeCouto, had been told to pause at the door so that the trumpeters could prepare themselves; but Prince Philip who was two paces behind and getting impatient poked him in the back and asked him why we were all hanging around. Ernest lost his nerve and propelled the Queen into the room and straight onto the platform. The trumpeters lost their chance to sound a note and grumpily popping their instruments under their arms, slunk out of sight.
The food was excellent and the evening was voted a huge success even by those who thought it was rather offside for the Premier to make a speech which sounded very much like a bid for independence. ‘Our destiny,’ said Sir John, ‘was once determined in part by our position as the Gibraltar of the West. Now we must face taking responsibility for our future by ourselves. I believe we are equal to the task.’ Some of the Premier’s colleagues denied that what he had said had anything to do with independence; but the Mid-Ocean News commented: ‘If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it is usually safe to assume it is a duck – except in Bermuda, of course, when it is a Swan who has been misrepresented.’
Most people at the banquet missed a far more significant event than the Premier’s speech. As the Queen rose to speak Ernest DeCouto decided that the microphone, which had been placed in front of her at just the right height, needed adjusting and as he leaned across to fiddle with it some of us could see disaster looming. Prince Philip shouted ‘Don’t touch the mike!’ but it was too late. As the Speaker leaned across the front of the Queen his cuff collided with the Queen’s glass of port and its contents descended on to her dress. With great presence of mind she covered the stain with her handbag and proceeded as if nothing had happened. The dress, I have little doubt, found its way into the dustbin.
The next morning the Queen and Prince Philip planted a tree each in the Government House garden, which was a blaze of colour with wild freesias in abundance. We then set off for the hospital. On the way up to the front entrance a little gathering of women were carrying placards which read:
‘The corgis of Bermuda welcome Your Majesty’ and there they were, all twenty of them, slavering in welcome – the dogs of course, not the women. On the way back down the drive the Daimler slowed to a halt and one of the women came forward and a few words were exchanged. Talking to Gilly about the incident later in the day the Queen said, ‘That dog was called Lillibet. I was quite surprised. I thought it would be Queenie.’
Then it was on to the Bermuda College, the Dockyard and the Maritime Museum before the party came back across the Sound by boat, accompanied by thirty or forty smaller craft. There was then a visit to the Yacht Club and, finally, to the Botanical Gardens for an entertainment by the young people of the Island.
That evening there was a banquet at Government House. Twenty-eight people sat round the main table which took up the whole length of the dining room, and thirty more guests sat at three tables on the terrace. A string quartet played as we ate iced tomato soup, medallions of beef stuffed with stilton cheese and brandy snap baskets with butterscotch mousse and fresh fruits. There were no speeches apart from my few words before the loyal toast, and the evening was rounded off with the regimental band beating the retreat on the front lawn. When it was over I told my aide-de-camp to ask the band to wait so that Prince Philip could thank them on behalf of the Queen, but Eddie had difficulty disentangling himself from the royal party and he did not catch up with the band until well down Langton Hill, the best part of a mile from Government House. Unabashed Eddie ordered an about turn and the band marched back up the hill for a ‘Thank you’ which I suspect the members thought they could have been spared.
The next morning had been planned as an opportunity for the Queen to thank those who had worked on the visit. Some were lucky enough to receive honours and I was particularly lucky to be made a Knight Grand Cross of the Royal Victorian Order (GCVO). The insignia included a collar of gold which I was told had to be returned on my demise and which the Duke of Edinburgh stressed I would seldom have the opportunity to wear; ‘collar days’, as they are called, being rare events.
/> Prince Philip was not going back to England with the Queen. He was due to set off for the Caribbean in the afternoon. But when it came to the Queen’s departure he got into the Daimler as well. ‘What are you coming for?’ said the Queen. ‘I am going to see you off’ replied Prince Philip. ‘That’s jolly kind of you,’ said the Queen. And off they went, with plenty of people at the roadside to cheer them on their way. As usual we sent the Queen lilies at Easter and received a lovely letter thanking us for them and for the stay at Government House.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Trouble on the Island
From the moment when I had arrived in Bermuda the politicians had stressed the importance that they attached to ‘Bermudisation’, i.e. filling job vacancies with Bermudians rather than foreigners whenever that was possible. We were not doing much for that policy in Government House, with an English butler and English chef, an English Governor’s secretary, a Portuguese maid and a Filipino maid, and five Portuguese gardeners. Indeed it was only the scullery maid, a downstairs cleaner and the woman who did the laundry who were Bermudian. When, therefore, the butler, Michael Schubert, was due to leave at the end of his contract I was determined to get a Bermudian replacement. The post was advertised but very few applicants put in for the job. One seemed reasonably good – a sergeant in the regiment whose wife was on the regiment’s permanent staff – and Andre Nesbitt was duly recruited on a probationary basis.
It was soon clear that we had made a serious mistake. As the royal visit had drawn nearer Andre’s nerves had got the better of him, and Eddie had to take away virtually all his responsibilities and bring in people from outside to do his work. After the royals had gone I had Andre into my room and told him that he had proved completely useless during the visit and, as far as I was concerned, he could leave there and then. But foolishly I then added that if he really wanted to stay I would give him a last chance and extend the probationary period for another six months. Andre agreed to stay on those terms. Unfortunately there was no improvement and the time came when I told him he would have to go. For that the PLP branded me a racist. I pointed out that it was hardly racist to dispense with an English butler so that I could recruit a Bermudian and the fact that I was now looking for another Bermudian did not look particularly racist either. But that got me nowhere, and soon the story had been sold to the English press where it appeared suitably embroidered and embellished.
Then the time came when I had to recruit a new commissioner of police and things went from bad to worse. There had always been difficulty in recruiting Bermudians for the police. In good times higher wages could be earned in other jobs and Bermudians were not particularly keen on doing a job which involved night work and might even make them unpopular in the communities where they lived. Consequently, many police officers were recruited from the Caribbean and from Britain. Often the Caribbean officers found it difficult to get themselves accepted and were heavy-handed in their dealings with the local community. The British officers, being white, were seen by young blacks as an alien element. Furthermore, these different groups in the police often did not get on with and did not trust each other. Jack Sharpe, a former Premier, told me that after the Sharples murder a very pleasant Bermudian officer showed up to give him personal protection. The next day he told Jack that he was going off duty for a while but was worried about his replacement: ‘He comes from St Kitts and hates all white men.’
When I arrived in Bermuda Lennett (known as Lenny) Edwards, a black Bermudian, was commissioner of police and Alec Forbes, of Scottish origin who had acquired Bermudian status, was his deputy. Both were old-fashioned in their approach to policing and saw no need for change. Complaints against the police, if dealt with at all, were dealt with months after the event and then often not properly. Morale in the police was at rock-bottom. An exercise in crowd control was held at the US naval annexe. Members of the regiment were detailed to act out the role of rioters. The police approached the rioters carrying their shields. The ‘rioters’ lobbed a few missiles and the police broke ranks and fled.
The Foreign Office employed an overseas police adviser to go round the police forces in the dependent territories, carry out reviews and make suggestions as to how efficiency might be improved, and in May 1994 Lionel Grundy, the then adviser, visited Bermuda. His report was damning. There was no leadership or sense of purpose in the police and no attempt had been made to prepare people to fill the top ranks. Lenny could retire on full pension the following May on reaching fifty-six; Forbes was due to go on 1 March 1995, but there was no one to follow them. There were two assistant commissioners. One of them, Harold Moniz, was of Portuguese descent and was rated both unpopular and inefficient. The other, Wayne Perinchief, had only been promoted a month or two before and, having no experience at all of high office, could not possibly be considered a candidate for deputy, let alone commissioner at that time.
I discussed the matter with the Premier and with John Irving Pearman, the Minister for Home Affairs, and we decided to replace both Lenny (who had by then become ill and wanted to retire) and Forbes on his retirement, with a commissioner and a deputy commissioner recruited from abroad. Big trouble followed. The PLP declared that as there were two Bermudians qualified to be commissioner I had again been guilty of racism. The Leader of the Opposition, Frederick ‘Freddy’ Wade, and a number of his supporters brought a petition against overseas recruitment up to Government House, and in front of the cameras I made the mistake of telling Freddy that the decision to recruit had been made and there was no question of it being reversed. At the time I thought it right to be firm. If I had given the impression that I was prepared to reconsider, I would have been letting down the minister who had shown some courage in accompanying the deputy governor to London and seeing the applicants for the two posts. But it was a mistake to have been so forthright. According to the PLP I had not shown due respect towards the six thousand people who were alleged to have signed the petition, and there were calls for my salary to be cut. In due course the PLP tabled a motion in the House of Assembly reducing it to one dollar. It was rather discouraging that when such a motion had last been tabled it was a matter of hours before my predecessor Sir Richard Sharples was murdered. Indeed, the next day the Royal Gazette printed the report of the debate alongside the report of the assassination.
The motion, like the one in 1973, was, of course, really no more than a procedural ploy, a method of getting at the Governor as the symbol of British authority, and after a vote on party lines, with every government supporter voting ‘no’, the motion was defeated. But this did not deter someone on the Royal Gazette (who had earlier caused us trouble selling false reports to the British press) from telling this story in lurid and wholly inaccurate terms to the Sunday Times where it appeared under the headline: ‘LOCALS ARGUE WADDINGTON WORTH JUST ONE POUND.’ The article began:
It seemed an idyllic end to a distinguished political career. But David Waddington’s reign as Governor of the sunshine island of Bermuda is in turmoil this weekend amid allegations of racism and deadly intrigue. Waddington, the former Home Secretary, is facing an unprecedented challenge to his rule after accusations that he despises the island’s native population and is not fit to meddle in local political affairs. The tensions between Waddington and Bermudian Opposition politicians surfaced on Friday when he faced the indignity of a move to have his salary reduced to less than one pound a year, calculated on a performance-related basis.
Waddington narrowly survived the vote. Bermudian MPs voted twenty to seventeen in favour of continuing to fund Waddington’s ostentatious ceremonial lifestyle.
The row arose after Waddington announced he was bringing two policemen from Britain to take the top jobs in the Bermudian constabulary. The move incensed Bermudians. Frederick Wade, the island’s Opposition leader, received a cold reception when he travelled to Government House mansion, replete with servants and swimming pool, to hand Waddington the petition on Thursday. As the pair met beneath the chandelier
in the Italian-style lounge, Waddington, sixty-four, was livid at the very idea of opposition to his decision.’
The article then went on to relate, with sundry embellishments, the story of Andre the butler before concluding:
Large sections of the black population see Waddington as an anachronistic throwback to the days of white dominated rule. The Governor’s meddling in local affairs is raising their nationalistic passions. Ominously, Sir John Swan, the island’s Premier, said this weekend that the row over the issue of white people taking plum jobs could place Waddington in grave personal danger. He recalled the assassination twenty-two years ago of Sir Richard Sharples, one of Waddington’s predecessors, who was criticised over similar allegations of keeping the best jobs for whites.
Insofar as the article painted a picture of an island reduced to a state of turmoil as a result of a headstrong Governor meddling in affairs that were none of his business, it was a complete fabrication. But it was also a fabrication perpetrated by a journalist living on the Island and employed by the Royal Gazette and his name appeared at the head of the article, along with someone called Andrew Malone. Imagine my surprise, therefore, when on the very day of publication I received a telephone call from another journalist on the Royal Gazette saying that the Gazette was going to publish the article and the paper would like my comments on the contents. I told the journalist that I had never heard such cheek in my life. If an article in a British paper was repeated in the Royal Gazette people were entitled to assume that they were being given the opportunity to see how other journalists in Britain were viewing the scene in Bermuda. When the article was nothing but a fabrication perpetrated by one of the Gazette’s own employees, I reckoned that I and their readers had something to complain about.
David Waddington Memoirs Page 27
