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Born in war, brought up in poverty caused by isolation, one could hardly expect a child of the forties to know very much. Never having left the island, I often wondered what the outside world was like. While tending my flock of goats on the flanks of the mountain, I often gazed at the other islands, and really wondered of there were people living out there.

In those days with no airport, no electricity, no television, no motor vehicles, few radios, no newspapers and very few magazines coming from the outside world, one had to rely on the tales coming from the old sea captains.

Often in the afternoon I used to hang around the breadlines listening to the men talking about their experiences in faraway countries. I would let my imagination take flight, but could only come up with images of that which surrounded me.

Breadlines were gathering places usually along an old stone wall, where men sat in their regular spots and discussed the events of the day.

In the village where I lived, Windwardside, there were only two breadlines, and the faithful commuted from one to the other, depending on which one offered the best conversation. One of the most colorful characters of these breadlines was John Selix, known as Nix (a brother of Big Jim), whom the white members tolerated because of his simplicity and because he was the scapegoat for many pranks which took place in the course of the evening.

However, as the years passed, Nix became more of a patriarch of the diminishing clan of breadliners. When he grew too old to walk and the first Jeep arrived on Saba, his former white colleagues rigged up a rocking chair to two long poles, and brought him on their shoulders from English Quarter, to see the pride of Saba, its Jeep. In disgust Nix looked it over and asked them to carry him back home to die. His quiet world had been shattered by the noisy Jeep, and he wanted no part of it.

Another regular breadliner, Clement, changed his breadline because a black man had been sitting on the boulder which he had occupied for years, and Clement felt that this was carrying integration too far. Until his death, many years later, he never returned to that breadline.

It was at one of these breadlines that I overheard the men talking about the new Frigidaire at the hospital. How it had taken four men to bring it up from the Bay, whereas Big Jim would have brought it up on his head, without changing his 'wad'. They laughed at the fact that Virginia wrapped her hand in cloth before removing anything from the Frigidaire for fear of catching cold. I noticed though, that a number of the men kept silent, and notably those who had not been off-island. Things went through my mind representing cold, rainstorms, winter winds, the top of the mountain, but for the life of me I couldn't come up with something that would give me a cold if I did not wrap cloth around my hands before opening it. We had cupboards at home, but they were generally warm inside. This had to be a big joke, since as a matter of fact one closed up a house to keep it warm inside. How could one catch cold opening up something? This story had to be nonsense, and had to be investigated.

The talk of the day at school the following morning was the new Frigidaire at the hospital, and I seemed kind of stupid for not knowing that it looked like a box and was painted white. Douglas even knew that it was kept in the kitchen, and volunteered to carry me down that night so that I could have my first look at the fridge.

When we arrived at the kitchen that night, Virginia was strutting round her domain, proud as a young rooster, bragging about her new toy called a Frigidaire. Douglas pointed it out to me, proud that he had seen something before I had. I kept staring at it, not daring to ask Virginia to open it up.

It had looked like any old mahogany press, only that it was painted white and had but one door with a big metal handle. We didn't have to prod Virginia much to open it up, because this had been the greatest pleasure of her day, to be able to show off her Frigidaire to the many curious villagers who had come around wanting to see it.

After wrapping up her arms in cloths (the breadliners were right after all, though I saw nothing in it to laugh about) the icebox was opened for inspection. It was lined with shelves, and with smoke coming out of it especially through the small inside door at the top. From my safe position outside the door I kept looking at it and kept wondering how a smoking press could give one a cold.

Virginia then asked us if we would like some ice. Of course at that age one was reckless enough to try anything, and just imagine the story we would have to tell our friends at school the next day! So we timidly said yes.

After pulling out a metal thing that looked much like a small breadpan, Virginia handed us each a piece of transparent white rock.

For a moment I looked at it in my hand and thought: 'Who does Virginia think she's fooling?'

Suddenly the rock started to get hot and to leak, and with a yell Douglas and I threw those leaky rocks on the pavement.

With nothing to thank Virginia for we rushed up the hill to brag to our friends the next day that nothing they could think of was 'hotter than ice'. After all, we had seen it. Had felt it. We were the experts.

It took a number of years before ice-cream was introduced to me, and before we got our own refrigerator at home. By that time I had been abroad and was accustomed to a refrigerator, though still not fully versed in how something hot produces something cold, and something cold seemed hot.

To this day, each time I see a refrigerator, that night at the old hospital comes back to my mind, and I still marvel at the workings of a Frigidaire.

This page was last updated on 10/10/2004