Shortly after my father left for St. Thomas, he sent for my older brother, Joe, as he had found employment for him there as well. Now with both of them gone, incidentally, I was the oldest male in the family left back home, even though I was still quite young. The making of the Shoal Bay road still dominated my pastime, and my dad and Joe, though away, still maintained a keen interest in the progress of the roadwork as well.
In fact, according to Daddy, at one point in time, not long after he had been in the Virgin Islands, his cousin Austin, who had co-started the road with him, had made a trip there to purchase goods for his store in Little Dix. Daddy was glad of the opportunity to present him with a handsome little sum of money as a donation toward the progress of the roadwork.
I would interject here that Austin was a partner in a business with another cousin, and my uncle, Abraham Harrigan. Together, they both owned all the assets of a business named Hideaway Enterprises, and such assets included the Bedford truck and the Masey Ferguson tractor, mentioned in last week’s Part 1. Abraham himself made remarkable contributions to the building of the road. He was a great resource to the small community, and his labor and directions on the roadwork were of magnificent worth.
Well, as a young boy, so curious and excited about the new route that was coming for Shoal Bay, I wanted to be part of the Thursday road-building action. Regularly, upon hurrying home from school and quickly getting something to eat, my mother would make sure I was properly clad from the chilly evening air, and that my shoes were properly laced. All things checked, I was ready to hurry northward, running with pride on a strange, newly surfaced dirt “road” where thickets of bushes once thrived. Anticipation would peak high as I eagerly closed in, catching up with the crowd of villagers, now turned road workers.
Upon reaching the work site, familiar folk greeted me. These were several respected men and women of the neighborhood, as well as other youngsters like myself, all gleefully hustling at their rewarding tasks. I quickly joined in to do whatever I could, whether it was throwing stones in rock-holes and hollows, or heading dirt from the dirt-hole. By the way, for the benefit of non-national readers, it might be useful to explain what a “dirt-hole” is. It is an area of soft, pliable soil, away from the surrounding rocky terrain, that could be dug for road fill. Once the soil is removed, a hole is left in the earth, colloquially called a dirt-hole.
Anyway, the spirit of villagers at work on a primary road project like this was one of a jovial, enthusiastic nature. It was Thursday jollification time. Everyone there was a “busy body” in a positive way. There was no room for idlers. Cheerful laughter, exciting chatter and the shouting of orders from those who volunteered to be directors of the work filled the air. But also filling the air was the scent of freshly dug dirt and the fragrance of newly cut bush. Naturally, the scent of grovernile wood and sage-cop, mingled with ram-goat bush and some balsam bush, pervaded the atmosphere. And yes, by this time the makeshift fireplace was still smoldering, so if I was lucky, I might be blessed with a lil pittance of rice ‘n peas and meat from the pot.
Sometimes, work on the road would extend a little into the nighttime hours, especially if there was moonlight. On one such night, a flurry of confusion ensued when the tractor with a trailer full of dirt got stuck in a dirt hole. “Poorman”, the driver, applied his expertise and did all he could to maneuver the machine out of trouble, but to no avail. While some folks had suggested to shovel out some of the dirt, others were lamenting, saying that it would be a waste of precious time and effort.
We started to place rocks in front of the huge tire, but as “Poorman” revved up, the wheel only skidded against the rocks, filling the night air with the pungent scent of burnt rubber. The wheel had dug its way further into the ground. After an extended period, “Poorman” got a bright idea. He had us remove all of the rocks from in front the wheel. He then went into the bushes, found one large rock which he and another fellow lifted, and jammed it securely against the tire. Then, confidently jumping up into his seat, he revved up, and Walla! Everyone cheered with heightened happiness to see the wheel effortlessly climbing over the big boulder. In a few seconds, the Massy Ferguson and its load was out of the pit, thanks to the ingenious thinking of a skillful operator.
With the cooperation and willingness of everyone, the roadwork progressed well. Thursday after Thursday we would be edging a little further north with bush clearing and stone filling; leveling and dirt spreading. That’s the rhythm —bush clearing and stone filling; leveling and dirt spreading. Looking back now, it is extremely satisfying to know that none of the landowners who possessed land along the route made any objections to their land being cut or trespassed on.
Of course, all the landowners along the route had an interest in Shoal Bay anyway, and more so, they had a keen interest in having a road constructed. Everyone was in one accord, united in their efforts to see the road to Shoal Bay completed. It was Austin Rogers himself who made a comment a few years after the Revolution saying: “The construction of the Shoal Bay Road was the only other event that rivaled the unity of the Anguillian Revolution.” That statement defines the harmony that existed.
I mentioned in Part 1 the skyline horizon that could be viewed from our Little Dix lookout at home on the hill. Right smack on that horizon is a huge tree, a famous landmark which we call Nunsie’s Tamarind Tree. It stands alongside the road route. Once the work reached that tree, we were unable to see any more of the project from the distance at our Little Dix lookout. But it was a joy for the work to progress pass this landmark ‘cause beyond it was some “smooth sailing” for a fairly long distance.
This was the section where all of the road workers were eager to reach. We call it The Long Grey-Ground. There were no embedded rocks in this area, and the grey soil was soft and quite easy to work with. Cutting this area was somewhat simple, as if it was a God-sent reward for all of the laborious work of the past behind us. Remarkably, it is west of this flat, long stretch that the renowned mausoleum now stands as the resting place of the legendary Albert Lake.
After The Long Grey-Ground was passed, the northbound work ascended up a last incline, the crest of which revealed the awesome beauty of the turquoise waters in the distance. Now, the real blue Shoal Bay ocean was in view — the northern Atlantic. As the work progressed, there was a satisfying air of accomplishment. From here, the topography offered a downhill configuration over intervals of step-like descents toward the bay. And even though this terrain was rocky again, and the sledge hammer and pickaxe had to be used more frequently, the work got more exciting because the end was nearing. It was not long ‘til we reached the edge of the bayside, and alas there was a just reason to rejoice.
The road to Shoal Bay, just after its completion, provided a rich contribution to the social life of Anguillians and friends of Anguilla. Soon, people from all walks of life — from all across the island — drove northward on this humble dirt path to find amusement and pleasure through picnics and romantic hide-outs. Friends who visited friends on the island would find Shoal Bay to be the beach of choice for a refreshing scenic swim or an exhilarating getaway, thanks to the road that replaced the old treacherous footpath.
I vividly recall the words of one aged, lowly villager whose nickname was “Towty”. One day, she stood on the hillside close to our Little Dix lookout, and with her eyes glued to the north, she noticed the dust flying in the air as a speeding pickup filled with frolickers was hastily heading to a Shoal Bay picnic. In a plaintive, dialectic tone, she colloquially muttered: “Look di dus, nuh. Uh bet if ti had rocks n sticks out dere, dey wouldn’t uh go doe.” No doubt, in her mind, she could not stand to see strangers in vehicles traversing our newly built road with such speed, as if they had a part in its construction.
The road to Shoal Bay played an important part in the 1967 Anguilla Revolution. Providentially, it offered easy access for the patriotic guards of the beaches who made a hide-out over there. They patrolled the bay which could have been vulnerable to any kind of invasion or infiltration by the St. Kitts regime. At that time, beaches all around the island were securely guarded by warriors of the Revolution. Even though I was just ten years old, and filled with fear and apprehension as to what our plight might be, still I was overcome with the pride of knowing that I had played my little part, with the toil of so many other villagers, to build a passage to accommodate the die-hard vehicles used by our revolutionary stalwarts.
A few years after its completion, the jurisdiction of the road was transferred from the hands of landowners and villagers to become a public facility, owned by the state. Government took charge of the route and re-surfaced it regularly with marl dirt, but constant traffic exerted extreme wear and tear which necessitated a tougher, harder surface. It was not until the mid-1980s that Public Works decided to pave the road with asphalt bitumen. This made the surrounding villagers and residents of Shoal Bay even prouder, though we thought it was “high time” for such a development.
Today, many of the folk who have worked on the Shoal Bay road are deceased. While Austin, Abraham, Renford, “Poorman” and others have passed on, we are grateful that by God’s grace, and through fate’s decree, my dad is still presently alive. Now at almost 98, Haraldo takes great pleasure in reminiscing his initiation of a facility that has long since provided a suitable roadway for everyone — from tourists who go for the beach experience, to resident hotel guests and staff; from local travellers who ply this route to do business in trade, to those who use the road just for leisure trips in pursuit of pleasure at Sunday evening events, Shoal Bay is the place to be.
Well, it is my hope that the Shoal Bay Road be soon slated for re-development. In my view, government needs to invest an ample amount of capital in its renovation, and upgrade it to the level of a modern street, especially since it is such a critical part of our tourists’ experience.
