Jamaica as it is, 1903

by B. Pullen-Burry

However, I did not come to Jamaica to write about Americans. I am glad they visit this island in search of health, and bring their much-prized dollars with them for the good of the Commonwealth.

Two months have scarcely passed since I left my native shores. Hosts of new experiences, fresh sensations and interests have filled up the intervening weeks.

I had intended to write a diary; instead, I have made some progress down that path which is said to be paved with good intentions. They say of the natives of these latitudes that “they were born tired, grew up tired, and have been tired ever since.” I cannot truthfully say that of myself, although the enervating climate tries the strongest when they feel tropical heat for the first time. Energies which were rampant in the temperate zone find the end of their tether very soon under Jamaican skies. Perhaps this is why the island is said to be beneficial to persons suffering from overdone nerves. They must rest in the middle of the day; the heat is too great for any real exertion. I have not had much time to take notes, but as I propose staying four weeks in this quiet spot, I intend to gather together the mental fragments at present lying scattered about in that organ, which, for want of better knowledge, I designate my brain-pan, and piece them together into something which may be of use to people contemplating a visit to Jamaica. And I cannot help thinking if it were more generally known in England how easy it is to take such a trip, and how much there is to reward one for the trouble, many persons would be only too desirous of becoming acquainted with this lovely island.

When I told friends that I intended to visit Jamaica this winter I was amused at the hazy notion prevailing, even amongst the well-educated, not only as to its geographical position, but regarding life in general as it is lived out here.

One lady said to me, “I call it flying in the face of Providence to go so near those horrid volcanoes.” I meekly explained that Jamaica lay several hundred miles away, but she went on to say, “Well! I read in the papers the other day that an American geologist says that the Pelée catastrophe is only the beginning of the end. Sooner or later all the West Indies will go.”

There is no doubt that this feeling exists in some circles in England, and I think the sooner accurate knowledge replaces panic-stricken ignorance the better will it be for the colonists here, and for English people obliged to escape from the rigours of a northern winter.

It is well to know what to see in this part of the world. Several persons have said to me, both in England and in Jamaica, that they could find no guide-book to tell them how to set about taking the trip to the West Indies. I felt this want myself, and enquired at Cook’s office if Herr Bædecker had found his way out here yet. He has not. Nor do I mean to forestall that conscientious and most useful Teuton. Still less do I intend to write a guide-book to Jamaica. All I propose doing is to enlighten intending visitors to these parts as to the best things to see. Very probably the greater part of them will belong to my sex. If they can have patience as I chat about persons, and tell my own experiences in my own way, they may learn things which may prove useful.

So far, I am charmed with the glorious vegetation of the tropics. There are places in this island more enchanting than any descriptions of fairyland ever penned.

Professor Haddon of Cambridge had told me before leaving England that the three most beautiful islands in the world were Java, Ceylon, and Jamaica. Having never been to the east, or nearer the tropics on land than Assouan in Egypt in the northern hemisphere, and Auckland in New Zealand in the southern, my first sight of the exuberance and prolific growth of tropical flora was like the opening of a new and attractive three-volume novel.