In July, Mr Kempton turned 84. And yet he can recall his life story for you in such rich and vivid detail, that you’ll swear you’re seeing the actual video footage of them.

“As a child, my siblings and I cut thatch tops and twisted them into ropes to trade for food. Tops were cut off only monthly—immediately after a full moon—or else the tops would be rotten, and make the rope useless.

“The two closest stores we could trade with were in North Side, and East End. So we’d walk to North Side, sometimes there’d be no groceries left. So, we’d then walk to East End, hoping to find some groceries there.

“In those days groceries were brought over by catboats across the North Sound to little stores. We’d take 100 fathoms [600 feet] to the store and it could fetch us equivalent to six pounds flour, six pounds cornmeal, and six pounds of brown sugar.

“Most times salt water had gotten into and hardened everything­— so that even the sugar was salty. I don’t know how we survived, not to mention that there were eight of us children; I was the youngest.

“Cayman’s thatch rope was a popular strong rope used in those days to make fish nets and fish traps in Jamaica. The two stores traded the thatch rope in Jamaica, for groceries for Cayman. All islanders relied on the thatch trade back then.”

“I left school at 15-years-old to assist my family. I got a job in George Town at the Merren’s store. I’d make 30 shillings a month, [equivalent to CI$3.00]. And then instead of getting paid, I’d be paid the equivalent in food staples.”

“In 1946, age 22, I went to sea. And came back home in 1948, to get married. With the money I’d made at sea, I bought an old home in Breakers. Throughout the years, I’ve built around it. Inside it has that old wattle and daub.

“I then started working in George Town, helping build the hospital; we worked from Monday to Friday and half day Saturdays. I’d ride a bicycle to George Town and back. Work started 7:00 am and finished 5:30 pm.

“There was no electricity those days, so no way to see my way home unless it was full moon. Most times it’d be pitch dark by time I got up around ‘Breadfruit Walk,’ in Lower Valley. I’d have to be careful because cows would sometimes be lying down in the dirt road. But then I’d only know it when I’d be sprawled out on the ground, and I’d have to grope for my bicycle—get back on and ride.

“I joined Blue Funnel Lines shipping firm in 1955 on the Pathitia, a freighter hauling general cargo from Staten Island, New York, bound for the Brazilian ports of Pantabookya, Santos, Recife, Pera, Serra, Tu Tonya, Komesing, Menaus, Bahera. We’d then return to Staten Island with sacks of coffee, Brazil nuts, castor oil and other oil seeds. Most Caymanian seamen haven’t seen as many Brazilian ports as I have.

“The Amazon River is coloured black, but we could easily see hundreds of thousands of piranhas alongside the ship every time we docked. Farmers would make river crossings with their cattle and they’d first have to throw out old cow carcasses for the piranhas to feast on while they prodded their own cows across. They’d have to move real quick…else those piranhas would finish off those bones in minutes and start on their cows!

“On one trip, a Brazilian soldier had shot a huge anaconda in the field and when the men coiled it around, it stood taller than the men! I’d asked how heavy it was; they’d said five tons. Perhaps they meant 500 kilos (1,000 pounds) because they’d used a kilo scale.

“I joined National Bulk Carriers shipping firm in 1955 until 1977. I worked my way up from 2nd Cook to Chief Cook then to Steward. My first years were aboard the ‘General Ruan’ hauling oil from the Persian Gulf, across the Atlantic to Aruba, then to Venezuela and back to Aruba, (Aruba’s refineries refined oil into diesel). The Persian Gulf was so hot. At nights the crew stripped to their underclothes to sleep on deck. I did that only once. Soot from the smoke stack was so thick, I couldn’t breathe! I was covered in it. Most crew slept on deck, every morning they’d be covered in soot. Showers were so hot because water came from the steam boilers so you showered only when you had to. I found a way to fall a sleep in my bunk by wetting two beach towels till they were sopping and didn’t wring them out. One I laid in on my bunk. The other I covered up with. Then I’d have to get up to repeat each hour because it’d soon get hot.

“Many of us did this, still most slept on deck. One man died aboard, we’d just passed through ‘Hell’s Gate’ in Persian Gulf. It was his first trip into the Gulf. He was from Jamaica married to a Caymanian lady. He kept on taking showers that night thinking that would help, but the showers were hot. There seemed nothing we could do to help him. He died that same night.

“Later on we found out he’d complained of a fever; so that’s probably what caused him to keep taking those hot showers, he had felt cold. We’d to sew him into a canvass and have his burial at sea in the Indian Ocean because there was no place aboard to store him. We weren’t allowed to use food freezers to transport bodies. Many wondered who’d be next; the heat was so overwhelming. It’s a wonder death didn’t happen more often. The kitchen below deck was hot. Before docking up to load Persian oil, I’d have make sure double portions were cooked so that when they shut down the galley, the crew could still eat. (Due to oil’s volatile fumes, there could be no cigarettes, stoves nor kettles on. We’d use steam tables to reheat food which were powered from hot water in the boilers that ran the ship, so they weren’t an open flame.)

“From Aruba, we’d then haul diesel into Japan through the South Pacific. Most times it’d be rough weather. At nights I’d strap myself into my bunk so I wouldn’t be thrown out. Almost every crewmember I traveled with got seasick. I’d marvel at how myself and other Caymanians never did, no matter how rough. Funny enough, as I got back to Cayman, and got into any small dory, I’d get totally sick.

“I was the only Caymanian aboard ‘Bulk Oceanic’ on a trip taking diesel from Aruba to Japan when the Captain announced over the intercom: ‘We’re caught in the middle of two typhoons, one on each side. Secure equipment.’ It was dark even in the day. No moon, no stars so the Captain had to navigate by ‘dead reckoning’. This meant he could only stick to the course that could get us to Japan. We couldn’t outrun anything; we’d no radars or GPS in order to outmaneuver. I’d still have to cook for the crew. I strapped braces around pots, wired pot lids down but continual slamming down of the ship kept bursting the wires off pot lids and food spewed on the floor.

“Inside the kitchen it was dark, rolling, tossing, turning, I’m holding down pot lids trying not to get scalded, my feet are slipping because water’s coming through the skylights. For 15 days we battled through this way. For 15 nights we sat on the edge of our bunks in lifejackets in pitch dark. Every man stayed ready. None slept because we’d only seconds to scramble to the deck to try to get off if it started to sink. I prayed. I know others had to have been too.”

“We finally reached Japan, offloaded our diesel, continued on to the next port and there we were told ‘Bulk Oceanic’ had been sold to Greek shippers, so we hopped aboard another ‘National Bulk Carrier’. The ‘Bulk Oceanic’ then picked up a Greek crew, went to Venezuela, picked up oil, took that oil to Aruba to be refined, picked up diesel from Aruba and was in the middle of carrying that diesel through the South Pacific to Japan when it went down in a typhoon. No man was saved. It was the same route we’d taken many times before, same route we’d almost gone down on. “

“En route to Venezuela, we’d sometimes stop off in Cayman since we could see Cayman in the distance. If Caymanian crew were aboard, the Captain would allow us to put in a lunch order for turtle. He’d anchor off, send in a small boat to pick turtles up to bring back aboard. (Caymanian fishermen caught turtles from the ‘Miskito Keys’ and would have them lying on their backs for sale out where George Town’s craft market is today. Most were huge 400-pounders!)

“Sometimes I’d go along too and while we’d be picking up turtles, people would run up stuffing letters under our arms to carry back aboard for Caymanian guys. Friends glimpsing us would shout: ‘Tell so and so hello for me’…or ‘how’s so and so doing?’

It was exciting mayhem. We’d return to the ship, butcher those big turtles and feast for days. The non-Caymanian crew enjoyed turtle meat just as much as we did, even the Captain commented about how good it was. I crave to get back to sea. Saltwater gets in the blood. If I could, I’d be right back out there tomorrow! Those days made men out of Caymanian boys. Ah, those were the days!”