White Christmas in Barbados

White Christmas in Barbados

It was the time of Cuba’s trouble. The ship Del Norte had to veer out of the way to avoid a gun boat from Cuba. We passed within forty miles of Dominica. I waved to the land mass as we passed. My college roommate, Elsie Conley was a missionary there, I wished I could see her.
 
On our way to Brazil, our ship docked in Barbados the day before Christmas so we could spend Christmas Day on the beach. The Wolffe family traveling with us did, but since our church denomination had a national church on this island, we radioed ahead to see if we could stay with the Rev. and Mrs. Austin Miller. They had no children, so they were delighted to have company.  
 
Briefing us on the island, the ship purser said Barbados was one of the British West Indies Islands eleven miles wide with a breezy mean temperature of 78 degrees. It was virtually crime free.
 
We crossed the gang plank to the dock while islanders played music on indented barrel tops. Rev. Miller picked us up in his car and took us on a tour of the island. Sugar cane grew everywhere. But the city of Bridgeport was bustling with excitement. We went to the largest department stores. How strange it seemed that almost everything was imported from England.  It was hard to imagine living in a place where everything had to be imported. Rev. Miller said everyone wore hats to church on Christmas Day, so I kept trying to buy a straw one. He kept discouraging me for some strange reason. In the town square, fruits and vegetables were sold.  One lady was balancing a large aluminum basin on her head. Milford asked her if he could take her picture. “No, I am too black,” she said. The people from the ship were probably the only white people on this island.
 
On the way to his house, Rev. Miller took us to the home of a seamstress to get his wife’s Christmas dress. “Everyone wears white on Christmas Day in Barbados,” he explained, “This includes a white hat.” No wonder he didn’t want me to buy a straw work hat. Inside the seamstress’ house, the wind blew the foil icicles on the tree in the breeze. This was our first “hot Christmas.” We arrived at the Miller home to find Mrs. Miller cleaning. “It is a custom to clean and buy something new for our home at Christmas,” Mrs. Miller said. “I will help you,” I offered. “No, let me have my Christmas,” she retorted.
 
The Miller’s house was a small but comfortable stone home. We went to bed in a room where the shutters on the windows were closed. A hose led from underneath the sink in the room and out the window through the slats in the shutters.

At 4:00 A.M. the Millers came to wake us to get ready for early church services. It was all we could do to get up. 

Milford and I were asked to sit on the platform and participate in the service. Melodie and Melinda sat with Mrs. Miller in the front row.
 
It was an awesome sight to look out over this crowd of totally black faces in white vestige. It was also embarrassing! Not only were we the only white people present but I was the only woman not wearing white. Milford and I were wearing navy blue. I guess you could say they were having a White Christmas and we were having a blue one.
 
Milford and I both spoke a few words before Rev. Miller preached. When the worship service was over, the congregation, in their white attire, went to the park to sing Christmas carols for what Barbadians call their White Christmas. 
 
When the singing was over, we returned to the Miller’s home for roast chicken and rice embellished with dried peas and other small vegetables. In the afternoon the Millers gave us a tour of this island paradise then took us back to the ship to continue our journey.
  
Santa had visited the Del Norte on Christmas Eve and left presents for the girls. The Wolffe family hadn’t fared quite as well as we had. They had gone to the beach only to find the island surrounded by coral, which made swimming and wading difficult.
 
Our next port of call…Brazil!

©Marilyn Francis Ferguson 2025
Graphics by Michele Ferguson Schuck