The birdmen of Bourda
In this week’s edition of In Search of West Indies Cricket Roger Seymour examines a forgotten aspect of Test cricket at Bourda.
There was a golden epoch when Georgetown was honoured with the title of the Garden City of the Caribbean. Early in the last century, the City Fathers had engaged in a tree-planting exercise which complemented the fastidiously well-groomed capital. The principal thoroughfares and the avenues of the dual carriageway streets were each lined with a specific species of plant. Sadly, today, only Main Street (the location of State House), and Independence Park (commonly referred to as Parade Ground), with a smattering of matured Samaan trees still retain that nostalgic throwback appearance of yesteryear.
The Samaan tree species – scientific name Samanea saman – is native to Central and South America and can be found anywhere from Mexico to Brazil. In the Caribbean, the local name varies widely from island to island, including the Samaan, Coco Tamarind, French Tamarind, Rain tree, Monkey pod, Five o’clock tree, Algarrobo, and Guango. Samaan trees attain heights anywhere from 50’ to 80’, even 160’ in extreme cases, and are characteristically distinguished by a large umbrellashaped crown, a canopy which can extend as much as 100’ in diameter. The tree, a member of the legume family, has a massive surface root system, does not require much maintenance, and enjoys life spans ranging between 80 to 100 years.
In the latter half of the last century, Test matches at the Georgetown Cricket Club – popularly referred to as ‘Bourda’, the city ward within which the ground is located – were always much more than a game of cricket. They were also unscripted operatic dramas, quite often unfolding in front of a packed house, with many of the
occupants having joined the queues in the wee hours of the morn (on some occasions as early as 4:00 am), in order to secure one of the precious seats in the open air theatre. The stands engulfing the sward were often filled to capacity several hours before the scheduled start of
play, and the colourful crowds entertained themselves with statistical arguments about the game, music, food and liquid refreshments, including varying strengths of alcohol. Many disappointed patrons who failed to gain entrance to the match, found themselves out of options. Some did the next best thing.
As Dave Martin sang in his calypso “It’s Traditional” (1975 Album ‘Sexy Lady’)
“... And if somebody put on a dance, or a big show or a movie
West Indians believe we have a duty to try and get in free,
We will scale the wall, climb the fence,
Buss up we hand and we knee
“Oh yes, Its Traditional,
It’s Traditional ...”
At Bourda, this translated to: “We will climb the nearest tree, as long as it’s free, and we guarantee to see ...”
Even before the stands were bursting at their seams, the bird men (also commonly referred to as bird watchers) had already established their positions in the Samaan trees overlooking the cricket ground. These avid cricket fans never bothered with the lines and simply ascended the trees, often barefoot with their ‘yachting’ boots slung around their necks. These adventurers, who did not suffer from acrophobia, were well aware of the risks involved in seeking a bird’s eye view of the proceedings or so one hopes. They sat, stood, or clung to their perches in nature’s readymade pavilion with its large branches and leafy shade. Having secured a prime spot, the well prepared birdman, remained in place, knowing fully well that any descent posed the possibility of the loss of his spot. Food supplies and a transistor radio were basic necessities for the experienced, with some climbers going as far as taking along a basket attached to a rope for purchases, and an umbrella for the unexpected – more often guaranteed – shower of rain.
Discerning the methodology of determining who got which limb on a tree, has so far proven futile. One suspects that with limited spots available, some sort of hierarchy or feudal system of fiefs existed with ‘landlords ‘