I hope I have not been 'stirring the pot' too much, but I learned long ago that in the case of Errol Flynn, you just cannot trust what the media says. There have been rumors and legends and wild stories that after a time, were just took as truth where they very much were not. Sort of a case of 'if the shoe fits, wear it'. Or in Errol's case, 'If the story is outrageous enough, Errol must be responsible'.
Case in point: Errol's funeral. The L.A. Times said that security was so tight that Jack Oakie, (Errol's friend) was kept out of the funeral due to tight security. Read Tina'a posting of the L.A times piece on Errol's funeral. But here is a picture of Jack being one of the pall bearers!(He's on the left) A neat trick, eh?
This is why I question the fact that Patrice was at the funeral. The lady photographed beside Sean looks like Nora to me. Now I may in fact be 100% wrong, but I also may be 100% right.
This is why I would like verification from those who were actually there. I was not, but Rory and Deidre were. I will bow to their recollection, be I right or wrong.
I came upon this photo and have never seen it published before. It shows a tanned, and even sunburned loving couple enjoying life to it's fullest. It 's a shame we cannot save these moments forever. I think it is is a testament to lovers everywhere. And by the way, I think Errol was the luckiest man to ever walk the earth at that particular moment.
I have decided to let you in on some of my cherished Port Antonio photos and will post them from time to time to show you readers just how beautiful the area is, and maybe share a part of the world that Errol and I have fallen in love with. Now don't get me wrong, I am not comparing myself with Errol, but let me tell you, he had latched onto something good. and I admire his taste in not just women, but locales.
This chapter is about the marvelous Trident Castle, which is located just W. of the Blue Hole, about 6 miles from Port Antonio. I shamelessly bribed my way into the place some months ago and was very impressed, and I am not easily impressed. It is a palace of immense proportions, and I have never seen it's match in Jamaica. It was built by the same folks who built and run the Jamaica Palace Hotel just down the road.
The Castle was not there when Errol was roaming around the area, but I think he would have approved. For those who want to stay there, it is easily done: Just be prepared for the $5000.00 US Dollars per night fare. (with motorcar, meals, boat, and airplane available) Tom Cruise had just departed when I arrived to take these photos, and his picture resides on the grand piano.
The Castle is built on the cliffs and the view is, of course, first-class. A large pool is at the ready, as is a large, friendly staff. A party room, library, game room, and an immense gathering hall( just inside the front doors) are ready for just about anything. There is even a chapel on the grounds for the religious in the crowd. There are guard dogs to keep away the odd paparazzi that may wander onto the property.(always a plus!)
As a certain T.V. Host would say, "Champagne Wishes!"
Thank You, JOHN
P.S. I have some eye-popping video of this place and when I figure out how to put it on the blog, I will be more than happy to share it. The pitiful photos I provided just don't do it justice. It is really 'something else'! J.T. Check out the website too!
I thought I would tell you-all a nice story about a rafting trip myself and my wife Debbie took down the much heralded Rio Grande river in Jamaica. After all, there seems to be lots of pomp, history and romance connected with this excursion, never mind the 'Errol' aspect of it all.
I want to set a few things straight before we get into the meat of the subject. First of all, Errol did not invent this mode of transportation.(although he resurrected it and brought it back into fashion) The prize goes to Lorenzo Dow Baker who thought it would amuse his guests to see the process that the bananas went through to get from the upper-most reaches of the Mtn. plantations to a point where they could be loaded onto one of Baker's steamships to make the outrageous profits that kept the banana trade flourishing.( there are photos taken of folks rafting down the Rio Grande at the turn of the century)
On this particular trip, I decided to take Debbie my wife on a lavish trip starting at Negril and ending up at Port Antonio. This trip lasted a month. I wanted to show Debbie 'everything',(since she had never been to JA) so we went from one side of the island to the other. I was not planning to take the rafting trip at the outset because, having 'been there and done that', I thought it was just a little too "touristy", and being a tourist is like a dirty word in my vocabulary. As usual, I was dead wrong. I had never been on that trip and had my own pre-conceived notions. (wrong again) But when I saw Debbie's enthusiasm about the trip, I gave in.
Well, first off, it was cheaper than I thought at $35 US Dollars for both of us. Hmm, a good start. We then bundled into the taxi for the ride to Berriedale (which is a short drive from Port Antonio) for the starting point. The ride was breathtaking, with the Blue Mtn's in full regalia and lush jungle just eye-poppingly everywhere. We arrived at Berriedale where there is a dedicated cement staircase over the breakwater on both sides to ease the entry to the rafts. There we were introduced to our boat Capt. (Paul) and after settling in, we were off!
Now my first mistake was assuming that the trip would be shaded by tropical ferns, plants, etc. WRONG. The tropical vegetation ended at the waters edge and the tropical sun was brutal, especially after being reflected off the water. The stream was calm and cool though and a splash of cooling water was just what the Dr. ordered when it got too hot. You could see where the river was a raging torrent in the rainy season.(Fall and Spring) and downright life-threatening. We went in the winter, and actually spent Christmas in Port Antonio. (The 'dry' season) We were poled to what Errol called 'Lovers lane'(303.jpg) where, as the legend goes, the raft Capt. would take a break and a swim whilst the overheated couple would do their damnedest to make the earth move. Paul poled us around it but I guess the magic just wasn't there, so we continued on.
Debbie will kill me for revealing this, but about halfway through the trip, she said, "You know, this water is as pure as spring water. I think I'll take a sip" And before I could react, she had done just that. I shuddered to think of the potential 'bugs' in the sip, but I kept quiet. Well, lo and behold, about 5 minutes later, Debbie said, "I feel a little queasy" and then proceeded to projectile 'hurl' over the side. I tried to catch the fast action with my camera, (bastard that I am) but it was all over by then. Even to this day, it is still a touchy subject, and never fails to generate a grin, or more. (from me, that is.)
The rest of the trip was very scenic and calming, and the overall trip was one not to be overlooked. It took about 2 1/2 Hrs. and I'm glad I did it. If you go there, you would be very much amiss not to take advantage of the experience. I got away with a raging sunburn and a very good memory. Debbie thought she had died and gone to heaven though and still talks about it to this day. I most enjoyed the scenery.
At the end of the trip, we careened at a stopping off point where the taxi gathered the two hapless sun-burned tourists for the short ride back to the hotel for a brief shower and a long, long nap. Afterwards we look at the photos and Debbie thinks how romantic it was. I think of how sunburned my bald-spot got. Oh well, I never professed to be a romantic.
This link gives further proof, insight and commonalities associated with self-destruction, as in Errol's case who had all these traumatic experiences as described in this article. http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=425774831&blogId=462196385
I've managed to dredge up some photos of the Navy Island resort,the Admiralty Club at full swing, the interior of one of the cottages(with good friends) and even a copy of the brochure. These are all circa 1980 or so. It was called 'Vagabond Villa's at the time and the way you see it here it is how I will cherish it in my memory until the day I die. I hope you enjoy them. Note: The location of my "ghostly encounter" was(on IMG 0001) just before the 'bridge' across from 'orchid pond'. The interior photos of the cottage are of the 'Lookback House'. (so-called because when it was time to leave, you always looked back and wished you could stay)
I want to relay a true story that I originally told to Steve and Genene Randall (the authors of the 'Tassie Devil' website) some years back, and they were kind enough to post it on the site.
As I have said, I have been to traveling to Port Antonio since about 1979 and one of my favorite spots was the Admiralty Club at the now abandoned Navy Island resort. In those days, the place was a small paradise. There was a lovely little pocket sized beach on the W. side with a pier and a beach bar. You could dive off the pier, swim about 50 ft. and there the water became very shallow and there was a spot about 40 ft. in diameter where the water was only 3 or 4 inches deep with dazzling soft white coral sand underneath. You could lie down and feel the hot sun and cooling water at the same time. There were no waves larger than an inch or so and the view of the Blue Mountains in the distance was strikingly beautiful. I often said that was my most favorite place in the whole world.(And I have yet to find a better one.)
A man named Harry Eiler owned it and lived in one of the Polynesian style cottages with a lovely view of the Titchfield peninsula. The Club had an 'Errol Flynn Room' full of posters and memento's, and even rare photos of Errol at the first Port Antonio Blue Marlin Tournament. (I've never seen it anywhere else or since) The restaurant and bar were top notch and the view was also first-rate. I took some friends I had met who were from Edinburgh, Scotland (Aiden and Charlotta Daye) to lunch there, followed by a day at the beach and they were very impressed.
The next time I traveled there, everything had changed. The resort was closed down and a Hurricane had wreaked havoc on most everything. I walked up the stairs to the club to find the door wrenched open and walked in. It was heart breaking to see the Errol Flynn room stripped of all photos, trash strewn everywhere, windows broken, etc. Not wanting to see more, I left quickly and took the opportunity to try and find the 'Errol Flynn House' I had heard was on the E. side of the island. The road was still passable and I started walking.I took my time and looked into the now vacant cottages and marveled at the construction. They were basically large, round thatch-roofed huts with a telephone sized pole in the center holding up the roof. They measured about 30 ft. tall and 40 to 50 ft. in diameter. Partitions separated the living spaces and it looked like a very pleasant, spacious design.
I continued on, basically gawking like a regular tourist, not knowing what I was looking for but looking anyway. At this point I came upon what looked like an outdoor church with an alter and pews set in the grass, opposite there was an enormous cottonwood tree and a large grass covered field beyond. It was at this point that the most uncomfortable feeling came over me that I have ever had. It was a terror, a chill that went right up my spine. The fact that it was sunny and calm made it all the more terrifying. I then noticed that I did not hear any birds chirping or any other sound.(which was very unnatural in that part of the world.) I tried to shake it off and continue, but two steps into it another wave even more (much more) powerful hit me with an almost physical force and I stopped in my tracks. This time I was afraid, very afraid. I felt chilled. I could not see anything but something was RIGHT THERE. I think it was almost like cold Death or something damn near like it. The hair on my entire body felt as if it was on end, and there was nothing I could do about it. I remember the overwhelming feeling of 'helplessness' I had, even today. Now note that I am not a superstitious man and I'm used to being on my own so this was not at all normal. After being frozen in place for what seemed to be an eternity, I turned around very slowly and started walking back the way I came, slowly at first, then broke into a full run. I did not stop or look back until I was back at the Admiralty Club pier, out of breath, wild eyed, and looking ever which way.
I jumped in the water and swam to the mainland. (Where the Errol Flynn Marina is now) It was there I tried to get a little of my dignity back. I cursed myself for 'being afraid of nothing'(after all, I was a grown man of 23 yrs. and had been in plenty of 'close scrapes' and had come out O.K.) and gradually attempted to regain my swagger. The bad feeling seemed to fade and my heartbeat returned to something akin to normal. Later at the Scotia Inn were I was staying, I casually mentioned it to the lady of the house.(Miss Phyllis) I have never seen a black person turn gray before, but she did. She said the island was haunted and to never go there alone or at night. She was almost as afraid as I had been. She said the locals steer clear of the place for just that reason. I asked who the ghost was and she said many people think it is Errol Flynn's ghost. I don't know about that, but whatever it was, it was NOT friendly.
Many years later I read about Ricky Nelson encountering an'evil spirit' in Errol's house in L.A.(which he bought) and how it was also malevolent. I then read about how Errol had taken Beverly Aaland to Navy Island and swore an oath of marriage at the foot of a large cottonwood tree, circled the tree and then lay down in the soft grass and made love.(just months before his death) I kept this little secret to myself for years before telling the 'Tassie Devil' folks. Now I'm telling you. Maybe it was all in my head, or maybe I was on sacred ground, who knows? I have learned by painful example to trust my instincts and intuition and I believe if I had ignored it, that something terrible would have happened. What I felt that day was real, and nobody will ever convince me different. I do know that is the only time in my life anything like that has ever happened.(thank Christ!) I have since made the trip again and I had no ill feelings whatsoever but let me tell you, it took all the courage I could scrape together to walk past that same place, even years later. I wrote in my travel manuscript:" Now there are no ghosts on my island". That, I guess is a metaphor of sorts. One note though, even though I planned to, I cannot bring myself to stay the night there. After all, even a non-superstitious man has to draw the line somewhere!
I have been besieged with negative comments as to why Errol was not buried in Jamaica as was his wish. Most of the comments blame Patrice Wymore Flynn and think she had a plan for an 'evil last payback' of some sort to punish Errol for any and all wrongs that she thought Errol had dealt her. The real reason could be not further from the truth. Errol died in Vancouver, B.C. Canada. That very fact had everything to do with how the events turned out. First; the Canadian law follows British law, i.e. Anyone who loses their life in Canada who is a foreign national is subject to an autopsy.(for obvious reasons) That being done, the remains are lawfully shipped to the deceased lawful address, (this being Los Angeles County, CA. i.e Errol's legal residence) Errol's remains stayed at the Vancouver Morgue for two days until Errol's friend came to claim the body. The remains were then put on a train for the trip to L.A. That trip took four days in an unrefrigerated baggage car, at which it was turned over to the proper authorities.
The L.A.County Health Dept. then at some point filed an 'immediate burial writ' and the the remains were then buried at Forest lawn within 24-48 hours. Note that this was 1959 and the threat of Cholera and Typhoid Fever was a very real concern. The authorities did not care who it was, only that the public good was to be protected. The story that friends put several bottles of liquor in the coffin at the wake is simply not true. ( It made for good pulp press though) The fact is: Due to the circumstances, the L.A. coroner filed a "closed coffin" order and Errol was buried in that manner. Also, for Errol to be re-buried in Jamaica would have been a logistical nightmare. In L.A. County, a dis-internment order was almost impossible to get. (unless the asking party was the police) There had already been an autopsy (in Vancouver) and no foul play was suspected. Indeed, the results pointed to a massive heart attack, liver cirrosis, and a laundry list of other ailments.(In fact it seems incredible that he lived as long as he did.) To request it for any other reason would have involved a court hearing, etc, that most probably would have dragged on for months. Let's say for argument's sake that it was actually done: The coffin would have to be encased in a airtight container, shipped by boat or air plane to Kingston, JA where customs would have had the final say. Let me tell you,(as I have extensive experience in JA goings-on) Bringing a body into a country such as JA for re-burial would have been another nightmare. All kinds of health concerns would have delayed the transfer, and the coffin would have most likely sat in the air-freight warehouse at the Kingston airport for two or three months while the bureaucracy slowly ground on, and even then, it would be a 50-50 chance that the remains would have been accepted. Let's not forget that the Jamaican people are very superstitious.(and still are.) They call ghosts: 'Duppies' and believe that have great powers, and there is no 'Duppie so evil' as one who is denied his final resting place. This belief exists to this day.(even in 2010)
To put it all in perspective, Errol lived a great life, and when he died, the portion left behind was not Errol, but just a shell for a soul. (at least, that's how I see it) As for me, when I pass on, I don't care what they do with the body. Hell, get rid of it in the cheapest way possible! What has made me me, is gone to another place.
Also, I have heard that there is a rumor that Patrice sent yellow roses to Errol's grave as a 'spiteful last insult'. Patrice at that time was almost penniless, and only had the property in JA and was in no position to do anything. The truth is, Errol's friend Bud Abbott (of Abbott and Costello fame, and a close friend) called a local florist and ordered an enormous amount of roses to be sent to the grave site. The florist was short of red roses, but had a line on yellow roses and did not think it would matter, so that is what was sent, much to the later embarrassment of Mr. Abbott.
I have often said that there is nothing more bitter and chastising as the pure truth, and I believe this is yet one more example. I hope I have not turned away any readers. There is so much more good in Errol's life that remains to be written, and I intend to do it,(with you readers support.) Errol was, at his core, just a man, a human being with all the faults and warts we all carry. He was a great man in his own way, and to quote Shakespeare; "Here, was a Caesar, When comes another?" It is easy to think of him in Hollywood terms, but Hollywood is make-believe. Errol was the real thing. And rather than to hide his true feelings due to some 'political correctness',(a term coined by Josef Stalin) he was his own man and 'let it all hang out' and if you accepted it, fine, if not, you could go to hell. In my humble opinion, that is the attitude of a real man. That is what made him the legend that he was and still is. That, my friends, is how I view him and I admire him all the more for it.
In this last installment of the series, we see an aging, run-down Titchfield hotel. Although The United Fruit Co. had rebuilt it, and half-heartedly promoted it, World War II and the changing times all played a part in it's gradual downhill slide. Money was scarce, travel by airplane had largely replaced travel by ship, and Port Antonio's remote location combined to create a 'perfect storm' of sorts. It was in this time period that Errol, while traveling to the U.S. east coast by way of the Panama canal on the ZACA suffered storm damage and put into Kingston, JA for repairs. During this time Errol did some exploring and discovered Port Antonio. After the repairs were finished, Errol sailed the ZACA into the now sleepy coastal town and fell in love with the place.
Timeline: 1951; Needing a base of operations, Errol set about inquiring as to the ownership of the hotel and found out that it could indeed be bought. The owners probably could not believe their luck. Instead of a savvy real estate broker who would have bargained the price down to almost nothing, they had no less than a real-life Hollywood movie star with deep pockets on their hands. And what was even better, he was in love with the place! The words 'ca-ching!' must have came to mind. Needless to say, the deal was quickly struck and Errol was the proud owner of his very own hotel / bar. (Now he could cut out the middle man.)
Soon after the Titchfield deal was consummated, Errol bought a huge tract of prime land in the Priestman's River / Boston Bay area from the same folks who owned the Titchfield with the idea of setting up a cattle ranch and coconut plantation. There already existed a large 'great house' on the property that was built in the banana heydays and Errol moved right in. The house was to be used as a getaway from the Titchfield until another, more modern one could be built. (to Errol's design, of course) That 'Errol designed' house still exists and is occupied by Patrice Wymore Flynn. Meanwhile, the hotel needed a vast amount of repairs and there still exists a check from Errol for the 'a/c for $10,000. That was a ton of money in those days. (especially in JA) Errol also had the famous artist, Olga Lehman paint a large mural in the reception area depicting Cpt. Morgan, pirates and Cpt. Bligh in a sort of running history of JA.
Errol brought in his parents to stay at the Titchfield whenever they liked, and stay they did. Errol's mother took over as the defacto manager of the hotel and by all accounts, ran the place with an iron hand. Her word was law and pity those who would try and cross her. All opponents soon 'laid down their shields' and did her bidding, even Errol. Errol had the bright idea of changing the name of the hotel to 'Flynn's Inn'. Mama Flynn put the kabosh to that idea, But Errol succeeded in re-naming the hotel to 'The Jamaica Reef Hotel & Bar. Errol also considered buying the Demontevin Lodge and converting it into a 'New Orleans' style brothel. (and with the fancy gingerbread woodwork, it looked the part)But it never came to be. Errol's father did what he did best and took a position at the Fort George middle school as the master teacher of biology and by all accounts was quite happy. I have a picture of Father Flynn(center) Pat in the foreground and Errol on the Left hand side laughing at some forgotten joke. The lady who provided the photo said Mr. Flynn was a very good teacher who delighted at a student's ability to dissect a frog successfully than most anything else.
The year is 1958, Errol and his 'small companion' Beverly Aaland (to whom he referred to as 'Dhondi') arrived at the Titchfield. By all accounts, things went smoothly enough in the beginning, although the proper English ladies were soon inquiring about Beverly's 'function' without really seeming to 'inquire'.(in other words, being nosey) They got more than they bargained for when Beverly, a veteren of the cut-throat 'child actor' business in Hollywood, and anything but a 'shrinking violet,' (plus possessing a vocabulary that would do a sailor proud,) smiled sweetly, looked them in the eye, and said "As a matter of fact I'm screwing him, and for 5 bucks each, you old bats can watch us!" This news sent them running like wet hens straight to Errol, who laughed it all off as 'youthful indulgence'. Beverly also had a habit of cavorting through the place dressed in a string bikini.(remember, this was 1958) To the old regulars, she might as well have been stark naked. She would pick out the oldest, most uptight looking pensioner, wait until he was surrounded by his friends and then run up, sit in his lap,stroke his thigh, whisper in his ear and kiss him on the cheek until his face turned beet red. This behavior was 'Errol at his best', who loved nothing more than to put someone on the spot. Once when Errol bought her a goose with goslings for her birthday, she set them loose in the hallways. The reason was (I guess) just harmless fun or to 'raise a little hell'. In that endeavor, she succeeded. The formidable 'Lady's and Gentlemen" of the old order had more than met their match and steered clear of Bev. from then on.
Errol was also not without his little quirks: After some drinking, he would remove his clothes in full view of all present and do a little 'skinny dipping' when the mood came over him. One story stands out above the rest: Errol, tipsy after 'one too many', mistakenly stumbled into the ladies restroom at the hotel to take a 'relieve himself'. One of the ladies who happened to be also in the room walked up and said. "Sir! This is for ladies only!" whereupon Errol pulled out his 'member' and replied'"So is this madam! But I must water it every now and again!"
Errol hosted many famous stars at the Titchfield. A short list would read: Tony Curtis, Marilyn Monroe, Katherine Hepburn, Bud Abbott, Lou Costello, Peter Ustinov, Peter O'Toole, and Truman Capote. All the guests were said to be on their best behavior when at the hotel, save one: Truman Capote. Truman was a curious and irritating fellow. He seemed to be allergic to almost everything,(even sand) had to be carried to and from the beach like an invalid, never dared to venture into water more than 2 ft. deep, would bundle up like he was at the arctic to protect himself from the sun, wear his canvas shoes even in the water, and would constantly whine and bitch about everything and nothing at all. Beverly hated him, and never being at a loss for words, called him a "dirty little fag". All the more puzzling was why he kept coming back to the Titchfield over and over.(that puzzle would soon solve itself.) Things came to a head when Errol and a group of friends (Truman included) went rafting on the Rio Grande. Somehow, Truman managed to fall off his raft and nearly drowned. Now for those of you who have not participated in this little adventure, the water is never more than 2 or 3 ft. deep and the current is very lazy. To drown there would be akin to drowning in a plastic kiddie pool in the back yard.
After this episode, Errol had had just about enough of "old Tru", as he called him. One of the group privately asked Errol just what the hell was wrong with him, to which Errol replied, "The fact is sport, he's absolutely worthless. But don't worry, I'll get rid of him if I have to do it myself." So Truman, pale and shivering, was bundled into Errol's convertible and Errol, with cigarette holder firmly clenched in his teeth, took his place behind the wheel for the journey to the Kingston airport. Everything was fine until they reach the outskirts of town. It was there that Truman, (who had a huge crush on Errol) lost control of his 'unrequited love', and 'seized' the moment. (by grabbing Errol's crotch with both hands in a vise-like grip) Now make no mistake, Errol was capable of walking and chewing gum at the same time, and even sword fighting at four to one odds, but now he had to juggle driving a twisty, mtn. road, smoking his cigarette, and trying to dislodge love-sick Truman, all the while trying to avoid injury to his 'particulars". Well, the whole charade ended with Errol plowing through a large wooden wall and into the backyard pool of an unlucky resident. It is said that Errol sprang from the car so fast that his cigarette was still burning when the owners rushed to see what was the matter. One of the owners said that Errol stood for a moment, hands on hips, surveying the carnage, then coolly asked to use the phone, while ignoring the half-drowned Truman.
After Errol's death, the hotel was purchased by a self proclaimed 'friend' of Errol's. (one Rex Rand) A man of questionable references and reputation. Most referred to him as a 'con man'. He had an old Grumman Goose seaplane and would land it at the beach at the foot of the hotel. He would stage large parties at the hotel and try to get guests to invest in one venture after another and all the while shamelessly dropping Errol's name. Eventually he was broke and his properties were mortgaged to the hilt. It was at this point that one night in 1969, a mysterious fire seemed to spring up from at least two different places in the hotel. The local firetrucks were out of service as a direct result of JA declaring Independence in 1962 and the UK no longer paying for their upkeep. So the trucks stayed in the station and the hotel was pretty much burned to the ground. Mr. Rand immediately packed up and walked away, never to come to the area again. Insurance eventually payed Mr. Rand but only after a protracted court fight.
Little stands today that would hint of the Titchfields grandeur. Only an open field with the remains of the large foundation and the deck of the bar, the empty swimming pool that Errol and friends frolicked in, and memories, like the breezes that seem to whisper something just out of ear shot. The palms that ringed the hotel are still there for the most part, as is the now enormous banyan tree that graced the entrance, now growing over the long unused concrete pathway. It is a sight worth seeing, and as for me, provokes happiness and sadness at the same time.
The year was 1905. L.D. Baker had his monumental hotel, and pretty much anything else he wanted. (that money could buy) These were indeed 'the days of salad and sun' for everyone involved. Banana traders were said to light their Havana cigars with $5 bills and there seemed to be no end in sight. The large collection of managers, overseers, accountants, speculators, etc. bought up most of the rest of the property in the Titchfield peninsula to construct homes close to where the 'action' was. Almost all of these structures were 'knock-down' houses. In those days you could order an entire 3 story house to be delivered by ship. The house had been constructed, the planks and timbers carefully labeled and numbered and then 'knocked down', packed in shipping containers with intricate instructions concerning how to re-assemble it, tips on laying the foundation and even the nails, shingles and paint! As a testament to how well they were designed, most of them are still standing, although quite the worse for wear.
The Titchfield was an almost instant worldwide hit and a short list of the rich and famous to visit the hotel read thus: J. Pierpoint Morgan,(who came by his private yacht)William Randolph Hearst, Paul Whiteman, Rudyard Kipling, Clara Bow, Bette Davis, and Ginger Rodgers. The Titchfield was said to be the finest hotel 'this side of the Atlantic' when it came to administering to the pleasure and conveniences of traveler's. Baker even built his own hospital in the hills above Port Antonio complete with rooms for patients, a large covered veranda so the sick could convalesce while breathing the fresh air, and even a state of the art operating room. This 'hospital' still exists by the way. Now it is the "Bonnieview Hotel". The veranda makes a very nice dining area and the 'operating theatre' is now the fancy dining room!
Guests had a variety of things to do, if they wanted: Excursions into the Blue Mtn's, Reach Falls(then known as 'Reich falls') the waters at Bath spa, and even rafting down the Rio Grande on a United Fruit banana raft. Yes, I'm sorry fellow fans, Errol did not invent that particular recreational activity(photo) but he did revive it after 40+ yrs.
All this stress was not good for L.D. Baker. He was the kind of person who wanted to 'micro-manage' everything he could. A brass plated 'type A' personality if you will, and in 1908 it caught up with him in the form of a massive stroke. He was transported back home to CT where he soon died of heart failure. This had the effect of throwing a monkey wrench into the works. Baker's eldest son took over the reins but by all accounts he just wasn't up to the job. Then a virulent disease virtually wiped out the Banana crops and a completely new strain of disease resistant banana had to developed and planted. Then in 1929 the growers banded together and formed the Jamaica Banana Producers Association with the help of the JA government and toppled the stranglehold that the United Fruit Co. had on the banana trade. To top it all off, The Great Depression in 1930 all but killed off the tourism trade and in the coming years the very real threat of German submarine activity dealt a knockout blow to casual tourism in the area. The hotel slipped into disrepair and one evening in 1936 a fire, which was said to have started in the kitchen area, almost burned the Titchfield to the ground and by all accounts, would have done just that except for divine intervention, i.e. a large tropical deluge of a rain storm (of which the area is famous for, in terms of 140 in.per year) opened up and helped drown out the blaze.
For almost 6 months, Baker's son weighed the options he had before him, i.e. Tear the remaining structure down or rebuild. Cash flow was a serious problem by that time and the partners of the Co. were threatening a hostile takeover. On the other hand, about half of the original hotel remained and after all, the Titchfield was L.D. Baker's dream. So, Baker's son made the sentimental, if not the business choice. The hotel would be rebuilt using as much of the original as possible to save money. The design would be art-deco (after a fashion) and a new bar and pool would be built on the N.end. The end result was a sort of mish-mash and had none of the grandeur of the big Titchfield, but it would have to do.
Not only the look, but the function of the hotel changed quite drastically also. Once the playground for wealthy Americans, now the bulk of the guests were British middle aged and older pensioners and dowagers who took up year-round residency at the hotel. Also in attendance was a fairly large group of individuals that for one reason or another had embarrassed their families or were one step ahead of the Crown Courts and the Bailey and had been whisked off to the 'Island Colony's' to avert further trouble. It was very much "London South" with tea and biscuits, croquet, cricket and 'The Times and The Thames'. Guests would 'dress for dinner' and the English breakfast was obligatory.
It was in this most unlikely scenario, this very proper, quiet and British atmosphere that a wild, hell raising, hard drinking, silver tongued devil of a Hollywood actor and his equally wild, outrageous(some have said even more so) and curvaceous under-aged Lolita of a girlfriend burst into the scene with all the subtlety and graciousness of an atomic explosion. I think we all know who that person and his 'companion' were, eh? The sparks and fur were sure to fly.(and did, in spades)
Next in the final installment: Errol and 'Company' shake the place to it's foundation.
The story of the Titchfield Hotel covers alot of territory, and instead of butchering it to save space, I have decided to divide it into 2 or maybe 3 parts.
For clarity's sake, I have labeled the photos; Titchfield I, Titchfield II, and Titchfield III. As the story develops, you will understand the reason for this.
As in any really fascinating tale there is a visionary man or woman behind it, and this is no exception. The visionary in this tale is one Lorenzo Dow Baker. Born in Wellfleet, MA in 1840 to a family of fisherman, he was apprenticed to a Capt. by age 10, and 10 yrs. later was Capt. and owner of his own schooner, 'Vineyard'. At age 30, with his new 70 ton, 3 masted schooner, 'Telegraph', he was transporting a load of mining equipment to Venezuela when he was caught in 'heavy squalls' and limped into the E. bay of Port Antonio, JA for much needed repairs. The story was that Baker, while roaming about the town, saw an old man with a tiny donkey so loaded down with strange looking 'pods' that the donkey was barely visible. Baker asked the man what those 'pods' were and the old man replied 'nahnahs' They were about 'twice as long as a man's thumb' and after sampling a couple, a grand idea lit up in Baker's head. He was convinced they would sell in the U.S.
Baker bought a large load of banana's for next to nothing and set off for Boston, but alas, by the time he arrived, the fruit had over ripened and gone bad. Undeterred, Baker returned the next year(1871) and loaded up again with as many green banana's as he could for the price of 25 cents per bunch and sold the cargo in New York for the huge markup of $2.50 per banana! The die was cast then and there. Baker quit his cargo hauling business and concentrated on banana's. Being ever the shrewd businessman, he would load the ship returning to JA with flour, cured meats, pork, salt cod, herring, shoes, boots, furniture, and textiles.(typical 'buy where it is plentiful and sell where it is scarce') At this point, Baker was making 5 trips per year, and the money was literally coming in by the truck-loads! Baker had more money than he knew what to do with, but far from being satisfied, and being bitten by the 'money bug' he sought out ways to make ever more riches. One of these was was by founding The United Fruit Company and going into partnership with plantation and railroad magnate; Minor C. Keith(whom he later bought out) Another was buying vast tracts of prime JA land from Port Antonio to Morant Bay Point for setting up his own banana plantations, and last, but far from least; Hitting upon the idea that tourists would pay good money to visit JA if there were only 'proper accommodations'.
You see, in those days, only the wealthy could afford to travel from continent to continent(something we take for granted today) and first-class treatment was obligatory. So in 1895, Baker went about building a rather small hotel in the 'tropical style' of the day. He picked the top of a small peninsula jutting out from the N.end of Port Antonio called 'Titchfield', and at the highest point on the peninsula he started building a main house that contained the dining room, kitchen, sitting room, and rooms for the staff on the second floor. A number of cottages(over a dozen) were built for the guests and a large detached bath house was built to the N. of the cottages. Business caught on and before long, Baker had more guests than places to put them. A temporary solution was to build a few guest houses across Queen St. to handle the overflow. One such place still exists; i.e. the "Scotia House' on the corner of Musgrave and Queen St.(caddy-corner to the Titchfield property) I stay there when I go to JA and it is old but very friendly.
In the meantime, Baker continued to reap a kings ransom from his 'golden' banana crop. He now cornered the market, contracted with a steamship company, then promptly bought them out, and things really started to 'rock & roll'. The ships now made weekly trips back and forth from JA to N.Y. City, Boston, New Orleans, and even the U.K. with ships transporting 650 tons of fruit per month by refrigerated steamship to the docks in Liverpool. In fact, the traffic of Baker's boats exceeded all other ship traffic combined in Liverpool. Baker also bought over a third of all waterfront property in Port Antonio. The ships would be loaded at night so the heat and sun wouldn't damage the fruit. In fact the banana boat song 'Day-O' by Harry Belafonte was written about workers loading Baker's boats on the Port Antonio waterfront. The workers made about 70 cents a day.(very good wages for the time)
With the business now worth well over 20 million dollars in 1902 and no end in sight, Baker now set his sights on building the 'Grandest Hotel this side of the Atlantic'. Baker had stayed at the 'Myrtle Bank Hotel' in Kingston, JA(the largest Hotel in the island at the time) and was very impressed indeed with the style of architecture, the 200 + opulent rooms, and the fact that it was so 'over the top' with such amenities as a filtered salt-water swimming pool and other 'outrageous for the day' luxuries that he vowed to do one better, bigger, and ever more grand. But first, (ever being L.D. Baker) he bought the hotel outright.
Now Baker set his eye on the original Titchfield. Seeing no better place for his grand dream than the property he already owned, he set about tearing down the original Titchfield and clearing the property for his dream hotel. Having been impressed with the design of the Myrtle Bank Hotel, He decided to carry the same design to the new Titchfield only much, much larger. The new Titchfield would have 440 rooms, 600 ft. of piazza for guests to walk upon, be 5 stories tall instead of 4,(like the Myrtle Bank) have a grand ball room, a huge sitting room with electric elevator, (very rare for the time) massive kitchen and formal dining room, and an all American staff trained in Boston and N.Y. to cater to a guest's every need. The hotel's footprint would measure a whopping 700 ft. by 350 ft. and be the largest hotel in that part of the world and one of the largest hotels extant. The army of workers (most brought in from the U.S.) set about 1904 building the behemoth, and by 1905 it was finished. Baker now had his dream hotel. He even had a special house built just down Musgrave St. for his physician; The still standing Demontevin Lodge.
Next in The Titchfield Hotel, Part II; The 'new' Titchfield is a world-wide hit.
As part of my research for an upcoming book on Errol, I am searching for a few books by Florence Aadland : 'The Beautiful Pervert' and 'The Big Love'. I was wondering if anyone has a copy of these two books for sale or 'lease'. I would rather deal with you readers than give my $ to Amazon. If someone can help, I will put their name in my book as 'Contributors'. If I can 'lease' the book, I will return it in about two wk.s or less in the same cond. it was sent.
Well, Another year has passed with all the good and not so good. Here's wishing that your good times outweighed the bad. I am thrilled to be one of your new authors and will try to give 100% on every posting. I am currently working on a new posting about one of David's favorite subjects: The Grand old Titchfield Hotel.
I am including a photo of myself so you can get a better idea of where it all comes from but be warned, it isn't a pretty sight, so please draw the blinds and remove small children and pets from the room before opening it up. Thanks so much for the positive feedback and have a merry, safe Holiday and New Year! John
Dear Readers, Here are some more photos of Navy Island as I ran out of file space. The first two are the house I discovered. The rest are various photos from my files. Hope you enjoy them. John
Although most of you are familiar with Navy Island and the 'Errol Connection', There are some facts that are not widely known. (At least I was not aware of them until recently) Navy Island has a rich and varied history that goes back to the 1600's. Originally, at that time it was named 'Lynches Island' after being given to Sir Thomas Lynch (the then overseer of that portion of Jamaica) for "Services to the British Crown". In the 1700's, the Royal Navy constructed a small cannon battery to provide crossfire to Fort George, (which is just across the inlet some 200 yrds. or so) The remains of this battery still exist(Photo 1) on the barren N.E. portion of the island. Also constructed were several rough buildings for Naval Stores and a small barracks, and the island took on the name; "Navy Island".
It is worth noting that Captain Bligh himself spent 6 months docked at navy island on his ship, 'Pandora' after returning from Tahiti. This time was spent careening his ship in the shallows, making urgent repairs, offloading some of his Breadfruit specimens to replant in the rich soil, and even exploring for new species of plants. He even collected samples of Ackee fruit and introduced it to the Royal Society of Britain, who gave it it's current name: "Blighia Sapida" in honor of Bligh.
How ironic it is that an island that was once commanded by Capt. Bligh of "Mutiny on the Bounty" fame should end up being owned by one Errol Leslie Flynn, a descendant (by way of his mother) of Midshipman Edward Young who served aboard the HMS Bounty with Fletcher Christian and Capt. Bligh! No doubt it is a small world indeed.
In the early 1800's, the Royal Navy abandoned the island and it passed through several hands, both Govt. and private until Errol sailed into the harbor on that fateful day and fell in love with both the island and the N. coast of Jamaica. Although rumor has it that Errol won the island in either a poker game or a roll of the dice,(Both being very "Errolish") The truth of the matter is that he contacted a local attorney by the name of Vincent Grossett and arranged the sale of the 64 acre property for the sum of approx. $80,000 in the winter of 1946. He then purchased the Titchfield Hotel across from Navy Island, and at his wife Patrice's good advice, a very large chunk of prime property in the Boston Bay area from the Lorenzo Baker Dow family. This was the same family that had brought tourism to this part of Jamaica and had built the Titchfield Hotel some 50 yrs. earlier.(another ironic twist)
The island was virtually barren due to various hurricanes which swept over the island unabated, so Errol went about planting Royal and Coconut palm trees(over a hundred) and also planting various vines, flowers and lemon, lime and avocado trees. These still exist, and I helped myself to a half-dozen avocado when I visited there last. The palms still stand and have provided the island with much needed windbreaks so the local fauna has not only survived, but thrived.
Errol also laided out pathways that criss-cross the island. To add to the "paradise" atmosphere, he brought in peacocks and other exotic birds and animals. Later he even brought in chickens, goats, cattle, and even horses to the menagerie. There has also been heated speculation as to whether or not Errol ever built a house there. When I visited there last(oct-nov 2009) I vowed to explore the island by foot and solve this mystery once and for all. Aided by a detailed map and a large photo taken by satellite(Google Earth) I set out. Dear readers, I almost got in over my head! I found the remains of a large house at the S. end of the island, straight up the hill from the now deserted 'Admiralty Club' on the highest part of the island. It looked to have been a fairly large, substantial home with a proper foundation of concrete and a detached kitchen. This was not a 'rude slat house for a caretaker'. There was even a large cistern for storing water nearby. Hmm. So I pressed on. I did not have a machete, (Mistake) so I plowed on as best I could.
Anyone who has not had to make his way through sub-tropical jungle in 90+ degree heat has no idea just how hard it can be. The vines and branches(half of them stinging or poisonous) seem to reach out for you and a person can lose sense of direction very quickly. Add smothering, steaming heat, and you have a bad recipe. By dumb luck, I had brought a large bottle of drinking water and a compass, and believe me, I used them both. I finally made it out to the clear where I continued to the N. end. The foliage got shorter and more stunted until I suddenly broke out to the jagged, windswept cliffs. There I saw the remains of the Battery, but the cannon were long gone. Only a large metal tangent used for aiming remained.(Photo) I circled back around W. till the cliff ran out and jungle began. Having no choice, I dove in again. I saw a huge clearing that looked like a large manicured lawn, and what seemed like the way back. No such luck. The 'lawn' consisted of 3ft. deep vines that made the going impossible. What next?
I turned and made my way to the rocky beach, intending to wade my way out by following the W. coast. It was there I discovered a large concrete foundation.(Photo) I am still puzzled at it's origin. As I went on, I also discovered a fresh-water spring coming out of the side of the hill, and after gingerly testing it, refilled my now empty bottle. The going got easier and firmer and before long, I was in familiar territory on "Trembly Knee Beach". I must confess my own knee's were more than a little 'trembly' at that point. From then, it was a short walk to the pier where a cell phone call brought the boat for the ride back to the mainland, in a tropical, pouring deluge of a rainstorm. Checking my watch, I was surprised that over 5 hrs. had passed! Other than being filthy, exhausted, and humbled by Mother Nature, I was O.K. (Although when I reached my apt., I stripped off my clothes and flopped on the bed in a dead sleep for about 12 hrs. and was sore all over for about two days afterward)
Two months later, I still have the scars on my shins, a new found respect, and a story to tell from this old Errol fan. John
P.S. There is a lesson to be learned from all this. I got lucky that day. If I had fell and broke an ankle, or hit my head or forgot water, or a hundred other things, I probably would not be writing this. I got to be 'Indiana Jones' for a day and the good Lord, who protects children and fools (in my case, old fools) cast his eye on me that day. My wife almost crapped (can I say that?) when she found out. For the record, never travel alone, and be prepared. Having said that, I can truthfully say I was never more alive than that 5+ hrs. I spent on my own. Sometimes you just have to go for it and 'Devil take the backside', eh? Errol would agree, I think. Nevertheless, I will cherish that memory for the rest of my days. John
Have a look at this link where Feltenstien says "We'll do a big box set next year of Errol Flynn wartime films that are very famous, that are being restored from the camera negatives, that will have commenataries, the "Warner Night at the Movies," the whole bit..."
Some people might be surprised that these three men, with their wildly different backgrounds were ever even acquainted, much less close friends, but friends they were and were part of the "British Mafia" as they were often jokingly referred to in Jamaica at that time. They made a habit of visiting each other for drinks and stimulating conversation.
Usually, Errol and Patrice would make the drive from their base in Port Antonio to The sleepy town of Port Maria to Noels "Firefly" bungalow or Ian's "Goldeneye" beach house in Oracabessa. Other times, Errol and Pat would host the get together on the ZACA, which was moored at his Navy Island pier. Noel was better suited for visitors and owned the Blue Harbour hotel just down the hill from Firefly to accommodate his many famous guests.
By all accounts, the get togethers were memorable, with Noel and Ian having diametrically different viewpoints on almost everything. i.e. Noel being unabashedly liberal and animated, and Ian just as apologetically conservative, stoic, and possessing a razor-sharp biting wit. Add Errol, who's views were someplace in the middle acting as defacto referee.(with Pat and Ian's longtime lover Annie Rothermere, whom Ian referred to as "Pussy Galore" in the cheering section) and you had the recipe for dynamite.
Errol being Errol, would play one off on the other and it was "off to the races". The squabbling would begin and just when it was whipped up to a fever pitch, Errol would burst into raucous laughter, fall out of his chair and roll on the floor while Noel and Ian would look on dumbfounded, and the situation was defused.
Although the three truly loved and respected one another, it almost didn't happen. Noel wrote,"I was very hesitant about meeting Errol as I had heard many things about him, and not all of them were good, but I found him to be most gracious and pleasant, one of the most charming individuals I've ever met, So it worked out fine"
Sometimes Noel and his long-time partner Graham Payne would make the trip to see Errol and Pat. An entry in Noel's diary dated Tuesday 27 March, 1951: "Left for Port Antonio 7:30 A- arrived 9:30 A. Rafted down the Rio Grande. Lovely weather. In the evening dined with Errol Flynn and his wife Pat. Drinks on his yacht, which is beautiful, then barbecue dinner on his island - palm trees - lit by torches. Both of them extremely nice; a really lovely evening."
Today, much has changed but a few things have luckily been preserved. Firefly is a virtual time capsule, looking for all the world as if Noel has just stepped out for a moment. Twin baby grand piano's in the living room, Noel's typewriter with paper still inside and unfinished correspondence, towels with Noel's monogram "NC" hanging in the bath, and even shirts still hanging in the closet, waiting for an owner who will never return. Ian's Goldeneye is much the same, with letters and memento's under glass in the living room, typewriter ever handy and my favorite: Ian's outdoor bathtub gracing the back yard.
Navy Island and Port Antonio haven't fared as well, with the island overgrown and deserted. (Although the 100+ Royal palms that Errol had planted are doing fine) and the grand old Titchfield Hotel, long gone by a devastating fire in 1969. To visit those places is to visit history and memories that I, when going there today, could easily imagine and feel, even 50+ yrs. later.
Dear fellow Errol enthusiasts, I want to say I'm honored to be one of your authors. I have traveled to Jamaica off and on since 1978 and like Errol, My favorite place is the stunningly beautiful Port Antonio area. In my two dozen or so trips, I have accumulated a fair amount of knowledge and insight on both Errol and the area by way of first hand experience and interviews with surviving friends and acquaintances of Errol. On my last trip, I was fortunate enough to attend Errol's 100th centennial, and have a good long chat with Patrice Wymore Flynn. I was at once struck by her approachability and charm. I must say that her mind is sharp as a tack and seemingly untouched by her 83 years.
I was introduced to Patrice by Robert Golding, the son of Jamaica's Prime Minister and a close friend of Patrice. The conversation at the table started on the subject of whether or no Errol had ever built a house on Navy Island. Pat said that as long as she and Errol owned the property, there was only a caretaker's shack that was crudely knocked together. I asked about the probability of commercial development on Navy Island, and she replied that due to a large depression in the middle of the Island, she was advised that developers would have a difficult time building a large structure there. We also talked about the ZACA, which was lovingly restored and currently resides in the Monaco marina basin. "Damn, Errol loved that boat and we would get into some of the worst fights over it" she said. "Every time the shipwrights wanted to replace a board, Errol wanted to double the size of it for 'safety's sake', as he put it". I had a number of old enlarged photos of her and Errol, and one was of her, Errol and Sean. In that photo she had glasses on and Robert remarked about it. "I was born with glasses on". she laughed.
The party itself was a virtual "Who's Who" of the Jamaican upper crust with a majority of guests driving over from Kingston, but the local regulars were in attendance also. Margeurite Guarone was a feature and I estimate that there were well over 500 guests. The heads of Jamaica's Government were there in force also. In fact, I shared a table with the head of Transportation Ministry and his family. Everyone was pleasant and friendly. I also notice a large number of thinly disguised bodyguards roaming about, although there were no incidents I could see.
After 30 minutes or so, Pat, Robert, and some other ladies took there place at their table in the front of the dance floor and Pat gave a short speech and lead the first dance. The band was fabulous and belted out those old classic songs like they invented them. When not dancing, Pat kept company at her table while enjoying a rum and coke, and a cigarette or two. I only got to dance with her once but she proved to be the better dancer, although I did not step on her feet. She was dressed in a red long sleeve blouse, black pants and high-heels. I was surprised at how tall she was. I am 6'1" and she could almost look me in the eye when dancing. One other thing. Pat has the most beautiful, liquid blue eyes I've ever seen. Even though the lighting was very low at the party, Her eyes were the first thing I noticed about her. Errol sure knew how to pick em!
I stayed on for about 3 hr.s and had a great time. The weather was warm and humid and I was surprised at how most of the guests, while dressed to the nines in suit and tie could dance away in never seem to break a sweat, while I, in my "tropical whites", was trying remain un-soggy. Acclimatization will tell I guess. The next morning, I ventured down to the Marina beach again for my morning swim and as I passed the pier, nothing remained but a few wind blown scraps of paper and my memories of a once in a lifetime experience for this old Errol fan. Jon
Hello. Just wanted to show off my certificate that I received from the Errol Flynn Society. It is gorgeous, fun and a kick in the pants. I had fun displaying it at work and received quite a few comments and a few "raised eyebrows". If you haven't joined yet, maybe this will entice you to do so!
I'm wondering if anyone here would have a still photo or hi-res version of the attached image. I desperately need it for my Then & Now book. Thank you in advance.
Late last fall I attempted to contact author and restaurant critic Tedd Thomey as I am searching for a copy of the trial transcripts from Errol's statutory rape trial. Yesterday I learned that Tedd Thomey had recently passed away. Sadly, he died at the age of 88 on December 1, 2008. Thomey was a proficient writer and two of his books are of particular interest here. In other words, they are about Errol Flynn. The first book, The Loves of ErrolFlynn was released in 1962 and contains a heavy focus on the 1943 trial. The second book, The Big Love is by Florence Aadland as told to Tedd Thomey. This book is about Errol's relationship with Florence Aadland's daughter, Beverly. I've attached a nice link which pays tribute to Tedd Thomey for those who would like to know a little bit more about him.
I recently purchased a book entitled "Reporters: Memoirs of A Young Newspaperman", by Will Fowler, the son of Gene Fowler. In it, he mentions Errol Flynn several times. David thought perhaps you'd like the following quote, taken from page 111.
"Shortly before Flynn's death, he showed my father his "My Wicked Wicked Ways" manuscript, in which the perfidious prank of "stealing John Barrymore's body" was fantasized. I had also read it, and when Flynn phoned pop for his critique, my father asked why he'd written the odious squib. The actor (who had been heavily into drugs and alcohol at the time) said: "I just wrote it in for laughs because that's what I wish my friends would do for me directly after my final curtain."
