Bridgetown, the crucible of Barbadian history, has rarely in its own lifespan been allowed spaces in which to assess its singular contribution to our country’s development. Of course, the Barbados Museum & Historical Society, which was given the old military prison as its headquarters and main exhibition site many years ago, has done a sterling job two miles away, and in more recent times we have seen the placement of interpretation signs on the Wickham-Lewis Boardwalk leading down to Carlisle House, where homage is paid to the Bajans who left Barbados from the Careenage for Panama in the early years of the last century.

Still, the city has trudged on, getting more and more congested despite attempts to lure traffic out of town to the satellite commercial areas like Wildey and Warrens, themselves the scenes of growing commuter hassles and seemingly insurmountable traffic problems.
Lately, however, the grand old lady has herself been treated to not one but two new museum spaces, each with its own clear, self-imposed mandate. There is room for more, for example, a museum showcasing the growth of Bridgetown itself, but the paying public for these types of tourist attractions is mainly foreign in nationality and it seems the new ones will have to compete with the overall improvement in public spaces such as the afore-mentioned boardwalk and the Carlisle House “garden” as well as the Errol Barrow statue at Independence Square, and to a lesser extent the almost forgotten Clement Payne memorial in Golden Square.

I cannot praise enough every and anyone who had something to do with these new additions to our city, and once more, I pay deep respect to the real Bridgetown “dame” herself, Dame Billie Miller, that now (unfortunately for us) retired feisty firebrand of a politician who used her passion for all things Bridgetown to spearhead the revival of the city we all love (and sometimes love to hate). That is not to say that others haven’t dreamed and acted, among them former Prime Minister Tom Adams, and most notably the Altman family, both of them in respect of the Nidhe Israel (The Scattered of Israel) Museum in Synagogue Lane.

Now, if you have ever met Paul Altman, you will soon realise he is a fairly busy fellow. So when you visit the new museum celebrating the contribution of Jewish people to Barbados, you cannot help but be moved by the patriotism of this Barbadian who has done so much, along with his father, to salvage and restore first the Jewish synagogue, then the graveyard around it. He has now lead the effort to build the museum, whose interior is like Dr. Who’s TARDIS spaceship - it seems much bigger on the inside than from the outside. In the museum’s case, this is due to extremely creative design elements, while in the case of the TARDIS, it was based on the fact that telephone booths in England were far too cramped in the first place, and a solution just had to be found.

Luckily for Barbados, the late and great Barbadian E.M. Shilstone had long ago documented all of the inscriptions found on the tombstones, and so the excavation work that has been going on for some time has a blueprint, allowing the task of refurbishment to proceed with more certainty. The older gravestones are laid out horizontally, and the museum, located in the old building on the corner of Synagogue Lane and looking like a smaller version of a couple of warehouse buildings nearby on Roebuck and Palmetto Streets, uses the gravestones as a motif inside. I’m not going to tell you much more because you really need to pay the Nidhe Israel Museum a visit yourself. It is really a celebration of humanity, of how even those who feel dispossessed and forced into exile from their homeland can make remarkable contributions to their adopted societies. It pays tribute to their sense of loss and grief over losing the familiar even as they embraced the unfamiliar and made it their own.

Those themes transcend the history of the Jewish people and make this museum, despite its small size, truly a haven of peace and understanding for people of all faiths. It does not say, come and look at us and feel our pain; it says, we are, in more ways than you might have realised, just like you, all of us experiencing life’s joys and sorrows.

The other museum worth a visit is the Museum of Parliament & The National Heroes Gallery, which, I must warn, is something of a disappointment to me. But you should still go and if you agree with my criticism, then maybe the powers-that-be will do something about it.

First, the positives, of which there are many: Although you could previously get a tour of the places where our laws are discussed and voted on, it was by an appointment system. Now, because there is a museum on site, you can go along every working day and get a tour (not weekends or public holidays).

So you can visit the museum in the west wing and be given a guided tour of the east wing where the House of Assembly and the Senate are located, all for Bds$10. Surely an unbeatable value, and I think, too low a price, considering the Nidhe Israel charges Bds$25.

To enter the Museum of Parliament you must cross the forbidding, cloister-like gallery, unadorned of foliage, images, sculpture, anything. You enter the museum part first, which seems to me to be located in the offices once used by the leader of the opposition. I remember vividly meeting then Opposition Leader Errol Barrow there, probably in 1986, for my only interview with the great man (I remember him apologising unnecessarily for my having to wait outside for all of one minute or so).

The use of the room by the opposition is not prominently noted, if at all, by the museum, which has enough trouble trying to tell you the long history of parliamentary representation in its fairly cramped space. It does it best to dramatise important events in parliament’s development and you can easily spend half an hour or more moving over the exhibits. I actually sat in the old Speaker’s Chair because nobody was there to stop me, and, boy, was that fun.

You then go through a very thick wall into the front (or southern side) of the east wing, with its semi-circular end, and this much bigger area is devoted to the national heroes. The exhibit for each of the heroes consists of a) one photo or likeness of the hero; b) a short synopsis of his or her contribution to the country; c) a piece of memorabilia belonging to the hero; d) a flat screen inviting you to press a red button for more on the hero; and d) a very large piece of artwork in tribute to said hero.

The flat screens were not responding (not one of them) so I was left with a very big piece of tribute art to look at, along with Sir Gary Sobers’ blazer and Sir Hugh Springer’s pipe and glasses. The synopsis on each hero’s life was even shorter than what is published in the press every Heroes’ Day.

Since most of these heroes, with the exception of Sarah Ann Gill, Bussa and Samuel Jackman Prescod, lived in the 20th century, I am sure that photos could be found of them, even people like Charles Duncan O’Neale, as well as press clippings, copies of minutes of meetings, letters and other personal memorabilia, like the house they lived in and other graphic representations or recordings of their lives. In the case of Sir Frank Walcott, Sir Grantley Adams, and Sir Errol Barrow, and of course Sir Hugh, there would be lots of TV and audio recordings, newspaper clippings, etc. Maybe some of these are indeed incorporated into the video presentations, but even when they are working, it can’t beat seeing a montage of the life and times presented in hard copy. Isn’t that what a museum is for? To try to bring the person back to life?

Instead of doing so, a visit to the Heros’ Gallery mainly invites you to consider the attributes of very large pieces of no doubt worthy and inspired artwork, most of which would grace the foyer of a hotel somewhere.

Because of the lack of artifacts, media and memorabilia for each of the heroes, I can only say that the most interesting thing I found in the Heroes’ Gallery was a very large steel door which obviously leads to a strong room located right between the old Opposition Leader’s rooms and the front end of the building. It explains why the dividing wall is three feet thick.

WIth nothing much else to contemplate, I found myself longing to know when and why it was determined that this strong room was necessary, what was actually put in it, and, of course, if it is still in use. I also could not help thinking that it might be just the right size to hold all those pieces of tribute artwork. Then we could have a flat screen in front with a red button showing what had been placed inside. And we would try to make sure that the button didn't work.