BERMUDA: Blow Your Horn

To Bermuda, in the sunny days before the war, a motorcar was a monstrosity. The soothing clop-clop of patient horses on the bright, white coral roads and the occasional cling of a cyclist's bell took the place of whining tires and peremptory blares. Black coachmen were unfailingly polite and the tranquil roads were a pleasure to walk. Five years ago a Governor General resigned in a huff because the Colonial Assembly would not let him have a car for personal use. Exceptions to the rigid ban: fire engines, ambulances, garbage trucks.

War brought jeeps...

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