taking the chance to live out the dreams that so many people have had to put "on hold'' for most of their lives.

This, at any rate, is the philosophy that has governed Mr. George Ratteray since he retired some four years ago. Perhaps it is no coincidence that he looks far too young to be a pensioner. And as he talks from his Somerset home about his unusual hobby (perhaps "passion'' is a better word) he infects everyone around with his enthusiasm.

Mr. Ratteray now devotes much of his time to making bows -- no, not the kind you tie, but the kind that are used to play the instruments that belong to the violin family. And it may come as a considerable surprise to learn that a handmade bow is, in itself, a work of art that has been known to boast a price tag of $30,000. This was the price paid recently for a bow made by Francois Tourte, the famous 18th century bow maker. As Mr. Ratteray explains, "Tourte is to the bow what Stradivarius is to the violin.'' Today, it is not unusual to pay rather more than $1,000 for a good bow.

Mr. Ratteray's entry into the rarefied world of master craftsman was a long-delayed event that actually came about more by accident than design.

He admits, without a trace of rancour, that his love of music, which had existed since childhood had to take second place as the eldest son of politician, the late Sir George Ratteray.

"I was never personally interested in politics but I did feel it was up to me to support what my father was doing. It was not a paid job in those days -- you donated your time. There were many things that needed doing to bring Bermuda into the 20th century so I helped him to do that by working in his business.'' The business, by that time, was a food distribution company, but Mr. Ratteray says his love of music can be traced back to the days when his father was a missionary and teacher in Africa.

For seven of the most formative years of Mr. Ratteray's life, from the age of four onwards, his family was stationed in Zambia, close to the Zaire border.

As a rather sickly child, he spent a lot of time on his own and became very drawn to the organ at the church mission.

"We all had to help with the pumping as there was no electricity, so I got very immersed in music, most of which was religious. After that, I started to play the piano as a hobby,'' he says.

The opportunity to learn the cello, an instrument that had always fascinated him, never arose.

Years later, however, while on a business trip to New York, he came across a Park Avenue music store that was holding a closing-out sale.

"Before I knew what was happening, I bought a cello for $60 and a bow for $10.'' Back in Bermuda, he persuaded the Scottish music teacher, Margaret Combie, who taught at Mount St. Agnes, to give him lessons, but she refused to accept payment.

"So for four years, come rain or shine, I had my weekly lesson with this wonderful lady.'' He believes he was the first Bermudian to pass the stiff requirements of the Associated Boards of Music Grade VIII examination. He also joined the Bermuda Philharmonic Orchestra.

But as he tried to cope with business demands and raising a family, Mr.

Ratteray had to put his beloved cello aside for several years.

"You have to practise the cello every day or you lose the tone immediately. I took my frustrations out on the piano instead,'' says he.

When he decided to retire, Mr. Ratteray also made another decision: he would take up the cello again. But when he opened the case, he was in for a shock -- "I couldn't bear to look at it. The humidity had done its work and the cello had suffered badly. The bridge had collapsed and tiny insects had eaten the hair off both bows. It cost me a lot of money to get them repaired but when they came back, they sounded terrible.'' Meanwhile, the Menuhin Foundation had been established in Bermuda and he was able to get his instrument "back in working order'' with cello teacher, Miss Alison Johnstone. He rejoined the Philharmonic and plays with it still.

Still troubled by the effect of Bermuda's climate on string bows, he was intrigued to discover that the University of New Hampshire offered courses in bow-making. Off he went -- and today, he is Bermuda's only craftsman who can make (and repair) bows for the violin, viola, cello and double bass.

The tools of his trade are spread out in his meticulous workshop and as he explains each painstaking step of creation, it is easy to see why they are expensive.

Pernambuco from Brazil is the favoured wood as it holds the carefully hand-moulded contour best. Horse-hair from the Mongolian stallion, famous for its white colour and elasticity, is also preferred over the cheaper Argentinian variety. And equality of the sexes just doesn't come into it, as female hair is contaminated with colour and coarser in texture.

Mr. Ratteray, who belongs to the Violin Society of America, says that the process of making a bow from a piece of wood that still has to be fashioned into shape is long and arduous process.

Since elephants' ivory has been outlawed, Mr. Ratteray imports mastodon ivory from Siberia for the bow tips (bone is used for cheaper, machine-made bows).

Mr. Ratteray says the true importance of the bow in achieving the best possible tone from a string instrument dawned on him quite gradually.

"The action of the strings causes the wood itself to vibrate, not just through the sound holes. It was discovered fairly recently that the interaction of the hair of the bow on the wood combines with all the other vibrations which determine the final quality of sound. You can actually feel the vibrations as you play,'' he explains.

"I used to think musicians were a bit wacky when they talked about their instruments being a part of them. But it does make sense!'' THE SOUND OF MUSIC -- Since his retirement, Mr. George Ratteray has returned to his first love, the cello and has time to play once again in the Bermuda Philharmonic Society orchestra.

A NEW STRING TO HIS BOW -- Mr. George Ratteray, pictured here in his workshop, where he will spend weeks making just one violin bow.