The supposedly apolitical campaign had split the Government and forced the Opposition to turn its back on a chance to achieve its most cherished hope.

It had placed in clear and present danger the political careers of veterans and young turks alike.

It had made the strangest political bedfellows of modern Bermudian politics: Messrs. Swan, Darrell, Perinchief and Burgess poised for a lemming-like leap off the political cliff unless some 15,000 Yes voters rode to their rescue.

It had survived Hurricane Felix at the eleventh hour, and constitutionally jaw-dropping shenanigans at the eleventh and a half.

Yesterday, democratically better late than never, the Referendum on Independence for Bermuda appeared at a polling station near you from 10 in the morning to 9 o'clock at night.

It then travelled the length and breadth of Bermuda in returning officers' cars before arriving at its final destination, Wesley Methodist Hall.

The referend-um-um: one of the most confusing and confused political campaigns in local electoral history came down yesterday to eight short words: Are you in favour of Independence for Bermuda? Everyone had an opinion, and yesterday, every registered Bermudian voter was given the chance to summarise that opinion, reductio ad absurdam , in three letters or two: Yes or No.

Two other words summed up the early mood at polling stations across the Island, according to election officials and Police officers: it was all "quiet'' on the Western front, and "steady'' everywhere else.

"There's not even as many as there were for the hanging thing,'' said one returning officer.

Was everything under control? At Pembroke East Central at 10.30 a.m., Cabinet Secretary Mr. Leo Mills, in the eye of a personal hurricane, said: "One would hope so, but one is never sure.'' Had Bermudian democracy gone off the rails on the Tuesday morning? At the Horticultural Hall, Cabinet Minister the Hon. Grant Gibbons thought not. "It was a matter of common sense prevailing,'' he said.

At Smith's South, anti-Independence campaigner the Hon. C.V. (Jim) Woolridge took a different line: "I wouldn't say off the rails, but it took a turn not in keeping with the best that civilisation has to offer.'' At a dozen of the polling stations far and wide, no-one from the Progressive Labour Party was in evidence, either outside the polls meeting and greeting, nor inside observing.

As is so often the case, the whole shooting match crystallised in one brief moment. Premier the Hon. Sir John Swan appeared at the Horticultural Hall at 2.30 p.m. to cast his vote, in favour, one assumed. Although he took time to speak to the Press there gathered, his eyes were far more eloquent than his words.

There was sadness in those eyes, the same hunted look that Margaret Thatcher wore when they drove her, uncomprehending, from Downing Street at the end of her political career.

The fourth button on the sleeves of Sir John's suit jacket were undone, much, one sensed, like his political career. He said to representatives of the British Broadcasting Corporation: "Give me liberty or give me death.'' Politically, he may well soon have both.

Based on the low turn-out during the working day, the next big political question, it seems, is what the country will do with two BMWs. Mr. Woolridge chose to answer with diplomacy: "There is a group of us who have come together for the best interests of Bermuda, and any one of us is capable of assuming responsibility.'' There was in his eyes something entirely different -- the glint of a golden opportunity.