Tags: Family Memories, Bequia

A moment of daily life

I cherish my childhood memories in Bequia during the 1970s.

Bequia and Antigua & Barbuda have the best memories of all the places I've lived. I don’t remember the dates1, but we lived in Bequia in the 1970s. My memories are that I was about five when I attended the Bequia Seventh Day Adventist Primary School. I remember walking to school and taking a shortcut through a cemetery to get to the school. I remember my Uncle Errol, mom’s baby brother, lived near the school.

We lived in a two-bedroom flat on the top floor of the Barclays Bank office in Port Elizabeth, just a few doors down from the Frangipani Beach Hotel. The flat had a view of Port Elizabeth Beach, just a short stroll from the front of the building.

This is another scan from Mom’s photo albums. Living in Bequia meant that I got to hang out with my maternal cousins and my grandparents. In the photograph, right to left, are my Wallace cousins, Cashena (Susie), Jacinta and Bronte and me. We are standing outside the Barclays Bank branch office in Port Elisabeth. This is either before school or after school.

In the rustic background, you can see lush trees and a wooden structure, possibly a residence or an outbuilding, which contrasts with the formal construction of the bank. The ground is unpaved, conveying the rural feel of Port Elizabeth at the time.

  1. I need to keep jogging Mom’s memory. ↩

Happy Birthday "Papa"!

Louis George Ollivierre passed away on October 8, 1988, in his hometown of LaPompe on the island of Bequia, at the age of 73. My maternal grandfather, my "Papa", passed away while attending University in New Jersey. I was in the middle of mid-exams at the term, and I remember regretting that I would not be able to participate in his funeral. Today would have been his 102nd birthday. To pay tribute to my grandfather and her father, my mother and I collaborated on the following article.

My maternal grandfather Louis George Ollivierre was born in November of 1914 in the Charlotte section of the island of Bequia in the Grenadines. When my grandfather was born, his father, Harold, was 33 and his mother, Heley, was 35. I guess he got a late state with family just like I did. He had one son and four daughters with my grandmother, Mary Marguerite Ollivierre (né McClaren).

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My maternal grandparents, Louis and Mary Ollivierre (né McClaren)
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My maternal grandparents with their daughters (back row) and some of their grandchildren (including me).

My mother's younger sister and daughter and I share a birth month with my Papa1. My grandfather's first name is also one of my middle names. I guess my mother loved her dad.

My great-grandfather, Harold Ollivierre, owned sheep farms on upper Monkey Hill. As a help to the family, my grandfather learned to be an accurate gun range shooter to scare off the roaming dogs when they went after the sheep.

When a whale was caught and butchered on Petit Nevis, my grandfather was responsible for distributing the whale meat. But he was not too keen on whaling.

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My maternal grandfather, Louis George Ollivierre (let) sitting with his brother and whaling legend, Athneal Ollivierre on the whaling quay at Petit Nevis.

Papa was a respected and talented entrepreneur who owned rental properties on mainland St. Vincent. From what my mother tells me, up until his passing ran a turtle shell trading business with Japan. Papa owned several boats, including Prodigal, which he built to import items to Bequia for sale and Sea Queen which he used for trading lobster and conch.

While his grandkids called him Papa affectionately, the villagers called him Uncle Louis. According to my mum, Papa sold Sea Queen and settled down from sailing the open sea and set up one of the few local watering holes in La Pompe, a wooden blue rum shop2, which he only called Uncle Louis' Rum Shop. He built the store near the main road along the lower coast of the island.

My grandfather was also a Justice of the Peace, the only one in the area, and chairman of the local Bequia tourist board. Although he was a quiet, humble man, British royalty knew my grandfather to British royalty and local politicians.

Papa was proud to say he attended the Perry School in the Port Elizabeth Church. Circa 1910, Old Mr Perry conducted a Primary School in half of the downstairs during the week, and on Sabbaths, the Seventh-day Adventists held their Sabbath School and church services there.

My grandfather's seafaring took him and his brother Barton, who owned fishing seines3, to Carriacou and Petit Martinique. At times, he always tried to help people in community work whenever asked. Papa was a money lender on the island, but he always sought to give back to the community. In the sixties, he offered his carpentry skills free of charge to help build houses.

My maternal grandfather, Louis George Ollivierre, aka "Papa"

His favourite spot was on the porch, where he could see the ocean and chat with passersby.

  1. For some reason, I grew up calling my grandparent "Papa" and "Mama". My older cousin, Cashena, started it all. ↩
  2. A rum shop is the typical British West Indies word for a sports bar. Typically, men, not women, go to the bar after work and have a shot (or two or three) of 100 proof white rum chased with a shot of water. Rum shops often serve bar food and other liquors. For some reason, when I searched Wikipedia for the phrase rum shop, one of the results was a link to Carriacou. ↩
  3. A seine is a fishing net that hangs vertically in the water with its bottom edge held down by weights and its top corner buoyed by floats. ↩

Monkey Hill, LaPompe, Bequia

My mother took this photo during one of her recent trips to the LaPompe section of Bequia where her parents lived where I spent the first two years of my life; before there were siblings; I had my grandparents attention all to myself. The house is located at the top middle level of one of the highest hills on the island. The locals have nicknamed the area Monkey Hill. There are no monkeys on the island. I am uncertain as to the origin of the name.

Maternal grandmother, Mary Ollivierre (né McClaren) at Monkey Hill home | August 1998 | Noritsu Koki EZ Controller | APS Film NORITSU KOKI Scan

The house has no sewage, no running water, and no electricity. But it has lots of memories. Memories of a carefree childhood spent under the doting and watchful eye of my grandparents, Louis and "Celina" Ollivierre. Some of the memories are not pleasant to Americans used to municipal running water etc. Still, the experience is no more rustic or strange than living in the bayou of Louisianna.

Left to right: Louis George Ollivierre, Mary Marguerite Ollivierre (né McClaren)

I remember needing to complete a bowel movement while sitting in an outhouse in the high heat of summer. Ugh! Stinky. However, I enjoyed taking outdoor showers after helping my grandfather fill the tank atop the outdoor shower. Outhouse or not, I love my grandparents, and I would not have traded my early childhood with them for anything in the world.

My grandparents kept a few chickens, goats and sheep on the property behind the house. I often helped my grandmother move the sheep and goats, staked to a feeding spot with a long rope and a metal spike. Sometimes I would help her milk a goat or sheep. Have you ever drank fresh goat milk straight from the animal? It's so rich and creamy.

Grand Parents Home, La Pompe, Monkey Hill, Bequia
Helpoing move the goats, Monkey Hill, Bequia | August 1998 | Noritsu Koki EZ Controller | APS Film NORITSU KOKI Scan

The house looks a bit worse for wear in this photo. The wood has probably rotted, and critters have most likely taken up residence. The upstairs area has three bedrooms and a living room. I remember lazy evenings with my grandfather sitting on the steps looking out and over at the Caribbean Sea. The bottom of the house is where my grandparents kept their ground provisions and other foodstuff including cured whale meat, fish, farine etc.

I spent a lot of time with my grandparents during the summer days of my youth. My father once held a position as branch manager at Barclays Bank in the Port Elizabeth area on Bequia. We lived on the building's top floor for a few years when I was about five years old. Every weekend was an opportunity to hang out with my grandparents.

Me, Monkey Hill, Bequia | August 1998 | Noritsu Koki EZ Controller | APS Film NORITSU KOKI Scan
The house looks a lot smaller than I remember, but it has three bedrooms and a living room. The home is cooled by the constant but gentle Windward Caribbean breezes that blow salty-sweet air over the hills.

The building to the left in the photo is the original kitchen. It had no gas and no electricity. It had a coal-fired stove and oven. Yes, coal-fired. My grandmother cooked fish and fungi for breakfast and sometimes "bakes". Sometimes she would bake bread. This was my treat—freshly baked bread with generous amounts of salted butter. And to wash it all down, a large white enamel mug filled with coffee and mostly milk or maybe a mug of bush tea. I guess my grandmother impressed me early in childhood with the delicious flavours of a homemade cafe-au-lait.

My grandparent passed away decades ago. I miss them.

Image from Kevin Downes on Facebook.