Before the birth of the Bequia Sailing Club and its Easter Regatta the Whitsuntide Race was the big sailing event of the year. Whitsuntide is a religious holiday, the Festival of the Pentecost, and falls eight weeks after Easter. The race was organized by Son Mitchell, owner of the Frangipani Hotel and leader of the opposition party, my friend Ermina Antrobus and a rum-shop owner by the name of Kenneth Allick. I am sure others were involved, but these three are the individuals that stand out in my memories.
For weeks leading up to the race the Island hummed with activity. Men sanded and painted their hand-crafted wooden dinghies, fixed riggings, patched sails or had new ones made, all in anticipation of the big day. As the local sail-maker, Mac’s father Bluesy was in great demand, and Mac himself spent many hours behind the sewing machine in the sail loft.
Only the men sailed in the dinghies, the women stayed ashore and prepared a feast. Every boat racing would “trump in” a set amount of money with which the ladies would buy food and drink to be consumed after the race. While the men were sailing the ladies cooked huge pots of rice and peas, stewed mutton and other local favorites.
The race always started from the beach in front of the Frangipani and it attracted a large crowd of spectators. It never began on time, I recall getting very sunburned my first year as I stood waiting in the hot sun for the race to start. The men had to load their dinghies with ballast, using empty flour sacks filled with sand. Woe to the dinghy without ballast, it was needed to keep the boat from capsizing!
The freshly painted double-ended boats looked pretty lined up along the beach, with their white canvas sails raised in readiness. Once the men were ready to go, the starting horn would blow and they would jump into the boats. Amidst shouts of encouragement from the on-lookers they would jockey for the most favorable positions for tacking as they headed out into the bay. What a wonderful sight! With their sails wing-on-wing they looked like butterflies skimming over the water.
The spectators would then disperse, some making their way to the south side of the Island to watch the boats as the race progressed, others heading for the almond tree in Port Elizabeth. The almond tree, affectionately called “Bequia’s House of Parliament”, was where the few taxis on the Island could be found and where people gathered to gossip. When someone said, “meet me under de tree” you didn’t have to ask which tree, it was a given they meant the almond tree.
Daphne Grant (from Daphne Cooks It) organized Whitsuntide events under the tree each year and that’s where I would end up once the race had started. I would watch couples dance the Quadrille and children winding the Maypole ribbons before finding something to eat under the welcoming shade of the almond tree.
The post-race party was always a loud, boisterous affair. When I first heard all the shouting and cussing I thought the men were fighting, but it was just good-natured arguing about aspects of the race. Losers would be teased and winners accused of cheating but it was all in fun, the men were excited from the race and needed to let off some steam! Small prizes were awarded to the winners and everyone would go home happy, already looking forward to next year’s race.
