Friendship Rose

The Friendship Rose (locally called De Rose) was the local ferry used for transport to and from the mainland.  A large wooden schooner, she was built on Bequia by the Adams family, and the two brothers operated it successfully for many years with Calvin Lewis at the helm.  It would depart Bequia empty of cargo and arrive back overflowing with supplies.

A trip to town back then was a major undertaking.  The boat left the Bequia wharf at 6:30 A.M. sharp, if you were one minute late you were out of luck.  Most of the female passengers would sit inside the cabin, and after locating the vomit basin under the bench they would settle down to endure the passage.  I always opted to sit outside, figuring the fresh breeze and a sight of the horizon were better than smelling the diesel fumes inside!  If it got rough enough so that waves splashed over the bow I would crawl under the tarp covering the cargo hold.  I always carried dry clothes in a plastic bag with me as I usually arrived at the other end wet and grubby!

The Rose would motor out of the bay, hoisting the sails as we rounded the point. Watching the crew raise the heavy canvas sails was wonderful, they pulled the ropes hand over hand with a steady rhythm, often with the help of the male passengers.

At times the voyage was a pleasure, often it was NOT.  The Bequia channel can get very rough, especially with the early morning tide.  I could tell what the trip would be like as soon as we rounded Devil’s Table, and my heart would sink if I saw big waves.  I was not a brave sailor and dreaded that expression, “It just a piece of tide!”

One morning it was particularly rough, the sea was wild and the waves were washing one after the other over the bow.  I crawled under the tarp with my stomach heaving only to be told by Captain Adams that I had to go inside. I begged to be allowed to stay on deck but he insisted it wasn’t safe that day and that I must join the other ladies.  He took me by the arm and guided me inside, where I was squeezed in beside a women clutching her vomit basin and the Island’s Catholic Priest.

What a trip!  Every time I saw Captain Lewis reach to throttle down the engine I knew what was coming – for really big waves he had to slow the boat down.  The ladies started to sing hymns, never a good sign, and their voices quivered each time we hit a big wave and the boat shuddered.  Finally the lady beside me threw up, and did so with such force that her false teeth landed in the basin with a loud clanging noise.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry!  The Catholic Priest was gripping his umbrella so hard that he snapped the handle off, and when I pointed it out to him he whispered that he had also peed his pants.

We finally arrived at Kingstown, and a sorry bunch of passengers straggled off the ferry, one clutching her teeth in her hand, another with a tell-tale stain on the back of his grey trousers.  Yup, a trip to town was not for the faint-hearted!