Moonhole

Bequia had some rather odd ex-pats, but none were quite as odd as those living at Moonhole!  This was a cluster of homes built on the southwest end of Bequia, a remote location that was hard to get to either by land or sea.  Tom Johnston and his wife Gladys had bought the property and constructed a bizarre yet strangely beautiful dwelling with an incredible view of the sea.  Tom went on to build eccentric houses for wealthy friends, using whalebones and jetsam for furniture and decorations.  The houses looked like caves with shutterless windows, something straight out of Fred Flintstone!  The homeowners were reclusive and rarely ventured out of Moonhole, their needs were well taken care of by maids and Gladys Johnston.

Moonhole was (and still is) very private and people were not welcome there unless invited.  To gain access you had to drive past the Bequia Quarry and stop at the entrance to Moonhole, then walk the rest of the way along rugged paths and steep winding stone steps.  I had never been invited there and never met Gladys Johnston, who I understood was a force to be reckoned with!  Years later I would meet her husband Tom, but I only ever spoke to Gladys when she wanted to order baked goods for her homeowners.

Gladys supplied all the homes at Moonhole with their groceries and cleaning supplies.  The maids cooked the homeowners their meals and each Sunday they ate communally in a large hall. When Gladys heard about the new bakeshop on Bequia she started ordering birthday cakes from me.  I HATED making cakes and hated having to decorate them even more!  However, I never turned down a request for a birthday cake, business was business, and with time I learned how to cover my mistakes with icing. Lots and lots of icing!

Gladys always ordered layer cakes and insisted on butter icing.  The cake would have to be transported in a box (we had no cake boxes, any old box had to do) by land-rover to Moonhole’s entrance, then carried precariously by hand the rest of the way.  Between the land-rover bouncing on the rough road and the jostling along the rougher path the cake always arrived in bad shape – the butter icing would get soft and the layers would slide about, ruining the appearance of the cake.  Gladys always paid for the mess she received at her end but never without calling to complain.  This always upset me, I spent precious time decorating those cakes and they never seemed to be appreciated.  I suggested harder types of icing and cakes without layers but my suggestions fell on deaf ears.

Gladys also ordered Mince tarts with hard sauce and shortbread cookies for the Moonhole residents to enjoy at Christmas.  I made shortbread bells, stars and Christmas trees each year and they were delicious. They sold very quickly and I worked extra hours over the holidays to keep up with the demand.  Gladys ordered three dozen decorated shortbread trees to be collected on Christmas Eve, and I packaged them carefully for the trip to the south side of the Island.

On Christmas Day the Pizzeria was closed, Christmas was a day for families to be together.  My phone rang just as we were sitting down for lunch with my mother and father.  It was Gladys Johnston.  Without a “hello” or a “Merry Christmas” she complained that the stem of one of the Christmas tree cookies had arrived broken, and one was cracked. I listened until she had finished her rant, then said, “Merry Christmas to you too, Gladys” before I hung up.

You can’t please all of the people all of the time but you can try!