In the ‘70s and ‘80s Bequia women always wore a skirt or dress over their bathing suits when they went to the beach for a sea bath, they were modest to the extreme. They kept this over-clothing on at all times, even while in the water, and anyone new to the Island could see that the ladies were bashful. Nowadays Bequians wear their bathing suits like everyone else, back then it was different.
It annoyed me when thoughtless tourists assumed that stripping down on the beach right in front of De Reef was acceptable behavior. Didn’t they notice how everyone else on the beach was dressed, and that nudity did not seem to be an option? Would they take off their clothes in front of a restaurant in their own country? Bequians would never approach these naked visitors, that chore was left to my mother and me! We never hesitated to inform tourists that nudity was a criminal offence on the Island and that they should put their bathing suits back on.
Hope Beach was different, people often swam nude at that remote bay on the windward side. The waves and current there were (and sti!l are) so powerful they could pull a bathing suit right off your body! We went to Hope often, and as long as there were no other people present I would remove my bathing suit. I remember a day when I was forced to stay in the surf for a long time, a young local fellow had arrived on the beach and was watching the naked people swimming. I refused to leave the water until Mac waded out with my bathing suit, and as he found my dilemma funny he took his time doing so.
One day I was walking with my mother and father along Princess Margaret Beach. It was quiet and totally undeveloped back then, with no restaurant, villas or vendors. We came across a group of elderly German tourists tanning their wizened bodies in the sun. While mom went into lecture mode
Dad and I continued down the beach. My father was very shy, he wasn’t about to stand over naked people while my mother harangued them! As we approached the end of the beach I noticed some activity in the natural cave-like arch, and as we got closer I could see that Dad was in for a shock. Being blind in his right eye he hadn’t seen the beautiful naked woman standing on a rock, wearing just a leather knife-strap and holding a spear-gun. It was obviously a photo-shoot, with cameras clicking away as she struck sensuous poses. When Dad saw what was happening he turned quickly to walk the other way and realized that he was trapped; he had two choices on that beach, a beautiful naked woman at one end or some seriously baggy, wrinkled naked tourists at the other! My poor father sat down in the middle of the beach and waited for my mother to rescue him.
