The Landlord

I arrived on Bequia in the 70’s to teach at the Bequia Anglican High School for one year. The wages I had earned during the summer would hopefully be enough to feed me for the duration of my stay, it wasn’t a large amount of money but sufficient.  I wouldn’t have to pay for a place to stay, the Anglican minister had evidently organized a rental house to be used by teachers from abroad.  “Evidently” was another word for “Just Now”, which was another way of saying “Not Yet”, and I ended up staying with my sister Mary and her husband Dave for quite a while until a place of my own materialized.

It was raining when I arrived, and it rained non-stop for the entire weekend – the rainy season was in full swing and the water came down in torrents. I had no idea what the island even LOOKED like because the heavy sheets of rain hid the ocean view from my bedroom window. The only thing I COULD see from my observation point was a very large cow; it was tethered directly outside the bedroom window, and between the noise of water beating on the galvanized roof I could hear the beast chewing its cud and rattling its chain.

Two days after my arrival the rain stopped, and I got my first real look at the island. Oh my! The scene from my window was incredible; the lush green valley glistened from the recent rain, and the ocean sparkled like diamonds as the sun rose. Dressing quickly, I dashed barefooted from the house and down the steps to get a closer look at the magnificent tropical beauty. My joy was short-lived when I landed in a mound of cow shit and I screamed with disgust, disgust along with a good deal of swearing.

“Shit! Why does this f—ing cow have to be tethered here!!??

A gruff voice answered from behind the cow;

“Becausen is me cow and me house is why!”

That’s how I met Guildford Stowe, Mary and Dave’s landlord. A large and forbidding-looking man, he scowled at me angrily as he tethered his cow even closer to my bedroom window. Mr. Stowe owned the near-by rum shop, a place where dominoes were played during the evening and bread delivered from his bakery before first light. I ate a lot of bread rolls and coconut buns in those early days and was therefore a regular customer, but hated entering the dim shop to buy them. I would wait my turn, then jump in fright when Mr. Stowe’s meaty hand slapped the counter in front of me. This was his way of letting me know it was my turn, but I found it quite intimidating.

My sister Mary assured me that Guildford Stowe was a nice man but I had my doubts; he always seemed to be scowling, and his gruff manner left me with the distinct impression that the man didn’t like me. Well, the feeling was mutual, and when Father Adams (the Anglican minister and head-master of the school) told me that I would be living along with two other teachers in Mr. Stowe’s other rental house above the rum shop my heart sank. I was stuck with the bovine-tethering, hand-slapping scowling landlord. I couldn’t afford to pay for a different place to stay with my limited funds, and moved into the exceedingly shabby rental house with resignation.

As time passed Mr. Stowe and I got along – we would never be bosom buddies but the enmity between us seemed to evaporate. Once I realized that he slapped the counter in front of EVERY customer at the rum shop I was comforted, it meant he wasn’t doing it simply because he disliked me. Some people said my landlord had a kind heart and I wouldn’t go THAT far, when I reached to pick a grapefruit from the tree in front of the rental house his gruff voice drifted up the hill;

Is de house I does rent, not de fruit!”

Kind-hearted? No, I wouldn’t go THAT far, but we got along…..