Since you left...

The footpath that led from Doty to Wind Hill before it was blasted and bulldozed.

Soon after I left the British Virgin Islands in 1995 I had a call from an island friend begging me to return with the words: Since you left the government think they can get away with anything! She was referring to my efforts to preserve the island's intrinsic identity. 

Those efforts came to my mind yesterday when the editor of the island's newspapers sent me a copy of one of my many "Letters to the Editor" that they published over thirty years ago.

My letter was headed "Lamentations" and it read as follows:

On the last day of 1988 it was my miserable task to view the remains of a loved one. Her innocent beauty was the victim of a cruel crime. The features that I had known so well were mangled and mutilated beyond recognition. I speak of the footpath that led from Doty to Windy Hill – the footpath that has recently been blasted and bulldozed into a road.

I was not told of her impending doom, although I understand it had been premeditated for years. And after all, I had no legal right to her: she did not belong to me. My status was simply that of an illicit lover, and on quite afternoons we enjoyed our secret affair together.

But those to whom she was vowed did not cherish her. Her charms were lost on them, even though their very ancestors had labouriously fashioned her beauty. Did they know, or care, about the unique paved section, about the ruins at Arundel, about her flora and fauna?

But don’t mistake my lament. People should have the right to access their land. The concept of freehold is, to me, as inviolable as the concept of free speech. It must be so. In our economy, taxis and tourists have to be catered for. I am no more in favour of turning the whole island into a National Park, than I am bent on seeing it smothered in concrete. But oh, for some sensitivity and long-term planning to temper our materialistic short-term gains.  Alas, these virtues seem deplorably absent.

Land ripe for development! What will you bid? Thirty years ago, my (ex)wife’s grandfather sold his best land at Greenbank for $17.14 an acre. He laughed because he thought he’d done well on the deal. At today’s price an acre of land, with road access, above Ballast Bay could well fetch $250.000*. But the deal would be no better.

Your grandchildren my inherit the earth and fly to the moon – a miserable place by all accounts – but if they cannot savour the sweet and simple delights of the walk from Doty to Windy Hill, they will have profited nothing. They will be that much impoverished.

Some years ago, Sheila Hyndman, a young Virgin Islander, eloquently expressed her doubts for the future of these islands. I quote from her poem:

They will come with tools and machines.

            They will bring to light your secret places,

            They will demand your mysteries.

            They will destroy, build up.

            They will dilute your treasures,

            And rob you of your chastity.

            They will adorn you like ancient Jezebel.

*I have adjusted this figure to indicate the 2022 value. 

From father, to daughter, to grandson

Zeke

My daughters are intent on keeping the family image alive long after my time. Here is my daughter Trina, her partner Gary and my latest grandson Zeke. Trina tells me that he is already showing signs of being a very practical young man and one worthy to follow in his grandfather's footsteps. 

Here's Trina when she was not much older than Zeke.

The picture below is from our early days in Dominica. Trina is on the right, Tania on the left and my son Tristan in the middle. Tristan is now a strapping twenty year old. He is my helper in the workshop and the solver of all my computer problems. 

Paradise Lost

 

Puerto Rican tourists at a Christmas in July promotion in the British Virgin Islands.

Photo Credit Caribbean Journal.

I submitted the commentary below to a BVI news site two weeks ago. As yet, it has not been acknowledged or published. However, the same news site published the above photograph today in relation to an event that is currently being promoted. I am left to wonder how the promotion reflects the image of the BVI being "One of Nature's Little Secrets".

Paradise Lost

In 1975, while sailing north through the Caribbean, stormy weather caused me to take shelter in the British Virgin Islands. The anchorage off Road Town was exposed and uncomfortable and I was told of a sheltered cove a few miles along the coast. Its entrance was narrow but once inside the surrounding reef offered perfect protection. My intention was to continue on my way as soon as the weather improved.

The weather did improve but I stayed on, and that idyllic cove became my home port for the next twenty years.

In the BVI much is made about Belonger Status. However, Somerset Maugham in his book “The Moon and Sixpence” speaks about a deeper sense of belonging: 

Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth.

I collected the material for my book “Virgin Island Sketches” during the early years of my stay. It celebrates the way of life of the islanders and my sketches now serve as a reminder of those halcyon times past.  

While I was busy preserving scenes from the past, Virgin Island poet Sheila Hyndman (1958-1991) was prophesizing the future.

            They will come with tools and machines.

            They will bring to light your secret places,

            They will demand your mysteries.

            They will destroy, build up.

            They will dilute your treasures,

            And rob you of your chastity.

            They will adorn you like ancient Jezebel.

‘Till all that’s left of your true self

Will be an old and forgotten poem

Like mine.

I shared Sheila’s love of her homeland and in the years that followed I contributed my own work to that end.

But as the 1980’s progressed I found it increasingly difficult to relate the past to the future. The maxim “Yes, We’re Different” was being cast aside in favour of being the same as everywhere else. I began to realize that much of the development taking place was for the benefit of foreign entities. It had begun with the Wickams Cay reclamation project in the 1960’s and more recently, financial services and mass tourism. Although the islands are undoubtedly financially better off than when I first knew them, in the process of acquiring that transient wealth, Virgin Islanders have lost more than they gained.

My disillusionment of what was perceived as progress became all the more acute in the year that I travelled the region in search of material for my book “Caribbean Sketches”. As with my earlier book, I was working against the clock in attempting to capture each island before it degenerated into being the same as everywhere else. Cruise ship passengers step ashore to the same spurious scene as at every other port of call. We tend to forget that the individuality of places reflects the individuality of ourselves.

As my journey through the region progressed, I found that the fundamental problem faced by Caribbean small island states was not one of self-governance, but one of self-sufficiency. Even on islands that have claimed independence and that are rich in natural resources, the islanders themselves have not benefitted. Rather than farming the land, the present generation prefer to sit at a desk or serve tourists. To finance an alien lifestyle, their governments sell passports to foreigners and become deeply beholden to the People’s Republic of China. In real terms, these islands are less independent now than they were a hundred years ago.  

Self-sufficiency for small island states relates to lifestyle expectations. Three generations ago hard work was the order of the day and the islanders lived within their means. Since then, there has been a hankering for a westernized lifestyle and a reliance of wealth generated by foreign economies.

The fundamental challenge at this point in time is to seriously question the direction that the Virgin Islands and the region in general has taken. We need to re-evaluate the past in order to determine if what was originally perceived as "development" has in fact been in the best long-term interest of the islanders.

To correct the mistakes of the past and to start all over again verges on the impossible. In more ways than one, the past is set in concrete - and concrete is a difficult material to break down. Nevertheless, a re-assessment of values is a necessary first step towards rediscovering a paradise lost.

For otherwise, as Sheila wrote: “…all that’s left of your true self will be an old and forgotten poem like mine.”

Almost faded beyond recall

Figures on a deserted beach.

Figure on a deserted beach.

Many of the photographs of paintings I made in the 1970's and 80's have almost faded beyond recall, and so have the scenes themselves. The deserted island beach on which I made these sketches fifty years ago has since become a popular tourist venue, as shown in the photograph below.

I consider it my good fortune to have known the Caribbean before it became ripe for development. Unfortunately, most of the development - mass tourism and financial services in particular - has been for the benefit of foreigners rather than in the long term interest of the islanders. For the poets and the artists that dwelt amongst those earlier scenes, all has been lost.

Models from times past

Annette

While delving through faded photographs of paintings I made when my studio was located in the British Virgin Islands, I was reminded of models that I had almost forgotten. I say almost, because all of my models retain a special place in my memory. 

I first met Annette when she worked as a cashier at the island's supermarket. Her facial features and stature were majestic. And yes, she would like to model for my paintings. The only negative factor was her straightened hair. I told her that if ever she allowed her hair to return to its natural state, most certainly she could model for my paintings.

Months later the transformation had begun to take effect and I painted her portrait. 

Other paintings and photographs of models from times past - the twin sisters Pearl and Pearline, Gretel, Hemo, Elliana and my never to be forgotten Alice - set me wondering what those lithe young ladies from 35 years ago are doing today.  Please use the contact form on this blog to get in touch!

Alice at work on making the mold for her portrait bust.