Basil the penniless barman who became a confidant of royals

His paradise island bar has been a magnet for everyone from Princess Margaret to Bowie, Jagger and the Middletons. Here he reveals 40 years of hedonism and high jinks – from a royal affair to Jerry Hall’s party trick

HE WAS the legendary proprietor of Basil’s Bar, where for years celebrities and royalty have partied out of sight of the paparazzi on the exclusive island of Mustique. Here, for the first time, Basil Charles — now 70 — tells his story...

When I first met Princess Margaret on Mustique, back in the early Seventies, her marriage to Lord Snowdon was all but over. They were leading separate lives, but putting up a pretence that didn’t fool anyone.

She never spoke to me about their relationship, but she didn’t need to. everyone knew what was going on. It was as if she took refuge on the island, surrounded by an intimate circle of friends she could trust.

She always struck me as relaxed and joyful. Far away from the interference of Buckingham Palace, Mustique was the one place she could truly be herself, and she spent some of her happiest days there.

In the Cotton house hotel we would gather around her in a protective sort of way. If someone came in with whom she was not familiar and who might be tempted to introduce himself or even ask her to dance, one of us would escort her to the floor and dance with her ourselves. She was a beautiful dancer who moved with grace and elegance.

It was always hard for Princess Margaret. She was her father’s favourite and yet always had to play second fiddle to her older sister. She was expected to live a perfect existence and never let the side down.

In Mustique, she was treated with respect but without the stuffy social strictures she faced back home. She used to get up quite late and then loved to picnic on the beach, which I would organise.

There was no television and so she would do jigsaw puzzles, play the piano or read, swapping books with her guests. She knew everything that was happening in Mustique, and she was always the centre of attention, although so many other super-rich and famous people would be arriving daily on small planes, or in their luxurious yachts. It gave Mustique a mystique unlike anywhere else.

Over the years, I have found myself mixing with everyone from Mick Jagger and David Bowie to Lord Lichfield (the photographer) and three generations of royals. It is a world so different to that which I had grown up in — in a house that didn’t even have running water.

I was just 24 and working behind the bar at the Cotton house hotel when I met Colin Tennant, the future Lord Glenconner, in 1971.

he’d bought the Caribbean island — part of the island chain of St Vincent and the Grenadines, reached via nearby Barbados or Saint Lucia — in 1958 for £45,000. We became great friends, this Old etonian and me, and used to have breakfast, lunch and dinner together at the hotel. It was sometimes a volatile relationship. he had a famously explosive temper and there were times when I stood up to him — with violent results.

Once, I was serving a guest at the beach bar, where I also worked for him. A rustic shack overlooking the small sandy beach that is Britannia Bay — named after the Queen’s visit in the Royal Yacht in 1966 — it would soon become known as Basil’s Bar, when I took it over.

It was just before Colin’s 50th birthday celebrations. he came in and asked for a drink and I told him he would have to wait. Colin was so angry that he threw a glass of water over me — so I threw one back at him and then jumped over the bar and punched him.

We didn’t talk to each other for a couple of days, despite Princess Margaret trying to intervene.

EVENTUALLY, Colin asked me to come to his office, where he greeted me with an outstretched hand and said: ‘I don’t want to talk about the past. Let’s forget what happened. ‘I want you to help me with the bar and with my birthday party.’

Our backgrounds could not have been more different. I was from a poor family on St Vincent and my mother died when I was nine. I quit school at 14 to support my grandmother who brought me up.

My parents were never married and my father, who was a fisherman, played little part in my childhood.

Colin and Princess Margaret had an amazing relationship. She respected him and he respected her — he would do anything to make her happy.

When she got engaged to society photographer Tony Armstrong-Jones (who later became Lord Snowdon) in 1960, Colin asked her if she would like ‘something in a small box from Aspreys, or a piece of Mustique’ as a wedding present.

She chose the land and even made a detour to inspect it during her honeymoon on the Royal Yacht Britannia. That was the only time Snowdon, who died last month, ever set foot in ‘Mustake’ as he called it.

I never met him, but I knew he always resented the wedding present because he saw it as a gift to the Princess rather than to them both. he frequently referred to Colin as ‘that s***’.

Colin gave the Princess 12 acres on the south-west coast with spectacular views, just above Gelliceaux Bay where she later built Les Jolies eaux (‘Beautiful Waters’), the only home she ever owned, and which meant more to her than a hundred palaces.

he used to get very anxious before the Princess visited. Colin wanted it to be perfect, so to calm himself he