GROWING UP : THE EARLY YEARS
I was born at an early age in a nursing home in Germiston. My parents had a rented house in Johannesburg. My father had an architectural job there, having trained at WITS University. They had met through the Christian Science Church.
At 2 months old I took my first flight – to East London. Our first home was a flat in the Quigney, up from the Orient Beach, where I was evidently taken for walks in the pram. (West of Fitzpatrick Road).
My first home in East London. Buckingham Court in the Quigney. This was probably our own moving day. Steer and Co was and still is the main furniture removal company there.
In time we moved to 10 Tate Road in Baysville, a modest house, fairly new at the time. I remember having an arched fireplace, glass dual swing doors in the entrance, a metal front gate and a spindly hedge.
And my second home. 10 Tait Road in Baysville. In the foreground is the front garden of 12 Tait Road where we moved when my maternal grandparents moved from their flat in Belgravia to be closer to us, my grandfather requiring increasingly frequent care.
At this time I had a nanny, a small black woman called “Tiny”. I have vague memories of her hoisting me into a blanket and onto her back. She appears in a photo with us seeing Nana and Da off onboard a ship.
This is an extract from a larger photo (shown under maternal grandparents) . Tiny accompanied us onto this ship to bade them farewell. That is me between her and my mother. Note her crisp uniform.
Our maternal grandparents, Nana and Da, lived in a flat in Belgravia next to the church that my father had designed. I have a memory of being delighted how big the fresh peas were and trying to show them by putting them into the phone. As Da aged and required more attention, they moved into this house and we moved into the double storey house next door, number 12.
I remember when my brother Peter was born. On being shown this baby through the maternity home corridor window, I changed my mind about having a little brother. That bundle was nothing like what I had been promised. And for some time thought we had bought him there. I hope he forgives me for this. I think it is a common perception of older siblings that aren't yet old enough to quite understand. Those that are born next simply accept the status quo.
Our first dog was a dachshund called Roly Poly. In spite of his very short legs he could clear the fence. I don't know what happened to him. In time we had a smelly fox terrier called Judy that a friend of our mother's gave to us when she got remarried. We had a few cats, but I think some of these were temporary and belonged to our Watson cousins while they moved house. (Graham and Elise lived nearby for some years in Stirling with their 3 girls in a house our father designed for them before moving to Durban, later Westville).
Nana used to sometimes take me to the market that was situated behind the council building in lower Oxford, East London, and stretching across to Buffalo Street. Rows of concrete tabled with signs above each gap or aisle designating whether whites or “natives” could go into them. Low concrete tables with produce laid out in bulk –wooden boxes or bags. Bidding was from one end with some bias
towards one side, but then buying in bulk was mainly by the hotels and the few restaurants. The “German Market” was much the same and at one end. The difference was that you could simply walk up and buy from the mainly German farmers. (Remember that German identity was still strong from amongst the families of the many who settled in the region as British German Legionnaires in the 1850's). Nana would buy fruit or tomatoes in wooden boxes or other vegetables in bunches and
then contact her friends to share the bargains.
Black folk used to sell on the streets. Sensible packaging and bagging came much later and you can still see such exposed produce around the city streets. There was a fish section too; fish having been brought up from the harbour. I think this was mainly small boat fishermen. It was common to see coloured fishermen along the road from the
harbour selling a variety of fish to stopping motorists. There was a fair sized Johnson and Johnson fleet still then, but I think they sold off their catch independently.
Produce such as peas bought at the market or even shops would be hand shelled and it was common to see black women, maids, in chatting groups on a pavement lawn sorting them for different
households.
I don't remember when supermarkets started in EL. The first one we were taken to was very small, a mini-mart by today's standards, and run by the Lamont family in Currie Street in the Quigney. There was one big difference to what we had been used to – you could pick your own items before taking them to a till. But I still remember the staff wearing brown coats (such as you see in period tv sitcoms today).
We played with our Dinky Toys in the compost pile behind the maid's room. A store between that and the garage had our father's army helmet and some other items, a few of which we still have. (I have the trunk which I used to cart stuff off to university, although since turned blue. And the army blanket which I used for scout camps and was riddled with badges, but I still have it).
Preschool for me was a bit of a trial as I was very shy, but I have nice memories of a toy block structure that you could role marbles down and a visit next door to see strange little fledgling budgies. Then it was off to Stirling Primary Schools (which I discuss here : GROWING UP : THE PRIMARY SCHOOL YEARS). I soon found that the boy who lived down the road was in the same class and we became good friends. Robert McDougall and his sister Lorraine (Lolly). (He contacted me out of the blue some years ago having moved to Wales. He seemed very changed and I didn't maintain contact).
The bush at that time started just at the end of the road. We would play for hours in the long grass and wooded water courses. We occasionally found snakes. Vagrants lived in the bush, but we never
thought of them as a danger. I think that my parent's Christian Science leanings perhaps meant that they were not much concerned. I don't remember them ever showing it. It is perhaps also a sign of those times that those of other races rarely dared threaten white kids. Even as little kids we could call those much older than us “boy” or “girl” - something we became ashamed of years later. I even remember having fun squirting water from a hiding place within the by now well grown hibiscus hedge at passers by; black folk being amongst the victims. I don't think our family was actually racist as such, but in a way prejudiced. The difference becomes blurred in time and place.
Something that remains with me though to this day, is seeing the police arrest the maid of the house that backed ours, for stealing from the family. On being asked why she did so, she said it was because they had much and were privileged but she had almost nothing and was destined to remain so unless she did something like that.
The bushveld grass would catch fire occasionally, from intent or accident. The fire brigade would usually pitch up as the residential area was so close. I have memories of going down the road on P's tricycle with watering cans on the back to help put the fires. That bushveld was to be developed for housing and two schools, initially along McJannet Drive and the adjoining road (before the freeway was pushed through). The schools were Grens Hoerskool and the Baysville Technical High School. Scaffolding then was steel with roughly fixed down planks. Wheel barrows, so rare in the UK, are still very common in SA so long ramps would lead up to the lower floors. We used to dare each other to ride our bikes up and down them. Fortunately our nerves got the better of us or we could have met with serious accidents. Security was lax. We used to take the off-cuts of reinforcing and skim them along the road in the warm evenings to create sparks.
I don't remember Health & Safety in South Africa. While at Stirling Primary School we spent some of our physical education levelling the new sportsfields. Large trucks would arrive to dump piles of earth. We still little people would be given some garden implements and told to level it over the edge. One day my allotted tool was a large garden fork. As I thrust it down to break up the large sods of earth it went through between the straps of my plastic sandals right into my foot.
One day we came across a large pile of white ash from bush and rubbish clearing at the Grens Skool building site. As a joke I jumped into it expecting a waft of fine ash. Instead I found my sandal clad
feet deep in red hot coals below. My extremely quick reaction saved further injury, but I had learnt a hard lesson and had a sort of freckled ankle to mark the spot for years.
Playing in the street whether it be a warm summer evening or flooded gutters was common for most kids. This seems to have already been almost unknown in the UK; or was it in those years?. The climates are very different. While much of the change can be put down to increased awareness and fears of safety by parents, changing social expectations and indoor digital games and TV in the UK, it has also changed dramatically in SA as safety concerns have risen exponentially. There may be many reasons, but the one that is evident from my above examples is that with the demise of apartheid came much less hesitation by those with ill intent to harm absolutely anyone. Being a
white kid in the '50s almost protected you.
Even at that stage and young age we would usually walk the several miles to school on our own. If you are reading this in South Africa or in the UK you will have very different reactions to this. We were still very young (I was 10 when we left Tait Road, Peter 8), but sometimes we would be allowed to go into the city centre on our own by bus. We were given pocket money which was usually spent at OK Bazaars in cheap toys.
Some memories may have warped a bit with childhood imagination, but I have this clear image of sitting on the curved mudguard of Da's car, my legs and arms wrapped around the bulbous light as he drove up the street. I am sure that I did sit like that. However did he ever drive up the road with us like that? I don't know what make of car it was, but this one in the picture is a possibility and shows how this was
possible. New cars were looking very different in the '50s, but '40s cars were still very common.
but
His car was something like this one. We certainly sat on the mudguards with our legs around the bulbous lights, but are my memories of actually being driven around the block imaginations developed over the years?
This is a 1940s Ford Anglia just as an example – google image.
Da had had lost a hand in an electrical accident a long time previously and wore a heavy prosthetic leather glove hand when driving and drove only rarely.
A bad memory that I still have is also tied to Christian Science. It traumatised me for years. I would lie awake some evenings with asthma screaming and crying. My father would scream from the next
room to shut up. We also learnt the piano at the time, but I was never allowed to rest my back against the back of the chair (we usually used the round stool that screwed up and down). (My asthma flared badly during my navy training and only was reasonably resolved in my late '50s by the Scottish NHS). I still suffer from terrible back pains. But Christian Science, while on the one hand appearing to protect me, as in the bush, was also denying me medical help for real complaints.
[In retrospect the treatments for these childhood ailments were little developed in the'50s]. We may have had dentistry, but we never went to doctors and never had the inoculations that other kids had against the medical terrors of the day. I remember having measles and seeing kids at school with the effects on their limbs such as Thalidomide, but only ever heard that term much later. Our family simply did not talk of diseases. I had serious asthma, but never treatment. And I only got to know the word “asthma” because a boy (called “Puffy”) at scouts had it. In Christian Science talk, at least to children, disease is simply an error. And as an error it is just a wrong thought. To me - That thought was inside my mind. I had something wrong with my mind. And something wrong with my body. I was imperfect. It was all MY fault. A subconscious sense of guilt lingered most of my life peaking during those difficult years of self doubt in late teens and into my twenties.
The kids at school were given vaccines, some oral, for various things. We were “excused” on religious grounds, although I did once go up and get something that looked like a small biscuit. It may have
been just that – to reduce the taste of the actual item.
Learning to swim was fairly straight forward in its early stages. With warm SA summers we were often taken to the Orient Beach and pools. My father had designed the paddling pool layout while with the Council (although they were completely revamped again years later). I have clear olfactory memory of rubber float rings (before plastic) and of these being spun down the beach at high speed by the wind with a parent in pursuit. Sometimes Mummy was accompanied by a friend, a plastic beach bag (with penguins on it), a rented umbrella and a rented deck chair, grumpy kids, if the wind got up, sand strewn sandwiches, wet towels on the return, etc. My little bathing costume at this time was also rubbery and textured. A bit like a speckle coloured nappy. If we went to the beach itself, we would always also got to the beach pavilion, itself already old and cold and smelling of dank sea air, sea salt and rubbery beach paraphernalia. But we did get a snack and often an ice cream or milkshake and were allowed to put a tickey in the little box next to the table which linked to the jukebox with its limited
selection of seven singles. (“Tickey” is evidently just a SA term for a 3-pence piece which I think was replace by the 5 cent piece for such use). The paddling pool was a shallow area of sea water, whitewashed in the off season. The way to start learning was to “walk” out into the deeper areas on one's hands with the legs trailing behind. Very easy in salt water. Then with increasing confidence, we would try to lift the hands and swim.
We received swimming lessons in the new school pool as well. (I comment on its inauguration elsewhere). Less success as my confidence and chestiness interfered.
During the earlier years of high school we were taken to the Quanza Pool which was sea water. It always seemed cold and windswept and the change rooms under the stands also smelt of old salt water and past occupants. We were given supplementary swimming lessons which added to my anxiety. Other kids were doing underwater hockey, but I was still floundering. A favourite “trick” for kids to do at a pool is to pretend to walk over the edge, jumping at the last minute and one used my head as his last step while I languished at the edge grabbing onto the side rail. All the more distressing if a chesty child. But in time I was also doing this trick. The scouts had a gala and I managed to participate in diving down to retrieve objects and even swim a length, probably getting to the other end when everyone else had gone home.
But scouts was an incentive. Being sea scouts all the more so and we were put in training for the Mile Swim. We joined Jim Spring's junior sharks using the Selborne School pool. While the other kids went up and down at a brisk pace, I took my time and actually did the equivalent of a mile on two occassions. While my swimming was never strong, my perseverance was and this stood me in good stead
for later years when paddle skiing and windsurfing at sea.
Metrication came in 1961 with currency and miles turned to kilometres. I remember being taught about this change, but our grandparents just could not cope and I used to cut of the conversion table from shopping bags for Nana to refer to. And I remember being taught the basics of many other systems of measurement that still lingered in the country. In later life as an architect I would need to understand historical maps etc with roods, poles, chains, Cape Feet etc.
In the early '60s when I was about 10 and Peter 8 we moved to a rented house in Pembroke Place in Nahoon. This was within easy walking distance to the Nahoon River via a small path behind the
Hillcoome holiday centre for the blind. This was an excellent if basic facility and blind folk could be led down to the river where they could have a rich sensory experience on the sand and shallows. Not far from that was Nahoon Beach.
Nana and Da came to live with us. Nana had her bridge clubs with her friends who left a terrible smoky cloud. Da was by this time usually bedridden.
One day I was up the tree with my new toy – a paper snake on a string and I expected everyone to come out and be frightened by its realism. It was on such a day that the maid came yelling that a leguan (a large water monitor lizard) had come into the house. No one believed her, thinking it was my prank. So we locked up the house and went out for the day. On return was signs that it has been about. It appeared to have gone up the chimney. The zoo director was called. A fire was lit in the hearth. Belching smoke in mid summer. SA fire places don't work well at the best of times. No sign of the leguan. But the next day we returned to find leguan sick all over our father's desk. The doors
were kept open until we were sure it had gone. But a day later the maid screamed that it had gone into Da's room. It took refuge in the cupboard and the door was shut. Da was not that aware of
what was going on and would have been incapable of doing anything about it if he was. The zoo director was called. For years we could look over the wall at the leguan enclosure at the zoo and try to pick out OUR leguan.
An adult leguan at the zoo. It may just be ours.
My experience of Cubs was brief and unsatisfactory. Probably more from my shyness. But we were enrolled in the Sea Scouts with a base on the road down to the estuary. Our father built us a canvas canoe copied from those of the scouts, and a strange one wheel cart for it intended to take the weight off it, but which floundered on the sandy path.
STIRLING PRIMARY SCHOOL YEARS
I clearly remember my first and only cricket game at primary school. I was too slow to lift the bat and the ball hit my thumb. I lost the nail after a painful few days. No more cricket for me. I was no good at football. Tennisette was sort of passable. (This was a sort of scaled down tennis using wooden bats / rackets). Tennis absolutely rubbish. We used to practice at Stirling Park where there were courts amongst the conifers. The council then had a parks depot there and used a horse to draw the mower. Years later the (still separate) Beacon Bay council had draft horses as a sort of quaint (impractical) means of saving fuel. The EL council though had a couple of horse to mow the lawns. The pulled mowers which I seem to remember had a seat on them from which to drive the horses.
It was about this time that Stirling Primary School was expanding and improving. Classrooms were added, but this meant that for a time our class was held in the converted garage of a house down the road. It was also about this time that the sports fields were extended. Us small people were given spades and garden forks and sometimes instead of physical education were expected to level off the earth being dumped by lorries. The handle of my large garden fork was loose and instead of going into the soil swung against me and down between the thongs of my plastic sandals and deep into my foot. I still have the mark. [It was a bit of a shock coming to Scotland and finding Health and Safety in place].
I clearly remember the excitement of sports day. My asthmatic little body was rather useless, but I somehow managed to get very hoarse shouting. It was on such an occasion that the principal, Miss Froelich, officiated at the sod turning ceremony for the new swimming pool with a shiny trowel. With much speech and crowds clapping, she duly put her little trowel in the turf. And then the crowd dispersed. I really couldn't understand why she just didn't finish the job. I was really keen to see the pool filled and ready for swimming. But it was eventually completed and we did learn to swim.
The general groundsman was a black chap called, I think, Bert. We kids loved him and he was popular during break time. But the general grounds maintenance was sometimes done by convicts. These were all black and overseen by an “old” white man with what seems to have been a Boer War rifle. We used to chat to the convicts. One once told us he was there for killing someone.
I also remember the father of one of the kids way back then arriving to pick him up with an electric car. I think it was a DIY conversion, but in retrospect seems way ahead of its time. Yet this really probably was true; the charge possibly got him from home to the nearby school and back again, but no further. A good charge and efficient power from it was still decades ahead.
In 1964 I started high school at Selborne College. At first we used the bus in from Nahoon. A sometimes interesting experience as the ancient buses they used for us tended to overheat and blow their radiator caps. But then we moved to live in Selborne within walking distance to school.
