Martin Kruger - Port Alfred, as a kid

Then I got to thinking how life was when I was a kid. Hey, it's probably an invalid comparison to the world today, which is vastly different. But, to the make-up of a little boy's mind...was it really any different when shaping your character ? What I describe here is my early years, as I lived them. My sister, Priscilla is three years older than me and I probably have more respect for her judgement and character than I have for anybody else in this world. No, I wasn't paid to say that - she's my sister, I love her - and have the greatest, deep respect for everything that she did for my late Parents. (Pris and Des provided a home for my Parents for many, many years - thanks guys.)

When we moved to Port Alfred from Butterworth, I was about 4 years old. Let me say this very strongly right at the beginning of this story. There was always a deep, deep love from our parents to us - and from us - throughout our lives. We were close and had a wonderful "vibe" throughout our lives.

Now, to me. I was always barefoot. Khaki pants and khaki shirt were the clothes that I wore. Never knew a thing about fashion. At Mrs. Powell's school, it was barefoot all day, she made me do Sub B and Standard One in one year - because, from curiosity, I could read (My Mom) and do sums (My Dad) before I went to school - so I probably fidgeted while the other kids were learning their ABC's and counting their fingers. Then, from Standard Three (Grade 5 now) I went to the big school (Queen Alexandra Secondary School), which only went to JC (Standard 8) (Grade 10 now) in those days. At break time the shoes and socks were off. In fact I think that Standard Three was the first time that I went to school in shoes. And hated it. My teacher was Auntie Joyce Heny, to whom I spoke on the phone the other day. In fact I spoke to three generations of their family in one phone call. Warwick, then his dad Kevin, then HIS mom, Auntie Joyce. Can you believe that, Ripley ?

So, barefoot we used to play rounders (Of our age-group, Nyoffie Pittaway RIP could hit the ball the furthest). Nyoffie, (Anthony) was Claude's younger brother. I saw a picture of Claude on the River and Skiboat Club site - www.parsc.co.za - what a fine cricketer he was in his day. (Looks like he's doing waist-expansion exercises these days, sorry Claude, my pal and cricket captain - but I always see you with a smile on your dial - makes me feel so happy - If you have a problem with what I've said just call me on 083-651-0361, cheers). Geoff Elliott, Derrick Fish come to mind immediately. But listen Boet, when the big ou's were playing cricket, you didn't bat when Braam De Bruyn was bowling. He was a naturally powerfully born lad, even when young - with a lovely smile - a great character. We used to play behind the school - sort of eastwards, I'd say - where the playing fields are proudly situated today. Then it was long grass and bush - hey, don't hurt the puffadder man, it's just sleeping.

Lunch was peanut butter sandwiches. Every day. Some folks had only lard on their home-made bread. (Sometimes we swopped, one for one). Nobody's parents had any money. Nobody differentiated. There was no judgement in our minds. Everybody was poor, except that some were poorer than others. That's just how it was. A great pal of mine was Ronnie Field, whose dad was a Bank Manager. We walked to school - and back home after school. The minute school was out, the shoes and socks were off. Feet were tough. Duiweltjies (triangle shaped thorns) gave up on trying to penetrate, in disgust. Ian Williams was there (father, Jack, also a Bank Manager), also Iris Lisher. Priscilla Welsh. Wendy and Kevin Heny. Historians of note will see that I will not comment on Tubby Stewart who was the school principal without principle. Andrew and Ethelwynn Kilian were also there, with father Jock Kilian a teacher. Piet Snyman - what a wonderful teacher, but more so, a great person. Wife, Babs ran the Municipal Library. My Mom and Dad were ardent readers.

After school you got home and had lunch. Generally a jam sandwich or leftovers from dinner the previous evening. Maybe a tasty potato-sandwich. Maybe a carefully-measured glass of Oros and water. The telephones had a handle that you turned to summon the operator. 'Ex Unitate Vires' and a badge was on every telephone. In great wisdom, I thought it meant "the united wires" meaning the telephone system that linked you with other people. I believe that I was wrong. Hey, so what - nobody got hurt. On the switchboard was generally, Uncle Denis Turner, who always knew the latest joke, Jimmy Goddard RIP and...I can't remember who it was in the old days. Then...what did one do ? Our yard used to have a big 44-gallon drum at the bottom of the yard, and our driveway was paved with stones. So I'd go outside and throw stones at the drum every day. Soon I was hitting it almost every throw. Then I'd take a curve-shaped stone and judge the angle and throw with a 'hook' or a 'slice' depending on the way the stone was angled. Hey what's that in the trees ? a Dove ? No, Mommy said I mustn't. OK, I won't. <pause the reader> Damn, missed. There he goes...bye dove. When my Dad came home we'd have a stone-throwing competition. In later years we were both known as pretty good fielders on the cricket field. Little DuP will remember this - he and I once opened the batting for Port Alfred under captain Claude Pittaway. I think I scored 21 - and had great fun that evening at the Vic or Langdang walking around, nicely pickled, singing "21 today, 21 today" - so many people bought me drinks thinking I had just turned 21.

Then, damn, TV hasn't been invented yet, what shall I do. Aah...my Corgi cars. I had a Citroen DS19, and a Rolls-Royce and a few others. Received as birthday presents, natch. So, in the back yard, outside the kitchen window, I'd use a piece of plank to shape roads and do the layout of a town. Traffic lights ? Whasssssssssssssat ? (Biscuits De Schmidt) There were only stop streets, 'cos that's all that we knew. Then I'd call over the fence to Bobby Robbins to come and play. He's bring his peanut-butter and syrup sandwich (larney, hey) and hop over the fence and we were playing. Bobby also became a mean sportsman in his day - more especially as he used to go with his folks, Jack and Doreen Robbins, to the golf course every Saturday and started at a very young age. We also played a lot of cricket against each other. Life wasn't worth living if you didn't own a tennis ball.

Well, I got to this stage, then decided to ask Bev Young down in Port Alfred to take a gander (look). Well, lookya Boet, I got a reply which is SO Kowie-ish that I have no option but to repeat her reply ad verbatim. Hey, if this kid isn't an ex-Kowie-ite, then she sure is now ! Lets stop what we're doing, immediately or sooner...and take a look at Bev's response...

Hey I love this, its so nostalgic. I have some stories somewhere, on my web that I wrote for an American society........its like the other day I took a journalist to the Fish River Diner; now this larney journalist, who is the food & beverage editor etc. Anyway, I said she had to experience this place to see how we live. (not I am a kowie-ite as well now?)

We got there and I introduced her to Tia who owns the place. This was the (customs house built for the Ciskei in the apartheid days ne?. We ordered the house special, fish & chips and the journalist, (Gwynne) fell in love with it all. She loved Tia, who talks non stop while you are eating. LOVED the fresh fish with curried salads, loved the frilly clothes and ball & claw tables. Said it reminded her of???

I said, Sunbeam polish & Oros? Yes she said, that it. So wonderfully plain and real.

That I think, is what the attraction is here. No matter how larney the new settlers and holiday makers are, the "Boets & Swaers" wont let you get above yourself.

Where else can you live in a community where is you are going to a dance, all the blokes lend you parts of your outfit, 'cos you don't have a suit? When you are pregnant, (and there is a baby boom here,) you gets clothes and equipment from all the other babies without buying a thing? So much so, that they lend you something you contributed months ago? How sweet is that? I bought the mother of my grandson some wonderful, colourful clothing when she was pregnant. I have seen it do the rounds in the last year and even my son says, dam he liked that when it belonged to Lindi.

Where else can you live, when they know things about you before you know them? Where if you are helping with the Hospice ball, and you send Barry Purdon for an extension cord, and he comes back two hours later pissed as a coot? Says, as well that the loan cost him "six doubles"? He, who nips into the pub across the road for his throat, while we are singing Christmas carols? Who would want to live anywhere else?

Making you nostalgic ne? I live here and you don't.

DO you remember the 'van Kinkle's?' Strange anglers who have left even stranger widows.

I met Mrs. Snyman a few years ago. She, at 92, still did her own housework and garden and then when done, sat at her widow and knitted socks for charity. She walked to town each day to shop. Sad, she died quietly one day with no fuss. Told me all about her late husband and the library.

Another funny story. I met a dear old lady a few years ago. Mrs. Hill in van der Riet st. (36) She was supposed to be very wealthy and used to sit on her stoep chatting to all, while ordering her ancient gardener around. You could never go in the house, and didn't want to 'cos the smell emanating from there was awful. She fed all stray cats and never threw anything away.

Anyway, she was the widow the late STD bank manager from GHT. So one night she dies due to smoke inhalation from a candle that fell over and ignited all the newspapers she wouldn't throw away. My best friend Lynne buys the house, which fortunately, did not burn down and on refurbishing the house, discovers share certificates valued at R7 million!!!!!! Appears the old dear was that wealthy and left her mansion in GHT to the "Scottish" who want to stay there??? She left her bank manager her car and cats.

Now to the story. When Lynne buys the house, it includes the vacant plot at the back, which is Campbell St. Lynne says to me that she thinks that there might have been a house on this many years ago.

Skip this and go to another portion of the story. I go out to a farm near Kap River one day, a guest farm which has 3 houses. One of these is an exquisite wood and iron house. The owners tell me that they 'bought' this house in Port Alfred and brought it out there. I say lovely etc and leave it at that.

Then one day a guy ( call him Bill) comes in here and tells me a looooong story about how he owned a house here once, which he sold to a another guy on the never, never system. Bill went back to JHB and was worried after a few months, that he received no rent. He jumps down here after a few months, to see what is happening. Lo and behold when he gets here, guy no 2 is missing but so is the house. Its gone.

Appears guy no 2 sold said house et al to these guest house folks. hee hee.........nothing he could do.

I relate this to Lynne who rushes out to the guest house to see her-house-that-was. Where else could this happen but in the Kowie? Anyway, this was the house that was in the vacant plot that was then owned by Mrs. Hill who we cant question 'cos she has gone to heaven.

I am exhausted with this story telling.

hugs, Bev (pink for gals, blue for boys, except when it's a Harley)

Whoooooo hoooo - hit it with a wet tackie Boet. Ask somebody of Errol Ridden's era. "He said to his china-plate, how do you smark my ones-and-twos, I paid with a gregory peck." Aaaaah, what the youth of today misses - the days when one's brain had to work...and you thought up new sayings, jokes, (Have you heard the yolk about the egg ?) - and didn't have TV INTRUDING all day into your life....a COMPUTER....INTRUDING all day into your life....when a family had only one car. Except if their name was Hugh Kelly (what a wonderful gentleman) and you came from Jo'burg and you were rich and Port Alfred was only your holiday home. Aaaah it is a well-known fact that Uncle Hugh did so much for Port Alfred - and the golf club. The little town I know so well owes him BIG time. You couldn't meet a nicer person.

Sheesh I am rambling so far that I'm gonna fall over a pineapple any minute.

Now I need to tell you that Roger Coates and Paul Griffiths stayed here a while ago. They were going to a pal's wedding and I helped them with getting dressed 'cos their suits hadn't been worn since the price of pines was still low. Can you believe that in the pineapple glut, you could buy them for half-penny a dozen at MLI's shop. Pineapples, that is. Roger recalled a day in the past when some dood was launching his boat, but something went wrong and the whole machine, Land Rover and all, slid down the slipway and all - and into the river. Gone from view. Verby ! The water settled, a few bubbles popped up. Faraway a mullet jumped out the water. The river was still...Even the gorries swum in one spot. Then along came local postman, Gobs Wood - who volunteered to dive in and check the situation. Spectator eyes widened at this bravery. Flexing his muscles, Gob dived into the water....then came up with a querying look - "Is it a white one ? Then I've found it"......Hey Roger and Paul, it was good seeing you guys again after such a long time. Cheers...

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