A different vision.
It's
so reassuring the internet in its connectivity. I had no sooner posted,
as it were my piece called,"A view from the cliffs" than a reply
plopped into my mailbox from
Auckland thanking me and reflecting that the rain in the Antipodes was also a bit of a 'downer' after the
sunshine of South Africa.
Where ever we sit, what ever we do with our lives we all have memories, emotional reference points on which to hang our hat. People with memories of 'the good old days' when, with a blissful blurring through the passage of time the roses seemed more red the sky's more blue and friendships more secure.
In December 1962, Christmas Eve I arrived in Cape Town after a circuitous route from Paris to Mozambique and by train to Johannesburg. Johannesburg to Cape Town by rail and road brought me to this magnificent city perched, between the Atlantic and the Pacific, on the side of the majestic Table Mountain. It looked a paradise, so removed from the 'Black sooted England' with its grim weather. The sun shone as I walked from the city centre, back pack jingling with carabiner, festooned with rope, up the slope of suburban Cape Town to Verdehoek and a block of flats where my Uncle and Aunt lived.
Cape Town in the 50s early 60s had that colonial feel to it. From the balcony in the flat Cape Town lay at your feet, the mountain at your back.
Where ever we sit, what ever we do with our lives we all have memories, emotional reference points on which to hang our hat. People with memories of 'the good old days' when, with a blissful blurring through the passage of time the roses seemed more red the sky's more blue and friendships more secure.
In December 1962, Christmas Eve I arrived in Cape Town after a circuitous route from Paris to Mozambique and by train to Johannesburg. Johannesburg to Cape Town by rail and road brought me to this magnificent city perched, between the Atlantic and the Pacific, on the side of the majestic Table Mountain. It looked a paradise, so removed from the 'Black sooted England' with its grim weather. The sun shone as I walked from the city centre, back pack jingling with carabiner, festooned with rope, up the slope of suburban Cape Town to Verdehoek and a block of flats where my Uncle and Aunt lived.
Cape Town in the 50s early 60s had that colonial feel to it. From the balcony in the flat Cape Town lay at your feet, the mountain at your back.
The
centre of town was quite open in those days particularly on the
foreshore, the Heernengracht (gentleman's walk) wide and welcoming to
the passengers disembarking off the ships, and walking into town.
The
harbour was the raison de'tre for the city. The sighting of the port
for the early trading ships which kept the small
garrison alive it was, with Durban the thoroughfare into what had
become a Republic. From the flat the sight of the arriving Union Castle
Mail Ship on
Tuesday at 10.00am was
an umbilical connection to home. The departure on Thursdays at 4.00pm
to the sound of the ships fog horn. The excited cries, amidst the tears
of farewell, of the
well wishers, holding ribbons between those on the ship looking forward
to their journey
and those about to be left behind on
the quay. The tension was palpable as the ribbons tightened as the ship
inched away from the side of the dock. The ribbon payed out inch by
inch until
there was no more to pay out, the irresistible force of the ship being
more than a match for
the ribbon, it snapped and with it the connection supplanted with wild waving and calls to come back, some time.
The thing which is etched in my mind was the open hearted welcome the Capetonian made, so different in essence from the closed shop, "my house, my castle" emotion people had in Europe. I suppose the welcome was as much about the connection to the old values and the news of back home from these remorseful people who had made their life on the tip of Africa but it was more than that, the move away from the tiered "know your place", to a place were there was no place, no limits no prudential judgement only an opportunity to make your own way which gave the people immense courage to be their own person.
Of course I am speaking like a schizophrenic since the opportunities were not available to the vast majority, hidden away in the townships huddled together, we and them in different camps not understanding or being willing to understand the whole iniquitous business of Apartheid.
The thing which is etched in my mind was the open hearted welcome the Capetonian made, so different in essence from the closed shop, "my house, my castle" emotion people had in Europe. I suppose the welcome was as much about the connection to the old values and the news of back home from these remorseful people who had made their life on the tip of Africa but it was more than that, the move away from the tiered "know your place", to a place were there was no place, no limits no prudential judgement only an opportunity to make your own way which gave the people immense courage to be their own person.
Of course I am speaking like a schizophrenic since the opportunities were not available to the vast majority, hidden away in the townships huddled together, we and them in different camps not understanding or being willing to understand the whole iniquitous business of Apartheid.
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