Weekend Argus (Saturday Edition)
Cape celebrated but Boers were hardly smashed
Some key events from this week in history are reflected in these reports from the archives of the Argus’s 160-year-old titles
CAPE Town’s “Railway Restaurant” luncheon menu on March 1, 1900 is a marvel of nonsense, perfectly evoking the manic jollity that gripped the city at the news of the relief of Ladysmith.
There was “Soup Dundonald” to start with, followed by “Boiled fish and General White Sauce”, “Deville Steak a la Buller” or “Pork Cutlets and (S)Mashed Cronje” and, to accompany them, “Beans and Ladysmith Cabbage.”
It takes some deciphering this century and a bit later; British General Buller had deployed a column under Dundonald to relieve General White’s forces in a Ladysmith that had been besieged for 118 days by Boer forces.
The Boers had struck fast and hard, besieging Ladysmith, Kimberley and Mafeking early in the war, the latter two sieges begun by General Piet Cronjé. All three centres were duly relieved – but it became clear to the British in the long months ahead that the Boers were neither smashed nor mashed.
But on March 1, you could have been forgiven for thinking it was all over bar the shouting.
Shops closed, schools closed and the bells of St George’s Cathedral were rung “for the first time in many years”.
Under the sub- heading “Tremendous enthusiasm”, it was reported that “from the earliest business hour rumour was busy as to the good news that the gallant band who so nobly defended Ladysmith and the heroic army fighting their way to their rescue had joined hands, but it was not until the special editions were in the streets, and the news confirmed, that the outburst of patriotic feeling which swept over the city all the morning really commenced.”
“Passing up Church Street and along Burg Street, the crowd formed up in Greenmarket Square in front of the Town House. Union Jacks were well to the fore, and on their arrival at the House it was seen that the mayor and councillors were on the balcony.
“Amid the singing of God save the Queen and Rule Britannia and other patriotic airs, the councillors shouted down to the crowd.”
After a speech by the mayor, “a huge crowd came pouring into Greenmarket Square from all directions. Some carried big Union Jacks, other beat gongs and all were cheering frantically.”
From there, the crowd pressed – at the double, no less – to Government House, where it was rewarded by a brief appearance of Sir Alfred Milner.
But then attention turned to “Parliament House” where, the crowd noticed, no flag was hoisted.
A deputation was quickly formed to interview Mr Speaker, newly appointed and a little hesitant about “the form”.
“The deputation explained that they would like to see ‘our flag’ flying on Parliament House, and they took occasion to point out that it was the people’s House.”
The Speaker dithered, and impatience grew until there was “a sudden rush for the steps”.
The crowd “burst open the doors, broke through the handful of officials, and with a rousing cheer clattered up the staircase”.
The caretaker, a Mr Kellaway, appealed for calm, assuring the horde that the flag would be got up.
Not content with that, a Mr Jack Cohen, “clambered up the steps, swarmed to the flagstaff, and hoisted a small Union Jack amid the acclamation of the multitude”.
“Having thus satisfied its sense of the patriotic fitness of things the crowd quitted the House of Parliament, and left the long corridors in their usual silence and desolation.”
From semi-distant Simon’s Town, news was reported in the city that all ships in the harbour “are dressed with masthead flags, and all over the town there is a great display of bunting.
“It is stated that a salute of 21 guns is to be fired from the ships at 12 o’clock in honour of the event. The news of the relief is received here with general rejoicing”.
Nobody could have foreseen the long haul ahead, or the appalling costs in the years and decades to come.