PUTTING THE SQUEEZE ON TRADITION

WHEN I was a student, more than half a century ago, I had a girlfriend who owned a green Morris Minor. Having a girlfriend with a car was an important social advantage in those less complicated student times. One sunny Saturday, after an afternoon at the beach, we were heading back to UCT when I crashed the precious Morris, and we both ended up in Victoria Hospital, heavily bandaged.

A policeman appeared at my bedside to take down details of the accident, and one of the first questions he asked was: “Had you been drinking?”

“I was on my way from Fish Hoek,” I replied, and he smiled and said, “You obviously couldn’t have been drinking then.”

Everybody knew you couldn’t buy booze in Fish Hoek. Being a “dry” town was one of the things that made it a special place. It still is dry, and still a very special place. I’ve lived here for 40 years, and from time to time somebody’s tried to change our dry status, and each time there’s been an angry reaction from the people of Fish Hoek and the booze idea has been firmly rejected. We like our town the way it is. Now, once again a local store has applied for permission to sell booze and many of us long-term residents are watching the situation anxiously.

Are we about to witness 100 years of tradition being trampled on to make one shopkeeper rich? Of course, if a licence is granted there will be no legal reason to stop other licences being issued. I like shopping at the store whose owners want to sell liquor. If they do start selling booze I will no longer shop there.

In the meanwhile, I watch anxiously. Ever since that Morris Minor crash all those years ago, Fish Hoek has held a very special place in my heart. Incidentally, the girlfriend forgave me for crashing her car.

I married her a couple of years later and she rewarded me with two very special children. They live overseas but still return to Fish Hoek whenever they can.

It’s a special place for them, too.

Last Laugh

Two friends had been drinking in the Steekfontein Hotel bar, and Willie said to Jan, “I haven’t seen old Fanie for a long time. Is he still around?”

“Man, I nearly saw him just the other day,” said Jan.

“What do you mean, you nearly saw him? Either you saw him or you didn’t.”

“Well, you see, it’s like this. I was walking along High Street on Tuesday and I saw Fanie far away and coming towards me, so I waved to him.

“Then he looked up and saw me and he waved to me. Then, when we were quite close to each we looked again and we realised it was neither of us.”