Destruction of a proud civic heritage sears the soul
In a recent column in the Go, I told you of my affection for Queenstown (now Komani) and its wonderful people and how sad I was to read reports of how it has been trashed in recent years.
And now the Town Hall has been torched and presumably irreparably damaged.
The clock in the clock tower was installed 125 years ago to commemorate the Golden Jubilee of Queen Victoria.
The stately old clock, made by Gillett and Johnston of Croydon, London, had ticked away for more than a century, faithfully gonging away the passing hours, giving Queenstonians the time of night and day.
What a crying shame. I remember lying in bed in our house in Haig Avenue on still nights, listening to the shunting of the now defunct steam engines down in the station yard and the town hall clock’s soothing, comforting chimes. Both long-established familiar sounds woven into the fabric of the town.
My 22 years in Komani were fruitful and happy.
But many a brash city slicker who breezed into town on managerial transfer or whatever, was quickly taken down a peg or two if they thought they were dealing with local yokels.
I too, was put smartly in my place early in my tenure as editor of the local newspaper.
You don’t mess with platteland norms – ever! In business or in leisure.
If you did, you were likely to be tarred and feathered and run out of town so to speak!
However, if and when the townsfolk had run the rule over you and were satisfied you had their interests at heart, you were accepted as one of them and made friends for life.
Bright-eyed and bushytailed, I arrived just at the tailend of the rugby reign of the late, great Dummy Taylor, whose rugby coaching at club and school level is legendary.
I undertook the editorial duties of the Rep from Dummy’s brother-in-law and decorated war hero, Squadron Leader AB “Sandy” Greig DFC, DSO, who, as a matter of interest, flew 54 bombing missions over Nazi Germany with the RAF’s Bomber Command before he was 21 years old.
Sandy and his wife, Joyce, later left their beloved “Queenstown ” to join son Tony, a former England cricket captain, in Sydney, Australia.
A noted rugby coach in his own right, Sandy was a feisty character who in his written word, never left anyone in doubt about his views or of his life in general, as I discovered not long after I arrived.
As I recall it was in April or May of my first year there that I had the temerity to attempt to pick the best Swifts XV (the town’s eight-time Border Grand Challenge Trophy winners) of the past 20 years.
Having been a rugby correspondent for the Dispatch and other publications on a freelance basis for the past 16 years, I was well aware of Swifts’ capabilities and the esteem in which they were held in Border rugby circles.
So in the quiet of evening for the next few weeks I sat in my office and drew on old Rep rugby reports and my own experience, to pick what I thought was a very good Swifts side from the past 20 years or so.
Swifts, by the way, were never short of quality lock forwards – big, powerful men frequently of farming stock – so it was very difficult to single out just two.
A grave mistake, as it turned out, was to select former Border captain, Eric van der Vyver, one of the more distinguished lock forwards of Border club rugby of the recent past and a protégé of the great Basil Kenyon, on the flank to accommodate my two preferred locks. Eric in later, more tranquil retirement years, became a valued personal friend.
Well, came the day the team was published.
Before I had even got to my office on that Friday morning an ashen-faced secretary informed me the switchboard had been on fire with expletive-laden, irate callers!
First was an apoplectic Sandy Greig. He could hardly speak he was so angry.
The team was all wrong he spluttered and how could I have the effrontery to put the best lock on the Border, Van der Vyver, on the flank! So it went all day – incensed Swifts fans threatening to boil me in oil!
Sandy and I later became good friends, so much so I made him the Rep’s Australian correspondent. Never sent me a thing though!
The other salutary lesson learnt concerned the Sandringham Club cricket pitch.
It was not uncommon in those days for visiting Border premier league clubs to come to Komani and post totals of 500 runs or more and individual batsmen making double tons.
The pitch was as flat and hard as a Free State road. So what did I do?
I commissioned a photo of an open coffin and one of the Sandringham cricket pitch and inserted the picture of the pitch into the coffin and published it on the front page of the Rep with the appropriate caption about the lifelessness of the wicket and demanding it be dug up and relaid.
Well, you can imagine the reaction! Many fans would have happily cleaved me down the middle with a cricket bat and the late “Pops” Littleford, for many years the splendid Sandringham ground curator who lovingly cared for and diligently watered the wicket, refrained from talking to or even greeting me for months.
So lesson learnt – never mess with platteland standards – especially if you’re new in town!
Soon I’ll tell you about my close encounter with Chief Kaizer Matanzima, then president of the independent homeland of Transkei.