Spirited Swellendam
An ancestral research trip turns up much more than expected for Nancy Richards
THE Other Half had recently discovered he had forebears who’d not only lived in Swellendam, but had also had streets named after them.
Preliminary phone enquiries all led to the Drostdy Museum and staff member Miemie Rothman, the accepted source of all early knowledge relating to Swellendam. Her pioneering family is remembered in town by the five-star Rothman Manor guesthouse, circa 1834.
Impressively, Rothman and curator Johan Kriek had done some advance work for us in the archives. By the time we got there, a listing had been found and photocopied and, after some choreography between the cluster of museum buildings, we finally had the precious document in hand.
Oral account being so much more juicy, we decided to track down Rothman in person. She agreed to see us at her home, set deep among heritage overgrowth in the well-settled part of town.
She beckoned us up the stairs, each tread hosting her grandmother Marie Elizabeth Rothman’s collection of archaeological artefacts. We sat on a bankie poring over sepia photos and fine print and Rothman shared as much as she could remember of the forebears, some of whom had been known to her grandmother.
Miemie’s grandmother, MER, as was her nom de plume, turned out to have been a bit of a piece herself.
Born in Swellendam in 1875, she was a trailblazer among women journalists, working first for Die Boerevrou and later as an editor at Die Burger. She won literary prizes and honorary doctorates and died just days after her 100th birthday.
Her home, now Miemie’s, is called Kom Nader — Come Hither. Doing her own bit for the advancement of culture, Rothman wondered as we left if she’d see us at the Dance For All, Stepping Out Concert tour that night at the hoërskool .
Still on the scent of our own forebears and their tribute streets, our next stop was SAPS, who would surely know their location.
Well, crime must have been low that day as a keen constable offered to escort us.
“Follow the van,” he said, taking off at a lick from the station forecourt.
We trailed dutifully behind and eventually, way up on the hill, there it was, the family moniker moulded into a slab of street kerb concrete and painted yellow. We took pictures for posterity.
Having earned ourselves a break from the past, we drove back into town in search of more contemporary diversion. Swellendam is full of surprises and two contrasting experiences presented themselves.
First the huge and Italianate Tredici, which offers fuel for the body and a patisserie selection that would be more at home in Sandton.
Then for the soul, a cupboard-sized Eco-Shop in the shadow of the iconic NGK. It’s an outlet selling grains, ginseng, heirloom seeds and organic vegetables from the Seonae Eco-Centre near Bonnievale, where they are dedicated to living in harmony with the universe and sourcing local produce from their own and neighbouring farms.
We reflected on all this abundance later, on the deck of our self-catering apartment at Arumvale Country House in the Hermitage Valley, just outside of town.
The view from the director’s chair, softened with a crocheted blanket, is an image to carry in the head and bring out in times of stress.
A pinnacle of the Langeberg mountain range reaching into the sky, a Hardy-esque herd of cows cropping quietly till milking time, scurrying guinea fowl and a bank of arums running the length of the river... Sigh.
So having sat for some time gazing and inert, I was called out of my reverie by Arumvale’s owner, Bev Missing: would I like a lift to the Dance For All concert?
It turned out to be a triumph, a piece of jazz-pizazz, Hollywood in the hinterland.
Still basking in his heritage, the Other Half had declined a ticket to the dance.
He spent a few happy hours at the Full Stop cafe-bar in Voortrekker Street, outside of which hangs a notice that says “Day Care Centre for Husbands”. He’d found his tribe. — ©