Closing time for parly’s genial, discreet Barney
BARMAN Barney Barnard would rock the house if he ever revealed the political secrets of South Africa’s parliamentarians.
Barnard, who this week hung up his apron after 40 years in the parliamentary bar in Cape Town, certainly has some stories to tell.
For years “I’ll meet you at Barney’s” or “We’ll sort it out over a drink at Barney’s” was a byword for political intrigue, friendship, betrayal and manoeuvring.
Barnard — who has retired to his home in Bellville with his wife Juliana and his children — was parliament’s barman extraordinaire. He saw much but told little. He witnessed political ambitions being realised and hopes being dashed. He served the celebratory drinks for the successes, and provided liquid solace for the failures. He saw the powerful triumph, and many a great man cry. He saw it all.
His career in parliament’s bar began on January 16 1975 when John Vorster was prime minister and apartheid was in full force. A few defence force conscripts were asked to help at the grand opening of the parliamentary session, which in those days took place in January.
One of Barnard’s first big tasks was to accompany a train to Victoria Falls in August that year. The train was parked on the bridge spanning the falls, and the democratisation of Rhodesia/Zimbabwe was negotiated.
“They were all there — [Rhodesian leader] Ian Smith, [future Zimbabwean president] Robert Mugabe, Vorster, [Zambian leader Kenneth] Kaunda, [defence minister] PW Botha. We were not allowed to have anything to do with Mugabe’s food, and his people were not allowed anywhere near us. Mutual fear of poisoning abounded,” Barnard recalled.
During the parliamentary recess, Barnard worked on the railways and in 1978 became the first waiter to serve a black passenger on the Blue Train. All the other waiters refused. Barnard bore the brunt of cruel racist comments by colleagues long afterwards.
He was to see much more of Botha, who became prime minister and then state president, and whose wife, Tannie Elize, took a liking to Barnard. He worked at the Botha home in Wilderness, an undertaking marked by contradictions.
“If I were to use two doilies, she would admonish me for wasting taxpayers’ money,” said Barnard.
In those days, waiters like Barnard
AS PW BOTHA ONCE SAID: Parliamentary barman Barney Barnard at his home in Bellville, Cape Town
We were not allowed to have anything to do with Mugabe’s food, and his people were not allowed anywhere near us. Mutual fear of poisoning abounded
WHAT’LL IT BE? Barnard with President Jacob Zuma, IFP leader Mangosuthu Buthelezi (‘always a gentleman’) and as a young barman on the railways were expected to wait, motionless, in the corner of the room until required. The Bothas’ teenage son Rossouw took pleasure in taking pot shots at Barnard with nuts, who was not allowed to move but was scolded by Tannie Elize about the nutty mess her little angel made.
After FW de Klerk took over in 1989, things became more relaxed. Overseas and black visitors became commonplace. Barnard helped with the catering at Tuynhuys on the day Nelson Mandela’s release was announced, and on the day of his presidential inauguration.
In the democratic dispensation, he proved equally valuable, and no less a personage than the then Speaker Frene Ginwala put her foot down when there were moves to place him elsewhere.
US president Bill Clinton, Britain’s Queen Elizabeth, cabinet minister Blade Nzimande, EFF leader Julius Malema . . . he has seen them come and go, and has a tale about each.
Visit him at home in Bellville and you will hear a host of stories about South Africa.
For Barnard, a much-loved institution at parliament, last rounds have not quite been served.
If I were to use two doilies, she would admonish me for wasting taxpayers’ money