Not too far from Mandys – Norman House in Doornfontein. Check out Marc’s post to see more Doories places.
Doornfontein, a special suburb that was home to rich plunderers in the gold rush days, then fell upon hard times. It enjoyed a brief revival in respectability and class when we lived there as students ca.1974. Us and Agnes.
The big annual prize-giving took place in 1972 – my matric year – and I didn’t win a single trophy, cup, certificate or handshake. But I was not to worry, Annie insisted. Here’s the letter she wrote me from George in the Southern Cape where she spent the only three years of her ninety outside Harrismith:
15th
Have just received your mother’s letter, containing the report on school prize-giving. Good for you son – I’m very pleased with your results. I’m sure you are not upset about not winning a cup. Think of the bother of cleaning them. In any case you can always show off the Bland Racing Cups! The heat here is horrific and no sign of rain.
Love to all
Annie
So there! Who needs to win trophies anyway? Unless it’s for horseracing. That’s different and highly prized. Even if that sport may have contributed to losing the farm.
I just love the characteristic unemotional, no-nonsense approach. That’s me Gran! Academics! Who needs them?
The feature pic is Annie in George, looking queenish with matching twinset and corgi accessory.
Here she is in George again round about the same time, in a dress and uncomfortable shoes cos it’s a wedding. Corgi at her feet. Not her corgi, mind you. She didn’t do animals, she played golf and drove motorcars. Also owned and ran a Caltex garage and a Volkswagen motorcar agency. At one time she sold 1200cc VW Beetles for R1199.
I think these are the vaunted Bland trophies up on top of the cupboard in the dining room at 95 Stuart Street. Horse-racing! Now those are trophies worth polishing!
Not personally, you understand – you get someone to polish them.
~~oo0oo~~
After the farm was lost and circumstances were more frugal, Annie would say at the dinner table, gently mocking: ‘I still ring the bell, then I get up and fetch it myself.’
Staunch Methodist and Mom Mary’s teacher in Harrismith way back when, Tom Moll, sent a note for the centenary of the old church. It included this truthful bit of important information, which I repeat here cos I luvvit:
~~
When we first came to Richmond, Natal in ’47 we met up with a Mr Jim Barclay, who had been a policeman at Kromhof (near Mont Pelaan, the then Christina) and he had quite a bit of contact with Harrismith during the rebellion, so we had an interesting chat, and he gave me this little piece of doggerel:
I always thought that Johburg was, and has been since its birth, Without equivocation, the greatest place on earth. I also thought that London was the greatest city known, With its many million people, and the Queen upon the throne. But now a brother tells me That this is all a myth, For the greatest place upon this earth Is known as Harrismith !
I often say My Mom Mary played the organ in the Harrismith Methodist Church for a hundred years and I had to go to church twice every Sunday for all those years and more.
I exaggerate.
Her predecessor, Uncle Wright Liddell actually played for longer than she did, and he was the organist for sixty three years. I’m not sure how long Mom was. A guess: Uncle Wright died in 1967, so it was before that that he pulled Mary aside and said I want you to take over from me. So if Mary played and sang from ’67 to ’97 it was thirty years. I must ask her. Mom said he told her, ‘playing the organ is different to the piano; slide your hands over the keys.’
Here’s Uncle Wright when he was little – out at Witsieshoek at a wedding. He’s the liddellest Liddell seated on the steps front right.
The pic is from the lovely story of the Cronjes of Witsieshoek. Mom always spoke of Corrie and Len Cronje. She says her Mom Annie and Rosalie Cronje were great friends.
Corrie’s daughter Liz Groves-Finnie has written the family story. If you want to read it, write to her at lizfinnie (at) g mail.com – she’ll tell you where you can read it.
~~oo0oo~~
With all those Liddells, it’s only right that the middle row was called middell, innit?
The O broers, Frik and his boet were legends in Welkom. They owned a large transport company and made serious money. Built like double-door refrigerators, they wore khaki. Khaki shirts, khaki shorts, khaki long socks and sturdy velskoens. Brown. En ‘n hoed.
They also wore thick brown spectacle frames and tinted lenses. Safilo Elasta if you know frames. Tough. Heavy. Severe.
The pinch-of-salt story was told how they walked into a car dealership in Joburg and asked to look at the cars. The poncy salesman took one look and decided those velskoens were not going to press the accelerator in his Lambos; and so he gave them short shrift. They asked to speak to the boss and bought matching yellow Lamborghinis from him. Paid cash, of course.
Well, I don’t know exact facts, but I certainly saw one of the Lambos in Welkom. A lekker bright yellow one. One was parked right outside while I tested Frik’s eyes.
Apparently they had a large fleet of trucks shipping coal to power stations. Maybe even to Newcastle. And they flew a helicopter or two. ‘They’ said. Some people just go big! Or Gaan Groot!
– seen on the Welkom horseshoe – or maybe not –
~~oo0oo~~
I checked the detail with my Welkom boss from back in 1978 and he said, in his laconic way, Yep, About Right.
Mr & Mrs MacFadyen had a shop in Harrismith where they sold implements. Farm implements Mom? I dunno, says 96yr-old Mom, I think so.
Mom waxes forth: They lived in a house near Dr Reitz. That’s in the centre of town. They had four boys and Margaret. Then I think Mrs said ‘enough.‘
We always pronounced their name ‘MacFadgin.’ I don’t know why. It was spelt with a Y but pronounced MacFadgin or MacFadjin.
All four boys went to war and only two came back.
Douglas and Ian died, Billy and Bruce made it home. When the King and Queen came to Harrismith in 1947 they made a point of calling Mr & Mrs MacFadyen up to shake their hands.
The feature pic is Kaoxa Camp near Mapungubwe. I used it because across the road is a Duncan MacFadyen gate to the Oppenheimer ranch/diamond mine. He is a conservationist and maybe a descendant of our MacFadyen boys, who knows?
Mom was playing golf on the front lawn of Granny Bland’s home in Stuart Street. Her Dad Frank had laid out a course and Annie, Frank, cousin Leslie and her youngest son Michael joined in, Michael only about 4yrs old. As they were playing, James Farquhar Esq walked past, raised his hat and said in his broad Scots accent, straight from Orkney Archipelago, “Good Morning Frank!” Frank replied, “Good morning Jimmy.”
Raising his club lil Michael called out, “Good morning Jimmy!”
Mom and Leslie packed up laughing. That just wasn’t done, you know, back then, says Mom chuckling now, eighty years later. For a little boy to call a gentleman by his nickname!
– Granny Bland standing on the fairway –
~~oo0oo~~
Orkney is 10 miles colder than Wick in Caithness, where our great-grandad Stewart Bain came from. It’s off the Scottish mainland and consists of seventy little islands. So it should be called Orkney Islands, or Orkney Archipelago, but no, the Orkney ous call it Orkney and they call the biggest of those tiny islands “the Mainland.”
Arts n Crafts were not I nie. I made a skinkbord in houtwerk and it was coming along nicely. I could envisage a gold OK maybe bronze medal at the Landbou Skou. One of those ribbons, a rosette, maybe a card saying ‘excellent dovetail joints’ or some such.
Sanding was a pain tho, so when Giel wasn’t watching I gryp’d the belt sander and ‘sped things up.’
Oops! That machine has quite a kick! Varktap. End of my skinkbord!
Sheila, tell me again where Generaal de Wet fits in to Ouma’s family. Apparently he won a battle in the Freestate where the Hysterical Tour is headed right now, so I need to brag about my connections.
When the Brits win the battle Ken Gillings is brainwashing us about, I tell them about Annie and her love of Mrs Queen, but this battle I’m gonna need my Boer connections.
Who else can I claim?
~~oo0oo~~
Sheila: Not de Wet, but de la Rey and Botha
Not de Wet – but de la Rey. Ouma’s ouma (her mother’s mother) was Boer Generaal Koos de la Rey’s sister – she married a Bezuidenhout and produced a daughter who married a Bodenstein and they produced Ouma. So we are directly descended from de la Rey’s father, not Gen Koos de la Rey himself.
Boer Generaal Louis Botha was married to John Bland’s first cousin, Annie Bland Emmett. John FA Bland II was Granny Bland’s husband. He was a lawyer in Harrismith – his own wife called him Mr Bland!
Mr John Bland and Annie Bland Emmett were both grandchildren of Josiah Benjamin Adam Bland – the first Bland who came to SA in 1829. He became mayor of Mossel Bay – the main street is named after him. I have the letter of introduction he had for the Cape and the ship captain’s receipt for his passage on the Nautilus; Hugh Bland has the ring he was wearing. He married a du Plessis and had lots of kids.
There is something about the English Blands from Harrismith going to Ceylon as POWs during the Boer War, but I’m not exactly sure who they were – must have been two of our Granddad Frank’s brothers?
~~oo0oo~~
Me:
Aha! So: General Koos de la Rey had a sister who had a great great great great (4 greats) grandson: Me, Koos.
Anyone who fought for the Brits?
~~oo0oo~~
Sheila:
No, not four greats – just two.
Sister of de la Rey married a Bezuidenhout. Her Daughter married a Bodenstein. Then her Granddaughter (our Ouma) married a Swanepoel. Ouma and Oupa Swanepoel in Maritzburg.
So her Granddaughter was Ouma. Her Great Grandson was our Dad. And her Great Great Grandson was YOU!
I don’t know of any Pom soldiers.
And that’s it, I’m afraid.
~~oo0oo~~
So I’m two greats down from the sister of ‘The Lion of The West,’ and have zero bragging rights in any Freestate battles, zero connection to Die Dapper Generaal De Wet! *sigh* Gonna have to keep my mouth shut on this Hysterical Tour outing.
