We used to do ballet and a bit of tap dancing in the Masonic Hall. Cathy Bain gave us dancing lessons. Dossie and Ursula were very supple, me not so much.
Singing: Sometimes we’d get together at the Methodist Manse. Tommy vd Bosch would play his guitar and sing ‘Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care, the master’s gone away!
Trudi Els and I would sing, Heigh Ho Come to the Fair; Kom Dans Klaradyn; and Because, as a trio, with PietNel van Reenen’s sister Dalene. Mamie Smith (Putterill) would play the piano.
I was the hockey captain even though Sylvia Bain was a better player than me. I played centre forward and Sylvia was centre half. Joey de Beer was in charge of getting the balls back to school. We would walk back, crossing over the railway line on the pedestrian bridge with zinc tin sidings. We would hit the sides with our hockey sticks and make a big noise!
Bobbie or Bertie Bland died in WW2 of malaria.
Me: Wasn’t it WW1 Mom?
Or was it WW1? she muses.
~~oo0oo~~
The bird? Just holding the place till I find a relevant picture.
Now (Feb 2025) Mom learned her dear friend Trudi Els passed away.
They actually called it stoei, and it was considered character-building, but all I could think of was sweaty smelly bodies, encountered way too intimately for my liking. I dunno why, but I wasn’t fond of smelling okes’ buttholes. Same when I played slot and 8th man in rugby. But this was early in my life, before under 11 rugby, and before Heilige Giel made me a man.
Stoei oefening was in the Harrismith Masonic Hall in Bester Street, across the road west of the town hall. And when you’re secretly more interested in the petrified tree lying on the lawn outside than in a new stranglehold to grip a sweaty ou in, you should perhaps realise you’re never going to go far in this, the sport of kings (ja, ja, depends who you ask). Maybe I’d have done better wrestling in the Pharaohs’ days, when it seems they weren’t quite into ‘grappling’ as much. I’d still be the oke on the left, though.
When you arrived at the Masonic Hall back in my heyday of wrestling, ca.1964, you’d first have to go up the beautiful wooden staircase with its carved banisters and get a grip on the thick heavy mats stored against the wall, then dump them over onto the ground floor, then roll them out. They were there to prevent you getting hurt by the hard floor, as hurting you was the job of the other ous. When the torture ended and Ma came to fetch you in the light blue Volksie you had to schlep them back up the stairs and store them away before you could escape.
The coach was a meneer Joubert, and his sons – Anton and Leon – were kranige stoeiers. And kranig is what you needed to be if you wanted to advance in stoei. To the next level, where stronger okes could bend you into even tighter shapes and get you to smell your own butthole if they felt like it. That wasn’t really one of my sporting goals and I think it showed.
Around about then I developed asthma and I suspect the smell caused it.
Inside the hall – now a furniture shop – showing the ceiling I stared at while knotted; that petrified tree; the Masonic Hall foundation stone laid by an ancestor ‘Worshipful Master’ Alex Caskie, with another ancestor ‘Warden’ James Bain – Thanks for the pics are due to Horst Muller of https://www.ruralexploration.co.za – his site is very interesting, worth a visit!
~~oo0oo~~
See what I mean about stoei? – “Cave paintings in the Bayankhongor Province of Mongolia dating back to Neolithic age ca.7000 BCE show grappling of two naked men surrounded by crowds.” Give me the 150 million year old tree any day, thanks, it seems more civilised.
Vrystaat Confessions 