President F W Reitz at Eighty
From No Outspan
by Deneys Reitz
In his third book, No Outspan, Deneys Reitz quotes an address signed by all the delegates of a touring Empire Parliamentary Association and presented to his father, F W Reitz. This occurred at a dinner held to celebrate the eightieth birthday of the former Chief Justice and President of the Orange Free State Republic who subsequently, as State Secretary of the Transvaal Republic, wrote the ultimatum that precipitated the Anglo-Boer War in 1899.
The address reads as follows:
Victoria Falls
Southern Rhodesia
5th October 1924
Dear President Reitz
We, who have been your travelling companions, thrown together in the most intimate way for over six weeks, desire to seize the occasion of your eightieth birthday not only to congratulate you upon passing another milestone in your long, full, and public-spirited life, but to assure you of the affectionate regard we have learned to hold for you. One and all, we account it the greatest privilege of our memorable tour that we have had the opportunity of knowing you in your ripe and vigorous old age. You have helped us in many ways of which you are unaware, to appreciate the manliness, courage and generosity of the great people in whose history you have played so large a part.
Your life has covered almost the whole of the distressing period of discord between the two races upon whose friendship and co-operation the well-being of South Africa depends, and in all these troubles you have played a manful and an honourable part. We like to regard it as a happy augury for the future that you should be spending your eightieth birthday in companionship with public men drawn from the four quarters of the globe – men of five nations and at least three languages, all now united in peace, and in the earnest desire that the comradeship of the peoples whom they represent shall never be broken.
What is more, you celebrate this notable anniversary at one of the remoter outposts of the white man in the dark continent which you and yours have done so much to win for civilisation. It is our sincere wish that you may be long spared in the enjoyment of your great powers of public service, and that you may see unbroken peace, a harmony of peoples, and a healthy and just prosperity established beyond the risk of disturbance in the land to which you have devoted your life.
President F. W. Reitz op tagtig
Uit No Outspan
deur Deneys Reitz
In sy derde boek, No Outspan, haal Deneys Reitz ’n erebrief aan wat deur al die afgevaardigdes van ’n toergroep, die Parlementêre Assosiasie van die Empire, onderteken is. Dit is aan sy vader, F. W. Reitz, oorhandig by ’n dinee ter geleentheid van sy tagtigste verjaarsdag. Dié voormalige hoofregter en president van die Republiek van die Oranje Vrystaat het, in sy latere hoedanigheid as staatssekretaris van die Transvaalse Republiek, die ultimatum aan Brittanje geskryf wat tot die Anglo-Boereoorlog gelei het.
Die erebrief lui soos volg:
Victoriawaterval
Suid-Rhodesië
5 Oktober 1924
Geagte president Reitz
Ons, wat vir meer as ses weke lank u metgeselle op hierdie toer is, wil graag, ter geleentheid van u tagtigste verjaarsdag, u nie net gelukwens met nog ’n mylpaal wat u in ’n lang en volle publiekgesinde lewe bereik het nie, maar ook u verseker van die hoë agting wat ons geleer het om vir u te koester. Elkeen van ons op hierdie gedenkwaardige reis beskou dit as die grootste voorreg dat ons die geleentheid gehad het om u te leer ken in u rype en lewenskragtige oudag. U het ons op verskeie maniere waarvan u nie eens bewus is nie, gehelp om die mannemoed, dapperheid en vrygewigheid van dié grootse volk, in wie se geskiedenis u so ’n besonderse rol gespeel het, te waardeer.
U lewe het omtrent die hele ellendige periode van onenigheid tussen die twee volke, op wie se vriendskap en samewerking die welstand van Suid-Afrika afhanklik is, gedek. En u het aan al hierdie probleme ’n manhaftige en eerbare deel gehad. Ons wil dit graag as ’n gelukkige voorspel tot die toekoms beskou dat u u tagtigste verjaarsdag in die geselskap bevind van mense in die openbare lewe afkomstig uit die vier hoeke van die aardbol – persone uit vyf nasies en ten minste drie tale, almal nou verenig in vrede, wat die innige wens koester dat die kameraadskap van die nasies wat hulle verteenwoordig, nooit verbreek sal word nie.
Van verdere belang: U vier hierdie merkwaardige gedenkdag in een van die mees verafgeleë voorposte van die witman in die donker kontinent, waarvoor u en u mense so baie gedoen het om oor te wen vir die beskawing. Dit is ons opregte wens dat u nog lank gespaar sal word om u groot vermoë tot openbare diens te geniet, en dat u ononderbroke vrede en harmonie tussen die volke mag beleef, sowel as ’n gesonde en regverdig gevestigde welvaart wat sal voortduur en ver verwyderd sal wees van verstorings in die land waaraan u u lewe gewy het.
False Bay Fishing
From No Outspan
by Deneys Reitz
False Bay is aptly named. Unlike Table Bay on the opposite side of the Cape Peninsula, it is a treacherous expanse. Dead calm one moment, the next fierce south-easters would beat in from the Antarctic: the waves lashed mountain-high, everything on board banged and pitched from rail to rail, and one had to run for shelter without loss of time.
The mouth of the bay is thirty miles wide, and from the Cape of Good Hope to Cape Hangklip it lies open to the great swells rolling in. It required good seamanship to navigate its stormy reaches in an open boat.
But the weather was not always rough, and the days I best remember were those when we sailed at dawn, the surface smooth as glass. As the fog slowly lifted, we saw vast flocks of Malagasy duck and terns and seagull and cormorant diving into the shoals of sardine, the fall of the birds lashing and churning the sea like shellfire in France.
Amid this hurly-burly would come schools of porpoise, a whale or two, and seals and penguins and sharks, the whole forming a spectacle probably unequalled anywhere in the world. Then we would throw out our lines and pull in great fish – Cape Salmon, cabillaud, Steenbras and other kinds weighing from fifteen to thirty-five pounds and more – until our fingers were numb and the boat was down by the head with the weight of our capture.
We used to go out on Lucky Jim, an eleven tonner belonging to our friend Mr Jim Taylor, the Grand Old Man of False Bay. He was possessed of great wealth and great kindness. He held broad, tolerant views on South African affairs, and his knowledge of the bay and its moods was unrivalled. As often as wind and weather permitted he took us with him, and many were the happy hours we spent in his company.
The False Bay fishermen were a breed unto themselves, mostly Coloured people with a dash of Malay blood in their veins, and the lives they led were those ofCaptains Courageous and the Newfoundland Banks.
The howling storms often made communication by word of mouth impossible, so they evolved a sign language of their own. This was only for the elect and it was not until one had become a member of the lodge, so to speak, that they would initiate an outsider to its mysteries. Mr Taylor, and my sons Jan and Michael and I, had been accepted as belonging to the craft, and we knew the cabala of the bay. In passing other boats we would put hand to forehead, touch our left cheek or right, or lip or chin; we would make three cuts across our arm or dip our tackle high or low, bend a wrist as if to kill a mackerel, or describe a circle, and those across the water would have been told what fish were running, how deep the nearest bank was, whether seal or shark had interfered with our lines, and also the time of day.
The fishermen had grown so accustomed to their alphabet that even in port a man would ask for a match to light his pipe, tell of his thirst, or say he was turning in, by show of hand instead of by word of mouth.
False Bay was a haven of rest from the quarrels of Parliament, and a great source of interest to my boys.
Visvang in Valsbaai
Uit No Outspan
deur Deneys Reitz
Valsbaai is ’n gepaste benaming. Anders as Tafelbaai aan die anderkant van die Kaapse skiereiland, is dit ’n verraderlike stuk water – doodkalm een oomblik en dan skielik het woeste suidoosters so reg vanuit die suidpool gestormwaai. Die hemelhoë golwe het gesweepslag en alles aan boord het van reling tot reling met harde slae gekletter en gegalm, en ’n mens moes sonder versuim blitsig skarrel vir skuiling.
Die mond van die baai is dertig myl breed, en van Kaap die Goeie Hoop tot by Hangklip is dit wyd genoeg vir reusagtige golwe om in te rol. Goeie stuurmanskap was noodsaaklik om dié see se stormagtige mag in ’n oop boot te navigeer.
Maar dit was nie altyd sulke onstuimige weer nie, en die dae wat vir my uitstaan, was toe ons met die oggendstond op ’n doodkalm en rustige baai uitgevaar het. Soos die mis stadig gelig het, het ons groot swerms malgasse, seeswaels, seemeeue en kormorante gesien wat agter die sardientjies aan die see ingeduik het. Die duikslae van die voëls het die water laat woel en spat soos ’n bombardement in Frankryk.
Te midde van die rumoer het skole dolfyne, ’n walvis of twee, en robbe, pikkewyne en haaie meegedoen. So ’n skouspel moes seker ongeëwenaard in die wêreld gewees het. Toe het die tyd gekom dat ons ons lyne uitgegooi en pragtige groot visse ingetrek het – geelbek, kabeljou, steenbras en vele ander, hulle gewig enigiets tussen vyftien tot vyf en dertig pond of meer. Lateraan sou ons vingers lam en dom word, met die boot wat laag in die see sou lê met die gewig van ons vangs.
Dit was ons gewoonte om op Lucky Jim uit te gaan. Dit was ’n elftonner wat aan ons vriend mnr. Jim Taylor, wat ook bekend was as die “Grand ou Kêrel van Valsbaai”, behoort het. Hy was ’n ryk man, maar ook besonder goedgeaard en heel liberaal en verdraagsaam wat betref Suid-Afrikaanse aangeleenthede. Sy kennis van die baai was sonder gelyke. Wanneer die wind en die weer dit ookal toegelaat het, het hy ons saam met hom geneem, en baie aangename ure het ons só saam deurgebring.
Die vistermanne van Valsbaai was enig in hul soort, meestal Bruinmense met ’n titseltjie Maleise bloed in hul are, en hul lewenswyse was soos Captains Courageous en die Newfoundland Banks.
Die gierende storms het dit baie maal onmoontlik gemaak om met mekaar te praat, en so het hulle ’n gebaretaal van hulle eie ontwerp. Dit was net vir die uitgesoektes en jy moes eers ’n lid van die losie word, as mens dit so kan noem, dat hulle jou as ’n buitestander sou inlaat in dié verborgenhede. Mnr. Taylor, ek en my seuns, Jan en Michael, is aanvaar as behorende aan die boot, en ons het die kabbala van die baai geken. Soos ons verby ander bote gevaar het, het ons ons voorkoppe aangeraak, óf die linkerwang, óf die regter, óf die lip, óf die ken. Ons kon drie sny-bewegings oor die arm maak, óf ons visgerei omhoog hou óf laag laat sak – die gewrig so buig asof ’n makriel uit die lewe gehelp word, of om met die arm ’n sirkelbeweging uit te voer – en die manne daar aan anderkant van die water sou verstaan watter vis aan die loop was, die nabyheid van die naaste bank, óf ’n rob óf ’n haai met ons lyne gepeuter het, en ook hoe laat dit was.
Die vissers het so gewoond geraak aan hulle alfabet dat selfs as ’n man in die hawe sou vra vir ’n vuurhoutjie vir sy pyp, óf vertel hoe dors hy het, óf verduidelik dat hy van plan was om te gaan inkruip, hy dit sou doen met ’n handbeweging veel eerder as mondelings.
Valsbaai het ’n rustige toevlugsoord vir my geword, weg van die parlement se geredekawelry, en vir my seuns ’n groot bron van belangstelling.
Aftermath of the First World War
From Trekking On
by Deneys Reitz
We celebrated Hogmanay Nicht in the riotous fashion demanded by the regimental tradition of the Scots Fusiliers, and I was piped round the next morning with a terrible headache, to toast the New Year at the mess room of each of the four companies.
I spent the first fortnight of 1919 attending to my duties, and riding about the German countryside that lay all blanketed in snow.
The prospect, however, of spending the rest of the winter in these bleak surroundings was unattractive, and now that the excitement of war was gone, reaction had set in, and I was eager to return to South Africa. I applied for leave to proceed to London for the purpose of getting demobilised, and with the help of General Fisher my request was granted.
To me it had been terrible but not degrading, and I came away with a higher, not a lower, opinion of my fellow men. My chief memory is of great friendships, and of millions of men on both sides who did what they thought they had to do without becoming the brutes that some writers say they were.
I soon found that it was easier to get into the British Army than to get out of it, and I spent several weeks frequenting the corridors of the War Office with hundreds of others, all vainly trying to get their demobilisation papers.
During the intervals of importuning the higher powers, I made several visits to General Botha and General Smuts, who were making ready to attend the Peace Conference at Versailles.
General Botha had just arrived from the Union for the purpose. He looked ill and worn, for the long strain had told upon him, and the knowledge that so many of his own race misunderstood his actions, and looked upon him as an enemy, was breaking his heart.
He said to me that, remembering how we had tasted the bitterness of defeat in days gone by, and how the sting had been softened by magnanimous peace terms, he and General Smuts were opposed to a treaty that would leave the Germans a broken people.
Of the position in South Africa he spoke sadly. He said that narrow men were still conducting a relentless racial campaign that was dividing the people, and that a united nation was far off.
He died soon after his return to the Union, and I did not see him again. He was the most honourable and the most lovable man I ever knew.
From that night of the Spion Kop battle, eighteen years before, I had been his follower, and in South Africa we who hold his faith are still treading the road upon which he set us.
Nadraai van die Eerste Wêreldoorlog
Uit Trekking On
deur Deneys Reitz
Ons het Hogmanay Nicht (Oujaarsdagnag) gevier op die oproerige en lawaaierige manier soos vereis deur die reglementêre tradisie van die Skotse Fusiliers. Die volgende oggend, met ’n verskriklike hoofpyn, het ek saam met ’n doedelsakorkes die rondtes gedoen om by die menasiekamers van al vier die kompanie-eenhede ’n glasie te klink.
Die eerste twee weke van 1919 het ek deurgebring deur aandag te gee aan my pligte en om deur die Duitse platteland te ry wat oortrek was met sneeu.
Die vooruitsig egter om die res van die winter in hierdie droewige omgewing deur te bring, was heel onaantreklik, en nou dat die opwinding van oorlog weg was, het reaksie ingetree. Ek was gretig om na Suid-Afrika toe terug te keer. Ek het aansoek gedoen vir verlof om na Londen te gaan met die doel om te demobiliseer, en met die hulp van generaal Fisher is my versoek toegestaan.
Die oorlog was vir my verskriklik maar nogtans nie vernederend nie, en ek het daar vertrek met ’n hoër, en nie ’n laer, opinie van my medemens. My vernaamste herinnering is van hegte vriendskapsbande, en van miljoene manne aan beide kante wat gedoen het wat hulle gedink het hulle moes doen sonder om die skurke te word soos sommige skrywers beweer het.
Ek het gou uitgevind dat dit makliker was om by die Britse weermag aan te sluit as om daaruit ontslaan te word, en vir weke lank het ek met veelvuldige besoeke die gange van die Oorlogskantore platgeloop, saam met honderde ander wat almal tevergeefs probeer het om hulle demobilariseringspapiere te kry.
Gedurende die tussenposes wanneer ek nie die gesaghebbende magte lastig geval het nie, het ek verskeie kere generaal Botha en generaal Smuts besoek. Hulle was besig met voorbereidings om die Vredeskonferensie by Versailles by te woon.
Dit was juis die rede waarom generaal Botha so pas uit Suid-Afrika daar aangekom het. Hy het siek en vermoeid gelyk. Die langdurige ooreising het sy tol geëis. Die wete dat so baie van sy eie mense sy optredes misverstaan het, en hom as 'n vyand beskou het, was besig om sy hart te breek.
Hy het aan my gesê dat, in die onthou daarvan hoe ons die bitterheid van nederlaag in vervloë dae gesmaak het, en hoe die wroeging versag is deur grootmoedige vredestermes, hy en generaal Smuts ’n verdrag teëgestaan het wat die Duitsers ’n gebroke nasie sou laat.
Oor die toestand van Suid-Afrika het hy met weemoed gepraat. Hy het gesê dat bekrompe mense nog steeds ’n meedoënlose rassistiese veldtog gevoer het. Dit het die nasie verdeel het, en ’n verenigde nasie was nog ver in die verskiet.
Kort na sy terugkeer Suid-Afrika toe, het hy gesterf, en ek het hom nooit weer gesien nie. Hy was die eerbaarste en mees innemende man wat ek ooit geken het.
Sedert daardie nag van die geveg by Spioenkop, agtien jaar gelede, was ek sy volgeling, en in Suid-Afrika bewandel ons, wat sy geloof navolg, nog steeds die pad wat hy vir ons aangedui het.
Art, Johannesburg and the Poet's Embroidered Lie
by Herman Charles Bosman
Fiction is different from history. At least, I suppose, that is what an historian would maintain, ignoring for the moment the immortality that is in good fiction. Because when all is said and done, it is not dull fact – recorded in terms of historical truth – that survives. If you wait long enough, you’ll see that in the end historical fact, carefully checked and audited by the historian, cedes pride of place to the poet’s embroidered lie.
* * *
Frankly, I believe that as a source of new cultural inspiration to the world, Europe is finished.
Europe has a background of unrivalled magnificence. Almost every town and city of Western Europe is impregnated with ancient splendour, but as far as the spirit of the peoples of Western Europe is concerned, these glories have run to seed.
For this reason it is most depressing to find painters in this country – some of them not without a good measure of creative talent – slavishly following the tricks of technique that contemporary European artists are employing with ever-increasing complication of subjective subtleties, as a substitute for individuality. Nothing can take the place of the raw inspiration of life itself, expressed with all the strength of a creative personality. And nobody knows this better than the European artists themselves. They’re not glad that their inner force has decayed; it’s just that they can’t help themselves.
It is therefore all the more regrettable that our South African artists, as a whole, should have no clear sense of values in this matter. You can learn all the technique you like from Europe – that’s what Europe is there for – but if you don’t put your own spirit into what you paint, either because you have no spirit of your own or because you don’t know how to express it, then what you produce cannot be anything more than synthetic rubbish.
I believe, however, that this is only a passing phase. South African artists are not trying to meet Europe on her own ground, which in itself would be an impossible enough task, they’re actually trying to copy Europe on her own ground. This is pure clownishness.
But this stage will pass. After that, I believe, South Africa – with Johannesburg as its cultural centre – will find itself in an era of inspired creation, sprung forth from the passion of love for this country. Then we’ll produce art that reaches real heights of grandeur because the note it strikes is authentic, and this beauty will endure because it is our own.
We have everything for it here. What has already been achieved in Afrikaans literature augurs well for the future. America has produced Edgar Allan Poe and Mark Twain, two sublime literary figures whose true influence is being felt only today.
But Africa has not yet spoken.
* * *
I believe it is possible to see Johannesburg as it really is only when we view it as a place of mystery and romance – as a city wrapped in mist. Is there any other city that is less than sixty years old, and the origin of its name is already lost in the shadows of time?
People who were present at the christening of Johannesburg say the town was named after the second baptismal name of President Kruger. Others with equal authority say it was called Johannesburg after Johan Rissik. Other candidates – and in each case their names are put forward on the most excellent authority – include Christiaan Johannes Joubert, Veldkornet Johannes Meyer, Johannes Lindeque, and Willem Gerhardus Christoffel Pelser (the latter, possibly, because his seemed to be the only set of names that didn’t have Johannes in it).
There are at least another dozen claimants. And you need have no hesitation in supporting any one of them. The evidence in each case is indisputable.
With its skyscrapers, Johannesburg is today no mean city. These tall edifices of concrete and steel would look highly imposing anywhere, let alone just being dumped down in the middle of the veld. But we still bear one or two traces of our mining-camp origin.
Take, for instance, the Public Library.
[Circa 1940]
