Good Memories
Brothers in Trouble
We saw my mother once a week - she would come home on a Friday evening and left on a Sunday afternoon. When she came home with a train on Fridays, she would stand on Claremont Station, waiting until it was dark. Do you know why? Because when she walked the street - it was Granny Swaine and next door, the Rushens - and she would hear, 'My dear! Your boys did this, your boys did that!', and she got so tired of hearing how naughty we were every week. Once Granny Swaine - a nice, stout lady - said to my mother one day as she came home (they always used to tell her not to give us a hiding): 'Your boys threw stones on my roof. And when I spoke to them they did this!' and she hitched up the back of her dress and showed her behind to my mother! My brother and I were hiding in the garden watching all of this. After that my mother always waited at the station until it was dark before she walked home.
Isaac Thomas, Heather St.
We saw my mother once a week - she would come home on a Friday evening and left on a Sunday afternoon. When she came home with a train on Fridays, she would stand on Claremont Station, waiting until it was dark. Do you know why? Because when she walked the street - it was Granny Swaine and next door, the Rushens - and she would hear, 'My dear! Your boys did this, your boys did that!', and she got so tired of hearing how naughty we were every week. Once Granny Swaine - a nice, stout lady - said to my mother one day as she came home (they always used to tell her not to give us a hiding): 'Your boys threw stones on my roof. And when I spoke to them they did this!' and she hitched up the back of her dress and showed her behind to my mother! My brother and I were hiding in the garden watching all of this. After that my mother always waited at the station until it was dark before she walked home.
Isaac Thomas, Heather St.
Morrises and Minors
The first car I ever bought was from the British hippies who lived in our street: York Street. One of them was returning to London and sold his car to me - that was my first car. It was a 1958 Morris Minor and it had a small air vent and those little arms on the indicator - and we even went to Joburg in it! I enlisted my sister's husband who was a mechanic, because the car was so old - I was worried we'd get stuck! And you know, absolutely nothing happened to that car - the drive was so smooth. Once we got to Joburg, all the boys made a fuss about the car. I remember that on one of our walks in Joburg, one of our friends' brothers arrived & told us "Come, let me show you the real Joburg." and he took us to see Chinatown and all the other interesting places.
These boys who we met up with were all just friends of ours, but still they would have a place to stay with my family on York Street whenever they came to visit Cape Town. At the start of the school summer holidays, they would just hop on a train straight from Johannesburg to Cape Town, and they'd come to our house and get free board and lodging because they were students and couldn't afford vacations. They would come, no money, and just enjoy the school holidays in Cape Town.
Salegga Mustapha, York Rd.
The first car I ever bought was from the British hippies who lived in our street: York Street. One of them was returning to London and sold his car to me - that was my first car. It was a 1958 Morris Minor and it had a small air vent and those little arms on the indicator - and we even went to Joburg in it! I enlisted my sister's husband who was a mechanic, because the car was so old - I was worried we'd get stuck! And you know, absolutely nothing happened to that car - the drive was so smooth. Once we got to Joburg, all the boys made a fuss about the car. I remember that on one of our walks in Joburg, one of our friends' brothers arrived & told us "Come, let me show you the real Joburg." and he took us to see Chinatown and all the other interesting places.
These boys who we met up with were all just friends of ours, but still they would have a place to stay with my family on York Street whenever they came to visit Cape Town. At the start of the school summer holidays, they would just hop on a train straight from Johannesburg to Cape Town, and they'd come to our house and get free board and lodging because they were students and couldn't afford vacations. They would come, no money, and just enjoy the school holidays in Cape Town.
Salegga Mustapha, York Rd.
How I Stayed In Claremont
Note: I met with Mrs Ray Hendricks at the age of 96 years, the day before she was moving to a retirement home. Until this day in 2014, she had managed to remain in her home in Harfield Village, despite numerous attempts to move her from the large home she owned. A documentary is available in which she speaks about her experience.
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My neighbour said, ‘Oh no, we’re going to sign to move – you’re getting so much per square meter, and so on and so on. I stayed. I PRAYED every time when those people came. They’ve got their folder with pages and pages on 58 Prince’s street. "Aren’t you going to go? We’re building a nice little township in Kuilsriver." I will never forget. This big – just like this. Do you think I can go with my furniture into those little houses in Kuilsriver? They felt ashamed. That was only once. After that, came the estate agents. They came and they came and they came. Until finally a woman phoned me and I was so very tired of getting hammered with “When are you going to sell your house? You’ve got to sell your house!” This is how they talk! And I said, “I’m sorry to say you people are a lot of vultures waiting for us to fall. Not another estate agent bothered me after that.
People won’t believe the power of prayer! When they came, I remember praying for the words for what to tell the people who were coming to take my house. They told me if I wanted to keep my house they would give me a market value, and I would have the basic value. And the difference between the market value and the basic value was what I had to pay to live in my own house! I managed to pay it!
But, when that chappy came around to value my house, he stood in the kitchen. I said ‘Lord Jesus, just help this man to keep the value down.’ I suppose he did, I don’t know what the value was but I know the difference I had to pay! And I stayed.
Ray Hendricks, Prince's St.
Note: I met with Mrs Ray Hendricks at the age of 96 years, the day before she was moving to a retirement home. Until this day in 2014, she had managed to remain in her home in Harfield Village, despite numerous attempts to move her from the large home she owned. A documentary is available in which she speaks about her experience.
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My neighbour said, ‘Oh no, we’re going to sign to move – you’re getting so much per square meter, and so on and so on. I stayed. I PRAYED every time when those people came. They’ve got their folder with pages and pages on 58 Prince’s street. "Aren’t you going to go? We’re building a nice little township in Kuilsriver." I will never forget. This big – just like this. Do you think I can go with my furniture into those little houses in Kuilsriver? They felt ashamed. That was only once. After that, came the estate agents. They came and they came and they came. Until finally a woman phoned me and I was so very tired of getting hammered with “When are you going to sell your house? You’ve got to sell your house!” This is how they talk! And I said, “I’m sorry to say you people are a lot of vultures waiting for us to fall. Not another estate agent bothered me after that.
People won’t believe the power of prayer! When they came, I remember praying for the words for what to tell the people who were coming to take my house. They told me if I wanted to keep my house they would give me a market value, and I would have the basic value. And the difference between the market value and the basic value was what I had to pay to live in my own house! I managed to pay it!
But, when that chappy came around to value my house, he stood in the kitchen. I said ‘Lord Jesus, just help this man to keep the value down.’ I suppose he did, I don’t know what the value was but I know the difference I had to pay! And I stayed.
Ray Hendricks, Prince's St.
When Our Differences Didn't Stop Our Friendships
When we played, we played football & rugby & such in the street. What was amazing about Claremont was that we all knew each other & played together. Irrespective of our religion. When it was Maghrib - you know, when you make Salaah & that - even my Christian buddies knew when it was time to stop playing & go home. So that kind of respect was there for each other. My buddy nearby, for example, Brian Davids - he and everyone knew: 'Stop playing, game's finished, we all go home' and then we (the Muslim kids) would go to Mosque. It was kind of like, even though you are Christian, you know my religion. Even though I'm a Muslim, I know your religion. When it came to Sundays, we knew we had to respect that the Christian kids went to church. And that, I think is the thing today which is missing in our communities today.
I attended Kenilworth Methodist Primary school & it was very strict. The magic part of that school was, though - whether you were Christian or whether you were Muslim, every Friday morning you went to church. I was an altar boy in church & I'm a Muslim! I carried the candles. And I sung hymns like 'Oh come let us adore him'. I was in the nativity play. I also remember that we always came last in athletics - but we always won the prize of best dressed!
When it came to play & sport, our group of kids on our road would challenge the kids in the other road. And it would be a real challenge! If it was football, it was a real game! Even though we played on a field without grass, just sand, it was the most amazing game. When we were done (because we always played up until the last minute up until the moment you needed to be at home!), we all went running in different directions to get home. Then we would meet each other and talk about the game at school the next day. Such happy times.
Boebie Cassiem, 1st Avenue.
When we played, we played football & rugby & such in the street. What was amazing about Claremont was that we all knew each other & played together. Irrespective of our religion. When it was Maghrib - you know, when you make Salaah & that - even my Christian buddies knew when it was time to stop playing & go home. So that kind of respect was there for each other. My buddy nearby, for example, Brian Davids - he and everyone knew: 'Stop playing, game's finished, we all go home' and then we (the Muslim kids) would go to Mosque. It was kind of like, even though you are Christian, you know my religion. Even though I'm a Muslim, I know your religion. When it came to Sundays, we knew we had to respect that the Christian kids went to church. And that, I think is the thing today which is missing in our communities today.
I attended Kenilworth Methodist Primary school & it was very strict. The magic part of that school was, though - whether you were Christian or whether you were Muslim, every Friday morning you went to church. I was an altar boy in church & I'm a Muslim! I carried the candles. And I sung hymns like 'Oh come let us adore him'. I was in the nativity play. I also remember that we always came last in athletics - but we always won the prize of best dressed!
When it came to play & sport, our group of kids on our road would challenge the kids in the other road. And it would be a real challenge! If it was football, it was a real game! Even though we played on a field without grass, just sand, it was the most amazing game. When we were done (because we always played up until the last minute up until the moment you needed to be at home!), we all went running in different directions to get home. Then we would meet each other and talk about the game at school the next day. Such happy times.
Boebie Cassiem, 1st Avenue.
Full house, full hearts
We lived on 1st Avenue. 3 Burnley Terrace, 40, First Avenue.We were fourteen cousins living in one house. There were advantages to that, because when you wanted to play games - cards or dominoes or whatever - there were always people to play with. And if you wanted to go the Lux, and the Lux showed the same show the whole week - so you have a choice over which night you want to go. Perhaps on Monday night, three of you want to go, Tuesday maybe six want to go, there were always people to go with. We would go every week, and there was no shortage of people to go with.
Going into the Lux was cheap, but buying things there was expensive. There was a shop on the corner and we weren't rich, so we'd get off the train at Wittebome and buy chips & things which the shopkeeper put in a brown paper bag & we'd take that to the queue for the Lux. Sometimes we'd all walk back home together, a huge group of us, from Wynberg to Claremont.
Sunday Lunch
And on Sundays we wouldn't all go to church, because some of us would stay at home to help with the cooking for Sunday lunch. Every family in the home made their own meal. Some would make roast, or beans curry, and such. Us kids, what we did was, we used to swap. If I feel like roast & I have curry, then I would swap with one of my cousins. That's how it was!
Neville Jackson, 1st Avenue.
We lived on 1st Avenue. 3 Burnley Terrace, 40, First Avenue.We were fourteen cousins living in one house. There were advantages to that, because when you wanted to play games - cards or dominoes or whatever - there were always people to play with. And if you wanted to go the Lux, and the Lux showed the same show the whole week - so you have a choice over which night you want to go. Perhaps on Monday night, three of you want to go, Tuesday maybe six want to go, there were always people to go with. We would go every week, and there was no shortage of people to go with.
Going into the Lux was cheap, but buying things there was expensive. There was a shop on the corner and we weren't rich, so we'd get off the train at Wittebome and buy chips & things which the shopkeeper put in a brown paper bag & we'd take that to the queue for the Lux. Sometimes we'd all walk back home together, a huge group of us, from Wynberg to Claremont.
Sunday Lunch
And on Sundays we wouldn't all go to church, because some of us would stay at home to help with the cooking for Sunday lunch. Every family in the home made their own meal. Some would make roast, or beans curry, and such. Us kids, what we did was, we used to swap. If I feel like roast & I have curry, then I would swap with one of my cousins. That's how it was!
Neville Jackson, 1st Avenue.
Bad Company in Good Company
There was a record store in Kenilworth centre when I was a teenager - this was around 1976 or '77. The owner or manager was a large man called Bruce and he used to let us all listen to the records there together. That was when I started liking rock music like Bad Company. I love Bad Company, and always used to try to get my daughters to listen to it later, with no luck.
We used to sit at the counter, and Bruce used to put on the songs we wanted on one of the three turntables behind it. There wasn't a jukebox, just Bruce changing the records for us.
I would always meet friends there, and we would go as a group from Harfield, straight after school, and I'd still be in my uniform a lot of the time. The boys we met were white and coloured, from areas like Kenilworth and Lansdowne, all aged 16 or 17. And we would meet up at the mall and then go to the record store and just listen to the music. That was such an amazing age - my life was just beginning, you know, becoming established. Everything was so exciting. And then, a few months later, we got the eviction notice and everything changed, and you know that story.
I didn't interact that much with Bruce, the manager, but my white friends did. I would just sit at the counter and just enjoy it all - sometimes if there were other people who wanted to buy or listen to music, Bruce would ask us to use headphones.
The manager told us a story one day about a coloured man who came into the store earlier that day, wearing slip-slops and shorts, just come from the beach with his child. The man had wanted to listen to music, so many different albums, that Bruce got a bit annoyed after a while, thinking that this man - a coloured man dressed casually as he was - was probably wasting his time, making him get all those different albums out to listen to. He didn't seem like he could afford all those albums. It turned out that he bought all of those albums he asked to listen to, and he was actually a doctor with lots of money. But the label of 'poor coloured' came so easily to white people that it came as a surprise when somebody turned out to be well-off or educated.
Champions
There was also another favourite of mine, a shop called Time Out - a sort of Arcade, filled with games. You know, games like PacMan, that sort of thing. There was a game that looked like a pool table - I think you call it Air Hockey. You hit the puck around the table, and we were the champions of the game! My friend and I would first compete against each other, and then we used to compete with others as well - and we were usually the champions.
Carl Thorne, Edward St.
There was a record store in Kenilworth centre when I was a teenager - this was around 1976 or '77. The owner or manager was a large man called Bruce and he used to let us all listen to the records there together. That was when I started liking rock music like Bad Company. I love Bad Company, and always used to try to get my daughters to listen to it later, with no luck.
We used to sit at the counter, and Bruce used to put on the songs we wanted on one of the three turntables behind it. There wasn't a jukebox, just Bruce changing the records for us.
I would always meet friends there, and we would go as a group from Harfield, straight after school, and I'd still be in my uniform a lot of the time. The boys we met were white and coloured, from areas like Kenilworth and Lansdowne, all aged 16 or 17. And we would meet up at the mall and then go to the record store and just listen to the music. That was such an amazing age - my life was just beginning, you know, becoming established. Everything was so exciting. And then, a few months later, we got the eviction notice and everything changed, and you know that story.
I didn't interact that much with Bruce, the manager, but my white friends did. I would just sit at the counter and just enjoy it all - sometimes if there were other people who wanted to buy or listen to music, Bruce would ask us to use headphones.
The manager told us a story one day about a coloured man who came into the store earlier that day, wearing slip-slops and shorts, just come from the beach with his child. The man had wanted to listen to music, so many different albums, that Bruce got a bit annoyed after a while, thinking that this man - a coloured man dressed casually as he was - was probably wasting his time, making him get all those different albums out to listen to. He didn't seem like he could afford all those albums. It turned out that he bought all of those albums he asked to listen to, and he was actually a doctor with lots of money. But the label of 'poor coloured' came so easily to white people that it came as a surprise when somebody turned out to be well-off or educated.
Champions
There was also another favourite of mine, a shop called Time Out - a sort of Arcade, filled with games. You know, games like PacMan, that sort of thing. There was a game that looked like a pool table - I think you call it Air Hockey. You hit the puck around the table, and we were the champions of the game! My friend and I would first compete against each other, and then we used to compete with others as well - and we were usually the champions.
Carl Thorne, Edward St.
Like father, like daughter
I always drove to Kalk Bay - you see, my dad loved cars. He had quite a few of them. And so I started driving at a young age, and we would sometimes sneak the cars out for rides and get into such trouble when we got home!
I remember that when I went for my driving license at Green Point, the man who tested me said, "OK, OK, you don't have to brag - I can see you're driving already!" and then during my test he made a detour and we stopped to visit one of his girlfriends at the art centre where Nando's is now. In the middle of my test! He popped in and visited her, and then I drove back to the testing yard.
My father once had a Pontiac Parisienne - a huge car fitted with push buttons. Once, before I bought my own car, I stole the Parisienne and went to visit friends in Wynberg and I was so excited about driving it. While coming down Ottery road, right at the Wittebome intersection, I pushed a button and the entire car leapt! It was so embarrassing.
I also once bought my own car with push buttons and my father asked to borrow it to go to work out at some farm. He had my brothers as apprentices with him. And my brother came back to me to tell me how my father pushed the buttons willy-nilly in the car, making the car jerk like crazy. Once he even brought a live sheep back home with him in my car! It smelled terrible! And I cried for that car! We loved cars, my father and I.
Salegga Mustapha, York Rd.
I always drove to Kalk Bay - you see, my dad loved cars. He had quite a few of them. And so I started driving at a young age, and we would sometimes sneak the cars out for rides and get into such trouble when we got home!
I remember that when I went for my driving license at Green Point, the man who tested me said, "OK, OK, you don't have to brag - I can see you're driving already!" and then during my test he made a detour and we stopped to visit one of his girlfriends at the art centre where Nando's is now. In the middle of my test! He popped in and visited her, and then I drove back to the testing yard.
My father once had a Pontiac Parisienne - a huge car fitted with push buttons. Once, before I bought my own car, I stole the Parisienne and went to visit friends in Wynberg and I was so excited about driving it. While coming down Ottery road, right at the Wittebome intersection, I pushed a button and the entire car leapt! It was so embarrassing.
I also once bought my own car with push buttons and my father asked to borrow it to go to work out at some farm. He had my brothers as apprentices with him. And my brother came back to me to tell me how my father pushed the buttons willy-nilly in the car, making the car jerk like crazy. Once he even brought a live sheep back home with him in my car! It smelled terrible! And I cried for that car! We loved cars, my father and I.
Salegga Mustapha, York Rd.
