DAYS OF YORE (Part 1)

An old man prepares “moerkoffie” (coffee brewed from roasted coffee beans without additives), black and bitter as he likes it. It tastes best when poured into an enamel mug and is paired with dunkable “Ouma Karringmelkbeskuit” (South Africa’s fine Buttermilk rusks). The mug and rusks are ferried to his recliner on the “stoep” (verandah) in two trips from the kitchen. Negotiating the trip with a cane and the refreshments is a daunting task – given the dodgy state of legs and muscles that have taken a beating over the years. Reclining in a plush chair facing a garden frequented by sugar birds, starlings, doves and even the odd Cape Ibis family, is a splendid way to start the day. This is a relaxing place to read.

The current book being devoured is “The blinded city – ten years in inner-city Johannesburg” by Matthew Wilhelm-Solomon (Picador Africa, 2022). It offers a disturbing glimpse of the socio-political dynamic surrounding hijacked buildings, and the shenanigans of unscrupulous chancers renting insalubrious accommodation to the desperately poor eking out an existence in a rundown city. Its focus is on the downward spiral of Hillbrow in the second decade of the twenty-first century and conjured up memories of Hillbrow in its heyday, the sixties and seventies. As reading progressed, reminiscences of a vibrant, lively and “hip” residential area began to overtake the depressing account of a city in the throes of aggressive urban decay. Valiant attempts by successive City Councils to stem the tide of degradation face obstacles at every turn.

The bookmark is inserted and memories of a childhood and adolescence in Hillbrow surface. From the deep recesses of the mind, experiences and observations flood to the fore. Memories transport an old man to a familiar past, jogged by references to places that now feature as prime examples of disintegration and human misery. The book is closed, temporarily set aside and memories surface and take over.

The old chap is reminded of a bustling neighbourhood overlooked by street facing balconies of the many apartments occupied by a cosmopolitan community. Not only did many Jewish folk rent accommodation in this convenient location, near to shops, restaurants and nightclubs, but Greeks, Italians, Portuguese and even a few Eastern Europeans of all ages and social classes. It was a delight to listen to the rich diversity of languages and appreciate the many and varied cultures that flocked to Hillbrow.

In reminiscing about these heady times as a youth in the big city, one should not be deluded into the belief that Hillbrow was some sort of Nirvana. Hillbrow had its fair share of rogues, scoundrels and petty criminals. The residents of the many apartment blocks were, however, adamant that most of the criminality emanated from the scores of people who flocked to the suburb from other areas of Johannesburg – particularly those who sought after the vibrant night-life. Blame for the dangers that lurked at night was deflected to outsiders frequenting the bars, nightclubs (and indeed even the odd strip club), or soaking up other entertainment that the neighbourhood offered. Despite an abundance of petty criminality, residents could happily take to the streets of Hillbrow with its unique twenty-four hour shopping, at a time that South African businesses elsewhere shut their doors at five in the afternoon. Even after dark it was relatively safe to lock up one’s apartment and venture out to Kotze or Pretoria Street, or take a trundle to Highpoint for a late night snack at Fontana, or the specialist Sausage Shop on the ground floor. There were attractions such as a massive Record Bar (selling music on vinyl disks), and the Hillbrow Tower (known at that time as the JG Strydom Tower) with its famous viewing deck and revolving restaurant that gave panoramic views of the city.

The blame for petty crime being ascribed to non-residents who came to Hillbrow to cause trouble was not entirely misplaced. Especially on New Year’s eve when drunken brawls would break out in the streets near nightclubs, it was often unsavoury elements from the shady suburbs further afield that precipitated the mayhem. On occasions such as this the police had their hands full attempting to restore order. For the most part, though, Hillbrow was a safe area as long as one took reasonable care and avoided known crime  hotspots.

As a youngster growing up in the area, the old man could not remember his parents ever putting up a security gate on the apartment front door. A single Yale lock sufficed and the family flat was never burgled in the decade or more they lived there. This apartment was not one of the top of the range buildings that were aplenty in Hillbrow, either. It was located opposite the Johannesburg General Hospital on the corner of Ockerse and Klein Streets. An old building that was showing signs of neglect and decay, Brooklyn Heights nevertheless had a delightful mix of classes and a cosmopolitan array of residents. A delightful crowd, really, who engaged freely in small talk along the passages and in the elevators.

Most of the apartment blocks in Hillbrow offered free parking in the basement for residents. These parking garages were generally poorly lit and accessed via alleys that ran between the buildings but did not warrant allocation of a name by the City Council. They were tarred access driveways (sic) wide enough for a single vehicle at a time. Hillbrow folk were so courteous that there were never any altercations or harsh words of road rage exchanged - that he could recall in all the years. 

Brooklyn Heights had a massive boiler room in the basement garage where a team of workers took turns to keep the fire stoked to supply hot water for the entire building. In more than a decade it can only be recalled that the boilers failed to provide hot water briefly on two occasions when essential maintenance had to be done. Things just WORKED in those days. It was the same with respect to the power grid. Seldom were the flats without their supply of electricity. The elevators, though, were long in the tooth and broke down quite often. There was a SLOW goods elevator and another for the residents. When one was out of order, the other usually worked. Stairs were always an alternative and many residents exclusively used the stairs anyway (probably for exercise).

The memories of this bygone era surface as the mind is lubricated by refreshing swigs of coffee from the enamel mug. The book is once more picked up and more reading fuels further reminiscences about these days of yore.

©Paul M Haupt

Brooklyn Heights (renamed Churchill) as it is today (Photo credit: Google Maps)