DAYS OF YORE (Part 2)

The old man reclines once more in the comfy armchair on the “stoep”, moerkoffie, freshly brewed - black and bitter, in an enamel mug on a small round table close at hand. Ouma Karringmelkbeskuit gets liberally dunked in the black brew and tastes like the nectar of angels. Matthew Wilhelm-Solomon’s book about the hijacked buildings of Hillbrow is on an armrest and is poised to evoke, once again, fond memories of a youth spent in the great city of Johannesburg during the ‘60s and ‘70s.

In many ways Hillbrow was at its zenith during those two decades, before the decay set in and began to dismantle its vibrant, upbeat character brick by brick. The apartment blocks were hollowed out by wanton neglect and the new residents would endure untold misery in a crime ridden hovel. Unbridled greed manifested itself in mafia-style syndicates preying on the vulnerability of undocumented immigrants skirting the outer edges of legitimacy. Extortionate rentals were being squeezed drop by drop from Africa’s destitute who crossed into South Africa in search of a better life, jobs and prosperity in the land of “milk and honey”. Unbeknownst to most of them, they were being milked dry by unscrupulous human traffickers and there was no honey, simply bitter fruit.

Casting his mind back to Hillbrow’s heyday, the contrast with the degradation vividly described in the book, those were happy days in what was then, too, a concrete jungle. It was, however, a welcoming neighbourhood with a vibrant, upbeat atmosphere. By no means a bed of roses, Hillbrow, even at its social and economic pinnacle, required its community to be streetwise. Sharks and skabengas there were aplenty, but these chancers usually pounced on naïve visitors to the streets of Hillbrow, not its seasoned community that knew the ropes. 

Highpoint at the crest of the “brow” became a fulcrum from which the lively vibrancy of the entire neighbourhood emanated. It was an apartment block, a business and shopping hub and home to entertainment for young and old. There were pubs and clubs in close proximity, hotels like the famous Chelsea that had its own special “beat” and was venue to bands and musicians of many genres, and then there was the Skyline, not too far away that was home to strippers and “go-go” dancers. Businessmen with a bent for the exotic gravitated towards these racy venues. One wonders about the wives and families to whom they no doubt returned with angelic expressions on their faces. Those were times when a proclivity to the seedy was strictly sanctioned by a society in which Calvinism and the Church still held sway and the moral authority of pastors and dominees (reverends) commanded respect and held the fabric of society in reasonable check. These questionable forms of entertainment all seemed to spread out from Highpoint in concentric circles. In a city and country governed by dour authorities who frowned upon these liberal aberrations, Hillbrow was an anomaly. Too young to taste the forbidden fruits, children and adolescents growing up in the neighbourhood were nevertheless well aware of the scandalous seediness intertwined in the fabric of Hillbrow. This area didn’t skip a beat – there was also abundant entertainment not quite as unwholesome.

Then there was also, towards Doornfontein, in the same precinct as the Cathedral of Christ the King, the majestic Ponte Centre. It cast a long shadow over the city, projecting a bold opulence. Built around a hollow centre core, the apartment building reached towards the sky like a mighty tower of Babel. The flats were let to the wealthy and was a proud exemplar of modern architecture. The lower floors accommodated shops, offices, childcare facilities and, if the old chap remembers well – there was even a school in the building. It was rumoured that there were tenants that never needed to leave the building – they could work, live and find all the entertainment they wished for on site. This might have been apocryphal, as the social class to which the old fellow belonged regraded the lifestyle of Ponte tenants as a tad out of reach and somewhat aspirational. Stories about Ponte and its residents might have been exaggerated to impress on youngsters just how out of reach that social class was. Sadly, Ponte went to pot not many years hence.

Being a resident of Brooklyn Heights opposite the old Johannesburg General Hospital, was not only affordable, but convenient. In Klein Street, a short walk from the old block of flats, was a café where change was paid to children in the form of Chappies bubble gum (the Google of the day with its snippets of trivia printed on the wrappers). Chappies were sold for 1/4c  - so four of them for one cent. Bread was purchased at the bakery and milk at the dairy, not a supermarket. There was a confectionery a few blocks away at the Florian. The confectioner was, according to the memory that lingers, the only fellow who could bake a decent cheesecake and put together a custard slice that melted in the mouth. He was in the opinion of his customers/patrons the best confectioner in the southern hemisphere.

In Edith Cavell Street, a block away from Brooklyn Heights, was the German School. In the evenings the facilities were rented out to Martial Arts instructors, Badminton, Table-tennis (ping-pong) and heaven alone knows how many other types of sport clubs. Sometimes games or classes would end after ten at night. Youngsters had not the slightest fear of walking home alone any time of the night. It was safe as long as one avoided the dark alleys behind the odd derelict building – there were not too many of them at that stage. Buildings were old, but still respectable.

Joubert Park also holds special memories. It was home to the most exquisite art gallery. Access was free and many hours were spent admiring sculptures and paintings in the stillness of its cavernous display halls. It was similar to entering a library – silence was golden. It fostered an appreciation for creative expression that was priceless. In the playground of the park, young children from apartments blocks of Hillbrow would gather and play. Children lived on the edge those days. Slides were HIGH and long and kids would hurtle to ground level at a scary rate of knots. The merry-go-round and the swings served to propel children to the very edge of life itself. No nanny state “health and safety” regulations in Joubert Park. Yet, no-one broke a neck – perhaps an arm or a leg – but nothing serious enough to warrant a lawsuit against the City Council. Apart from the odd hobo who was inebriated enough to be easily avoided, there were no kidnappings or abductions. What a blissful childhood!

A few swigs of strong bitter coffee and a new chapter in the book will elicit more memories. Would that Hillbrow regains some of its charm of years gone by.

©Paul M Haupt

Photo credit: Ponte Towers Google Earth