DAYS OF YORE (Part 3)

Another “moerkoffie” and “Karringmelkbeskuit” and more reflections on growing up in the bustling Hillbrow. Indeed, the ‘60s and ‘70s were a glorious time for a youngster living in that vibrant neighbourhood.

Young lads and girls, early in the morning on weekdays just before sunrise, began to pour out of the many blocks of flats which were both living spaces and playgrounds. Winters in Johannesburg can be biting and intense. A duffel coat over a primary school uniform and kitted out with gloves and a hoodie, the cold was held somewhat at bay. Regardless of the abundance of padding, the chill still managed to sneak through. Faces that were not covered would usually be blue from the cold by the time the youngsters made it to the school gates. Noses and ears were ripe for bullying older kids to tease the younger lot by flicking their fingers on their ears and tweaking their noses to intense shrills of pain. Girls were not exempt from this intimidatory act of putting the little ones in their place. The shrieks often degenerated into scuffles as the younger cohort retaliated. One of the girls, a premature growth spurt having resulted in her being somewhat bigger than her cohort, was an effective defender of the underdog and she used to make short shrift of the older schoolboys whose run-ins with her left a good few blue eyes and bloody noses in her wake. Having her on your side was a distinct advantage for the younger boys and girls alike.

Then there were the double decker electric buses (trams). They had pneumatic tyres, the power being supplied via overhead double track lines. Often the buses would come to a sudden halt if the driver had been a trifle too robust with his handling of the massive vehicle. The conductor would have to interrupt his checking of season tickets to extend a long pole (with a hook at the end), catch the errant electric supply arm and hook its business end back on the overhead wire. Sometimes, a conductor with dodgy dexterity would struggle for quite a while to reattach the power supply from above. This would cause consternation amongst the schoolkids who feared arriving at the gates of Roseneath Primary School in Queens Road late. This fear exceeded the entertainment value of observing the short and stout little conductor engaging with the powerlines – liberally dispensing expletives as he battled with the errant power arm. That was not an age in which “African time” was tolerated – lateness was a cardinal sin!

Primary school was quite fun for Hillbrow’s children. Roseneath was a school where the teachers cared and brought out the best in both the gifted and the less academically inclined, who were assisted well in their battles with dyslexia and dyscalculia. The library was well stocked, but the teacher who ran it like an SS Obergruppenführer was a terror. Youngsters learnt quickly that library books had to be returned promptly and in good condition. Failure to obey the draconian rules resulted in a rod being brought down with a vengeance across the palms of the hands. Boys and girls were both subjected to the same punishment – the boys most indignant that they were being offended by the rod of education not being applied to the gluteus maximus, the seat of learning, which was their usual and preferred spot for behaviour or attitude correction. Mr Donald was, despite his rigidity, well-liked by the kids and his methods were tempered by genuine care for the child and the great deal learnt from him. The school had its own swimming pool that was a much appreciated amenity during the hot summers. Breaks and after school sport on the well-manicured fields were fantastic. Boys and girls were restricted to different areas on the fields and the little kids were kept apart from the bigger bullies, too. All, however, enjoyed kicking soccer balls around any time they had the slightest opportunity. 

After school and after sport practice or a gruelling match, kids rode the bus to Hillbrow. Often, groups of boys who were bosom buddies would choose to walk home rather than ride the crowded bus. The trip home would be a great opportunity for idle banter. If one of the chaps had a soccer ball, he was the most popular lad in the southern hemisphere. Opportunities for an impromptu game of soccer abounded, because open green spaces were a sacrosanct consideration in the urban planning of Johannesburg of that day. There were parks and open grassy knolls all over Hillbrow – the big one being Johannesburg’s very own version of New York’s Central Park, namely Joubert Park.

In the many apartment blocks kids had an abundance of buddies. In courtyards and quiet streets off the major throughfares - streets like Kapteijn, Esselen, Ockerse or Pietersen – games would be played after the parent supervised homework session had been completed. Many mothers were stay at home moms in those days, and they had no problem supervising the homework of the offspring of other moms who had ‘eight to five’ jobs. As soon as the streetlights were switched on it was time to return home for supper and the games being played would abruptly cease. Joubert Park kids playground would magically be cleared of children as the first lights flickered, too. 

Families knew and trusted one another in this remarkable neighbourhood in those years. School friends were allowed to visit at each others’ flats to “chill”, do projects together and basically just be kids. The flats at which these visits would take place were places where parental supervision could be relied upon. Kiki was a young Greek girl who was known as a conscientious youngster. Doing projects at her flat was a lovely event, not because kids were left to their own devices – they weren’t. Her mother was a delightful lady who plied visitors with her famously delicious “Greek Sweets” – figs infused with a sticky sweet syrup that was to die for. Any excuse to do homework with Kiki – who happened to be a pleasant, lovely young girl, no doubt taking after her bubbly mother, but without the heavy Greek accent.

At school there was such a beautifully diverse cultural mix of the kids of Hillbrow. Roseneath school had a range of European expatriates whose parents had settled in South Africa and contributed liberally to the growing South African economy of those decades before sanctions started to chip away at the country’s economic well-being. There were Greeks, Italians, Portuguese in abundance, and a minority of British. Absent in those days were local black, coloured and Indian kids whose skin colour determined that they were not allowed to attend Roseneath. Designated a “white” group area and a “white” school, it was cosmopolitan only in the sense of being home to the cultures of Europe. It was a sad reality of the day that created divisions in the broader society that were entirely artificial. It could be argued that the carefree mixing that took place between the various European cultures would probably have been a richer diversity had the mixing of races been allowed in primary schools at that time. It might have fostered a deeper understanding between the peoples of South Africa and enhanced the progress towards a broad racial harmony that eludes us to this day. Appreciation of the richness of differences and identification of similarities would have served us admirably.

Hillbrow was a beautifully harmonious community in which to grow up. The Greek café, the Portuguese fruit and vegetable shop, Italian and French restaurants (offering their traditional cuisine) were frequented by the residents of Hillbrow. Each gave a little of their culture, each received an enriched outlook from people of diverse origins – and it was beautiful. All who lived there were shaped by the experience, the cultural diversity and the camaraderie.

The thoughts of a bygone era fade. Another enamel mug of black and bitter coffee ……….

©Paul M Haupt

Photo credit: https://unsplash.com/wallpapers/sports/football