Bleeding and feeding on death and destruction,
The machine kicks into gear.
Moaning and groaning not under conscience,
But weight of arms and fear,
That oozes from our every pore,
And permeates our country dear.
Slinking and sliming the blackest of hearts,
Torment our cities and graves.
Unknown and unshow'n invisible assassins,
Devour our psyche's with waves,
Of angst and walls and razor wire,
Turning our homes into caves.
Wailing and flailing like a drowning animal,
Like terror to the slaughter beast.
Seeping and creeping congealed terror,
Served as the freedom feast,
For the AK-wielding whores and pimps,
With tentacles in the east.
Masturbating and debating are one and the same,
Stroking the ego and gun.
Spurting and squirting mass destruction,
Blood and semen for fun,
In the drive-past blood-bath taxis,
That rise with the waning sun.
Suicide and genocide sanitised on SATV,
Screens filter the endless pain.
Of savaged and ravaged mangled corpses on,
Our collective neurotic brain,
That douses our country's enthusiasm,
Like the errant African rain.
Elect and reflect on what has passed,
At last it's come and gone.
Toyi-toyi and "langarm" into the night,
To the liberation song,
That rattles in the place of guns,
And helps us to all belong.
Penned in Pretoria, South Africa between August 23, 1993 and May 4, 1994 - the months leading up to, and through, the country's first democratic election on April 27, 1994. We were all hoping for the best, but there was also a huge undercurrent of uncertainly. It was clearly the end of the Apartheid era, but was the Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging (AWB - the ultra-right wing Afrikaner Resistance Movement) going to plunge the country into civil war? Would the ANC, PAC and Inkatha rip each other's hearts out? Would the new government ethnically cleanse the country of pink people? Would foreign investment vapourise and the country implode? Would there be food in the stores? There was blood on the streets, and was there going to be a future?
Tension were high, the country was on a knife edge and our daily existence was permeated by hate-speak, violence and savagery. It was a brutal, crime-ridden and stressful time, but we all tried to to keep optimistic...and drank ourselves into oblivion!
This was a late night piece, fuelled by most things alcoholic. It reflects on our lives and times and how we were overwhelmed by murder, death and a rising mound of corpses. However, the last verse is more optimistic and wraps it up by wallowing in the relief of post-election euphoria.
Cheers, MAlfaRK ©
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Thursday, 28 August 2008
One Point Five Centuries
Today - August 28, 2008 - marks the 150th anniversary of the arrival of my family in British Kaffraria, after surviving an epic three month voyage from Pomerania. I have been researching the Pautz family history on and off for a quarter of a century, and so today is a special one for me. I have a lot to say (and a lot of emotions to share) and so will work on this piece in the coming weeks in an effort to do justice to the hardy pioneers that were my progenitors.
Watch this space...
MAlfaRK ©
Watch this space...
MAlfaRK ©
Pagans for Jesus
Came across this on Flickr tonight :-D
Kudos to the creator, "jeffincognito".
Cheers MAlfaRK
Kudos to the creator, "jeffincognito".
Cheers MAlfaRK
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
Sucking at the Internet
I received this wonderful advice from my buddy Donald earlier today...
Yes, oh-master, a grovel at your feet!
Cheers MAlfaRK
Yes, oh-master, a grovel at your feet!
Cheers MAlfaRK
Monday, 18 August 2008
What Ever Happened to Liewe Heksie?
My friend Hartmut forwarded this link to me today - iafrica.com | news | the lighter side The Lighter Side - and it raised a smile!
Memories of the launch of television in South Africa in 1975 - 1976.
Cheers MAlfaRK
Memories of the launch of television in South Africa in 1975 - 1976.
Cheers MAlfaRK
Monday, 4 August 2008
The Grand Wazoo
If you lived in Pretoria, South Africa between 1977 and 1980 and were aged between 16 and 21, then you are likely to have destroyed a significant number of brain cells at the premier night club of the era, namely The Grand Wazoo. If you were in the city at the time but never went to the club, then I can only assume that you were suffering from severe case of social leprosy (or you were one of the "breekers" smashing people’s heads in down at the "Bell Hotel")!
The Wazoo was located in the basement of the Kingsley Centre, between Church Street and Pretorius Street, opposite the Ster City movie complex. I guess the club was named after the Frank Zappa album of the same name released in November 1972. Back in 1977 it was still a year until I discovered the great man's music, but it was there and then that the club left an indelible impression on my psyche.
How did I end up there in the first place? Well, in the Ides of March 1977 I had a major motorcycle accident and missed a few months of my second last year at high school.
I dedicated my time off to honing my pinball skills at my local corner café, and it was there that I made an entirely new circle of friends - wilder and less anally retentive than my high school acquaintances. This was fortuitous, as a large proportion of my high school “friends” had decided to disown me anyway. My new scarred and remodelled face did not fit in with their image of perfection.
My new friends were happy-go-lucky, lived like there was no tomorrow, and were the best thing that could have happened to me right then! They were bikers, womanisers, drinkers and/or substance abusers.
It was an intriguing and alluring world for me - I was fascinated by the culture and took a crash course in "street". At the age of 16 I had never been to a real night club, but my new mates soon fixed that.
It would have been tough for the Wazoo to fail as it was in the heart of Pretoria's teenage fun-strip. Just 500 metres up the road in Sunnyside was the city's premier shopping mall - Sunny Park - where bored colonial kids used to hang out. Trendy boutiques, record stores, hi-fi dealers, coffee shops, arcade games and fast foods. However, during the Grand Wazoo days the primary attraction for us was the Solly Kramer's liquor store on the second level. Even I, as a baby-faced 16 year old, had no problem buying anything there - from beer to wine and hard liquor, it was all available to anyone. Our tipple of choice back then was a really cheap petillant white wine called Paarl Perle that used to sell for 99 cents a litre!
Just across the road from the Kingsley Centre was the city's largest cinema complex, Ster City (known as "Sterland" in Afrikaans). Wow - there were at least half a dozen cinemas in this multiplex, the largest of which was Ster 1000, which seated that many people. This cinema was on the upper level of the complex and was flanked by the Barcadi 72 Restaurant (owned by Werner Weinbeck) and the restaurant's satellite bar that was the hang-out for motorcycle gangs such as "Satan's Slaves" and "Scorpio". One of the guys behind the bar - a vertically challenged gentleman by the name of "Shorty" - had no problem with dishing out drinks to minors! It was here that I learned an important life-skill...eating glass!!
Underneath the Ster City complex was another of Pretoria's pre-television attractions - the ice rink. South Africa only got broadcast television in 1975 and, in the days before that, complexes like Ster City were where kids used to congregate, play pinball, ice skate and take in a movie. Television seriously eroded the client base, and Ster City changed. The ice rink became the domain of the dope pushers, and the bars dropped their dress code to increase patronage, thus admitting tattooed, denim and leather clad bikers for the first time. This was fine with us, and it was an exciting time!
Opposite The Grand Wazoo in the Kingsley Centre was another teen attraction - Pretoria's first 10-pin bowling alley. We whiled away many (drunken) hours there and today, almost a quarter of a century later, I still play a respectable game of American skittles! The Kingsley Centre also had a discount store called "Rave" where 33 RPM's were sold at teenage prices.
The final reason why the Wazoo could not fail is that it was on Pretoria's main transport route...it was easy to get there by bus, car, bicycle or motorbike. An added bonus for us was the secure underground parking where the access boom was short enough for 50cc motorbikes to slip by without paying.
The Grand Wazoo was perfect for it's time, and it could not fail. The fact that it hosted a "Saturday Session" (or matinee) was another big selling point!
My Saturday’s were full. From the age of twelve I worked on Saturday mornings to earn my pocket money. From 1973 through 1977 I was a cleaner, packer and counter hand at the "Jix Hobby Shop" on the corner of van der Walt and Pretorius Streets. In 1978 I moved around the corner to "AutoAlign" on Pretorius Street where I fitted and balanced car tyres. After I finished high school at the end of 1978 I worked full-time at "Waterkloof Pharmacy" on Brooklyn Circle. Working on Saturday mornings always frustrated me, and the end of business (around lunch time) could never come fast enough as I had a regular appointment to keep!
I would race my Suzuki TS50 down to Sunny Park where I would meet up with Peter Kohler, Mark Barker (deceased), John Troy (deceased), Anton Marais (deceased), and others (including Erik Vuyk, Tony Leonard, Harry Watson (deceased), Lex Maas, Damon Fourie, Stuart Schoeman, Michael Zeller and Evan Honey). We would park our bikes on the second floor of the shopping mall’s parking garage…in the dark corner near the stairwell. We would then saunter, cocksure, into the Solly Kramer’s and, without batting an adolescent eyelid, each buy two litres of Paarl Perle (or sometimes Autumn Harvest "Crackling" for a bit of variation). We would then strut back to our bikes where we would each down a litre of wine in the stairwell!
The next item on our weekend agenda would be to stir a little shit in the shopping mall! This frequently involved going up to the fourth floor of the atrium in the complex, eggs, and the assembled diners at the "Wimpy Bar" below. Fun, fun, fun…and some nerve wracking escapes from shopping centre security guards!
High on adrenaline, testosterone and alcohol, we would then kick our bikes to life and scream down the road to the Kingsley Centre. We would park in the basement and make our way upstairs to the 10-pin bowling alley. There we would meet up with some of the regular babes and other Wazoo acquaintances…and bounce a bottle or two of Paarl Perle in the men’s toilet! Then came the difficult part of the day – getting ourselves (and the remaining Paarl Perle) into the Grand Wazoo across the corridor.
This usually involved trying to act very sober, and sticking a bottle down the front of your pants. We would walk in as a phalanx of rowdy 50cc bikers, with leather jackets and helmets conveniently concealing the bulges in our nether regions. Those without bottles would also cover those that did. The entrance fee was 50 cents, and the ticket seller at the desk to the right of the entrance got to know us all very well. The entrance area was painted matt black and, moving from there, the next challenge was getting past the bouncer who manned the access door to the club. Sometimes we were bust with our bottles and on other occasions we weren’t, but we generally managed to get our own booze into the place. If we were bust, we would just go back to Kingsley Bowl or to the parking garage to force down our plonk as quickly as possible…before the matinee began!
The interior of the Wazoo was windowless and dark. Our favourite spot was to the right of the entrance where a number tables in cubicles lined the eastern wall of the club and extended up to the foot of the DJ’s podium. This section of the Wazoo also had great access to the compact stage and dance floor. The all-important bar was towards the southern quadrant of the matt black den of inequity, with the toilets and kitchen to the north.
We liked the eastern side of the Wazoo because the tables were in alcoves that made them darker. This in turn made it easier for us to hide and drink our smuggled bottles of Paarl Perle! The fact that these tables enabled us to do things undetected also encouraged other behaviour. It afforded us the opportunity to engage in fumbling sins of the flesh, that the tables out in the open just would not have allowed! I have happy memories of starry-eyed friends sliding further and further under the tablecloth as their female-fellator of the day went to work under the table! Amazing times.
Now the Saturday Session at the Wazoo was more than just a disco. Sure, they had their resident DJ, "King Louis", but they also had live music! Wow! That was just the best, and resident acts included "Lincoln", "Letch" (formerly "Pedigree"), "Fresh Evidence", "Ragdolls", "Wax", "Sheriff", "Geneva", "The Radio Rats" and my personal favourite "Circus". Wooah!! In 1977 they released a great album entitled "In the Arena" that contained a magnificent cover version of the classic Procol Harum track "Conquistador". This seminal SA album was released on CD in 2001 and is worthwhile re-visiting. Circus’ live performances were something to behold – the opulence of glam rock meets the conservatism of Pretoria! We were blown away!
A fun aspect of the Sessions at the Wazoo was the fun events held between the band’s sets. Hosted by resident DJ "King Louis", they invariably involved a lot of beer and sometimes the removal of clothing. The events invariably involved two teams of 4 or 5 competing against each other in a relay format, and some of the scenarios were:
- Eating a slice of pizza and downing a half litre of beer.
- Drinking a litre of water chased by half a litre of beer.
- Team members of the opposite sex down a half litre of beer, then run to the ladies toilet where they exchange clothes (including underwear).
In all instances, the first team finished won a bottle of sparkling wine and complementary Wazoo tickets for the following weekend. That was all good and well, but it was often difficult to enjoy the sparkling wine over the stench of the puke that had been spewed over the dance floor during the competitions! Fun, fun, fun!!
Our group of friends was always represented in these decadent contests and, with guys like Mark Barker around, we often came away with the spoils of victory. Mark was able to destroy a half litre mug of beer in three seconds without spilling a drop!
By the afternoon we were all shit-faced and, with the sounds of JJ Cale, Santana, Eric Clapton and Boston cover versions ringing in our ears, we gathered up our jackets and helmets and staggered downstairs to our bikes. The final phase of our Saturday’s entertainment was about to begin.
As it was just across the road from the Kingsley Centre, our bikes wouldn’t even be warm by the time we reached the Ster City cinema complex. We would park our bikes on the Pretorius Street side, amble past the observation windows that looked down onto the ice rink, enter the complex and take the escalator up to the "Barcadi 72" bar on the first floor. A final round of drinks would follow, often punctuated with a tequila or a peppermint liquor (generally served as a "depth charge" in a pint of beer).
From a strategic vantage point in Barcadi we were able to keep an eye on the entrances to each of the cinemas in the complex. Back in those days the programme would start with a series of adverts projected from large format slide. Once the audience had settled, the filmed adverts would start, and these would lead directly into the movie previews (also called "trailers" in South Africa). Once they had all been screened, there would be a 20 minute intermission during which cinema-goers recharged their "Slush-Puppies", refilled their popcorn cartons or took a leak before the main feature started.
It was this break in proceedings that we waited for!
On leaving the theatre for intermission, ushers gave every moviegoer a "Pass Out" which entitled them to return to the cinema after the break. You can imagine the queue of people at Ster 1000 pushing to get out and how frantic the ushers became trying to ensure that everyone leaving the theatre got a "Pass Out". This was the situation that we prayed upon! Once the ushers were engrossed in what they were doing or were focussing on the crowd leaving the theatre, we would do either one of two things behind their backs:
- Climb over the rope that cordoned off the cinema exit, blend into the crowd and be issued a Pass Out.
- When the usher moved away from his position, we would slink over to his podium and help ourselves to a wad of Pass Outs that would be quickly distributed among us all.
Pay to see a movie? You’ve got to be joking!!
So, we’d slink into the cinema and find unoccupied seats where we could eat popcorn and drink lime “slush” in a futile attempt to annul our inebriation! If the movie was crap, it was also a good place to get some sleep to try and clear your head before the end of the show when we had to get back onto our bikes and head back to the eastern suburbs. On some Saturdays we were lucky…a babe or two may have joined us at Barcadi and in the movie!! Copious groping and hand jobs were not uncommon! Aaaah…those were the days! ;-)
Sometimes we’d go to the ice rink after the show, but we generally headed back home to eat and prepare ourselves for that night’s party. The ride back to Lynnwood was never tame…it was more of a high-speed attempt to do ourselves serious damage! West down Pretorius Street, circle to the left around the Caledonian Grounds, shoot eastwards down Park Street, chicane south past Loftus Versveld, east down Lynnwood Road, under the bridge and past Tukkies, cross Duncan Street, past the UP residences, up the hill past Menlo Park High School, down the hill and over the highway to Daventry Street and the Glenfair Shopping Centre. A game of pinball to end the afternoon!
Sometimes the ride didn’t go that smoothly, and I still bear the scars of a major wipe-out at the Loftus chicane. He-he! I look at that blemish now with fondness. It takes me back to a different time and place. To a forgotten era. To the age of 16-17. To the unforgettable Grand Wazoo. To thrills, spills and a carefree life. To a time when there were no rules and no responsibility. To a time when nothing was impossible.
Luckily not everything has changed.
LINKS:
- Collection of Tickets from The Grand Wazoo (1978 - 1978). At the time I had the foresight to write the date on the back of each ticket as well as a comment or two about the band I saw, the people I was with or the events of the day.
- Menu folder from The Grand Wazoo, circa 1978-1979.
- Snack Bar Menu from The Grand Wazoo, circa 1978-1979. Check out those prices!
Cheers MAlfaRK ©
Written Thursday, May 17, 2001
Updated Monday, August 4, 2008
Sunday, 27 July 2008
Demoncracy '93
Should I stay or should I go?
We ask ourselves today.
Where and how and what about home,
Or should we stay in Africa and pray,
For peace and love and dollar's loan,
And go headlong into the fray?
Is war and peace bound in leather?
Or is it our skins at stake?
From day to grey and burning tyres,
No stressless orgasm to fake,
Like banknotes and political liars,
Who pull on democracy's brake.
Will liberators become demons?
Once they usurp the throne.
Economy ruined through inflation,
And no-one willing to loan,
Van Riebeek's head for immigration,
Before we're suicide prone.
Should we buy coiled razor wire?
And join the national neurosis.
Three-fifty-seven sawn off pit bull,
To calmly address the prognosis,
Of fascist khaki's who threaten to pull,
Me to the depths of morosis.
How to escape the mindfield?
And re-rail the runaway brain.
The need to live and love and lust,
Is the way I focus my train,
Of thought on our stained red dust,
And S.A. writhing in pain.
This was written in Pretoria, South Africa between July 1 and August 23, 1993 - a year before the country's first democratic election. We were all hopeful about the future, but there was also an undercurrent of uncertainly. It was clearly the end of the Apartheid era, but was the Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging (AWB - the ultra-right wing Afrikaner Resistance Movement) going to plunge the country into civil war? Would the ANC, PAC and Inkatha rip each other's hearts out? Would the new government ethnically cleanse the country of pink people? Would foreign investment vapourise and the country implode? Would there be food in the stores? Would there be blood on the streets? Would there be a future?
Man - it was a violent, crime-ridden and stressful time, but we all tried to to keep optimistic and to live our lives like there was no tomorrow. A lot of us were also asking ourselves whether we should leave the country or not. For me this was a tough call. I had moved to the UK to escape the Apartheid regime in the late 1980's and returned on the unexpected death of my father in 1990. I loved my country, but I had also tasted the world, and I liked it!
This was a late night piece, fuelled by whisky. Obviously bitter about the past, battling with the present and questioning the future.
Cheers MAlfaRK ©
We ask ourselves today.
Where and how and what about home,
Or should we stay in Africa and pray,
For peace and love and dollar's loan,
And go headlong into the fray?
Is war and peace bound in leather?
Or is it our skins at stake?
From day to grey and burning tyres,
No stressless orgasm to fake,
Like banknotes and political liars,
Who pull on democracy's brake.
Will liberators become demons?
Once they usurp the throne.
Economy ruined through inflation,
And no-one willing to loan,
Van Riebeek's head for immigration,
Before we're suicide prone.
Should we buy coiled razor wire?
And join the national neurosis.
Three-fifty-seven sawn off pit bull,
To calmly address the prognosis,
Of fascist khaki's who threaten to pull,
Me to the depths of morosis.
How to escape the mindfield?
And re-rail the runaway brain.
The need to live and love and lust,
Is the way I focus my train,
Of thought on our stained red dust,
And S.A. writhing in pain.
This was written in Pretoria, South Africa between July 1 and August 23, 1993 - a year before the country's first democratic election. We were all hopeful about the future, but there was also an undercurrent of uncertainly. It was clearly the end of the Apartheid era, but was the Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging (AWB - the ultra-right wing Afrikaner Resistance Movement) going to plunge the country into civil war? Would the ANC, PAC and Inkatha rip each other's hearts out? Would the new government ethnically cleanse the country of pink people? Would foreign investment vapourise and the country implode? Would there be food in the stores? Would there be blood on the streets? Would there be a future?
Man - it was a violent, crime-ridden and stressful time, but we all tried to to keep optimistic and to live our lives like there was no tomorrow. A lot of us were also asking ourselves whether we should leave the country or not. For me this was a tough call. I had moved to the UK to escape the Apartheid regime in the late 1980's and returned on the unexpected death of my father in 1990. I loved my country, but I had also tasted the world, and I liked it!
This was a late night piece, fuelled by whisky. Obviously bitter about the past, battling with the present and questioning the future.
Cheers MAlfaRK ©
Thursday, 24 July 2008
The Song of the Germans in South Africa
At the beginning of July I was invited to the Eastern Cape to be a presenter at a seminar in King William's Town celebrating the 150th anniversary of the arrival of the German Settlers. It was a wonderful long weekend, and a great privilege to be a part of the event arranged by Stephanie Victor, the Curator of History at the Amathole Museum.
On July 4, the day before the seminar, I was catching up with Stephanie in her office at the museum and she showed me an interesting hand-written document. It was a song lyric for "Das Lied der Deutschen in Südafrika" - ostensibly "The Song of the Germans in South Africa". As time was tight (and my German rusty) I snapped a photo of the page for future reference.
Back in the United Kingdom I pulled up the photo and shot if off to my friend in Germany, Ingo Eggers, who transcribed the German and very kindly translated it into English. I also e-mailed Stephanie and asked her to provide me with some idea of the song's provenance. This is what she wrote back to me:
"The song was penned by Mrs W. Grunewald (nee Zehmke). She was interviewed by Desmond Kopke on 16.10.2000 when she was 87 years old. She grew up in Stutterheim and her husband worked for Nicholas and Mullin, a forestry company, at Fort Cunnynghame near Stutterheim. The song dates to the 1930s when a man by the name of Stracher, his wife and a young women only known as Gustie took the children on church camps for two weeks at a time. Mrs Grunewald was one of the children who participated and she remembers singing 'Das Lied der Deutschen' at the camps. Two-week camps were held at 'Fort Cunnynghame once and twice at Julius Muller’s that was just outside of Stutterheim and once at Berlin, that was a big empty house just when you pass Berlin.' It is possible that the camps were connected to the Lutheran Church.
According to Mrs Grunewald: 'We used to sing songs and hymns. It was nice you know all the young people together at camp. As I say, we were quite innocent then, but later when the war was on then we heard that he must have been a German spy, but I don’t know. He didn’t put us up against the English or anything.'
According to Mrs Grunewald the camps included: '... sports and exercises and cooking and setting the table and so on. And [the children were] from East London, King William's Town and Frankfort, Keiskamma Hoek and Stutterheim.' Two or three children were sent from each place. Hopefully the above provides you with some idea of the song's provenance but who originally wrote it still remains a mystery".
So, here it is, on the internet for the first time and also translated for your reading pleasure...
Das Lied der Deutschen in Südafrika
Wir sind viel tausend Deutschen
im heissen Afrika
getrennt durch Land und Meere
der Heimat dennoch nah
denn wir behalten behalten…
Wir tragen manche Sorgen
doch sind wir unverzagt
weil jetzt ein neuer Morgen
der alten Heimat tagt
und wir behalten behalten…
Wir schaffen und wir bauen
an einem fremden Strand,
mit festem Gottvertrauen
ein neues Heimatland
und wir behalten behalten…
The Song of the Germans in South Africa
We are many thousand Germans
in hot Africa
divided Separated by land and seas
the homeland however still near
because we treasure, treasure…
We bear many worries
but we are undaunted
because now a new morning
is dawning for the old homeland
and we treasure, treasure…
We work and we build
on a strange shore
with steadfast faith in God
a new homeland
and we treasure, treasure…
With many thanks to Desmond Kopke, Mrs W. Grunewald, Stephanie Victor and Ingo Eggers. And, of course, to the German Settlers of 1858!
Cheers MAlfaRK ©
On July 4, the day before the seminar, I was catching up with Stephanie in her office at the museum and she showed me an interesting hand-written document. It was a song lyric for "Das Lied der Deutschen in Südafrika" - ostensibly "The Song of the Germans in South Africa". As time was tight (and my German rusty) I snapped a photo of the page for future reference.
Back in the United Kingdom I pulled up the photo and shot if off to my friend in Germany, Ingo Eggers, who transcribed the German and very kindly translated it into English. I also e-mailed Stephanie and asked her to provide me with some idea of the song's provenance. This is what she wrote back to me:
"The song was penned by Mrs W. Grunewald (nee Zehmke). She was interviewed by Desmond Kopke on 16.10.2000 when she was 87 years old. She grew up in Stutterheim and her husband worked for Nicholas and Mullin, a forestry company, at Fort Cunnynghame near Stutterheim. The song dates to the 1930s when a man by the name of Stracher, his wife and a young women only known as Gustie took the children on church camps for two weeks at a time. Mrs Grunewald was one of the children who participated and she remembers singing 'Das Lied der Deutschen' at the camps. Two-week camps were held at 'Fort Cunnynghame once and twice at Julius Muller’s that was just outside of Stutterheim and once at Berlin, that was a big empty house just when you pass Berlin.' It is possible that the camps were connected to the Lutheran Church.
According to Mrs Grunewald: 'We used to sing songs and hymns. It was nice you know all the young people together at camp. As I say, we were quite innocent then, but later when the war was on then we heard that he must have been a German spy, but I don’t know. He didn’t put us up against the English or anything.'
According to Mrs Grunewald the camps included: '... sports and exercises and cooking and setting the table and so on. And [the children were] from East London, King William's Town and Frankfort, Keiskamma Hoek and Stutterheim.' Two or three children were sent from each place. Hopefully the above provides you with some idea of the song's provenance but who originally wrote it still remains a mystery".
So, here it is, on the internet for the first time and also translated for your reading pleasure...
Das Lied der Deutschen in Südafrika
Wir sind viel tausend Deutschen
im heissen Afrika
getrennt durch Land und Meere
der Heimat dennoch nah
denn wir behalten behalten…
getreu die Jungen und die Alten
der Muttersprache gut
und wir behalten behalten
getreu die Jungen und die Alten
die Lieder frohgemut,
das deutsche Herz und Blut.
Wir tragen manche Sorgen
doch sind wir unverzagt
weil jetzt ein neuer Morgen
der alten Heimat tagt
und wir behalten behalten…
Wir schaffen und wir bauen
an einem fremden Strand,
mit festem Gottvertrauen
ein neues Heimatland
und wir behalten behalten…
The Song of the Germans in South Africa
We are many thousand Germans
in hot Africa
divided Separated by land and seas
the homeland however still near
because we treasure, treasure…
loyally [for] the Young and the Old
the mother-tongue dear
and we treasure, treasure…
loyally [for] the Young and the Old
the cheerful songs, [NOTE: also "songs of cheerful spirit"]
the German heart and blood.
We bear many worries
but we are undaunted
because now a new morning
is dawning for the old homeland
and we treasure, treasure…
We work and we build
on a strange shore
with steadfast faith in God
a new homeland
and we treasure, treasure…
With many thanks to Desmond Kopke, Mrs W. Grunewald, Stephanie Victor and Ingo Eggers. And, of course, to the German Settlers of 1858!
Cheers MAlfaRK ©
Friday, 18 July 2008
Two Before Madiba - For Marco Gerhard
The moment of birth - LIFE!
Non-biblical.
Miracle.
Kicking and screaming,
Not you.
The power to create - LIFE!
Feeling
Meaning.
The thrill of gravity,
You’re here.
The beauty and pain - LIFE!
Uplifting
Fulfilling
The brilliance of sight,
Welcome.
The quest for meaning - LIFE!
Infinity
Emotionality.
The purity of July 16,
Preserve it.
The baton twice passed - LIFE!
Fertility
Eternity.
The question is "why",
Ask it.
My brother’s passion - LIFE!
Marco
Mark.
Rubicon of 96,
My namesake.
We will connect……
I penned this at 20h15 on Thursday, July 11, 1996. My friends Gerhard and Liana Schröder were about to give birth to their second son in Pretoria, South Africa, and I was sitting in the Klementinum Mirror Hall in Prague, Czech Republic listening to a recital by the Stellenbosch University Choir...and thinking of them. Gerhard had asked me whether he could style his son's name after mine (using the form Marco), and I had proudly consented. Five days later the little man was born, and I had a poem to send them straight away!
Originally I called this piece "Soweto Plus a Month - For Marco Gerhard" as the birth took place exactly a month after the anniversary of the Soweto uprising of June 16, 1976 that created the momentum that ultimately led to the fall of Apartheid in South Africa. However, today is Nelson Mandela's 90th birthday, and Marco's celebrated his just two days earlier. I love and respect Madiba, and Marco is my beloved godson and so I think it's fitting (on the week that they both celebrate their existence) to change the title to something more uplifting, namely "Two Before Madiba - For Marco Gerhard". I hope that's OK with both of them...and long may they prosper!
Cheers MAlfaRK ©
Sunday, 1 June 2008
Pioneering Spirits
I am writing this from the front row of the Koos Kombuis concert at the Aardvark Pub in London. The show is expected to begin in about an hour, I'm eating a bag of piri-piri biltong, enjoying a pint of San Miguel and letting my mind wander. It's 20h09 on May 30, 2008 and tomorrow is the 150th anniversary of my progenitor, the 43 year old Karl August Ferdinand Gotthilf Pautz (and his pregnant wife Sophia and seven children) boarding the barque La Rochelle in Hamburg.
The were leaving their family and friends in Landskreis Regenwalde in Hinterpommern and making the perilous journey to a new life in British Kaffraria on the south eastern coast of Africa. Fittingly the song "Hometalk" by South African group Mango Groove is playing in the background. There's certainly a lot to think about tonight.
Just over 20 years ago I was part of a drunken crowd of a few hundred people who witnessed one of Koos Kombuis' first significant public performances at a run down basement dive called The Pool Club in Hillbrow, Johannesburg. The was the ground-breaking "Eerste Alternatiewe Afrikaanse Rock Konsert" featuring Koos Kombuis (then known as Andre le Toit), die Gereformeerde Blues Band, Bernoldus Niemand, Mr Mac and the Genuines and a punk band called Koos. The South African music scene changed fundamentally that night, and the ripples created ultimately merged into the tsnumi that washed away the grime and rot of Apartheid. And this insignificant child of Pomerania and his future wife, were a part of that fledgling movement.
Seventeen children and six adults died aboard the La Rochelle on its three month journey south, and in the midst of all this, Sophia gave birth to Auguste Mathilde Wilhelmine who now lies in Kaffraria's bosom in Macleantown. Times were incredibly hard for the settlers to what is now the Eastern Cape of South Africa. Tribal tensions with the Gaika were high, there was limited infrastructure and my family were among the group of pioneers that founded the settlement of Braunschweig north of King William's Town. These peasant farmers carved an existence from the bush, rock and poor soil that characterises the "Border" area. It was life, but not as they'd known it on the Ostsee where the earth was bountiful, but where they lived in servitude. Actually, it wasn't life at all, but survival...and I'm sure that, on reflection, Karl must have quietly wished that he'd taken the ship west to America instead of south the Africa.
20h36 and we're still waiting for Koos. Between 1988 and 1989 we did that a lot. He was never really punctual for his concert appearances, and this was exacerbated by his penchant for Tassies and boom! And we loved him for that. He could only play three or four chords, and we related to that. He was uncomfortable in public and on stage, and we warmed to that. And, my god, he said things that cut to the very core of us. Koos raised issues and expressed himself in ways that many of us living under a state of emergency in Apartheid South Africa would never have dared. This eloquent but troubled young Afrikaner bohemian (who peppered his speech with ripe obscenities) became the standard bearer for an oppressed and voiceless generation of white kids. And we travelled the country to bask in his light. Together we trail blazed a vision of the future.
Braunschweig was the frontier of Kaffraria, and became the centre of the Pautz universe in Africa. Here they built their homes, church and school, this is where they raised their families and this is where they died an are buried. These immigrants from the other side of the world assimilated, over time, and became one with Africa. Their names changed from German to English at the turn of the century and within less than 60 years or their arrival, they were dying for the Crown close to Ypres in the slaughterhouse of First World War Flanders. Not too far away, north-east of Arras at Vimy Ridge, a young man with the same surname gave up his life for the Kaiser. Family against family. What a fucked up world it was.
Koos and I also grew up in screwed up place back in the 60's, 70's and 80's. After over 120 years in the family, Pautz property in Braunschweig was expropriated by PW Botha's regime and incorporated into the so-called "homeland" of the Ciskei. The German community in the Eastern Cape was essentially erased from history. Around the same time, Andre le Toit was a struggling poet who was about to reinvent himself. James Philips (a.k.a. Bernoldus Niemand) broke the cultural ice by releasing the first Afrikaans rock anti-establishment album (called "Hou My Vas Korporaal") and this resonated with Andre, who produced a demo cassette that became the album "Ver Van Die Ou Kalahari". Because it was critical of the regime, this vital music received no airplay or exposure, and was only available, to those in the know, by mail order. I was one of the secretive recipients of the little brown package from Shifty Records. I still have my original Andre le Toit cassette, and treat it like the sacred relic it truly is. And it was this music that brought us together at the Pool Club in Hillbrow back in 1988.
21h30 - the audience is small, but Koos Kombuis takes the stage. This was the set list for the night:
1. Onder in my Whiskeyglas
2. Johnny is nie Dood Nie
3. Kytie
4. Liza se Klavier
5. Die Fokol Song
6. Hoe Lank Moet Ons Nog Sorry Sê?
7. Huisie by die See
8. Robert McBride
9. Cry to Me (Afrikaans Version)
10. Die Trein na Tshwane
11. Lente in die Boland
12. Fat Cat Piete (ANC Tiete)
13. Paranoia In Parrow-noord
14. Bicycle Sonder 'n Slot
15. Sestien Jaar Met 'n Vals Kitaar
16. Sommige ou Tannies Blues
17. Anderkant die Longdrop
18. Liefde uit die Oude Doos
23h00 and the end of a fairly subdued performance by the Big Man. I spoke with Koos before the show and had planned to see him after the performance. But it was going to be a two hour commute back home, and so I packed it in and left for north London. The journey back was slow and frustrating.
May 31, 2008. The next day and 150 years since Captain Johannes Meyer piloted the three-masted La Rochelle out of Hamburg harbour. On board were 91 families, bringing the total number of passengers on board to 463. Brave people indeed - I am in awe of their bravery and fortitude. So why did I make the long journey to the Aardvark and back last night to see Koos Kombuis? It's all about saluting pioneers - looking back and acknowledging our roots while looking forward and working on my new history and fresh memories.
The pioneer Karl August Ferdinand Gottlieb Pautz died in Braunschweig in 1898 but he lives on in my three year old son who bears his name. His descendants have survived and prospered in South Africa and over the past decade or so a few of them have been infused with his spirit and made major international moves abroad. I was one of the first, relocating to Bohemia in the Czech Republic back in 1995, which afforded me the opportunity to spend a significant amount of time in the family villages in Landskreis Regenwalde. It was wonderful to close that family loop.
The modern pioneer, Koos Kombuis, is thankfully alive and kicking and, over the past two decades we've got to know each other from a distance. From being the "least likely to succeed" among the so-called "Alternatiewe Afrikaners" of the 1980's the man had forged for himself a niche in South African art, culture and history. He continues to be a social conscience, tongue lashing the incompetence of the government of the day in South Africa, while continuing to make a lot of middle aged balding men like myself happy. We understand the context, history and significance of what he has achieved, and the role that he played in the transformation process in South Africa.
The kids who were at the Aardvark last night were mostly clueless...they had absolutely no sensitivity for the satire and sneering. All they were there for was the profanity, sexual innuendo and beer. And that was the sad enlightenment of the evening - South Africans have incredibly short memories, very little sense of history and nave no appreciation for the pioneers who put themselves out on a limb in the distant past, and who carved out the present.
But I remember. I thank Karl Pautz and Koos Kombuis for their balls, guts, passion, tenacity and survival instinct...and for injecting a good measure of that pioneering spirit into me and my family!
Holy shit – I’ve just realized something else. May 31, 1990 was the last time I ever spoke to my late father. He called me in London that evening (creepily at about the same time I started writing this piece) and died unexpectedly of a heart attack on the morning of June 1. That precipitated my relocation back to South Africa where I spent the next five years before heeding the call of my ancestors and moving to Central Europe and back to the lands that Karl August Ferdinand Gotthilf Pautz left behind him a century and a half ago.
May 30 and 31 are certainly significant dates in the story of my life.
MAlfaRK ©
The were leaving their family and friends in Landskreis Regenwalde in Hinterpommern and making the perilous journey to a new life in British Kaffraria on the south eastern coast of Africa. Fittingly the song "Hometalk" by South African group Mango Groove is playing in the background. There's certainly a lot to think about tonight.
Just over 20 years ago I was part of a drunken crowd of a few hundred people who witnessed one of Koos Kombuis' first significant public performances at a run down basement dive called The Pool Club in Hillbrow, Johannesburg. The was the ground-breaking "Eerste Alternatiewe Afrikaanse Rock Konsert" featuring Koos Kombuis (then known as Andre le Toit), die Gereformeerde Blues Band, Bernoldus Niemand, Mr Mac and the Genuines and a punk band called Koos. The South African music scene changed fundamentally that night, and the ripples created ultimately merged into the tsnumi that washed away the grime and rot of Apartheid. And this insignificant child of Pomerania and his future wife, were a part of that fledgling movement.
Seventeen children and six adults died aboard the La Rochelle on its three month journey south, and in the midst of all this, Sophia gave birth to Auguste Mathilde Wilhelmine who now lies in Kaffraria's bosom in Macleantown. Times were incredibly hard for the settlers to what is now the Eastern Cape of South Africa. Tribal tensions with the Gaika were high, there was limited infrastructure and my family were among the group of pioneers that founded the settlement of Braunschweig north of King William's Town. These peasant farmers carved an existence from the bush, rock and poor soil that characterises the "Border" area. It was life, but not as they'd known it on the Ostsee where the earth was bountiful, but where they lived in servitude. Actually, it wasn't life at all, but survival...and I'm sure that, on reflection, Karl must have quietly wished that he'd taken the ship west to America instead of south the Africa.
20h36 and we're still waiting for Koos. Between 1988 and 1989 we did that a lot. He was never really punctual for his concert appearances, and this was exacerbated by his penchant for Tassies and boom! And we loved him for that. He could only play three or four chords, and we related to that. He was uncomfortable in public and on stage, and we warmed to that. And, my god, he said things that cut to the very core of us. Koos raised issues and expressed himself in ways that many of us living under a state of emergency in Apartheid South Africa would never have dared. This eloquent but troubled young Afrikaner bohemian (who peppered his speech with ripe obscenities) became the standard bearer for an oppressed and voiceless generation of white kids. And we travelled the country to bask in his light. Together we trail blazed a vision of the future.
Braunschweig was the frontier of Kaffraria, and became the centre of the Pautz universe in Africa. Here they built their homes, church and school, this is where they raised their families and this is where they died an are buried. These immigrants from the other side of the world assimilated, over time, and became one with Africa. Their names changed from German to English at the turn of the century and within less than 60 years or their arrival, they were dying for the Crown close to Ypres in the slaughterhouse of First World War Flanders. Not too far away, north-east of Arras at Vimy Ridge, a young man with the same surname gave up his life for the Kaiser. Family against family. What a fucked up world it was.
Koos and I also grew up in screwed up place back in the 60's, 70's and 80's. After over 120 years in the family, Pautz property in Braunschweig was expropriated by PW Botha's regime and incorporated into the so-called "homeland" of the Ciskei. The German community in the Eastern Cape was essentially erased from history. Around the same time, Andre le Toit was a struggling poet who was about to reinvent himself. James Philips (a.k.a. Bernoldus Niemand) broke the cultural ice by releasing the first Afrikaans rock anti-establishment album (called "Hou My Vas Korporaal") and this resonated with Andre, who produced a demo cassette that became the album "Ver Van Die Ou Kalahari". Because it was critical of the regime, this vital music received no airplay or exposure, and was only available, to those in the know, by mail order. I was one of the secretive recipients of the little brown package from Shifty Records. I still have my original Andre le Toit cassette, and treat it like the sacred relic it truly is. And it was this music that brought us together at the Pool Club in Hillbrow back in 1988.
21h30 - the audience is small, but Koos Kombuis takes the stage. This was the set list for the night:
1. Onder in my Whiskeyglas
2. Johnny is nie Dood Nie
3. Kytie
4. Liza se Klavier
5. Die Fokol Song
6. Hoe Lank Moet Ons Nog Sorry Sê?
7. Huisie by die See
8. Robert McBride
9. Cry to Me (Afrikaans Version)
10. Die Trein na Tshwane
11. Lente in die Boland
12. Fat Cat Piete (ANC Tiete)
13. Paranoia In Parrow-noord
14. Bicycle Sonder 'n Slot
15. Sestien Jaar Met 'n Vals Kitaar
16. Sommige ou Tannies Blues
17. Anderkant die Longdrop
18. Liefde uit die Oude Doos
23h00 and the end of a fairly subdued performance by the Big Man. I spoke with Koos before the show and had planned to see him after the performance. But it was going to be a two hour commute back home, and so I packed it in and left for north London. The journey back was slow and frustrating.
May 31, 2008. The next day and 150 years since Captain Johannes Meyer piloted the three-masted La Rochelle out of Hamburg harbour. On board were 91 families, bringing the total number of passengers on board to 463. Brave people indeed - I am in awe of their bravery and fortitude. So why did I make the long journey to the Aardvark and back last night to see Koos Kombuis? It's all about saluting pioneers - looking back and acknowledging our roots while looking forward and working on my new history and fresh memories.
The pioneer Karl August Ferdinand Gottlieb Pautz died in Braunschweig in 1898 but he lives on in my three year old son who bears his name. His descendants have survived and prospered in South Africa and over the past decade or so a few of them have been infused with his spirit and made major international moves abroad. I was one of the first, relocating to Bohemia in the Czech Republic back in 1995, which afforded me the opportunity to spend a significant amount of time in the family villages in Landskreis Regenwalde. It was wonderful to close that family loop.
The modern pioneer, Koos Kombuis, is thankfully alive and kicking and, over the past two decades we've got to know each other from a distance. From being the "least likely to succeed" among the so-called "Alternatiewe Afrikaners" of the 1980's the man had forged for himself a niche in South African art, culture and history. He continues to be a social conscience, tongue lashing the incompetence of the government of the day in South Africa, while continuing to make a lot of middle aged balding men like myself happy. We understand the context, history and significance of what he has achieved, and the role that he played in the transformation process in South Africa.
The kids who were at the Aardvark last night were mostly clueless...they had absolutely no sensitivity for the satire and sneering. All they were there for was the profanity, sexual innuendo and beer. And that was the sad enlightenment of the evening - South Africans have incredibly short memories, very little sense of history and nave no appreciation for the pioneers who put themselves out on a limb in the distant past, and who carved out the present.
But I remember. I thank Karl Pautz and Koos Kombuis for their balls, guts, passion, tenacity and survival instinct...and for injecting a good measure of that pioneering spirit into me and my family!
Holy shit – I’ve just realized something else. May 31, 1990 was the last time I ever spoke to my late father. He called me in London that evening (creepily at about the same time I started writing this piece) and died unexpectedly of a heart attack on the morning of June 1. That precipitated my relocation back to South Africa where I spent the next five years before heeding the call of my ancestors and moving to Central Europe and back to the lands that Karl August Ferdinand Gotthilf Pautz left behind him a century and a half ago.
May 30 and 31 are certainly significant dates in the story of my life.
MAlfaRK ©
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