Open Features: Hansie's Audition
Readers may remember an article titled “Sad Day” by our columnist Barbara Durlacher which recorded the death of Eric Aitken early in 2004. Before his death, Eric was a frequent contributor to “Let’s Chat”, the house magazine of the retirement village in Johannesburg in which he lived. His style is very reminiscent of that of Herman Charles Bosman, the famous South African author, whose works were based on the characters he observed in the Groot Marico, a semi-desert area in the, then, Northern Transvaal.
Eric's story about Hansie van Loggerenberg, the greatest musician in the world, will delight all our readers possessed of an earthy sense of humour.
Of course everyone in the Eastern Transvaal knew that Hansie van Loggerenberg was the greatest musician in the world. And, if you were stupid enough to dispute this, you should not do it in Wakkerstroom where the van Loggerenberg family lived. Not unless you can run as fast and as far as Bruce Fordyce. Ja, they are very proud of him. And they have reason to be. Their man could play any musical instrument that was ever invented: from the mondfluitjie to the kerkorrel. And everything in between – glockenspiel, doedelsak … you name it!
So nobody was surprised when he announced that he was going to Johannesburg to broadcast on the wireless.
On the day that he left, the whole town turned out to wish him mooiloop, geluk and that sort of thing. Even some men who had been drinking in the hotel bar came out to wish him some things that made the ladies scowl and mutter.
He had loaded his old Chevy with kudu biltong and koeksusters baked by the ladies of the town for padkos and, blowing his hooter like a trou kar, he set off for Johannesburg.
Now in the old days the broadcasting business was owned by a Mr I W Schlesinger and situated in Commissioner Street near the corner of Troye Street. He didn’t think that anyone in South Africa knew anything about wireless so he brought all his announcers from the BBC in London and they spoke very funny like they had sore gums or something. The head announcer was a Mr Bruce Anderson.
Hansie had forgotten to bring his nagmaal clothes so he was still dressed in his khakie broek and veldskoene which carried the unmistakable farmyard odour of cattle dip and kraalmis. Also he had slept in them the previous night in the Chevy so he had a little trouble getting past the doorman at Broadcast House until he slipped him two pieces of biltong and a koeksuster.
He walked up to the receptionist, who was giving his clothes a very funny look, and said, “Lady, my name is Hansie van Loggerenberg and I come from Wakkerstroom and it’s my proud boast that I can play any musical instrument that you blaas (he made a small O with his lips and puffed out his cheeks to show that he was blowing) and saag (he made like he was playing a violin) and I would like to be auditioned.”
The lady was working hard on her nails until she caught the Wakkerstroom smell, then she said very quickly, “Mr Bruce Anderson is auditioning today in Studio 3C. Third floor. See him.”
She pointed to the lifts with her nail file.
In studio 3C, Hansie approached the man behind the desk and said, “Mr Annerson, my name is Hansie van Loggerenberg and I come from Wakkerstroom. It is my proud boast that I can play any musical instrument that you blaas of saag. And I would like to be auditioned.” And because he was an Engelsman, he demonstrated the blaas and saag bit.
Mr Anderson moved a little bit upwind of Hansie and said, “By all means, old chap, I’ll dart down to the musical library and find something on which to audition you. Do take a perch in the meantime. I won’t be a jiffy.”
Because Mr Annerson’s gums must have been very sore or he had a mouthful of old Cape gooseberries, Hansie did not understand a word that he said so he just wandered round the room looking at the pictures on the wall of people with two faces and funny bodies. He thought the artist’s name was Picasso but he couldn’t be sure; these artists wrote baie snaaks.
In the meantime Mr Anderson was not having much luck in finding something unusual on which to audition Hansie. He was looking for a marimba or an alpenhorn; anything the fellow had never seen before. He was just about to settle for an oboe; an instrument that nobody could blow good, when he saw – half hidden under a broken couch – an old enema. One that had seen long and serious service. Gingerly he picked it up between thumb and forefinger and carried it back to studio 3C.
He tried not to wrinkle his nose as he held the enema out to Hansie. “I wonder if you would care to be auditioned on this instrument, Mr Lockandbeg?”
Hansie’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline as he took the enema in his hands and slowly turned it over.
“Allamagtig! But this is darem a new instrument to me, Mr Annerson. A very strange instrument. I have never seen one like this before. Do you mind if I retire and study it for a few minutes?”
“Not at all old chap, take all the time you like.”
Well, Hansie went off into a corner, staring hard at the enema. First he put the one end in his mouth and blew very softly; as though he was playing pan-pipes. But no sound came. So he blew harder as you would on a saxophone. But no sound came. Then he blew even harder like you do when you blow a bugle. And still no sound came! So he reversed the thing and blew from the other end even though it didn’t seem to have a mouthpiece. But still no sound came from the bliksemse thing. In desperation he put the bulb under his arm and tried to play it like bagpipes … and still no sound came. He tried every trick he knew, but nothing worked.
Reluctantly, Hansie handed the enema back to Mr Anderson. “Mr Annerson,” he said, “This is darem a new and strange instrument and it has defeated me completely. Far from getting a tune out of it, I cannot even get a sound.”
Hansie hung his head, “I’m afraid I must withdraw my proud boast that I can play any musical instrument that you blaas of saag. But before I go …” He looked Anderson in the eye, “I will tell you that the ou that blaased this thing before me had a bloody bad breath!”
