Jo'Burg Days: Fair Stood The Wind – Part 9
Barbara Durlacher continues her fascinating account, which includes diary entries and newspaper stories, of her ancestors who were early settlers in South Africa.
Recollections Of William James Symons And Early Life In Kingwilliamstown 1857-65
At the date to which these random recollections refer we had only one English mail each month, and were never quite certain as to the time of its arrival, but on the night it was due those who expected news wended their way to the Garrison Post Office, which was situated in a wooden building at the side of the garden belonging to the Commandant’s residence, afterwards the residence of the Magistrate; it has since been destroyed by fire (the P.O. not the Residency).
The Garrison Sgt Major was the Postmaster, and of course all the mail matter for the military was first distributed, the civilians coming last, and the manner in which they were treated was particularly abrupt and uncouth: in fact, you received anything but civility. This so aroused my spleen that I wrote a letter to the “Gazette” complaining of the same. In reply there were several letters, severely castigating the writer, and having discovered that I was working in the Commissariat Department, they discovered that they could daily see my fellows driven about in spans of eight by means of long whips! – rather rough on the writer. However, a writer signing his letters “Merlin,” who I afterwards found was a colour-Sgt took up the cudgels on my behalf and civilians received a little more civility.
The matter did not end there. I was sent for by the officer in charge of the works and asked had I written the letter to the paper. I said, yes. Barney Hall, as he was familiarly called, said: “Well you’ve got yourself into a mess and I don’t know how you will get out of it. You had better write an apology.” I replied: “That I will never do. I am no soldier, but a mechanic working for a daily wage, and if I have not given satisfaction, you can pay me to date and I will leave.
“Oh no,” he replied, “you are under military laws now and I don’t know what the heads of department will do in the matter. I never knew any damned Londoners that did not make things unpleasant.” I did not leave and heard no more of the matter, but I received a flattering testimonial from the Assistant Commissioner General Roath when I left some 15 months later.
The letters for the surrounding towns, villages and outposts were carried by mounted men of the old Cape Mounted Rifles or cavalry of the German Legion. The latter in dresses of rifle green trimmed with yellow braid, were a smart looking body of men.
From the G P Office along the road to Brownlee’s station leading through the reserve, on the side nearest the river (the west side) were a number of thatched cottages, residences of married non-coms. Each had its garden around it, and very English and picturesque they were, with climbing roses and other plants surrounding them. On the other side of the road was the water furrow which supplied the town and on the banks of the furrow grew a fine row of willow trees. Alas, they are all gone, and the last time I saw the locality I felt quite wrath with the vandals who had removed them. The water supply to King ran in an open furrow right through the town and into a reservoir close to the mule train, through an aquaduct across Fleet Ditch, across the flat to the back of the pensioners’ cottages, thence across the German village, and ending at Mea’s Hotel. The water was brought from the Buffalo by the Rev J Brownlee, in whose memory the clock tower of the Public Building was erected.
During the Indian mutiny the only news one could get was by going into Sutton’s Hotel and obtaining a glance at the “Illustrated London News,” as in those days we had no telegraphs.
