Open Writing

WILLIAM JAMES SYMONS
RECOLLECTIONS IN 1914 OF THE
OLD DAYS IN KINGWILLIAMSTOWN

Lord George Grey makes an exception and
a gallant rescue on the flooded Buffalo River

In casting my memory backwards over the many years that have passed since my first acquaintance with King, and contemplating the changing circumstances and time in which we now live, it remains wonderful how well and happily we managed to live. Postage to England was 1s, mails once a month; no telegraphs, telephones, motor cars or even bicycles. We had not then been educated by all these modern inventions to crave for more than food and raiment, and were therewith content.

Our amusements were simple. In our youthful days on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, a walk with a sweetheart or wife from town through Browne’s Location and along the path above the Buffalo past Barnes’s garden amidst the blossoming mimosa with the wild jessamine climbing up luxuriously over them, until we reached the Red Rock. This is one of our pleasures that I can look back upon as a source of simple enjoyment, and will remain a pleasant memory as long as life lasts.

The Bell Rock was a natural curiosity. One large rock was poised on a much smaller one, resting only on a small portion of the lower one, and when struck with a stick or stone it gave out quite a bell-like sound. Some vandals went to the trouble to lever the stone down. They must have obtained appliances to do it, and of course when it rested on the solid earth its charm had departed. It was never discovered who the delinquents were; it was supposed to have been done by some of the military out of pure cussedness.

We had no botanic gardens in those days, the site of the present gardens being a dumping ground for the refuse of the town. Good old Dr Peters was the originator of the Botanic Gardens, and anyone who saw the ground before the work was commenced would have thought it an impossibility ever to make a garden on such a spot. However, it would be a hard task that would deter the good old doctor from any matter connected with gardening. Very few people now in King are aware that the fine old eucalyptus trees in Alexandra Road were planted by him, and now stand with the trees in the Hospital grounds, or many of them, as a memorial of one who worked earnestly and well both in his private and his public capacity for the development and welfare of King and its inhabitants.

On a visit some years ago to the Old Country I saw in the Museum in Kew Gardens amongst the photographs a view of the pond and the willows, with the rustic bride in the King Gardens and a very pretty picture it made, as was evident by the authorities at Kew thinking it worth a place in their collection.

Amongst those of the past I look back upon with the greatest respect and reverence, was the Governor, Sir George Grey.

“He was a man, take him for all in all
I shall not look upon his like again.”

He came frequently to the Frontier, and his face and figure was quite familiar to us. He was approachable by the poorest, as I had occasion to prove.

The married immigrants had an erf of ground given them to settle down on as a home. I being young and of course at the time unmarried was not entitled to the same. On a subsequent visit of Sir George, I went to Government House, and asked to see His Excellency. I was asked had I an appointment? I said no, but it was a matter of importance – I thought it was. After a short delay, I was ushered into his presence and he asked me what he could do for me.

I told him the circumstances and he said, “But you do not fulfil the conditions, you are unmarried.” I replied, “Your Excellency, it is no use having a bird without a cage to put it in.” He smiled.

I said, “I have come out to this country to make a home.”
He said: “Where are you employed?”
I told him, “In the Commissariat Mule Train workshops.”
He then said, “I will look into the matter.”

I thanked him and left. A couple of weeks later I was sent for by the Surveyors Dept and told to choose an erf, which I did, and was long in getting a small cottage on it which afterwards became a home of happy memories to my children as well as myself and my dear partner. At the time it was away in the veld and some of my friends said: “Why did you not go to Fort Murray at once?”

The steam flour mill stands opposite now.

When the Grey Hospital was under construction, Sir George paid it a visit. The workmen deputed one of their number to chalk his boots as he went up the stairs.

“What does that mean, my man?”

“It is a custom of the trade, Your Excellency, the first time a person ascends the stairs they pay their footing.”

“Oh, indeed.” He gave the man a sovereign and they drank his health and wished him all the success possible.

One day I was passing him in the street, and saluted him, not expecting to be spoken to, but evidently recollected my face as he asked me if I like the country, and how I was getting on.

For the first couple of years after our arrival the services at Trinity Church were conducted by the military chaplain, who I think was the Rev. Mr Bell. The Rev. H Kitton arrived later and took over the civilian portion of the duties and his kindly ways and actions are good to those who remember him. One Sunday during service he had a flood in the Buffalo, and there were some people, whites and blacks, marooned on an island in the river. I think it was in ’72. The news was brought to the church and he said: “There are times to work and there are times to pray; this is a time to work.” He closed the service and we made our way down to the river and saw a gallant rescue in the flooded river.

A boat was procured and a scratch crew; the names of some I remember. The only one who knew anything of a boat was old Jimmy Cole, an old shell-back. A Duncan (afterwards Mayor), one of the young Macleans and a couple of others. Cole steered the boat to the island and the whole of the sufferers were rescued, the island at the time being some three feet under water. You can imagine the jubilation at the accomplishment of this dangerous rescue.

When we landed at East London, an individual with a sun helmet and white clothing was on the scene, and we in our ignorance thought him some great official. It was James Hamilton Parker, an auctioneer of King. There is no doubt he was a believer in progress as a man who built Grey Villa upwards of fifty years ago – it is now the Kingwilliamstown Club – must have had some ambition considering the surroundings, which were then partly built pensioners’ cottages. He had a great amount of power, being quite an autocrat in our little community, and he seemed to my unsophisticated eyes to be quite the head of our affairs, social and political. Our Magistrate never gave a decision without first consulting JHP.

On the departure of the 60th Rifles for India, their effects were sold by auction, the sale lasting three days. During the sale, Bob Bell, a saddler – took offense at some slight he imagined he had received , his bid not being taken – poor Bob was a little the worse for liquor, a failing of his – picked up a three-legged pot and tried to invert it on Parker’s head, saying, “Hamilton-Parker, I crown you King of Kaffraria.”

One day I was passed by Hamilton-Parker in the street, and he stopped me and asked: “What is the matter? You look gloomy.” I replied: “My sister is in the depot.”

“Has she had medical attention? No, I don’t think she has been properly attended.”
“I will see to that,” he said, and away he went.

In less than an hour good old Dr Peters was there, and all that could be done was done, but it was too late; but her last hours were made as painless as possible. She was the first of the family whose bones rest in South African soil.

To be continued.