Were talking ca.1940, girls hockey in Harrismith. English teacher ‘Scottie’ – Miss Helen Scott, formally – was the coach. Mother Mary says Phyllis Arbuckle’s Mom used to charge up and down the sideline shouting, “Shoot! Shoot!”
Later Mrs Coetzee became the English teacher. Afrikaans-speaking Mrs Coetzee, talking about the lady who discovered radium, would correct their pronunciation: “Madahm Curié” she’d insist. She wanted to correct our pronunciation, Ma exclaims, slightly miffed.
She had a very handsome husband, fellow teacher DJ Coetzee, who they called ‘Mrs DJ’ (must check this). In a shocked tone Mom says some forward girls would make excuses to peer at him thru his classroom window, or enter to ask him some inane question. Just to get near him!
~o0o~
The feature pic is also school hockey, but about 25yrs later. Still, the mountain would have looked the same…
This lookback to 1972 came about because of a photo from 1967 which triggered memories!
First the old photo, sent by Mariette who got it from Janetta – both of them feature. Taken in the Drakensberg on a weekend to beautiful Thendele above Royal Natal National Park.
front Klippies Kritzinger, Janetta Badenhorst, Henfre Papenfus, Mariette van Wyk – back Chris Britz, Daphne vd Westhuizen
One memory led to another and then we ended up here (ca.1972 but written at vrystaatconfessions.com in 2014):
Harsh Rejection, Deep Scars
In high school we had an older mate who was in the Free State koor. He was famous in Harrismith for that. His nickname was Spreeu but we called him Sparrow. Everyone knew Sparrow, Chris Bester, was one of ‘Die Kanaries – Vrystaatse Jeugkoor.’ Fame! Bright lights! Girls threw their broekies at the kanaries! OK, maybe not.
One day a buzz went round school that Septimus – apparently he was the seventh child – Smuts, Free State Inspector of Music was there – here! in Harrismith, city of song and laughter – to do auditions for new members for this famous koor.
We were there! Me and Gabba. Neither known for having the faintest interest in warbling before (my membership of the laerskool koor a distant memory). Nor any other form of culture come to think of it, other than rugby. Gabba was a famous – beroemde, kranige – rugby player, having been chosen for Oos Vrystaat Craven Week in Std 8, Std 9, Std 9 & Std 10. Strong as an ox.
People were amazed: “What are YOU ous doing here?” they asked as we waited in the queue. We just smiled. We’d already missed maths, biology and PT.
Septimus was a dapper little rockspider full of confidence. He gave Gabba exactly three seconds and sent him packing. Gave me ten times longer and said ‘Nice enough, but no range.’ So back to class we went, crestfallen look on our dials, mournfully telling our mates and the teacher that we COULD NOT understand how we’d been rejected and there must have been some kind of mistake. Tender-rigging, maybe?
The teacher raised his eyebrows but we stuck to our story: It had been a longtime deep desire of ours to sing for our province and the rejection cut us deep.
It became mine & Gabba‘s standing joke over the decades that followed.
– Gabba, disappointed songbird –
~~~oo0oo~~~
Decades later research has uncovered what Septimus was looking for. If only we had known! Here’s the criteria they were looking for in aspiring choristers in the late 60’s:
We may have scored E’s and F’s on most, but on 7.2.1.8 Intelligence and Dedication we surely got an A? Also, if we’d known the choirmaster had ‘n besondere liefde vir die gedrae polifonie van Palestrina se koorkompetisies,’ we’d have practiced that shit.
