From My Notebooks In 1974: Johannesburg to Cape Town
12th April 2026 |
From Pretoria, Lucas arranged to have the bike and myself shipped to Johannesburg. I had an introduction to some friends of Tony Morgan: Don and “Trish” Ord. He was a successful industrialist and also a yachtsman. They invited me to stay with them while I tried to find a passage from Cape Town to Brazil. All the shipping lines were in disarray due to the “oil war ”caused by Nasser’s seizure of the Suez Canal.
The bike went to Jac’s Motorcycle Centre, 218 Market street, run by Sam Guzzoff. Given all the work that was done on the bike everywhere around the world I was not surprised to hear, when the journey was ended, that the Triumph people had been much more fearful for the bike’s survival than mine.
February 25th
Sam Guzzoff, sprightly, middle-aged, Jewish. In green safari jacket and trousers, Rides a Vincent. Takes cine film of birds. Big on amateur filming. Justin the mechanic, fuzz of blond hair, smokes Consulate. Complains a lot, but cheerfully.
Changed main bearings, con rod, pistons, valves, idler gear, oil seals, primary chain, sump filter. Rebored cylinders + 20. All pistons and rings + 20. Hepolite 7:1 compression.
[Eventually Don was able to locate a freighter that would be sailing to Rio de Janeiro from Lourenço Marques, in Moçambique, on April 27th. Meanwhile I explored.]
The Mine Dumps. Impressive slabs of bright orange-yellow, caked residue from the gold mine workings after the cyanide extraction process began – called slime. Previously process was alluvial and left natural sand. The sloping sides are deeply etched by rain rivulets, and in mass they certainly compare with the great pyramids. Great and costly efforts have been made for a decade to give grass a foothold on these spectacular monuments. Some are already green and fade into the landscape, while success with the others cannot be far off. The practical incentive is the dust that flies off them in the wind. For my part, I would greatly regret their disappearance. They are unique in shape and scale and in their astonishing colour. Like vast ingots they seem to be fitting monuments to Jo’burg’s early days. Perhaps my idea of varnishing them would be impractical but I wish an imaginative effort had been made to keep their original appearance. They are to Jo’burg what the Table Mountain is to Cape Town, rising up between buildings or seen as a surrealist back drop at the end of a street in Soweto.
[They are either gone now, or are going. I went on to visit a township exclusive to Africans, called Soweto. It became infamous two years later when police fired on students demonstrating.]
Soweto: regimented rows of brick cottages, single storey, tin-roofed. (like most houses – white or black). With dusty patches of ground, fenced in, blanketing the land. Nurseries are a delight. Children in coloured smocks, happy, orderly, non-destructive – fingering my nose. [Excited by its size – not that it’s all that big, but they see very few Europeans.]
Across the fence, grass ends. Arid patch with brick school and pupils, black girls in black tunics, white shirts, look drained of joy – still life. Houses have running cold water. Mostly electrified. Lights in high clusters, out of reach of stones. A man must have lived and worked in Jo’burg for 15 years to qualify for a house in Soweto. But authority still insists it’s temporary – thus resists any moves that might establish it (i.e. land ownership.} Most facilities provided by charity – swimming pools, nurseries, employment for disabled. Some nurseries built by state (but aided by private funds).
Football stadium. Children rushing with two fingers raised shouting “Up the Pirates”, a football team.
[Don was a keen sailor, like our mutual friend Tony Morgan. I went with him to Valdam.]
The club house. Brick boathouses cum holiday homes. Don’s all-night race in a Soling. Capsized twice. Huge artificial lake – one of so many spreading over Africa. Disturbing thought, but then remember how pleasant are the English home lands, yet how far from their original wild state – every acre worked a thousand years. Could Africa be like that?
Left Jo’burg on Thursday the 20th of March. i.e. 24 days with the Ords.
[I can’t explain why I made no notes during my three-day journey across the Transvaal. It is described in detail in the book, and I still remember it clearly. In Cape Town the Ords had arranged for me to be received by friends and I spent three weeks there.]
Arrive Cape Town, Saturday 23rd of March
Left Cape Town, Saturday 13th April
Spent morning packing. Sunlight on Prince Alfred. Letter to Jo still in typewriter on up-turned breeze block. Still hope, perversely, that she might call. Things spread on carpet. Small boys come to the porch and ask urgently for something in Afrikaans. I answer in English and they look quite disturbed. As they leave I realise they want some of the grape hanging over the door, which are already over-ripe. After a while, one comes back and fixes me with the one word “grape.” I pull down several branches and would have given him more but he decides not to push his luck and leaves with an armful. Eleanor comes by in “bakkie.” Offers to fetch green box from Hout Bay and gives me steak for lunch. While I’m packing, a blonde dolly with little boy in a Mini pulls up. She’s been admiring the Triumph. Do I want to sell it? She’d like to ride it herself.
I call London. Peter’s telegram has arrived saying he couldn’t get through – no reply to either number, which is ridiculous. Ask him to re-route the ticket money to Rio, at Thomas Cook’s or, failing that, to Barclay’s International, which used to be the London and South America Bank. Jo has not been back to him. Sad news. Peter is not going to US till Autumn. Will send carnet to L.M. [Laurenço Marques] c/o Augustratis
[My new friends in Cape Town decided to give themselves a holiday at a house in Hermanus, which is on my route East – about 100 miles on the coast.]
Finally, at 4pm I leave Cape Town – with a feeling for the place that must have been shared by many visitors. On the freeway to Somerset West pass through a pall of pine-scented smoke from a forest fire. Arrive in Hermanus. Louise is frying onions. Guy is asleep. Tessa, Heather, John, Angela, Anthony are still out. Dinner is smoked snoek with rice and salad. Delicious! Lots of Tassenburg [Wine]. Jokes, games, drunkenness.