WE VISIT PRINCE ALBERT

The finest snowfall in years blanketed the Swartberg as we drove to Prince Albert for our third outing this year. Today was a Lydia Barella and Dr Judy Maguire special.

Off we went to Jan Bothma’s to learn about olives at the Swartrivier Olive Farm. It was freezing cold and we clustered around his warm personality. I won’t tell you about the olives as I’m an oil fan actually, but he just loves those pippy things and talks about them so fondly. Jan actually has the finest farm werf I have seen since the rinderpest! A good old-fashioned farm werf where you save everything, because in the old days you had to make your own spare parts! My best says you can make a Model T Ford from the contents of my handbag. With Jan it could be a Nasa Space Rocket! No sweat!

Then we found Pat Marincowitz in a stony bit of veld. But where Pat is are treasures, and there they were – fields of tiny hide-and-seek lithops (Lithops peersii) and Prince Albert vygies (Bijlia dilatata). The crowd who stayed behind with their heaters and didn’t come on the outing missed a sight of members leaping lightly between the little lithops as they raced a sheet of sleet to their warm motorcars. I thought of Sanna Blou of Fraserburg who said, “Donkiekar ry is baie koue werk!”

Then off to the weavery where the spinning machines, the carders and looms stood silent and empty. Not to worry. The wonderful traditional process was brought to life by Dr Hannes van der Merwe, the textile expert. It was a moment of quiet epiphany to hear the great love of his craft expressed so eloquently through his voice and dramatic hand gestures. On the table were elegantly crafted mohair mats and rugs that stick to the floor like ticks because he designed them so that you could not trip over them. From there we went down to their shop.

After enjoying our picnic lunch in the Museum’s Dam, we visited the historic Seven Arches, recently restored. I paid homage to, of all things, a majestic bath and shower that once belonged to Cecil John Rhodes. Cecil Rhodes built the pillars upon which the orderly industrialization of this country rests, knowing his rotten heart would kill him before he turned fifty, like other members of his family. I enjoyed the thought of him making more plans and soaking slowly. Of the artworks my best was Prince Albert Road Station, and had I the rand and the wall it would not have stayed there at all!

At the museum I was faced with the awful decision whether to buy dried figs or Witblitz! The figs won. Dr Judy Maguire, social historian of note, played the pedal organ for us, and set it in historic context saying you could not play it fast, and this in turn set the metronome of the DRC dominees and their slow and deliberate sermons.

I could not find my favourite among the many homely great-granny articles. It is the sheet music of an old Edwardian song. Before World War I Charlie Chaplin’s mother sang in the music halls as the two small boys waited for her in the wings. One awful night she dried up and lost the words. In an instant the audience shouted catcalls down on her. Little Charlie ran onto the stage holding his small arms wide to protect his mother, and began to dance. There was silence as he sang
“You are my honeysuckle,
I am the bee.
I love to sit beside you,
And you do love me!
I love you truly, truly,
And you do love me.
You are my honey honeysuckle,
I am the bee.”
His mother came back to life and they sang for a delighted audience who thought it was only an act. It was Charlie Chaplin’s first public performance, and he was just eight years old. I hope I’ll find it in the Museum next time.

Then it was time to go and David gave our heartfelt thanks to Lydia Barella for what will be a long-remembered outing. And as we raced the snow for the cars I knew I’d made a horrible mistake. I should have bought the Witblitz!