Does anybody remember the name of the hotel which stood on the site where Marine Parade Post office is now sited?

In 1957 when my Dad family purchased our first hotel, the Lonsdale, I was installed as manager. We had Jack Bartram playing the organ in the ‘Lonsdale Lounge’ and Cashel Kelly was the singer.

On nights when it seemed quiet I used to walk round and check on how many people were in the Palmerston and then up the road to the [other] hotel where the owner or manager played the piano and his wife sang with him. I seem to remember that she was a soprano. Neither my brother Alan nor I can remember the name of the hotel, who does?

Bob also sent in this picture of the beachfront which, he says, has the following inscription ‘Photograph by D.John Lucey Studio, 22 Albany Grove, Durban.’ and the reference number 61-6  52-A. He surmises that the picture was taken in 1961.

Turns out that it was Maxine Lemarr and I heard from her fairly recently and that is where my memory let me down. I felt sure that I added her remarks to the site but today I discovered I hadn’t and I have fixed that. See her remarks on her career here. She also wrote:

Thank you for going to so much work putting together such a great website.  I still have much to read – it is so interesting and also humorous. I hope you are well.  I wish you all the very best.
With regards and gratitude
Maxine Lemarr.

It seems as if the picture was taken in Durban. I don’t recognise the view [although it does look like the Berea in the distance] but the reverse of the picture has the following inscription:

Photo supplied by Lynn Acutt (Pty) Ltd

343 West Street Durban Natal S.Africa”

“Original of this photograph has been passed by U.D.F. Military/Royal Naval Censor”

Lynn Acutt was a well-known Durban Photographer, so I guess that settles that…

I looked through my late father in law’s scrapbooks 1970 to 1975 and came up with three cuttings on the DJ. I tried to get them as a comment on your post but failed so here are separately. The captions tell the story and they are in the order from top to bottom, 1971,  1972, 1975. When was the DJ Rally reinstated?

Please leave a comment below this post or get in touch with me, in the first instance, if you have any information, pictures and, especially, if you rode in the race. I’ll put up an alert once the DJ website is up and running.

I started writing up a screed describing the highs and lows of “going to the Army” but it was ending up like a personal blog. As this site is about Durban, I therefore have tried to limit it to the run up and to that night that I and all the others left Durban on what was to be a nine month sojourn and interesting life experience. I hope my reminiscences bring back memories for those who were there.

The whole “going to the Army” saga started in the mid 1950s when the Defence Act of 1957, proposed that the then system of random ballotees being called up to do military service for a short 3 month period would be replaced by all able bodied young men being called up for a continuous 9 month service period initially followed by a period on reserve of 3 years 3 months making up 4 years. Whilst on reserve it was necessary to undergo military camps which lasted a month. All boys on reaching the age of 16 would have to register for military service at any  police station.

In August 1959, I reached 16 and duly went to the Smith Street Police Station where I filled in the appropriate form. The Smith Street Police Station was virtually diagonally opposite Greenacres Passage and originally was a Boys School. It still stands today, rather forlorn and neglected but obviously a protected building because of its age. Still at school at the time the thought of going to the Army was still far away and as it was, the Government had yet to indicate in which year the new rules would kick in. In January 1960 I received acknowledgement from Natal Command that my registration had been received.

Click on all pictures to enlarge.

I cannot  recall exactly when the undated cardbelow arrived but it must have been early in 1961. It made one realise that things were moving on and that some time in 1962, the “going to the Army” would be a reality.

The next thing to happen would be the medical examination as the card indicated. I did not retain the actual paperwork that advised me of the order to attend a medical examination but do remember the event took place in the evening round about mid 1961. The venue was the Drill Hall in Old Fort Road close to the City Engineers’ building. The Drill Hall still stands today but is now allocated to a specific regiment whereas in those days it was a general SADF property.

That mid week evening medical turned out to be a real eye opener.  Arriving in what I thought was in good time for the “event”, I found that a large crowd of young men were already there so it was just a matter of  getting into the queue. Outside there was much banter and joviality as the guys, I suppose with some trepidation, slowly moved forward. In the Drill Hall itself you registered and then you were given a roneo-ed piece of paper on which was listed the various examinations one would undergo. The idea was you moved from one examination to another with the doctor completing the form as to what he found. You saw plenty of your mates in the queue and this was the first time one realised that going to the army was becoming a reality. I am trying to remember the various tests that were carried and can only recall the following. Blood  pressure, eye test, listening to the chest whilst coughing, a urine test and a general reporting if you had any maladies such as diabetes, kidney problems, major operations, asthma, eye problems or anything which would disqualify you from doing your army stint.  What had been organised was that in the grounds of the drill hall, army tents had been set up and one filed through each tent in order in a sausage machine like fashion. Generally the whole process went off relatively well although on reflection it was a very cursory examination. There was only one bottleneck and that was the urine test. Now one must imagine all these relatively healthy young men having to move slowly through the process which took time and patience. So when Nature calls, Nature calls. Some of the guys had already relieved themselves in the drill hall grounds as they “just had to go” and now they were coming up to the urine test.  This was where the chaos came about. Outside the tent were some young medics from Natal Command who were stationed at a long table that had empty bottles by the hundred. From Eye Gene size bottles, to pill bottles, to jam jars. You were given a random bottle, told to go behind the tent, supply a specimen and return with it. Well behind the tent it was classic. Those desperate to go and given pill bottles had no chance in hell of stopping the flow so one can well imagine the result. Others just could not deliver so nonchantilly they asked others to “fill their bottle” as well!   Some given jam jars were walking back with the bottle filled to the brim. It actually was hilarious thinking back.  When my turn came I was also desperate to “go”. I soon had my specimen and then joined the rest of the guys either watering the grass or the guy’s shoes next to me or helping someone else out. One must remember it was dark by now and there was only limited light as no outside lighting had been erected bar what was in the tents.  Then it was back into the tent with your specimen where it was tested with a test strip which if it changed colour that was noted. An experience I will never forget.  The other,  to an extent, farcical test, was the eye test.  The queue stood the required distance away from the alphabetic test card we all know. Coming to the head of the queue one had to take the left hand and place it over the left eye and read  so many rows of letters with the right eye. Then you did the same with the right hand, testing the left eye. Well with all the neck craning going on to see what was happening, the recitation of the letters became a mantra. Those who got stuck were merely prompted by the guy behind him. I recall that when I was leaving at the end of all of this, I met up with a school friend who I knew well and who I knew was partially blind in his one eye. I asked him how he did in the eye test and he said he had no problem. I was amazed as I asked about his “bad” eye. “No problem” he said “when they asked me to blank off the one eye I merely blanked the bad eye with the left hand. When asked to swap over I merely changed hands over the bad eye and read using the good eye twice. They did not pick it up!”.

The dreaded  DD 2067 which confirmed that I was called up. The Durban Regiment meant nothing to me at the time. Did not even know it existed.

In November 1961 just as the Matric exams were upon us, I received the dreaded DD 2067 Card.  Yep, I was called up, posted to the Durban Regiment, a unit I had not heard of and I was due to start training on 2^nd April 1962. Mercifully, the April call up for those of us matriculating in 1961 gave us a 3 months breather but for those called up in the January intake, it became a matter of making decisions fast especially about study or seeking work.  If one wanted to study at University one had to enrol and then start the process of asking the military for exemption failing which you could leave your Varsity studies till you completed your military. A snag arose though in that if you were called up in July you could end up wasting 2 years because the nine months could overlap two university years. Seeking work immediately had its attractions but it left you little time to look at various fields unless you were set in following a particular field as I was. Signing up with an employer usually meant a long term contract so it had its  drawbacks as well.

In those days, finding work was not that difficult. One must remember that on attaining Standard 8 (Grade 10) one could leave school with what was called a school leaving certificate. Most apprenticeships did not require a Matric pass so those who felt so inclined left school to take up an apprenticeship in one of the trades which normally took 5 years. Those carrying on to Matric had a choice of going to Varsity, one required a Matric Exemption pass, or doing extra mural studies towards a diploma, the only source of which, was the Natal Technical College. This was “Night School” run by the old Technical College, bottom of West Street, where young people would spend their day at work and then after 5 pm report to the Tech for night classes. Engineering and Accountancy subjects were the most popular.

I am mentioning this because with the call up for military service looming, it was obvious that many would have their “careers” interrupted for 9 months.  Some would seek work immediately after leaving school before being drafted. The reason was that once employed you were entitled to receive your full pay for the duration you were doing your bit for the country. It certainly was an attraction to benefit by the accumulation of 9 month’s salary whilst the Defence Force looked after you. I was one of those and was recruited by the then Dept. of Posts and Telegraphs as a Pupil Telecommunication Technician in December 1961, although my Matric results were still pending.

The “going to the Army” had introduced a different dynamic and all of a sudden we were all faced with this dilemma. For some the dilemma was of a different nature. There arose the Conscientious Objectors group who vowed not to undergo military training, there were those who knew they would not be able to stand the rigours of army training and of course those whose lives would be turned upside down what with young wives and families to worry about. One does not realise that for many “going to the Army” was going to raise many problems.

Then the dreaded day loomed on the horizon. I remember being phoned by school friends as to what I had heard, what I was taking along with me, any tips etc. We were all heading into the unknown. I recall my Mother fearing for my welfare but there was nothing any of us could really do about it but grin and bear it and look at it as a kind of adventure. On a personal level I had been taking out a girl for some months now and we were, as the saying went, “going steady”.  She was still at school then and the idea of being parted distressed us both.  Young Love, First Love all that sort of thing. We vowed we would see it through. I am sure all the reassurances we gave each other were being repeated by many young men and their girl friends at the time.

Sunday, 1^st of April dawned and according to the instruction sheet which I have lost, it was a matter of reporting to Durban Station at about 6 pm in the evening in your civvies.  I recall the instruction said that a minimum of civilian clothing was to be brought along as a full complement of army clothing would be supplied. It was advised that no suitcases be brought along. No liquor was allowed on the train. One had to bring a basic toilet kit along with shaving gear. I recall having a small kit bag and along with the basic underwear, a jersey, a pair of shorts, a towel, had included an electric iron, a torch, some rags, a tin of Brasso and Silvo, brown boot polish and shoe brush, some biscuits, a writing pad, ball point pens, envelopes and postage stamps. My Mother insisted that I take handkerchiefs!  Oh yes, we were advised to bring any sport equipment, so I included my soccer boots.

That evening, my brother in law and sister arrived early and along with my Mother we spoke of what lay ahead. My Mother’s continual advice was to be careful, to look after myself, to write often and to phone if possible when I arrived at the camp. Then it was time to go. The four of us were soon on or way to the station.  My girlfriend and her family were to meet us there.

On getting to the Station, there was a large crowd as to be expected.  We walked up the ramp leading into the station in Soldier’s Way to find that the troop train was already there. The train was lined up at the furthest platform in the main concourse. Normally these platforms were used for suburban trains but being wide and with the adjacent concourse as extra space, the authorities felt it suited the need.  There was a fair amount of  military personnel around and conspicuous with their red arm bands marked MP were the Military Police who seemed to be the main organisers.

There was a general hubbub and milling around. I remember my main concern was looking for my girlfriend and her family to arrive. Eventually she did, teary eyed and both of us rather emotional. The two mothers spoke about what lay ahead for me and my girlfriend’s mother was also dreading the fact that her son had also been called up but later in the year. Just then my Mother called out to someone she knew and it happened to be Jimmy Hutton who was a newspaper photographer. He was there to take photos. She approached him and asked him to take a photo of me when I had boarded the train.  Soon there was some barking from the Military Police for all the ballotees to board the train.  This erupted into a mass hugging, kissing, crying, shaking hands, back patting frenzy. One last fervent kiss from the girl friend, the unclasping of our clammy hands and  it was all aboard.

There was no order of occupation of compartments, generally a free for all. At this point it was more a matter of getting to the compartment window.  I got to the window, surrounded by others whom I did not know from a bar of soap. Then Jimmy put his camera up, we all smiled  and he snapped the shot. Sadly my family as well as that of my girlfriend were not in the picture as it was meant to be.  Soon thereafter, the engine driver gave the train the customary short jerk to indicate that the train was about to leave. There was a sudden rush towards the train for the last touch, last kiss ritual. The train conductor raised his green flag and the train jerked again and ever so slowly moved slightly forward. We were on our way.

But not so. The train must have moved barely a few feet forward when pandemonium broke out with the train conductor hastily raising and waving his red flag on high furiously. The train came to an abrupt halt. The Military Police hastily descended back onto the platform and there was much blowing of whistles.  Somebody had uncoupled the last three coaches. One can well imagine the reaction of the crowd. Hilarity from the families, indignation from the Military and the Railway personnel. Obviously on board the train there were some railway staff who knew the procedure of how to uncouple a train and disconnect the brake hoses as well. It could only have been someone who knew what to do. The train went into reverse, the train was recoupled and the green flag procedure was repeated. This time we were on our way.

With much neck craning and last waving, we emerged out of the station into the dark of night, Durban’s down town city lights lighting the scene. We were heading for our rendezvous at Pietermaritzburg Station with  the boys from the Midlands who  were waiting to be picked up and then another at Ladysmith where the final pick up was made. The next day we would be in Bloemfontein facing the unknown.

To write the whole saga as I said would be a personal blog.  There are so many tales to tell enough to fill a book. Maybe one day.

Jimmy Hutton’s picture that appeared in the press the next day. From right to left are Clive Renault, myself, Mike Mommsen, Barry Gordge, Rob Pilkington obscured, and my army buddy to be, CJ “Boetie” van Staden. He lived at 88 Stableford Road on the Bluff. A real character, dare devil supremo. When that picture was taken all of us pictured were complete strangers to one another. Boetie and I met on the train and we teamed up. We stayed together the whole nine months. I wonder where he is today.

Unfortunately Jimmy Hutton got the plot wrong, my family and my girl friend and her family were supposed to be in the picture but it worked out it was Clive’s family that made it. Jimmy also got the caption wrong and I have checked on the internet, it was Sunday not Saturday. Also shown is the small tag that was posted on the train exterior near the window.

The card pinned to the shelf above your bed. It was a quick method to ID who “lived” there bearing in mind that going AWOL was a serious offence and with passes being given out one had to be back in camp within the time limits. Part of the idea of the religion being stated was that the various ministers would have church services in the camp. So when the Catholic priest came and said the occasional  Mass on Sundays it was expected that all the Catholics attended.  The Bungalow Corporals would see to it that you did attend. Unfortunately the Dutch Reformed dominee was there every Sunday so all the DRC chaps had to attend. If there was no church service for you you could have lie in. My army buddy Boetie van  Staden, a DRC would swop his and my card on Sundays I went to Mass, so that he could opt of going to the DRC service!

My original list of the army kit issued. It is dated 2/4/62 but was actually issued about a week later than that as some of the kit had not arrived from the suppliers.

My bed alongside the late Eddie Akal’s ready for inspection April 1962. The toilet goods in the front were non used spares only brought out for inspections, Pillows were “squared” and everyone in the bungalow had to scrounge the planks off apple boxes when apples were given out at lunch. Note the World War 2 webbing as the SADF had yet to change the uniform.To get everything lined up we used a long string from one end of the bungalow to the other.

Worked like a charm. Absolutely no civilian stuff was to be visible so what we did was spread thick newspaper sheets over the bed springs and then any civvy stuff we had like books, magazines, cleaning material, odd clothing was laid on this topped by the mattress which was made of coir. The stuff under the mattress helped iron out the hollows.

I know Durban lays claim to the Bunny Chow but in the 50s / 60s, my diet, and I would be safe to say that of countless others, was often supplemented by Pie, Chips and Gravy. This would have been true whether you were “having a graze” at the Cuban Hat, The Nest, XL Tearoom, Noddys on the beach front, the OK Bazaars Milk Bar, Greenacres Lounge, The Three Monkeys, the Roxy / Oxford Bio Cafes, the Varsity refectory or one of the small eateries / tea rooms in and around the CBD.

Pie, Chips and Gravy was a cheap menu standard. At the beachfront it was round about 15 to 20 cents a serving.  Most of these places relied on one firm to supply and that was Perks Pies, which was a name synonymous with a steak and kidney pie in Durban. That was their forte and I cannot recall at the time having any other choice such as chicken, vegetarian, or other filling. Pies were pies, round and with a flaky pastry top and  kept hot in a see through glass counter warmer. No microwaves in those days. The gravies were normally thick and dark brown, these of course left to the eating establishment to make up.

With pocket money being tight, PC&G was the way to go, albeit one’s hunger in those days was to some extent insatiable and one could easily have devoured a second serving. A Coke was normally the wash down beverage. Eating on the hoof, a Perk’s Pie was sold in an open grease proof paper packet printed with the name PERKS on it.

I recently bought a book dated 1964 wherein some of Durban’s well known firms at the time are included giving some of their history.  Perk’s Pies is included and the page is attached. The original building in my time had already been replaced with the multi storied building shown below. This was situated at the bottom end of Berea Road, close to the Lancers Road corner and opposite where Umbilo Road joined Berea Road.

The building’s upper floors were flats with the retail outlet at ground level. The bakery was at the back of the building.  Looking at the cars in the picture I would say the photo was taken soon after that building was completed probably late 30s, early 40s.

Note there are no overhead trolley bus wires in the picture.  Berea Road had an up / down trolley bus service by the 1950s,  the route being called Toll Gate. From Town, trolley buses went up Berea Road as far as the Old Toll Gate Bridge, used the bridge to cross Berea Road and then went back into town. This all changed when Kinmont’s Canyon was started in the early 60s (?) and Berea Road, which was a wide 4 lane road divided by a treed centre island was changed for ever. The old Toll Gate bridge was demolished and replaced with the present arched bridge we have now.

Perks Pies as far as I know no longer exists and perhaps someone could fill in the later history of the old Durban firm.

Secondly, I’ve got an evocative contribution from GM Enerson on his memories of many evenings spent hanging around outside Umbilo Drive-Inn. Take a look.