Pondoland's pioneering days
Lusikisiki here I come,
Right back where I started from …
TODAY, by special request, we conduct a little research into the pioneering days of Pondoland. Who was the first person to drive a motor vehicle of any description on the beach at Mbotyi?
Mbotyi, it has to be explained, has a long beach of flat, hard sand. The Pondos gallop their horses on it. They even ride their bicycles on it.
But the beach ends with rugged rock outcrops then high cliffs in the north. It similarly ends with rugged headlands in the south. A lagoon that is always open to the sea fills and empties with the tides and cuts off the beach from any kind of motor vehicle, 4X4 or otherwise. It's a lovely spot.
Cottagers at Mbotyi were startled late one night to see the headlights of a vehicle that was roaring up and down the beach. Was this one of those amphibious jeeps? No, it turned out to be a Datsun Bluebird.
The story really begins in the bar of the Royal Hotel, a little way inland at Lusikisiki. To get there from Mbotyi you take a precipitous road through high forest. A group of campers had gone up to buy provisions – notably eggs and tomatoes – not just for themselves but for the cottagers as well.
It was a drizzly day and, the shopping over, they met up in the bar for a cool libation. Paper bags of eggs and tomatoes were stacked to one side.
Then a dispute arose between two individuals. It became heated. Somebody said the only way out was a duel. The two were told to stand back to back, an egg in each hand. Then they were to march three paces, turn and throw.
Well, one thing leads to another. Next instant the place was a blizzard of eggs and tomatoes as everyone joined in. The local police sergeant was in the bar. He took refuge in the manager's office and watched developments through the glass door.
When the ammo was exhausted he came out and levied spot fines which he handed to the cleaning women who had been called in with buckets and mops.
Next it was noticed that the red-haired desperado who had arranged the duel in the first place was missing. He was located taking a bath in one of the hotel facilities. At which he was seized and carried bodily outside by both arms and both legs and deposited – stark naked – on the hot tarmac of the main street. On the way, a woman in the lounge tried to cover her children's eyes, protect them from this dreadful sight. The dumping caused much mirth and excitement among the local populace, who seemed unfamiliar with this fellow's coloration.
(I realise that much of what I have related so far is outrageous and deplorable. In no way do I condone it or associate myself with it. But research is research and facts are sacred.)
It was dark by the time the cottagers at Mbotyi heard strains of She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain as the Bluebird and two other vehicles made their way down the winding forest road. Next thing the Bluebird driver was standing on a piece of ground that rose almost like a ramp beside the lagoon. It was low spring tide and the main channel just below was narrower than he'd ever seen it.
Next thing he'd backed away and was going flat-out at the ramp, full revs. The Bluebird bucked and sailed over the channel; it then ploughed its way along a large exposed sandbank, somehow got through another shallower channel and next thing was on the beach. History made!
Why this exhaustive research? Well, the Bluebird driver turns 70 next month and his daughter asked me if I have any anecdotes for the birthday party. I'm afraid I have no anecdotes, only these dry researched facts.
Who is this hero pioneer of Pondoland? Step forward Phillip Rodwell, once of Maritzburg, now living at Henley in England. It's time you took a bow.
Tailpiece
Golfer: "Do you think it's a sin to play on Sunday?
Caddie: "I'm afraid the way you play sir, it's a sin on any day."
Last word
Anyone who goes to a psychiatrist ought to have his head examined.
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