The countdown begins
THE OLYMPIC countdown is on. The South African flag is flying proud in the Olympic village in London. Hopes are high. We have the best coaching available, the best physio, the best dieticians. How things have moved on since we first sent a team.
This was in 1912 to Stockholm, Sweden. (Though it seems we also sent some sort of pre-Union team to the 1908 Olympics in London).
Gavin Maasdorp, former economics prof and varsity rugby figure, has dug out some information (from The Story of the Olympic Movement in South Africa 1907-1987, by Rudolf Opperman and Lappe Laubscher) that reveals somewhat Spartan circumstances for the early teams.
Cyclist Okey Lewis had no idea where Stockholm was, but he knew it must be a fair distance so he took with him two spare shirts, a pair of trousers and a spare pair of socks.
The 21-man team were quartered five to a room in a flat on a Stockholm street with such traffic noise that sleep was impossible.
Yet they came away with four gold medals and two silvers.
In the pre-Union London Olympics, Reggie Walker won gold, setting a new record for the 100 metres. Charles Hefferon won silver in the marathon.
Interesting stuff. I hope the present team do as well. Also that they thought to take spare socks.
Learning French
THEY say the best way to learn French is to get a French girlfriend. Second best, I suppose, is to listen to a chanteuse.
And, sure enough, at St Clement's the other night after a couple of songs by auburn-haired Natalie Winter, and after a couple of glasses of claret, I could understand every word. But then people pointed out that she was also singing the occasional song in English.
Be that as it may, it was a great show. Natalie writes most of her own music and lyrics. Her melodies and delivery are lovely and she accompanies herself on the acoustic guitar and puts in the occasional burst on the harmonica. The atmosphere is the French café. The boulevard comes to the Berea.
Next Monday, St Clement's will feature Alan Manning reading from some of his own writings. Alan is one of Maritzburg's more noted eccentrics. He recently won a special award for quirkiness in a St Clement's short story competition. A sailor was so caught up in dalliance with a wharfside damsel that he missed the sailing of his ship – the Waratah. The evening should be a hoot.
And that, alas, will mark the end of this season of St Clement's soirees. They will resume in a couple of months. Watch this space!
Contact sought
READER Audrie Ryan picks up on a mention about two months ago of a Trevor Culverwell who climbed Mount Snowdon, in Wales, in 1960 with a chap called Garry Rabie.
She says a relative living in Britain is writing a book about the Culverwell family and she wonders if Trevor was the father of two sons, Joe and Stenning. If so, she would be grateful if he (or anyone else in the family) would contact her at 031-7051866
Tailpiece
A GUY is getting ready to tee off on the first hole when a second golfer approaches and asks if he can join him. The first says he usually plays alone, but agrees to the twosome.
They are even after the first few holes. The second guy says: "We're about evenly matched, how about playing for five bucks a hole?" The first guy says he isn't much for betting, but agrees to the terms. The second guy wins the remaining 16 holes with ease.
As they walk off number 18, the second guy is counting his R80.00. Then he confesses that he's the pro at a neighbouring course and likes to pick on suckers. The first fellow reveals that he's the parish priest.
The pro is flustered and apologetic and offers to return the money. The priest says: "You won fair and square and I was foolish to bet with you. You keep your winnings." The pro says: "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" The priest says: "Well, you could come to mass on Sunday and make a donation. And if you want to bring your mother and father along I'll marry them."
Last word
Nothing is impossible for the man who doesn't have to do it himself.
No comments:
Post a Comment