The South Africa Years
4 days to go. No, not to THAT date, to my birthday, so I thought it was time that I continued my life story that I promised you all I would back in September!
On the 7th February 1968, I know that makes me very old, I was born unto this world, in a little town called Kilmarnock, just south of Glasgow. My early years, were relatively uneventful for the most part. At the age of 6, sorry I don't remember the actual date, we upped sticks and moved to South Africa. I apologise that this story seems a little bitty, but being only 6 years old at the start of this adventure, some of my memories are a little sketchy. I have read it over a few times, but can't really improve it.
Rewinding a little, I remember, in preparation that we moved to a crappy apartment round the corner from my paternal grandparents. We packed up all of our worldly goods (not much as I recall) into tea chests, and special metal crates that my dad made at work; he was a sheet metal worker. The next thing I remember is the trip itself. We flew on South African Airways, and I remember playing with my new toy, a model of the very first Batmobile, which had some sort of pop out blade on the front and little bullets that shot out of the rocket portion on the back. I remember playing with it on the plane and in the hotel on arrival, and of course very quickly lost all the little "bullets" which my dad replaced with matches (he could be quite good to us sometimes). We also got cool little flight bags and little "passports" from the airline.
I don't remember very much else about that early part of the adventure, other than that we lived in Johannesburg for the first month or so (it may have been a little longer). I do remember going out with my dad and being forced to wait outside the bars whilst he had a drink, a pattern that would be repeated many times over the forthcoming years, as well as being sent by mum to the local bar to go and find him, when he was needed. I don't even remember our accommodation at the time, although I occasionally get memory flashes of it.
We spent the majority of the four years in Durban, and most of that in an apartment complex called John Ross House. It was 31 stories high, with a revolving restaurant on the top, shops underneath and fantastic views over the harbour and beach. It was a great place to live, the beach was nearby and there was a cool playground area above the shops and off to the side of the tower. We lived in a couple of apartments in that building over the next couple of years, one of which was on the 31st floor. Like Chicago, they had some terrific storms, and sometimes, it almost felt like we were at eye level with the clouds and lightning, standing out on our balcony.
We had some friends/acquaintances in the stores under the tower, including one who had a fresh orange juice store; that was all he sold. I have a last memory of helping him unload the daily deliveries of oranges into the store and also the smell of the rotting discarded oranges in the alley behind the store. Isn't it odd what you remember! At the time we lived there, I think it was rental apartments, but it looks now like they have sold them all off and are trying to make it really upscale.
Dad was drinking throughout the time we lived there, as he has done all of his life, but whilst things were going well and life was good, it was never really a problem, although he was/is an abusive drunk. Things started to go sour when the work that he had gone over to do, started to peter out, and finding a new job was pretty tough. Money got really tight and we had to move to a much less salubrious apartment in a two story building called Cristalo House. It was still an OK apartment, and of course, as kids we didn't know any better anyway. All we cared about, really, was that we were even closer to the beach, and we had a fun, if small, balcony just above street level, that meant we could play pranks on passers by.
We were also pretty close to a beach front water park, with some big paddling/swimming pools, with water slides, fountains and such. We spent a lot of time there most of the year round, as it didn't really get very cold. At certain times of the year, the waves in the ocean would get so big that they would come up over the beach and the breakwater, right onto the promenade. Standing under them was one of my favourite games.
Dad, as I said before, had his good periods and actually built a big table to fit over my bed, to lay out my train set on. It was a bit like sleeping in a lower bunk, and my train set was really cool. However, as jobs and money were harder and harder to come by, he drank more heavily, and started to have more bad than good days. Over the years both sets of grandparents visited several times, and eventually (as I am told by my mother) my maternal grandparents decided to take action and fund our return to the UK. I was 10 at the time.
Look out for future episodes. Next, "The Return From The Wilderness"
On the 7th February 1968, I know that makes me very old, I was born unto this world, in a little town called Kilmarnock, just south of Glasgow. My early years, were relatively uneventful for the most part. At the age of 6, sorry I don't remember the actual date, we upped sticks and moved to South Africa. I apologise that this story seems a little bitty, but being only 6 years old at the start of this adventure, some of my memories are a little sketchy. I have read it over a few times, but can't really improve it.
Rewinding a little, I remember, in preparation that we moved to a crappy apartment round the corner from my paternal grandparents. We packed up all of our worldly goods (not much as I recall) into tea chests, and special metal crates that my dad made at work; he was a sheet metal worker. The next thing I remember is the trip itself. We flew on South African Airways, and I remember playing with my new toy, a model of the very first Batmobile, which had some sort of pop out blade on the front and little bullets that shot out of the rocket portion on the back. I remember playing with it on the plane and in the hotel on arrival, and of course very quickly lost all the little "bullets" which my dad replaced with matches (he could be quite good to us sometimes). We also got cool little flight bags and little "passports" from the airline.
I don't remember very much else about that early part of the adventure, other than that we lived in Johannesburg for the first month or so (it may have been a little longer). I do remember going out with my dad and being forced to wait outside the bars whilst he had a drink, a pattern that would be repeated many times over the forthcoming years, as well as being sent by mum to the local bar to go and find him, when he was needed. I don't even remember our accommodation at the time, although I occasionally get memory flashes of it.
We spent the majority of the four years in Durban, and most of that in an apartment complex called John Ross House. It was 31 stories high, with a revolving restaurant on the top, shops underneath and fantastic views over the harbour and beach. It was a great place to live, the beach was nearby and there was a cool playground area above the shops and off to the side of the tower. We lived in a couple of apartments in that building over the next couple of years, one of which was on the 31st floor. Like Chicago, they had some terrific storms, and sometimes, it almost felt like we were at eye level with the clouds and lightning, standing out on our balcony.We had some friends/acquaintances in the stores under the tower, including one who had a fresh orange juice store; that was all he sold. I have a last memory of helping him unload the daily deliveries of oranges into the store and also the smell of the rotting discarded oranges in the alley behind the store. Isn't it odd what you remember! At the time we lived there, I think it was rental apartments, but it looks now like they have sold them all off and are trying to make it really upscale.
Dad was drinking throughout the time we lived there, as he has done all of his life, but whilst things were going well and life was good, it was never really a problem, although he was/is an abusive drunk. Things started to go sour when the work that he had gone over to do, started to peter out, and finding a new job was pretty tough. Money got really tight and we had to move to a much less salubrious apartment in a two story building called Cristalo House. It was still an OK apartment, and of course, as kids we didn't know any better anyway. All we cared about, really, was that we were even closer to the beach, and we had a fun, if small, balcony just above street level, that meant we could play pranks on passers by.
We were also pretty close to a beach front water park, with some big paddling/swimming pools, with water slides, fountains and such. We spent a lot of time there most of the year round, as it didn't really get very cold. At certain times of the year, the waves in the ocean would get so big that they would come up over the beach and the breakwater, right onto the promenade. Standing under them was one of my favourite games.
Dad, as I said before, had his good periods and actually built a big table to fit over my bed, to lay out my train set on. It was a bit like sleeping in a lower bunk, and my train set was really cool. However, as jobs and money were harder and harder to come by, he drank more heavily, and started to have more bad than good days. Over the years both sets of grandparents visited several times, and eventually (as I am told by my mother) my maternal grandparents decided to take action and fund our return to the UK. I was 10 at the time.
Look out for future episodes. Next, "The Return From The Wilderness"
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