DIAMONDS

In  1867 a group of children were playing a game with stones they had found on the banks of the Orange River near to a hot, dusty village called Hopetown, far to the north of Cape Town. One of the boys, Erasmus Jacobs, older and more curious than the others noticed that one of the stones was different, just white and heavy. It was shown to a friend and a traveller took it to the small farming town of Colesburg where one of the administrators, noting that this interesting stone could cut a pain of glass put it in an envelope and posted it to a man he knew to be interested in minerals.

It was, of course, a large diamond, 23 carats in size and it came to be known as the Eureka diamond, the first to be found in the vast hinterland of the Cape and was the start of the mining revolution which subsequently transformed Southern Africa. Erasmus Jacobs was not cheated, the importance of his find was recognised and although he did not pursue the possibility of finding more riverside riches he became a moderately rich farmer, his importance largely forgotten.

Two years later another much larger stone was found by an African shepherd. It weighed 84 carats and came to be called the first ‘Star of Africa’. This time it was as if a starting gun was fired and hordes of eager, greedy, desperate prospectors descended on an area which is today the large town of Kimberly. What of the poor shepherd? He was rewarded for discovering this stone of such extraordinary value, with 500 sheep, 10 oxen and a horse!

Meanwhile, far away across Africa a sickly young teenager, the son of an English vicar, was working on a cotton farm. He had been sent to the colony of Natal by his family who thought the warm African sunshine would be a help to him. This young man had shown some deal making talent on the farm and was ambitious. Hearing of the exciting things happening far away in Kimberly he borrowed some money from his aunt and set off by ox wagon across Africa to see what he could achieve. Arriving in Kimberly he found that the excitement was centered upon a large, extinct volcano. In the mouth of the volcano was a loose soil what was once lava and this soil, called Kimberlite, was studded with diamonds! In a few short years prospectors dug by hand what became the largest man made hole in the World, extending to a depth of over 200 metres.

The sickly young man was never going to actually dig anything. With his aunt’s loan he started buying and selling claims. He had a great talent. One of the claims was for a farm owned by Mrs de Beer. Cecil Rhodes became one of the richest men in the World and his company De Beers obtained for more than a hundred years  a virtual monopoly on all gem diamonds sold in the World.

In my book I have extended this story to include tales of Cecil Rhodes’ great rival Barney Barnato, the vaudeville performer and prizefighter from the East end of London, and what happens when you follow the diamonds which came out of the volcano and were washed down the Orange River. They were not lost.

If you come travelling with me we can pass the time with these and other stories!  

Get a front-row seat to John’s storytelling journey. Sign up now to get sneak peeks of upcoming chapters. And be the first to know when Tales from the Driver’s Seat goes to print.

FRENCH CORNER

In the beautiful Winelands about an hours drive from Cape Town visitors sometimes notice that several farms have French names, reflecting the surnames of their owners; du Toit, de Villiers, Fouché, Marais, etc. On meeting these farmers you might be tempted to wish them Bonjour! They will not respond. Let me explain.

In 1688 the administration of the farmlands being developed around Cape Town was in the hands of the Dutch East India Company (VOC). They needed more farmers, in particular those with relevant skills including wine making. At that time Protestants in France were suffering religious persecution (often being burned for their beliefs). Many fled to Holland where the Dutch authorities saw an opportunity and offered several of  them a new start at the end of Africa, near a settlement called Cape Town. An initial group of 200 families arrived to find a level of suspicion and an invitation to try farming at the more remote parts of the new colony. Many of them were offered land in an undeveloped valley  the Dutch called Olifantshoek, home to large numbers of elephants who came down from the surrounding mountains in the spring and early summer to calve. In those days the valley was home to nomadic tribespeople tending their cattle who lived in harmony with the migrating elephants. Sadly, for both tribespeople and elephants the new arrivals established and fenced large tracts of the valley as new farms. These farms would either carry the names of their owners or nostalgic French names such as Provence or La Motte or Plaisir de Merle.

And so the valley of the elephants came to be known as French corner, or Franschhoek. Many years later the trail followed by the elephants to and from the valley was adopted as the route of a spectacular scenic road known as the Franschhoek pass.

The story of this sleepy farming village continues and becomes rather strange. The Dutch were fairly intolerant of these new immigrants who did not fit in to their society and in a relatively short time the immigrants gave up their culture and became ‘Dutch’, adopting Afrikaans as their home language but retaining a charming habit of giving French Christian names to their children (my own South African son-in-law is called  Jean Claude). 

Then, three hundred years later wine tourism began to be fashionable and Franschhoek, jealous of the success of their bigger tourist friendly neighbour, Stellenbosch needed a way to sell themselves as a tourist destination. They came up with the idea of presenting themselves as a French village; adopted French names for local businesses, enthusiastically celebrated Bastille Day (France’s most important public holiday) and opened very good French bistros (such as the French Connection). The small matter that no one in the village actually spoke French was conveniently ignored! The rather crazy idea was a success and today the village known as French Corner’ is very busy and successful, even ‘chic’, and well worth including on your Cape Town itinerary, particularly for its excellent restaurants!

Get a front-row seat to John’s storytelling journey. Sign up now to get sneak peeks of upcoming chapters. And be the first to know when Tales from the Driver’s Seat goes to print.

A SHIPWRECK AND A HEDGE

My visitors from overseas often want to hear about the history of the Cape.

It’s tempting to keep it very simple; the Dutch arrived in 1652, established a farm to provision their ships and brought ‘civilisation’ to Southern Africa.  But, of course, if there is time for the telling then our history is rich in more detail.  

As much as 100 000 years ago people we call the Khoisan migrated from the north into the Cape.  No doubt climate change influenced this migration into an area offering not only a warm climate and reliable rainfall but vast herds of wild animals.

These migrants were eventually divided into two very different groups.  The San people would be seen in our eyes as primitive hunter-gatherers, living in caves and having great skill as hunters of the abundant game.  They were remarkable for their stories and spiritual beliefs which they often expressed by creating artwork (paintings) on the walls of their caves.  Contact with the culture of the San is possible through their stories told by the last survivors of these early people who exist today in the deserts of Botswana, where we call them the bushmen.

A particular story of the San people which I like is that, at the beginning of time fire was kept as a secret burning coal under the wings of an Ostrich.  The San tricked the Ostrich into dropping the hot coal and escaped with the secret of fire for humanity.

The other group of indigenous people were the Khoi, who sometimes referred to themselves as the KhoiKhoi, meaning ‘the men of men’.  Over the years since European sailors first made contact with the end of Africa the Khoi had proved to be welcoming and happy to trade.  They had developed as nomadic herders measuring their wealth in the numbers of cattle they followed as they moved and grazed through the fertile, green countryside.

In 1647 a shipwreck changed the course of history in the Cape and was probably the start of the end of thousands of years of peace and harmony with nature enjoyed by the indigenous people.

The ship was the Nieuw Haarlem, sailing back to Holland from the Dutch colonies in the far east.  It ran aground in Table Bay and fortunately many of its crew were able to reach the shore, where they were marooned for a year before being rescued.  They were happy and relieved to find themselves in a place blessed with fresh water, abundant fish in Table Bay and the nearby river, a climate suitable for them to grow and harvest crops, and local people happy to help them and sell them meat. 

One of the survivors kept a journal and when he returned to Holland he presented it to his employers, the all powerful Dutch East India Company, controllers of the sea route and trade between Holland and its colonies in the far East.  He recommended the company should consider establishing a small settlement at the end of Africa to provision ships on the long voyage to and from the colonies.

In 1652 three vessels under the command of Jan van Riebeeck landed in Table Bay with 100 passengers, built a small fort on the seashore and established a first farm in the centre of what is now Cape Town.  Today there is a lovely park in the centre of the city where this farm once was and it is called ‘The Company Garden’.

The Dutch quickly realised that they needed labourers to establish themselves and expand their farming activities but were disappointed to find that the indigenous people were not interested.  The Khoi, with their cattle were what we might call independently wealthy and the San were living happily, taking from the environment what they needed.   

Unfortunately the Dutch also found that the previously welcoming Khoi had habit of ‘gathering up’ (poaching) farm animals as they followed their grazing herds through the area between the mountain and the sea and so Governor van Riebeeck came up with a plan to form a boundary around the area he wished to farm to keep out the Khoi (early apartheid perhaps?). In an arc from Table Bay to the rear of Table Mountain he formed this boundary by planting a ‘hedge’ made up chiefly of Wild Almond trees. These extraordinary trees have contorted, twisted branches growing close to the ground. They are certainly an impenetrable barrier through which to smuggle animals. Historians doubt whether van Riebeeck’s hedge was successful and over time it was uprooted but a remnant can be found, hidden away a corner of Cape Town’s jewel, the vast and scenic Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. There you can see the that the Wild Almond trees are both remarkable and impenetrable. Van Riebeecks hedge was an interesting idea, perhaps ahead of its time!

Get a front-row seat to John’s storytelling journey. Sign up now to get sneak peeks of upcoming chapters. And be the first to know when Tales from the Driver’s Seat goes to print.

ABOUT JOHN FARTHING

John has been helping visitors to see and enjoy his beautiful part of the World for 20 years. He has shared with them his stories, experiences and the extraordinary history of Southern Africa. These blogs are part of his story, which is being assembled into a book. Look out for the full story soon and come back from time to time to his website for more chapters.

Get a front-row seat to John’s storytelling journey. Sign up now to get sneak peeks of upcoming chapters. And be the first to know when Tales from the Driver’s Seat goes to print.

THE END OF AFRICA

Come with me, let’s take a drive to the end of my World.

We will leave the city centre and drive around the mountain, past the University and the President’s house at Groote Schuur, and through one of the old suburbs of Newlands.  We will climb Wynberg hill which, as the name suggests, was once a vineyard on a small mountain.  It was also a neighbourhood where, in Victorian times, individuals and families would rest for several months on their way back from their duties in the hot and debilitating environment of colonial India, jewel of the Imperial Empire.  To help these often weary travellers Wynberg was made to appear very much like a timeless old English Village, with small, whitewashed, thatched cottages.

We come down from Wynberg hill into the lush, green Constantia valley, ringed on one side by mountains separating it from the Atlantic Ocean.  It was here in the late 1600’s that one of the more unusual Governors of the Cape, Simon van der Stel, established South Africa’s first wine estate, Groot Constantia.

In the time of apartheid van der Stel would not have been allowed to live in Constantia or to own a wine estate because he was not a white man.  His mother was of Indian descent and his father was the Governor of Mauritius, a white Dutchman.  In fact van der Stel was born on a ship bound for Mauritius from the Far East.  This fact of Simon van der Stel’s racial background was, of course, not revealed during the time of apartheid.  A brilliant and remorselessly energetic man who among other achievements founded the town of Stellenbosch was not ‘one of us’.

As we drive through the Constantia Valley we see ahead a wall of mountains dividing the city of Cape Town into the area around the Table Mountain and the Peninsular.  This wall is known as Silvermine, a nice romantic name but inaccurate.  The earliest settlers were convinced that Silver would be found in this high, rocky area and dug holes to prove it, but found no precious metal apart from a little Manganese.  Nevertheless it was a nice name and so Silvermine it remains..

If we turn sharply left we can drive around Silvermine and, following the side of the mountains we will find a vast, normally blue bay; False Bay as it is called. Another strange name which, according to the best known story, was given that name when foreign sailing ships seeking the new Dutch settlement and fresh provisions would sail around the Bay for days before realising their mistake and eventually find the Bay under Table Mountain, where the Dutch were waiting to do business.

The side of False Bay which we are following towards Cape Point was once dotted with several villages, each with their own character and history.  We will return to their stories another day.  These villages still exist and are distinct but are also part of the remarkable city of Cape Town.

We will encounter, just beyond Simon’s Town, a group of Cape Town’s most interesting inhabitants; the African Penguin colony at Boulders Beach.  Why this short stretch of coastline is home to one or two thousand penguins is a mystery.  They migrated to the area during the early 1980’s, apparently from a West Coast island habitat a couple of hours North of the city.  It’s assumed that a decline in stocks of fish and probably the threat of predators (seals and sharks) drove them to their current location but, sadly, they don’t give interviews.

After enjoying a visit to our pretty black and white friends we will continue due South into the Cape of Good Hope Reserve and approach the end of our journey.

In the 15th Century the most precious of commodities, worth more than gold, were spices and these spices were found in the islands at the far Eastern end of the Indian Ocean. The spices made their way to Europe by sea and land, through many different border crossings, each pushing the prices higher.  

At that time the two great seafaring nations were Spain and Portugal, who by treaty had divided the world into areas of influence and control.  Portugal had the rights to the Indian Ocean, if they could find a way to get there.  The question was simply, how far did the African continent extend and was it possible to get around Africa into the Indian Ocean?

A sea captain called Barthlomew Diaz was exploring the Atlantic coast and was caught in a great storm and driven far to the South.  When the storm subsided he turned back to the North and landed on the Southern coast of Africa at Mossel Bay.  He and his crew realised they had accidentally sailed into the Indian Ocean!  Working their way back along the coast they found a Cape at the end of Africa and realised that this was the gateway to the riches of the Indian Ocean spice trade.  Returning to Portugal, to be greeted by the King they were asked what they had named this Cape on their charts.

‘A very dangerous place, your Highness.  It is the Cape of Storms’.

The king was not amused.  If the gateway to the Indian Ocean was so dangerous sailors would be reluctant to make the long and terrible voyage and Portugal needed riches to match the gold and silver being brought by the Spanish ships from their half of the World.

It was agreed that the Cape of Storms needed a new and more ‘upbeat’ name to honour of its importance and encourage the sailors to risk the long, long journey

And so it became Cabo da Boa Esperança, the Cape of Good Hope!

Get a front-row seat to John’s storytelling journey. Sign up now to get sneak peeks of upcoming chapters. And be the first to know when Tales from the Driver’s Seat goes to print.

ANCIENT TABLE MOUNTAIN

A hundred thousand years ago a young lady was climbing a sand dune in an area north of Cape Town which we call Langebaan, a beautiful lagoon between shores of Saldanha Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. If she reached a high enough point she would have looked to the South and seen a far off Mountain, flat on the top.

The lady came to be called Eve, by archeologists, who discovered her fossilised footprints.

She was one of the earliest human beings whose identity and location have been discovered.  Later, we came to understand that the area of Southern Africa we call the Cape was the grazing and hunting grounds of the San and Khoi people.  The mountain with the flat top was called Hoerikwaggo by these early people.  The name means Mountain in the Sea and the tribespeople believed that a spirit called Tsui lived there.  

Thousands of years later sailors from Europe came to this part of the world, seeking a route to the Indian Ocean and the riches of the spice trade.  A Portuguese Admiral called de Saldanha anchored his small fleet in Table Bay and in May 1503 climbed the mountain which soars over the bay.  He was not an imaginative man it seems, because on his charts he entered the name Taboa do Capo; Table of the Cape. And so the name has remained. Personally I like ‘Mountain in the Sea’.

In 1971, I arrived by sea in Cape Town with my young family.  Whilst they were sleeping and the sun was rising I went on deck and saw Table Mountain for the first time in the blue early morning light.  I have been in love with this piece of ancient rock ever since. 

Over the years I have been to its summit several times, usually the lazy way travelling by Cable Car.  Climbing is not easy and it has become harder with the passing years.  Not long after coming to live in Cape Town my adult son, Marc, came to visit and we set off to climb the mountain, up the winter waterfall beside Skeleton Gorge from Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. My son stopped frequently for a smoke break and each time we set off again I noted a clinking sound from his backpack. Reaching the summit he revealed a stash of beer bottles and we sat at the high point of the mountain, Maclears Beacon, and shared our love and respect for one another with a couple of cold ‘toasts’.

A few years later Marc died.  He left no wishes for his ashes but I thought if I scattered them on Table Mountain he would like that.  Over the years spent showing my clients both the easy way up the Mountain and the strenuous hiking option I have always gained an enormous feeling of happiness and contentment when I observe their feeling of wonder at one of the great views of the world.

The mountain can sometimes seem like a beautiful lady, hiding from the gaze of recently arrived tourists behind a veil of cloud.  There is an amazing feature of the mountain which occurs when the wind from the South East is blowing at just the right speed and a thin, white cloud forms along the flat edge of the mountain.  No surprise that we call this phenomenon the tablecloth.  It’s a wonderful thing to see and we hail this wind as the ‘Cape Doctor’ which blows in the hot summer months, removing dust and humidity from the air and raising our spirits in thanks, perhaps to Tsui.

As the wind speed increases the clouds billow and begin to cover the mountain and particularly the part we call Devils Peak.

There is a beautiful legend of an old Dutch farmer called van Hunks, walking on the mountain and meeting the devil.  Fearing that the devil may take his soul, van Hunks sat down and challenged him to smoke a pipe of tobacco whilst they talked.  When the devil agreed van Hanks puffed mightily on his pipe and produced a cloud of tobacco smoke so thick and dense that he was able to slip away and save his soul.  Not many visitors know the story but they look up at the jagged, left hand side of the Table and are told; “Oh, that is called Devil’s Peak”.

Apart from the devil (just kidding!) no one lived on the mountain in the olden days. Indigenous people found no reason to go there seeking game, it was too far from the plentiful herds roaming the flatlands although there were a few small antelope and a curious fat, brown rodent like creature we call a Dassie, whose descendants still live on the mountain today, unafraid of the tourists.

In 1797 an American sailor deserted from a British naval ship in Table Bay and fled to the mountain where he found a well hidden cave. His name was Joshua Penney and for more than a year he lived unknown and unnoticed, hunting the poor Dassies and antelopes, gathering honey and even brewing his own beer. A solitary existence we can relate to from the story of Robinson Crusoe and even Tom Hanks’ Castaway. In time he came down from the mountain looking, according to witnesses, like a’ wild beast’ with dirty long hair and an overgrown, unkempt beard. He found working passage on a ship bound for New York. Some years later he wrote of his experiences but has largely been forgotten by history. Just part of the fabric and tapestry of our dear, much loved mountain.  

THE GARDEN ROUTE

Driving about 5 hours from Cape Town through rolling farmland brings us to the Garden Route, an area of great beauty between the Indian Ocean and forested mountains running beside dark peaceful lagoons. The name owes nothing to any actual gardens; it simply reflects the peaceful beauty of the region, once home to some of the earliest humans who lived in coastal caves, hunting game and foraging for seafood.

In time these indigenous peoples began recording, on the walls of their caves, images of the animals they saw and hunted. Deep in the forests they would have encountered elephants, memorably described by a local author, Dalene Matthee, as ‘ghosts in the trees walking the paths of their ancestors’ and as the ‘last great ones’. The nostalgia in these words reflects a great sadness which is one part of the history of the Garden Route. Deep in the forests beyond the beautiful town of Knysna the last elephants evaded humans with their guns and thirst for ivory but slowly died away. As I write this there is believed to be only one elephant left in the forests, its location a secret closely held by sympathetic rangers.

It was not just hunting which brought about this tragedy of the elephants, it was also due to the harvesting of thousands of valuable yellowwood and stinkwood trees in the area, pushing the elephants away from their habitat. The word Knysna comes from the language of the indigenous Khoikhoi people and it means place of timber. They, of course, lived in harmony with their environment, having no use for timber to construct dwellings, furniture and ships but when the European settlers came to the area they cut down the valuable trees and made their fortunes out of this ‘place of timber’.

The principal entrepreneur who came to the area to make his fortune had a fascinating legend about his background. His name was George Rex and he was reputed to be the bastard son of the English monarch, George 111, banished to South Africa under strict instructions to lead a quiet life and never have children who might become heirs to the British throne.  Research has thrown doubt upon this story but George Rex was certainly a larger than life character. When he arrived in the undeveloped Knysna area he recognised the business opportunity but faced the problem that Knysna lies on a beautiful, tranquil lagoon cut off from the ocean by a narrow, dangerous channel between towering cliffs known as the Heads. The first boat commissioned to try and enter the lagoon was lost but not the second and in a short time a small harbour was established from which the timber could be exported and by means of which George Rex became very rich and slightly famous. Although he never returned to England it is just as well that he never lived out the legend of being denied children for he fathered 13, the first 4 with a former slave, Johanna van der Caap. I guess Queen Victoria would not have been amused.  

Visitors to the Garden Route are often drawn to detour across the mountains towering over the town of George, known as the Outeniquas, which is an indigenous name of a lost tribe in the area known as the ‘they  who bear honey’. Beyond the mountains is a very different but still scenic semi desert known as the Little Karoo and its key town is the Ostrich capital of Oudtshoorn. We will revisit the area in another chapter but let me tell you about the ‘ feather barons’. The Little Karoo and the area around Oudtshoorn was once the indigenous home to ostriches, those strange flightless birds which remind us of ancient dinosaurs. A business was established in the 19th century to farm these creatures. At that time in Europe and America there was a craze for ostrich feathers as a fashion accessory, so much so that the feathers became more than worth their weight in gold. Fortunes were made in Oudtshoorn by ‘feather Barons’ who flaunted their wealth and constructed extravagant mansions in the otherwise humble market town. Early in the 20th century with changing tastes and the coming of the motor car the wearing of extravagant feathered hats and garments quickly died and the fortunes of the Barons were gone like smoke. Today ostrich farming remains important on Oudtshoorn but we eat the excellent meat of the poor birds and sometimes buy feather dusters for our homes rather than put them in our hats. 

When  visitors come to  Cape Town I always hope they  will consider a little extra road trip to the magical Garden Route.