I decided to start a piece on life as a kid in SA, because there were moments of craziness, laughter and friendship that I feel a lot of kids today miss out on. I guess a lot had to do with where I grew up. It is a work in progress, and I really have to squeeze every ounce out of my memory, so it takes a bit of time to put together. Feel free to critique - it's always welcome.

Clive

Being a kid in SA in the 1980’s is something that modern children would never be able to experience or replicate in any way. I guess that goes for any era. I think with the prolific rate that technology has advanced, the kids miss out on the good clean fun we used to have. I remember walking home from school in the autumn. There were leaves everywhere, especially next to the pavement in the street. I used to love walking through those leaves, kicking them over my head all the way home. I was about 8 or 9 years old. I also got my first bicycle at that age any started cycling to school and home. Almost got hit by a car a few times. Helmets? What’s that?

Life with total reckless abandon.

If I look back and think of all the stuff we used to do as kids, I think jeeeshh! We could so easily have killed ourselves or get seriously hurt…but no-one ever did.

My buddy David’s parents had a really nice swimming pool. We were at his house one day after school, and his mom was still at work. It just so happened that the roof of the house was in striking distance of the pool, so naturally we thought we should make the jump! One slip, one miscalculation and you could have had some serious consequences not to mention the pool was probably not deep enough anyways. Who cares? We jumped off the roof all afternoon, the only thing we worried about was whether his mom would catch us!

About a group of 5 young boys on our bmx bikes decided to go on this adventure ride. Mark used to live close to Wemmer Pan. It was a small man made lake right next to mine dumps. On the north west corner was Santarama Miniland. There were these trails through the trees at the foot of the mine dump. Often you’d hear of someone having been murdered in the vicinity, You’d think that would stop us? No ways! We set out and realized it was quite a challenging ride dips, turns, bumps etc. Soon we realized one of our mates were missing. So we slowly backtracked – always aware of the dangers that could be lurking around every corner. There was Vernon, standing, covered in the yellow mine dump sand. Actually spitting that yellow sand out his mouth. He hit a rock and took a tumble. We nearly wet ourselves. He wasn’t amused at first, but in the end had a good laugh and said ‘Pasop vir die donderse klippe!’

Mark’s dad worked for Schindler Lifts and lived on the property. We were 4 boys, about 15 years old at the time. Mark, Vernon, Moller and me. Mark walked over to us with this huge roll of lift cable, clamps and a one foot piece of pipe. We were all stumped, meaning we couldn’t figure out what he had in mind. He smiled and gave us a wink. We went up to the second story of his house and tied the cable to the rails of the balcony with the clamps. Then we ran the pipe through the cable. Tied off the other end of the cable to a utility pole. Mark obviously knew what he was doing, because he made sure the cable wasn’t taught and gave it a little slack (That regulates the speed). Then one by one, we got onto the second storey grabbed onto the pipe and slid down on the cable. Absolutely insane. No safety line, no harness no professionals. You look back at that and think ‘Man we were nuts!’

One of Mark’s many talents, was that he could weld. He wasn’t the smartest kid in school, but man he was good with his hands. About a month later, the cable slide was old hat, so when we got to his house on the Saturday on our bmx bikes, he had a whole pile of square tubing. Now what? Again that mischievous smile came across his face, and he said ‘Ons bou vandag ‘n kaskar’ Yes, today were building a go-cart. He had the design mapped out and everything. It was quite ingenious. Room for three guys to push and a small platform to stand on. Extra weight (welded solid metal rods) in the front to balance it out. He welded all day, folded metal – we all pitched in. We were just about done when a thought crossed my mind…hey what about wheels? Mark just laughed, pointed over to our bikes – I see at least 6 wheels we could use. The guy had an answer to everything. We even took the brakes off our bikes and used them on the go-cart. Now all we had to find was a decent hill. The best hill in the vicinity was at Turffontein race course. Had lots of room, open straight. We pushed the cart up to the top and let rip to the bottom. One in the driver seat, 3 on the back. We all took turns driving. Another crazy thing…busy road, no helmet no regard for safety. All we wanted to do, was to see how fast we could go and feel the breeze on our faces.

From time to time I’d climb the wall separating our yard and the neighbors’ yard. You could also get up onto the roof of our garage from the wall. As I got older I had to be careful walking on the garage roof (made of tin) and limit ventures out to the beams of the garage. The garage backed onto a laneway. You could also venture to you neighbors wall and garage. One day I saw this rusted pogo stick on the neighbors roof (well, not quite – it was 3 houses over) I scooped it up figuring they weren’t using it. I had to be very quiet as they had these nasty looking rotweilers. When I got it home, I sanded and spray painted it and voila! Just like new. Took about a week, some cuts and bruises to get the hang of a pogo stick.

I love your journals! I must say though, thank goodness I am not YOUR mother, the poor lady must be completely gray!
Keep up the writing, I look forward to the next episode!

Hey, what my mother didn't know - never made her gray. Or maybe she chose not to know and just said 'He's at Mark's for the week-end - their problem! Ha Ha.

Ah, a childhood in SA- nothing could beat it. I hope you don't mind my ramblings about the past here on your thread, Boereseun. Perhaps those of you my age or thereabouts, can relate...

You knew how to play with other kids, not just sit in front of a computer screen or a TV set. You went outside, you played cops and robbers and hopscotch. You drew on the pavement ( as in sidewalk) in chalk and imagined you had designed whole cities with stop streets and houses in one dimension; you rode your bikes up and down those pavements for hours with your friends and really used your imaginations to create scenarios that became real for you. You went to the corner cafe with a sixpence and came home with a brown bag filled with sweets - liquorice pipes and packets of candy cigarettes and balls with a very politically incorrect name now, which changed colour when they were sucked a long time. You picked fruit directly off trees and ate it without washing it or worrying about pesticide poisoning, which you had never heard of, anyway. You ate jelly powder from the box and condensed milk from the can and it was pure bliss! You swam in the community centre pool with hundreds of other kids and your mom never worried about you getting a mouthful of water mixed with urine or worse. Your lunch sarmies at school were made on thick white bread and spread thickly with Koo apricot jam, or Black Cat or Nutella. You drank Fipso out of plastic bags and didn't give a hoot what went in there to make it taste so good. You bought hot, sticky chelsea buns or doughnuts filled with jam at the tuckshop and went back for seconds, but you never got fat. You rode buses for three cents and stood on the platform dangerously, as the bus rounded the corner on two wheels and it was the best fun! You went second class on the Trans- Karoo to Cape Town on holiday, and thought you had won the jackpot when you got to sleep on the top bunk. You worried about falling down the train loo, but you still could not help looking down to see the tracks! You went to the airport just to watch the planes taking off and landing and to eat greasy toasted cheese in the awful cafe there. You never missed the Wits Rag and could not wait to be a student there. You went on Brownie camps and learned semaphore and how to build a campfire and put it out and you came home dirty and covered with mozzie bites, but incredibly happy. You thought your teachers never wore pyjamas and you forgot how to speak when you did see them out of school. You collected silkworms and traded them with your friends and stole mulberry leaves off your neighbours' trees to feed them. You played marbles and won ironies and goons and some really beautiful shiny ones you never wanted to part with in a game. You made rosettes in your house colour for school galas and sports events and you sang and shouted until you were hoarse. You covered your school books in brown paper and plastic and sometimes you put pictures under the plastic - if you were allowed to. You listened to Squad Cars on Friday nights and Jet Jungle and Mark Saxon were your Springbok Radio heroes, even if you could never see them, your imagination could. You improved your general knowledge listening to the Three Wise Men and played along when 'Venture' was on the air. You bought seven singles and LP's and went to see 'The Four Jacks and Jill' play live ( who remembers "Master Jack"? You went to town to see "The Sound of Music" four times and ditto 'Mary Poppins" You ate whirly cones from an ice - cream truck man who put a giant Flaky into the middle of your cone and offered you red syrup too. You drank Horlicks before bed to make you sleep well, or Milo or Bosco the Clown chocolate sauce was dripped intp hot milk. You ate ProNutro or Maltabella for breakfast. Your biggest treat was to stop by the fish shop for slap chips with brown vinegar and salt, wrapped in white paper or newspaper- nothing better in the whole world! You slept under three blankets and an eiderdown in winter and shivered when you got up in the morning. You rode to school with gloves, but bare legs and your mother never thought you would get pneumonia! You thought 'bladdy' was the worst swear word ever and when your parents told you that they were tired and needed to sleep every Satruday afternoon, you believed them and played quietly outside. You climbed trees and if you fell out and hurt yourself, your Mom put Mercurochrome on the wound and you were so proud of that red colour! For everything else, there was TCP or Aspirin.

I could go on forever, but I already feel bad about hijacking Boerseun's wonderful post, which inspired me to do so!

No Prob Karen, I must say I experienced most of the same as in your post - minus the music and the rugby heroes. Although we didn't use sixpence, you could still buy a handful of Wilson toffee's for 20c.

I'll be working on the nostalgic part too - right now I'm busy on the wild side of things, then I guess I'll put it all together in one post. For now, here's my next segment too

Once a month or so, we stayed over at Vernon’s place for the week-end. They had a really big backyard where we pitched our tents. No-one was going to creep up on us, because Vernon had these two huge Dobermans. Vernon had this bright idea to make a match-stick bomb. You take a box of matches and cut out the part you use to light the matches. Then you place it in the front, inside another box, with the matcheads facing the lighting surface (filling the box with matches from the box you cut up). You then wrap the loaded matchbox with masking tape – about 5 layers (man I could have used some duct tape in those days) Then follows the art of throwing the boxes to hit just the right angle, resulting in an earth shattering bang. I wonder how he came up with that idea? There were no resources like the internet in those days. After a night out, the street was littered in used matches.

We then progressed to fireworks. We bought some roman candles (for those who don’t know, it’s about a 40cm stick that shoots colored flaming balls out the top. Then Moller got the idea to use lids of metal garbage bins and use them as shields. So there we were – roman candles in one hand, shield in the other shooting at one another with flying fire balls. We could so easily have lost an eye. We must have been out of our minds.

Week-ends at Mark’s place was always an adventure. A common occurrence was going on a trip to the Top Star drive-in. It’s a drive-in movie theater built on top of a mine-dump. It was about a 15 min bike ride from Mark’s place. We never paid to go in. We always went up the back way, then carried our bikes up the pedestrian staircase about half way up. It was a really steep incline, and we could so easily have slipped and fell. We always watched both movies. During intermission we walked around the drive-in – the view was so spectacular. The city lights were always lit up like Christmas trees, and some week-ends you’d get lucky and watch some fireworks from one event or another. We always left just before the end of the movie, because cycling down with all those cars was a sure death wish. After the movies though, we’d all pull into Americano roadhouse and buy ice-cream. Man, that was the life!

Every Sunday, we’d all cycle to my house. My dad was a firm believer in the Sunday braai tradition. We’d show up around 2pm. Grab some meat, potato salad, and pap with tomato and onion sauce. Then after lunch we’d head out to the local public swimming pool. We always had 2 choices. Smaller shallow pool with a fully equipped park next door. Or much larger pool – no park. I guess it depended on what we felt like doing. The pool at the park was okay, but the park itself was outstanding. They had this huge slide (of course baking in the hot sun) You had to go down it sitting on your towel. We’d always see how fast you could spin the merry go round and who was the bravest to jump off while it’s spinning. You’d have to jump far enough so you don’t land on the slab of concrete it was mounted in. Then at the big pool there was always playing cat and mouse with the lifeguard. You’d wait until he left his post (make sure he was in the washroom) then get onto the lifeguard chair and see who could make the biggest splash jumping in. We only got caught once (to my recollection) and were summarily ejected from the pool.

Another week-end at Mark’s house proved interesting as we arrived to a workshop full of bicycle parts. As mark pulled out the angle grinder he said ‘Moenie rondstaan soos ‘n pap vis nie – kom help my’ We grabbed hold of a bike frame and Mark cut off a piece of the front end. Now what? He then cut the rear off the second bike, and finally told us that were going to build our own tandem bike. Unbelievable! And that’s exactly what we did. It took a good 2 days this time, as it was a very intricate job, with welding grinding and not to mention spray painting and assembly. The kids at school crowded us when we got in. No-one had seen a tandem before. I guess in those days there was no real market to sell them.

Mark and I were alone one week-end as the other guys had family commitments to take care of. Mark looked over at me and asked me if I know how to ride a motorcycle. ‘Hier kom k*k’ I can just see all the parents gritting their teeth by now. Mark’s brother had left his off road bike with the keys at home. We pushed the bike to Wemmer Pan once again. Mark told me that even though were too young to ride, there nothing illegal about pushing a bike. The property surrounding Wemmer Pan belonged to the mine in legal terms. So we were on private property. Mark taught me how to ride a bike. I was only 13 years old. Needless to say, the bike was only made for one person, so the person on the back had to really hold on. I don’t know how I managed to stay on that bike with all those bumps and turns.

Armed to the teeth – Weapons for a kid

Weapons in Canada are all very strictly controlled, and what is common for people in SA to own is very illegal here. There was even less control when I was a kid.

We were out at a flea market one day with my mother. She used to frequent ALL the flea markets in existence. Boy what a drag! I then saw this stall selling ninja stars and all kinds of martial arts paraphernalia. I walked away with two ninja stars. A 3 pointed one and a 12 pointed one. Great fun throwing those into my bedroom door, until my mom saw the holes. Now I had to become educated on how to use poly filla and a paintbrush. The next week my dad brought a big sheet of wood home. I guess they figured that it doesn’t matter if I throw lethal weapons around, as long as I do it outside and not break anything. Can you just imagine the horror on Canadian parents faces! I evolved from the stars to nun chucks. In the beginning I clubbed myself on the head a few times, but later got the hang of it. I got bored of that and bought a butterfly knife and some throwing knives. After that, I mastered a blowgun. Mine was a 3 piece monster. Accurate up to 20 meters (well, that was my range anyways). The darts were plastic in the back, and the tips were metal rods, with a very sharp point. You could lodge then into nearly anything.

I don’t know a kid who didn’t own a survival knife. The guy who decided to make those must have made a fortune. Mine was the standard one with the floating compass on the handle. You could unscrew the top, and inside was a fishing line and hook, some fireproof matches and some plasters. Don’t forget the oil stone for sharpening. Mark of course had the cadillac of survival knives – his was all metal.

Vernon bought a BB gun. Whhooohooo – what a great toy to have. We spent hours shooting at targets, can’s, bottles etc. When we got bored of that, we found a great ambush spot. A nice tree, very thick leaves and overhanging a wall for a quick escape if necessary. There was no discrimination – black, white, Indian, Chinese – no matter who you were, you were going to get a BB shot on the butt if you walked by. Most people didn’t know where it came from, but one guy did, and immediately shouted threats of grievous bodily harm as we jumped the wall, and ran at top speed. I don’t even think Carl Lewis could have caught us. That BB gun went everywhere – always on the outlook for a new target.

Then came the tried, trusted and true – good ‘ol kettie (slingshot). Of course, it would only work well if you had a proper one with a brace on the forearm. The best ammo of course were ball bearings. You’d be amazed how far that thing could shoot once you get used to it. My mom even used it on occasion – when the neighbors dog wouldn’t stop barking late at night. She used the kettie to shoot stones on the roof of the neighbors house. Justifying it: ‘If I don’t sleep – they don’t sleep either’ Now that’s a stubborn boeretannie for you!

Just reading through this, makes me wonder if there wasn’t something wrong with me. But no, it was just a small part of my childhood and there were never any malicious thoughts in my head. Not even self defense – it was just about fun, and learning new skills. Trying to master yet another toy.

By the time I became a cop, I had mastered every kind of non-shooting hand held weapon imaginable. Even a police PR34 (tonfa) was old hat.