I was born in Kroonstad but my folks moved to Winburg not long after my birth. A year or two later and we found ourselves in Trompsburg, in a house right across the street from Barclays Bank. I vividly recall them taking down the letters which spelled “Barclays Bank (Dominion, Colonial and Overseas)” replacing them with a bigger set which read “Barclays Bank D.C.O.” I was intrigued by this change and wanted to know from my folks what the D.C.O. stood for. “Dominion, Colonial & Overseas” I was told. But that was what had just been taken down – why did they do THAT? I still don’t know but is it any wonder that I am on this forum writing about this bank? Until we moved to Ladybrand, where there were Volkskas and Standard Bank branches, I didn’t even know that other banks existed!
But I’m wandering away from my story. I returned to good old Trompsburg several times for audits of the branch which I was not even allowed to enter when I was a kid. There was a small motel on the outskirts of town which provided adequate accommodation so I stayed there. It lay just off the road which linked the town to the N1 bypass. I walked a lot in those days and on this particular afternoon, I took my kierie and started walking up the bridge which crossed over the N2 and linked the town to the highway. I was walking on the right hand side of the road, facing the oncoming traffic, so traffic from town would pass well to the left of me.
I heard a screeching of tyres and an engine being revved mercilessly back in town and could hear it was heading my way but I didn’t even look back, as I felt safe over on the right shoulder of the road. Imagine my fright when that speeding car missed me by millimeters as it sped past. The driver had swerved over and deliberately aimed at me. He then hit the brakes, coming to a smoking, screeching stop further on. Shaken by the shock of the near miss, I walked on warily until I was opposite him. The fellow was obviously very drunk and by his crazed expression, a long way down the road to utter madness.
“Do you wanna lift?” he slurred. I politely refused, stating that I was just taking a bit of a walk for exercise. But he insisted, “Come on, get in, I’ll give you a lift” I decided that things were getting out of hand so I started walking on rather briskly but as I did I heard him snarl, “HEY, DO YOU WANNA DIE?’ and heard him put his foot flat down and saw him coming for me. I barely had enough time to jump over the guardrail and tumble down the side of the bridge and as I did, I heard his tyres skidding on the road shoulder above me.
By now I was scared, really scared. This bloke wanted to kill me and he might even have been armed for all I knew but luckily he took off, driving erratically and weaving drunkenly down the ramp and onto the N1. What I didn’t know was that a couple of Traffic Cops had set up a speed trap under the bridge and they had heard the screeching of tyres when the chap first got to me and had sent up their black assistant to see what was going on. He was just in time to see me flying over the guardrail and to him it looked as if the car had hit me, so he frantically indicated to the Inspectors that there had been a hit and run and that the car was heading towards Bloemfontein. They jumped into one of their cars and set off at high speed, in pursuit. When I reached the bridge, I climbed down to the remaining car to talk to the black chap and was able to listen to the furore which had erupted on the airwaves.
The N2 was being resurfaced and for long stretches, there was only a half width of road. The lunatic driver simply aimed at anyone in his way and intimidated them right off the road. The cops passed several cars sitting forlornly off the shoulder of the road, wondering what the heck was going on. I heard them radio ahead to Edenburg to the police there, asking for a roadblock to be set up at the town’s bridge. The fellow wasn’t ready to be caught, so he whizzed up the off lane and down the other side, while the police sat under the bridge waiting. Next thing I heard was the Flying Squad being asked to block off the road outside Bloemfontein and apprehend the chap no matter what. Faced with a fleet of police cars and policemen pointing firearms at him, he finally submitted and was taken in, meek as a lamb.
I actually spoke to one of the speed cops afterwards and was told that the drunk had been drinking at the hotel in town and had run out of money. He was the adopted son of some wealthy people in Philippolis and used to getting his own way so he completely flipped when he was refused further service at the pub and got into his car in a blind rage. Turned out he had even mounted a pavement in town and tried to run down two old dears who miraculously managed to avoid him. I was next on his hit list. I tried to lay a charge of attempted murder at the Trompsburg police station but was assured that he had so many charges pending that he would be in jail for quite a few years, so I dropped the idea.
I was unscathed fortunately but it could have been a lot worse. At least I was spared the horrific experience of a terrorist attack which two of my colleagues endured. Clive Warnes and Lionel Dempers were seriously injured in a cowardly bomb attack on Oshakati branch during their audit. Lionel lost half of his one leg while Clive also had leg injuries. My little scrape with death doesn’t seem half as bad by comparison but it sure as hell scared the bejabbers out of me.
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