I started my working life in the South Western Free State, in a place called Fauresmith. I briefly served as a pay clerk in the Provincial Roads Department and for the first few months, they never paid me so to help pay for my accommodation, I worked in the pub and bottle store. I started at R65 per month of which R30 went to the Phoenix Hotel – imagine that: Full accommodation, three meals a day and washing as well. You tell me if that was value or not! The bank manager used to come in after work for a snort or ten and he talked me into joining Barclays. Oom Jaap’s branch consisted of three staff members – manager, teller/accountant and me. I had to learn the whole branch routine in just one day.
But I digress. I had just come out of the army and was not familiar with booze. Closest to drink back home was at Christmas when Dad would make shandies for us. I was just astonished at the amount of whisky and brandy the customers could put away and after taste testing some of the stuff in idle moments, I concluded that drinking was not for me. Especially whisky tasted bloody awful! Apart from Oom Jaap, the bank manager, one customer stood out for having an awesome thirst: Tiens Viljoen.
My first experience of that huge fellow was once afternoon in the snooker room. I enjoyed watching the “manne” having a game. The banter around the table was often funny and it got better as the evening drew on and bottle levels dropped. Tiens in particular was full of nonsense and he had Abe Levin, the grocer, in stitches at times. At one point, he seemed to catch sight of me and fired a question at me. “Se my boetie” he said, “is jy ‘n Dopper” (For the uninitiated, Doppers is a nickname for members of Die Gereformeerde Kerke). I got a helluva fright and really didn’t think my answer through. Even if I had, I would not have answered correctly as at that stage I had not even heard of Doppers.
My whirling brain heard “DOP” and let’s face it, in a hotel snooker room, a church might very well be the absolute last thing you might think of, so with a tentative smile I said “Ja Oom, ek drink nou en dan ‘n biertjie”. I can’t remember if I thought I was going to join the “Big League” for a drink or what but I sure wasn’t prepared to be grabbed by the front of my shirt and threatened with, “Probeer jy nou snaaks wees he ? Ek is sommer lus en foeter jou. Jou klein nuksnuts”. I stammered out, “Nee Oom ek probeer nie snaaks wees nie maar wat het Oom gevra? Ek dink ek het verkeerd gehoor” “IS JY ‘N LID VAN DIE DOPPER KERK, ONNOSEL?” he shouted. Tiens never liked me after that and snubbed me at every turn. I stayed away from the snooker room after that but at least I learned what a Dopper was.
(Many years later I turned up in Fauresmith to do an audit of the branch and discovered (To my relief) that Tiens had died in the interim. Abe was still around and I reminded him of the occasion. He had forgotten it and was hugely amused.)
But fate had another another skirmish with Tiens in store for me. A month or two after the Dopper incident, I had started as barman and Tiens was at my counter throwing back his “Moses in die biesies” – his Oude Meester. The bar windows were wide open as it was a hot summer’s day. The phone rang and a woman’s voice said. “Kan ek met Tiens praat asseblief?” As barmen across the world do, I covered the mouthpiece and said “Oom Tiens, dis jou vrou, is jy hier?” Tiens frantically mimed that he had already gone home and I calmly said, “Jammer dame, maar Oom Tiens is alreeds huistoe”. Came her terse reply “Meneer jy LIEG! Ek is hier in die winkel oorkant die straat en ek kan Tiens deur die oop venster sien”
I don’t know what happened at Tiens’ house that night but ever after Tiens was thoroughly nasty towards me. Jeepers, I didn’t drop him on purpose - he dropped himself dammit.
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