JOHN THE KNIFE FIGHTER

Back in 1967, I was transferred to Sterkspruit, a small dusty town in the erstwhile Transkei. The town was miniscule but it served a population of at least half a million people who were scattered in the mountainous district, in scores of little villages and townships. The branch was always busy and we worked hard but after hours there wasn’t an awful lot for young people like myself to do. So inevitably we’d land up in the Hilltop Hotel pub, sample some ale and play some darts. More advanced types of entertainment such as movies and snooker were available at nearby Lady Grey or further away, at Aliwal North. Aliwal also had civilized refinements such as pharmacies and supermarkets which we could reach on a Wednesday afternoon.

I had no car initially and had to rely on friends for lifts. On one Wednesday afternoon, we’d done a bit of shopping in Aliwal and were on the long dusty road back to Sterkspruit when my friend suggested we stop in at Lady Grey and slake our thirst. I’d never been to Lady Grey before so he warned me about a “hazard” which sometimes was to be found in the pub. A certain Gerbrandt Cloete, one of the notorious Cloete Brothers (Who I’ll write about in due course) might be drinking there and I had to be wary of him. He was a fellow who loved to pick fights when he was drunk, which he nearly always was and any newcomers to “his” pub were a challenge to him, especially when they were bigger than average, which I was. He said that Gerbrandt feared only three things in life: His father, cancer and people who favoured a knife in a fight. I tucked the information away in my mind, never dreaming I’d use it so soon.

As we walked into the pub, I noticed a really evil looking “takhaar” sitting at the end of the counter – my pal whispered “Gerrie”. He immediately pointed at me and snarled, “LANGAT, KOM HIER!” It was too late to turn back so I decided to brazen it out and I walked over to him. I’m not especially brave and I really had no wish to have my facial features rearranged but I figured as he was pretty drunk and I was sober, if push came to shove I could easily outrun him in the dark streets.

I said, “Jis jis kan ek jou help ou maat” in as conciliatory manner as I could muster. He just growled back, “Kom ek en jy baklei!” I replied, “Maar hoekom? Wat het ek aan jou gedoen? Ons kan mos nie in die kroeg baklei nie”. Gerrie then said we’d go outside and scrap there because no-one came into “his” pub without first having a fight with him. Then I remembered about his fears and said, “Orraait, ons kan gaan fight maar onthou net een ding. Ek baklei altyd met ‘n mess” and I slid my hand meaningfully inside my (empty) jacket pocket. All the time I was getting ready to run if he called my bluff but he swung back to his drink and muttered, “Nee, dan los ons dit maar”.

I was so relieved and emboldened that I clapped him on the back and said, “Hoor hier, my naam is John, Kom ek koop jou ‘n dop”. After that and for many years thereafter, Gerrie and I were buddies. He sometimes turned up at our pub in Sterkspruit where I would help out as barman and I once overheard him talking to a guy sitting next to him and pointing to me he said, “Sien jy daai outjie. Hy lyk so mak en slapgat maar moenie met hom skoor soek nie. HY BAKLEI MET ‘N MES”. My imaginary knife and my prowess with it were etched upon his befuddled mind and served me better than even a suit of armour might have. Poor old Gerrie eventually died in that Lady Grey hotel. Too drunk to drive home, he passed out in one of the rooms and just never woke up. His biggest enemy, alcohol, got the better of him in the end

I eventually got to know all the Cloetes as they banked with us in Lady Grey and I relieved as manager there in my spell on Relief Staff. Please remember the name because you’ll meet them again on these pages sometime.