I have quite a crop of amusing stories about Mr A.O. MORLEY (Bush) which I will tell in due course but I feel that before I do, I need to write down two of his own stories, in order that they are preserved. One is hilariously funny and the other serious and thought provoking.
THE HOTEL FIRE
Sometime during the sixties Mr Morley was called upon to audit the tiny branch of Keimoes, down along the Orange River. He checked into the Keimoes Hotel and was given a room on the first floor. On this particular night, he was awoken by an obviously drunk fellow in his room, who begged him to come and help because his bed was on fire. An annoyed Bush told him to get out which he did but minutes later he was back, even more panic-stricken because now his bed was burning merrily. Smelling smoke, Bush accompanied the chap back to his bedroom which by now was substantially afire. Grabbing a chamberpot from under the bed, Bush filled it with water and doused the bed. All this did was make the flames flare up dramatically and he realized that this situation was seriously out of control. He then rushed down the passage, knocking on doors to alert other guests and from behind the first door came a sleepy voice, (This at around 1 am) “Ja, bring die koffie maar hoekom is julle so donners vroeg vanmore”. I have forgotten the other reactions but the last door down the passage was flung open by a huge bloke with a fist like a leg of mutton, ready to thump poor Bush for playing the fool with him.
Bush then hightailed it back to his room, quickly packed his two suitcases and in his pyjamas, headed for the stairs. The alarm had been given in the meantime and there was a mob milling around at the foot of the stairs, staring up, as Bush started down. As he stepped forward, his pyjama pants fell right down and with both hands occupied, he could not halt the process. Then the remarkable thing – not a single soul as much as smiled as he put down his cases and rehoisted the pants. He said he would never forget that sea of blank, unsmiling faces staring up at him.
Making it outside, he placed his cases in his little car and stood back to watch the firefighting efforts. Just then up pulled the “fire brigade” which had been summoned from Upington. This consisted of Landrover with a long ladder, four rather puny coloured fellows and a hefty white “Oom” driving. They whipped off the ladder and stood it against the wall, so Oom could scoot with the hose to get at the flames. They then screwed the hose onto the garden tap but to their dismay, there was hardly enough pressure to send more than a miserable dribble up the hose to the apoplectic Oom, waiting to direct the stream.
Now Oom discovered his position at the top of the ladder was precarious, as the ladder started falling back from the wall and then the onlookers were treated to the sight of four little chaps, two to each ladder leg, trying manfully to keep the bellowing Oom from crashing down. They rushed around madly, trying to keep the ladder upright. Bush said that it was like an old time Keystone Cops movie and he was helpless with laughter. All efforts were in vain and eventually the flames reached the pub, where they were treated to an amazing array of bright colours, as Liqueur bottles exploded.
When it was all over, Bush got into his car and drove to the branch, for which he had a key. At 4 am he washed, shaved and got dressed in the restroom and had finished half a day’s work by the time the staff arrived.
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