My very first visit to the Training Centre in Johannesburg happened in 1966. It was my first visit to Johburg as well and I used every moment I had there, to taste big city life. Those were the days when one felt obliged to dress to go to the movies because places like His Majestys and The Coliseum were grand looking movie theatres, which were a thrill to visit. Dr Zhivago was playing at His Majesty’s so we walked into downtown Johburg from Braamfontein, right after work. We clocked into the night spot underneath the theatre, His Majesty’s Cellar, quite early in the evening and sat drinking at a table while the beautiful blonde Wanda Arletti provided the entertainment. We all fell madly in love with her and clapped and whistled unashamedly after every song – luckily there hardly any other patrons there to witness the bunch of plaasjapies we were.
We eventually found our way to our cinema seats, which were slapbang in the middle bank of seats, in the heart of the row, with at least fifty seats on either side of us. Have you seen Dr Zhivago? Well, I haven’t! That endless bloody picture was nearly the undoing of me because instead of paying the cloakrooms a visit after ogling Wanda and downing the vodkas and Coke enthusiastically, we went straight to our seats. Oh golly gracious me, I suffered – small wonder I have a weakened bladder today. I needed to go badly for what felt like 12 hours which is about how long that stupid movie seemed to go on for and with those daunting crowds of penguin-suited toffs filling the row on either side of me, I couldn’t get up the courage to get up and go. What if I lost control and Nicky Oppenheimer or someone like that was right there where I was? I spent the whole time concentrating on not letting go and I recall not a thing about the movie. Oh it was agony.
I was naturally anxious to get out and dashed for the wide marble staircases which took one out to the street. My leather soles could find no grip on the stairs and my feet shot out from under me. I went down, flat on my back and slid all the way down the staircase on my back, my head bumping on every step as I went. Getting to the bottom, I looked back up the stairs and a whole mob of people was still standing on the top step, waiting to see if I was still alive but also laughing uproariously. Although in agony and dazed from the fall, I managed to get erect and continue my headlong rush without further mishap. Round the corner and Into a dark alley I went and finally unleashed the flood. Oh, that relief!
To round off an already miserable evening, we discovered that the last bus to Kensington had already left and we had to walk all the way out to our digs, through the notorious Jeppe Dip!
On my very first course, we had a tall Frenchman by the surname of Descroizilles who had come all the way from Swaziland on his motorbike, with us. He talked me into joining him on his pillion to go into the centre of Johburg one evening. No trouble to this crazy Frenchman, he heads the wrong way down a one way. One moment we were cruising along and the next there was a mass of car headlights coming straight for us. Amid a chorus of car hooters and flashing headlights, Frenchy simply mounted a pavement and got out of the way. We turned round and rejoined the traffic, the madman laughing delightedly about the experience.
I am grateful to him for giving me a lift some nights later, to the legendary Troubadour Coffee Bar because that was an experience I have never forgotten. It was the Mecca of folksingers in South Africa – a really dingy place, with rough wooden benches and tables and a little platform in the corner and little else. The cream of South African folkies appeared there regularly – I saw Des Lindberg, Nick Taylor, New Trends, David Marks among many others performing there. The artists would often just come off the little stage and join the audience and the vibe was quite extraordinary. While folk music is not my main interest, I have lots of it and enjoy playing it for a change.
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