Sharing myself and my life

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HOW MY SISTER SUSAN ORMROD REMEMBERS MY DAD’S STORY OF HIS ARRIVAL IN CAPE TOWN IN 1948. 

Sandra - Happy for you to use this memory if useful.  Bearing in mind that two people remembering the same thing are unlikely to remember the same details.  I know the story as Dad related it to me as a child - there may well have been bits that he left out ... or it may be that his memory slowed down over the years and the story as I remember is closer to what happened.  Or that the truth lies somewhere inbetween.  Anyway, this is what he told me and what I have believed all my life.  

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“The small story that I wanted to share with you concerns Dad's initial arrival in Cape Town.  You may know that he was drinking with crew members the night before arrival in Cape Town, and that he was in a pretty bad way when the ship docked.  He never could drink much - his father being an alcoholic probably had something to do with that.  (We are all three lucky that we all have Mom's alcoholic capacity!)

 He was still recovering from his unaccustomed hangover the next day when he was warned that the ship was about to sail.  His suitcase and tool box had been offloaded - somewhere.  He left the ship still hungover and set off to walk into Cape Town from the docks, with 30/- in his pocket and the clothes he stood up in, which was all that he had. It was late afternoon when he managed to find a single night's accommodation from a very suspicious landlady.  The next day, recovered from his hangover and ravenously still unfed, Dad saw an advertisement for a job that would suit him.  

 This was with Vic Proctor at his garage.  He somehow managed to find his way to the place and met Mr Proctor.  Dad must have looked a treat, unshaven, unfed, recovering hangover and still in the same clothes as he had debarked the day before. Vic Proctor saw something in him (that we always knew was there), and asked him where his belongings were.  Dad wasn't sure - he didn't know what to think.  

 Vic Proctor famously took a chance on Dad and drove him down to the docks, where they entered the luggage retained area.  Dad described his luggage to the man behind the counter - and was told there was nothing fitting that description.  Vic Proctor  - obviously a fighter - leaped over the counter, looked behind a couple of shelves, and found Dad's described property, labelled in his name.  

 Back in his car, he gruffly asked when Dad had last eaten, and took him to a canteen-type working mans' restaurant where he paid for Dad to eat his fill, while they talked.  Mr Proctor then offered Dad a job as a mechanic, starting the next day, and an address where he would be able to find short-term accommodation.

 Dad started work for him the next day and worked for Vic Proctor for the first few months of his arrival in Cape Town, working on the famous motor bike and other vehicles.  Dad always thought very highly of him, and I am sure that Proctor felt the same about Dad.  Eventually Dad had to leave to take up a better job with a bigger salary - leaving with all good wishes from Proctor and his family - and a surprising meeting up with the famous motor bike many, many years later.

 Once he had settled into his job, Dad saw a hand written ad somewhere advertising room and board at a price he could afford, and decided to go there and see what was on offer.  Since he was in central Cape Town and the offer was in Claremont, he might not have done this had he been aware of the distance involved.  (I remember this part of the story so very well ...)

 He set off to walk to Claremont, and being young and fit it was probably not too hard for him.  He may even have hitched a lift, although I don't remember that detail.  Anyway, when he got to Claremont and started to look for the house that was offering accommodation, he slowly realised that he recognised the area.  This was impossible, and he knew that, but street after street became more and more well known to him, and he headed confidently for his destination.  Before he took the last turn into the street he was looking for, he knew exactly what he would see.  And he was right - down to the finer details of the house, the garden and a young girl playing with a ball in the garden.  He said that it was like going back to a home that he knew well - the layout of the house and garden, the plants in the garden, some  of which were unknown in England.  Everything made sense, and he knew before he knocked on the door that he would be living there - even feeling as if he had been there before, although of course this was impossible.

 He had struck gold - this was the Lathleif family who were needing a paying boarder.  He moved in, they made him welcome, and he made his second lot of friends in Cape Town. 

 He was not living there still when Mom and I arrived some months later, but was still very good friends with the Lathlief family (two parents, daughter Gloria, sons Beverley and Arthur, and maybe another whose name I cannot remember).  

 We were good friends with the Lathliefs, although aged only four or so I was not really aware of a lot of the contacts.  A couple of years later, when the Brown family (Dad's sister Auntie Em, Uncle Ron, cousins Bernice and Michael) arrived in Cape Town, Bernice and Gloria became close friends, and used to dress me up and sew clothes for me and style my hair.  

 At the time he met Mom and I at the docks in Cape Town, after our arrival from the UK, he was driving an old, black German car which he kept for some time.  I have tried to find out the name of this car, but no luck so far.  I think he got it very cheaply as it was German and so soon after WWII, the make was not popular.  The front seats were separate, and I used to stand between them with Mom and Dad, while he was driving the car.  There was an old German army song that Dad used to sing while he drove this car, and Mom did not approve, although she did join in and sing.  I have a memory of Dad driving up a very steep hill in Cape Town, and Mom worrying that the car could not make it, all the time Dad howling out the German marching song till we got to the top of the hill.  

 Sorry - I thought I had sent this one to you already - your note regarding Vic Proctor and his winning motor bike reminded me.

 Love to you both

Susan xxxx

 March 2021