My Amalinda Friends by @fred703

Spoke to Calum after twenty years and a rush of memories came flooding back. Isn’t it an amazing thing when a lifelong friend chats; it is as if you have never been out of contact, even if many years have passed.

My family moved back to East London in 1974, the days of pre-TV. The Government deemed the impact of television to be negative on society, so it was reluctantly allowed entry into SA in 1975.

Among the local schools were Cambridge High, a co-ed (for the academically inclined) and Port Rex for boys (for those of a more technical skills orientation. Selborne was a Boy’s School with a prestigious reputation for sports in particular. Claredon was the sister school to Selborne with an impeccable reputation too. In the days of Apartheid, white schools in the East Cape Province were of the highest national standard. Of course, non-white schools did not count in the measurement criteria of those days. Most of us went to Cambridge.

My close friends in those days were:

Carl Johnson, an Englishman – he was in my grade and introduced me to British music (which of course was the best) and yoghurt. Carl was not inclined much toward Christianity and he was extremely funny. When he was apprenticed to become an electrician, he was at the same company as was my Dad. Once my Dad was working on the roof. Carl, when walking by, asked my Dad if he was happier up there? Nonplussed my Dad asked why? Came the reply “because you are closer to Jesus.” Old Fruity threatened to hurl a pair of pliers at the Blasphemous Beast. Carl was also on the Cambridge High School Chess Team with me. Once Carl beat me three games in a row while he was drinking some or other liqueur. This proved indisputably the power of alcohol and I had to humbly endure much boasting at my expense.

The Beatties, also from England, (Calum (a year younger than me), Steven (four years younger), and James, the youngest). They were as tall as I was short. The older two were my close friends. Gary, my brother, and Calum became close as they liked the outdoors kind of activities such as camping whereas Steve and I, were more partial to hard rock and food.
The Helfriches (Graham, David, rest of siblings irrelevant), David was the best friend of my brother David, and they were absolute terrors together. Graham and James were close friends.
Then of course my family, the Humans, (myself, Gary, David and Mark, all separated by three year intervals with a sister (who had to be ferocious for the sake of her own sanity) just after me in age).
Now all of these friendships were entwined in complex patterns which ebbed and flowed, as individuals and subgroups. To my best recollection, there was never any bad blood and we have all remained friends.

I shall relate various episodes which are now legend to all of us:

Rugby battles in back yards, usually Calum and Gary versus Steven and I. The tryline was the border of the backyard garden where Mrs Anne Beattie was cultivating some prized blooms, and in the middle of the yard was a carefully pruned bush in a lovely large ball shape. Steven had possession of the ball but the tryline was being defended by the foe on either side of the bush, no way to the tryline, but with typical British fortitude, the sacrifice of the bush was made as Steve scored by charging through the bush and trampling it to pieces as anguished cries of his mother went unheeded.
We also played rugby in the backyard of the Helfriches after preparing the pitch with a hosepipe and making a lake of mud.

On another occasion, the older Beattie brothers decided that a fight must happen between the close friends, James and Graham. While the young combatants unwillingly face off, the older brothers are egging James to take a swing at Graham but nothing happens for a long time. Then timidly, Graham, pokes out a gentle fist and bumps the face of James, who dissolves into tears. The older brothers are horrified and bellow in disgust at their youngest brother with cries of how the name of the Beatties has been stained in dishonour and cowardice.

As mentioned earlier, the 2 Davids were in a league of their own for chaos. David Helfrich, when about 14 years or younger, took the other David, for a ride on his Dad’s motorbike, this was illegal needless to say. When riding on the tarred roads of the more established suburbs, they were spotted by a traffic cop who turned after them in pursuit. David decided to run for it and raced off through red traffic lights, stop street signs, etc etc, until they crashed the bike. They were captured and taken to the Helfrich Home, where Mary (Mrs Helfrich to the more polite) sobbed when informed that the vagabonds would be jailed. Alex, the Dad, was furious and dealt with the culprits.
Another time they were having a fight with pellet guns (air rifles), and my brother was hiding behind the kitchen door, while the other David was on the boundary of the property. My dad, who was unaware of the battle, exited the house and was accidentally shot by the other David, who dropped the gun and bolted for home. My Dad roared at him to “come here” which the young lad wisely ignored.
My mother decided that whatever high school David Helfrich would go to, my brother would go to the other.

Alec Helfrich was a stern father and attempted to instill a sense of moral rectitude in his sons with appropriate punishments, However after Graham was punished and when his Dad was not home, would remove the headlight cover of the motorbike with a screwdriver and the break the light bulb. Then the cover would be carefully replaced. A more drastic measure was to hurl one of his Dad’s prized golf clubs into the stream near the backyard.

Occasionally we would go to the Amalinda cycle track and play soccer barefoot in the middle of the track. It was nicely maintained with beautiful green grass. My brother Gary (a natural leader) would organise this event. About twenty of us would gather and the games would be fiercely contested, for example, on one occasion Gary and Terry Petzer kicked at the ball, and their feet smashed into each other; Gary’s small toe was broken quite badly but Terry, who grew up on a farm and whose feet were like iron, had no injury whatsoever. My Dad, old Fruity, would join us on occasion and the other boys were quite impressed with this. Calum called him “the Bald Kid of Amalinda”, a name which stuck. My Dad used to be a league soccer player after his rugby career ended, so here was this guy, well into his 60’s playing with us teenagers. He was giggling and laughing as he exercised his considerable skills of fouling, by tripping us, shirt tugging, kicking our legs and barging, but he did lack speed at that stage of his sporting career.

Once we played strip poker – I was the first to lose all my clothes and the others all collapsed laughing at me when I was nude. Needless to say I cannot divulge the details for their humour although if this article was read by them they would clearly remember.

When television was introduced it was so dreadful that we usually ignored it. Once just to be annoying we were all watched a movie drama in the Beattie’s home. At the climactic tragic scene where the hero died, all the boys howled with laughter much to the agitation of the mom who was screaming at us to shut up, while Gordon, the dad, who had a very dry sense of humour as only the British can, would grin widely at us buffoons infesting his lounge.

Carrying on...
We used to build plastic model military planes and tanks etc., spending many hours gluing and painting tiny pieces. I still have quite a few unbuilt kits.

This pastime was particularly loved by Gary.

Of course music was a major component of our lives and much time was spent listening to bands and musicians (such as Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, The Who, Jethro Tull) with the sound as loud as it could possibly go while reading books and EATING, or playing chess and EATING, or chatting and EATING, and so forth. Steve and I were partial to this pursuit while Calum and Gary followed the call of the outdoors.

We all loooved Monty Python. We had a few records and virtually memorised them. John Cleese was the guru of humour to us. As the old scratchy vinyl played we would chant each beloved line to each other, still laughing each time we went through the same old tired lines, again and again.

Those were days in a society that could not last, however, friendships and memories of a lifetime were forged.

by @fred703