The Grand Tour: Letters and photographs from the British Empire Expedition 1922

Archie on the Rhodes Memorial.

‘Physical Energy’, Rhodes Memorial.

Thursday [February 9]

Today is grey and cold. The Hiams rejoice, but I regret the heat. Sylvia, I, and the Naval Attaché (Ashby) went off to Muizenberg. High tide and shelving beach. I didn’t tilt my board up enough, and consequently it stuck in the sand, and jolted me violently in the middle! I at once loathed surfing! But recovered shortly. Ashby was rather good for a first attempt. Sylvia doesn’t bathe, in case she should get sticky! She snapped us both as we came out ‘resting on our boards’, and suddenly a perfectly strange young man bust up, raised his hat, said to me: ‘may I have the pleasure also?’ and before I could reply, ‘snapped’ me neatly, murmured ‘Many thanks’ and retreated again.

Archie came out after lunch, stayed in an hour, and got very angry, because he didn’t get one good run! It was awfully funny to watch him trying so hard, and wave after wave passing him by.

In the evening we went to the Town Hall, were received by the Mayor and Mrs Gardiner, and had a lovely concert which we heard from their box. The conductor, Wendt, is as good as anyone I have ever heard.

The faithful Featherston (whom Belcher persists in referring to as Wetherslab) returned with us. We were instructed in a fierce whisper to remain in the lounge, and not to suggest going up to the sitting room, in the hope that he would leave sooner. But Wetherslab seemed quite happy, drank soda water in small sips, and pointed out five elderly gentlemen in turn, the formula being the same. ‘You see so and so? Sir Harry Whatnot. Rich, but quite second class. You wouldn’t care for him at all.’ One by one the members of the Mission strolled away to bed, followed by murderous glances from Belcher who had given strict orders that he was not to be left alone with Featherston. The last I heard was F. saying: ‘You see that fellow sitting behind you?’ Bel. ‘Not having eyes in the back of my head, I don’t.’ F. (quite unperturbed) ‘He’s the Governor’s A.D.C. Quite your sort. I’ll bring him up.’ Bel. ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort. I won’t meet anyone tonight – first class, second class or third class!’ F. (sympathetically) ‘I expect you do get fed up with the kind of fellows you meet out here.’ I should not be at all surprised to learn tomorrow that (a) Featherston’s corpse had been recovered in the garden or (b) that Belcher had succumbed to an apoplectic fit!

[Friday] February 10

Darling Mother

I can’t in the least remember where I left off! And whether I told you about our day out with the British Manufacturers Representatives? They came for us with cars and took us out for a whole day’s motoring, over the ‘neck’ of Table Mountain, through lovely pine trees down a winding road to Camp’s Bay on the other side, and all along the coast road on the side of the mountains – just like Hope’s Nose and the New Cut at Torquay! (No matter where Millers go, they always say it is just like Torquay! But it is). We had lunch at Hout’s Bay – a most attractive Hotel with big shady trees growing up through the floor of the ‘stoep’ which I always disgrace myself by calling the verandah, and we ate at long tables under the shadow of the trees. I had Archie on one side (they put all husbands and wives next to each other) and a Mr Oldfield on the other side, and we had a most delightful conversation about vaccines and dog ticks! Belcher made an excellent speech.

Lunch at Hout’s Bay, from left to right: Agatha, Archie, Mrs Edwards, Mr Edwards, Major Featherston, Mrs Hiam, Mr Brown and Mr Hiam.

Then we drove on, through Constantia to see the vines, which I mistook for young tomato plants for some time! Fields of them, standing about 2ft high, like little currant bushes. We passed orchards of peach and pear trees also.

We had tea at the Majestic Hotel at Kalk Bay, and came home through Wyneberg, where most of the Cape Town people seem to live, and through Rhodes Avenue, where great oak trees meet overhead in an arch for about a mile or so, past the natural Zoo where Spring bok and Wilde beast (spelt wrong) [sic] walk about, with some lions and baboons in cages, and saw the Rhodes Memorial in the distance on the hill side. Young Ashby was with us, and at that moment delivered himself of the innocent remark: ‘Rhodes? That was the fellow who died quite rich, wasn’t it?’

Belcher is becoming very irritable. I don’t wonder really for his leg and foot are quite bad, bursting out in new places. The doctor says he must lie up and rest it, and he says he can’t afford the time. Bates had forgotten to get him more carbolic, and he’d had a tight boot on all day, the food in the hotel was atrocious, and the doctor has cut him down to one whiskey and soda a meal, so matters nearly reached a climax last night! Also, he is getting very fed up with Major Featherston, who attaches himself to Belcher like a faithful dog, and comes up at all hours of the day and night. He runs downs South Africa incessantly, apologising to us for the ‘second class’ people – ‘Not like my friends in New Zealand.’ In fact, we gather that the only first class people in South Africa are Prince Arthur of Connaught (‘I see a lot of him, of course’) his A.D.C. and – Major Featherston! He tells us all about his clothes, and the terrible duty he had to pay on ‘the half dozen 16 guinea suits I brought out from England – of course one can only get second rate stuffout here!’ However, he bent to pick up a handkerchief today, and Ashby, to his great delight, discovered a large patch of foreign material in the seat of the immaculate one’s trousers, and came to tell us the glad news in great glee. We all feel much better in consequence.

Saturday [February 11]

The industrious and perspiring Bates wrestled all yesterday to erect the B.E.E. models in the Chamber of Commerce, and this morning Sylvia and I went down to see them and afterwards tried on a lot of hideous hats in the town to recuperate after the strain of talking intelligently about them to the inevitable Wetherslab, and a red faced man called Archie Simpson, who was one of our hosts on the motor drive, on which occasion, he nearly drove Belcher into the Indian Ocean and frightened him to death.

This afternoon Archie and I went to a place beyond Muizenberg called Fish Hoek, and bathed. It’s the only place one can swim round here, either its surf bathing like Muizenberg, or else they have large tanks on the beach washed by every tide in which you feel rather like a fish in an aquarium! This was a lovely little place ringed round with mountains, white sand beach, and about six little white bungalows on the mountain side. No bathing huts (and no cover!) but a kind young man offered us a hutch where he kept fishing tackle, and we had a delicious bathe. Nevertheless, swimming is a little tame after surfing! We are going to buy light curved boards (that don’t jab you in the middle) and absolutely master the art. Archie loved Fish Hoek, of course, and would much prefer staying here to going up to Rhodesia. It is amusing after the crowded beaches in England to come to a place where when there are ten people and three children on the beach, you hear someone murmur: ‘How terribly crowded it is today!’

Archie in the sand dunes at Fish Hoek.

Sunday [February 12]

Today a selection of us went out to call on the Admiral at Simons town, Belcher having lunched with him yesterday. B. wanted to take Archie and me, but we agreed that that would hardly do, so I and Sylvia Hiam went with him and had a most pleasant time. Lady Goodenough has been ill and looked very frail, but was quite charming, and the Admiral is a jolly old boy, and took me all round the garden and showed me his ponies, and insisted that Archie and I must come out and lunch one day before we left Cape Town and I must bring my camera and take some views. He has two quite cheery daughters, one not out yet. The flag lieut. had an eye for me, I think – but the Admiral gave him no chance.

I fear Ceylon is quite off now. There are no boats from here – they all go to Bombay, and the Ormuz which we are trying to catch, touches at Colombo but not at Bombay. So we are cancelling the passages, and sailing direct for Australia from here somewhere about the 30 March, I expect.

Archie, Admiral, Lady Dorothy, Lady Goodenough and their dog Simon at Simonstown.

As this was mail day, posting this to catch up.

Love to all, Agatha.

MOUNT NELSON HOTEL CAPE TOWN

February 15 [Wednesday]

Dearest Mummy

The Hiams are a strange family! Neither Mrs Hiam nor Sylvia are enjoying this trip in the very least – but are longing to get back to England. The heat tries them, there is so much dust, the houses are so Dutch looking and unEnglish, the food is bad (true!) and (like Mrs Gummidge) if a mosquito bites them, it is worse for them than for other people – they feel it more! Then why come? I gather that Mr Hiam owns and farms the greater part of East Anglia. His father was a yeoman farmer in a rather large way, and the son conceived the brilliant idea of being the man who sold his father’s potatoes in London, with the result that he is worth just over a million. And yet, when you can afford to travel all over the world regardless of cost, you don’t enjoy it! As a matter of fact, he does – but only because of comparing the farming and agriculture generally, but still he is cheerful and always pleasant. I suppose it is rather dull for the girl. She’s a bit too young to enjoy any intelligent sight seeing, and there aren’t any dances or picnics or young peoples’ shows, and she is simply counting the days till she can get back to England. I find an evening spent with Mrs Hiam rather trying. She asks so many questions. I forget if I told you, but she said four times the other day what an extraordinary thing it was that there should be a Llandudno and a Clift on in South Africa ‘Just the same names as in England!’ I hinted that it was a phenomenon fairly often encountered in our colonies, but she repeated ‘Actually the same as in England’ and seemed to think it was a clear case of thought transference! They are quite attached to me. I iron their clothes for them, tell them what trams to take in the town to get back to the Hotel, and deal and shuffle for them when we play cards, neither of which accomplishments they can master!

Half holiday today! Archie came back from Muizenberg boasting that he can surf at last! Nobody believes him! But he rambles on while at the same time Hiam and Bates explain how really they practically got to the top of Table Mountain. Nobody believes them either, and Bates branches off earnestly to describe a particularly vicious looking spider that blocked his path, and how he distinctly heard a snake hiss. Bates has been convinced ever since leaving England (which he has never left before) that he is going into deadly peril and will never return alive. He insisted on the B.E.E. insuring his life before he started! Madeira he eyed askance as being full of pirates, and when a shark was seen at sea, it was sure to be Bates who saw it. Belcher has told him that there are young leopards on Table Mountain, and he believes it. We sent him a P.C. yesterday with a picture of a Puff Adder on it, and an earnest warning purporting to come from the ‘Society of the Protection of Visitors’ and Bates has been busily looking them up in the Telephone Directory, and cannot understand why no one seems to know where their offices are!

Thursday [February 16]

Yesterday afternoon, Mrs Blake and I went to the museum where we met two cousins of hers, one a very pretty girl, Marye Cole, who has been a great success with the Connaughts and others out here, and the other a Mrs Thomas who lives in Italy but has come out here to lecture on art. She dug out the head of the Museum and made him show us round. They have models from life of all the various Bushmen tribes, some of which are now dying out – extraordinary little women with enormous behinds trained out in a point! He explained them all very interestingly, and then we went on to the rock carvings and paintings done by prehistoric people. (Just like the reindeer ones, Punkie.) He showed how they were not just a lot of odd animals grouped together, but actually represented a particular hunt or drive. One eland’s legs look all out of drawing, but if you look closely, you see a tiny red spot, and the hunter indicated sketchily behind is holding a red tipped arrow, so you realise that the animals legs were supposed to be broken and that is why it is ‘all queer’. Most of the beasts have white foam coming out of their mouths, but one has red, and is sinking to the ground evidently dying. All the animals were finished minutely, but the hunters are very sketchy, and that is supposed to be on account of the superstitious idea that some tribes still hold – that it is unlucky to make a likeness of anyone – like the Egyptians wax figures. All the carved animals were begun the same way, from the round of the stomach, and if they saw the beginning had gone wrong, they abandoned it and began again.