instead, he fancied the thanks of the civilised world would be theirs!
Agatha in the pool at Sea Point.
Groote Scuur interior.
Mr Hiam spent the morning in the cold storage chambers, and came back with a solemn warning to us all never to eat any more meat whilst in South Africa! The fish here is uneatable anyway, and Belcher gave us a lurid description of what the natives do to the fruit – so it would seem that we must resign ourselves to slow starvation.
The Hiams went off to see some friends this afternoon. Quite a relief. Mrs H. is most kind and sweet, but a little stupid. It is really quite a puzzle sometimes to know how to go on talking to her.
Belcher took a car, and he and I and Archie drove out to Groote Scuur, Rhodes’s house, where Smuts lives when he is here, and we went all over it. Most attractive, with the big Dutch wardrobes and cupboards, and the teakwood panelling. The bathroom is rather famous, all marble, and the bath hewn out of a solid block of granite. But the bath is too black looking to be attractive. There is a wonderful slope of hydrangeas in the garden, but they are over now. We went on to the Rhodes Memorial, and then Belcher tried to photograph the lions, offering the keeper the following tariff:
For making the lion turn its head round – 1/
For going into the cage – 2/
For sitting on the lion’s back – 10/ (paid in advance)
The man replied with scorn that he looked after the birds and had nothing to do with the lions!
The Rhodes Memorial.
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
