The Opinion Pieces are an eclectic bunch on current affairs & history often with a human interest aspect. The Movie/DVDs reviews are mainly on documentaries with a smattering of movie reviews.
HB Smith was the instigator and progenitor of the plan to rescue No. 7 from a dystopian future unless the house which he recognised as one of the oldest houses in Port Elizabeth was restored. He selflessly undertook this task in the twilight of his life. After writing an article on the role that HB had played in setting this house on its path to restoration, I was contacted by a member of the family, HB’s granddaughter, Angela Hidden (nee Smith). When she told me of her experiences of No. 7 during its final days as a home, I made a humble request that she write a blog of her experiences as a youngster to which she willingly agreed.
Angela Smith was born is 1955 and this blog relates to the period 1959 to 1962 when HB passed away. This is her story in her own words.
In the first weeks of his presidency Trump has been issuing executive orders at a faster rate than he lies and insults people. Then again, most of his orders are actually vindicative insults in themselves and not only affect one person but millions worldwide. Many are ultra vires but he doesn’t care. SMAC has delved into this and come up with his own insult (not that he cares just like Melania who wore a jacket with that slogan during his last presidency).
Trump loves to insult people. It somehow fuels his outsize ego as much as McDonald burgers with a side order of Diet Coke – hold the paper straws – sustains his outsize body. In fact, he is an equal opportunity serial insulter who will even insult allies if they do not please him sufficiently. One of his least vile insults was reserved for Republicans who were not fully onboard with his ‘T’ party, the MAGAhatters, was to call them RINOs – Republicans In Name Only.
Well, he should be called a PINO – President In Name Only – particularly during his first term when he actually lost the popular vote by a significant amount. Although he now managed to win the popular vote, largely due to Democratic Party ineptness rather than his own brilliance, he is still a PINO as there is nothing presidential about this gloating bully boy with his minions. In fact, his second term could be referred to as Despicable Me 2. But perhaps that’s not a good comparison as Gru turned out to be not so gruesome but a rather schmaltzy character, and his minions just a noisy, chucking rabble who are naughty rather than bad.
So, time to retire my PINO moniker and to introduce a new one – DINO – Democracy In Name Only. It’s appropriate for him that the word, DEMOCRACY, has the vocalisation of MOCK embedded in it as this describes one of the greatest weapons in this bully boy’s thin-skinned armoury. It’s his go-to attack weapon when defending one of his ill-conceived ideas (like Eric and Don jr – meow), or lies, or exaggerations, or etc. His first presidency was a trial run for him, like a baby learning to walk. This time around he’s locked and loaded and is not taking prisoners. He had the support of millions of minions during his four years in the wilderness while he marinaded in his grievances. They drew up a long list of actions that he could take legally, borderline legally and illegally to get into the Democrat’s and the Washington establishment’s faces. Groups like Project 2025 created the poisonous cocktail with a 900 odd page how-to manual and Il Douche has added his sour twist of lemon in the form of petty and vengeful executive orders like renaming the Gulf of Mexico or withdrawing the security details of former top aides who didn’t totally bend to his will first time around.
He has surrounded himself with unqualified and unsuitable toadies and given free rein to a prat manchild to destroy the Federal system which he sees as responsible, not only for America’s ills, but his own legal misfortunes.
Giving him the full name of DINOsaurus Rex who would be king suits him insofar as much was made of his small hands during his 2016 presidential campaign and, although fearsome at the present, he will soon become just a footprint in history.
South African society is plagued by the wealth gap between black and white inherited from the old days. SMAC has nervously dipped his toe into these dangerous waters and reveals that “blacks are good, whites are bad” is just a useful trope for the ANC and it is actually their policies which have made it worse.
In 1970 my elder brother, Dean, was the first in the family to experience the ‘pleasure’ of being called-up to do 9 months compulsory military service at 1 SA Infantry Training Battalion in Oudtshoorn. This was a milestone for the family as he was the first to enter the adult world of hard knocks. Being four years younger and in Standard 8 (grade 10), I was in awe of what he reported in his letters what the Army was like. Little did I know that I would have to serve two years National Service of which a year was spent kakking off on office’s course, 3 months longer than his entire national service. In mid-year he was due for the much awaited 7-day pass and Dad decided to make it a family outing by driving up to fetch him. This was a great event and another milestone for the family. Apart from the odd day trips to van Stadens Pass or Gamtoos River mouth, Dad never ventured out of the Port Elizabeth area except for a weekend at Louterwater 200km away in the Langkloof. I was preschool at the time and Dad worked there building fruit packing sheds for roughly six months c1962 and he decided to fetch us for a short holiday there. We bunked in the basic dusty site huts for the weekend with Mom having to cook on a primus stove! Way to go Dad. You sure knew how to show a gal a good time. It was an excited bunch that set off in the 1966 Vauxhall Victor early on a Saturday hoping to arrive at Oudtshoorn 360km away at around midday. The excitement soon ebbed as we made our way along the long and deary Langkloof (long valley). Being still kids, Cheryl and I had not yet come to appreciate the stark Karoo landscape. The boredom was occasionally relieved by tucking into ham and egg fart sandwiches. Midday was approaching and Oudtshoorn was approaching as we hit the final leg about 10-15km away.
When Norman Crawford Smith was invited to join Metropolitan-Vickers in 1949 he could hardly believe his good luck. In his final year at U.C.T. many of his lectures were delivered by Prof. Goodlet. He was a brilliant man and an excellent teacher. When asked by a student how a particular operation was performed he would consider for a moment and then say that you could do it this way or that way “But at Metrovick we always did it this way”. (He had received much of his training and engineering experience at M-V) So he came to understand that as far as electrical engineering is concerned, Metro-Vick was the Rolls-Royce of the profession.
In this blog, Norman Crawford Smith opens a window on what life was like in the maelstrom of corporations where sometimes idiosyncratic management styles and behavior created resentment and anxiety.
At the end of his “brainwashing tour” for the Company in 1963 Norman Crawford Smith and his wife departed on their own own “Grand Tour of Europe“. They left London in an Air France aircraft and, after a smooth and uneventful flight, landed at Orly Airport just outside Paris. Cleared through Customs, they chartered a taxi to take them to their hotel. It was a “first” for both of them so they sat like a pair of country bumpkins, soaking up the passing scene.
Norman Smith provides a melange of episodes that comprise and define an overseas trip. Partly the issues that arise are a consequence of misunderstanding of different cultures but they can also arise due to not having a lingua franca.
Having narrowly escaped death in London during the Blitz, Norman Smith and his family were homesick for the sunnier climes of the Union [South Africa]. Little did he foresee being attacked when embarking onto the ship home in Liverpool. This is their story as narrated by Norman Smith.
In this blog, Norman Smith describes the nautical and naval careers of his family. What none of them would anticipate would be the tragedy and trauma arising from this choice of hobby or career.
Main picture: HB Smith with Norman (left), and Matthew (right) at Bembridge, Isle of Wight c1937
Norman was standing at his study window, gazing idly at the peaceful scene across the valley. On the far side, the airport slumbered in the dusk. A very thin mist hung over the runways. An aircraft on short final approach. its headlights probing the gloom. made an interesting picture. Suddenly his memory jerked back fifty-odd years….
