Hobson's Choice

Hobson’s Choice

By

David Hilton-Barber

SMASHWORDS EDITION

*******

Published by

David Hilton-Barber

Hobson’s Choice

Copyright 2014 David Hilton-Barber

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Settlers entered into every sphere of development in South Africa. Some qualified for important posts in administration - high commissioners, judges, members of parliament, magistrates; two were chosen as candidates for presidential elections in the Transvaal and OFS. Among their numbers were ministers of religion, missionaries, authors, poets, botanists, historians, editors, architects, engineers, scientists and geologists. Tom Bowker, MP, 1968

ISBN - 978-0-620-59305-2

Also by David Hilton-Barber:

Footprints: On the trail of those who shaped the history of Tzaneen

Footprints: Of those who made history in Haenertsburg

The Baronet and the Matabele King: The intriguing story of the Tati Concession

Cover painting by Ina van Schalkwyk

Copyright © David Hilton-Barber, 2013

Designed by David Hilton-Barber

Printed by Pinetown Printers (Pty) Ltd.,

Pinetown, KwaZulu-Natal

This book is dedicated to the memory of my late daughter:

Maureen Greenberg (Muz)

and to:

My late wife Val, and my daughters Diane (Panda) and June (Poona)

To whom I owe so much happiness

Contents Page

Hobson Crest

Introduction

Preface

My Early Years

A Fool on the Veld

Growing Up

Karoo Memories

My Father’s Old Essex

Poor Whites in the Karoo

My Woodwork Class

Graaff Reinet

Rhodes University

Professor JLB Smith

Deaths in the Family

My First Wife Val

My Second Wife Molly

Skirmish at Blaaukrantz

Soldiers’ Graves

Move to Tzaneen

Farming at Hobson’s Choice

Labour at Hobson’s Choice

Fuel and Water - Our Life Blood

The Rains Came

Citrus

Tzaneen Citrus Co-op

Ram Pump

The Broken Anvil

The First Rotary Mower

Local Politics

Old Fergie’s Stories

Malaria in the Letsitele

The Coach House

Macadamias

Papinos

Mangoes

Miniature Orange Tree

Asparagus meyeri

Prickly Pears

Reach for the Sky

Ficus elastica

Flowering Kapok

Berg Tee (Honey Bush)

Letaba Flying Club

Learn to Fly

My Own Aircraft

Mishap on Landing

Albert’s Comanche

Pilot Extraordinaire

Tommy Hayden and Digger Hill

Ledzee Estates

Land Claims in the Letsitele Valley

The Sad Saga of Lindella

Move to Knysna in 2002

Letters from Len

Frustrations of a Consultant

A Trip to Mozambique

A Trip to Lichinga

Return to Tzaneen

Conclusion

Hobson Crest

Arms: Argent, a chevron azure between three hurts - a chief azure.

Crest: A griffin's head couped argent between two wings elevated azure.

Motto: Fortitudine Deo

These arms were granted to Thomas Hobson, Co. Durham in 1657

Introduction

More than all his achievements as a botanist and a pioneer in the development of the sub-tropical fruit industry, Len Hobson is synonymous with the early days of farming in the Karoo, and this is a cameo of his memories of growing up as a member of an early settler community in the Graaff-Reinet area in the 1930s, his youthful exploits, his exposure to the poverty of the poor whites at that time and his grief at losing his sibling and later, two of his wives.

Sure, he is one man whose name stands proud in agriculture in South Africa, but Hobson is more than brilliant horticulturalist. He is registered as a Professional Natural Scientist (Agricultural Science) with the SA Council for Natural Scientific Professions. He is a humble soul who has never lost touch with the simple side of life. He is a down-to -earth man of the soil, no pun intended.

He first made his mark in the citrus industry where he served on the executive committee of the SA Citrus Co-Op Exchange for eight years, the body which was responsible for exporting the entire Southern African citrus crop to 38 countries. He was largely responsible for the development of bulk handling of citrus fruit that is still the standard today. He served on the boards of directors of various farming companies and agricultural co-ops, mainly involved in the packing, exporting and marketing of sub-tropical fruit and citrus.

Apart from his contribution to the citrus industry, Len was at the forefront of commercialising macadamias, and in introducing the macadamia cultivars to South Africa. He was a nurseryman of note and developed the methodology for the clonal propagation of macadamias. He introduced, and commercialised improved cultivars for ultra high density planting which has significantly upgraded the local industry to the extent that 60% of South Africa’s new plantings are the most advanced in the world.

He has travelled widely to all the world’s macadamia areas and, in 2003, delivered a paper at the 2nd International Macadamia Symposium in Australia. Apart from consulting on all aspects of the husbandry of the crop, Len has overseen the building of three hi-tech processing plants. Soon all other local processing plants followed suit, thus Len could be said to be responsible also for modernising the local macadamia processing industry. In the past 15 years, he has worked closely with the Industrial Development Corporation and Black Economic Empowerment for macadamia projects.

Hobson was an early pioneer in the vegetative propagation of mangoes by grafting. He introduced the fibreless mango varieties in South Africa that transformed the country’s entire mango industry. He standardised on a selected few highly coloured fibreless varieties that are storage-compatible. These were propagated in his nursery and released to subtropical fruit growers. Len also pioneered mango export by air and sea.

In the nursery at Hobson’s Choice, a magic fruit was developed – the pink-fleshed Papino. Len developed and improved the Solo variety of papaya and registered the trade mark Papino in South Africa and in Europe. The process started with selected seeds sent out from Hawaii. Len experimented until he found a superior fruit, and then self-pollinated the flowers until there was sufficient material to plant out into a small orchard. . And so the Papino was born – completely different to all other papaws and with a superior flavour.

And he was a pilot and pioneer member of the local flying club.

This is not an autobiography but rather a compendium of reminiscences and recollections from his rich and varied life.

David Hilton-Barber

Preface

As I had spent the best part of 50 years on my farm ‘Hobson’s Choice’, I thought it only fitting to call my book by the same name. The saying means: No choice at all -the only option being the one that is offered to you.

Thomas Hobson

Another definition: The necessity of accepting one of two or more equally objectionable alternatives. Understandably, I prefer the former. The phrase is said to originate from Thomas Hobson (1545–1631), who was an historical figure and he ran a thriving carrier and horse-rental business in Cambridge, England, around the turn of the 17th century. Hobson’s business was mainly aimed at university students and insisted on renting them out in the correct order (ie they couldn’t pick and choose). The choice his customers were given was 'this or none', i.e. Hobson's choice.

In the words of an early scribe: He lived in Cambridge, and observing that the Scholars rid hard, his manner was to keep a large Stable of Horses, when a Man came for a Horse, he was led into the Stable, where there was great Choice, but he obliged him to take the Horse which stood next to the Stable-Door; so that every Customer was alike well served In addition to his contribution to English vernacular, Hobson is also remembered for his involvement in the construction of Hobson's Conduit, a man-made watercourse built in 1614 to provide clean drinking water to the city of Cambridge. Hobson was one of the primary benefactors of the new stream. Hobson's Conduit is alternatively known as Hobson's Brook. Hobson bought Anglesey Priory in 1625 and converted it into a country house, which, under the name Anglesey Abbey, now belongs to the National Trust. Subsequently, Hobson lived at Chesterton Hall in 1627, four years prior to his death in 1631. My second cousin, Pat Pugh, (his mother was my grandfather’s sister) has traced the Hobson lineage and his opinion is that we have a common ancestor one or two generations back from Thomas.

Hobson's Conduit

My maternal grandfather, Grandpa Biggs, after being married for 35 years to Granny Biggs, died on 15 July 1930. I was later told that he had died of stress; not, I hasten to add, because he was married to my grandma but because of dreadful world depression of the 1930s. After the bank manager had told him that there was not one penny forthcoming, Grandpa apparently sat for many sleepless nights deep in thought trying to work out a way to save his farm. It was all to no avail and I imagine that he just gave up. In the end, the dreaded cancer was the cause of his death. Granny and Uncle Percy were faced with the problem of what to do with the farm, Eureka. Uncle Percy had a good job teaching science in Cape Town and lived in a bungalow named The Cabin on Fourth Beach, Clifton. Uncle Ross was up in the Belgium Congo ranching cattle for the mines on the vast track of land the mining company owned in Katanga. He was earning more than he could make out of farming.

Granny decided to sell. There were a few interested parties but it was not until an old couple, by name of van Rooyen, arrived in a covered Voortrekker wagon that they actually received an offer. The old lady wore the conventional ‘kappie’ and the old man, khakis with prominent braces. After drinking coffee in the sitting room and talking for hours, a deal was struck and hands were shaken to seal the agreement. The old woman went out to the wagon, opened the ‘wakis ( wagon chest) and took out of it a heavy bag with the appropriate amount of gold coins. Uncle Percy was quite taken aback when she counted out the heavy coins, one by one. He then wrote out a receipt and Eureka was no longer theirs. The next day, they all went into Aberdeen and signed the deed of sale with the Standard Bank manager.

Granny bought the bungalow next to Uncle Percy’s on Fourth Beach. She named it Navaho. She lived happily there until she was 78 when she died of breast cancer on 31 August 1944. As a small boy, I often stayed with her or in The Cabin and I adored it. The sand, the sea, the holiday makers! It was wonderful. From time to time, she took in boarders and I well remember Ian Murray who was a librarian in the Cape Town Library. At the outbreak of WW2 he joined up and when he returned, he vowed never again to work in an office  or any kind of similar environment. That was why he and Uncle Percy bought the farm in Hout Bay and, together, they ran it until Uncle Percy developed a skin problem – probably contracted during his stint in the shore artillery batteries during the war. The doctors advised him to give up farming and that is why he bought The Alcove in Rondebosch from where he continued his science teaching at the Trafalgar High School.

Fourth Beach, Clifton

My Early Years

My ancestor, David Edmund Hobson, was born on 16 October 1796 in Cottesbrooke, England. He was the second son of William Hobson whose main distinction was via his wife, Ann Carey. She was the sister of the famous Dr William Carey of Bengal, an English Baptist missionary, known as the father of modern missions. Carey translated the Bible into Bengali, Sanskrit, and numerous other language dialects. David Edmund, then 23, and his younger brother, William Carey who was only 15, came out to South Africa on the Northampton in William Smith's party with the 1820 Settlers. They were described as husbandmen and were allocated land at Stoneyvale near Grahamstown. David named his farm Cottesbrooke, David married Mary Ann Robinson in 1823. They had seven children, the eldest, a daughter, also called Mary Ann, married Ebenezer Biggs who farmed at Wellfound near Jansenville. David died on 15 June 1875 at the farm.

David Edmund Hobson

My father, Edmund Gregory Hobson 11, farmed on Hartebeesthoek, near Aberdeen. Alfred Ross Biggs and Amy Biggs of the neighbouring farm Eureka, were direct descendants of Ebenezer and he wooed and married their daughter. I was born in Aunt Lydia and Aunt Emma Biggs’s house in Aberdeen on 12 October 1926.

Mary Ann Hobson

These two sisters, my mother’s aunts, lived in a beautiful broekie lace house on the corner, just one block from the post office. It had a veranda on the two sides facing the two streets. It was a real Karoo house, complete with wooden slatted shutters. The iron roof on the veranda was especially bent in the form of a gentle ‘S’ so that it gave the impression of a sweeping step. It was very attractive with the corrugated iron roof sheets alternating green and white. The scene is exactly as described in Iris Vaughan’s Diaries. She was the daughter of an Eastern Cape magistrate and started her diary at the age of eleven. Written at the time of the Anglo-Boer War, the diary gives an enchanting account of colonial life over a century ago as seen through the eyes of a child. It is bristling with the inquiring innocence of youth and exposing absurdities of the adult world. Iris Vaughan's Diary was 'discovered' In the mid-twentieth century by the magazine Outspan, edited by Charles Barry. When Barry received the manuscript from Mrs Niland (Iris Vaughan's married name), he considered it either a clever hoax or a major literary find. It was indeed the latter, and was published in book form in 1958 and 1969, be a best-seller that was regularly reprinted - truly a South African classic. Iris Vaughan gives a brilliant account of her family life in various small towns of the Eastern Cape, the arrival in town of Boer guerrilla forces, and re-occupation by the British.

Typical Karoo broekie-lace house

Iris Vaughan

I still have memories of my aunt’s house. The lounge was the first room on the left. The grown-ups sat in the lounge but the children were sent outside to play as we made too much noise inside. We usually had a piccannin or a nursemaid to look after us. I remember that none of us liked the ginger biscuits which burnt our mouths!

At the back of the house there was a lovely little orchard of fruit trees irrigated by a water furrow running at the side of the pavement. The water was led to basins around the trees when the aunt’s beurt (turn) came at certain hours during the week.

The aunts’ house was a popular rendezvous for the local farmers, including my father, who always brought with them bounteous supplies of farm produce. This included milk, butter, mutton, venison (mostly springbok) and fruit in season. There would also be calabash milk (today called yoghurt), and home made jams and marmalade. The aunts always had a patch of fruit peels (oranges and naartjies) drying on newspaper on the side of the stoep. They used these for kindling for the fire.

I also have memories of Uncle Llewellyn Hobson and Aunt Annie (nee Berrington). They had a daughter called Ida who married a Methodist minister by the name of Rimmington and they ended up in Uitenhage. Uncle Llewellyn (my dad’s elder brother) farmed up in the Camdeboo mountains above Aberdeen. I kept in touch with Ida over the years till her death some years ago. She was always overweight, jovial and outspoken like her mother. Their neighbours were the Laws – he was an accountant and his wife taught music lessons.

My mother thought it would be a good thing for me to take lessons from Mrs Laws but I soon proved hopeless at music so these lessons stopped.

A view of the Aberdeen "vlakte (plains) from the Camdeboo mountains

A Fool on the Veld

I believe I was named after Leonard Flemming of A Fool on the Veld fame. And who was Leonard Flemming? According to Wikipedia: ‘This Australian born, British-educated South African was an archetypical Englishman, a product of his period and of the British Empire at its height. His life and his work exemplify, more than most, how a man may be imprisoned by time – not only in his sense of humour, but in his entire attitude to life. His writing reflects his unquestioning belief in hard work, service, honour, good humour, humility – and the arrogant belief that Britons, and even their colonials were superior to all other people. His light writing, though not as urbane and whimsical, is reminiscent of Edwardian favourite Jerome K Jerome.

A sketch from Leonard Flemming’s book

His first book, A Settler’s Scribblings, was published in 1910 and his most popular book, A Fool on the Veld appeared in 1916. His work became known to readers of the London Magazine, the London Daily Mail and publications around the Commonwealth. He was enthusiastically dubbed the Mark Twain of South Africa and lavishly praised, among others, by General Smuts and John Galsworthy. The London Sunday Times said at the time there is no finer tonic to be found in literature than that which breathes from the pages of Leonard Flemming.’

And here is an extract from A Fool on the Veld :

ON OUR CRICKET PITCH

I don't want you to think, from the title of this, that it is being written on the pitch – far from it – as far away as I could possibly get; I am writing about our pitch at Dedrysdorp, in a comfortable chair in a comfortable room, writing all that I and 21 others found out about it one awful day – a little revenge I promised myself when a pitch showed us what it could do when it liked. I agreed that with a bat in my hand, the pitch had the laugh – but with a pen in my toes (my two hands being smashed up), I'm hanged if I don't intend to have the last word on this matter.

I must first of all let you into a little secret. We of Dedrysdorp knew all about our pitch before the match with Pepperner. Cut out, as it was, in the middle of a hundred square miles of prairie or veld, we knew what it was. We knew very well what the matting had underneath it. Hadn’t we for weeks tried with dynamite, crowbars and bijwoners to dislodge, loosen and get out the iron-stone boulders underneath? Hadn’t we dug, and blown up, and schoffeled and pummelled and picked for weeks trying to remove prehistoric deposits? Hadn’t we spread a quarter of an inch of ant heap over these stubborn deposits, watered and rolled it, and pretended that it was as beautiful a pitch as could be found? Of course we had. We knew. But, of course, we kept it dark. The fact was that we’d got our knife into Pepperner. They always licked us. Sometimes it was their umpire – sometimes it was ours (not very often ours). I’ll give our umpires credit for always doing their best to stem the tide against us. Whenever possible they gave the most patriotic of decisions, but somehow Pepperner had always won, despite our umpires.

The new pitch would change this long series of defeats; if it didn’t exactly change it, it would put Pepperner out of the running, and out of action forever. We had worked it all out very carefully. The first side to bat on our new pitch would either be injured for life or else, discovering the ruse, they would declare, very quickly with two wickets down for one run. If we won the toss we were to put Pepperner in; if Pepperner won they would go in – they always did if they won the toss. Interest was pretty keen with those in the know; the prospect of getting a bit even with Pepperner at last was looked forward to with more than usual interest.

Greetings were exchanged in splendid spirit between the two captains; members of each team grasped hands and chatted, and never a gleam of contemplated murder was shown in any eye of Dedrysdorp eleven. Everything seemed promising. Pepperner looked at the pitch, and said it looked fine; we looked at it, with Pepperner, and agreed. There was a bright sun, a blue sky, lots of people, and all that goes to the making of things as far removed from murder as possible. We were elated. The coin was spun in the air. Pepperner won the toss – and put us in !!!

Dedrysdorp captain at once suggested tossing again; he hadn’t noticed that the shilling had a hole in it. Pepperner captain said the hole didn’t matter, and was very nice about it. Two or three of Dedrysdorp team hurriedly left the ground. One of the brave ones who remained earnestly suggested our playing football instead of cricket, as summer really hadn’t started yet. I said to our skipper, would he let me go off for a bit to see my lambe schaap. I had an idea they were in a bad way. Pepperner skipper said, Come on, let’s get out, and they took the field. Dedrysdorp skipper asked me if I’d mind going in first. I gulped, and looked for a score book quickly to see the rules. I wanted to know if we could declare our innings closed after one ball had been bowled. I still contend that we could have, but it would have looked funny.

The chap who went in with me argued with me for some time as to who should take first ball. He won, chiefly because my mouth was dry and I couldn’t speak. The first three balls shot high over the wicket-keeper’s and long stop’s heads, and we had scored six pretty comfortably. Off the fourth ball I was caught at fine leg off my cheek, though, unfortunately, was given not out. I had a little consultation with the umpire about it, trying to convince him of his mistake, but he was a Pepperner man, and I had owed him a lot of money for some years. The fifth ball shot past my face, and , judging by the fearful remarks of the wicket--keeper, I imagine past his, too – I don't know, because my eyes were shut; but during the whole of the over the wicketkeeper’s language was terrible. In a way his monologue helped me to understand what was happening, I saw very little, but the latest bulletin of where the ball was and what it had done he supplied to me, punctuated with expressions that told me he had a mouth moister than mine, and a vocabulary that had my profoundest admiration. What happened off the last ball of the over I have not the least idea. The ball hit the bat all right, because I felt it – somewhere on the top of the handle. The batsman at t’other end yelled out Come along. I said, I don't think. I had played, and a bribe of £5 would not have got me down to the other end to play, or do something to another six. I'm rather keen to break my duck, as a rule, but in the present case I realised that such lofty ambitions must give place to a natural desire to minimise the risk of breaking one’s neck. Also, I was keen to see what the ball really did do from my end, without the onus of attempting to frustrate it resting upon me. We can get one, he shouted again, and I said that if it counted 14 I would not budge.

I felt sorry for him in a way. He’s quite a decent chap and the breaking of my duck was of more interest to him at the time