A Fined Tribute JP.Reece As I approach my dotage (or is it anecdotage?) my thoughts go back more and more to the very happy and interesting days at the "old" Kearsney. As I had twelve years there, I suppose I am in a better position to write about them than anyone else, and I should like to put down in print, for the last time, some of the memories that persist. If the story is rather disjointed, I ask to be forgiven. The diminishing number of men, now mostly over 60, who went to this school as boys, may find nostalgia in what I write. Many will recall a host of incidents which I have forgotten, or deem it politic not to repeat. Kearsney College was formerly the gracious home of Sir Liege and Lady Hulett and their family, up in the hills beyond Stanger. By any standards it was Inaccessible,to say the least. No smooth North Coast Road then. It meant a tortuous journey over murderous roads composed of pot holes, corrugations and dust, winding through the villages of Avoca, Mount Edgecombe, Tongaat, Verulam, Chaka's Kraal, Tinley Manor, Umhiali and Stanger. The normal access was by train. Cars were few and precious in those days,and boys came from widely dispersed areas. The morning trains from Durban and Zululand dis charged their cargoes at Stanger station. From there the boys were ferried to the school either by the dilapidated bus, Mr Matterson's car (he was the only one at first to possess a car), or, more often, by the half-metre-guage tea train. This was a Lilliputian affair, with two tiny carriages and a few trucks. The boys, suit cases, straw bashers, and all, were packed into it like sardines, and enjoyed an hour's ten-mile drive as it wound its way through the cane and tea fields. The final arrival at Kearsney was always a Big Moment. Kearsney College, once a private home,possessed none of the amenities that a school normally enjoys. The staff each had a room so tiny that when you turned the door handle it rearranged the furniture. The boys never felt hot water. The physics and chemistry and biology lab. was a converted stable,often with rats running around.There was no library - justone room with a book-case. The single playing field, consisting seemingly of Sydenham grit and barely grassed, has been hacked (before bulldozer days) out of the hillside and could not be extended. In the early days there was not even a playing field, and the only exercise the boys got was through tennis or cross-country running, where Mr Meiring led his regiment from behind, exhorting the backsliders. The more skilful ones often took short cuts through the tea fields, which brought them to their haven before their panting colleagues. Itwas all so tiny— eleven boarders to begin with— that one wonders how it survived, but we know that Sir Liege, having initiated the scheme, was heavily subsidising the place. As he was 86 when the school opened, it was provi dential for Kearsney that he lived into his 91st year. Had he passed away earlier, one is left doubting whether there would be a Kearsney College today. It was, however, exceedingly beautiful. I arrived in winter, at the end of July. I can still picture the huge azaleas and bougainvilleas framing the drive way up to the school; poinsettias and cassias were in full bloom, and the golden shower drooped down from the tops of the highest fir-trees. The tennis court was flanked by magnificent spathodia trees, and palm trees stood upon the front lawn. When summer arrived, there were roses, cannas, yesterday-todaym 04 'iiiiiwrii iiii fr iKl88s % m i mm mm m Ah r. M f%4. Aerial view of"Kearsney College,"Kearsney, Natal. Copyrightphoto H. Duncan Abraham, and-tomorrows, salvias and other varied flowers. Below my study in the Prep building stood a beautiful orange orchard, with the trees laden with fruit and the ground covered. For one who had regarded an orange as an extravagance, this did indeed seem a Paradise of wastefulness. Elsewhere was a 200-metre mango grove, well patronised by the boys, many of whom suffered sore mouths through having eatenthe fruit before it was ripe. There were, too, guavas In abun dance. Shortly after my arrival a boy brought me a plateful of cherry guavas, half of which I ate and enjoyed. I later met him, and he reminded me, "Sir, some of those guavas have worms in, so be careful." Hastily I cut open the remaining guavas and found a worm in each. It was too late then to regret. I have always believed that beauty of surroundings must influence character, and I contrast the loveliness of the old Kearsney with the very unbeautiful earlier years at the barren Botha's Hill (a condition long since rectified). There were virtually no school bounds. Boys could roam where they liked, through the tea-fields (Hulett's Golden Pekoe),to the rivers Nonoti or Makovaan,to distant waterfalls. Sunday picnics were the order of the day. The only place out of bounds was a local Indian store, but it had a back door where cigarettes could be illicitly traded. Incidentally the tea bushes,established in 1880,were finally bulldozed out in 1945 in favour of sugar, as the tea was proving unprofitable and labour was scarce. The main building comprised three storeys, overtopped by the tower. There were wooden corridors, wooden stair ways, creaky, draughty, made eery by the sound of rats or bats. An ideal place to conjure up ghosts, and many strange stories were told, astonishing to hear, though I personally never had the pleasure of meeting Lady Hulett's ghost, clad in her green blouse and carrying a candle. A wide sleeping balcony ran round the second floor, so that a large percent of the boys could sleep in the open, alive to the sounds of nature, the chattering of monkeys,the hooting of owls, the wailing of cats. At one stage the noise of the latter so irritated the boys that they went to bed armed with stones and other lethal instruments. These were hurled en masse at the point of sound, and one stone hit the culprit, who happened to be a boy given to acting, leaving a scar on his forehead still visible today. He has been on the radio and stage now for over 50 years. At the bottom of the driveway stood the little Chapel, now a National Monument. Built in 1908, it became the Sunday home of 75 boys, the Staff, a few local residents, and thousands of bees. Sometimes the bees won. A swarm descended on my hands and arms one Easter, as I played the harmonium, but I managed to finish the hymn without being stung. The service was then continued outside. Many were not so lucky, and every Sunday there was much sting ing and waving of arms. A wood and iron chapel had been erected in 1870 and served for 38 years. 42
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MTc3MDU5Nw==