Kicked Off The Bus

Neil aged eleven on Table Mountain 1958

Kicked Off The Bus - An Apartheid Story

In December 1958 my mother, Frances, and us three boys visited Cape Town on the S.S. Rhodesia Castle. We had a sickening experience with a white South African Policeman which really soured our impression of the governing regime. One the bus ride to catch the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, we were enjoying the knuckle roll the bus conductor could do, and we repeatedly asked him to show us his trick. The result was that a police officer asked us to get off the bus, and at the road side he told my mother off for talking to the African conductor.

In December 1958 my mother, Frances, and us three boys visited Cape Town on the S.S. Rhodesia Castle. We had a sickening experience with a white South African Policeman which really soured our impression of the governing regime. One the bus ride to catch the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, we were enjoying the knuckle roll the bus conductor could do, and we repeatedly asked him to show us his trick. The result was that a police officer asked us to get off the bus, and at the road side he told my mother off for talking to the African conductor.

In December 1958 my mother, Frances, and us three boys visited Cape Town on the S.S. Rhodesia Castle. We had a sickening experience with a white South African Policeman which really soured our impression of the governing regime. One the bus ride to catch the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, we were enjoying the knuckle roll the bus conductor could do, and we repeatedly asked him to show us his trick. The result was that a police officer asked us to get off the bus, and at the road side he told my mother off for talking to the African conductor.

In December 1958 my mother, Frances, and us three boys visited Cape Town on the S.S. Rhodesia Castle. We had a sickening experience with a white South African Policeman which really soured our impression of the governing regime. One the bus ride to catch the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, we were enjoying the knuckle roll the bus conductor could do, and we repeatedly asked him to show us his trick. The result was that a police officer asked us to get off the bus, and at the road side he told my mother off for talking to the African conductor.

In December 1958 my mother, Frances, and us three boys visited Cape Town on the S.S. Rhodesia Castle. We had a sickening experience with a white South African Policeman which really soured our impression of the governing regime. One the bus ride to catch the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, we were enjoying the knuckle roll the bus conductor could do, and we repeatedly asked him to show us his trick. The result was that a police officer asked us to get off the bus, and at the road side he told my mother off for talking to the African conductor.

In December 1958 my mother, Frances, and us three boys visited Cape Town on the S.S. Rhodesia Castle. We had a sickening experience with a white South African Policeman which really soured our impression of the governing regime. One the bus ride to catch the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, we were enjoying the knuckle roll the bus conductor could do, and we repeatedly asked him to show us his trick. The result was that a police officer asked us to get off the bus, and at the road side he told my mother off for talking to the African conductor.

In December 1958 my mother, Frances, and us three boys visited Cape Town on the S.S. Rhodesia Castle. We had a sickening experience with a white South African Policeman which really soured our impression of the governing regime. One the bus ride to catch the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, we were enjoying the knuckle roll the bus conductor could do, and we repeatedly asked him to show us his trick. The result was that a police officer asked us to get off the bus, and at the road side he told my mother off for talking to the African conductor.

 In December 1958 my mother, Frances, and us three boys visited Cape Town on the S.S. Rhodesia Castle. We had a sickening experience with a white South African Policeman which really soured our impression of the governing regime. On the bus ride to catch the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, we were enjoying the knuckle roll the bus conductor could do, and we repeatedly asked him to show us his trick. The result was that a police officer asked us to get off the bus, and at the road side he told my mother off for talking to the African conductor. It was done in such a disgusting and racist way.  The memory never softens the experience.

In December 1958 my mother, Frances, and us three boys visited Cape Town on the S.S. Rhodesia Castle. We had a sickening experience with a white South African Policeman which really soured our impression of the governing regime. One the bus ride to catch the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, we were enjoying the knuckle roll the bus conductor could do, and we repeatedly asked him to show us his trick. The result was that a police officer asked us to get off the bus, and at the road side he told my mother off for talking to the African conductor.

If you visit Cape Town
There’s one thing you must do,
Take a trip up Table Mountain
And there admire the view.
You have to take the Cable Car
Which will swing and sway
Right to the top where you can see
Lion’s Head and Table Bay.

When we toured Table Mountain
We went up by bus,
We left from the Market Square
My Mum and three of us.
The conductor did the knuckle roll
When he gave us our ticket
And every time he passed us by
We asked him to repeat it.

But on the bus a policeman
Was clearly not amused,
He approached my mother
And let us know his views.
“You get off the bus right now!
Get off at the next stop.
Get off I have to talk to you.”
Said the Yarpie Cop.

We stood by the roadside,
Way above CapeTown
Half way up the mountainside
He dressed my mother down.           
We stood there dumbfounded
Just astonished plaintiffs,
“It is against the law” He said.
“To fraternize with the natives.”
                   
It’s not like that now in Cape Town
There’s still one thing you must do,
Take a trip up Table Mountain
And there admire the view.
You have to take the Cable Car
Which will swing and sway
Right to the top where you can see
Lion’s Head and Table Bay.

Three Clocks

We have many clocks in our home, and three of them are old classics. I have had them repaired and keep them running, and I envision that each of our three children will one day take one to be in their home.

The first and the oldest clock is an English bracket clock from the 18th Century. It is a Saunders, and was made between 1672 - 1780. The enameled face when laterally transilluminated shows C.J. Saunders
381 Oxford Street.  It was my Grandma Thomas's clock, and was given to me in pieces by my Aunt Joan when I first came to California.  I took the clock to the California Clockmakers' Guild where it was completely repaired by Cecil Crookshank, what a wonderful name for a clockmaker. He was wonderful at his work.  That clock has kept perfect time for thirty six year already.

Wanting a chimer and loving the Dutch cases, I spotted the Delph clock on Crookshank's shelves.  Well a few hundred dollars later it was mine. It pings away sweetly.

Our third clock, also a chimer, was my wife Nancy's Grandmother's clock. Interestingly enough we were visiting after Bud Neely's tragic and sudden demise, and the children were allocating their Dad's stuff.  The broken parts of the clock were in a box, and no one was interested in it.  I took my bride to one side and said "Look Nancy, I can get that clock properly repaired."  Well the long and the short of it is that we wound up with the clock.  It is an American copy of the type of clock that Saunder's made all those years earlier, it was a knock off with a paper face.  It has a lovely deep chime and of course keeps good time.

We have many clocks in our home, and three of them are old classics. I have had then repaired and keep them running, and I envision that each of our three children will one day take one to be in their home

We have many clocks in our home, and three of them are old classics. I have had then repaired and keep them running, and I envision that each of our three children will one day take one to be in their home

We have many clocks in our home, and three of them are old classics. I have had then repaired and keep them running, and I envision that each of our three children will one day take one to be in their home

We have many clocks in our home, and three of them are old classics. I have had then repaired and keep them running, and I envision that each of our three children will one day take one to be in their home

Three Clocks

We have many clocks in our home, and three of them are old classics. I have had then repaired and keep them running, and I envision that each of our three children will one day take one to be in their home

We’ve three old clocks in our house
And they all tick away,
Two of them are chimers
And ring the hours of day.
One of them, the oldest,
Only tells the time,
All of them are accurate
And worthy of my rhyme.

The smallest is of china
All blue and white from Delph
A classic Dutch, just wind it,
And it runs by itself.
The movement on the inside
Is brass and made in France,
You’ll like to hear it ping the hours
Should you get a chance.

The black American Thomas
Has pillars edged with gold,
It belonged to my wife’s Grand Mama
And really it’s quite old.
A leather padded hammer
Strikes on the coiled gong,
And the pendulum swings back and forth
To keep it ticking on.

The bracket clock, a Saunders,
Was made on Oxford Street,
A case inlaid with beaten brass
Makes its face complete.
Side rings make the handles
And brazen balls the feet,
Which came be turned to change the tilt
So it can keep it’s beat.

We have three children and three clocks
And they all tick together,
The hours have turned into an age
And I have thought whenever,
They leave to raise a family
They’ll take one for their own
To remind them of the passing years
Which speedily have flown.

The Wrist Watch of Flying Ace Mills

The Wrist Watch of Flying Ace Mills

A true story about a real American hero who flew an F4F Wildcat at Guadalcanal in1942

There are stories told by those who are bold
Who return from fighting a war,
There are lies that thrive as the myths survive
When no one remembers the score.
There are tales of skill in the grip of will
When your luck is all but run out,
And one worth a notch is "The Pilot’s Watch"
And that is what this is all about.

“Have I told you about where I lost my wrist watch?”
Said retired Colonel Mills as he gulped on his Scotch,
“No Millsy, I don’t think that you ever did!”
Said his pal at the bar as he took a big swig.
“Well it happened one day down in Guadalcanal,”
Went on Flying Ace Mills, looking straight at his pal.
“We were stationed you see on this God f’saken isle,
And there wasn’t a bar for a thousand mile.
I was with the Marines and true to their form
It was damn hot and buggy and the beer was warm.
But there were perks for being a pilot you see,
And one was the wrist watch they issued to me.”

“That wrist watch was big and it kept perfect time,
All pilots had one - I really loved mine.
I’d check it each morning when I saw the light
And be out on the runway to make the first flight.
Then up and away to the clouds and the blue
In a Wildcat to spot any Zeros in view.
But they rarely start early and there wasn’t much fear
So they’d filled my compartments with liquor and beer.
If I left at eight, I could be back by ten,
There rarely would be any Zeros till then,
For the Japs took their time, they had breakfast before,
They loaded their bombs and then flew off to war.”

“Now why?” said his pal, his attention complete,
“Did you have all that hootch tucked away ’neath your seat?”
“Ah well!” answered Millsy, “As I flew around
It was a lot cooler than down on the ground.
For two hours I’d watch for an enemy plane
Radio my position and come back again.
And they all ran to meet me when I landed on time,
And I never was late with that wrist watch of mine.
They’d empty the contents of my baggage hold,
For the beer and the liquor was by then freezing cold.
Just the way that we like it to slake a deep thirst,
We could do it because the Japs liked breakfast first.”

“There was just enough time for that once I got back
To re-fuel my plane and take off to attack.
The ten o’clock flights were not like the milk run,
With bombers and fighters it wasn’t much fun.”
We flew up to meet with the oncoming force
Of big Mitsubishis and Zeros of course,
Their pilots were good and those Zeros were fast
And a dog fight began so they couldn’t get past.
We started up high where the air was a frazin’
Screamed down on their cans with our Brownings a’blazin’
Their fighters turn nosed up and their cannon pop popped
And down to the sea the first casualty dropped.”

“We arch up and away to regain our height
Come round with a roar to get back in the fight.
The radio’s blarin’, that there’s guns on my rear,
I peel up through a cloud bank, they all disappear,
Up, up I keep climbing till out top I drone
To see four Bettys in diamond formation, alone.
Nose up to the first one I aimed for his turret
Spattered his rear and tail gunner in it,
Dipped down to aim for the wing frame connection
And lit that “cigar” in one flash conflagration,
Then rolling to make sure I just missed his wing,
Soared up and curved round to restart the whole thing.”

“This time as I drop I’m in three gunners sights
I see the gun’s flash so I swing to the right.
Ploughing back I descend on the right bomber’s flank
Squeezed on the trigger and blew up his tank.
Then falling away I banked up and turned
As that big Mitsubishi just curled down and burned.
I was climbing again to make the third run
When the tail gunner got me a bead with his gun.
I saw the guns flash and I heard the shells chatter
And about me cannon rounds rattle and clatter,
Then a clunk and a shudder I knew something was wrong,
I looked down at my arm and my wrist watch was gone.”

“Well that got my attention I was mad as can be
That gunner had taken my wrist watch from me.
My left arm felt broken but I carried on,
Determined to stop them from dropping a bomb.
I peeled down to the right, and curved back with a roar
Nosed up on his tale and to even the score,
As soon as I sighted him I just let go
Plastering his tail with just row upon row.
The turret just shattered as I made my pass
Pieces were falling out, metal and glass,
And then something happened that so bothered me
The gunner’s top half fell out down to the sea.”

Then his pal tried to swallow and clearing his throat
Said, “Wow, Millsy.” and stammered, “Well that ain’t no joke.”
“No it wasn’t.” said the Colonel, as he clutched at his glass.
“But I drained all my ammo as I made my last pass.
With no watch, and no timer I headed for home,
The wireless was dead I was there all alone.
They poured out to meet me when I came in to land
One with a beer, that was still cold, in hand.
When they asked how it went, “Oh, just easy I lied.”
They could see the great canon hole on my port side.
“It’s a miracle you made it now how can that be?”
“I was saved by the wrist watch they issued to me!”

There are stories told by those who are bold
Who return from fighting a war,
There are lies that thrive as the myths survive
When no one remembers the score.
There are tales of skill in the grip of will
When your luck is all but run out
And one worth a notch is "The Pilot’s Watch"
And that is what it's all about.



Betty - Mitsubishi G4M Bomber
Zero - Japanese Fighter plane
F4F Wildcat - Rugged American Fighter Plane

Browning - M2 12.7 mm (0.50 caliber) machine guns. Wild cats had four.