THERE were some real characters in Knysna’s early days. Take the Irishman called Old Firth.
His job was to man the toll at the Knysna River bridge, and at one time was the village butcher. Those of us used to getting our meat in polystyrene and cling-wrap might have been a bit startled by Old Firth. He would apparently lead an ox down Knysna’s Main Street, ringing a bell and carrying a noticeboard that read: “THIS IS YOUR MEAT FOR TOMORROW.” I read about Old Firth in that fascinating old book by Winifred Tapson I mentioned last week: Timber and Tides: the Story of Knysna and Plettenberg Bay. Tapson writes that one day Old Firth appeared ringing his bell, but with no ox in tow. He still carried the noticeboard, but this time it read: “THERE WILL BE NO MEAT TOMORROW. THE OX HAS DISAPPOINTED US.” The story was that when he took the ox to be slaughtered, it butted everyone and then took off into the veld, never to be seen again. Then there was the clergyman, the Reverend Willie Breach, who was sent to South Africa from England in 1857. He had TB, a death sentence in those days, and had been sent to South Africa to die. Only 20 at the time, he was so ill he had to be carried onto the ship in England, but once here, he recovered. He came to Knysna, married Susan Rex, George Rex’s granddaughter, and had 15 children. I love the story of his honeymoon. When he got married, there were many young women who were heart-broken. One was young Nelly Hare, who was “in such a state of depression that Willie Breach declared to his bride-to-be: ‘Nelly shall go with us on our honeymoon. It will cheer her up!” And she did, although as Tapson says, it is a moot point as to whether she was cheered. The first time Knysna residents saw a motor car was in 1905 when “two young adventurers” from Johannesburg drove into town. Not long afterwards the manager of the Standard Bank, Jack Harden, ordered a Cadillac for almost £500. It arrived in a box and Bertie Weeks, manager of Coote Noble’s store, put it together. He then had to teach Harden to drive. This was tricky. The only vehicle Harden had driven was a boat, and he was used to steering with a tiller, which one pushes or pulls in the opposite direction to which one wants to go. That principle is disastrous if applied to a car’s steering wheel – which is what Harden did. Knysna residents watched astonished as the car, belching smoke, swerved down Main Street. “He eventually ended up on the verandah of The Royal Hotel, after knocking down one of its pillars. There were no other casualties.” And then Tapson tells something of the fascinating story of George Rex – the “royal exile” and founder of Knysna – but that is a book in itself.
