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'This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Gwilym Scourfield of the County Heritage Team on behalf of Sheila Maclean and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.'

A View of the War from South Africa

When World War Two broke out I was still in Junior School in Cape Town. My family is Scots and I know my parents felt very keenly that their immediate relations "at home" were all in the thick of things. My father was too old for the forces but my mother joined The Navy League and the Red Cross and did what she could, even if it was only rolling bandages. To this day, I don't know why this was done! Everyone did some kind of war work.

Children from Britain were evacuated to South Africa and she was at the receiving end when they arrived in Cape Town after their long (sometimes 6-week) zig-zag journey down through the Eastern Atlantic. ( "Zig-zag", of course, to evade enemy shipping). The first thing the children did after arrival was to send cables home to let their parents know they were safe. Then, I believe, they were allocated homes with families who had previously volunteered to have them. At school, it was interesting to have the sudden appearance in our class, in the middle of term, of a strange child with a Scots or English accent. Brownies and Girl Guides also had "surprise" recruits. One girl whom I got to know well because we walked to school together, had come out with her mother and brother so had rented a flat near us. At Christmas, fathers left behind in Britain were allowed two minutes (I think it was) for a brief broadcast to their relatives in S.A. and I remember listening to Barbara's father talking to her at his designated time.

The other memorable times were the arrivals of convoys in Table Bay. No-one knew, of course, when they were due nor how long they were staying. When business people got to their offices and found the bay full of grey ships and the city full of soldiers drifting around, they would pick up as many as they could, bring them home for a meal and, if possible, arrange to meet up again the following day. The soldiers themselves never knew how long they were going to stay. On one occasion we had some New Zealanders and one of them sang the Maori's Farewell (‘Now is the Hour’) so that my father could play it on the piano and later write out the music. At the time, it was unknown and if my father had thought to publish it, we might have earnt a fortune!

My family was very lucky as on separate occasions an uncle and two cousins came through on convoys and contacted us on arrival. The excitement on my parents' part particularly was tremendous, as you can imagine. One man whom we entertained had a daughter in Edinburgh the same age as I and we corresponded for years as pen pals. During this time, presumably because airmail was difficult, some letters were sent as "aerograms" - photographed letters written on special forms. I cannot say how long this carried on and wish now that I had kept one as a memento.

On one occasion, a convoy of Australians arrived and really stirred up the city. I still have an Australian cap-badge given to me by one of the soldiers brought home. I do remember that some of them let down rolls and rolls of toilet paper from the top floor of the Gen. Electricity building which at that time was one of the tallest in town. The street below was festooned like ticker-tape in Broadway!

At school, we had occasional air-raid practice when we had to rush over to the neighbouring College of Music grounds where trenches had been dug. We always hoped the siren would sound in the middle of tests or exams but, of course, it never did.

There were food shortages to some extent but if you were a customer of a good grocer you normally got enough of what you wanted and "Jimmy, the Greek" (as so many cafe owners seemed to be called) always kept a Rowntrees Peppermint Crisp for me under the counter - when the shop was empty. White flour was not sold but everyone seemed to have a flour sieve and was able to bake surreptitious loaves of white bread for special occasions.

Parcels home (i.e. to Britain) were strictly regulated in what one was allowed to send, how it was packed and how much it weighed. I know dried fruit was allowed in a limited quantity and the regulation-sized parcel had to be sewn up in some kind of thick cotton for despatch.

Black-out regulations were in force and all windows had to have black-out screens. Our school windows were criss-crossed with tape to avoid flying glass and motor-cars had special shades on their headlights which enabled only very slow and careful driving at night.

One Japanese warship/submarine (I can't remember which) was sighted off the Cape coast and caused a ripple of excitement at the time.
At the end of the war, Cape Town held a "Liberty Cavalcade" in Green Point, near the city. As far as I remember it was a giant fair. The only thing I vividly remember, however, was taking a trip in a tug around Robben Island and being violently sick as we reached the cross-currents beyond the island.

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