| South African Old-Time Radio Lucky Listener Letters Radio Recollections Letters |
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| The following account was received on 12 October 2003. It was written by Lewis J. of the UK. |
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| The following account was received on 6 October 2004. It was written by Quinten P. of Klerksdorp, SA. |
| My Rememberance Story Well, actually it isn't a story. It's true. There's nothing much to tell. There's a lot to remember. I became aware of life in the early seventies. My parents lived in Carletonville, near Oberholzer station. You have to remember that, in those days, the railway stations were extremely busy, for they provided a very important means of travel and transport. Also, in those days, there weren't television. And when television eventually came, it was only the wealthier who could afford it. We later on rented a television. So before TV came, we only had the radio. The radio, and often, train sounds. And being blind, sound have always played a vital role in my life. And scent! Can you remember how these older cars used to smell inside? The leather seats? Hey, I tell you, I can still smell it! A Volkswagen had a VERY particular smell. You could smell a Volksie out of a million cars man! And have you ever been lucky enough to smell fresh steam from a steam train passing by on an early winters morning?! Anyway, it was in those rather incignificant days I started living. My father worked at the mines, while my mother was a housewife. She always had the radio on throughout the day. And I later became familiar with the routines of each radio station she listened to. In those days we only had Radio Highveld, Springbok Radio, and a few other stations to listen to. I recall the newshorns, exactly every hour. It was as if we were called to attention, and even though I was small, I knew that I could be sure of the sound of the next newshorn, exactly an hour later. I remember that I often wondered what made that sound. I then didn't understand about musical instruments, etc. And can you remember that strange sound that announced the news on Springbok? It was followed by that fanfare. And so there were many, many sounds that were my "friends" throughout the earlier part of my childhood. The newshorns, the signature tunes, the announcers, they all were my friends, and in some cases, they became my imaginary toys. I had a little teddy that used to sleep with me, and at night, in bed, I used to read the news to him, news horns, the lot! I sometimes dreamt about my "friends". All of them built a "comfort zone" around me. They became part of me. Sometimes at night, when I was afraid of the dark and the quietness, [as most children sometimes are], I would turn on the radio and hear "The all night service". And often a train would pass by in the distance, or another train would blow it's horn, announcing it's departure. In those days already, I could distinguish between the sounds of an electric, a diesel and a steam engine. So with trains on the one hand, and the radio on the other, I grew up in a safe environment. Later on, when I had to go to school, my friends were still part of me. Even though my parents lived in the former Transvaal, I had to go to school in Worcester in the Cape Province. Those of you who know South Africa, will realise that there is a distance of about 1200 km between where my parents lived, and where my school were. When I arrived in Worcester, the whole area, the people, everything were strange to me. I found out that I was unable to listen to Radio Highveld, for it was a regional station. In the Cape we had Radio Goodhope to listen to. Another stranger. I was now without one of my most important friends. Yes, the newshorns were there, but the signature tunes, the announcers, the whole vibe was different. I remember that I missed my family, because I only could go home during the school holidays. That happened every 3 months or so. For a little boy of about 7 years old, that was hard. The other thing I missed was Radio Highveld. So every time I went home to my parents, Radio Highveld was also there, welcoming me. A few years later, I remember that, while we travelled home by train for a school holiday, we would keep the radio on as we got closer to the Radio Highveld reception area. At the time, you started picking up Highveld about 50 kilos from Kimberley if I remember correctly. And when we heard Radio Highveld, we knew that we were almost at home. During the school holidays, I would make a few cassette recordings of the most important soundclips of Radio Highveld. These I took back to school with me. It was as if I tried to preserve it, as if I had to feed myself on it. It helped to soften the hard times at school when I missed my family so terribly much. Radio Goodhope wasn't bad. It just wasn't so much part of me. To me, Radio Highveld symbolised everything I grew up with, my parents, my sister, our house, my dog, my toys, my friends at home. Radio Goodhope on the other hand, symbolised mostly the school, the distance between me and my parents. And also, trains stayed extremely close to me. It was a train that took me back home after a long school term. But ... it was a train that parted me with my loved ones after an often, too short holiday. Today I'm a grown-up man with a lovely wife. Still, I think back to those wonderful, wonderful days, sometimes with a lump in my throat. Then I say a big, big thank you. For those days were good. I was fortunate to be alive to have experienced those days. And I say thank you to each and every train driver who comforted me as a little boy. And I say thank you to each OTR preservationist, for allowing me to still have my friends with me today. God bless you all! |
| This webpage has been created to share letters from website visitors who fondly remember their habit of listening to the radio. Unlike the "LUCKY LISTENER LETTERS", these letters do not provide accounts of the listeners' personal interaction with any radio personalities. Instead, they describe the basic pleasure and/or challenges which listeners enjoyed/endured while listening to radio broadcasts, back when radio was the best and often the only means of entertainment. If you have such vivid memories of the Golden Days of Radio which you would like to share with the world, please submit them for consideration. As with the "Lucky Listener Letters", if your story is selected for inclusion on this webpage, your permission will be requested, and your consent will be obtained before your account is posted. You will have the opportunity to review your story and approve or withdraw it before it is added to this webpage, to ensure that what I post here is exactly what you intended to say. Those accounts which are selected and approved shall be posted directly below this text in the order that they are received and chosen. Thank you for your letters, and for your interest! The Pumamouse (MaryAnne) October 2003 |
| I grew up in South Africa where I was a student around 1959-1962 although I have lived in Britain for most of the time since then. What younger people often fail to appreciate is that, in those days, with the consumer era only just beginning, radios were expensive, bulky, and not that common. The first transistor sets had just appeared but were generally small and seen as having poor sound quality. Thus in our University residence in Durban, in our little group, there was only one fellow who had a radio and we would all gather in his room each evening at 7:15 p.m. Listening to Mark Saxon in those days was a group activity! We used to sing along to the adverts for Lifebuoy soap, although we had to wait until they started because there were three different versions. Oddly, they were not played in equal proportions. We noticed that because sometimes we would try to start at the same moment as the singers, and that meant guessing which one they were most likely to sing that evening (and changing rapidly if we had guessed wrong). "Singing in the bathtub, singing for joy, singing a song of Lifebuoy, can't help singing, 'cos I know, I'm Lifebuoy safe from head to toe, TO TOE" (last two words sung by a bass voice). Happy days! Another University tale... In those days, the only effective aerials for radios were the long-wire pattern, and so students with radios needed to set that up. There were several distinct ways of achieving this. If you were really lucky, there might be one leading to that room which had been set up by someone the previous year. Failing that, the most diligent fellows would climb up a tree, about twenty or more metres away, tie up one end of the wire, perhaps get a friend to lower a cord from the window, and haul it up. Less conscientious ones would simply tie one end of the wire to a stick or stone and throw it up into the tree, and then pull tight to see whether it was firmly snagged. (With thorny trees, and we had them, this was the only effective technique.) Then appeared the more antisocial students, who would simply tie a rock to the end of a wire and fling it from their window so that it hung over someone else's firmly attached aerial. Not always a rock, come to think of it; someone once used an old shoe and although the warden complained that it lowered the image of the place, dangling above the lawn, it was so firmly tangled into place that it remained there. As more and more of this category slung out their chunks of ballast, a complex web would develop and in some years the total weight would bring the whole lot down, to the fury of those who had set theirs up soundly. No one seemed exactly sure what the situation was for radio licences, and some people tried to convince themselves that the situation was the same as in a private home where there might be radios in several rooms, all covered by the same licence. The rest of us realised that it was legally more like a block of flats than rooms in one house, and that we probably did need a licence for each set (or strictly, for each room). There was even a story from a year or two before my time, about how the inspector turned up and rubbed his hands with glee at all the highly visible aerials. His records showed clearly that the only licences for the building were in the names of the warden and the matron, so he marched in. The matron barred his way, arguing loudly enough for the few people not at lectures to hear what was going on. By the time he had proved his identification and authority to her, they had dashed along each corridor, removing radios (we rarely locked doors then). Thus he inspected a good number of rooms and found nothing. When he asked about the aerials he was told that they were ancient ones, the accumulation from years of earlier students. If he had checked the shower rooms he would have found a large heap of wireless sets! There was also a rumour that crystal sets did not require licences. We had an old one at home and in about my final year a friend got it working for me, replacing the crystal with one of the new-fangled diodes. It was faint, of course, and not really usable by day, but quite audible as I listened in bed at night. I also had the smug feeling that, if an inspector suddenly materialised among us, I would be the only one listening legally. I do not know whether one can get a workable crystal set which picks up short wave but that one could definitely only get long and medium wave. I remember wishing that LM would start transmitting in those bands… |
| The following essay was written by avid Springbok Radio listener Ann Taylor of Durban-Ethekwini, 30 April 2002, and provided by South African radio enthusiast Kevan Mardon, Durban, South Africa. |
| A GRANNY'S MEMORIES OF SPRINGBOK RADIO Written by Ann Taylor, "Avid Springbok Radio Listener" Durban - Ethekwini 30 April 2002 I did not want to go to school that first day of May 1950. I wanted to stay home and listen to the first day of Springbok Radio. It was such a milestone event. There was little else that people discussed as they excitedly anticipated what it would mean in their lives. My parents had been discussing it together and amongst their friends and relatives. It had been announced on the English Programme for some time, so we were really looking forward to seeing how different it would be from what we were used to hearing on the English A Programme. Living in Roodepoort in the Transvaal at the time, my father had arranged an extension speaker from the radiogram in the lounge through to the kitchen so that we could keep warm around the kitchen coal stove, as it was winter, and to be able to listen to the programmes whilst eating our meals. He also had an extension speaker to the garage where he could listen while tinkering on his motor car over the weekends. My grandfather, an electrician, had made me one of the first "whisker radios" in the country so that I could listen to the radio in my bedroom, but the sound wasn't as good as the larger radios in the other rooms. I think Eric Egan's voice must have been one of the first on radio as he was always on first thing in the morning. He also had a special time slot when he would play a children's record, just before we left for school, after which he would say, in a deep husky voice, right next to the speaker, "I l-l-l-love you!" It would send goose bumps down our spines. He also had a budgie that chirruped and sounded so cute. As a result of that, budgie-keeping became a very popular pastime, and my father had a lucrative hobby selling budgies he bred in a large aviary in the backyard. It was my job after school to have to sweep up fallen seed in order to discourage mice, so I did it very quickly in order to return to the far more serious job of listening to the radio. With the advent of Springbok Radio, there was a dampener on communication as we knew it. Mealtimes became quieter, and we could only talk very quickly when the advertisements came on. It was a time when children really were seen and not heard. There was a children's programme sponsored by Dimes Sweets, and we could win a prize. All we had to do was to send our name and telephone number in to the programme, and then, if we answered the phone saying, "Dimes are the best sweets!", instead of "Hello", we stood to win ten whole shillings, which would have been worth R100 now. So it was worth the effort. Unfortunately, I was never a winner, bit it was always a race between my parents and me to get to answer the telephone first, as callers were always left confused with my greeting and then my parents would have to explain it all to them. That was an excellent advertising gimmick, if you think of it! I think that most of the programmes had some form of competition to keep you glued to the programme right thought to its end and to help them gauge popularity. Memories of listening to afternoon serials like "Superman", then tying a towel around my neck and jumping out of the lounge window in the hopes of being able to fly, only to land with a jolt in my mother's flower garden below, were a great disillusion. It was a great comfort to be able to listen to the radio when ill in bed with the usual childhood illnesses like chicken pox, measles, or mumps, or when later my mother went out to work and I had to be at home alone after school. I remember running home from school to listen to the soapies. They only lasted for fifteen minutes. There was an English soapy on at 3PM – I forget the name now, but immediately after that, at 3:15 was an Afrikaans programme that I really enjoyed as it was by listening to it that I improved my understanding of the Afrikaans language. Who was it that used to sign off with the words, "And remember, don't take any wooden sixpences!"? It was a husband and wife chat and music programme. Dad used to enjoy his sundowner as he unwound after a hard day at work to the peaceful strains of music on a programme called "In The Cool Of The Night". One of the early evening serials was "Bottle Castle", a comedy play about a family living in an old English castle that had secret passageways behind the wood paneling in which a grandfather, who used to bluff that he was hard of hearing, used to hide and listen to what the family discussed. Then he would get up to mischief by foiling their plans. It was a weekly social occasion to meet a various friends' homes to listen to the radio, and one night, while we were all still arriving and settling down into chairs as near to the radio as possible, to listen to the Vicky Towwel and Caruthers boxing match, there was a sudden loud silence. We all sat, staring at each other in disbelief. The whole match was over within the first few seconds of the bell. A record knockout! All we could do was eat the prepared sandwiches, drink our tea, and go home again! And then there was the funeral of King George, followed some time later by the coronation of his eldest daughter, Queen Elizabeth II. What a wonderful commentary that was. We could picture everything that was happening just as if we had been watching it on TV. I don't think there was any aspect that was not described. My mother used to send in postcards to request favourite records to be played or to send messages to relatives on their birthdays. Then, we would wait for them to phone us up and thank us, if they had been listening – which they always did. And, how special we felt whenever we heard our names over the radio, too. Later, living in Durban, as a teenager, Saturday afternoons would be spent draped all over the floor or lounge furniture, listening to Elvis Presley and Pat Boone amongst others on the "Hit Parade" of the week. We would compare the charts with that of LM Radio to decide which record we would buy for our collections or play at the next party. We would also copy out the words of the songs in our best handwriting and stick them into scrap books that we would illustrate with cutout pictures from magazines. Parents knew not to interrupt that serious listening activity! The Sunday evening comedy, "Snoek Town Calling" with Cecil Wightman and his crew making fun of all aspects of life. A children's programme regular slot was with Uncle Boetie Baradien who told wonderful stories about Coloured children living in the Cape and played their music. Also, African music by a family whose name escapes me for the moment, who still specialize in making the instruments and music. Many are on record. The children's interschool quizzes were a vast source of knowledge. "Lux Radio Theatre" every week on a Monday evening. One play that I would love to hear again was called "The Red Tassel". A season programme that told us the story followed by the Operas taught me so much about that aspect of the arts that children don't have the opportunity of learning about these days. When last did children hear "Sparky And The Magic Piano"? That was instrumental in so many children becoming interest in learning to play the piano. Sunday lunchtime programme with "Sounds From The Past" – I remember the sound of cleaners singing inside the Johannesburg reservoir just before it was filled. Other unrepeatable archival recordings of the opening of famous buildings, famous speeches, famous singers, and other events. I believe some of these were recovered recently from a basement and preserved for posterity. At Christmastime, listening to "The Snow Goose", "The Little Match Girl", or Charles Dickens "Christmas Story". And then there was the Christmas message from the Queen that we all had to sit silently and listen to. When I asked my eighty-three-year-old mother what her memories of Springbok Radio were, she said that she couldn't remember anything in particular, as she didn't consider it to be as important an event in her adult life as it was when she first heard radio as a child. She said how she remembered sitting and staring at the radio, not wanting to miss a single word, (probably also because the reception wasn't so good then either). I guess my own children will have more memories of when TV first started in South African that should be recorded now, before they get too old to remember. Written by Ann Taylor, "Avid Springbok Radio Listener" Durban - Ethekwini 30 April 2002 |