| The All Night Radio Service HISTORY |
| The Pumamouse Website Presents... |
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| AN INVITATION FROM THE PUMAMOUSE IF ANYONE OUT THERE KNOWS THE COMPLETE OR PARTIAL HISTORY OF THIS RADIO SERVICE, OR IF YOU HAVE FOND MEMORIES OF IT, AND IF YOU WISH TO SHARE YOUR KNOWLEDGE AND RECOLLECTIONS WITH ME AND WITH THE WORLD VIA THIS WEBSITE, PLEASE CONTACT ME! YOUR TUTELAGE WOULD BE GREATLY ENJOYED AND APPRECIATED. SQUEAK! (ESSAYS AND LETTERS REGARDING THIS RADIO SERVICE, SUBMITTED FOR CONSIDERATION OF INCLUSION, MAY BE WRITTEN IN AFRIKAANS OR ENGLISH.) |
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| The following is a compilation of excerpts from correspondence recently received from an anonymous website visitor who fondly remembers the All Night Radio Service. His intriguing memories are included here with his knowledge and consent. Thank you, “A New Jersey Yank”! |
| “A New Jersey Yank In Rhodesia” (Written September 2003) Hello. I discovered your site months ago. I had been looking many places for Far Out in the Old Kalahari, the theme of the old All Night Service. Thank you. I am a Yank from New Jersey, but long ago I hopped on a freighter and ended up in Cape Town...1972...and eventually found my way to Rhodesia. My work involved many overnight drives from Rhodesia to the Rand, and I loved the All Night Service. It brings back many memories of two wonderful countries, South Africa and Rhodesia, and the many fine people I knew. I stayed in Rhodesia till 1980, came to the USA for eighteen months, and went back to South Africa for six years or so until 1987, back to New Jersey for good in 1990. My relationship or my connection with southern Africa did not arise out of the ether. It has several interesting founts or origins... Fair Lawn, where I grew up from in the 1950s and 60s, was a very Dutch area, from the original settlers in the 17th century, and that led to an interesting happenstance. Back then, Fair Lawn was still woodsy with several small dairy farms. As an eight-year-old, me and my pals (Van Houten, Pryma, Wintchen...all Dutch save me) use to play in the local woods and venture to the nearby lumber yard to “borrow” (pinch really) what we thought was scrap wood. The lumber yard was open with no fence, but they employed a guard...not a ersatz security type that you see too often these days, but what appeared to us young boys to be an ancient giant with a shock of gray hair and bushy beard. Anyway, he caught us pinching one day, and we found out that he was not at all an old mean guy. He did not report our pinching to the yard or the police or our parents but just made us promise to stop, to go to church (or synagogue in my case) and be good and respectful kids. But, what we found out about this ancient giant...6’4”...he was from AFRICA, to be specific, from the Transvaal...Potchefstroom. This was 1960 or 1961. He was an old Afrikaans burger, born in the OFS in 1878, (interestingly enough, the same year my maternal grandfather was born in Kiev). For the next year and sadly the last year of his life, he became a friend of us boys and regaled us with stories of Africa. His name was Smits. He said his father was an itinerant Dutch Reform preacher...pastor. He said he rode briefly with the Smuts Commando during the last stages of the Boer War. After the Boer War, he said he spent a few years in the Matebeleland (southwest) part of the new Rhodesia. But here it gets even more interesting. He said he left Africa completely because of his disdain for the English Crown, which was prevalent amongst many Afrikaner bitterenders, and moved to Patagonia in Argentina, about 1910. He said he raised a family there, and he followed his children to America, specifically Fair Lawn and Glen Rock NJ. It is all very bewildering and fascinating when you imagine the cross currents of life and history...the chance meeting of a Boer War veteran with a skinny, bubblegum chewing, Mickey Mantle loving, cartoon watching, suburban, Jewish kid in New Jersey. He lit a flame in my imagination and, for better or worse, it deeply affected the course of my life. When I came back to the US permanently, I tried to search out his children, but they were not to be found. Maybe today with internet abilities I would have a better opportunity. Recently, through this wonderful internet, I have been finding old Rhodesian friends scattered across the globe, and regaining contact with South African friends still living south of the Limpopo...and your wonderful site is truly stirring memories, good and sad and bad, but mine. Many thanks for bringing back the most important part of my life, young adulthood. I was 20 when I stepped off that freighter at the port of Cape Town....200 dollars in my pocket and a suitcase full of dreams. The next eight years were filled with experiences that I could never have imagined growing up in suburban NJ. At the bottom of Africa, but on top of the world. Sadly however I now think often of those young Rhodesians who fought bravely and so many died, just teenagers answering their country's call, and going without hesitation. I had forgotten or put it out of my mind, but your site brought back those years, and I am helping in my small way those retired, elderly Rhodesians, harmed by the passage of time and the debasement of their pensions, etc. Thank you for reminding me of this!! Many, many thanks for your wonderful site. My best to you. |