Print it…

CHRIS BENNETT was jolted to thinking about the written word.

I HAVE recently bought a printer. Now there may be nothing out of the ordinary about this, but I can’t help wondering why the Steve Jobs of this world have not yet got their heads around the idea of a laptop that prints.

I mean, we haven’t really come all that far from the typewriter, when you come to think of it.

Sadly, I seldom write letters these days, although I may develop a reasonable relationship with the printer and return to that gentle art. The trouble with printers is that they are too big and too impersonal.

I bought the smallest I could find and still struggled to get the box through the front door. We are still glaring at each other, the printer and I, but relations are warming.

Lawrence Durrell tells a lovely story about a printer’s devil, one of his assistants, which I gather were called bears in Greece, where the Greek-speaking writer lived on the Island of Rhodes from 1945, as part of the British administration. This odd term, bear, came about, apparently, because of their tendency to walk back and forth like bears in a cage “picking up and examining type, which are part and parcel of the handsetters work”.*

After WWII, when Durrell was editor of Chronos**, one of the bears was a young man called Christ, a common enough name for Greek boys. He came from a large family which he had to support on his meagre salary.

During a momentary crisis when the news was delayed, and Durrell found himself short of material, Christ pulled out a sheet of loose galley, the paper used to take a first impression, a galley proof, from the frame that holds the metal type, the galley. Printing a newspaper until quite recently was a hot, noisy and dirty operation. Mind you, it still is.

In no time he had written a column on his rather sad circumstances, which the paper’s Greek editor read to Durrell. “Print it!” said Durrell, “and tell him I want four a week.” The young bear was at first aghast and then overcome with joy. “Christ had entered the most impoverished aristocracy in the world”. *

This past few weeks has seen a flurry of articles in papers all over the English speaking world discussing the demise of newsprint, the coarse paper on which newspapers are customarily printed. Triggered, I suspect, by the arrival of the iPad, a device which is completely beyond my comprehension. I mean, what’s it for?

Anyway, as one writer wrote, a publication isn't the dead trees it's printed on, nor will it be the screen it's displayed on. The reading and writing of newspapers are cultural activities that inspire much of society’s interaction, whether it be on the scale of the South Coast Herald, which has been nobly fulfilling this worthy task for more that seventy years, or on the scale of the Citizen, a national daily, which has been reaching a wide cross section of the population through the medium of the country’s first language, English, for almost half that time.

These fine newspapers are institutions which can never be replaced by any amount of technology, no matter how spectacular.

It is interesting to note that the philosopher Plato (BC427-347) wrote, “Don’t put too many people in one place, don’t impose more on the physical environment than it can bear, make the maximum use of resources like water and replant trees if you cut them down.”

For the human race it has taken a long time for the Platonic penny to drop.

All being well, I’ll be back in next week’s newspaper.

* Reflections on a Marine Venus; Lawrence Durrell: Faber and Faber, London, 1953. ISBN 0-571-20170-9

**The newspaper is still in print.

Dawn’s palest light…

CHRIS BENNETT celebrates THE LONGEST NIGHT OF THE YEAR.

ONCE more the longest night of the year is behind us. On Tuesday morning, June 22^nd, I rose as the sun emerged reluctantly through the twisted foliage of the milkwood trees and cast its pale lemony rays in pretty moving patterns on my bedroom wall. The sky was the sort of blue that I imagine one would see in the Aegean, and the air was crisp and sharp.

There is often a quality to our weather here on the lower South Coast that is perhaps as much to do with the noble sound of the sea as it is with the pale morning sunlight.

Even on still mornings, the breakers hurl themselves to smithereens on the rocks below my cottage, roaring and sighing, soughing and swishing around the pools and crevices. The sounds of the sea are as huge as the whales performing their tomfoolery not far offshore.

Such was this Tuesday morning, and I was delighted, for to me the 22^nd of June marks the return of the sun on its journey back to our canefields and banana groves. Its warmth beckons and grows almost by the day.

Along the ridges and smoke-laced valleys of Nzimakwe, the winter timelessness still holds its charm: nothing changes, and nothing will. Why should it?

If you are visiting our part of the world make a point of going down to the beach as the sun comes up. Go with friends so that the beauty is all the more enjoyed and the experience shared. Marina Beach, Trafalgar, Palm Beach and so on south are ideal places to see the day begin, but not alone.

It is unforgettable experiences of this kind that make our part of the world so extraordinary for those who will open their eyes to see it. For those who can’t I feel sad; for those who won’t, then I am sure Boksburg beckons.

Two visiting young British students called in (with father, of course) to the local pub, the High Rock, this week. Fiona Glazebrook is doing her last year in sociology and her friend Sarah Statham graduated in cinematography this year, a degree that could prove of some use in this digital and image-obsessed world.

Refreshingly they are not here just for the football; they are here to see the sea. They are at university in Leeds, in north central England, and as I write they are exploring the coast, the Wild Coast; visiting Port St John’s and Coffee Bay. Memories, I suspect, are in the making. A cinematographer’s eye would rejoice in such spectacular sights.

If we are lucky we shall see many more visitors in this part of the world before the football fever is quite over. Those already here for the matches would do well, should their intellects be keen enough, to look around at this glorious country. The cost maybe high, but true economy is attained by judging an article (or an experience) on its merits, not on its cost. This, like football, takes considerable knowledge and quite a few well-honed skills.

Suffer the little children…

CHRIS BENNETT celebrated the 11^th June in style.

SOMEBODY said to me on a recent delightful visit (aren’t they all) to the Mother City, “Yes; but what are we going to do about the child Malema?”

My companion was a local broadcaster and we were sitting in the exquisite News Café, inside the foyer of the magnificent Artscape, perhaps one the finest venues of its kind in the world and certainly with the finest name.

Well we needn’t have worried. The glory of the vuvuzela, especially the vuvuzela en masse, en fête, is a miracle to behold, for many; all differences dissolved; doubtless not for long, but dissolved nonetheless.

As for the ineffectual kids who wish to dictate to our hard working leaders, they were forgotten; brushed under the carpet of irrelevancy where they would be well advised to remain. As someone once said, “Little boys should be seen; and never heard of again.”

Nothing has drawn the people of this country closer together in such a remarkably short time as has this spectacular football festival, the FIFA World Cup.

The faces of the fans splashed all over the newspapers of the world carry South Africa’s most profound message. “We have arrived; we can do it; we have done it, and we have done it well.”

They might have added, “Come and visit our unique country and see for yourself”.

I deliberately didn’t see the opening Bafana Bafana match on Friday; I wanted to see the opening ceremony and then rush back to start this column.

My right hand man, Michael Diya, who had declined the opportunity to see the game on my friend Tegwyn’s humungus flat screen with the excuse that he would not be able to jump up and down shouting, gave me an enthusiastic report of the game.

After half an hour listening to his (admittedly excellent) English I was convinced the score had been BB23/Mex3. When I realised it was a 1/1 draw I really didn’t mind. I gather the young man did more than his share of jumping up and down.

The venue for those in this neck of the woods was the High Rock Pub and Grill, a beautifully positioned eating house that has on occasion received a very mild tongue lashing from your columnist, but which, let it be said, now puts on good food and makes an occasion like this into the mother of all celebrations.

Keith and Ingrid, the hosts of High Rock, may never forgive me, and I shouldn’t think that I would be moved to forgive them either, but to them both I say very well done indeed. (I should explain that I once had the temerity to make a negative observation of their pub, as should be done from time to time to any pub worthy of the name).

If you want to see the football in all its glory, go to Palm Beach, the pub at Greenhart.

Another delightful encounter of the week was with Ann, a florist in Port Shepstone. I had struggled for some time to think of a way of expressing my appreciation and gratitude to the kind woman in the Strand who found, and returned to me, my pacemaker card.

In no time Ann had arranged for a basket of fynbos and proteas to be delivered to the good woman’s door. Ann was also rather effuse with her praise of this column, something I accept in humility and gratitude.

The South Coast is really a splendid place.

Put out more flags…

CHRIS BENNETT borrows the title of an Evelyn Waugh novel for his thoughts for this week.

THERE is a carnival air about the South Coast these days; and come to that I imagine the same could be said for most parts of the country as we prepare for the fun and festivities.

One of the joys of having the world’s most striking, and maybe even most beautiful, flag is that a host of them makes a glorious sight. The other day I was sitting in Beach Bobbies Restaurant in Port Edward. It has arguably the finest view of all restaurants on the South Coast, and the food is good too.

The car park was full of vehicles from all over Kwa-Zulu Natal, and many from the Free State and the Cape. Oh, and yes, I noticed one or two from Gauteng. Some were wearing flags behind their ears (poking out of rear windows in other words) and some had them festooned from aerials. It made for a wonderful sight, one that many youngsters will remember all their lives.

The South African flag, you will remember, was released on 27 April 1994. It was designed by the then State Herald, Frederick Brownell. Originally designated an interim ensign it was so well received that it became our permanent standard, and what a handsome standard it is.

For those of you interested in that sort of thing here is the official description of the South African flag:

Rectangular flag in the proportion of two in the width to three in the length: per pall from the hoist, the upper band red (chilli) and the lower band blue, with a black triangle at the hoist; over the partition lines a green pall one fifth the width of the flag, fimbriated white against the red (chilli) and blue, and gold against the black triangle at the hoist; the width of the pall and its fimbriations is one third the width of the flag.

The football grounds during the tournament, starting tomorrow in Johannesburg at the astonishing Calabash, will undoubtedly be a symphony of colour. Given that the opening ceremony will attract viewers from across the planet there should be no doubt about what the South African flag looks like.

On a historical note, it is interesting that the flag’s relic was officially known as Die Prinsevlag, or The Prince’s Flag. A compromise was reached that resulted in the adoption of a separate flag for the Union in late 1927, and the design was first hoisted on 31 May 1928.

The design was based on the so-called Van Riebeeck flag or Prinsevlag which was originally the Dutch flag, and consisted of orange, white, and blue horizontal stripes. A version of this flag was used as the flag of the Dutch East India Company at the Cape (with the VOC logo in the centre) from 1652 until 1795.

The South African addition to the design was three smaller flags centred in the white stripe. The smaller flags were the Union Jack towards the hoist, the flag of the Orange Free State hanging vertically in the middle and the Transvaal Vierkleur towards the fly.

Flag waving has begun.

Sources: Wikipedia; Brittanica Online.

Winter of content...

CHRIS BENNETT has been basking in the winter sun.

WINTER always catches me out. I know we shouldn't call it winter, but the dry season sounds far too meteorological.

As usual, this year the first time I noticed the cool change was when the wind blew and the clouds raged across the sky, as if frustrated by their own lack of rain. People complained that we need the rain; but there is little point in that. The rain will fall when it is good and ready.

A trip to Nzimakwe showed the winter had arrived. The smoke haze was not just from the burning cane, but also from the burning home fires. Winter’s presence was to be seen in the well-wrapped denizens of this primitive and beautiful part of the province.

Various friends have seen whales, and the gannets were at it last weekend, so the elusive sardines may be on their way.

There appear to be many theories about what happened to the sardines; some say they have been fished out, which sounds a bit unlikely. Others say they don’t come close to our shores if the water is not the right temperature and yet others say it is all to do with climate change. Ja, well, no, fine.

This year I don’t doubt that most people will be obsessed with the football, which is understandable. I will follow it in the papers. Maybe.

One of the joys of winter, and there are many, is sitting in the sunshine of my kitchen to write. The sunlight is soft at this time of the year, travelling, as it does, through much more atmosphere. This means I, and some of my plants, can enjoy it without overheating.

In searching something in my favourite newspaper (the Telegraph) I came across the word rappelling. It is new to me; but then on finding out it has to do with climbing mountains I am not unduly surprised by that. It is described as being American English, a description which I thought carried just a mild hint of disdain. The participle used in this particular context meant sliding down ropes, either to scale a mountain, or in this case to board a ship from a helicopter.

It has a certain elegance, unlike much of the American English we fall into the appalling habit of using. A friend in Cape Town and I are on a crusade, doomed to failure, of course, to eliminate the ghastly word basis from daily use: as in use on a daily basis. For heaven’s sake!

The uneducated are very fond of stretching their sentences by using jargon and false extension, such as the one just mentioned. You’ll find a lot of it in the overstuffed world of bureaucracy.

I recently attended a birthday braai for a friend in the village, which was enjoyed by a lot of delightful people of a similar background and age to me. For a refreshing change jargon was conspicuous by its absence.

I’ll leave you with a good example of the fatuousness of this awful basis expression; it comes from a recent edition of the Jerusalem Post. The writer is Ann Goldberg, who should have known better; the Post is a highly regarded English language daily.

“The Romans, Ottomans, Crusaders, Mamelukes, Byzantines, right down to the British – all left their fingerprints on this town (Acre, Israel). Even today it is populated by an eclectic mixture of Jews, Christians and Muslims living, studying, working and trading together on a daily basis.”

On a what, Ms Goldberg?

If this good woman were to end the sentence at together it would have made perfect sense. After all trading, studying and working are daily activities.

I told you it was a losing battle, this crusade.

New Hyundai launched in Shelly Beach

CHRIS BENNETT attended the release of the new Hyundai ix35 last week.

SOUTH Coasters were given a preview last week of the new Hyundai ix35, an interesting car which is likely to see the future of what we normally associate with 4x4 vehicles.

The ix35 is one of the new ‘crossover’ breed. This term was coined by the motor industry to describe what is essentially a 4x4 with two-wheel drive, in this case the front wheels.

The ix series of cars includes the smaller ix 20 and the ix30.

Dealer principle of Hyundai, Shelly Beach, Johann Venter looked understandably pleased with the car.

The crossover idea was largely a product of market resistance to the older style 4x4s, which were heavy, and in the case of the Hummer, gross. People were keen on a strong car, big enough to carry the family and its kit, but were not so keen on the brutish and extravagant image projected by 4-wheel drive.

We need to use a lot less petrol, and two-wheel drive is a step (or should that be roll?) in the right direction.

Hyundai is the world's largest car company by profit, the world’s fourth largest by units sold and the world's fastest growing manufacturer of cars.

Wherefore the ‘y’?

The name Hyundai is pleasant on the western ear but a little less so to the eye. It should be pronounced with the y as an Afrikaans j, and rhymes with Sunday.

The original engineering company was founded in 1947, and Hyundai Motor Corporation twenty years later.

Just as the Japanese outstripped American and European cars in the latter half of the 20^th century, the Korean giant has made huge inroads and is now a major league player.

The Hyundai Motor Company is a major sponsor of the 2010 Fifa World Cup, and so the timing of the release of this new vehicle is perfect for this country. The car made its debut a couple of months ago in Dubai.

I have not yet driven the car and await the chance eagerly.

The ix35 is seeking, as are all crossover cars, a balance between the 4x4 and two-wheel drive, offering the customer a choice and taking his personal taste into account.

The ix35, which Dave Abrahams of the Independent Group of newspapers as an “urban cruiser, more road-orientated than the Tucson it replaces”, has ten millimetres less ground clearance than its predecessor.

Apart from the benefit of better road-holding, this gives the car an edge of elegance over a 4x4. The car’s appearance is enhanced by the crisp, clean lines, and the sensible use of a ‘hip’, which does away with the slabby look.

The back of the car is hugely practical and the rear-door is attractive and looks right. It works best if you unlock it, as three enthusiasts found out last week at the Shelly Beach launch when they all struggled to open the locked hatch.

All in all, a very neat car at a comparatively sensible price.

The Hyundai ix35 is available in two-wheel or four-wheel drive, with the usual range of engine sizes, from Hyundai Motors in Shelly Beach (039 315 0902). It is priced from R239 900.

CB