History books tell of South African soldiers leaving Grahamstown by train, going to fight in World War I, and later World War II.
History books tell of South African soldiers leaving Grahamstown by train, going to fight in World War I, and later World War II.
Their wives and children would stand near the carriageway’s windows, frantically waving goodbye and chasing the train until the edge of the platform as it slowly pulled out of the station, disappearing around the bend.
Possibly never to return with the same passengers.
Be they soldiers, students or sun-craving Grahamstonians, the Eastern Cape countryside scenery was breath-taking for everyone aboard.
A loud hoot would sound as the pistons slowly turned and the train departed. The tall steeple of the Cathedral became a pin on the horizon as the locomotive headed east, past outbuildings and houses on the outskirts of town.
The train would then trudge up the sloping terrain, chugging past gardens and orchards, and a farmhouse here and there. Cows grazing in the fields nonchalantly looked up as the shining black centipede sped past, billowing clouds of smoke that could be spotted for miles across the cultivated fields.
Then cutting through plantations of oaks and willows, it gathered speed as it reached the citrus plantations before approaching the Martindale siding.
The tracks crossed a glittering stream every few kilometres, sparkling and rippling tributaries of the Blaaukrantz reflecting a man-made bullet surging through the untouched landscape.
Pockets of thickets appeared along the track. The low-hanging branches and cowering bushes providing shade along the sturdy metal tracks that emitted a glowing heat mirage in the baking sun.
Tall eucalyptus trees guarded the railway line for long stretches on end, as cactuses, acacias and aloes stood at attention on either side. Rock-crested hills emerged on the horizon.
The bushy crests and golden grass-covered landscapes made a picturesque backdrop.
The railway stretched for miles on end, and seemingly met before taking a sharp right turn where, in the distance, the unmistakable blue of the ocean topped with white, frolicking waves on the surface could be seen.
A few loud whistles, and Port Alfred residents would know that yet another batch of inlanders had arrived to enjoy their seaside town for the day. Yet many didn't quite enjoy that piercing, shrill sound that blasted the quiet Eastern Cape air every day.
Grahamstown residents living along the railway track would sometimes complain about the noise the train made as it rattled by, leaving a dirty soot trail in its wake.
But the pupils of Graeme College that sits just below where the track heads north out of Grahamstown loved the locomotive.
It was a welcome distraction from their daily history lessons taught by then-teacher Jock McConnachie. McConnachie describes how, every Tuesday, the clay train would storm past the school, carrying its heavy load out of Grahamstown. Yet, on occasion, especially in wet and rainy weather, the train would struggle with its heavy weight, its wheels spinning in vain on the slippery railroad as the locomotive ground to a halt.
This would often happen adjacent to the school grounds, situated less than two kilometres from the station.
The screeching noise would intrigue the bored pupils, bringing teaching to a standstill as the puipls lined the classroom windows, peering out at the battling train.
McConnachie himself has numerous fun-filled memories of the train, having been a Rhodes student in the 1970s. He describes several “joy rides” he and his friends would take to Port Alfred for the day. A certain trip springs to mind, and McConnachie chuckles to himself as he begins his story.
“I was a member of one of the clubs of the day,” he starts, explaining that the social group was often involved in unruly behaviour, mostly related to drinking. This would happen so often on the train that McConnachie and the rest of the club would have the police waiting for them at the station in Port Alfred, so they'd jump out at the siding before.
All their girlfriends would then be waiting in cars to transport the merry group to the nearby beach in Kleinemonde.
McConnachie recalls one particular trip to Port Alfred during his first year in the club, where he had missed the morning train after a late night. He chased the train down with his car, finally catching up with it at the Martindale siding.
Dressed in the club's regalia including longjohns, a vest and the club tie, the wide-eyed conductor passed him on the platform while he made his way to find his friends, saying,“There’s things going on at the back of the train!”
McConnachie knew at once that it could only be his mates, and the noise became louder and louder as he made his way to the last carriage. As soon as his friends saw him, they all shouted “McConnachie!” and hauled him onto the train to join the festivities.
And very unusual festivities they were, as McConnachie found all his friends stark naked, with yellow ribbons tied around their genitalia in connection with the hit song at the time, “Tie a yellow ribbon around the old oak tree”!
The same treatment was given to McConnachie as his under garments were torn to shreds. He shared some drinks with his friends before jumping off the train just before Port Alfred to enjoy a drunken day at the beach.
