Flying the Flag in London

It all started with a leading question at the 25 year re-union lunch in August. 'Would you like a ticket for the Twickenham rugby test against the Springboks in November?'

With lads from the Class of 1989 after lunch, Grant Esterhuizen (back right) gets to hold the Wynberg 175 Flag - as you'll see, Grant gets a few other opportunities, 14 000 km from the Hawthornden Field

Grant Esterhuizen was sitting next to me in the Bill Bowden Pavilion with the other members of the 1989 Matric class reminiscing about past exploits and escapades.

Once I had ascertained that he was indeed serious, we started planning to take it further with a Dinner for UK Old Boys and a tour around the sights of London flying the 175 Flag. Three months later, I was striding into the hotel lobby in Russell Square to be greeted by Grant, his brother Craig (1986) and Brandon van der Westhuizen (1993).

It did not take long for Brandon to make it abundantly clear that he was in charge of the flag-flying expedition round the sights of London and that the erstwhile teacher / pupil role was from a previous and long forgotten life. The instructions flowed. 'We will start with changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. Then we will move on to Downing Street and finish up at the Houses of Parliament.'

'What do you mean by Downing Street?' I enquired, somewhat intrigued. 'They will have half the London constabulary ensuring that the likes of us come no-where near it.'

'No worries,' he said airily, 'I have made arrangements!' Time would prove that this was no idle statement.

With Sergeant Major vdW marching us along at pace, we arrived at Buckingham Palace and unfurled the Flag. 'Any chance of calling the Queen down for a picture with our special flag?' Brandon cheekily asked the local policeman guarding the gate. There is no end to the chutzpah of a Wynberg boy!

The thin blue line ...

Fortunately the policeman had a sense of humour. 'Just go and knock on the door, mate, and see if she will come down. She is in residence - that is her personal standard flying from the mast.'

I pulled Brandon back. There is just no stopping a Wynberg boy when he has the bit between his teeth. We took the second best option of a photo with the policeman and the flag - with the Palace in the background.

On we went to Horse Guard Parade. There we encountered an imperious and unmoving member of the Queen’s Household Cavalry, resplendent at attention with a highly polished sword over his right shoulder.

Not feeling terribly relaxed with that armed Guardsman lurking behind me

'Another picture,' ordered Brandon and I obediently unfolded the flag and we stood in front of a fine example of one of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces - who by this stage was showing distinct signs of discomfort and looked as if he had every intention of using the sword in the manner for which it was originally forged.

'Oi,' said the Guardsman without moving his lips. 'What is on that flag?'

'I thought you lot weren't meant to talk?' was Brandon’s riposte.

I attempted to appease the clearly agitated soldier. 'Don't worry. This is a school flag and one part of it is an emblem representing the Duke of Wellington. You should be proud of this being displayed in front of you. Weren’t you boys at the Battle of Waterloo two hundred years ago?'

With his fingers visibly whitening on the sword, we quickly took our photos and fled.

Next stop was the Cenotaph - where the Queen had laid her wreath the previous weekend. 'What is that flag?' asked an elderly bystander who had been reading all the notes on the wreaths.

At the Cenotaph: KCR, Grant & Craig Esterhuizen

On being told it was a school in Cape Town, she told us how touched she was that schools in the colonies still respected their war dead. 'Not like that anymore out here,' she said gloomily and shuffled off - presumably to vote UKIP in next year's General Election.

At the security barriers at Downing Street, even though our names were on the list, the policeman in charge was clearly suspicious. I sympathized with his plight as terrorists come in all shapes and sizes these days. Brandon proceeded to drop names which were obviously impressive enough for security to allow us, reluctantly, into the street itself.

We wandered nonchalantly up to the door of Number Ten and enquired of the policeman how we were going to enter. He replied in a voice reminiscent of Mr Carson in Downton Abbey, ‘Just knock on the door, Sir…’

So we did and the result was similar to the sight we all see regularly on television – the famous black door swung open, courtesy of an unseen hand and we swept into the entrance foyer of one of the most recognisable houses in the world. Apparently President Zuma was unable to receive an audience with Prime Minister Cameron recently. If only he had known about the organising skills of Brandon van der Westhuizen – he could have joined us.

We waited in the foyer for David Cameron’s special advisor who was to be our guide. It was somewhat disconcerting to be under the constant, disapproving gaze of Robert Walpole (1735 – 1742), the first Prime Minister of England who once lived in the house. His huge portrait dominates the foyer and we gained the distinct impression that he, too, had critical views of presumptuous men from the colonies who did not know their station. In fact that steady gaze so unnerved two of our party, that they asked to make the use of the facilities – I suspect rather like dogs proudly marking the territory of an alpha male.

As we walked around the famous rooms, I had to pinch myself that this was really happening. The house – which is really four houses in one – was huge. I half expected to see Hugh Grant emerge from one of the rooms but our guide broke the illusion by telling us that Love Actually was definitely not filmed in these hallowed portals - but on set.

I gazed at the seats in the Cabinet Room wondering how many thousands of momentous decisions had been made round that felt-covered table. I pondered on how many kings, queens and eminent politicians had dined in those illustrious state rooms. We marvelled at the small decoration of a man thatching a house which had been fashioned above one of the doors. ‘That was Margaret Thatcher’s doing,’ our guide informed us. ‘It was her way of ensuring that there would always be a Thatcher in Downing Street!’

We were told the story of the mortar attack from the IRA in 1991 when the shell from the Horse Guards Parade narrowly missed its target of the cabinet room and landed in the garden of Number Ten. The windows of the cabinet room were cracked in the blast but none of the cabinet members, who were meeting at the time, were hurt. Prime Minister, John Major, with typical British sang-froid was reputed to have said, ‘Well perhaps we should continue our meeting somewhere else!’

We spent a considerable amount of time admiring the black and white photos of all the Prime Ministers on the wall alongside the stairs. Prime Ministers donate their picture after leaving office and our knowledgeable guide told us that only one Prime Minister has tried to be different and hand over a colour photo – Edward Heath. Apparently he was promptly told to replace it with a more acceptable version.

Quite right too. How else are we in schools meant to keep standards up if Prime Ministers can’t follow simple instructions?

After eventually being ushered out, we decided to take our chances with the flag outside the front door. Carson was not happy. ‘It is not customary to display ornamentation, Sir.’ Being a typical Wynberg boy, Grant Esterhuizenwith, with a wide and innocent smile, remarked that as we had had the tour, they could only boot us out of Downing Street. So with the crowd of tourists wide-eyed (hopefully with envy) and clamouring at the gates at the end of the street, we proceeded to make full use of the opportunity to record the occasion as we stood in front of the legendary door.

At Number 10: Brandon van der Ws\esthuizen, KCR & Grant Esterhuizen

There was never such insubordination in Downton Abbey. But then Carson never had to deal with colonials.

The Flag bearers

Brandon did not allow us to pause at the gates to bask in the adoration of admiring crowds as he chivvied us to our next assignation. Once again, he had woven his magic by laying on a personal guide for our trip around the two Houses of Parliament. As neither Commons nor Lords were in session, we wandered round the hallowed precincts, coming within touching distance of the Queen’s throne in Lords and Churchill’s revered green benches in Commons. We stood next to the Woolsack, the seat of the speaker in the House of Lords. ‘I think that this was named after a road in Rondebosch leading up to UCT,’ I informed our English guide authoritatively. Stung by patriotism, she didn’t see the humour in my statement and acerbically reminded me that this seat had been there, in some form or other, since the fourteenth century.

With winter darkness rapidly imposing itself, we finished off the tour by posing for a photograph with the ubiquitous 175 flag outside the Great Hall with Big Ben in the background. It had certainly been an eventful first day for the flag in its journey around the world.

There is more to come. But that is the subject of the next blog.