Rising from the Ashes

Little Malabar: Before and After

It was 1.56am on Wednesday 4th March when the phone rang. It was Wynberg’s Director of Operations, Peter van Schalkwyk. 'Bad news,' he said. 'I have just received a message that your house in Noordhoek is in danger from the fires.'

In the meantime, Pippa was checking her phone. 'House ablaze,' the message from a neighbour said. 'No point in coming down as the area is being evacuated.  All the roads here have been closed off.'

Not much chance of sleep after receiving that message!

Shawn Benjamin Photography: Cape Fires

It had been an intermittent night's sleep in any event. We had been put on standby for a possible rescue operation for the school’s 175th Celebration wine. Newly bottled, the 175 double magnums were being stored in a cellar on the wine farm, Eagles' Nest, on the slopes of Vlakkenberg. An Old Boy, Stuart Botha, winemaker at Eagles' Nest, was responsible for the birth of the wine - a responsibility he had carried out with diligence and impressive attention to detail during its confinement.

Now the flames, having devoured the mountainside, were licking in anticipation at the high-lying vineyards of Eagles' Nest. Five years after conception, the Oude Wijnberg wine, eagerly anticipated as any birth, was nestling unconcerned in the cellar's dark womb.

Sterling efforts by firefighters and farm workers ensured the safety of the farm, its personnel and its contents.  However, we had far bigger concerns with the events on the other side of the mountain.

We had only taken possession of the keys of 'Little Malabar' the previous Thursday. This 150-year old cottage had presumably provided accommodation for a farm worker's family for the nearby farm, 'Sleepy Hollow'. It was four thatched rondavels expertly joined together with superb finishes put in by the previous owner, Chris Barrett, who had lived there for 35 years. Using his experience as a Master Builder, he fitted in window frames and doors of Burmese teak while yellowwood was used in the beams. The finishes were so tastefully done that we were smitten when we first walked in.

There was little trace of any of this in the smouldering wreck of 'Little Malabar' when we went to Noordhoek the following morning. A building which had survived under thatch in the Noordhoek valley for 150 years succumbed to flying embers a mere six days after we received the keys.  A few doors and shutters somehow managed to escape the inferno, but otherwise it was just a shell of the beautiful cottage which had ensnared our hearts some months previously.  Our tenants had started moving in some of their possessions during the week and it was sad to see the smouldering cushions, linen, books and children’s toys.

The property was crawling with people - most of them just gawping. A TV news crew was there. The fact that the owners had just arrived clearly excited them. 'How do you feel?' someone said as a microphone was shoved in my face. I told them exactly how I felt - which was fortunately deemed unsuitable for family viewing later.

A more inane and inappropriate question to ask someone as he walks into the scenario of his destroyed house is difficult to imagine.

The firefighters, neighbourhood watch and the neighbours themselves were full of concern.  Most of them had been up all night watching over the area.  One of the neighbours had been on his own roof hosing down his thatch and had seen the whole sorry scenario unfold in the early hours of the morning.  He told me that the northwester had come up unexpectedly and reignited the fires amongst the pines on the slopes of Chapman’s Peak.  The wind was hurling fireballs like mortars into the valley below.  One went squarely into our thatch and within minutes the house was ablaze.

The Brown’s, Wynberg parents who lived in a house in the next street, told me that the entire area had been evacuated in the early hours with the instruction to bring a ‘small bag’ each.  Their son, Michael, duly packed his music and his tablet and they repaired to the Noordhoek Sports Centre.  Imagine his surprise when he saw a Wynberg girl who also lived in the area walk in carrying her school case full of books.  This was beyond his comprehension.  Expressing his concern about her lack of priorities, her retort was that she was certainly not going to rewrite all her notebooks if they happened to be destroyed in the fire.

I don’t think that this made any impact on Michael. He had left his school bag on the kitchen table where, surrounded by wood, he had given it ample opportunity to be engulfed in flames should the house fall victim to a fireball.  This is as good an example as any of the difference between boys and girls.  It strengthened my belief, once again, that principals of boys’ schools should be paid more than those of girls’ schools.

We spent the rest of the day pottering around trying to retrieve anything of value – a brass doorknob here, a teak shutter there, a yellowwood plank under a pile of rubble.  Surprisingly our tenants’ framed photographs survived – they had been placed under piles of linen.

Then a shout went up.  ‘Here is a tortoise!’  A small mountain tortoise was found wandering on the edge of the ashes.  ‘If it has plasti-tak on its shell,’ said Chris Barrett, ‘then it is Sweetie.’  It did have plasti-tak and so Sweetie was renamed ‘Phoenix’ and welcomed back from the ashes.

The rest of the day was spent in a whirl of insurance agents, assessors and architects.  This process is destined to be a long haul.

Sweetie - the survivor

On the way home, Cape Talk Radio was full of comments about the fire.  Someone phoned in to ask what all the fuss was about.  Only a few houses went down, he said, and they were those belonging to ‘rich people’.  Well, unhappily, this sentiment certainly shows that we are still a hugely divided society. Human disasters are human disasters and they are no respecter of rank, religion or remuneration. 

That day, the Wynberg Campus of Schools decided to raise money for the volunteer fire-fighters. A few days after the fire, R95 000 raised by boys and the parents of the Wynberg schools, was donated to the cause of wildfire fighting in the City and its environs – from which all Capetonians will benefit in the future.

The aforementioned Michael Brown (15) summed up the spirit of community which has run through all fire-affected areas.  Denied by his age to fight the fires, he volunteered to do the donkey work and help to sweep ash from the road on Ou Kaapse Weg.  Londoners who lived through the Blitz in the Second World War, will recognise – and applaud – this community spirit.

We have received literally hundreds and hundreds of emails, letters and cards.  It has been a gargantuan task to endeavour to respond to them all.  As I frequently indicated in my acknowledgement, no-one has died or been hurt.  We personally lost no possessions.  We now have ten months to rebuild and restore a home.  There was, however, one touching and sensitive message from a long-standing friend which does stand out:  ‘I trust that this episode will not take the place of a proper house-warming party.’

Humour in the midst of all the doom and gloom is once again reminiscent of the Blitz.  I recollect seeing a cartoon of those dark times when a fire warden shouted down into an air-raid shelter while a bombing raid was going on: ‘Any babies down there?’

A cheerful Cockney voice shouted back: ‘Give us a chance, Mate. We ‘ave only been down ‘ere ‘alf an hour…’

A few days after the fire, when I thanked the teaching staff for their support over this period, I remarked, tongue in cheek, that if the restoration is not completed by December, I may have to extend my departure date and the school will be stuck with me for another year.  This prompted a stage whisper from a corner of the staff room, ‘I bet he petrol-bombed it himself….!’

A book belonging to our tenants was discovered in the ashes - charred, wet and bedraggled. The title: ‘Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff’ radiated defiantly from its cover as it lay amongst the carnage.

I took heed of the message.

Photos sourced from the internet: Shawn Benjamin Photography & Jenna Harwood Photography