“A new and potentially bigger crisis was evolving, however, for the oncoming vessel was bearing down on Johanna at considerable speed, and she had no water to play in to evade the threat. In her urgent rush to dive, the submarine bottomed momentarily on the mud, damaging the blades of her two propellers.”
This excerpt from Iron Fist from the Sea (Delta Books) goes through my mind as I listen to our guide regale our tour party with highlights of the many clandestine missions undertaken by the SAS Johanna van der Merwe (a Daphne Class submarine, renamed SAS Assegaai in 1999), now a much-loved museum piece on the hard in Simon’s Town dockyard.
Just to my left are the forehead torpedo tubes, the RAMs still supporting the makeshift bunks that housed the recces and their gear on these special operations. These included transporting Rhodesian SAS forces to try to assassinate Robert Mugabe in Maputo in 1978, and many other daring sabotage and demolition jobs in Angola during the years of South Africa’s Border War. The experience is made even more visceral as our guide is the co-author of this book, R-Adml (retired) Arné Söderlund, who, with his former Special Forces co-author, Lt-Col (retired) Douw Steyn, compiled this detailed and often riveting account of the top-secret seaborne recce operations (1978-88).
Annette and I are on the tail end of a nostalgic trip to the Cape Peninsula. We’ve already visited some childhood haunts of mine, paid respect to family’s and friends’ graves, had an exquisite lunch at Steenberg’s Bistro Sixteen82 (the risotto and sauvignon blanc were to die for), visited a dear old friend in Fish Hoek and have now sequestered ourselves in a delightful self-catering garden cottage above Simon’s Town naval harbour.
Simon’s Town is a destination that oozes history from every pore and matches it with many good eateries, adventure activities and speciality shops, as well as charming Dutch-cum-Victorian architecture and bustling seaside town vignettes around every corner. Even if you’re not historically inclined and give the numerous museums a miss, you can’t help but be caught up in the well-preserved layers of time that local and foreign tourists cherish here.
It’s also a town that displays a fairly definitive cross-section of the South African story. From tales of early hunter-gatherers that feasted on the wealth of the surrounding marine life to early Dutch and British colonialists, who used Simon’s Bay as a winter anchorage for their fleets, to mutinies and the influx of skilled technicians from Europe in the mid-1800s, and the forced removals of 1967 that sent shockwaves through this multicultural enclave.
Much of this cultural fabric comprised the progeny of the early Malay slaves from the Dutch East Indies. When they and other variously hued folk were banished to distant townships, such as Ocean View near Kommetjie, Simon’s Town not only lost many skilled artisans, culinary expertise, traders and fishermen, it lost part of its soul, too.
We discover at the Simon’s Town Museum later that a collective of sailors from Kru Town in Liberia, known as Kroomen, were integral to this. Sought after by the Royal Navy for their seamanship, they were contracted for three years, after which they were meant to return home. But numbers of those that arrived here on the HMS Melville in 1838, and others after them, married local women and stayed on until a 1935 law stopped the practice.
One of the early stops on our self-guided “historical mile” walking tour of the town is the old Simon’s Town Secondary School, now the town’s library. With origins dating back to 1815, it’s the fifth-oldest school in the Western Cape and was based here from 1896 until 1953, when it moved to its current location in Harrington Road. Unfortunately it’s closed when we get there. I’m disappointed, as my mother was schooled here when her South African mother and adoptive father (a Royal Navy man) moved to Simon’s Town a few years after World War 2. Yet I’m sure I’ll be resurrecting many of their long, cold paths as the day progresses.
After a short “scenic walk” (one of a number signposted by the town’s historical society), which takes us past the old Nooral mosque and Cape Vernacular houses garlanded with exuberant bursts of bougainvillaea, we descend the “Twenty Steps” to Rectory Lane. This frozen-in-time scene was immortalised by Dr Peter Clarke in his eponymous 1971 linocut. Clarke was one of the founding members of the Simon’s Town Phoenix committee, whose main aim is to keep alive the accounts of those forcibly removed in 1967.
It’s time for lunch, and deciding to steer clear of the pricier waterfront restaurants teeming with foreign tourists, we opt for a quiet-looking Provencal-type pavement eatery, The Lighthouse Café. As many patrons on TripAdvisor rate the food highly, we order the much eulogised beer-battered fish and chips (Jamie Oliver’s recipe) — it doesn’t disappoint.
Suitably fortified, we continue west and take in the informative Simon’s Town and fascinating South African Navy museums. Having served aboard a minehunter vessel during my national service, and with my best friend surviving the sinking of the SAS President Kruger in 1982, the latter’s displays are particularly poignant for me. One of the highlights here is our visit to the innards of the recently restored 200-year-old clock. Mesmerised, we stare up at its large pendulum marking the inexorable passage of time.
The next day we make the pilgrimage to Boulders Beach. Our boardwalk stroll showcases exquisite views over the heads of penguins and tourists towards Glencairn. While we are appreciating this unique tableau, the South African Navy’s valour-class frigate, the SAS Amatola, enters the frame to complete the maritime picture.
We decide to escape more jostling with busloads of tourists and take the scenic coastal drive to Miller’s Point and Smitswinkel Bay instead. En route we stop above precipitous cliffs hanging over False Bay, drink coffee and watch seabirds hovering above the commercial diving boats that frequent this still unspoilt stretch of coastline.
Completing our circular drive via the lofty Red Hill Road, we decide to visit one of the old 9.2” guns of the Scala Battery. Capable of hurling a 172kg shell about 36km, this impressive component of the World War 2 port defence system was never fired in anger and was last used in 1947 to scuttle the SATS General Botha moored in False Bay, about 15km distant.
Besides its obvious historical appeal, the gun site is a perfect place to bring out the coffee flask again, enjoy the expansive view and salute this remarkable tourist destination.
First published in Business Day.
