William Trewin: 'Rhoda Mountjoy is my niece. She has been staying with me on a visit for about three weeks

A photo of the couple taken in 1970 shows her to have been a tiny, perky person, beside her tall and rangy husband, notable for his fine big nose and ears. As they say, she was only as high as his heart.

Jenny Butcher died in 1972, on 31 October, two months short of her 87th birthday. She was buried in Ravenshoe. George died three years later in Herberton Hospital, on 19 June, 1975. He was 89.

'They lived a long a healthy life in Ravenshoe', said Fred, their son. 'They were well respected and had many good friends'.

433

l|% ^ Times Remembered - South Africa

Each of them married: Rosie in 1905 (Bob Currie); Olive in 1911 (Jim Lawless); John in 1913 (Minnie Auret); and Fred in 1915 (Annie Robel).

I met three of their descendants in South Africa in September 1982: Ernie Lawless, only son of Olive and Jim; John Honeycombe, only surviving son of Minnie and John (or Johnny); and Cyril, only son of Annie and Fred.

What follows is the story of their remembrances of their parents and their families and of their own childhood and adult lives - recorded in Durban and Johannesburg and transcribed years later in Australia, the birthplace of those of their parents born a Honeycombe.

Ernie himself was born in 1912; Cyril in 1916; and John in 1928. None knew much about their ancestors, other than that they were Australian. None of the three, and they were quite different from each other, had met for many years. But all three, and the wives of Ernie and Cyril, were keen to know more - and to tell me what they knew.

We have already heard from Ernie Lawless, in the chapters about his grandparents, Jack and Jane Honeycombe, and about his great-grandfather, Dirty Dick, who was 92 when Ernie saw him in Melbourne in 1922. So let's hear from Ernie first of all.

Ernie: 'My father (Jim Lawless) was a Londoner, from Westminster. He joined the Fusiliers and he was a bugle boy in the Boer War. He kept his silver bugle in a case. After the war he was a policeman for a while, then he worked on the railways. He was a conductor then a checker of freight. He would open goods trains and check them. He had grey-blue eyes and a good figure: he carried his clothes well. He wanted everything to be of the best - good clothes, good shoes. His shoes were always polished. He was a real gentleman. Everyone called him Jim.

'My mother, Olive, was very fussy in all her ways. Fastidious, elegant and small. She had brown eyes and brown hair. She was a very good housewife and cook, and once worked for a French dressmaker. She used to ride a pushbike to work. She was very smart.

'I was known as Little Ern. I was born on 28 February 1912. My parents had married the previous year. My mother Olive was 27, and he was 28. They met at a dance. She was so fond of dancing. He wasn't. We lived in Mayfair, in Johannesburg, in Princes St near the mines. My Auntie Rosie lived three doors down and my grandmother, Jane, right opposite. I can remember running across

434

'My father went to that war, the 1914-18 war, and so did Auntie Rosie's husband, Bob Currie. They went to Southwest Africa - the Germans were there -and my father picked up 14 diamonds in Southwest Africa. He brought them back in a bullet. After the war he had them registered. Anyone who had uncut diamonds was required to do so. He had them made into rings...

'Joburg was very much a mining town in those days. We lived in a brick house, and there were trams and trains. Eric Currie was Auntie Rosie's son and was two and a half years younger than me. We used to go and play on the mines, on the dumps. Auntie Rosie lost three children when they were young, the first three that she had. They all died when another was born. Eric was the first to survive. He was born in 1914. Then there was Una and Stan. Uncle Bob worked on the railways and travelled a lot in his own caboose. Auntie Rosie was always laughing - even when she was dying. She died of old age in 1976.

'I had two uncles, Fred and Johnny Honeycombe, who were younger than my mother and Auntie Rosie. My mother told me that when they were young their parents would have people round and Johnny would go around and empty this glass into that glass and drink it all down. And then Freddy would run and tell his mother (Jane) and his father (Jack): "Johnny's drinking all the beers and wines!" And yet when they grew up, Johnny didn't drink and Freddy did.

'My Uncle Fred was a plumber, and he also worked on the railways. His wife (Annie) left him one time because of the drink and stayed with Auntie Rosie. That was when I was a young boy. He used to roll home on a Friday night with his weekly pay, and Eric Currie, my cousin, and I used to hang around him and he'd give us a shilling, which was a lot of money in those days. We thought it was great. He was jolly. All the Honeycombes were jolly. My grandfather (Jack) used to strum the piano. He also liked his beer, and he'd get up and do a dance. He sang a bit, and Bob Currie, my uncle, also sang a bit.

'We used to go and visit Uncle Johnny and his wife, Minnie, at Maraisburg. She was a pianist, professional. That's why her son John is so good at the piano. He used to play the piano with his mother. She never worked. She was quite stout. At one stage she liked a little bit too much of the alcohol. My mother didn't see eye to eye with Minnie. When Uncle Johnny came to our house with his first two sons, she didn't come with him. They were younger than me and called Willie and Dennis and neither was very strong. Willie was so small. He had a heart complaint, I think. And that's what killed him. Minnie's family used to call him Spider. They said he looked just like a little spider when he was born. I remember that when he died the coffin, a little white coffin, was on the dining-room table. We were taken in to see him. Spider died, I think, in 1926. And so did Dennis. Spider would have been 11 or 12. John was born in 1928. His mother, Minnie, doted on him, never taking much notice of his older sister, Jean. It was always Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. He was a nice

435

little fellow and played duets with his mother. He grew up to be reasonably tall, and was quite slim until he got to be quite stout, like his mother's family.

'My father died in 1960, when he was 77. My mother (Olive) died in January 1966. We came to Durban in August 1965. She died the following year. My cousin Eric Currie, Rosie's son, also lived in Durban, and worked with me. We saw quite a lot of them. He had a son and a daughter. His son is in Canada, a high position in the Navy. We have a daughter Brenda, an only child, also living in Durban, who is married with two children, both the apple of my eye'.

Ernie Lawless, whom I met in Durban in September 1982, told me that no one in his family had seen his younger, unmarried cousin, John Honeycombe, for many years - although John, who was then 53, had lived in Durban for some time. To the Lawless family, John was socially unacceptable, as he played the piano in some honky-tonk bar and had recently been put in prison, they said, for some financial offence. They thought he would be after their money next.

Ernie said that as far as they knew John Honeycombe used to play the piano, about seven years ago, in the Coogee Hotel. There, he and his playing were much admired by an elderly lady, who used to listen to him adoringly every night. Apparently she thought nothing was too good for him and was pleased to provide him with money. Whether this was given freely, as a gift or as a loan, isn't clear. But ultimately the sums of money mounted and were never returned. Whether this amounted to theft, or fraud, or false pretences, I do not know. But John, it seems, was charged with some crime concerning his admirer's money and sentenced to some months or years in jail. I gathered that he had only recently been released, perhaps earlier that year -1982.

A phonecall to the Coogee Hotel referred me to a place called the Smuggler's Inn. Thither I went with a helpful reservist policeman, Alan Bolter, as the neighbourhood was said to be a dangerous one, with blacks and coloureds hanging about, especially at night, becoming exceedingly drunk on the local beer, Majuba. At lunchtime, the Smuggler's Inn turned out to be part of a downmarket drinking complex in the Alexandra Hotel, which also accommodated an Indian bar, and Carol's Place, where strippers performed at lunchtime and go-go girls at night.

James, the Indian manager of the Indian bar, emerged to tell us that John had been playing the piano at the Rossborough Hotel about three months ago. James telephoned the Rossborough on our behalf and it transpired that a month or so ago John had left the Rossborough and gone to the Willowvale Hotel in the Umbeilo Road. Alan Bolter drove us there, to a small, plain, purely functional establishment situated on a drab main road. It was about half-past one.

436

We went inside, and there was John, seated at an organ on a little raised platform in the lobby, entertaining assembled guests and locals with some popular tunes. He played very well. Dressed in a wide safari suit he was somewhat rotund, with a broad round face and rather a babyish look about him which perhaps appealed to the elderly lady in the Coogee Hotel. When he finished playing, his audience applauded and I made myself known. He was stunned, staggered when I said who I was. He had no idea about my visit, although I had written to an old address. He was taken aback because he was probably apprehensive about what I knew about him or wanted to know. I didn't explain that I had traced him with the help of a reservist policeman. He kept saying: 'This is incredible'.

What follows is the gist of what I tape-recorded of our conversations during two of our meetings in Durban in September 1982.

John was born in February 1928 at Maraisburg, the last and only surviving son of Johnny and Minnie Honeycombe. It was of his mother, whose maiden name was Wilhelmina Caroline Auret, that he spoke first.

John: 'She was from Huguenot stock. Her grandfather was French, Carl Auret. He was a brilliant man, a builder. He had his own firm. He did most of the early buildings in Joburg. My mother was one of 13 children... I used to visit my aunts quite often with my Dad, the ones in Joburg. I didn't see their children much because they were a lot older. Olive used to be my favourite aunt. Auntie Rosie I only saw on a few occasions.

'I was a skinny guy then. You wouldn't believe it. My mother's side, they were all tubby people, big people.

'My Dad was quite a small man. Like Rose and Olive. Fred was the biggest. My father was very musical. He used to make his own violins and banjos out of cigar boxes, put a neck on and string them. He had a proper bow. He used to borrow a bow from an uncle of mine who had a violin, and he used to play the instruments he made and get a tune out of them. It was amazing. He used to sing as well, a couple of Australian songs. One of his favourites was 'The Golden Slippers", which originally came from America. And a couple of old Scottish numbers. Of course "Waltzing Matilda" was always a favourite. He had an Australian accent. He was short, about 5'4". A very fit man. He had fair hair - we were all very fair - and he used to play soccer very well. He used to keep himself very fit. He was with a team in Johannesburg, JSA. Until he was in his 40s. He used to like playing goalkeeper, funnily enough, although he was a centre forward. He used to jump up - he was brilliant. I used to be very proud of him... Good-looking, always clean shaven. He always wore a hat, an ordinary hat, and at work he always wore a cap and overalls. We had a three bedroom house in Maraisburg, single-storey. Beautiful big garden, vegetables and fruit.

437

We had everything. We even had grapes. Those homes all had big grounds. My father was also very keen on poultry, kept thefn in the backyards. He used to have about 200 Rhode Island Reds - that was favourite. It was more of a hobby. But he used to sell them. I had a black pony I used to ride, when a child, called Dapper. My sister had a horse as well. She was a brilliant horsewoman. I used to jump at gymkhanas. My father was very keen on cricket. The mine had a sports club and you were automatically a member. In the evenings they stayed at home.

'It was a golden time, but we had our tragedies. My mother never got over the deaths of my brothers. They left a mark on her. They died within three months of each other, in 1926. Because of that my mother was very protective of me. I wasn't allowed to do this, or that. She was scared I'd get hurt. They both died of pneumonia. Willie died in East London. He's buried there. They were on holiday there. And they got back, and as soon as they'd got over his death, Dennis died. My dad was very fond of Jean. She always used to go to him.

'Holidays? Because of Willie's dying there, we used to go to East London every year after that. My Mum wouldn't go anywhere else. It used to be in March. For three weeks. We used to live in a hotel, the Woodholme. This went on till my mother took ill. My dad was a very healthy person. Never went to hospital in his whole life. Until his kidneys packed up. He died after my mother, in 1957. She died in 1953. He was never the same after she died. We were a very happy family.

'Jean married in 1944 - George Victor. We called her Jean and Jenny. She met George at a dance at Maraisburg. We moved there from Mayfair just before I was born. George was a carpenter on the CMR, Consolidated Main Reef. He eventually became foreman.

'Dad died at Stilfontein. What happened was that the gold mines were worked out in the Transvaal and everybody shifted down to the new mines in Stilfontein. Gold had been discovered there. He moved there with Jean and George about 1955.

'Dad stayed with Jenny and her husband after he retired. George Victor was a shift boss in the mines. They were a young couple. They had two children, George and Karen.

'In 1955 I was in the Navy. To start with, I worked on the clerical side. I was in the office where they made the wages up. ! was only an office junior,

438

'I always had a love for the sea somehow. Saw the sea when we went on holiday. I also had a friend in the Navy. He told me all about it, got me interested. He was a seaman. I became a writer - like a purser, doing clerical work, pay, and the captain's correspondence. I was three years in, then got out and went back again in 1959 - ending as a CPO, earning 360 rand. I served on a destroyer, two frigates and a minesweeper. The last was a frigate, which went down in a collision a few months ago - the SS President Kruger.

'I was chosen to play the piano for the Governor-General on a trip to Madagascar. On shore. When he had his meals I used to sit and tinkle the piano in the background. A most wonderful trip. We toured the whole of Madagascar, went right round. I also played at soirees on shore.

'I learned by watching my mother's hands. She wanted me to read music, but I would never. I would listen to a tune and play it. When I was six years old I started playing. It's a natural gift. My sister took lessons for about 13 years and she still couldn't play a tune. I play in any key.

'I used to play at concerts, Methodist church concerts, school concerts. I also sang. I was very much a Bobby Bream till my voice broke - a high pitched voice - won competitions, a couple of cups, certificates. I sang some very old English songs, and wartime songs. All Vera Lynn's numbers were very popular then - 'The White Cliffs of Dover". My mother used to accompany me. That of course was during the Second World War.

'Earlier, when I was about eight, I had to play the piano in a church - a big do. And my mother taught me Handel's "Largo", or something like that. Which I wasn't very happy about... So the night of the concert, the local priest announces me and the church is full of people. I thought, to Hell with this lot -I'm not going to play this sad tune. And I started playing "In the Mood". A jazzed up version. You should have seen the panic! My mother rushed over and the priest was panicking. They took me out the back and I got such a hiding!

'I used to wear a special suit: short trousers, long socks, bow tie, white shirt. Short slicked back hair. I made money out of it later.

'In 1949 I began playing in a six-piece band. With Bob Sawyer and his Band. In those days, for a wedding - when you played during the reception from 3 to 6 on a Saturday afternoon - you'd get 10/6. In the evening, from 8 to 12, it was 2 guineas. Those were the union rates, and this took place in Maraisburg. We used to do all the local jobs - weddings, dances. We didn't have any singers, and only men were in the band.

'What happened was that Bob Sawyer heard me one night at a variety concert at a school. He came up and asked me: "Would you like to join the band?" I thought I'd give it a go. I was a thin little guy sitting at the piano then.

'I was with the band until I joined the Navy.

This tattoo was done in England, while I was on Simon Von der Stil, a destroyer. We did a goodwill cruise to England, Holland, Ireland, Scotland. We were at Portsmouth and went up to London one weekend and I had this done at

439

'In the Navy I played on shore in canteens. No pianos on warships. No space. I couldn't wait to get ashore to play the bloody thing. The word went round in the Navy and they used to take me off to play at all the cocktail parties. Wore a uniform. Introduced as John Honeycombe. A lot of people called me Johnny. Even today - which I don't like. A lot of people used to call my father Jack.

'I left the Navy in 64. Went to Stilfontein, and I went back on the mines as a clerk. Stayed with George and Jean for about a year. Came back to Durban with an idea of working for Lever Brothers. And somebody heard me play the piano one night and they said: "No way! You can play at my hotel". This chap owned the Coogee Hotel. Done nothing else since. I like it. The money is pretty good. The hours, and the company.

'One time, I very nearly got married. But my mother was against it; she was a Protestant. She didn't like Catholics. This was a Catholic girl. And I still regret it, for she was a brilliant musician as well. I about 22 or 23, with the Bob Sawyer Band. She was in the audience and then she came up and we got talking. We went out for a few years. She's married now, lives down the coast.

'My father was C of E. I was christened C of E, but for some reason we went over to the Methodist Church. The Victors are also Methodists.

'My sister died last year, in October 1981. She had a brain haemorrhage. Her first husband died of a heart attack. Left her quite a wealthy woman. Then Jamieson came on the scene, in Stilfontein, He was a foreman electrician, more or less the same age. He'd just lost his wife. He had about four kids, one was just a baby. She was very unhappy with him. She'd have been about 50. She was four or five years with him before she died. She'd said she'd never get married again. And six months later I got a letter to say she was marrying this guy. He used up her money, gambling, buying cars.

'My 21st birthday party was at the SA Club in Joburg. A very exclusive, beautiful place. We played there, which is why I managed to have my party there. Ernie Lawless was the only one of the Honeycombe family who came along. My mother was too ill to be there and my dad had to look after her - and my sister of course.

'I was 7% years at Coogee, then at other hotels. Like the Rossborough. I was three years at the Smuggler's Inn.

'I never had an agent. People ask me. Dudley Baldwin got me away from the Rossborough. They came in one Saturday morning and he said: "God -you're wasting your blooming time here!" Since I've been with them at the Willowvale I've never looked back. I've never done so well.

'I can play anything. Classics, pop music, anything. And this is why people like me. Because you get the older crowd and I can do their music. And the youngsters -1 do theirs. I'm very fortunate. A lot of pianists can't do that'.

440

After the interview in the dining-room of the Willowvale, I talked to two of his friend's, musicians, playing guitar and banjo, who were part of the band and played at the River Garden Hotel on Sunday lunchtimes. One of them said that John Honeycombe was a very humble person, that he was also very generous, that if he had 200 rand on him in the morning, he would have spent it by the evening, having given it away to people in need - five rand here and there - gifts, presents, loans, that kind of thing. Therefore he was always short of money himself. The banjo player said that John had a heart as big as his body.

What happened was that when John was in court - he didn't say why he was in court - there was this 13-year-old boy, a trouble-maker apparently, on trial for some misdemeanour, and his fine couldn't be paid. So John volunteered to pay the fine and take him under his wing. Apparently this became official. And this boy (name unknown) was now married and had children of his own. John was regarded as their uncle. He visited them, apparently, quite often - certainly every weekend. Provided them with gifts and money. He said he didn't care too much for the Lawless family. He regarded Ernie Lawless as a drip.

The Lawless family had a curious idea, in view of the foregoing, that John was something of a sponger. But there was always a division between the two parts of the Honeycombe family - between Olive and Rose and their brothers, Johnny and Fred.

Fred's son, Cyril, told me in 1982 about the two occasions he met his younger cousin, John. Cyril had married Elizabeth Zinserling, known as Babette, in August 1938.

Cyril said: 'About 1942 we went to Maraisburg, my wife and myself, and that's where we actually saw John Honeycombe for the first time. He was playing the piano. He had a small attachment next to the piano, an organ. He was a youngster then (about 14). We never saw him again for many years. Then the wife's sister's son, called Jimmy Abbott, he was in Durban years later with his mother, staying at the Coogee Hotel, and he had written a letter to me and he put it on the piano. And John Honeycombe said: "Cyril Honeycombe? That's my cousin!" That's how I got to know that John was at the Coogee Hotel. We were on holiday in Durban the following year and happened to meet Jimmy Abbott. This was about 1974. He was in Durban with two of his friends. And he took us round to the Coogee to meet John Honeycombe. The first time we'd met him since the war. We chatted for about an hour and I've never seen him since. At the time he was entertaining the holiday-makers by playing a combination piano-organ in the bar-lounge. He told me he had never married, but he had joined the Navy and seen the world. He told me that our grandfather (Jack) had gone to Australia and remarried a very young girl. He gave me an address in Melbourne. But I didn't believe him, so I never bothered to write. He was a fat bloke, and I haven't seen him again. But I heard about him from Jimmy Abbott.