(Picture caption:  Mr Cool - Grant Haskin is bringing some vooma to Cape Town.  By the way, he did not know that I was going to use this photograph!)

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If I was of the persuasion that I would up sticks and relocate to a better place, I would already be packing up the Mr Price crockery and moving to Cape Town.  I had an interview with Executive Deputy Mayor Grant Haskin, and if this man is an indication of how the city is being run, Cape Town has a dazzling future.

 

You might remember that a while ago I got an invitation to have tea with the deputy mayor and discuss his home town.  Well, I have done so and unfortunately cannot bring you any secrets about politicians, or insider insights into the corridors of power, but I can tell you what Executive Deputy Mayors of Cape Town do for fun.

 

Grant is a young father (his words) and therefore when he is looking for leisure he and his wife head for a kid-friendly place with his young son where there is an animal farm or a playground – somewhere where he and his adult companions can enjoy coffee or a meal while the children can run around in safety.  He mentioned the Barnyard in Steenburg, where there are rides, kids can play and pet the animals.  He also mentioned a new shopping centre in Hout Bay with a similar set up.

 

For a posher do he chooses Hildebrand for lunch, or Beluga for after-hours, and when he is hosting visiting dignitaries he takes them on a tour of Robben Island or up the mountain.  He also mentioned a drive up Signal Hill, where there is a fabulous view of Cape Town (and the new stadium, one of his pet projects).  He likes to take people up here as it is possible to survey everything of importance by walking a few steps.

 

Another favourite place is the Lagoon Beach Hotel at Milnerton for its unparalleled view of Table Mountain.  For family outings, his best beaches are Camps Bay or Fish Hoek.  And the best way to end the day is – on the way back from the beach – to stop off at Kalk Bay harbour, watch the fishing boats come in, choose a fresh fish, stop off at the bakery at the Lakeside shopping centre and stock up on fresh bread, and then go home for a fish braai.  Sounds irresistible.  (From experience I think that olive oil and fresh herbs comes in this equation somewhere as well).

 

I was very impressed with this interview.  It’s not often that someone who is charged with running a city (I understand that Cape Town does not have one single power-obsessed leader like another city I could mention, but the tasks are shared quite evenly amongst the top executive)  has time to discuss his favourite spots with a mere travel writer like me, and this was the only time that anyone in a political or ‘executive’ position has ever offered to do so.  Alright, so it took only a few minutes of his time, but it was gracious none the less and has left a lasting impression.   And isn’t that what it is all about?

(Picture caption:  I’m afraid I’m cheating again and using a supplied picture, but I don’t think you would be interested in a plain white picture consisting of mist.)

                                                                                                            

Having completed the circular drive of the Cape Peninsula, today is a good day for exploring the attractions of the city itself.  Despite cold and rainy weather, I am going to go up the mountain, down to the bottom of the sea, and then a quick look at the Castle.

 

Firstly a whip round of the city itself.  When the first settlers built their shacks on the shore back in those far-off days, it looked very different to the way it looks today.  There wasn’t much shore to start off with.  The first fort was built where the flower-sellers purvey their wares today, with much chat.  There is no trace of it anymore.  The harbour area is completely manmade and was actually claimed from the sea.  When finished, there was a wide flat area of reclaimed land, which has now become the Foreshore.  The Castle was built as a fortification on this land, but has never been used for anything more menacing than a prison.  It is an interesting, if stiff, relic of the grand days of the Dutch East India Company. 

 

Every tourist simply has to go up the mountain – and I know that every single Cape Town resident absolutely intends to, but just never gets round to it.  Possibly the best part, in the rainy weather, is the fact that there is not much of a queue – and the actual ride up in the cable-car is quite thrilling.  There is a particular swoop of motion when the land falls away steeply and people who don’t like heights, like me, grip the handrails rather tightly.  Because there isn’t much of a view today let’s rather talk about the famous tablecloth, which is a product of the famous South-East wind, the Cape Doctor, which isn’t actually a south-east wind at all.  It is actually a collection of southern winds that are deflected east by the line of mountains along the southern Cape and arrive in Cape Town in a bad mood at their long detour.  One collection screeches around Devil’s Peak to sweep the people in the city bowl off their feet, while the other raiding party rises over the back of Table Mountain to pour over the flat top as a white cloud.   Even though a meteorologist would probably shoot me for oversimplifying a complicated weather pattern (there is no such thing as a simple weather pattern, by the way), that is pretty much the way it goes.

 

The V & A Waterfront is too big to take in in one day, so I will only mention the Two Oceans Aquarium, which is my favourite.  The tone is set by the tank of little clown fish in the foyer, and exploring this memorial to the two oceans on the Cape – the warm Indian and the cold Atlantic – will take a full day.  I love taking my children there as my knuckles usually end up trailing on the floor from having my arms pulled out of their sockets by youngsters tugging me in different directions to look at everything.    Everyone loves the penguins, who look like headwaiters-in-training, all they lack is a menu tucked under one fin.  The kelp forest is the best stress therapy I have ever encountered.  It combines educational interest with entertainment value – in spades. 

 

Picture caption:  the lighthouse, apparently the first proper lighthouse in South Africa.  This is a borrowed picture, as the weather was not very good for photography…)

                                                                                                             

Despite the cold weather there is still some sun as we arrive in Sea Point and immediately turn left to get onto Beach Road.  Main Road Sea Point is not a place you would like to be if you are capable of making a conscious decision, it’s congested and unlovely.  Beach Road on the other hand, has a wide promenade on the left with some rather good scenery – including the famous Graaff’s Pool which I think was closed after too many people in the blocks of flats across the road fell off their balconies trying to get a good view in order to complain to the council.  (Graaff’s Pool, just in case you didn’t know, was a swimming pool made from a quarry that provided the rock for the suburban railway and was a men-only swimming facility where nudity was, ah, encouraged.)

 

One item of interest is a small plaque on the sea front, which is where – to put it succinctly – geology was invented.  A chappy by the name of Clarke Abel in 1818 recorded an instance of contact between a sedimentary rock and an igneous rock and this inspired the whole raft of people to put formal structures to the science of geology.  (Can you imagine the parties??).  Charles Darwin visited this astounding sight in 1836 – it was one of the little triggers that made him think long and hard about this new crack-pot theory of evolution.

 

On to Mouille Point, and the rather striking lighthouse – this is an attractive area that contains a mixture of old and new, and above and behind it all the cranes and bustle of the new Stadium.  This is also the site of an old prison called Breakwater Prison (it supplied convicts to work on the docks and the breakwaters, Mouille is actually the Frenchified word for ‘mole’ or breakwater).  The famous crime writer Edgar Wallace mentioned Breakwater Prison in his crime stories.

 

We have chosen to stop here and have a hearty breakfast in one of the Beach Road cafes, and it makes one feel extremely Mediterranean to sit at a table and watch the traffic along the road and beyond that the wall of the promenade, the rocks and the sea.  The coffeeshop is cozy, there is a hiss from the cappuccino machine, the smell of fresh baking, the aroma of good coffee and glass cases filled with an array of rather nice things to eat.  Outside the sun is shining fitfully but the air is cold.  There’s a certain kind of happiness associated with a warm café, the prospect of a good meal and the weather being kept firmly out of doors but still visible through plate glass.  I’m afraid I’m catching Cape Town in a big way.

 

Picture caption:  this pic was very kindly supplied by the Cape tourism authority, although I must add that Clifton looked very much like this while I was there….)

                                                                                                             

It might be extremely hard to believe now, but the suburbs that stretch from Hout Bay to Sea Point were once upon a time an area of low-cost emergency housing to accommodate soldiers returning from the First World War. Now, of course, it would be possible to drive along the entire length of Victoria Road without once having to bump anything cheaper than a Ferrari.

But I am getting ahead of myself here. As you leave Hout Bay you have rejoined the road coming from Constantia Nek, past the World of Birds, where you can see displays of more than 3 000 birds. A friend of mine used to work here as a holiday job and to this day cannot own less than four parrots at any one time.

There’s a little hump of land over which you drive, and the view in front of you encompasses the Twelve Apostles on the right, the nudist beach of Sandy Bay on your left with the shrinkingly-cold Atlantic beyond it – and in front of you the narrowest road flanked by the most expensive houses in the country. There are a couple of wrecks to look at (I mean shipwrecks, just in case you think I mean anything else), but I think I have discovered the reason why these beaches are so famous: the water is too cold for anyone to think of getting wet and therefore no-one wears a costume for its intended purpose: costumes are worn to show off as much as possible without any fear of anyone suggesting a swim.

The next little suburb is Bakoven, named after a large rock that looks like a pizza oven, Camps Bay which is where the Beautiful People make sure they are seen – there are a couple of restaurants where I think you need to carry a signed letter from both the President and Robbie Williams in order to get in, - the Round House which used to be the shooting box of the English governor, then the four beaches of Clifton. I think if you ever find parking here you leave your car forever and henceforth go everywhere by bus. The next suburb, Bantry Bay, was so called because it was a botanical garden in the 19^th century. Then the road enters into Sea Point and the turn-off to Beach Road.

But up till here, this short stretch of narrow highway requires an open-top sports car (preferably red) filled with sun-bronzed blonde people in amazing fashions, laughing with impossibly white teeth and tossing their sunstreaked hair. Best I can come up with is me and Gnasher and Heike. Which is why we don’t hang around…..

Hout Bay got its name because when the early settlers arrived here it was densely wooded.  Not for long, though - the trees were immediately all cut down as timber for ships and houses, which is one of the professional hazards that nature runs whenever she creates a pretty little valley.  For a heady decade or so there was a sawmill and lots of hunters, who shot the last elephants in 1689, and the little valley made a lot of people very rich.

 

The French actually occupied this little bay, incidentally, during the American War of Independence in 1799 – in order to prevent the British from doing so.  Shortly after this, the canny French saw the possibility of a fishing industry here – particularly for the rock lobsters that crawled over the rocks in great profusion.   Hout Bay, therefore, has always been an important area for various industries and now it has a vibrant little Mariner’s Wharf – correct me if I am wrong, but I think this was the first time that the concept of a wharf tourism development was done in South Africa.

 

Hout Bay beach was also the scene of a rather tragic event in the sixties – there were two dolphins that used to come into the bay and frolic with bathers.  I think they were called either Hook and Crook or Gin and Tonic, or something like that.  Anyway, they became absolute mascots and were very popular.  The fishermen did not think so, as the dolphins were eating far too much fish for the fishermen’s liking and the crowds of sightseers were interrupting their work.  So one night the two friendly animals mysteriously disappeared and were never seen again.

 

This was not the actual catalyst, but it was one of the reasons why a Hout Bay housewife, Nan Rice, witnessed a group of dolphins being netted and drowned on the beach (their crime was that they eat fish) and decided to start the Dolphin Action and Protection Group.  It was the first time in the world that a society had been started for the protection of dolphins, which were not protected at all.  Most of what we know about dolphins today is because of this remarkable woman, who still spends her life finding out about, and urging the protection of, dolphins.

 

And while on the subject of animals, as you drive down from Chapman’s Peak to Hout Bay you will see the bronze statue of a leopard on the rocks of the bay.  This was a labour of love for local sculptor Ivan Mitford-Barberton who wanted to salute the lonely leopards of Hout Bay.

 

Hout Bay is also a good place to take a hike, as the flowers and geology of the area lead to some spectacular walks.   So perhaps its time here to talk about the unique geology of Cape Town, which consists of a granite base, which is fully exposed in areas such as Cape Point.  Overlying this is three layers of sandstone, which are teenagers in geological terms (a mere 300 million years old).  These three layers contain various minerals, while the wildly varying sea-levels over the last couple of million years have led to some interesting erosions.  Sometimes the Point was separated from the mainland by rising sea levels and the Cape Flats was at the bottom of the sea.  All this to-ing and fro-ing has led to a fantastic variety of biospheres and as a result, an equally fantastic variety of plants.  It is a well-known fact that the harsher the environment the more varied the flora as they have to diversify like mad in order to survive.  A variety of plants attract a variety of birds and animals, and that – in a nutshell – is why the Western Cape is so full of surprises.

Picture caption:  One of the most dramatic roads in existence - and a view that goes on forever….

                                                                                                       

I have slightly mixed feelings about Chapman’s Peak Drive.  On the one hand it is the most magnificent feat of engineering – a road that has been carved from a hillside along a winding shore.  On the other hand, it is subject to the inevitable forces of nature and a lot of propping-up is having to be done to keep it in place, which to a large extent has spoiled that feeling of swooping along a mountainside.  However, closing the road, as happened in the late 90s when rockfalls became a particular hazard, is completely out of the question. 

 

The road itself was the brainchild of the first administrator of the Cape, Sir Frederick de Waal, who liked roads.  (De Waal Drive is named after him as he was instrumental in its formation).  It was a problem from day one because of the possibility of smallish chunks of the mountain coming adrift and plummeting down onto heads below.

 

It has now been extensively renovated and shored-up and trussed to prevent it being any danger to anyone, and turned into a toll road to make sure that it stays that way.

 

Work initially began on the road in 1915 after a team of engineers, geologists and surveyors spent quite some time deciding what was going to be the best route.  The idea was to build the road along the natural fault line caused by the soft band of shale between the mountain’s granite base and the overlying sandstone.  In retrospect, it all makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?  But this was something that had never been done before.

 

I heard somewhere that the actual construction work was done by Italian prisoners-of-war (from the World War that was at that time raging in Europe) and that many stayed on afterwards to form quite a large chunk of South Africa’s Italian community, but I have been unable to confirm this.  The road was officially opened in 1922. 

 

The drive is 9kms long and contains 114 curves (it does – I counted them).  It is such a lovely drive – not only the scenery along the coast from the cliffs, but the feeling of freedom that accompanies the journey: it is quite indescribable.  No wonder it is a favourite place for bikers, cyclists, photographers, sundowner-enjoyers, tourists, hikers, divers and everyone else. 

 

The best time to do the drive is in the late afternoon when the sun is glinting on the sea and the light falls fully onto the golden rocks, and the air is clear and the kelp forms dark clouds on the waves and out to sea you can spot whales and dolphins and ships and approaching cold fronts.

We have been traveling up till now on the so-called Indian Ocean side of the Cape Peninsula, and now after leaving the Cape Point Nature reserve and going through some rather non-descript countryside we see the sweep of the Atlantic Ocean ahead looking rather spectacularly blue. I know that the division of the oceans is a rather fanciful notion, as the currents change all the time, but it is rather nice to think of the Point separating these two great seas.

And there is a definite difference – the False Bay side has green sea, a rocky shore, polite little waves, a wind that will blow the teeth out of your mouth if you give an unguarded smile, and yellowy, coarse beaches. The Atlantic side is brilliant blue and brilliant white, with fine powdery sand that gets into places you don’t want to talk about, dark clouds of kelp rising and falling on the swell and waves that go thump in the night. I have had one or two picnics on these beaches that have been wonderful, although I have discovered that the combination of hot sun and shiny white sand can be devastating for sunburn. I have also had one or two walks on long beaches that have required you to plough one way doubled over against the wind - and then skip along at speed, driven like an autumn leaf, holding onto everything you’re got, on the way back.

We go through Scarborough and have a look at Camel Rock – Scarborough is still showing the signs of the fire that devastated the area and perhaps this is a good time to mention that one of the peculiarities of fynbos is that it actually needs fire for its continued good health. Bush fires clear away the old dead fynbos and trigger the germination of new seeds. But too-frequent fires are not good, and neither are fires that are not frequent enough – a seven-year gap appears about optimum. This is no consolation, however, to people who run the risk of having to rebuild their holiday homes every couple of years.

The town of Kommetjie (little basin) is actually not so little any more, it now quite a respectable urban sprawl. In the middle is a development called Imhoff’s Gift, which was the name of the original farm given to Christine Diemer in 1743 by the then-Cape Commissioner GW van Imhoff. The original home was destroyed by fire, but the current home has become quite a tourist node with restaurants, craft stalls, camel rides (yes, camels), a nursery, a bird park and assorted other attractions.

A little further along we get to the aptly-named Long Beach, with the picturesque wreck of the Kakapo that ran aground under rather suspicious circumstances in 1900 – on its maiden voyage from the shipyards in Britain to New Zealand, in perfect conditions, the ship ran onto the beach, fell over, and everyone walked away. The wreck has often been used as a film set.

Past Long Beach the road rises up along Noordhoek and finally arrives at a rather unlovely toll gate, where you begin your drive along the famous Chapman’s Peak Drive.

(Picture caption:  the Point in a pretty mood)
                                                                                                       

There is a wonderful poem called The Lusiads , written by Portuguese poet Luis de Camoes, which tells of the creation of Cape Point.  In the days of legend, the Titans rebelled against the Greek gods and tried to overthrow them.  They were defeated and – as punishment – they were banished to the outer edges of the world and imprisoned in rock.  The giant Adamastor lies caught below Cape Point, but his restless spirit still roams the dark and stormy seas, howling vengeance against his captors, wreaking destruction on ships that dare to come near.  Only the first Portuguese explorers hazarded the ‘Cape of Storms’.

Nice story, but I don’t think any ship’s insurers will fall for it.

However, the truth is that the Point is a place for which the term ‘windswept’ was invented.  A stubborn finger of rock is determined to get in the way of two great ocean currents heading in different directions, and gets pounded for its cheek.  This all lends itself to considerable drama – the most dramatic decision being whether it is worth your while to get out of the car to take a closer look?

We are currently driving along the road to the Cape Point, through the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve.  Unless you are fanatical about plants and animals, there is not much to see here – however, you are heading towards the fabled Point with all its stories, which gives the drive a pleasing sense of expectation.

The first story is about the lighthouse.  The first lighthouse was up on the headland and was regularly obscured by mist.  After the Lusitania was wrecked at Cape Point in 1911 (oh, by the way, the Birkenhead was wrecked around here too, which started the tradition of ‘Women and children first!’.  Up till then it had been every man for himself), the need for a better-placed lighthouse became urgent and so a new site was selected closer to the sea where the current lighthouse now stands.  Because of the tremendous amount of shipping that risks the rocky cape, the Cape Point lighthouse has the most powerful beam in the world.  However, lighthouse-keepers, submariners, sailors and even some bystanders have borne witness to the most intriguing story of all:  The Flying Dutchman.

Most people know of the Flying Dutchman from Wagner’s dark and stormy opera, with a captain Van Der Decken who cursed God and is thereby doomed to attempt to round the Cape on stormy nights till the end of time, but the legend arose much earlier than that.  Barthomelew Dias, the Portuguese explorer who first rounded the Cape in 1488 when blown off-course by a storm, escaped the wrath of Adamastor by doubling the Cape far to the south (by accident, we must admit).  But on his second attempt in 1500, Dias was overwhelmed by a terrible storm and his ship was lost, lying somewhere off the coast.  It is said that Adamastor has taken his revenge, but Dias is still attempting to outwit the giant by rounding the Cape, forever frustrated by violent storms. 

I didn’t see the Flying Dutchman, but I did see something much better:  a steaming cup of coffee and a slice of cake in the tearoom on Cape Point, sheltered from icy wind by glass windows and able quietly to say:  ‘Nya nya nya nya nya’ to Adamastor from my safe and sheltered vantage point.

(Picture caption: The False Bay Coast. I am cheating a little bit here, as the day is not quite as nice as this, so for the purposes of illustration I have used a pic I took earlier)

                                                                                                                         
There is so much to talk about on this patch of road that I am going to have to be very brief. The suburb of Wynberg, that we have just left, is one of the most atmospheric suburbs of Cape Town. It contains the gardens of Maynardville, and I have the most particular memory of going to the annual outdoor Shakespeare production in this garden. The first one I saw – Twelfth Night circa 1979 – made me fall instantly in love with theatre, Shakespeare, and Wynberg (in that order).

We have passed through the Tokai Forest, named after a forest and wine-producing area in Hungary, and the Tokai Manor House which has the Cape’s most active ghost: a horse and rider that clatters up the steps of the house at night, when the moon is full. A little further along we pass the entrance to Pollsmoor Prison (started off as a British garrison), which used to house the most famous political prisoner in the world. Then we get on to the Ou Kaapse Weg which whizzes over the Cape Flats and reaches the False Bay coast. At Heike’s insistence we have turned onto Boyes Drive (if we went straight we would have gone to Muizenberg, but Boyes Drive takes us over the mountain and reveals the most wonderful views of the False Bay coast. This is called Silvermine – and yes, there were actually silver mines here yonks ago. No silver, though, just some manganese and a lot of very disappointed miners.

The view, from left to right, is:

False Bay (so called because ships coming from the east sometimes turned in here thinking they had rounded the Cape. Beeg mistake!);

Muizenberg (named after the Dutch sergeant who was stationed here in the sleepy little area but was woken one morning by the alarming and unmistakeable sound of British bombardment in 1795, when the British invaded and took over the Cape. His original garrison is now a museum. Look out for the Rice-paper House);

Kalk Bay (named from the lime kiln here that produced lime for painting buildings, which is why so many of the houses here are whitewashed. Behind the town is a honeycomb of caves, a delight for spelunkers);

Fish Hoek (not the end of the line, which is a great disappointment for punners, but known to be a dry town – no alcohol is sold here by order of Lord Charles Somerset. The benefits of this teetotal existence have been so great – minimal crime, for starters - that no-one has dared to undo it);

Simonstown (the base of the South African Navy so it has the wonderful advantage of being populated by groups of sailors in their picturesque white uniforms. It also has the statue of the dog Just Nuisance, many fine buildings, lots of history, a very attractive aspect and a lovely atmosphere);

Miller Point (the place to be for the penguin colony at Boulders, a fine park, wonderful snorkeling if you still have breath left after you have hit the cold water, whale-watching and watersports).

When I lived in Cape Town, the best way to spend a summer Sunday was to take the train from Rosebank to Simonstown, hopping off at the stations along the way, having lunch at the Brass Bell at Kalk Bay (which is still there – what an institution!), watching the fishermen and the anglers along the coast and just enjoying the fresh sea air, the salt-laden breeze and the hot sun. It has always been my happiest memory of Cape Town. Actually, most of my memories of Cape Town have been extremely happy ones – perhaps that is why it is such a perfect holiday destination.

(Picture caption:  The manor-house at Groot Constantia)

I forgot to mention, a while back, that the suburb of Observatory in Cape Town was so named because it was the site of the first observatory in South Africa – and was placed here because it was ‘so delightfully distant from the lights of the city’. Hard to believe now, as it is currently an inner-city suburb of Cape Town and there are many, many kilometers of urban sprawl to negotiate before one even gets near the outskirts of the city.

Anyway, we have now climbed up the slopes of Table Mountain on our scenic drive – on the right is the muscular rock of Table Mountain and to the left the most expansive view of the Cape Flats. It must look glorious at night with a spreading carpet of twinkling lights as far as the eye can see. There are plenty of places to pull off and enjoy the scenery or to go on the many little walks through the Cecilia Forest. Cecilia, by the way, was not some nubile young maid, but a fanciful version of Cecil (from Cecil John Rhodes). This region also, surprise surprise, used to belong to him and was bequeathed to the nation as a park in perpetuity.

A little way further is the turn-off to Groot Constantia, which is a famous house for many reasons. It was built by Simon van der Stel in 1685 and is the prototype of the Cape Dutch manor-house style of architecture which is about the only indigenous architectural style in South Africa if one doesn’t count Boere Baroque and Concrete Contemporary. Constantia has long been symbolic of the Cape lifestyle, not only for the architecture but also for the famous wines that made the name of Constantia gracious throughout the world. Hendrik Cloete was the most famous wine-maker of his era, and his work was continued when his grandson bought the estate of Alphen and continued making wine.

I can claim some family connection here, as the current owner of Alphen, Nicky Cloete, is my second cousin. Her grandmother and my grandmother were sisters – and their story is quite a good indication of the way that the history of South Africa goes down various twisted paths. Deliana van Warmelo (Nicky’s grandmother) married Henry Cloete and went to live at the Cape and became (on the surface anyway), ‘verEngels’ as they say. My grandmother, Johanna van Warmelo, stayed behind in the occupied Transvaal and became a spy for Pres. Kruger during the Boer War. The two sisters used to exchange military information: Deliana would hide behind a screen in the dining room where the English officers who were quartered at Alphen would discuss strategy, and then she would send this information by various ingenious methods to her sister in Pretoria, who would – again by some rather inventive means – convey this information to the soldiers at the front. And vice-versa – when Johanna needed to get information to Kruger, it was to travel via toys and dolls and foodstuffs to the Cape, where sympathizers would smuggle it to Europe. Possibly the most important information that did emerge from this to-ing and fro-ing of intelligence was the exposure of the real conditions in the concentration camps, which led to a determined group of Englishwomen which included Emily Hobhouse and Sarah Churchill, to come out to see for themselves.

From the safe distance of a century later these stories seem like romantic adventures (all written down in my grandmother’s diaries): tales of spies being concealed under floorboards at the family home, dispatches hidden inside dolls and tins of cocoa, letters sent concealed in cigarette boxes – and intertwined with all of this the most satisfying love story. But one must not forget that these two women were at all times in the most deadly danger and sometimes only escaped discovery and certain execution because they were women (and the ever-chivalrous Englishmen believed that all women were decorative airheads and could never cook up the kind of intrigue that these two ladies and their helpers actually did. This is not the first time that men have made this mistake…..)

Nicky Cloete herself is no slouch when it comes to a blue-blooded pedigree – not only is she a direct descendant of Hendrik Cloete and my own illustrious forebears but also of the famous Cullinan family of the equally-famous diamond. Can’t count mining magnates and world-famous wine-makers in my own family tree, worse luck. And anyway, we lost The War, didn’t we?

But I digress. From here we will carry on up the mountain and down the other side….