Tribute to Doug Brown
by Leo Benning
It is with great sadness and shock that Iheard about the demise of Doug. It is very difficult to believe that he is no longer with us as I thought that he would be around for many years to come. It just seems so unreal. He influenced my life and my interest in athletics to a great extent from the early fifties. So much so that athletics still remains an important part of my life today. Although I missed Doug as a teacher by a few years at SACS it seemed as though he taught me. The fact that he organised the Stellenbosch Coaching Camps where I assisted for ten years had something to do with this. Doug was a very knowledgeable and dedicated athletics coach and teacher.
He was President of Pinelands Athletic Club for very many years while I was a member for twenty until we moved to Sandbaai, Hermanus in 2002. We sometimes trained together when we both lived in Tamboers Kloof but frequently we were close to one another in road and cross country races and we had many great tussles. As his junior of about six years I always did my best to out run Doug but was not always successful. He certainly had a great fighting spirit and determination .
Doug was a very frugal man. A number of years ago when I slept over at his flat in Tamboerskloof I found a penlight battery lying next to the alarm clock on the bedside cabinet or table. I asked whether I should put it into the clock but was told that he only does so when he plans on getting up very early! I was astounded.
I will always remember him.
Very sincerely,
Leo Benning (colleague, friend and club mate)
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Clive Luyt ('34)
By Roger Luyt ('72) read out on 19 September 2011
Family, friends and all who cared about Clive in so many different ways, thank you for being here today. He had wished for a choir from SACS and the presence of this choir would have made him so proud to be a SACS man. All in all dad would have been most heartened with such a marvelous turnout.
I had hoped to speak for just 3 minutes, but how do I squeeze 94 years into such a short time, so it will be a little longer than that. I hope you are all comfortable.
This church in Rondebosch is a fitting place for us to gather, as dad spent a good deal of his life living in this suburb. My brother and I spent our early years in the 50s and 60s living with our parents at 110 Sandown Road – literally a mile or two down the road from here. We were Christened and confirmed at St. Thomas. After attending St Andrews in Newlands for a number of years in the 70s, 80s and 90s, my mom and dad moved to Woodside Retirement Village here in Rondebosch and they returned to St Thomas Church once again.
Dad told me on a number of occasions in recent months that he had lived a good life and that he had no regrets. Over the years he has had a number of narrow escapes and sometimes he wondered why he had been spared on each occasion to end up living such a long and healthy life. So I am here to celebrate his life as much as to mourn his passing.
In recent months the care and dedication of many people enabled a more challenging year or two to still hold a number of highlights for him. He particularly talked about the weekend of his 94th birthday less than a month ago. We had invited just a few close friends and Derek and Debbie had been able to come down from Grahamstown for the occasion as well.
We all have our own special memories and stories that we associated with Clive. Here are a few of mine.
In 1917 when dad was born, the First World War was still under way and it was the year of the Russian Revolution. He hailed from the small Swartland town of Moorreesburg, just off the N7 going north. I remember the lovely old rambling house (it seemed old even in those days), with a large stoep around two sides and set just a block away from the main road. The great tree in the front garden was a wonderful place to play when we visited and my grandfather used to go there sometimes in the evening to talk to the two resident owls. Moorreesburg hasn’t changed much over the years, or at least I don’t think so. Dad was also worried about that lack of development in Moorresburg and was so concerned that he might feel obliged to take over the old law practice that his father partnered with Paddy Carolin, that he changed his degree and dropped most of his law subjects at varsity to end up qualified as an accountant rather than an attorney.
You see he had discovered when he came to SACS high school as a border that there was much more to life than the Swartland and he has been grateful to SACS ever since. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t running away from his family, but even in those days one could not get a much better education than at the SAC.
In fact his father was one of his heroes and he inherited both his abilities and the love for sport from his dad. Fred or “Lammetjie” Luyt as dad’s father was known to friends, was one of three brothers from Ceres (their father owned the general dealer – when I last looked it was the Spar Shop next to the river). The 3 brothers were all sport mad and toured with the 1912 Springbok rugby team to The British Isles under the captaincy of Billy Miller. Although some say Danie Craven invented the dive pass from the scrum, it is now mainly attributed to Clive’s dad Fred.
At SACS, at varsity, at Villagers and for Western Province as fullback, Clive played out his passion for the game. I think it was at varsity that he broke his nose and the Dr who patched things up told him, he would have to stop playing for a few weeks. He said but Dr we have a critical game next week. The Dr just shook his head, Clive played again the following week, messed up his nose again, but did not dare go back to the doctor.
Clive was no slouch with the cricket bat either. One of his greatest moments was being able to play for Boland against the visiting MCC team after the war. He remembers one of the opposing batsmen said to him – “who’s that pretty lady over there?” Dad was quite pleased because it was Dorothy, his wife. Cricket was something that he kept up for many years at a friendly level and one day shortly before calling it a day, he asked a batsman better than himself when practicing in the nets: “you know, I am never quite comfortable holding my bat. Do you have any suggestions?” He replied “pick up your bat the way you would a pickaxe” and dad lifted the bat up over his left shoulder. Dad should probably have been a left handed batsman rather than a right, but he still acquitted himself rather well.
Some years after he gave up cricket, he discovered the delights of bowls, whilst all the time, he remained a keen walker. I can remember in my matric year, in between exams, being dragged up the roads in Newlands along with the dog for some fresh air and exercise. Even as recently as two weeks ago he took walks around Woodside Village.
Going back now to after he had written his final board exams, he signed up for the war effort along with a number of his friends. On 17 June 1940 the 2ndAckAck regiment was called up and dad was a part of it. The outfit was soon labeled the sportsman’s regiment and dad felt right at home. They left some devastation behind though. A few weeks after their departure, Villagers suffered their words defeat ever when they lost 71 -0 against Stellenbosch. They did their six week training in Potchefstroom and dad always talked about the great Bennie Osler’s AA brigade team that he was a part of when they played at Ellispark. He said he learnt a lot from Bennie Osler in just an hour or two. Filling in as scrumhalf in that game, Bennie instructed dad to just listen for Bennie’s voice and pass the ball whilst on the move forward - not to do it standing still. Clive always remembered that.
Then it was on a troopship from Durban to Mombasa, from where they worked their way slowly up through Kenya (then East Africa) and through current day Ethiopia (which had been liberated from the Italians). Eventually they got to the Libyan theatre of war where they certainly saw action. Clive talked about the retreating Allies and how his Bedford and gun carriage broke down and he had to get out and put up his arm and halt a retreating group of British tanks and say “please sir could we have a tow?” The commander was not impressed, but they got their tow. During June 1942 – he recalled how there were Stuka dive bombers and german tanks everywhere. He surrendered in Tubruk along with some 35000 other allied troops and then they were eventually ferried to Naples in Italy (Vesuvius was erupting at the time). From there they were moved in various stages to end up at Fara Sabina POW camp north east of Rome. He nearly died from malnutrition and complications there, but it was largely thanks to Red Cross food parcels (and that is why we have made a Red Cross appeal) and one remarkable Dr van Heerden that Clive survived the POW camps. There was a special camaraderie and sharing of scarce resources in the camp. For example Clive’s watch broke and someone else needed a watch strap so Clive gave up his watchstrap so that at least someone could tell the time.
On 11 September 1943, the camp guards dumped their rifles, packed up and went home. Their allied officers ordered them to stay put so that they may be picked up by the advancing allied troops. Clive, normally a law abiding person and his great friend john Barclay decided that this idea was potentially dangerous and were determined to take off (later on they heard that most of the rest of the camp was rounded up by the Germans and taken off to Germany). They walked about 40 kms until they reached a village called Marcellina. The local village and farming folk claimed not to be fascists or supporters of Mussolini. Clive and John were taken to the top of the mountain above the village (a mountain higher than Table Mountain), where they spent much of 9 months, including a snow covered winter, sleeping in a tiny shepherd’s hut.
Shortly after their arrival they had another tricky moment where their faith in a very practical way probably saved them. The senior member of the family looking after them, struggled up the mountain to see them. – he was very troubled and they had to communicate in Italian as he spoke no English at all. He wanted to know if they were Catholic or maybe “Protestanti”. He was very troubled to hear that they were “Protestanti”, because it was possible from their point of view, that they might be heathen – these Italians had never met a Protestanti before. They tried very simply to explain that Protestants were almost exactly like Catholics, not strictly correct of course, but they simply explained that a long time ago in England there was a king who wanted a divorce from his wife and the pope said no and so he said fair enough and set up his own church – for the rest they assured him that they believed in “Gesù Cristo” and the Virgin Mary. The elderly head of the family from the village went down the mountain whistling happily and they were fed and protected for the rest of the war.
In September 1944 the waiting and war was officially over. They were moved in stages to Taranto Italy and eventually to Alexandria in Egypt where they stayed at a DrAlexander’s house (he knew both Clive’s father and his legal partner in Moorressburg Paddy Carolin). With Clive there were many such “small world” experiences. You could place Clive in the center of Johannesburg or Athens or London and he would sooner or later meet up with someone who knew him or his father. Even as recently as two weeks ago, at Starke Ayres, as we left the tea room there, someone said very breezily “hello Mr Luyt”.
After the war he took part in the Springbok rugby trials in Pretoria. During half time a friend of his from the war came running onto the field. “I thought you would be here Clive – here is your watchstrap” – it was the one he gave to Mole Greathead in POW camp and a watchstrap that he continued to wear for the rest of his life.
He first met Dorothy before the war when she was only about 13 and they took up their friendship again after the war and duly got married in the Congregational church in Claremont, where Dorothy’s father was the minister. During his career, Clive made full use of his professional qualifications and showed some of the best attributes of a good accountant in other facets of his life as well. He was extremely well organized, and was also a very good organizer. In the Paarl days, even his dog (he loved dogs all his life) was also very well organized – there were squared off paths around the garden and he trained his little dachshund to walk along all the paths and never cut across the garden (later on he found that as kids we were not quite so obedient).
Dorothy and Clive moved to Paarl for a few wonderful years before returning to live in the Southern Suburbs, when dad took up a position at the then Board of Executors (now the BOE), one of his main achievements there was the setting up of the pension scheme for the Board and he finally retired as company secretary and round about that time was also chairman of the Cape of Good Hope Bank. He would often work till 6.00pm or later – to miss rush hour out of town and sometimes I would meet up with him when working in town myself and noticed how he seldom used the lift but often went up the stairs at the Board two at a time and well into his 50s.
He always gave 110% to anything he did, but after a health scare in 1967, it was suggested that he take a few months off work and he and Dorothy travelled around Europe for 3 months in an old camper van. It was his first visit back to Europe since the war and it wasn’t his last. With an enquiring mind, he has always been passionate about travel and so museums, art galleries and cathedrals as well as great scenery were the norm, but one of the highlights of his trip was a 3 day visit to Marcellina where it seemed that the entire village had stopped to welcome Carlo back again – a quarter of a century later. He revisited his mountain sanctuary Monte Genaro again, but this time a small aerial cableway helped them up. He paid for a plaque to be placed for Mariano, one of their carers up on the mountain all those years ago, and to this day, one can see this dedication on the commemorative wall in Marcellina.
Clive got increasingly involved with his old school, SACS, being chairman of the old boys union for many years and also as chairman of the School Governing Body for a number of years. In more recent times he was made honorary life president of the old boys union. During his time of service he helped raise thousands for the school, had a number of houses built or converted for housing for SACS teachers and did much in addition for his beloved alma mater.
Some years after retirement he and Dorothy moved to Woodside, where they still had a few happy years together. They had raised two children and Dorothy had shared so much of dad’s life with him. Even this order of service and the hymns selected are pretty much the same as those Dorothy selected for her funeral held in this Church 9 years ago.
A while after the passing of Dorothy, Clive got to know Joan Howe’s very well – she also lived in the village and it was also a very sad day when he lost her. He had hoped that she might sing at this funeral, but it was not to be.
Clive had many friends around the village, some old friends whom he had known before Woodside days and some new friends met at Woodside. During these past weeks and months though there has been no more loyal a friend that June Keeve.
He always keenly followed the lives and accomplishments of his children and grandchildren and was delighted to get updates of their progress. Over the many years, he would support his family in any way he could and for that we remain most grateful. Clive also leaves behind his youngest sister Rosemary. His other sister Heather, sadly passed away in Canada a few months ago.
Top of his list were the casual meeting up with friends, the gatherings such as their regular 1st January cheese and wine parties in Angelina Avenue days. Or In more recent years, the number of AckAck reunions that he organized.
For, at the end of the day, it was not so much the sport and the work and the war. It was really about family, friends, colleagues and comrades. It was about you and about me.
Thank you for listening to these few memories and stories of a life time.
A lifetime of an amazing father and a remarkable man.
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Doug Brown (Former SACS Teacher)
Memorial service for Doug Brown (1927 - 2011)
J H Hofmeyr Memorial Hall, SACS Newlands Friday 7 October 2011
Tribute to Doug Brown by David Aschman (SACS E1, 1965)
It is an honour to talk for a few minutes about this remarkable man, and the gift he gave to us.
Doug Brown was my English teacher for five years, 1961 to 1965, and my class teacher for nearly
all that time. The sixties were a glorious time to emerge into adulthood – a time for new thoughts,
ideas, fashion, moralities and music - and we were privileged to be guided into this time by a man
of energy, enthusiasm, intellect, flexibility of thought, humour, compassion and great humanity –
Doug Brown.
How did he do it? Doug Brown ignited our young imaginations through words.
We never fully 'knew' or understood Doug Brown. He was always enigmatic and remote - a
predatory figure striding down the corridor in his black toga, a man of passionate views -
sometimes explosive in its expression. I will never forget his riveting rendering of 'My Last
Duchess'... his monologue looming to fill all physical and emotional space as he approached down the empty, resonant corridor.
Consider a class at SACS some 50 years ago. It is the opening scene of Macbeth with the three
witches. In a flat South African accented monotone, a dull boy reads:
1st WITCH: When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning or in rain?"
"No, no, no!" goes Doug Brown. "Imagine a bleak, cold, grey, rainy Scottish heath", and advancing on the boy, reaches out a long arm, and grasps him by the shoulder and then reads, in
a high scratchy croak:
2nd WITCH: When the hurly-burly's done
When the battle's lost and won.
3rd WITCH: That will be ere the set of sun.
1st WITCH: Where the place?
2nd WITCH: Upon the heath.
3rd WITCH: There to meet with Macbeth.
1st WITCH: I come, Graymalkin.
2nd WITCH: Paddock calls.
3rd WITCH: Anon!
ALL: Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
Hover through the fog and filthy air,"
and we all, sitting in a sunny class room at 34 deg south, at the foot of a vast continent, shiver at the confusion, and glimpse the evils of naked ambition that is to unfold in far off medieval Scotland.
Under the austere stern gaze of Robin Whiteford it was men such as Doug Brown, Doodles de
Kock, John Ince and others that were the real strength of SACS, and gave us the deep memories
we have our teachers at SACS as human beings. It was through them that SACS exerted its huge
influence on us as developing adolescents and young men. Doug Brown, Doodles de Kock and
John Ince seemed to us to be deeply genuine men. Doug and Doodles relied on the individual's
hidden and uncertain sources of creativity. Doug was more rigid in his enforcement of disciplined
thinking and actions, but we never doubted his seriousness of purpose, and integrity.
Doug believed that if we could imagine that we were each capable of excelling, each in our own
different way, we could each achieve something. He led us to feel and understand that the world
was tractable, and that our actions in that world could be effective.
Sometimes he got it wrong. He once asked a boy, dreamily staring out of the window "What are you dreaming about, boy?" "Ships, sir" came the reply. "Ships? Ships? For Heaven's sake man, dream about something useful." Today that boy runs one of the largest tanker fleets in the world.
For Doug it was important that we were all included. Not only the good, or the strong, were to be
encouraged and rewarded - he demanded that we each did our best, however good or mediocre
that was. His values were democratic - he would include all. Doug led by doing - Spectemur
Agendo - in the classroom, in school plays, and on the sports fields.
Many of us in standard six in 1961 remember how Doug revealed to us the sheer beauty of the
poetry of Dylan Thomas. Since Doug died on the day before the start of this month - October, it is
apt that I choose now to read from "Poem in October" by Dylan Thomas. Here the poet celebrates
his 30th birthday. Doug must have been about 33 at the time when he read it to us, affecting, as I
recall, a slight Welsh lilt:
"It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood ..."
and the poet walks out of the sleeping town, on a road that takes him high above it. In the lyrical third stanza the words flow in a cascade of joy
" A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me. "
We listened, enraptured by the words, read to us by Doug, till the marvellous final stanza, where Dylan Thomas remembers the joy of his youth that can never be relived, and senses his mortality
...
" And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart's truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning."
Doug, we shall sing this truth, in all the years to come.
As youthful scholars 50 years ago, if we dimly grasped that you were bestowing on us this huge gift, that of imagining the world, and what we could achieve in it, we were then too young, toounknowing, to have voiced it to you. But now we know the value of this gift you gave us, and if, in years to come, we are to meet you on this "high hill" we shall say out loud to you:
"For all that you gave us, thank you, Doug Brown"
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Michael Veater ('59)
“Michael Veater attended SACS from grade 10 to grade 12. He did well academically and I believe he was at least a 60 percenter.
On the sports fields he excelled in athletics while also playing rugby on the wing.
He was very well liked at school and got on very well with his mates, peers etc.
He was the grandson of the late Edward George Veater (Daddy Veater), famous teacher at SACS for 30 years. His late father, Edward Stanton Veater, was head prefect of SACS in 1931. His late uncles, Charles Colston Veater and Hugh Beswetherick also attended SACS. His sons Stanton and Bruce were also at SACS for a brief period, as well as his cousin Lionel George Veater and his nephew Colston Edward Veater.
After matriculation he qualified as quantity surveyor and was employed by the Cape Town Provincial Administration. Later he joined Dowson and Dobson where he held the position of Area Manager based in Worcester before opening his own irrigation business.
Michael was a humble, honest, friendly and hospitable person. He was also astute and was able to institute assertiveness with tact and discretion. He was well like by those he associated with and was always willing to assist those less fortunate than himself. He held the Veater family in high esteem and loved them all especially his children Stanton and Bruce. He was able to counsel and give expert advice not only in his field of business but also in life skills especially to those who found themselves in difficult positions. He was very generous and would always consider others before himself. He was a person you could go to war with, walking with/in front of him, while he carried a loaded firearm, knowing that he would protect you. Last but not least he never spoke badly and or derogatory of another person.”
Lionel G Veater ('62)
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Kevin Price ('93)
Many thanks again for giving me the honour of writing a short piece to be read at Kev’s funeral. I really wish I could be there to read it in person.
The last time I had the chance to write something about Kev was at his 21st, but I don’t think those stories will be particularly appropriate here, however those stories and many more are very fresh in my memory.
My very 1st encounters of young Kev were on opposite sides on the cricket field in junior school, of course at that time I had no idea that we would one day become very good friends. For some reason there was something about Kev that seemed to make him stand out from the rest of the team. To this day I don’t really know what it was, a sort of steeliness is the only way I can describe it as. Odd, because it was the same look he would get after too many lagers. Surely he wasn’t already drinking in those days was he?
It was when he came over to SACS in high school that we met, and when he joined the boarding house shortly thereafter that we really became friends. I think it was our passion for sport and long discussions about girls that forged the roads for our early days of friendship. Needless to say that was the beginning of long and pretty deep friendship that I will, of course, never forget.
Besides those great days in Cape Town, we lived, worked and travelled together in England for a couple of years. All that time together seemed to give us something beyond a regular friendship. Our experiences together over that time were epic and I can’t imagine anyone I would rather have shared that time with.
Kev, people like you don’t come along everyday, and if they did, this world would be a perfect place. As well as being someone whose opinion I knew I could trust, you were never short of time to listen. Everyone that has the honour of calling you their friend will have a large part of their life missing with your premature passing. Your life and legacy are testament to your wonderful family, who I have had the pleasure of being very close to for a large part of my life. They will be very proud of all you have become, and of all the lives you have touched.
Kev, as frustrated as I am that I wont be allowed to share any more experiences with you in this life again, you can rest assured that you will be with me in all that I do. Many thanks for the memories, friend. Those memories are mine, and no one can ever take them from me.
CRAIG RAWLINGS
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