If by chance, in your wanderings, you should ever come across a large number of electric trams spinning about, with houses on either side of them and scattered about, you will know you have struck Durban.
It chanced one week I was not well: just opposite, in fact; And on the Thursday, mother said - just like her! - that I lacked My usual 'brightness', appetite and colour; that I ought To go with her to Durban (whither she was bound). I fought A wordy battle, for I thought 'twas too much trouble - yet I knew within me that 'twould do me worlds of good, and set Me up again for work; - but at last I low'r'd my flag, And said I'd go next morning, - and helped to pack my bag.
My sisters were in Durban, where they'd gone with friends to stay, And Mother had arranged with them that she should go that day - That Friday - down to Durban , too, and stay a week or so; And that is how it was, you see, that I'd been asked to go. Asked, said I? Nay, told to! - that is usually the way When you are ill or far from well: 'tis then that people say "You'll please do this," "You'll just take that - no negative I'll take!' Maybe, it's for our good, but we think they "take the cake," As grumpily we acquiesce.
A bright and smiling sun Broke in upon my slumbers - maybe it thought 'twas fun! It woke me on that Friday morn, and told me I must rise. "Oh, bother!" said I sleepily; and slowly rubbed my eyes. "To-day - oh, what a nuisance! - I've got to go away: I've got to go to Durban, and to gaze up that bay! That Bay, that Durban people love: that Bay - Oh but I say! It is an awful bother: can't we go another day? I'm sleepy - tired - sleepy; and I'm off to Dreamland now - I'll throw my pillow at you, Wolf: do stop that awful row - I'm sleepy - tired - sleepy; and I'm off to Dreamland now! (Snores)
"Wake up! Wake up! 'Tis time to dress! My boy, you will be late! We never shall reach Durban if you go on at this rate. 'Tis seven o'clock: come, come, get up! The sun is shining bright Are you asleep? You naughty boy! You'll get up? Yes, that's right." 'Twas mother, who, that Friday morn, thus bid me rise and dress: Who asked me if I were asleep - and laughed 'cause I said 'Yes.'
At eight we had our breakfast; then to the train we strolled - Two minutes' walk, one does not grow uncomfortably old When walking from our house to it - we reached it in due course, And took our seats within a car behind the Iron Horse.
Puff! Puff! Clack! Clack! What a twisty railway track! Makes you giddy - makes you sick - Makes you brain feel sort of thick! Can't be helped, of course they say - Always like this - every day! Silly people! Course I know Railway trains don't always go Round about the countryside - Roaming o'er the veldt so wide. OF COURSE it's like that every day: What then is it makes them say That those curly-looking rails ALWAYS look like twist tails? When 'tis obvious that they can't Trek about from Port to Rand!
Now we go, Don't you know, Faster, faster - Like our master With his cane Giving pain, Ever faster Beating down With a sound Like a - like a - Oh, my - crikey! Now I feel Like an eel Out of water, Just been caught - er - What d'you say? "Turn away When I'm sick?" What a cheek! How d'you know I feel so Bad that I Ought to sigh For home once more? I'm quite - Lor'!
What a curve that was we passed! Now we're going not so fast. Oh, how glad I am to say That we shall not ride all day In this shaky, twisty train, Though I fear 'tis very plain That we shall have to ride in it until the Port we reach, (Unless we like to walk!) Oh! how I'd like to teach These Railway people how to make a proper railway track - Although I fear that it would still go Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack!
A station? What's this? Umsindusi? Well, now, I declare! Just fancy stopping at this place: we never shall get there! Where? Durban, 'course! We're off again: I really am quite glad; It's nice to be amoving, though it makes me feel quite sad - It makes me feel as though I'd like to kneel upon the seat, And hang my head out of the window, while my dainty feet Spasmodically twitch about, as though they were alive, The while I fight most valiantly - most earnestly I strive - To make myself believe that I am well - very well - Though how on earth I manage it, I really cannot tell.
But now I FEEL we're gaining speed: Onward clanks the Iron Steed - Onward, onward, onward ever, Till with earth we seem to sever All connection save in thought, Till the truth we're once more taught, As the train goes round a curve, With a sway and with a swerve - Makes us feel quite funny like!
Now we go Not so slow: (Mustn't smile!) In an hour - Oh, what power In that Horse - Iron Horse! On we speed; What a feed We shall have - We shall have - Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack! (Slumbers)
"Inchanga! Inchanga! Can't you hear the porters shout?" This is where we all get out For a feed; Do not heed What they say about the luncheon - Sandwiches are made for crunching, Dry as sawdust though they be Weak as water, too, the tea, They will never worry me; For I'm hungry - almost starving - I would give my only farthing For a sandwich and some tea - Or some coffee: same to me!
Ding, dong! Ding, dong! Hurry up and come along! Train's about to start once more: Twenty minutes and no more For refreshment. What a crowd Rushes for its seats again In that twisty railway train! Doors bang; porters shout; Engine whistles - there's no doubt That we'll soon be on the move Puff! Puff! Puff! Puff! Slowly out we steam; Puff! Puff! Puff! Puff! Then the whistles scream Tells us that we're starting - though we knew the fact before: No matter - onward then we go, and gain speed more and more.
On we speed - a little faster: Faster, faster, ever faster; Till at last we gain the speed - Frightful speed: oh, do take heed Engine driver! Not so fast! Every moment seems my last - Till at last, as I have said, A frightful rate we rush ahead: Twenty miles an hour (not more) - What said I it was before? Seventy miles? Nay, that was fun: Our well-respected trains don't run At such a Paris-to-Madrid Automobile rate of speed!
Clackery-clack! Clackety-clacket! What a soul-inspiring racket! Through a tunnel now we 'swish' Like a busy sort of fish Skimming on through waters deep - Though not like it if it leap O'er a waterfall or wave! (What a most unpleasant grave We should thus have if our train Leapt about from hill to plain!)
Pinetown Bridge, Northdene, Hillary's, Bellair - Now we start to get a whiff of lovely fresh sea air! South Coast Junction then we pass: now the Bay's in view - The Bay I grumbled at the morn: full sleep it is true, Was I; but I am right glad to see the sea once more. The train with slack'ning pace runs on, along that mangroved shore - Where many years ago the Boers with ancient cannon fought The English under Captain Smith in the "good old days" (!), we're taught - Until at last, beneath a bridge, Berea Road is passed. And now to Durban Central Station we're approaching fast: A whistle's shriek - the porters' shouts - and we are there at last!
"Good afternoon! How are you, dear? It's very nice to see you here!" "You''re kind to say so! How are you? And so you've brought the girls down too?" "The girls? Ah yes! They've come with me To see their brother - where is he?" "Oh, here he is." I lower the wraps, The travelling bag and all the traps, Which, of course, I have to carry! - In consequence, I have to tarry In the train to sort out things. "How are you?" "Oh, I'm very well!" Then mother says I should not tell Such wicked stories. Then we go Marching in a troop - you know - Nattie, Elsie, I, the last: The whole squad trying to trot on fast; Though there are such crowds about That 'tis long ere we get out.
All the others go away, But a friend and I, we stay Till late that afternoon, in town, Till he has taken me around, And shown me all the "sights."
The sights? The sights? Where are the sights? I really fail to see That there is aught - except the trams - that's bound to interest me The trams, of course, are lovely, for the spin along alone, Not drawn by struggling horses - which, as everyone will own, Is cruelty to animals - more sensibly they're worked: By subtle electricity! And oh! What a felicity It is to see them spin along, With the everlasting 'Dong!' But we'll mount the bye-and-bye, For continually they ply Up and down and round about, Stopping while their fares get out: They are splendid: there's no doubt.
Now, I've to tell you what I saw - in truth, it was not much; So, by your leave, to save fatigue and slumber (!) I will touch Just upon a point or two, that p'r'aps will interest you. We strolled some way up West Street - the street where ladies do Their 'shopping', for this is, you know, the busiest street in town - Here all the shops - the best, that is, - and stores are to be found. Then on the Esplanade we strolled, that borders on the Bay, And looked about and saw the ships, and walked a little way. Not long we stayed there, for we'd got a journey long to go - To Sydenham - where mother was - (five miles away) and so We strolled once more to West Street - where are the trams, you know.
Dong, dong, dong, dong! Merrily we spin along, Stopping every here and there - Taking up another fare. Up aloft we face the breeze Blowing off from sunny seas. Dong, dong! What commotion! What exhilarating motion! There's a ricksha in the way - Dong, dong! Move away! Now a coolie with his fruit, Walks along the tram-car route, Dong, dong! Silly fellow! We don't want to hear you bellow As the wheels go over you. Move away - and look sharp, do! Dong, dong, dong, dong! Merrily we spin along. Everything makes way for us - If they don't, we make a fuss With our 'dong, dong, dong!' I'm afraid we shan't be long Ere our journey's end we reach. I wish we could go to the Beach, But by now it's far away - Also, there's no time to-day. Dong, dong! We alight, For we cannot ride all day!
A long, dusty white road frizzles in the afternoon sun. A coolie mouches along this road with an empty basket on his head. Two or three tired-looking fowls stroll disconsolately across the way. Half a dozen coolie and Kaffir children play a game (which is evidently supposed to be football) in the road, to the discomfort of passers-by. Another coolie child of very tender years looks wonderingly at everything - which doesn't happen to be much. A fat old Kaffir rests on the verandah of a coolie store, and fans himself with a dirty felt hat.
This is the road to Sydenham.
We've alighted; now we must Tramp along five half-miles just Ere we get to Sydenham: Better far to have ridden in But impossibilities (For such are all facilities For transport on this dusty span, Though from Sydenham one can Drive by carriage into town) We cannot do, so needn't frown!
Down one hill and up another; On we tramp and almost smother All our clothes in dust and sand - What a dreadful dusty land! ('Dreadful' should an adverb be, Ending in l-y. You see 'Twould not run with rythmic grace If it overflowed its place!)
Soon we stop Near the top Of the last hill for a blow - What a pull up from below! Then we enter welcome gates, While we thank the heavenly Fates That we've struck the end at last!
"Sailing, sailing, over the -" now that's wrong! I really must not borrow from another fellow's song - At any rate we're sailing - no! there I'm wrong once more! We're steaming in a ferry-boat, across from shore-to-shore - That is, of course, from Point to Bluff, across the harbour's mouth - Across the Channel deep - to be correct, from north to south. A little steamer full of folk: on pleasure all are bent; We puff along right merrily; astern the waves are sent In eager splashes - ripples - sparkling in the morning sun, And distant dancing waves seem ever full of light and fun! Upon our left the breakers road, as o'er the rocks they crash, And into spray and foam themselves they in their fury lash, Steadily we forge ahead, until at last we land, And find ourselves quite ankle-deep in heavy, moistened sand. We stroll around the Bluff a spell, and gaze up the sea - But as it's like all other seas, I will not tire ye With useless talk about it. Now I think it's time I ceased This everlasting chatter, So I do not think 'twill matter If the awful clatter Of that twisty railway train Breaks upon our ears again!
Puff, puff! Clack, clack! Once more I am going back Home again In the train For my holiday is o'er Enjoyment I shall have no more Till I've settled down again When my journey in the train Is a thing of the past. Aren't you glad this is the last Of my 'verses' in this strain!