Growing up in Kalk Bay.

In 1976 my family moved from Fish Hoek to the quaint fishing village of Kalk Bay.  Kalk Bay is situated between the mountains and the sea on the East side of the Cape Peninsula. Kalk Bay has a rich history and is named after the lime kilns, "Kalk" means lime.  There is evidence that the San people lived in the area and of course fishing has always been the mainstay of this little village. Our house, on a double plot, was built in 1937 of mountain stone. Thick walls, high ceilings and a view across the ocean. As children growing up here, it was an adventure wonderland. The beach was a hop, skip and a jump down the road, even quicker with an illegal short cut we found. Dalebrook beach, as it is known, has a large flat rock in the middle of the tidal pool. Many hours were spent sunning ourselves on that rock. It is safe to say we grew up on the beach. We learned to swim there, we fished there from our orange, white and black canoe. I, particularly, scouted the shore for interesting flotsam and jetsam for hours on end. I remember the local parents sun-worshipping, lounging on towels. Their children became our friends. A game we played involved standing on the back wall of the pool as the tide came in and whoever wasn't knocked off by the waves, was the winner. In those days dogs and fires were allowed on the beach so we lit fires and braaied caught fish in a perfect natural fire place in the rocks. Our dog was always with us. Sadly he was killed by a car trying to follow us to the beach one day. I remember lying on the rock weeping for him, my heart was broken. We surfed at Kalk Bay reef and Danger Beach. I am proud to say I was the first girl to do so and the boys were not amused. (Until they discovered that surfing in a bikini causes loss of said bikini!) Surfboards were safely stowed under the colourful, now extinct beach boxes. We skateboarded down the steep hill adjacent to our house. The mountains were explored, and in those days it was safe, sadly no more. We hiked in groups and spelunked in Boomslang cave. The tunnels in the cave are so low, the only way through is on one's belly. The cave traverses the mountain from the Kalk Bay side to the Fish Hoek side. We jogged on Boyes Drive and stopped at the waterfall which, when in full flow in winter, caused a mountain of foam. The play park, just down the road, was a meeting place and children congregated there. Games were organised, secrets told and tadpoles caught in the small stream that ran through the park. The local shop, SL Bazaars, was a source of half-cent sweets, illegal for my sister and I, but shared covertly with us by our friends. At Christmas time we sang carols to indulgent neighbours accompanied by squealy recorders! The railway line runs between the sea and the main road and we crossed it often to get to the beach. We put coins on the tracks so that the train would flatten them and then spent ages finding them. I still have some. Danger was the last thing on our minds. My sister and I had a "war" with the boys next door because they allegedly shot a hole in my bedroom window with an airgun. We captured one and tied him to a tree, lighting a fire beneath his feet! Another boy, fell out of a tree after my mother told him to retrieve my shoe that he had thrown there. Us kids dragged him inside bleeding from a puncture wound to his rear. To this day he is mortified at 1. How we cruelly laughed at him for not wearing underwear and 2. That my mother saw his bottom! We roller-skated on the smooth concrete floor of our garage and later held parties in there. We played horses in the sprawling garden and later held parties there too. We bothered the boys across the road by putting silly notes on their motor bikes and my sister, who had a crush on one of them, serenaded him hanging out of her window with her blue Mason-Pearson hairbrush-pretend-microphone singing "Hopelessly devoted to you." The now famous, Brass Bell restaurant became a hangout. Music was allowed there then and we listened to many, now renowned musicians. Thanks to a resident, music was later banned there for years. I remember a dad whistling to bring us in from surfing at supper time. I remember the clickety-clack of the trains and hearing the siren signifying closing booms at the harbour entrance. I remember the tragic day of the fatal explosion at the harbour. I remember the droning of the fishing boat engines leaving or entering the harbour in the early morning quiet and the soothing sound of the sea. The sunrises were gently spectacular and the morning my Dad died, Mum and I watched from the deck as the sea erupted with dolphins playing under a huge rainbow. By the way, I married one of the boys across the road in the old Holy Trinity Church, a stone's throw away from our beloved Kalk Bay reef!