Exiled - The Flight Out of District Six

My Grandmother, Mabel Isobel Hutton (AKA Ma, Aunty Bell or Mrs Hutton)

Unless we acknowledge our past, we will not be able overcome that which pains us the most.
The following story was written two years ago in remembrance of the forced removals out of District Six.

"I am actually flabbergasted by the birthday wishes on the District Six page of Facebook.

 

Today is not District Six ("D6") birthday.  Today is actually a reminder of the death of D6 when it was declared an area for whites only 48 years ago.  A very sad part of our history which should never be repeated. 

 

The forced removals of D6 was the beginning of the breakdown of the Cape Town community, forcing families apart.  Turning neighbours into strangers and gangs into the new Marshall Law. 

 

What I remember from growing up in D6 (all of thirteen years), was that the streets were our playgrounds.  We played lots of different games which involved sticks, balls, cans and ropes and not forgetting the occasional cricket.  I loved playing cricket with the boys.  All the neighbours children played together.  We looked out for each other.  I climbed walls and trees and fell from them quite often but it did not stop me from just doing it again.

 

Every New Year we would have a front row seat of the Coons as they passed our house to walk down that well-known street, Hanover.  Hanover Street was lined with various shops, the fish market, post office, fruit and veg stalls, the butcher, the dairy, the barber shop.  Whatever you wanted you did not have to go very far to find it. 

 

I always recall when it would be our church (Holy Cross) annual bazaar, my Ma would go down the road asking all the storekeepers for donations for the stall she was going to have at the bazaar.  She got her konfyt (jam/jelly - translation for my international readers) tomatoes, oranges, watermelon, sugar etc etc. and she would make all the various konfyts to sell. My Ma was well known for all her home-made goodies and you would always be served something nice from her pantry if you ever paid her a visit at "Kildare" Windsor Street.  "Kildare" was the name of our house after Kildare Road, Newlands where my Ma was born.  

 

Our road Windsor Street, ran straight into Hanover Street and the three bedroom house we lived in (background of the picture) had an uninterrupted view of Cape Town Harbour and every ship that came into it, could be seen from our stoep (porch).  We had a happy home for a long time even though there were many ups and downs, until those famous eviction notices started arriving at everyone's door.

 

People felt threatened by the notices and in no time they were making their moves out of the area.  As soon as they left their houses the bulldozers came in and flattened them making sure no one could inhabit them.  This was a very sad and stressful time for many people, especially the aged as they knew no other way of life and now they were being uprooted to go to in the words of my Ma "some God forsaken place". 

 

The exodus out of D6 was definitely not the flight out of Egypt when people were leaving for the hope of a better future.  The exodus out of D6 was the destruction of community building and the beginning of gang wars in the "New Lands", Manenberg, Hanover Park, Mitchells Plain and the like.

 

What I remember about the gangs in D6 was that they never interfered with you unless you belonged to another rival gang.  They only fought amongst themselves and actually stepped aside to let you pass if you happen to be passing in the middle of their war - or were they just scared of me then already.  They fought with knives and pungas, not guns, like they do today and everyone is a target if you are in their line of fire. Sometimes I feel that those gang members out there, just need us non-gang members to go up to them and give them a hug, because they are just as lost as those who were uprooted.

 

D6 is a fond memory for many who are old enough to remember growing up there.  I surely do remember, and it will forever live in my memory as a time when I was witness to the world changing from horse and carts to cars.  From coal stoves to electrical ones.  But most of all the sadness of my Ma having to leave her home after having lived there (at the time about 45 or more years) and then dying six months later (7 July 1979).

 

I do not think that most people realise how much emotional stress people went through with the death of District Six. I do not believe that anyone left their home with a smile on their face.  If anything they carried a very heavy emotional load as they left.

 

Today we remember the death of D6 48 years ago and we should be reminded that we cannot change the past but learn from it, especially what was good about it.  Community building, sharing, caring and trust were the building stones of D6.

 

I hope and pray that Never, Never Again should such history be repeated, whether one race against another or one class against another.  Our society needs harmony and respect.

 

 

Long may the memory of District Six live."