De Oude Huize Yard – De Oude Huize and our new chapter at Kameel Huise tussen Treine en tussen Spore
Category: De Oude Huize Yard
52 week challenge: Farm gate, farm gates and farm-gate in and around Kameel, RouteR377, North West
52 week challenge: Rovos Rail and Kameel Railway Station
52 week challenge: Stations and whistle-stop around Kameel
52 weke uitdaging: Kameeldoringbome
52 Week Challenge nr 3: Kameel Veld plants
Stoepstorie 7: Wesley Hall and Anne James alias Mrs Tom James
Our next story comes with a twist as we noticed that the cornerstone of the Wesley Hall was laid by Mrs. Tom James. It left a question mark.
Who was Mrs. Tom James?
The Chevy is doing a trip and parked in front of the Wesley Hall next to the Methodist Church.
The Wesley Hall was built in 1906 and the cornerstone was laid by Mrs. Tom James on 17 January 1906. She was the eldest daughter of James Putterill. Her husband was a true supporter of the church and was for many years the Sheriff and Mayor of the town.
The old Methodist Church was demolished in 1967 – 1968 and the Record Stone of the previous stone was laid by James Putterill on 14 June 1882.
From the time Harrismith was established most of its inhabitants were English-speaking. The British settlers who emigrated to Natal during 1849-50 found the country in the Byrne Valley not suitable for traditional farming practices. Many went to settle in urban areas, while some returned to Britain. Encouraged by Mr Warden, about 1 500 settlers came to Harrismith.
The story of Anne as shared by Leon Strachan.
Mrs Tom James was Anne Putterill and has a truly sad but remarkable story.
Her father James Putterill was a Byrne settler with a big personality who owned land in Verulam before moving his family up to Harrismith in 1863. His eldest daughter, a tiny but stubborn 25-year-old woman refused bluntly to get married, even though women were in great demand in the Free State (in 1863 the Free State Republic had been in existence for only 9 years and was extremely sparsely populated).
Unfortunately her disinterest did not prevent a man to fall in love with her. Anne didn’t want to have anything to do with him. When Anne’s strong-willed father (a grandchild referred to him as domineering) got wind of this he stepped in to salvage the situation. He instructed the man, a Welshman called Thomas James, to build a suitable house and furnish it. He, on the other hand, bought trousseau and a wedding dress for Anne, and fixed a wedding date.
When Tom James completed his ‘solid cut stone house,’ James Putterill instructed his daughter to prepare for her wedding. Anne refused, she said she didn’t love Mr. James and that was that.
The Putterill’s were a prominent family thanks to the very forceful James Putterill, who was an excellent business man and played a leading role in the Wesleyan (Methodist) church, as he did in town affairs. Whilst guests filled the church in Warden street on Anne’s wedding day, he instructed his womenfolk to dress up the unwilling bride. He then continued to drive her to the chapel in his carriage, where he walked a very unhappy daughter up the isle. He maneuvered the obstructive girl into position next to the groom, while he flanked her on the other side ‒ urging a flabbergasted minister to get started.Don’t think James Putterill had won the battle of wills yet. Anne was unfazed, she declined bluntly to take the marriage vows in front of all the astonished wedding guests. She stood her ground, not unnerved at all. Putterill didn’t despair either, neither did he give up. It would be a battle of wills to the inevitable end.
Every time it was expected of the bride to answer the parson, James pushed his silent daughter’s head slightly down as if she nodded whilst signalling impatiently to an ever more uncomfortable parson to get on with it. The ceremony was thus unceremoniously consummated, and the unlikely couple settled shakily into the solid stone house.
They were childless (3 stillborn). Tom James turned out to be a stalwart who became sheriff and mayor of Harrismith. Both he and his wife loved fishing, they were often seen fishing together whenever an opportunity occurred. The 66-year old Tom died in 1894, after which Anne took in a Miss Dixon to keep her company. According to Beryl Osborn (Anne’s niece who penned the family history) they lived happily together until the British garrison arrived on Kings Hill in 1903, when disaster struck.
A striking and very charming young soldier, conveniently named private James, befriended the two elderly ladies. Young James told them he was an orphan with no home and no family, all alone in the world.
Besotted with him, Anne bought him out of the army and formally adopted him. The young man then gratefully proceeded to squander his adopted mother’s savings. Even when Anne had lost everything she owned, never an unkind word was uttered or anything damaging believed of the young man. He bolted unceremoniously out of the country when there was nothing left to spend.
The Putterill family had to club together to provide the necessary means for Anne and Miss Dixon, and their parrot, to live on. Anne rewarded them by living into her nineties.
Stoepstorie 6: Melktert
Hier by De Oude Huize het ons ons eie melktertstorie om te vertel.
Elke storie het ‘n begin en hierdie ene begin jare gelede toe ek in 1978 skoolgehou het in Port Elizabeth.
Die Edward Hotel se binnehof, Die biblioteek, Duncanstraat huise, en weer die biblioteek.
Die pragtige St Georges park was net ‘n paar meter van my woonstel af en was ek bevoorreg om ‘n see uitsig te hê, maar so ook die baie bekende Havelockstraat wat ‘n paar winkels gehad het onderandere ‘n tuisnywerheid. So staan ek eendag in die einste winkel en kyk wat ek kan aankoop vir die tee by my vriendin wat in Prospect Hillstraat gewoon het. Net so om die hoek van die pragtige St Mary’s Church.
Terwyl ek nog so tussen die koeke en die terte dinge bespiegel kom ‘n Oompie nader geloop, maar ek gaan my gang en toe ek hand uitsteek in die rigting van die melkterte toe vertel hy my sy melktert storie.
“Niggie ek koop toe mos ook so ‘n melktertjie om huis toe te neem. Die dametjie vra een of twee en ek is ‘n man wat gulhartig is so ek stem in vir twee. Die ruilhandel vind plaas geld vir tert en daar stap ek uit. Dit voel vir my al asof ek ‘n paar spoelklippe in die sak het, maar ek gaan vroulief beindruk. Terwyl ek nou my motor se neus so in die rigting van die huis druk wonder ek darem oor die tertjies wat nou saam met my oppad huis toe is. Hulle roep my naam en nooi my om tog net so ‘n stukkie verleiding te proe voordat ek by die huis kom. Ek het die pad langs die rivier gekies om my huis toe te vat dus was daar min verkeer. Ek maak toe ‘n plan en proe so ‘n happie . . . . wat ‘n skok . . . daar was geen verleiding in daardie terte nie. Ek het die kar se deur oop gemaak en die tert laat rol en ek is oortuig hulle het tot binne in die Baakensrivier gerol sonder om enigsins vorm te verloor”.
De Oude Huize se melktertstorie begin by tienuur vanoggend toe ons Nederlandse gaste vanaf die Drakensberg arriveer. Nou moet julle besef die vorige nag se gaste borsel nog tande na ontbyt. So doller dan ‘n afkop hoender hardloop ons rond en die Nederlanders soek ‘n badkamer – wil net noem daar is ses van hulle.
Uiteindelik is die vorige nag se gaste by die hek uit en die Nederlander koek vir ‘n wyle in een kamer terwyl ons die ander kamers poleer en suig en pof en tof om reg te kry. Ek moet byvoeg ek floreer nie wanneer dinge bietjie vinnig gaan nie!.
In die proses vergeet ek om beskuit te bak, ek vergeet om ‘n happie vir 4 uur koffie te bak. Hennie bring uitkoms en gooi ons kar se wiele in trurat en jag SPAR toe. Op TV sê die oompie mos hul bakery is so goed. Ek stel voor hy kyk vir ‘n melktert – so een soos in die brosjure – ‘n outydse melktert van een of ander tannie.
Binne 20 min is hy uit en tuis. Hy het die laaste melktert gekry.
Die gaste sit aan vir koffie en koek en ek haal die tert van verleiding uit die dekseltjie bak . . glo vir my as die Baakensrivier naby was sou die ding ook gerol het. Dis in ‘n tinfoelie pannetjie met baie deeg en min vulsel. Die kalf is in die put ek kerm en verduidelik al die asprekte van ‘n ordentlike melktert en begin die affêre te sny. Die kors splinter is fladers en die tert breek waar dit nie veronderstel is om te breek. Ons lig die ding uit sy tinfoelie houer en sit dit in ‘n diepbord en probeer weer. Groot genade kry ons ses stukkies uit die dingetjie. Ons skarrel om tee en koffie te bedien en dan neem Hennie die bordjies met tert in en . . . .
Ek weet nou nie mooi wat gebeur het nie maar een stuk was seker so moeg vir my afbrekende kommentaar dat hy of dit mag ook ‘n sy wees besluit om uit die bordjie te spring en karplaks op die vloer te land.
Ons altwee staan verstom . . daar was net 6 stukkies
Gelukkig onthou ek dat ons vroeër die dag so ‘n ou versnapperingtjie geëet het en daar ‘n stukkie “bêre vir later” oorgebly het.
Noodeloos om te sê ek is nou verantwoordelik vir enige tuisgebak!
Groetnis tot ‘n volgende keer
Posted on February 7, 2018 June 11, 2018
Stoepstorie 4: The abundance of pears
There is a pear tree in our neighbor’s garden but we are fortunate that a couple of branches arched into our driveway. On a windy day the pears would end-up on our driveway and were to bruised to eat or use. Every year we would safe some but end up with a bottle or two chutney or perhaps a starter of blushing poached pears.
This year there was a good crop of little Hood pears hanging over our driveway.
A little research and we were ready for our harvest. Pears ripen from the inside out. Left to ripen on the tree, they may become mushy. They ripen quite nicely once harvested. The old trick of storing the pears in a cool, dry place and the add of bananas did the trick. I put the bananas on top of the pears—and the more bananas, the faster the pears ripen.
Yesterday was Mulled Pear day.
We peeled and core the pears and let is sit in a bowl with salt water to prevent the pears to turn brown.
First the oven needs to be preheat to 150oC.
Then it was time to make the Mulled syrup. I used crab apples to give the syrup a nice pink color. Once there was a nice pink color in the water. The crab apples were removed.
Then cinnamon, star Aniseeds, gloves and allspice were added to the crab apple water.
The water was put to a rapid boil and then sugar was added. The sugar was then added and once the sugar dissolved a good bottle of red wine was added. A Merlot is a fruity wine that add to the flavor. The smells from the big pot was divine. It reminded we of my Mom and the many bottles that she filled during the summer months. Her specialty was canned whole peaches. We called it cling peaches because the pip was left inside and when eating the whole peach you really have to cling on to it or it would flew over the dinning table.
The syrup was then strained through a muslin cloth and I must say the color was looking just right.
The pears pack into warm, sterilized jars. Pears are very bottom-heavy and I find that you have to fill the bottles with more pears than originally though. Heat the syrup to boil and pour into the jars.
Cover the jars with lids, but do not tighten it properly. Place the jars about 5cm apart in the oven for about 2 hours. This will also depend on the size of the jars.
Remove from the oven and seal properly and place on a wooden surface. Leave undisturbed until completely cool and check the seal the following day.
It will last for about 12 months on the shelf of your canning cupboard.
Proof is always in the tasting. For an early evening we had mulled pears, with Parma Ham and Goat’s Cheese Salad