Klawervlei had kindly invited me to come down to Cape Town for their farm sale. Many trainers from around the country had accepted the invitation to come down to the farm for a get together that resembles an Irish wake in spring & just a few weeks before armeggedon.
Robbie Hill’s family back home
We left the sunny confines of KZN and arrived down south to wintry wet conditions. Our driver, who could have been Waiho Marwing’s clone, in his limited wisdom had decided to take the scenic route out to the farm. We set off in good spirits with my co-travelers consisting of Prince (Robbie Hill), the only Pakistani trainer in South Africa, Alison and Kevin Wright exiles in waiting from Zimbo, Gavin Van Zyl, and Jane Thomas looking forward to her first emancipation tour.
The initial drizzle quickly escalated into a full blown monsoon as our vision was restricted to roughly twenty yards or so. In his limited wisdom again, Waiho had decided to take the bulk of us to our guest house. He found a side cutting to the right off the main road and suddenly we were off the beaten track and going down a district road that would have not looked out of place in downtown Tripoli during the recent uprisings.
Robbie Hill at the Karachi Academy
The road narrowed down to less than a single lane as we circumcized a stagnant festering lake until we reached a dead end at which point Prince started displaying the first signs of severe cabin fever. The somnolent Cognac he had quaffed prior to departure had started to wear off and his nascent displeasure combined with nicotine withdrawal symptoms only seen in baboon cigarette addicts at an East European animal research station was steadily bubbling beneath the surface. Waiho did a thirty seven point turn before he made his way back to the highway barely avoiding a fully laden pantechnicon from the nearby SADF munitions compound & traveling downhill at speeds way beyond safe.
As our fourth sedentary hour approached and we set off in hope of beating the sunset, Jane Thomas, who had finished two liters of over priced bottled water, started appealing for a toilet somewhere soon, very soon. With legs crossed for once like a fresh koeksister, she implored Waiho to find a latrine, even if it was a second hand drop toilet, as Prince joined in & vociferously demanded a smoke break. The tension, palpable as it was, was briefly broken by the news of the Wrights’ horses running first and second in the Borrowdale feature.
Jane Thomas looking for a drop toilet
We eventually arrived at the stud around four and a half hours after Dean Kannemeyer disembarking to be warmly greeted by barman extraordinaire, Matthew Sham, who has the finesse of an enebriated blacksmith. The upstairs pub was full and the TV was switching between the Ashes and the rampant Sharks as George Clooney braaied all forms of animal off-cuts for the sozzled carnivore diners. One of our country’s greatest young cricket stars, David Miller, was a guest as well as his father, Andrew, who also doubled as auctioneer. David is the real deal in more ways than one and when Dean ‘I’ll Have Another’ Kannemeyer realized who he was, he promptly posed for a photo alongside him looking like Sammy Davis Jnr at a Vegas cabaret.
Michael Roberts, donning an apron, had provisionally taken over the barman duties as Matthew did renditions of Flower of Scotland and Ireland’s Call, and to appease the numerous skaaps in attendance, did Ruiperd with the diminutive Roberts joining in for the chorus.
Dean Kannemeyer
Klawervleis two front men, John Koster, and Grant Knowles, have done a great job of ensuring that all visitors are warmly cared for and I spot one of the quiet gentlemen of racing, Ricardo Lerena, savaging the remnants of a charred chicken in the corner. He catches my eye & nods appreciatively at me.
When it is eventually time to retire to our respective hamlets, I thankfully notice that Waiho is not around. Jane is being ushered to her van with a degree of vociferous coaxing by Knowlsie, somewhat akin to the loading of a reluctant feature race favorite, as Michael Roberts gets a bout of the giggles. Our guest house is a renovated set of stables once owned by a successful racehorse owner. I am ushered into Jungle Warrior’s stable and Michael Roberts gets Numeral’s. He catches me stealing his chocolates off his pillow and promptly manages to lock me in my stable for the night.
Muis Roberts as himself
The next day we were greeted by a chill usually seen on the outskirts of the Siberian Tundra and Michael Roberts waltzing around in a sleeping shirt last ironed when he rode work for old man, ‘Pa’ Brown. Breakfast is in a renovated barn and Clint Larsen (not the footballer) Paul Matchett, Cathy Howells and I have some country grown sustenance before we set out to see the yearlings. Klawervlei is a wonderful set up and the different barns have been named after great racehorses of old. I walk around viewing the woolly nags with Michael Roberts who is only slightly taller than a premature weanling and twice as critical.
The crowds are starting to arrive and it makes viewing a little tougher. We escape to the main tent to warm up with some coffee to be promptly serenaded by John McVeigh’s cousin, Andre Reui, on guitar playing ballads from yesteryear. His rendition of ‘You’re as cold as ice’ seems touchingly appropriate. Prince strides by wearing a Springbok rugby jacket that would be loose on Clyde Basel & stearing well clear of the free bar as if it was a leper colony. These Pakistanis don’t seem to have the constitution of the locals.
An announcement is made that the sale will be starting a couple of hours late as Chris Van Niekerk and Sean Tarry are unable to land their ’63 vintage Dakota on the local miellie field due to thick mist and are forced to fly on to Cape Town International. This announcement blows the Wrights right out of the water as they have to get back for an earlier flight home. The Humble Hero, Joe Soma, strides in looking fresh and strong and no doubt looking for someone to natter with over a drink. Brett Crawford steps up to the plate in eager fashion and soon their little coterie is growing as the local tipple, the Green Tractor, makes its belated appearance. Brett was last seen irrigating a field on the side of the road.
Robbie Hill training trotters for Karachi Derby
Lynton Ryan, the horse guru of note, has given me a list of horses to look at and we end up inheriting a Seventh Rock filly for R75 000 . Herbert Mulholland seems to be a man on a mission as he pushes Dennis Drier all the way for the sale topper with the hammer dropping at a princely R240,000. This sale is fast turning out to be the premier social event of all post July functions. The seventy odd lots are soon sold by Andrew Miller for a total of around three point eight million proving that it has come of age. As soon as the last lot has been led away following ex champion sprinter, Mythical Flight, McVeigh’s cousin, Andre, starts crooning again with the most popular person in the room becoming the attractive blonde bombshell behind the bar. Because I have to catch the early flight back to Durban, I manage to evade the rowdy colleagues and hitch a lift back to my hotel in Cape Town with Gareth ‘Peppier’ Pepper.
