The base was about 120 kilometres north of Cape Town and 1 500 kilometres from CFS, and we had to be there two days later… the Wednesday morning.
Travelling in my almost-new VW Beetle 1600S Superbug for the journey to Langebaanweg was Lang Lappies Labuschagne. A sizeable group of us decided to meet that Monday night at Oranjekrag, a village near the wall of the HF Verwoerd Dam (today the Gariep Dam), about 800 kilometres from Johannesburg on the N1 highway. There we would decide on accommodation arrangements for the evening before proceeding to Cape Town on the Tuesday morning.
The first two pupes to arrive at the little hotel in Oranjekrag inquired about, and booked, accommodation for that Monday evening in a small two-bed suite overlooking the vast expanse of the dam. They were having a quiet drink looking out at the spectacular vista, minding their own business, no doubt contemplating the months ahead, when the bulk of our group arrived, galvanising the citizens of Oranjekrag into hiding their daughters, boarding up their windows and seeking shelter in their cellars. The available stocks of liquor were quickly consumed by the rampant horde of pupes.
Now, to be fair, Oranjekrag has never claimed to be the entertainment capital of the world. The lack of time-passing activities for our testosterone-fuelled group led to our resorting to drag races up and down the main street, temporarily liberating an assortment of boats to re-enact the Battle of Trafalgar, and skinny-dipping in the frigid waters of the dam. The only open restaurant/takeaway quickly ran out of stock, and groups of pupes were seen scrounging around for any source of sustenance, even if that meant knocking on the doors of residents to inquire about the availability of food.
Finally, with energy levels flagging and anticipation growing about the journey to Cape Town, which many of us would see for the first time, and which still lay some 700 kilometres away, we started casting around for somewhere to sleep and discovered that the only hotel in the area, the one where our friends had taken the only available room, was fully booked.
So, in the spirit of camaraderie for which we’d already become widely acclaimed, all 33 of our intrepid band squeezed into that two-bed suite. Each of us found a spot to lay our head down for the night. There were two pupes who slept in the bath, others who slept on top of the cupboards, still others on the tables and some found space on the floor. The little balcony was also carpeted with reposing flyers, and even the toilet provided at least one individual with a place to slumber.
Before it was even light the next morning, the early risers among us heard the sounds of the little trolley that delivered tea and coffee to hotel guests in their rooms making its way along the passage outside. A small amount of cash changed hands between an enterprising pupe and the normally underpaid tea lady, and the entire trolley, with its abundant quantity of tea, coffee and rusks, was wheeled in.
‘Breakfast is served, sirs!’ he trumpeted.
Everyone tucked in and devoured both the liquid and the solid contents of the trolley. Then, suitably fortified, and before we could attract the ire of the still-unaware hotel owners, our band left the hotel room and headed for the car park. As I left, I spotted an elderly couple from one of the adjoining rooms just standing in the passage staring incredulously as pupe after pupe after pupe emerged from the room.
Soon after lunchtime on the Tuesday afternoon, all 60 pupes of 1/77, as previously arranged, met in the Panorama bar of the Clifton Hotel in Cape Town. The intervening years may have clouded my memory somewhat, but I am quite sure that a plan was hatched that evening to delay our arrival at FTS Langebaanweg from the following morning, the Wednesday, to the Thursday. That would allow those of us who had never been to Cape Town to experience something of what the Mother City had to offer.
Rational thought dictated that, upon our arrival at Langebaanweg, we would be confined to base for at least a month or two, and so we unanimously agreed to make hay while the sun shone – well, for the next 24 hours at least. Nothing much happened during the next 36 hours other than a bit of drunk driving, harassment of the odd civilian and rejection of our overtures of passion by even liberally minded UCT students.
Early on Thursday morning a convoy of vehicles made its way up the West Coast road and arrived, just before 08h00, at the gates of FTS Langebaanweg. There we were greeted by a knot of scowling instructors who’d expected us the previous morning. They were in no mood to be charitable to a bunch of pupes with the growing reputation of sticking to each other like shit to a blanket and who appeared devoted to the 1/77 course motto,
