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Here is a picture of Oranjemund’s swimming pool. Date unknown but this is where my father taught me to swim at the tender age of 1yrs old. He took me into the water with him and then let go of me and waited to see what happened.
This was a pioneering technique back then. He did not know if I’d sink like a stone and die or do what we now know babies do in water - swim as if it’s their natural environment. I did swim. Immediately. Apparently I stayed underwater showing zero signs of panic and kicked my little legs to gain momentum. For many years to come I preferred being underwater. Even today while underwater I feel as if I am in my element, my universe. But back then, dad took a risk. He shocked his buddies!
My earliest memory of the pool and buildings was when it was surrounded outside by dense lines of of conifers. As a kid we would swim and climb these trees then go and swim again. Our favourite pool games were the dangerous corner touch and the less dangerous multi-bombing.
Bombing entailed getting about ten or so of your mates to line up behind you on the highest diving board and then jumping off in the bomb position immediately one after the other to create and maintain a large plume of water. On impacting the water, each bomber would disperse the area by diving to the bottom either left or right of the impact zone. This ‘game’ was taken from black and white war movies of a Lancaster bombers releasing their payloads over some target. Well to us it was run-of-the-mill sport except when your mate behind jumped too soon and landed on your head. When this type of mishap occurred, and it did many times, it was a bugger to remain focussed to clear the impact zone underwater! But we did and no lasting ill-effects manifested.
The pool was managed by Mrs Van der Hoeven. She loved chlorine. Oh boy was that water chlorinated. This led to many confrontations with my mother. From my perspective, being an underwater swimmer, meant you had to see where you were in order to navigate between the hundreds of thrashing legs of all the other swimmers. Protracted periods underwater with eyes open led to my pond scum coloured eyes going red. And I mean ‘R.E.D’ !
My mother thought this was unhealthy. I on the other hand did not care. I was having fun. Loads of fun. It’s a Namibian thing.
I have been away too long. I will be back. I need to get earthed again.
2 comments ↓
Robert!! The badge looks awesome, pretty hilarious and quite festive I think!!
Thanks for putting it up there, great stuff!!
Hi there ,
Dont know which years in Om you are talking about, I was born in 1956 and left O’mund in 1980. Yes, the swimming pool many memories. In my time I remember an Auntie Murgie Robinson managing the pool as well. She had this amazing blonde labrador that would follow her while she cycled around the town, and would carry her handbag and shopping basket hanging from its mouth when she went shopping. I remember as well that Mrs Lindhout also ran the pool for a while and of course you mentioned Mrs van der Hoven. The pool was an integral part of her recovery when she had a stroke many years later. Her one daughter ( Ingrid I think ) was a nurse and I remember seeing her with her mother in the swimming trainer ( a pole with a body harness attached ) cajoling her to swim, long term result was getting the muscles to talk to each other and work again resulting in a very good recovery for those times. My swimming lessons - I had to fly solo as neither of my parents could really swim. Auntie Murgie would not allow one into the big pool untill you could swim reasonably well (she had these eagle eyes) and could spot a chancer a mile off !
It was quite useless trying to learn in the baby pool as it was so shallow so one day I slithered over to the big pool, got in the shallow end and clung to the side hoping I would not be discovered. Then courageously launched myself finding that so long as I kept my composure I would not sink, fear made me sink ….. very quickly turned doggie paddle into proficient swimming ..sort like the duck taking to water.
So many memories running through my head when I read your articles. The rec club roof, the power station roof .. all part of our challenges of fear. Like the Afrikaner vrot banana vs Soutie post toastie fights, the “trees” as they were called was our forest with the irrigation channel in the middle being our river. Foofie slides made from bloudraad and a piece of 20mm conduit. Tree houses, underground dens, split pole forts, innocent golden times in which we could generally mess up in relative safety. I know the town is now so different to what it was then, that’s why when I left OM in the 80’s, I did a month of walking each street drinking in the memories and saying my goodbyes, storing the memories so that when change as has occured with passing of time, does not cause disillusionment. Those golden memories remain as they were. Keep up the good work of sharing — Sandy
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