Family stories: Toucher Tony

Later in life, well after Gran and Gramps had emigrated from the UK to Cape Town to be with us, Gramps took up bowls. It wasn't just a hobby; he had found his true calling. While Gran played and enjoyed the social aspect, for Gramps, the green was sacred ground.

He was famously gregarious, a frustrated actor at heart who finally found his stage. Every year at the Annual Bowls Christmas party, he would hold sway as the MC, regaling the club with stories and jokes he had meticulously collected throughout the year. He was the lifeblood of the club, a man whose energy and humor could turn a simple game into a theatrical performance.

Gramps even had a specific, cinematic dream for how his life would conclude. In his mind’s eye, he would sidle up to the edge of the green, supported by his zimmerframe. He would take aim, throw his final "wood," and as it rolled toward the jack, he would suffer a swift, painless heart attack. As the world faded to black, the last sound he would hear—the ultimate validation of a life well-played—would be the cry: "Toucher Tony, Toucher! Well done!"

In the physical world, reality was less poetic. Peripheral neuropathy eventually claimed the strength in his legs, forcing him to give up his beloved sport. He spent his final year in a care home, passing away exactly one year after his "darling" had come to get him.

But in my mind, the physical ending doesn't count. When I think of him now, I see him on a super-vivid, ethereal celestial bowling green. He isn't hobbling; he is galloping along with vital abandon, throwing his woods with perfect precision. Gran is there, watching with that sixty-year-old look of love, the clubmates are roaring at his latest story, and the air is filled with the constant, triumphant cry: "Toucher Tony, Toucher!"

Memorable moments: The Paarl Gymnasium massacre

Growing up, my mother was the silent, steady heartbeat of my rugby career. I have the most heart-warming memories of her standing in the pouring rain, huddled under an umbrella, cheering us on through every muddy scrum and sodden tackle. Her love was as consistent as the Cape winter weather.

But there was one fixture on the annual calendar for which her nervous system was simply not equipped: the away match against Paarl Gymnasium.

Paarl Gym was an Afrikaans powerhouse out in the country, and to our prep school eyes, they didn't look like children—they looked like a different species. They towered over us, their forearms the size of our thighs. We were convinced they’d been raised on a strict diet of boerewors and biltong instead of breast milk. For them, winning wasn't just a goal; it was existential.

I have a vivid, slightly traumatic memory of three of us desperately clinging to a single Paarl player, hitching a collective piggyback ride as he thundered toward the try line, completely indifferent to the extra weight of three terrified schoolboys.

And then there were the fathers.

The Paarl dads didn't just spectate; they participated. Many of them wore the exact same rugby kit as their sons, looking like older, angrier versions of the giants on the field. During one particularly lopsided encounter, I saw a father reach down, rip a side flag out of the turf, and begin stabbing the ground with it in a rhythmic frenzy.

"Moer hulle, seuns!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Murder them, boys!"

Needless to say, the score was always catastrophically one-sided. I don’t think we ever managed to cross their try line, let alone win a match. I never blamed my mum for sitting those ones out. While she was happy to watch us get wet in the rain, she drew the line at watching us get systematically dismantled by teenage titans while their fathers reenacted medieval battle cries on the touchline.

Memorable moments: The gangly champion

In my early school days, I was the quintessential nerd—more likely to be found in the library than on the rugby pitch. My athletic career started with a distinct lack of promise; I spent my first few rugby matches standing aimlessly on the field, sucking my thumb while my mother watched from the sidelines in a state of terminal embarrassment.

But in Standard 3, aged 10, my gangly, awkward frame suddenly found its purpose. I discovered I could leap. I could leap high, and I could leap far.

That year, for the first time in my life, I wasn't just "the smart kid." I won the high jump and the long jump for my age group. Then, feeling bold, I competed in the age group above mine—and I won both of those, too. I spent the rest of the day vibrating with the anticipation of the prize-giving ceremony.

I went up twice to collect my cups for my own age group. Then came the awards for the seniors. The presenter looked at the list, squinted, and frowned. He looked at me, looked back at the paper, and decided there had clearly been a massive administrative mistake. No one "nerdy" could possibly sweep two age groups.

He skipped the award entirely. I sat back down, trophy-less and invisible once again.

It was a crushing disappointment, but I eventually found my redemption. A few years later, I walked back up to that stage to receive the award for "Most Improved Rugby Player." I had finally traded my thumb for a tackle—and this time, they didn't need a calculator to believe it.

Memorable moments: The prestigious scavenger

My step-dad, Mike, was a devoted golfer and a long-standing member of an incredibly prestigious club—the kind of place where a crooked tie is a minor scandal. One afternoon, the Club President pulled him aside, looking deeply pained.

"Mike," he whispered, "several members have reported seeing you... sifting through the bins for discarded food. We’re concerned. Is everything alright at home? Do you need a—well, a small advance?"

Mike felt the eyes of the entire clubhouse on him. He looked sheepish, then cleared his throat.

"Everything’s fine," he explained. "I’ve started a worm farm for my garden, and it turns out they have a very refined palate for banana peels. I was just—well, I was just retrieving the leftovers."

The President stared at him, caught between relief and pure aristocratic confusion.

The President was relieved to hear Mike wasn't broke, though he did suggest that next time, Mike should try to look a little less "homeless" while catering for his compost.

Young Woman and the Sea - what a movie!

I just watched Young Woman and the Sea (2024), and found Gertrude Ederle’s story incredibly inspiring. As the first woman to swim across the English Channel in 1926, she didn’t just complete the grueling 21-mile journey—she shattered expectations. Battling strong currents and freezing waters, Ederle finished the swim in 14 hours and 34 minutes, beating the existing men’s record by nearly two hours. At just 20 years old, she proved not only that a woman could do it, but that she could do it better, making her a trailblazer in both sport and history.

New York Parade in honour of her

Two Oceans race

Antony, Stuart, Neil, Dom, Michael and Jess all did the Two Oceans.  Jo, Annelies and I went 5 minutes down the road to watch them running by. The atmosphere was electric.  This was Antony's 10th Two Ocean, a wondeeful achievement.|

 

South Africa wins the Rugby World Cup 2023

 Elation!  South Africa now holds the record for the most rugby world cup wins. This was their fourth win.

Watching in Sydney

Watching in Cape Town

The match

Match details

• Quarter-final: France:  29-28
• Semi-final: England: 16-15
• Final: New Zealand:  12-11

Pickleball Championship

 I was the official photographer at the local Pickleball Championship.  It's an amazing, fast actioned game and it was wonderful to see Chris in action.

Chris excels at Pickleball

Runner up in the NSW championships!

7 a side rugby

Highlights

• My first time in the Cape Town Football World-cup stadium - very impressive!
• My first experience of 7 aside rugby; ultra fast and exciting with extraordinary passes and running.
• South Africa winning all three of its matches. Australia didn't do so well but I wasn't Australian for the day, so it didn't matter.
• Sam and Claire as devil and angel. They looked great!
• Lots of wonderful costumes.
• The wonderful atmosphere in the stadium, helped along by rousing music and kiss and dance cams.

The Origins of the New Zealand rugby Haka

Chris, who is a proud Kiwi and rugby fan, told us during our boxing day get together that the Haka originated by a tribe leader hiding from enemies in a latrine pit. His wife sat on the toilet seat to help hide him.  He stared up at her womanly bits and said "Will I live or die."  Her female powers saved him from being found and killed. This story is told in the words of the Haka.

Craig, Shushan and I completely dismissed his story and teased Chris for it.

The next day, Chris sent us this from the Internet with the words "I rest my case."

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The Origins of Ka Mate

Ka Mate was composed by the Ngati Toa chief Te Rauparaha, descendent of Hoturoa, captain of the Tainui canoe, born 1760s at Kawhia, died 1849 at Otaki.

The story of the composition of Ka Mate is well known within the oral histories of Ngati Toa and Ngati uwharetoa, the two iwi (tribes) most associated with the haka’s origins.
During a period of imminent conflict against the powerful Waikato and Ngati Maniapoto iwi, Te Rauparaha journeyed from Kawhia to seek alliances with other tribal groups, one of those being Tuwharetoa who lived in the Lake Taupo region.

When he arrived at Te Rapa, which is located near Tokaanu he was told by Te Heuheu, the Paramount Chief of Tuwharetoa that he was being pursued by a war party from Ngati Te Aho, who wanted revenge for a previous incident involving Ngati Toa.

Te Heuheu directed Te Rauparaha to go to Lake Rotoaira to seek the protection of his relative Te Wharerangi.

At Lake Rotoaira, Te Wharerangi reluctantly agreed to assist Te Rauparaha and as the war party closed on their quarry guided by the incantations of their tohunga [scholar/priest] he instructed Te Rauparaha to climb into a kumara pit and for his wife, Te Rangikoaea to sit on top. By combining the spiritual qualities of a woman (“the Noa”) and of food, Te Wharerangi was able to weaken the tohunga’s power.

When the pursuers arrived, Te Rauparaha could feel the power of the incantations and is said to have muttered“Ka Mate! ka mate!” under his breath (Will I die!) and “Ka Ora! ka ora!” (or will I live!) when the Noa reduced the incantation’s effect. These lines were repeated many times coinciding with the waxing and waning of the tohunga’s power until eventually Ngati Te Aho were convinced by Te Wharerangi that Te Rauparaha had escaped towards Taranaki. It was then that he finally exclaimed “Ka ora, ka ora! Tenei te tangata puhuruhuru nana nei i tiki mai whakawhiti te ra!” (I live! I live! For it was indeed the wondrous power of a woman (“the Noa”) that fetched the sun and caused it to shine again!)

“Upane, kaupane”, means “to line up in abreast or in rows”, as one does to perform haka. One could imagine his joy at not only eluding certain death by a mere whisker, but also coming out of the dark kumara pit into the light of day – “Whiti te ra! Hi!”

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Some great banter ensued ...


Craig ...

Hi Chris,

You've had plenty of time to compile this story.  In any event, I'm not sure it's a legend you want widely known! - we reckon you blokes from over the ditch are full of it anyhow - it might get the Wallabies going into the "Ozzie thunderbox squat" in response..

Cheers Yogi


Graeme ...

Ha, ha.  This is classic.  Awesome stuff, Chris.

A vivid image is so etched in my mind, I won't be able to watch the haka again without having a good chuckle.

I agree, Yogi, this would be explosive dynamite in the wrong hands!


Shushann ...

I was interested to read about the wife sitting on the Kumara pit - isn't Kumara the sweet potato. Is that where Kumara is stored? So it wasn't actually a latrine.


Graeme ...

 That's an interesting thought!

But why would she sit on it with her bare intimates exposed?

I reckon it is indeed the place where Kumara is stored...

... after it's been eaten :)


Craig ...

Shushann,

Don't you know never to ruin a good story with the facts! We now have the Kiwis where we want them - in the dunny.

Cheers Yogi


Chris ...

Hey mate this is hard evidence peer reviewed history but as you imply, what happens in the log drop should stay in the long drop. Cheers Chris


Craig ...

Hi Chris,

No way!  I am tempted to forward your story to the Wallabies with the suggestion that they respond to the Haka with the "thunderbox squat" finished off with ceremonial arse wipe & "paper" shaking.

Cheers mate
Yogi


Shushann ...

You guys crack me up!
The toilet it is!