At the beginning of 2004, whilst registering students at UKZN, I happened to find myself next to the head of the Drama Department. I tell him about my PhD on Literary Tourism. He tells me that he has heard that Patrick Mynhardt, the Bard of the Bosveld, has stacks of paraphernalia that he doesn't know what to do with. Ever the optimist. I decide to try 1023. " Do you have the number of a Patrick Mynhardt", I ask Yes, they tell me. I dial the number waiting to hear that I have the wrong Patrick Mynhardt.
" Hallo, my name is Darryl David. I am looking for the famous actor Patrick Mynhardt", is my opening line . " Well, this is Patrick Mynhardt, but I am not sure whether the famous part is entirely correct", he retorts.
That was the start of a friendship that was to culminate with Patrick agreeing to open the national booktown of South Africa in Richmond in the N. Cape. It is worth mentioning though that for all of 3 days during this friendship, Patrick was Mr Mynhardt to me. But when I picked him up on the 19th of September 2007 on our journey to Richmond, he insisted that "this nonsense of Mr Mynhardt must stop." I would have persisted had it not been for my 6 year old daughter who could not pronounce undoubtedly one of the most famous names in South African theatre.
After meeting Patrick at a performance in the Dargle in the KZN Midlands in 2007, I told him that I had a big favour to ask of him, and that I would phone him in a few days With butterflies in my stomach, I phone him 2 days later and ask him to open our Booktown. After about an hour, which was the average length of a phone call with Patrick, he said he needed to think about it. The next day was probably the longest 24 hours in my life. At 8pm the next evening, he called.
" Listen here Darryl", he started. That was not a positive opening salvo, I thought to myself.
" Listen here, Darryl, I am an old man and I don't need the money, but I am a bok for a good cause. And I can't help it but I like you", he said. ' so if you can raise the money", he said, ( which was at a considerable discount, I may add,) " I will open your booktown" Perhaps he saw something of the maverick in me . After all, I was attempting the impossible, so to speak, with my booktown . Very much like himself who crafted something out of nothing to make Herman Charles Bosman and Oom Schalk Lourens two of the greatest names in South African literature
Over the next 5 months, Patrick and I would phone each other almost every second week. Ever the perfectionist, he constantly wanted to know if what he had planned was OK, " because you are my boss “. 'Mr Mynhardt, you are a legend, I tell him. "Even if you were to talk a whole lot of B.S on stage, people will love you." About a month before the show, he phones and says: I have a problem. I have been invited to London…" Oh no, I think to myself, how can you let me down like this, after I have advertised to all of South Africa.
" No, no, no, , don't worry", he says, anticipating my fears,. I just want to know if I can change the format of the show because London want me to do a format I've never done before.
The rest is history and I meet him on the 19th of September. 90 Henrietta Place. Larney area, I tell my wife. As usual, my daughter's stomach delays us and we have to find a toilet. I arrive at Patrick's home and he is not there. Gone to the pharmacy.
Worse still, Rebecca his maid for over 3 decades shows me his luggage. I realise in an instant why they called him the biggest drama queen that Bethulie has ever seen
I unpack all the books from my Honda Jazz, which is generous by any standard. And still all his things can barely fit. I then see an old Mazda 626 pulling up slowly. It looks like Patrick. I understand in an instant why they say he is careful with money. He sees all the commotion and embarks on a minute long tirade. ranting and raving about how late it is, how we will get to Richmond after dark and about why Peter Baker(my partner for Booktown Richmond) could not have taken some of his luggage down. Luckily, I am as calm as the Gariep Dam. After a few kilometres, the Honda lulls him into a sense of security. He turns round to my beautiful wife, and says : " And what is a beautiful young girl like you doing with an old man like this", he asks. The Patrick that I knew was back. Of course, my daughter never forgave him for not saying she was pretty too!!!
After a few kilometres, my daughter felt that a man who could not say she was beautiful was not worthy of HER front seat and Patrick was summarily banished to the back seat. Like a seasoned grandfather, he just laughed. And then slept. And snored. All the way to Bloemfontein. At our first stop, some people keep staring at this old man travelling with Indians. " Is jy nie Patrick Mynhardt", they ask confused.
" Ja, ek is", he says. Julle wonder maar seker wat doen ek met hierdie coolie"
Now I know that some of you may get upset, but it was all said in good taste. He went on to sing my praises to these people for the next 5 minutes.
As we head to Colesberg, Patrick comes alive. This is his heartland. He recalls names from his childhood. Areas that he had travelled with his district surgeon Dad almost 7 decades ago. "Die vlaktes", he tells me, "some people find them boring, but I find them " betowerend " At this point, I ask him about his family. He tells me about his son, Johan, and his 2 grandsons. I want to ask him about his wife, but decide that the journey is going too well at this stage to jeopardise the relaxed mood.
Patrick now starts with stories about his travels through South Africa. He recounts the numerous occasions his car " broke down" – it appears he constantly ran out of petrol.. I can't imagine this control freak of a man who could possibly forget to fill petrol in his car. Luckily he says, people always recognised him and helped him out.
Which led us to the next topic- the high levels of crime in South Africa
Realising that the conversation was getting depressing, Patrick asks about the Karoo towns I have visited. He is shocked to hear that I have visited most. He asks whether my wife likes these towns, and she says yes, except towns like Bethulie. Whoops, should have told her the show was called Boy from Bethulie. Because Patrick was born in Bethulie
I tell him that the only 3 popular small towns that I have not visited are Rhodes, Hogsback and Smithfield. " Been to all of them ", he says proudly. What a life, I think to myself!
Richmond just 30 minutes away, I announce. What, says Patrick in disbelief, I hardly felt the journey. " Yes, I say, and can you believe we will get there before dark, I tease.
"I'm an old man set in my ways, Darryl. A paranoid, old man
Don't worry, I joke, I won't tell anyone… if you return the money we paid you.
By now, I am all anticipation to meet a man who almost single handedly made Booktown Richmond possible- Peter Baker. I tell Patrick that I can't wait to meet Peter in person.
" What, he says in theatre mode, " you are launching one of the biggest tourism projects in the land and you haven't met your partner? I've been swindled, " he says and turns playfully around to my wife.
We drive to the highest house in Richmond. Peter loves to be theatrical, I learned over the weekend, and the position of his house almost announces " Lord of the Manor"
We are met by a hairy, broad chested man just out of the pool. Peter, I say/ ask, and extend my hand. In one forceful motion, I find myself being hugged and my face being given a facial scrub by one of the hairiest chests I've seen in a while. Canadians sure are hairy, I tell Patrick , and feel intimidated for the rest of the weekend and vow never to take my shirt off.
" Where are the books?, Peter asks. "Ask Patrick, is all I say.
With a sheepish grin, Patrick explains.
After a quintessential Karoo supper , we all retire. We awake to a beautiful spring morning. We head off to Die Richmond Supper Klub. For breakfast!!!
Peter and a few friends are perfecting the fine art of 'stoep sitting'. Patrick is nowhere to be seen. Getting over the fatigue of yesterdays journey.
An hour or so later, my wife phones to say she is ready.
" What are you doing", she enquires.
I say that we are just relaxing on the stoep.
" Tell her you are WORKING on the stoep, dummy", says Peter
A minute later, Patrick phones to say he is ready. I must really get my wife and Patrick together to exchange make- up tips, I think to myself.
After brunch, we get down to the business of getting Die Richmond Supper Klub ready for Patrick's show. I am fascinated by Patrick's old suitcases. Relics from the past, a glorious past. I steer clear of the lights to hide my ignorance about matters electrical. Patrick, ever the perfectionist, is giving Peter a hard time, and is asking that the light be moved inch by inch. After the umpteenth move which was still not to Patrick's satisfaction, Peter asks: Do you want the lights to shine on your face?"
To which Patrick retorts: " Why, do you think the lights should shine on you ? "
Even my 6 year old daughter got that one. That was undoubtedly the most memorable moment of the entire weekend, and displayed the wicked sense of humour that was a trademark of the legend that was Patrick Mynhardt.
The next few hours provided a fascinating glimpse into what happens behind the curtain. My daughter and I watch with fascination as Patrick meticulously lays all the tools of his trade carefully before him. Moustaches, glue, powder, hats, veldskoene.
Sjoe, I never realized the transformation from Patrick Mynhardt to Oom Schalk Lourens took that long.
In between, Peter and I get the street signage ready. Once again, I am out of my element. Fingers used to the world of pens and keyboards are grossly unprepared for the great outdoors. Luckily, Stan the Man, as we affectionately came to call him, materialized out of nowhere. This young man epitomized our dreams for Richmond. He was driving from the Cape on his way home to Johannesburg. But so enthralled was he at what he saw that he decided to stay the entire weekend. What a godsend. He literally took over getting Richmond ready for it's opening as the national Booktown of South Africa.
And when news broke of the sad passing away of Patrick on the 25th of October, who was the first person to phone Die Richmond Supper Klub? None other than Stan the Man.
The opening night was a grand occasion. A five course meal, plus Patrick Mynhardt. You won't find much better anywhere else in the country. Peter starts off proceedings with a very animated welcome. I realize that the God's have smiled upon me by giving me such a wonderful partner for Booktown Richmond.
Next, I introduce the concept of the Booktown to the audience and say how proud we are to have Patrick in our midst. I tell them how happy Patrick is to be back in Richmond after an absence of 53 years. How was I to know then that God had scripted Richmond and London to be his final shows. As his son Johan said, He ended off almost where he had started off. His career had come full circle. And in the circle of life, his work was done. His mission completed.
One moment from the opening night will forever be etched in my memory. Right in the front, we had a chirper. He did not mean to be distracting, he was really enjoying the show, I suppose. Too much. And then Patrick started his role as Adolf Hitler. He began with a fury that would have impressed the Fuhrer himself. Well this chirper jumped out of his chair. This is no figure of speech. He literally jumped out of the chair, such was the intensity of Patrick on this proud night for Richmond. I could only marvel at such intensity at 75 years of age.
Three score and ten. God gave him an extra 5 years. Richmond is thankful that he saved the best for last.
After his performances, Peter wanted him to stay a day or two longer. So that we could tour the Karoo. But years of living alone had made Patrick set in his ways. And I could see he longed for 90 Henrietta Place. He always spoke about how he loved his bed. So we left Richmond on Sunday, the 23rd of September. As agreed upon. Return journeys are always a sombre affair. Every fibre of your body wants to return home. This trip was no different. My only regret is that I did not wake Patrick up as we drove through Philippolis. He looked so tired. He said he had had a bad night. How was I to know that this would be his last trip through his boyhood world. He had wanted to see Philippols, for almost 50 years ago, he told me, he had visited Philippollis to celebrate the birthday of Andre Hugenet with the likes of Anna Neethling- Pohl
On the home stretch, I told Patrick of my idea to create a museum in his honour in Richmond.
"Will people be interested, will they come?" he asked.
"Did they not come to see you over the last 2 days?", I retort.
We part company at 90 Henrietta Place. It takes us a few minutes to re- pack all my books. He hugs my wife and daughter. And then he hugs me and says:
" Thank you for a wonderful weekend, and for bringing me safely back home. You are a wonderful man, and a wonderful husband and father"
That last bit, in my books, is the greatest compliment a person could have paid me.
Here was a man that understood that as much as I wanted to be known as the founder of Booktown Richmond, at the end of the day, your loved ones are more important. Patrick's death has only made me more aware that sometimes in life we are so busy reaching for the stars that we forget the flowers at our feet. And while Patrick may have been a star, my enduring impression of the man was that of a legend of the stage who remained accessible to his adoring public.
