15. My Father's Father

My Grandfather, Peter Chiswell



I was once told that humans are most lucid at 3am. Something to do with the brain being relaxed. True or not I don't know, but I certainly seem to get my best ideas in the wee hours of the morning.

For some time now, in fact for years, I have found myself wide awake at exactly 3am pondering all manner of things. At first it exasperated me, that I should wake at such an ungodly hour. Of late however, I have come to the conclusion that it is a blessing. For it is at 3am that whole articles materialise in my head, the plot of my movie takes shape and my life’s course is as clear and as simply as day.

There seems no cure for this seemingly endless flow of lucid thoughts other than to take pen and paper and note them down. So I have taken to doing just that and have even mastered the art of writing in the dark.

My most recent 3am epiphany so inspired me that it deserves a mention.

I have a book to write.

My father's father was South Africa's most famous Radio personality during the 1950-60's. South Africa did not get Television till the mid 70's so Radio was it and my grandfather, Peter Chiswell, was a house hold name. Yet, as far as I know, no book has been written about his life and his work.

He was an incredible man. He wrote, produced, directed, presented and acted in many a radio show and even composed and played the music for programs, many of which were enourmously popular.

I find it funny to think that without even intending to I am following in his footsteps, and trying my hand at journalism. Radio would certainly be my preferred medium.

What's more, if there is one thing we have had drummed into us in this course it is the importance of a good story. My grandfather’s life was certainly very interesting.

An RAF pilot during the Second World War, he was stationed in what was then Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, were he trained other pilots. It was while on leave in Cape Town, South Africa, that he met my grandmother. Her father was a captain in the Navy and was obliged to entertain the visiting RAF pilots. I can only guess what my grandmother thought of their dinner guest: my father was born in Rhodesia.

When my Grandparents, with my 18 month old father, returned to South Africa my grandfather, with no formal training save for being a talented musician, well versed in English literature and possessing a sharp wit, on the recommendation of his father-in-law, decided to try his hand in radio. A natural entertainer he become immensely popular, or some may say notorious.

His humorous remarks about the ridiculous claims made by radio advertisers, such as ‘Italian Boy’ shampoo, at first made him very unpopular with the advertisers until the radio station noticed a marked increase in the listnership. People loved his jokes and the more he mocked the more they listened. My father tells of the box loads of ‘Italian Boy’ shampoo that would arrive on their door step, incentive for my grandfather to continue the ‘bad’ publicity.

My grandmother was also highly talented in her own right. A skilled milliner, she made hats for the then president's wife.

The setting for all this was also a fascinating time in history. It was the height of Apartheid South Africa when many whites had servants, enourmous houses, vast lawns, tennis courts, swimming pools and lots of time on their hands for drunken parties of which, my father tells me, they had many.

Those are just the parts of my grandfather’s life that I know of.

If I have learnt anything from this doco course it is that as creative non-fiction writers we must find the stories that are our own, stories we are passionate about and stories that bear our own unique trade mark.

What luck! I do believe I have found just such a story. The only thing troubling me is the fact that now I have made it public I have no choice, but to write it...

14. To Cool For School

The Natural History Film-making gang in class.

13. A Vulgar Culture

To quote my Czech friend, I am disgusted by Dunedin's student culture.

Otago students are notorious for their drinking and rowdy behaviour. Drunken youthful exuberance I can handle, but in Dunedin drinking is no longer just about getting a little happy with your mates, it is completely out of control. I believe the burning of old couches in the street is the latest edition to Otago student rituals.

It would appear that Dunedin's residents took living in the extreme sports capital of the world to heart and have taken disgusting, drunken loutish behaviour to the extreme.

The front lawns of many a student's flat are littered with beer bottles, broken letter boxes, smashed glass, wet cardboard boxes, underpants and the remains of what was once the front fence.


On reaching the main Uni campus you find, without fail, that the night before some pissed posse has rolled a shopping trolley into the river that runs through the grounds and for most of the journey I am preoccupied with avoiding shards of Vodka bottles.

All this seemed unpleasant enough, but nothing prepared me for the criminal damage. Within weeks of arriving my Czech friend's back windscreen, of his newly purchased car, was smashed in. Another friend's rear spoiler was ripped from its moorings and on my morning walk to Uni I am guaranteed to see not one, but rows of cars all with the side mirrors broken off.

This was just one of four cars that had the mirrors broken

Last week I had the pleasure of bumping into my Jordanian friend, he on his way to the mosque and I heading home. In the cool evening air we stopped to chat. Our conversation however, was interrupted by hoots and jeers coming from across the street where a group of drunken youths were hurling bottles into the road. My friend and I decided to part ways fearing for our safety as bottles exploded round us.

My bad impression of Dunedin's residents was topped off last night when I woke to the dulcet tones of my neighbour, a young man of about 20, calling to a passer by to come and "suck on this one". I guess his eloquent poetry was at least a change from the usual horde of sloshed sheilas staggering up the street shrieking and gurgling the words to Bon Jovi.

My neighbour's house

At first I wondered if my distaste for such behaviour was just a sign of my becoming a granny before my time, but I find that I am by no means the odd one out.

Most of my friends in Dunedin are other international students, including a Czech or three, two Jordanians, a Swede, Chilean, German, POM and Caribbean Islander. All of us, although totally independently of each other, have come to the conclusion that Dunedin's student "culture" is nothing of the sort, but rather it is a vulgar social phenomenon devoid of any of the subtleties, pleasures and interesting oddities associated with other cultures around the world.

12. Museless

I was sent this picture from home.

I now know why I am feeling so homesick and maybe a little uninspired. What could be better for a natural history film-making student than two Muses such as these?!

11. Failed Snail

To add to my penguin filming experience I have filmed a rather handsome, mottled brown and white rabbit and would you believe a snail.

The rabbit, after being coaxed from its cage was given the name Peter and then placed upon a table around which we crowded, cameras in hand. The rabbit was surprisingly clam about being encircled by a bunch of bumbling amateurs wielding cameras (the bumbling was probably just me), that is until someone switched on a spotlight, startling it and causing it to topple backward off the table...I’m hoping the RSPCA does not get wind of this.

Thankfully there was no real damaged done and after dusting it off, the rabbit was once again placed on the table this time right in the middle where it sat out the rest of the session seemly unperturbed by the throng of lights, tripods and wobbly camera work. Once again I think I only speak for myself there.

The snail filming exercise, on the other hand, reminded me distinctly of filming at Victory Beach.

The task was to bring to class items from which we could fashion a miniature set for a snail. Once again we were promised wildlife, only this time, in the form of our very own snail.

People brought whole sections of lawn, water sprayers to keep the snails moist under hot lights, Katie even went so far as to construct her snail a miniature house and swimming pool and Mark went for the parking lot look with a 'used' condom and chewing gum wrappers. I decided on a cottage garden setting and brought small flower pots, autumn leaves and had to scrounge around for aged logs and moss covered rocks.

After some serious landscaping on our part, Paul brought out his little bag of snails all hidden in their brown shells. On closer inspection we found that far from hiding, the shells were somewhat lacking. Lacking the snail. In its place we were given Plastercine for fashioning our very own.

The class’s disappointment at receiving a shell minus the snail was surprising short lived. Soon we were engrossed in rolling and shaping and moulding snails of all varieties and races. I thought it rather unfortunately that the choice of Plastercine colours were less than snail like, and so decided that with some extra mixing and mashing I might be able to produce a more life like snail colour. I was even hoping for the added touch of speckles. Sadly, after everyone else had finished creating and I was still trying to get just the right hue I was forced to give up. I did however, manage to give my snail all the correct anatomical appendages. Eyes and feelers!

Jinty was kind enough to take pics of our creations so if you click on the link you can view my rather failed attempt to create, from brightly coloured plastacine, a correctly coloured snail.

10. Janjucetus hunderi

The time has come to reveal my film idea! Mainly because I have to prove my worth and pitch it to the rest of the class.

My pitch is, after some serious blood, sweat and tears over the semester break, complete. However, somehow it just isn't quite the audiovisual bonanza that I envisioned. But given my disastrous computer skills and the serious lack of audio, never mind visuals, available to me it is as audiovisual as it is going to get.

The story revolves around the discovery of a new, never before seen by science, ancient fossil whale called Janjucetus hunderi that lived about 25 million years a ago in the seas off the coast of Australia. The discovery has had a major impact on the understanding of the evolution of baleen whales, which in itself is a fascinating story.

In fact, the fossil is so significant that when it was revealed to the public, in August, it sparked a world wide media frenzy. Al Jezeera even picked it up!


















Artist's impression of Janjucetus hunderi


My connection to the story and thus the reason I got the idea for a doco is that it just so happens that the palaeontologist, Erich Fitzgerald, who discovered Janjucetus was a class mate of mine in Zoology.

I also have a bit of a claim to fame in the Janjucetus affair in that, if I am not wrong, I was the first member of the public to set eyes upon this bizarre toothed mysticete back in 2005 when Erich gave me a sneak preview.

Anyway, given that at last count there was 21,000 references to Janjucetus on Google I will refrain from entering into a long explanation of this ancient whale's story, but I recommend a read.

So there you have it! I’m still a little sketchy on the specifics of the storyline: I could focus on Erich's personal journey of discovery; or take a broader look at the evolution of baleen whales; or maybe a bit of both, but that will come in time. For now I have to wow or rather woo someone into joining me in making the damn thing!