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...