The last time I set foot in South Africa, my arrival was pre-empted by ten days of intense anxiety off the African coast. I was a Charge Chief Petty Officer serving aboard HMS Chatham, a Type 22 frigate, coming off back-to-back nine-month deployments in the Persian Gulf. We had patrolled the Straits of Hormuz and made port calls across the Middle East and North Africa—Dubai, Bahrain, Salalah, Jordan, and Egypt—before our journey down the West Coast to South Africa took a dangerous detour.
En route, Chatham was task-organised for a high-stakes evacuation operation. Our target refuelling and staging point was Pointe-Noire near the mouth of the Congo River. In preparation, my aircraft were stripped of their sonar capabilities and reconfigured entirely for troop transport and evacuation roles. We even fitted General Purpose Machine Guns (GPMGs) to the aircraft just in case we came under fire, with a plan to launch my ten-ton Sea King helicopter (number 515) as a forward operating base once the ship navigated inland.
The tension aboard was palpable. Naval Command sent daily signals warning us to "Remember the Amethyst"—a stark reminder of HMS Amethyst, the frigate trapped under fire in the Yangtze River in 1949. After 24 years in "this man’s navy" (1976–2000), real fear set in. Issued Kevlar gear and pumped full of heavy-dose malaria tablets—which gave me symptoms straight out of a Pepto-Bismol advert—I sat down and wrote the hardest letter of my life to my wife and two children, saying I loved them in case I didn't make it home.
For ten days we waited, conducting regular gun drills (live shooting practice) off the bows of the frigate to stay sharp. Then came the word: diplomatic entry into Pointe-Noire was refused, the role was stood down, and everything went back to normal. The relief for me and my lads was overwhelming. Naturally, for the aircrew, there was a touch of disappointment at missing out on campaign medals, but for those of us with families on our minds, we were just glad to be coming home.
To keep morale up after events that had scared the living daylights out of us, the First Lieutenant spent three days out in the ship's Gemini—the Navy's small rubber inflatable boat—shouting instructions back to the ship to perfect our ceremonial alignment. We lined up along the starboard side to practise "Three Cheers", shouting "3 cheers to the Nissan Main Dealer!" off-caps to keep everyone smiling.
It all paid off as we sailed past Nelson Mandela’s yacht. Giving three genuine "Hurrahs" to a man who had endured 27 years of imprisonment on Robben Island before leading his nation to freedom was an absolute honour. Later, marching through Cape Town in our tropical dress whites with the field gun—executing an "Eyes Right" in salute to the great man—remains one of the proudest moments of my naval career.
Fast Forward to Cape Town Today
This time around, the holiday was a much calmer four days. Teresa and I arrived on Friday, 18th September 2026, for our stay at Southern Sun The Cullinan on Cullinan Street in the heart of the city centre. The hotel itself was well organised, the staff were properly drilled for a luxury establishment, and the bar quickly became our haven for the evenings.
The pre-paid dinner, however, was a bit of a shambles. We all sat together wondering what was happening, having to pay for our own wine, when suddenly a massive herd of people stampeded through the dining area. It was like watching a pack of wildebeest descending on a waterhole during the Great Migration—pure feral chaos. That brief ordeal was enough to convince us that we wouldn't be eating in the main dining room again for the rest of the stay!
Instead, we spent our time down at the V&A Waterfront or relaxed in the hotel bar, where the food was straightforward and easy-going. Best of all was the company of the regulars at the bar, particularly "I'll have one more beer" Francis. Sharing stories and drinks with that group made for a fantastic stay—a world away from the tension of 2000.
Table Mountain, Orange Shirts, and the Signal Hill Rescue
During those four days before our departure, Michael—still the steadfast leader of our motley crew—took us on an orientation tour of Cape Town, finishing up at Table Mountain in the afternoon.
However, when we arrived, the queues were absolutely enormous. To make matters worse, we were swamped by relentless clouds of midges and flies. They swarmed anyone wearing bright colours—orange in particular seemed to be an all-you-can-eat buffet for them—and they had a bizarre attraction to silver hair, which, let's be honest, covered about 90% of our Great 23! Standing around being eaten alive in a snail-paced queue was enough to break anyone's resolve. Michael wisely called time on the attempt, deciding we could tackle Table Mountain much better at "early o'clock" on Tuesday, the day of our departure.
Instead, we detoured up to Signal Hill to check out the paragliding launch area. We grabbed some rum and raisin ice creams from the back of a versatile local vendor's van—the kind of trusty vehicle that sold everything from ice cream to burgers and chips—and prepared to head back to the hotel.
But there was a short time for a few photos, perhaps and a break from the coach:
That was when our driver, Sorbelo, noticed an issue with the bus hydraulics. We all dutifully piled off again while it was checked out. "Okay, all back on!" shouted Michael once the coast was clear.
Off we drove down the winding road, with Michael in full flow mid-anecdote about Dante's Peak, when a phone rang loudly, interrupting his story. Ring, ring. "Adrian and Hazel aren't on the bus!"
It was the one and only time Michael hadn't done a head count before setting off. Sorbelo pulled the bus over down the road, and Michael sprinted back like a shepherd retrieving his stray sheep from the hillside to gather his flock.
Kirstenbosch Gardens and Chapman's Peak
Another highlight of our time was a visit to the world-renowned Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden. Nestled directly against the eastern slopes of Table Mountain, it’s a breath-taking expanse of lush green lawns, soaring native trees, and endless vibrant blooms of indigenous fynbos and proteas. Walking along the canopy walkway—affectionately known as the "Boomslang" (Tree Snake)—offered incredible panoramic views across the gardens and the dramatic mountain backdrop.
After immersing ourselves in the tranquil flora of Kirstenbosch, we boarded the bus once more and set off along the sweeping, spectacular coastal curves of Chapman's Peak Drive.
Baboons, Naval Dogs, and the Cape Peninsula
As we wound along the Peninsula, Michael mentioned that local political protests were quite common in these parts. Almost on cue, as if summoned by magic, we drove right into one! On one side of the road was a passionate, sign-waving crowd advocating pro-baboon rights on their native land; directly opposite them stood a rival group demanding the baboons be evicted and relocated elsewhere. It was classic South African flair—lively, unfiltered, and uniquely local.
We continued via False Bay toward Simon’s Town. I would have loved to stop and pay my respects to Able Seaman Just Nuisance, the famous Great Dane who remains the only dog officially enlisted in the Royal Navy. Back in WWII, he was given naval rank so the Navy could legally pay for his train fares, allowing him to escort drunk sailors safely back to their barracks in Simon's Town. When he died in 1944, he was buried with full naval honours.
Unfortunately, time was against us and Michael pushed us onward to the Cape of Good Hope. Upon arrival, the famous Flying Dutchman Funicular was completely out of action, forcing everyone onto shuttle buses to reach the lighthouse viewpoint. To top it off, a wave of government employees decided to take their lunch break all at once, halting the shuttle returns down the hill and delaying us for our 12:30pm booking at the Black Marlin Restaurant.
By the time we finally reached Boulders Beach for a late 3pm lunch near the penguin colony, the atmosphere was buzzing. African kids were singing and dancing in the streets while hundreds of African Penguins were braying like donkeys ("hee-hawing" across the sand) and waddling across the beach—some even venturing right out into the car park to greet us!
Upon returning to The Cullinan, we took the hotel courtesy bus over to the V&A Waterfront for a evening hike around the harbour, enjoying cocktails in the bustling restaurant arena before heading back for a nightcap and a good night's sleep.
A 65th Birthday to Remember in Wine Country
The 21st of September was the true event of our year: Teresa turned 65! With two years still to go until official retirement, we were set up for a birthday wine tour to remember. While the rest of the group set off whale watching, six of us opted for a intimate day out in South Africa's premier wine country.
It turned out to be a absolute "whale of a time" across Stellenbosch and Franschhoek! We visited historic cellars like Rickety Bridge Winery, sampling fine vintages, learning about the wine-making process, and sharing lunch with lovely new companions, which comprised of and Italian newlyweds on Honeymoon and off to the Seychelles the day after and a Dutch couple who were social workers on their final South African tour. Our guide, Dillon, kept us thoroughly entertained with fascinating stories of township life as he drove us through the magnificent valley scenery and at every stop on the tour including breakfast that day, Teresa got serenaded with "happy birthday to you" sung in Afrikaans and received a slice of cake too at each juncture!
On our way back, we stopped in Stellenbosch itself and paid a visit to Drakenstein Correctional Centre (formerly Victor Verster Prison)—the very prison where Nelson Mandela spent his final fourteen months of incarceration before making his iconic "Long Walk to Freedom" through the gates in February 1990. Standing at that gate brought my 24-year naval memories full circle. Others in our party had decided to visit Robben Island earlier during our stay in Cape Town, but looking at it on the itinerary, it simply didn't appeal to us—having already seen Robben Island from the deck of HMS Chatham in 2000, and knowing the grim history of heavy incarceration, I preferred to remember Mandela’s journey through the lens of his freedom at Drakenstein instead.
Farewell South Africa
This unforgettable tour with Saga drew to a perfect close on Tuesday, 22nd September. Bright and early, we finally conquered Table Mountain—this time with no queues, no flies, and crystal-clear skies overlooking the Atlantic.
After returning to The Cullinan, Teresa and I relaxed at the hotel—including a bargain £18 manicure and pedicure—before our late afternoon transfer to Cape Town Airport. Our 18:50 direct British Airways flight carried us back through the night. Following 11 hours and 40 minutes in the air (with just enough turbulence to keep us on our toes), we touched down at Heathrow at 05:30 on Wednesday morning. Customs was smooth sailing, our luggage arrived promptly, and our chauffeur Abdul was waiting to escort us safely back home.
Looking back, Cape Town has always held a mirror to my life. Twenty-six years ago, I stood on these shores as a sailor in uniform, scared of what lay ahead along the West Coast of Africa. Returning as a civilian with Teresa, surrounded by good wine, great new friends, and quiet peace, I realised that the choppy seas of the past had simply carved out the calm waters I enjoy today. The Grey Funnel Line brought me here first, but love and time brought me back.
POEM
Our South African Holiday (10/9 – 23/9)
The rising sun around mountain peaks,
Viewing rolling hills from aching seats.
Ten hours here, ten hours there,
Through winding roads for all to share.
Mdluli lodges, safari guides,
Rhinos, zebras and lion prides.
Then coach, hotel, boat, another seat!
For “Featherbed” walking and aching feet.
Ostrich masseurs take up the feed,
Hands off Betsy, she’s not there to breed!
Cape Town looms through the African skies,
In the Table Mountain queues, surrounded by flies.
Of best laid plans, then we hear Saga Mike say:
“Let’s call this off folks, it’s a waste of a day!”
So it’s back to our seats, for a bus tour again,
But Rita’s on the long drop, bus hydraulics in pain.
Moving off, it’s story time, (Van Hunks’ pipe in a devil’s mind?)
Then, whoops no Adrian and Hazel — we’ve left them behind!
An impromptu stop, god knows why?
I’m going back to the hotel to lay down and die.
Oh well, the sunshine is warm, the water is cool,
And Spurs lose again, whilst I lay by the pool!
Pass me a Pinot and pour out the wine,
Apart from my bottom, I’m feeling divine.
Onward to Boulders, where penguins all bray,
And baboon protestors block up the way!
Through Chapman’s Peak curves and the Good Hope delay,
A wild herd of diners ruins buffet today!
So it’s off to the bar for a well-earned cold draft,
With “One More Beer” Francis, where we drank and we laughed.
For Teresa’s sixty-fifth, a wine tour was planned,
Sampling fine vintages across Stellenbosch land.
A wave to old Mandela at the prison gate wall,
Then Table Mountain at last, with no flies at all!
One final flight home through the night-clouded air,
To Abdul awaiting with driver-seat care.
From the Grey Funnel Line to the calm Southern Sun,
A journey of memories, second to none!
#HandsOffBetsy # Bone Crusher # Francis "one more beer"
