Road Trip. Port Elizabeth. More History, Part Two

Every hour, half hour and quarter hour, we could hear the deep gong of the Campanile. It houses a carillon of 23 bells and was completed in 1923 to commemorate the centenary of the landing of the 1820 settlers.

Castle Hill street almost runs into Bird Street and we continued until we came to Trinder Square, originally a wide vlei used for watering cattle and horses. It was drained, filled in and surrounded by iron railings in 1883 and is today used as a playground for children.

What impressed me was the building housing public toilets and an office for security guards. One asked me if I needed the toilet (which I did) and gave me a roll of toilet paper. The toilets were clean inside and everything worked. Maybe this is the answer for vagrant infested parks in Johannesburg:- a couple of security guards on duty - although, as Brian pointed out, they hadn't done anything about the litter that accumulated around the edges of the park.

Opposite Trinder Square is Port Elizabeth/St George's Club, the first gentleman's club in the town.

The wild fig tree, which originated in Australia and stands at its entrance, is reputed to be well over 100 years old.

Brian particularly wanted to see St John's Methodist Church in Havelock Street because his grandfather was the minister there in the time of his father's youth. First we passed Holy Trinity Anglican church which took up a whole block.

In 1854 dissident members left St Mary's congregation to start their own church. The first minister, Rev W A Robinson, arrived in 1857 and the present church was built in 1866. In 1897 the church was burned down by a mentally deranged woman, only the walls, spire and tower remaining intact, but was rebuilt according to the design of William White-Cooper.

When we got to St John's Methodist Church, a funeral party was just leaving the church so any thoughts of having a peek inside were shelved.

The hall looked modern with automated sliding glass doors through which we could see the tea laid out for the funeral.

In stark contrast, on the other side of the road was a small, dingy cafe of sorts with heavy bars over its opening. By now we were thirsty and looking for something to drink. The foreign woman inside conducted business through the bars. It just brought home again the anomaly of Port Elizabeth. The old houses we had been directed to had been restored. Plenty of others had not and were falling apart. Havelock Street itself seemed to be flat land. It reminded me a lot of Windsor East near where we live.

We made our way back to the Donkin, were denied entrance to the Grey Institute, and went back to our car.