GOOD LIFE
‘ What ?’ I thought , looking around to see if there were bloodstains seeping through the whitewash . I know that lots of hoteliers and other people in the tourism industry had really suffered through Covid , but surely it wasn ’ t that bad . And that ’ s when he assured me that it was the owner of the farm who had committed suicide a long time ago , but he was a bit vague about the details pointing out only one ‘ clue ’ – an oyster shell embedded in the plaster above the door .
The story was that the son and heir of Pieter Lourens Cloete , who owned the farm , got married . And , on his wedding day , he offered his bride a large oyster taken from the nearby rocks . As one does .
However , it backfired because she choked on it . Sadly , Henry Heimlich had not yet been born , let alone had time to finish medical school and perfect his eponymous manoeuvre . So the poor lass died , and her brand new hubby was so traumatised he blew his brains out – in the house , just inside the front door . Really ! When he had the whole farm to choose from and could have done it outside like any considerate person would have . The mess must have been horrendous . And then – okay , not sure if this was before or after he died – he plastered the oyster shell into the wall outside the door . Maybe his dad did it , but what a macabre memento .
It ’ s a nice story , but it seemed too pat , too convenient . So I started sleuthing . And that ’ s when I discovered that history – any history – is pretty much all fiction . I scoured the hotel ’ s small library and found a book that showed a photograph of the manor house taken long after the supposed event , and – there was no oyster shell above the door ! And , most suspicious of all , there was no actual record of this ever having happened , so , clearly , it was all a made-up story .
Or was it ? Trawling through a long list of previous owners of the farm , I found that one of the Pieter Lourens Cloetes ( there were at least two ) sold the farm on auction in 1849 , a mere 12 years after inheriting it from – you guessed it – Pieter Lourens Cloete . He ’ d been born in 1803 , so he was only 46 years old , and he died in 1884 , so he must have been in pretty good shape in 1849 – as was the farm . The auction notice lists buildings ( including the manor house ), farm equipment and lots of livestock including merino sheep , a number of thoroughbred brood mares and – strangely but specifically – a ‘ magnificent ass ’. Now why would a healthy 46-year-old sell a profitable farm after only owning it for 12 years ?
So I channelled my inner Angela and ‘ solved ’ the problem . Obviously , the traumatised bridegroom was the son of Pieter
Lourens . I did the sums and , knowing that people got married quite young in those days , figured he ’ d got married in his twenties and could easily have a son in his twenties , so it all made sense . Obviously , after the death of his son and heir , Pieter Cloete lost all hope and sold the farm . I had solved it . Case closed !
Next morning we headed down to the beach where the treacherous oyster had been collected , and took a lovely low-tide stroll examining rock pools , generally enjoying the view and looking out for dolphins . At breakfast , I basked in my success at cracking this cold case of note .
63 O F I N T E R E S T