Rescuing a Damsel in Distress

Rescuing a Damsel Distress

Port St Johns’ Long Beach is the beach on the Ferry Point side of the river, the Eastern side of the Umzimvubu River, and it is so named, because it is a good six kilometers long. It stretches from the Umzimvubu river mouth, past Ferry Point, past Porpoise Point, all the way past Agate Terrace, and ends at the headland, which is simply known as the Bluff. It is also wide, with dunes, an indentation in the rock which gets called a cave, some vegetation, a few rocks, which look like black lava; some of the rock formations march from the vegetation down into the sea, creating natural barriers and walls. A natural pool, known as Mermaid’s Pool is hidden within these rocks. There are a lot places that are private and concealed on this beach.

On a quiet Sunday morning, a young 12 year old girl, was walking on Long Beach, with her uncle, when she saw what most young girls don’t ever see: a creature writhing on the sand in the shallows. Her uncle realising what it was, hurriedly pulled her away from the scene, went home, and told a policeman friend what they had seen.

The policeman was indignant, shocked and horrified. He grabbed his binoculars and scanned the beach from his house on the western side of the Umzimvubu River. Indecent exposure! Nudity! Sex! Yes – sex, on the beach! This was something a law upholding citizen could not, and would not tolerate. No Sir! So he mustered his loyal troops together, and directed them to where the miscreants were on the beach.

The troops had to drive a round trip of 10 kilometres on a lousy road, so they didn’t get to the crime scene quickly, which amused the rest of the policeman’s household, as they stood, with their binoculars, trained on the criminals: as they said, in case the state needed witnesses to say under oath what had really happened.

The police got the other side, and then had to trudge for the best part of a mile, over the dunes, to get to the baddies. The baddies were rather surprised to find they had company, unfriendly company at that, and quickly grabbed bits of clothing, so as not to embarrass the police with their nudity.

There was no discussion, the man was placed under arrest for doing things that a 12 year old doesn’t normally get to see. The lady, Loretta was her name – she was sent packing on foot, the law enforcement officers weren’t concerned that she was in the middle of nowhere on her own. Quite typical really- why should they concern themselves with real criminals who might have been loitering in the area?

Benito, the offending man, was taken to jail, and locked up, as it was a Sunday. The next morning he was released on bail, and the case was postponed to a fortnight later.

The little town of Port St Johns was divided about how they felt. The ‘verkramptes’ (Afrikaans for miserable conservatives) were outraged. The happier people thought it hilarious. Some were completely impressed, and made many a joke about Benito’s virility or lack there-of. The most repeated story, was about getting marshmallows into piggy banks.

Friends defended him. No, he’d never do that in public, he was rescuing Loretta. He was giving her mouth to mouth resuscitation. She had nearly drowned, they said, the man is a hero, and should be treated as such.

The story hit the national papers, and friends forwarded news paper cuttings to friends around the world. Friends of Benito’s as far afield as the UK, phoned Port St Johns residents for their version of the story. As the ‘accomplice’s’ surname was Toon, lots of fun was had at her expense; ‘Her name is Loretta? It sounds like a sequel to Peter Rabbit and the Looney Tunes’ said one caller.

The court day arrived, and the accused went before the magistrate. He agreed that he was guilty as charged, but could not agree that he had done anything wrong. It wasn’t his fault that a thoughtless uncle had chosen that particular route for him and his niece’s walk, was it? The magistrate fined him R200.00, and that was promptly paid.

A national news magazine, wanted the exclusive rights to the story, and they sent a journalist down to negotiate a price for the story. Benito was a hard bargainer; other periodicals also wanted the story, and Benito knew it. He played his cards right, and was paid R20 000.00 for the story. Less his fine of R200.00, he had made a very nice profit of R19 800.00 from his pomp, sorry, typo error – romp, on the beach.