Borrow Street Bath
Borrow Street Bath
5 - 14 December 2014. 6th Edition of the African Union Sports Council (AUSC) Region 5 Under 20 Youth Games to be held in Bulawayo City, Zimbabwe. Swimming events were held in the Borrow Street pool.
Borrow Street Poolo - Bulawayo
1968 Rhodesian swimming championships in the Borrow street pool, Bulawayo. Mr. Lou Meal - father of Rhodesian swimmers Christine and Lewis Meal - was the pool superintendent for many years. Click here for a collection of Borrow street photos.
Bulawayo's Borrow Street swimming pool
6/7/2013 - by Melville SheasbyThe Borrow Street swimming bath (pool to those in the USA) was a gem situated near Bulawayo city’s center and available for a very low entrance charge. As kids we would go and swim a couple of times a week,riding there on our bikes which we parked under the pine trees in front of the pool’s admin building. It was always a large pool, surrounded by a sandstone pavement and then a series of terraced lawns. It was ultimately upgraded to Olympic standards, 25 x 50 meters. It was a place for groups of kids to meet and enjoy one another’s company while checking out each others’ bods! We all acquired healthy tans and, sometimes, a serious burn.
As an adult there was a time when I was able to spend part of each lunch hour relaxing at the pool and focusing on a leisurely swim. I eventually trained myself to swim the length underwater without snorkel or fins – probably not such a great feat, but it kept me fit in a way. As part of my first aid training I also took a lifesaving course at the pool, taught by the pool supervisor.
Borrow Street Bath, 1927
Grey High School tour of Rhodesia - 1976, with Paul Einstein and Mark Edge.
THE BORROW STREET SWIMMING POOL
24 October 2006 - Many of Bulawayo's Baby Boomers will remember the legendary Borrow Street Swimming Pool. It was indeed the focus of our young lives as children in Bulawayo in the forties, fifties, sixties and seventies.
Remember that amazing tang of chlorine that pumped out of that massive filtration system at the back of the pool grounds. Remember the tall tall trees that housed those smelly herons who pooped on your swimming towel ?
Remember those red, blue and yellow change room doors, row upon row of them, all painted with brilliant gloss paint. These were forbidden to us all until we reached sixteen I think it was, maybe thirteen, and only then were you privileged to use them Until then you had to contend with the communal change rooms at the far end of the change room block. Remember those eternally wet floors, always soaking as we raced in and out with the zest of childhood to collect whatever we needed from the cubicles. They were tiny cubicles with but a hook on the back of the door and a slatted bench the width of the cubicle. At one time we were allowed keys to the cubicles but as sanctions hit us and keys became costly, we had to search for the enormous change room attendant, who would begrudgingly slop along and open the door for us.
My own personal love affair with Borrow Street pool began when, as Coghlan Infant School Children, we would line up in pairs in a long plumbago blue crocodile, and walk the four blocks to the pool for swimming lessons..... And then as we became fully fledged swimmers, Mom would allow Gavin and I to go to the pool ON OUR OWN !! Hours, days, weeks, months were spent in teeth chattering bliss from the very first day of September every year until the end of April.
The school holidays were sheer bliss, we would form a rowdy queue outside those turnstiles, armed with the tickey to get in and one and six for a coke and packet of crisps. It was there that we fell in love with those pink marshmallow fish and those yellow soft candy bananas. It was there that we used to much on those long liquorice sticks or those liquorice rulers that you could wrap around your finger and watch them go black.
After three hours of swimming until one's fingers went white and wrinkly, we would flop down on those deliciously warm brown sandstone blocks, cover ourselves entirely with our swimming towels, and with teeth chattering furiously, would warm ourselves up with anecdotes and sun, until it was time to go back in the pool again.
Marco Polo was a favourite game, diving off the one meter and three met boards was just the most exciting thing you could ever do, and there was always a senior at the bottom of the boards to ensure law and order was maintained. The kiosk was heaven, coke floats, ice cream, those little black shiny balls that would last for at least an hour if you sucked on them slowly, and those giant yellow balls that would not quite fit in your mouth and were oh so chewable.
The baby Pool was quite a new addition and was reserved for the under sixes. But when the superintendent was not looking you could sometimes sneak in and belly crawl from one end to the other to get warm. The Superintendents name was Mr Meal and my memory served me right his son Louis took over for a while. Remember we used to get chased out though during the lunch hour so the nice people could sun themselves in peace and quiet. Then we could go back at about three when the sun was not so fierce.
Of course the piece de resistance was when they had "night swimming" during the very hot season. That was absolute bliss, nothing will ever feel as magic as those special balmy Rhodesian evenings ever ever again.
I have posted some pictures on the website of the Borrow Street Pool. http://www.morningmirror.africanherd.com Unfortunately the pool was being emptied for maintenance so I missed that wonderfully exciting chlorine smell, but I will go back again soon, take some more pics, and relive those ecstatically happy childhood memories. http://www.morningmirror.africanherd.com/articles/swimmingpool.htm
The Swimming Pool.
By Claude
I would slowly walk down from Abercorn Street towards Borrow Street, rolled towel tucked under my arm, floppy hat firmly on my head and the sun on my back, the long walk gave me time to enjoy the sights and sounds of my little word.
The huge hibiscus flowers, with their sweet centres, brushing against my sleeve, disturbing the bees feeding inside them. The lawns all trimmed and brown, with the ever present stream of little ants running along the side of the red, polished verandas, and the occasional cooling spray from a sprinkler set too close to the road.
Smiling Africans would go past on their black bicycles, their bells jingling with every bump. Occasionally, a dog would come rushing up to the gate, barking furiously behind the "Pasopa Lo Inja" sign. The cars would zoom past, and I would read the same stickers on their boots as they slowed for the huge "bumps" in the road. "Don't Drive Rhodesia Dry", "STP", "Rhodesia is Super" or "Chipingali Wildlife Orphanage" would repeatedly flash at me, the little dogs would nod from their back parcel shelf, whilst orange balls waved furiously from the top of the car aerials.
Arriving at the gate, I would patiently wait in the queue for three o'clock. The pool closed between twelve and three, which I always thought strange, as that was the hottest part of the day. Finally, the gate would open, and we would all hand over our five cents and go through the squeaky turnstile, to the paradise on the other side.
I would stand at the top of the stairs, the pool in front of me, the tuck-shop to my left, and survey my playground. The little "baby's pool' immediately in front of me, with the huge main pool behind it, the big diving board standing frighteningly tall at the far end. Palm trees rustled in the light breeze as they flanked both sides of the pool, and the large lawns beckoned at the back, waiting for a friendly football match between the "skins" and "shirts".
A quick run to the changing rooms, all my stuff packed tightly into a wire basket, and with my token, watch and money safely in my folded hat, I would make my way to "our "tree, where my friends were already waiting. With a loud "Geronimo" war cry, we would all race for the pool, and dive into its welcoming coolness.
So much to do, so much to smile about. The diving boards, then a few bombs near some squealing girls, a playfight on a tractor tube, diving to retrieve a few pennies, then back on the grass, to lie in the sun and drink a Hubbly-Bubbly, eat some piri-piri chips, or perhaps a pink fish or niggerball.
First Swim
By Lorraine
Who could EVER forget the brilliant colour of the water as you went through that squeaky turnstyle. I can still remember the very first time I was taken to the Baths. We moved to Bulawayo in November 1948 when I was only just five years of age and we went to live with my grandparents in Parkmount Flats, Borrow Street.
One afternoon, shortly after we arrived, my older cousins, Inez and Mary came to visit and they asked my mother if they could take me swimming with them. I remember I hadn't a clue what 'swimming' was, but they assured me I would have a lot of fun, so off we set. I had been to the seaside and to Warm Baths, so I did have a cozi, but that hadn't been called 'swimming'!!
We walked along Borrow Street, trying to keep in the shade of the trees as it was a burningly hot afternoon and all the time my excitement was growing and growing as we got nearer and nearer the pool. My cousins had to keep a tight hold of my hands as I skipped along and then, we finally arrived at the Pool.
The entrance fee was paid and we were through those squeaky, silver turnstyles. What absolute MAGIC!! I just stood there totally entranced. I had never before seen water with such a wonderful colour. Inez had to drag me along the grassy terraces to the changing rooms on the left hand side of the pool, otherwise I would have stood there all afternoon. There was no babies pool then, so I was taken into the main pool and I must confess to feeling quite a bit frightened at first. However, it didn't take me long before I was having the time of my life and it took a great deal of persuasion to get me out the water again.
It was only the promise of a toffee apple or a pink marshmallow fish from the tea room some time later that finally got me out. The floor of the tea room was the ubiquitous red cement, freezing cold to my feet and dripping wet from all the children dashing from the pool to buy something to eat. I vividly remember a whole group of red-eyed, sopping wet little boys, hair plastered to their scalps, standing in front of me, all wanting pink fish, or yellow bananas, or packets of sherbert with a liquorice straw etc.
Going home later that afternoon, I was so tired, I could hardly drag one foot after the other and my cousins took it in turns to carry me home."
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