Old Hermon was the most popular man in town. He was also the fittest and the noisiest. That’s what made him so popular; he was the Bicycling Bugler.
In a time when the train from Cape Town only went so far, the post for residents of Riebeek Kasteel and Riebeek West was left hanging on an old olive tree between the town of Herman and the two Riebeeks.
On Wednesdays, Old Hermon of Herman would be alerted to the mail delivery with a sharp blast from the train’s horn. This would stir him to action. Hermon would hop on his bicycle, bugle holstered at his side, and speed between the towns bugling away. His blaring bugle told the townsfolk that the mail was hanging in the old olive tree. ready to be collected.
The mail was important letters and documents sent from the Castle of Good Hope to farmers; the mail was bitterballen and stroopwafels sent from the Netherlands. But more importantly, the mail was updates from the growing Cape Town community, sent to their country cousins, of all the latest and finest tea houses and coffee shops. When Old Hermon of Herman blew his bugle on mail Wednesdays, it caused a stampede towards the old olive tree.
The wiser residents of the region had long ago copied Old Hermon and invested in bicycles, so on Wednesday mornings early-rising farmers tending to their cattle would be met with the sight of Old Hermon racing away from Riebeek Kasteel with a horde of bicyclists seemingly chasing him down.
But Old Hermon was much loved and appreciated, and in a time when another local resident, Thomas Bain, was blasting open mountain passes to create shorter routes between burgeoning towns, it said much for Hermon’s popularity that he was routinely voted The Riebeeks Citizen of the Year at the annual Festival of Riebeeks.
One day, though, the mail came. Yet there was no bugle to herald its arrival. It sat in the old olive tree for days. The pamphlets for coffee shops started to drift away in the breeze, the bitterballen went unbitten, and the letters of importance from the Castle of Good Hope failed to reach their final destination. Eventually, a group of townsfolk mounted their bicycles and went out in search of Old Hermon. But they found nothing. Not a bicycle trail in the dirt road, nor an abandoned bugle at the roadside, nor any signs of Old Hermon or his beloved bike at his home.
The bicyclists of Riebeek Kasteel and Riebeek West rode for hours on long gravel roads, over mountain passes, past the town of Herman and on towards Wellington and back. It was as if Old Hermon had hopped on his bike and simply pedalled away into the distance.
Every Wednesday the mail still arrived at the old olive tree, and in honour of Old Herman, the same group of bicyclists would ride solemnly to the tree, to gather the mail, but also in the hope that they might catch a glimpse of Old Hermon. Some stopped at the tree and turned back, while others continued on the old dirt road to Wellington before returning home. Old Hermon, his bike, or his bugle was never seen again.
In honour of his services, though, and for igniting a passion for bicycles in the region, the small hamlet of Herman was renamed Hermon, while the old dirt road to Wellington was christened Old Hermon Road. Cyclists can still be seen riding up and down the Old Hermon Road, ever hopeful that the bugle might blare one last time.