The times that gun almost got me into serious trouble were endless, but one of the funnier incidents came when I was sitting on the balcony of a friend’s apartment overlooking Hout Bay. It was late one afternoon and I had left my cigarettes and lighter on the balcony, was as pissed as a fart, coming off the coke and, as usual, as paranoid as ever. It was a roasting hot day and I was nodding off on a sun lounger, when an almighty bang woke me up. I shit myself and thought I was under attack, from whom or for what reason I had no idea. Paranoia took over me completely, and I ran into the bedroom, got my gun and took a kneeling position behind the table ready to return fire … only to see that my fucking cigarette lighter had blown up in the heat! I’ll tell you what – it was incidents like that that got me thinking it was time to get off the powder. I could have opened fire and shot at anyone, given the crazed state of my nut.
A few nights later, we were driving to the strip in K’s open-top convertible when we were held up by a couple in a motor going about 20mph in front of us. We had hot dates waiting in a bar, so K began tooting the horn and flashing his lights, but this old couple took no notice. So I pulled the gun from the glove box and – BOOM – blasted a shot into the sky. K nearly crashed, the car in front sped off and we never saw it again. He went off his nut as the gun should only have been kept in the house for protection purposes.
I kept the shooter in a calf holster and how over that period I never blew my foot off was a mystery. I was off my head on anything and everything and was always messing about with it. It really is a miracle I have still got both my feet and all my toes, and it’s a mystery how I never ended up in jail when I was carrying the thing.
I never realised it, but the drugs and drink had hit me hard and I was a loose cannon. People will say I was always like that but, when I was on the Charlie, I was worse, a lot worse. Things came to a head when I loaned this Kentridge bloke 1,000 Rand – about £100. Kentridge was a black belt in karate and every time I asked him for this money I got nothing back apart from sly comments. I realised he was taking the piss but, despite it being a small amount of cash, I was hell bent on getting it back from him.
The situation came to a head when, one night, I was with a group of friends having a great time. A beautiful girl was sitting next to me, and she began rubbing my leg, before pulling away in shock and blurting out, ‘What the fuck are you doing with that? You’re a footballer … what on earth are you carrying a gun for?’ She was horrified and walked off.
Kentridge then walked past and, sadly for him, it was purely bad timing. The bar was in a busy spot, right opposite a main road and a frequently used footpath. I walked out and saw Kentridge sitting on a window ledge chatting to some mutual friends, so I went over and, for the umpteenth time, asked him for my money. He clearly didn’t give a shit and said, ‘Not got it.’ He then slyly turned away and carried on talking to the crowd.
I’d had enough, so I said to him, ‘How many fucking times have I got to ask you for it? You’re taking the piss.’
Once again, he was blasé and said something like, ‘Not much you can do about it is there? I’m far too quick for you, pal.’
I thought to myself that if we got into a fight, there would only be one winner. With his martial arts expertise, it was not going to be me, so I just turned around, put my leg on a stool and pulled the gun out. In front of all the punters and countless passers-by, I calmly put it about 6in away from Kentridge’s head and said, ‘Now then, Mr Black Belt … you’re not too fucking fast for this, are you? Now where’s my money?’ It was only a hundred quid for fuck’s sake, and there I was, with my finger on an air trigger with the safety catch off, ready to blow his head off for such a pittance. I had reached a new all-time low and this guy’s reaction would no doubt change the course of my life for ever. If he went for me, he was dead, no question about it.
Thank God he didn’t. It was the strangest feeling I had ever experienced. Had a car gone past and beeped its horn, I’d probably have pulled the trigger and blown Kentridge’s head off. He looked at me, horrified, and eased away in total shock, managed to get behind a tree … and was off. To this day, I have never set eyes on him again and never did get my hundred quid back!
The incident was over in less than a minute but it was one that was to change my life for ever. I was one slip of the finger away from committing murder, from a life in prison; I was knocking on the devil’s door, waiting for him to open it. That night, he was out and I escaped a life of hell.
I often get flashbacks of the incident and it horrifies me. Had the police turned up I would still be in jail to this day, but they didn’t, so I put the gun away and went home. I didn’t sleep a wink that night, and the following morning went to Mr K’s and gave him the gun, holster and all the bullets back. I did not want to see, let alone possess a firearm ever again and, thankfully, that has been the case ever since.
I settled back to life at The House of Queens trying to behave myself and keep off the devil’s dandruff, but started getting frequent messages left on the answerphone from an English guy called Steve Bailey. He was calling at all hours and every day for about a week and I began getting in a raging hump with the bloke.
Eventually, I spoke to him and he told me he had been over in South Africa for about a year and ran a football club called Wynberg St Johns, and asked if I’d be interested in signing for them. He explained they were a Second Division outfit playing in the Vodacom League, so I arranged to meet him at a bar on Camps Bay Beach.
It was a great meeting, we had a good chat and got totally annihilated. He seemed to be my type of bloke, so I agreed on my terms to go and have a look round and see if it was something I might be interested in. A month or so later, I went and had a look, and met Steve in the players’ bar where he introduced me to club officials and the players alike but, more importantly, to a lady. We never knew it at the time, but she was destined to become my rock … and Mrs Van Den Hauwe Number Three!
Carolyn de la Cruz worked for a courier company as a rep and knew everyone at the club; she was the daughter of Mr Dennis de la Cruz who became the first Leader of the Opposition in the House of Representatives in the South African Parliament in the mid-1980s during the Apartheid era. We were introduced and, despite her impressive background, I fancied my chances at once but got the knockback and was gutted. Never one to give up, I met her a week or so later and we went for a nice meal but, once again, I got nowhere. So I bought her some flowers – not a bunch or a bouquet, a fucking shop full. I was carrying big money about and wanted to show her and everyone else that I was no beach bum!
I was seeing an English girl at the time and Carolyn knew in a round about way that I was attached to her, probably as the maid at the house had grassed me up. I was glad when it was time for her to return to London; so much so, I went on a bender on the day she was leaving. I hit the whisky and was in a dreadful state; I got so pissed that, when we arrived at the airport, I got out of the car, went to get her bags and collapsed on the road. She had to get me into a taxi and give the driver my address to take me home. I must have had alcohol poisoning, as I was in bed for a few days before I was well enough to collect my car and, for some reason, never saw the English bird again!
With the girl gone and time on my hands, I agreed to help out at the football club where I often met Carolyn and we got on great together. Around this time, I had a fall-out with Kevin at The House of Queens. It was something and nothing, but I ended up telling him to fuck off and he made a big mistake as he jumped up and in true ‘bitch’ fashion pulled my hair. From a kid to this day, I have hated that; all I could think of was the bully Merriman who always pulled my hair as a youngster, so I turned round and smacked Kevin. I should not have done it, but my hair is a no-go area. So he caught one on the jaw and ended up flat out on the living room floor.
I went and packed my bags, but Kevin had decided that I was going nowhere and locked all the doors and even the gates outside which were about 6ft high. I climbed out
of the window, threw my bag over the gate, climbed over after it and said goodbye to The House of Queens. I’d had some great times in that house, it was a superb place to live. I lost count of the amount of women I’d entertained under that roof, but the time was right and I was out of there.
Carolyn had been to The House of Queens, so knew who I was living with and was not too shocked when I phoned and asked if I could stop with her for a few nights. Fortunately, she agreed and, on 7 September 1996, the day of her 34th birthday, I moved in with her and we are still together to this day.
A few nights turned into a few weeks, then into a few months, and eventually we became a proper couple. I still had the odd night out, but Carolyn knew all about my drink and drug issues and was a rock. I gave her a life of hell when I was coming off the drugs and the booze, but she stood by me and helped me through it. Had she turned her back on me, God knows where I would be today, I really hate to think about what may have happened to me had it not been for her.
As I was returning to normal life, there was still the odd punch-up and one cost me a few quid. For some crazy reason, I had bought a diamond earring and was in a club with Steve Bailey when I clocked this fella looking at me. I always remembered Sharpy at Everton forever trying to stop me asking people what they were looking at. He’d say, ‘For fuck’s sake, Pat, you’re a famous footballer. People are bound to look at you!’
However, in Cape Town, I was nobody famous, so I got it into my head that this bloke was looking for trouble. So I walked over and asked him what his problem was. Before I had finished my sentence, he had landed about half-a-dozen punches on me and I was in a heap and my earring was missing! Steve Bailey took me home and Carol said, ‘Why is it that every time you go out you get into trouble?’ I had no answer for her so decided to stay in more often!
Carolyn’s sister was a model and we used to go to events she was appearing at and, at one such show, I bumped into and made my peace with Budgie Byrne. It was at a huge horse racing event called J&B Met. I shook hands with him and we had a good old laugh about the bad old days. When I heard he had died a few years later, I was really happy that I had squared things off with the man. May he rest in peace.
With my head now sorted, we decided to settle down and, in March 1997, we bought our first property in Plumstead, Cape Town. I used the last of my money, which was about 70,000 Rand, for the deposit and played for Wynberg St Johns who were in the Second Division at that time to help pay the mortgage. Later that year, after intense interrogation, I married Carolyn at Home Affairs in Cape Town and we celebrated our marriage with a party on 26 December 1997.
We dabbled in the property market and bought and sold a couple of houses, one of which was stunning, that was paid for when I sold all my Everton and Spurs shirts, as well as other memorabilia in 1999. I got a decent price for them and dealers were pleading with me to sell my medals, but I decided to keep hold of them as they were all I had left from my time in the game. Sadly, it was not long before they, too, went under the hammer.
Things were going well but, in September 2001, Carolyn changed jobs and the struggle started when the companies she worked for changed her contracts. I had finished playing and could not land a coaching job, and I ended up maintaining gardens for family members to earn some money as we could not make the mortgage repayments. My medals were my last hope but, before they could be auctioned, we lost the house, which was really sad as we had worked so hard to keep it and loved living there.
We had to live in rented accommodation for a couple of years but, just before Christmas in 2003, Carolyn was headhunted by another courier company and there was hope for us again. In the new year, I finally managed to sell all my medals and we bought property in De La Haye, Bellville, Cape Town, and settled down to a normal life again.
I dabbled in some media work and was asked by ex-Manchester United ’keeper Gary Bailey and Terry Payne, who hosted a popular TV show, whether I’d like to join them on it. I was offered decent money to appear, but told them to shove it as I had totally fallen out with the game. When I look at the likes of Alan Shearer and Gary Lineker today, and hear what kind of money they command for talking bollocks, I think maybe I was a little too hasty making that decision.
We then embarked on a business venture which cost us everything we owned and almost ruined our lives. In December 2004, Carolyn was approached by family members who managed a very successful costume jewellery business hailing from the UK. She was offered a fantastic salary that, when topped up with the commission structure, was very lucrative. I was also given the opportunity to earn a reasonable wage assisting in the business. No written contract was in place as we ‘trusted’ the family and fell for it big time.
Things were going so well we decided to renovate our property and Carolyn also bought a new vehicle that would help us in the running of the business. We were far too trustworthy as the building contractor conned us out of 100,000 Rand and we could not recover a cent. We did not think we would need to get legal people in when we gave him the money, as he had been recommended to us by family friends. We then had a serious cash-flow problem, so had to tap into Carolyn’s credit card to complete some building work just to get our home to a habitable in condition.
Within a year, Carolyn had increased the business to almost five times the expected amount and that was when the trouble started. She was looking forward to a good commission payout to settle our debts, but the family changed the commission structure that had originally been offered, again verbally. They argued that the payout was deemed too excessive, even though it was correct to the nearest cent. We tried to come to an amicable agreement, but she was told to ‘take or leave’ the new offer that was now laid out in a written contract. This contract was totally contradictory to the original verbal one and it divided the family. Carolyn went into a deep depression, mainly due to the financial struggle we were in, leaving us with no option but to sell our incomplete dream home.
We were forced to approach yet another so-called friend who was in the property selling business and, within 24 hours, he had a buyer. We sold all our household furniture, barring our beds and some personal effects, for approx 100,000 Rand, to get the creditors off our backs, and rented again while the house sale went through. After a few months, we were concerned that we had been given no information from the estate agents regarding a transfer date and we were running short of money to pay the rent.
The rental agent was very understanding and she asked us to obtain the proof of the sale of our property. It was then that we discovered that the estate agent selling our property was running an illegal scam and we were lucky to get our investment back. By this time, the market was in decline and we eventually took a massive knock on the new sale which did not even pay off our mortgage or other debts.
We ended up moving in with a friend who ran a guest house and, as neither of us had jobs, we took to picking up guests from the airport as well as doing some tour guiding in order to earn enough money to pay our way. I had gone from earning thousands a week and from appearing on Match of the Day and in Hello! magazine to running an illegal taxi service and acting as a bogus tour guide in the space of just a few years.
Things picked up when, out of the blue, Carolyn was offered a job by a previous employer and the salary at least covered the rent and small monthly accounts, allowing us to rent a house in a beautiful area. Through all of the above, I have tried to find work and it was very difficult to cope with the stress and frustration. My pension helped each year but I am always looking to find a job offering a steady income. The stress got me to go on heavy drinking binges which almost destroyed my marriage and I am grateful for Carolyn’s love and patience. Amazingly, she stuck with me and we have been married for over 15 years.
Another major plus was when South Africa was given to chance to host the 2010 World Cup finals as, all of a sudden, there were many people from the UK and Europe taking notice of what was going on over here. Within months of the announcement, t
here was a flood of ex-players and football people trying to make inroads within the country. One such person was David Howells, an ex-Spurs team-mate, who, through a friend, asked me for a meeting. I never thought he was good company, so I blanked it, and he returned home telling everyone I was a drug dealer. Thanks!
One person I was happy to hook up with was another ex-team-mate, Trevor Steven, who is a very successful agent in the UK. I have for a couple of years been looking to send local players abroad, but have already been let down badly when I had a great chance of concluding a deal with a British club for a player named Teko Modise. The mandate was not signed by the owner of his club, called Orlando Pirates, which prevented him from moving to the UK. I tried again but was only given five days to get a visa by the UK company, and it was not long enough as the player was on international duty and my first major deal fell through by just one day.
That instance is typical of the way things are over here. It is hard for players to get deals suitable to all parties, because as soon as a club shows an interest in a player, the price seems to escalate. So far, I have not earned a penny from the agency due to red tape and greedy owners in South Africa, despite the profile of the World Cup.
Hopefully, things will change. I will not give up as easily as I did when my playing career went down the pan, as I am determined to repay the faith my wife has shown me and am no longer a quitter. I’m keeping myself active and play for the over 40s and, just two months short of my 50th birthday, suffered Cup heartache once again as we were beaten in a Regional Cup Final. I also do some charity work for an organisation in South Africa that looks after the street children.
Despite being let down badly over here myself, I am always happy to do anybody a good turn … well, almost anybody! I say ‘almost’ as a couple of years ago I was called by a gentleman called Peter Du Toit, the owner of Soccer Laduma, a well-known South African magazine, asking me what I thought of a certain Mr Ozzie Ardiles. It emerged that Ajax Cape Town were thinking of talking to him about a coaching position at the club. After what I told Peter about him, he then called John Clemetre, owner of the interested club, and told him my views on Ardiles … who did not get the job.
Pat Van Den Hauwe Page 19
