Unlike certain political parties, BMW wins from having its history repeat itself
IT’S AN appalling cliché but I really do wish more people would read up on their history. But so much of history’s relevance is in the teaching of it.
I was exceptionally lucky to have a history teacher who had passion for his subject, a real burning sense that the privileged snotbags in front of him needed to understand the course of cause and consequence in the story of civilisation.
Then, as fortune would have it, I spent a highly formative year under the tutelage of the great South African storyteller and historian David Rattray, a man who could paint the most vivid of pictures onto the dry grass of the plain next to Is andlwana, on the slopes of Spionkop, and under a fiery setting sun at Rorke’s Drift.
Julius Malema’s alleged remarks to representatives of AfriForum — that he would do to them what "we did to the Inkatha Freedom Party in 1994", a reference to the Shell House massacre — would suggest that Malema has at least a limited grasp of recent history, but perhaps not of an altogether greater picture. I offer a brief run-through, therefore, of a small slice of English history. It’s a period known to this day as "The Anarchy".
It was really a succession crisis, with early Norman England split among those who would support Stephen, and those who supported his cousin, the Empress Matilda, the only surviving child of the previous king, Henry I. When Henry died in 1135, Stephen, who had also been one of Henry’s barons, hurriedly made for London and was pronounced king, but almost immediately proceeded to make appalling decisions.
He conducted a civil war against Matilda and her supporters, a campaign marked by treachery, back-stabbing and alliances that shifted as the wind blew. He bitterly disappointed those who had supported him, meaning much of the administrative talent, especially Chief Justice Roger of Salisbury and even his own brother, Henry, abandoned him. These people were not replaced, and the king was too focused on the feuding to actually rule.
So factious was his reign, indeed, that King Stephen lost control of his own barons, who proceeded to become the most appalling tyrants to the people they ruled . They unilaterally forced taxes and arbitrary "penalties" on to the people unfortunate enough to be living on their land, and the ever weak Stephen was unable to do anything about it because his position as king was founded on the flimsiest complex of alliances and agreements. His weakness allowed for the flourishing of a voraciously greedy elite known as the "robber barons".
According to Edmund King’s history of the era, this letter from an abbot to a bishop regarding the behaviour of a Norman baron, William de Beauchamp, is typical: "Forty- four measures of threshed corn, which were being carried to meet the needs of our brothers, were seized by him, and our hopes for their recovery have been put off. Besides this we have for a long time been forced to give 3 shillings each month for the needs of his servants, and at each season of the year we have been compelled to plough, sow, and then reap 60 acres of his land. And on top of this, our men have been burdened with daily services and innumerable works, and he has not ceased to pursue and afflict them to the depths of misery."
And, ineffective and useless as he was, Stephen wanted to be king. He apparently saw no purpose in being king other than being king. There was no apparent agenda.
And England suffered terribly as a result of it. "Crist and alle his sayntes slept," said the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle of The Anarchy. "We tholeden xix wintre for ure sinnes" (We suffered 19 winters for our sins).
The 19 Winters, as the period is also known, only came to an end when Stephen died in 1154. As a patch-up, Matilda’s son Henry, a powerful military man, was crowned Henry II, creating the Plantagenet dynasty and ending The Anarchy.
And all of that because one "softe" (to quote the Chronicle), flawed man had a taste for power. In his pursuit of it he was willing to barter the property and prosperity of his own people, to offer it up as a sacrifice to the robber barons that kept his throne secure.
History, you see, is all around us. And when you get into a car, it too is a product of its history, it’s just that when it’s a BMW, as opposed to politics, it’s often not a bad thing to have history repeating itself.
The 5-Series can trace its history all the way back to 1962’s 1500, an elegant thing that brought a spacious four- door car to the BMW driver.
The current version of the Five is, I think, a rather good- looking thing, and I have reviewed it before in these pages, but I have just driven a rather special variant — the 520d. Yes — a 2l diesel 5-Series. There is but one model below it on the hierarchy, the 523i, but honestly, if it were my money, this is the one I’d get.
Because while a 2l diesel might sound as fun as being stuck in a lift with Sicelo de Beauchamp, it’s really fast enough for real life, and being a Five it still comes with that innate BMWishness, that superb steering, that lovely feel transmitted through that overly fat steering wheel. That eight- speed automatic is an absolute gem, too.
It delivers this with simply brilliant fuel economy. With its 70l tank brimmed, and driven sedately, it will drive from Johannesburg to Cape Town on a single tank of diesel. Because it has an official extra-urban consumption figure of just 4,5l /100km. And it’s a 5-Series. It’s simply unbelievably good. In town it’s also excellent.
So, yes, there will be an M5, a supercar in 5-Series clothing. There’s the 530d, which comes with a thumping 3l V6 and more torque than you’d ever need, there’s the 550i and the 535i, all excellent cars. But for me, in my life, I’d have this one. Because it’s a hell of a lot of car, these days, for less than R500000. Honestly, the 520d is a bit of a bargain because it delivers so much while being ever so careful of the resources it burns up. BMW, perhaps, have read their history.
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