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The cablecars were made of wood, were 2.4 m long x 2.1 m wide x 2.2 m high, and large

enough to take a stretcher. A cargo cage usually operated on Fridays taking stores, laundry,
coal etc. up to the Hospital and Sanatorium. The passenger cage could carry the attendant

plus six people and often these were naval ratings heading for the firing range in the Klaver
Valley.

The journey began at the Lower Terminal alongside the Mast House (now part of St. Georges

Church), passed through two intermediate landing stages (one at the Hospital), and finished at

the Upper Terminal near the Sanatorium. The journey was controlled by an electrical control
box within the cage and as each pylon was passed an electrical impulse rang a bell in the

Engine Room at the Hospital Landing Stage where a dial with the numbers of the 17 pylons

round its rim recorded the progress of the cage. A high level of maintenance was achieved
and not a single accident occurred during the more than 20 years of operation between 1904 –

1927.

Early in 1927 the ropeway was closed down, apparently on orders from the Admiralty in
Whitehall, during an economy drive. By this time road connections to the Hospital had been

improved and the new Red Hill Road had been constructed to the plateau. The ropes were

taken down only in 1934 and only the pylons now remain. (Figs. 2.27 & 2.28.) But it was
greatly missed as a quick means of transporting men and materials to the top, particularly at

the times of bush-fires. In 1977 F. P. Chapman lamented the loss of the ropeway:

What a blessing it would be if the Aerial Ropeway could be brought back into
operation for service during Guided Tours and Historical or Festival Weeks. What excitement
and delight to children a ride in the aerial cage would give. Adults would take great pleasure
and enjoyment in the glorious scenery of the mountain up which the smoothly gliding cage
was taking them, along the shore across False Bay to the wide extent of the Hottentots
Holland Mountains. Many and many a sailor and animal lover would eagerly seize the
opportunity to visit the well tended grave there on high in which was buried with full Naval
honours that friend and aid of the ratings about which yarns are swapped wherever
bluejackets forgather, that almost human Great Dane, Able Seaman Just Nuisance.

Chapman, 1977: 116-17.