Malvern days

When I was about 9 or so my grandparents moved to the houses in Malvern. I looked it up on Google Maps and was so pleased to see that it still looked presentable. The only change being the car port shelter. (Not like the Hillbrow house – That one gave me the heebies). Ma and Pop had the left side house and Aunty Maureen and Uncle Theo had the right side house. The boys stayed with Ma and Pop and the girls slept in the big front room of Aunty Maureen's house. Ma's house was the house for the day time although we often made free of both houses. Jumping over the back wall separating the houses or running out one gate into the other.

Uncle Theo loved to sing "Jerusalem" one year they went on holiday to Durban and in one of the games arcades there was a recording booth and he made a recording of "Jerusalem" for me. It was on a small plastic like platter that one could play like a 78 rpm record.

Aunty Maureen used to use an unusual type of coffee – it was delicious! It was like a coffee essence or a coffee syrup. Most households used ground coffee in a percolator. The percolator would stand on the stove continually, perking the coffee all day. There was always a constant supply of coffee. Later the percolators became electric. In my first years of marriage I was addicted to coffee – drinking something like 12 cups per day. The percolator was kept full and bubbling all day and until we went to bed. By the end of the day the coffee was so strong that the spoon almost stood up in the cup. I have since heard that percolating was very bad for you!

Aunty Maureen and Uncle Theo had Val – my closest cousin in age. I think there were 6 to 8 years between us. I used to sit with her on the veranda – there were no security guard in those days and amuse her!

Bob and I would often go for walk abouts through the neighbourhood. We would explore Malvern. We would walk up Marathon road to the Rhodes Park. We would walk down to Jules Street to the shops. We had a few of the family who also stayed in Malvern. We would walk across to visit my grandmother's sister, Aunty Dolly, stayed in a few blocks away from us. She had a son Brian who was my age so Bob and I often went around to visit her and raise havoc in a new sector of the neighbourhood. She also had 2 other sons, Trevor and Eric who were closer in age to Ken.

Uncle Bill and Aunty Zena stayed a few blocks up from Aunty Dolly so we would often pop in there. Uncle Bill was out at work but Aunty Zena welcomed us. I think she enjoyed having us around as we could help amuse the babies! By this time there were two of them – Richard and Jennifer. I can remember embroidering a bib for Jennifer that I was very proud to give her. I was very fond of Aunty Zena. I thought that Uncle Bill (who I loved!) had found himself a very pretty wife who seemed to love me as much as I loved her. (Michael hadn't made his appearance during those times.

At this time I think Uncle Len and Uncle Doug had both moved out to start their own life. Aunty Joyce was dating Uncle Jimmy and Joan was dating Johnny.

Dancing still surrounded me. Ma would take me to Poppy Frames for lessons so that I wouldn't miss out while I was on holiday – but there were no more visits to the seamstress shop but Dicks still got a look in!

Ken was working or studying at that time. All I can remember about him was that he danced into the house – switched the gramophone on and put on a pile of dance records and danced to the bathroom, closed door, had a bath while humming the songs, danced to his bedroom to get dressed, danced out of the room still putting tie on etc. danced to the kitchen, grabbed some food and danced out the house to his dancing lessons. Ma just shook her head and asked me to pack the records away and switch off the gramophone! It was at dance lessons (I think) that he met Nita. Nita partnered him both on the floor and in life. I was in awe of her but she took me under her wing when she realised my love for dance.  They competed on Durban one year at the City Hall. They took me to the competition. I was enthralled. I have a photo taken of them.

Talking of photos of dancing. Uncle Bill was experimenting with photography and would take photos of me dancing. No colour in those days but he touched up a few to give it colour. These photo and how they arrived soon lead to another passion of mine – taking and developing and printing photos!

Money makes the world go round!

Thanks to all who are following my family saga. I thought it might help you to get the members straight if I publish this "family tree"

My grandparents were very methodical. 2 girls then 2 boys then girl, boy until the 10^th was born. Please note I fitted right in after a boy came me! I once spoke to my grandmother about the large family. I was desperate as an only child to have lots of my own children but she said: "I love every one of them but if I had my time again I wouldn't have so many. It was just too hard." I worked out that the longest gap between kids in nappies came with my birth. Sometimes she must have had 2 in nappies at the same time. She didn't "work" she had enough genuine work at home! But I know that my "only child" life is the richer for the experiences I had in this large family.

I really don't know who came up with the idea. I'm inclining towards Ken (whose eventual job was involved in the stock market) but I really don't remember him taking an active part. We pooled our money and rushed to the local OK bazaars in Hillbrow and bought an ornament. Somehow a shepherdess seems to come to mind! On the Saturday we raffled it. No one was immune - all had to buy a ticket (visitors included!) We made some profit on this. I think we shared some of the profit but put the rest towards our next purchase (a vase I think). Again this was raffled and we split some of the profit etc. I'm not sure if it was now or it was after a few more raffles when the next idea was born. By this time Uncle Bill down to Joan were dating. The date was either movies or dancing. Either way we figured sweets had to be part of the picture so our next purchase was various kinds of sweets. We packaged these and each male (family or suitor) had to buy a pack of sweets before we let them out the door!

Big families! You gotta love them!

My grand father loved to bet on the races. Sometimes he was extremely lucky. When this happened he hid the money around the house. I know that under the claw foot bath was one of his favourite places.

I remember one day he came back from the races looking very glum. When I asked why he said that he had bet on the favourite and it too much money on it so it lost. I don't know if I asked or if he saw my puzzled look or that he decided to have some fun with me (this happened often as I was completely gullible where he was concerned. Pop couldn't possibly tell me lies, I thought!) Anyhow he explained. "You see when a horse has too much money bet on him. He has to carry the jockey as well as all that money." I went away (for months!) with this picture of this poor horse weighted down with jockey and saddle bags of money strapped to him – looking longingly at the finishing post!

A favourite pastime in our family was playing cards (as it was for many in those days). However my family did not just play cards – they gambled! They sometimes gambled until the early hours of the morning. I think they gambled on Fridays and Saturdays but I know they gambled on Sunday nights (What sacrilege!). My poor mother didn't stand a chance! She loves gambling!

I can remember sitting on my grandmother's knee while she played Poker. She would tell me what to card to play. I also kept a close eye on her coins – counting them continuously. My dad used to call me a miser. I was forever counting money. The money in front of my grandmother, the money in my money box. He predicted a moneyed future! Oh dad! Sorry but when I decided to be a teacher all thoughts of a moneyed future went out the door. I still count my money but it is with a horrible sense of disbelieve! "Is this all I have?"

I think this is why gambling was never attractive to me. "This is my money and NO-ONE will take it from me without a good reason – like food!"

When I grew old enough to play cards we would often play a raucous game – I have no idea what it was called or what its aim was but all I can remember is shouting "Black Pop!" because he had to play a black card if he had one!

I learnt all the gambling games very early but the favourites were Poker and 21.

The story goes that my grandparents sometimes played in a poker school with some very rich people. The outcome of one of their sessions was either enough money to buy the semis in Malvern or they actually won the semis. I have no idea if this is true or not maybe someone can enlighten me!

Banket Street in Hillbrow.

My earliest memories were of the house in Banket Street, Hillbrow. (Yeah it was great then!) It was a huge double storey house with a tiny attic at the top. The attic had a window that looked out onto the street. There was an alley way either next to the house or next to our neighbours.

I must have lived there for about three years and we stayed there for our first 2 or 3 Christmas Holidays when we had left the Lynch household. So basically my most impressionable years gained memories from that house.

This section will have no particular structure I am just regurgitating the memories as they arrive!

One Christmas eve my parents were battling to get me in to bed – trying to convince me that I needed to get to sleep before Father Christmas arrived. I was too busy playing outside to bother! When suddenly I heard bells and an open car pulled up at the Hospital at the end of the street and I SAW HIM! I think I broke all speed records to get inside and get to bed!

We loved to hide in the attic. I think Ken had bought a toy snake. We attached some thread to it and one of us would stay downstairs to catch it as it was flung from the attic, hide it by the tree and run inside up to the attic and wait for unsuspecting people to walk past. We would yank the thread and hopefully the snake would slither across the pavement!

I can remember the first phone that we had. It was mounted on the wall outside the lounge. I have an idea it looked something like this (but in black).

With such a large family everyone had their chores. I remember Uncle Bill got up very early to catch a train to work. His job was to stoke up and light the coal stove. It supplied the geyser so the rest of us would have hot water and the stove would be ready to make breakfast.

I think it was Uncle Len who perfected the art of polishing the floors. Armed with a book (or maybe a comic) he would strap the brush to his foot and sit in style, moving as needed, while his foot rotated on the floor.

I was the smallest one in the household so my job was to dust anything that was on a level with me.

The kitchen was the warmest place in the house both in heat and comfort. Ma would reign supreme in her seat at the table at the end furthest end from the stove. It was the family room, anything that was important happened there. As far as I can remember the stove looked likethe one alongside

One day Aunty Joyce and Joan were sitting chatting about shampoos. There was a new one on the market that boasted egg as one of its ingredients. In no time the older boys grabbed some eggs (we kept chickens in the back garden), descended on the girls and gave them an egg shampoo to remember.

The older boys loved to take me for walks when I was little. They did have ulterior motives. I was an immediate attraction for girls who would flock around them to make googly eyes at me and surreptitiously at them! I don't think Ma minded. It was one less child to watch for a time.

Ma and I used to take a tram from Banket Street to the centre of Johannesburg for my dancing lesson with Poppy Frames. Before I went to dancing, Ma made sure that I had a bath and I was nice and clean. The soap of choice was Cuticura. Apparently Poppy Frames would grab me and hug me and say how beautiful I smelt. I loved these outings. I loved dancing and often after dancing we would pop in to my mom's work and watch all the seamstresses at work. Sometimes as well Ma would treat me (and the rest of the young ones) to some Dicks Sweets. Sublime! 

During school holidays we would go to Joubert Park. A whole gang of us would walk there, lose ourselves for a day, lunch on our packed lunches, drink water from the water fountian and walk back home at the end of the day. I loved the park and can remember telling everyone that I wanted to marry a Parkee (Park keeper) so that I could play on the swings all day!

One year I was unfortunate enough to have measles just before Guy Fawkes day. I had to stay in a dark room and keep my itching to myself. I was allowed to peek out of the curtains to see the beautiful fireworks. Isn't it strange, I don't remember the bangs as much as the beauty. We did have big bangs but they were not deafing. Jumping Jacks chased you with little thumps of sound. Catherine Wheels sparked from the tree as the rotated and the rockets were great – not like we have now but still great. Sparklers were always a favourite. Some-one (not sure who) sneaked a sparkler up to my room and let me have fun with it out of the window. Thank you dear uncle (I'm sure it was one of the boys).

There was a huge landing on the top floor with my mom's sewing machine and dummy. There were I think 4 rooms that lead off from the attic. My parents an I shared a room, Aunty Maureen and Uncle Theo had a room and the other two belonged to the kids. This was the scene of my first lesson with roller skates. Bob and Colleen strapped pillows around my middle to protect my butt when I fell. They took it in turns to steer me (not gently as I recall) from one to the other. The girls room was on one side of the landing and the boy's room was on the opposite side and I was supposed to skate on the rollers from one to the other. I have fond memories of butt skating though!

One last memory: all of us being stood in a line in the passage. The doctor had come to visit. He was stationed in the lounge and we were escorted in by the grown up children to receive our inoculations. I can remember standing and waiting with my little sleeve held up - shivering with fright!

Ma always used to make necklaces of a little bag containing a clove of garlic and a block of camphor to ward off the nasties! I can't remember being troubled much with Bronchitis and asthma in those days so maybe there was something in it! I did have eczema though.

Christmas with the Lynch's

My trips to my grandparents happened twice a year – July and December. The July holiday was a solo trip for me but the December trip was a time for our small family to join forces with the Lynch clan. (My grandfather was proud of his very Irish surname!)

Both my parents finished work on the 15^th December and started again round about the 10^th January. So we would get into our car and travel to Jo'burg. The baby Renault was so tiny. My dad had roof racks and the luggage would be piled on top of the car until it looked top heavy. The boot was so tiny that it couldn't take much in the line of luggage and I shared the back seat with the hand luggage and food – the good old South African padkos (literally translated =road food!). I was not a good traveller and Town Hill outside Pietermaritzburg was usually my downfall. As we crested the hill my dad waited for the urgent "Stop the car!" from the back seat. After that it was usually fine straight on to Johannesburg. We usually left at about 4 in the morning so we could get to Jo'burg in the early afternoon. There were picnic spots all the way. It was very safe to stop there and we would stop for lunch as soon as we found a pretty spot.  

In the early days Christmas in the Lynch household was an integrated family affair. All the family were present. The 5 girls and the 5 boys were there together with their various attachments and progeny. The most exciting time leading up to Christmas was the delivery of the liquid refreshments. I don't remember fizzy cold drinks and liquor being in the house at any other time. That was when I developed my love affair with Cream Soda. I found the green liquid exciting and mysterious. I loved the slightly burnt taste that came with the bubbles! As I grew older Joan started dating Johnny and Johnny worked (I think he was a manager) in a liquor store so the liquid deliveries took on a much more personal note!

The next big preparation was the Christmas pudding. Ma had been collecting pennies for ages. These were cleaned and boiled. The Christmas pudding was mixed in a large mixing bowl and each family member had to use the wooden spoon to give it a stir. It was a very hard job when I was little. And then the money was placed in the bowl and the mixture was stirred again. The mixture included brandy (quite a lot as I remember). It was  placed in a cloth bag (washed and put away from last Christmas!) and was boiled in a huge pot. When it was done it hung in the pantry until Christmas day allowing the brandy to do its work!

And then of course there was the Christmas cake. Baked by Pop, layered with marzipan and covered with delicious hard icing (of course the kids hovered to scrape out the cake mixture and later to collect the used icing funnels!)

At the beginning of the day Christmas presents were handed out. A long job with so many people!

Now to the lunch. There was a big table in the dining room (which was never used for the regular family meals – those were served in the kitchen!) This table separated and extra "leaves" were placed in the middle to lengthen the table. The table was festive with Christmas decorations and crackers. Pop's job was to carve the bird and any other cuts. There were vegetables and salads on the table. Lunch was a very noisy affair! I'm not sure how we all fitted in the dining room or if we all fitted there. The pudding was brought in with jugs of custard, some of the jugs inane (for the kids) and some spiked with brandy! There was great excitement if you found one the lucky coins. You had to chew carefully. It would not be good to swallow a tickey (thruppence or three pennies for the uninitiated!)!

Everyone always ate too much and after the table was cleared and the dishes washed a quiet contentment settled over us all – except the kids who always had boundless energy. Toys were there to be played with, cousins (and any aunts and uncles) were there to play with. I don't really remember the ladies doing much after tidying up but the guys were usually ready to play with the kids. Balls were found, cricket bats etc. At the later stages there were so many kids around! I would like to include some memories posted by my cousins (hope you don't mind cuz's!):

From Merryl: Vera, I remember Christmas day at our house was really the best day of the year. The entire family - aunts, uncles, cousins. The games we played; your dad reading the newspaper out loud; my dad and uncles holding the corners of a blanket for a makeshift trampoline as each of us clambered onto the blanket, shrieking with delight as we were suddenly airborne. These times were priceless and precious. I am so thankful for them and the memories.

From Richard: Merryl, how I remember those Christmas days. Best family day of the year at your Mom and Dads house. New clothes for the occasion. I even remember one year where Michael and I wore our new sailor suits. THOSE WERE THE DAYS!"

Afternoon tea saw the cutting of the cake with tea, coffee or cold drink. For supper we had sandwiches made from the left over meat and salads.  Everyone went to bed bloated!

 
The following day was an anticlimax which unfortunately was my birthday. As a child I never had a party. My mom always said nobody wanted to party the day after Christmas. I was also felt sometimes that I was short changed at Christmas. "Merry Christmas, Vera and happy birthday for tomorrow!"  As a child I was disappointed. As an adult I realise that they had probably spent more on the present. Food for my birthday was always left overs! My daughter used to joke "Don't mess with tradition!" I am making up for it now for the last 8 years or so I have insisted on a birthday party!

Me again - hope you're not bored!

I must have been about 8 years old when my Uncle Len came to Durban on holiday with his friend Aubrey. It was my July holidays and mom was a bit worried about me being left alone in the flat for 3 weeks. Uncle Len twisted my parents' arm to allow him to take me back to Jo'burg for the holidays. They would drive me there and I would fly back.

Oh Joy! I was returning to my second home! Back to being the youngest in the huge family. No longer a lonely only child.

(Just a short note: My grandmother was called Ma and my grandfather was called Pop.)

By now my grandparents had moved into 2 semi-detached houses in Malvern. Ma, Pop and all the boys plus Ma's brother stayed in one semi and Aunty Maureen and family and all the girls stayed in the other. What fun running through one gate to the other or climbing over the back wall that separated the two houses.

We were close to the main road and the younger children were often sent to buy the provisions for the day. I can remember buying 6d soup greens and a shilling soup meat. This was a hearty meal for the huge family. I think Ma put everything bar the kitchen sink into the soup. And oh the dumplings!

There was also an Indian gentleman who drove his horse and cart full of vegetables around the suburb. The bartering that would take place was incredible. And the packages left by the horse steamed on the street for hours!

Ma was a wonderful cook and an expert at making meals extend to feed the huge family and most of the time friends of the kids! Pop was a baker and I swear he had magic hands. I have never tasted pies like he could make. I have already mentioned the cakes and the icing.

One of the family's favourite meals was curry. I really don't know how Ma did it. Pop liked it fiery hot and the young ones were still having their palates educated. This magic pot of curry managed to satisfy all curry tastes. I really wish that I had inherited 1/10 of my grandmother's expertise in the kitchen.

The days extended forever. I can remember we played on the street until the sun went down.

My grandfather was an avid gardener. He taught me how to grow carnations and how to prevent the bud from bursting. I wish I had his green fingers. He mostly worked night shift. So we had to be quiet in the house while he slept. When he woke up he would work in the garden. He had a small front garden of flowers that he tended with loving care. The back garden had fruit trees and vegetables.

At the end of the three weeks I was taken to the airport and put on a plane to travel home. My first flight was uneventful and I loved it. There were no attendants for kids and the elderly. We had to just make t on our own. Fortunately security was virtually non-existant and I think I was almost accompanied by family to the plane and my parents were there to help me get my luggage in Durban.

 
This holiday set up a trend. Every July holiday saw me flying to my "other" family until I was twelve and lost the half fare perk. After twelve I was put on a train (in a coupe) and travelled to and from Jo'burg. I really loved the steam train journey (as long as the hot coals stayed out of my eyes). The chug-a-chug was like a lullaby as I drifted off to sleep. The rattle of the compartment door in the morning announced the steward bringing in the coffee. The excitement of watching the scenery whisk past and the swaying motion of the train all added to the romance of the train journey.

You wanted more? Here's me again!

I was a teacher's nightmare in some classes and a teacher's gift in other classes. If I enjoyed your subject I would work my socks off. If I disliked your subject – well let's just say you can lead a horse to water…

My fifth school was a convent – Maris Stella. I was there from Standard two to standard five. We had to wait for our bus to town on the Maris Stella side of the road, only crossing to the Girl's College side once the bus arrived. That did not stop these two elite schools from hurling schoolgirl abuse across the road.

"Green Mambas!" shouted our side – referring to their green uniforms.

"Marie Biscuits!" shouted the college girls – obviously an extremely clever school girl retort! A play on our name and our light beige dresses!

As far as I can remember once on the bus – they kept to themselves and so did we. Our hostility was obviously uncomfortable at close quarters!

For the first few years at Maris Stella we stayed in the centre of town. When we first arrived in Durban my dad's firm put him up in a hotel close to Albert Park. It was a little quiet, residential hotel. It has probably been taken over by who knows who. I used to walk from the bus in what was West Street to McArthur Street. Quite safe for an eight year old! Up to our room and then downstairs to bug the dining room staff. The Indian head waiter took me under his wing and he taught me how to make a swan (and many other shapes) out of a serviette. Unfortunately mine never looked like his and it is an art that is lost in the mists of time.

When my parents arrived "home" we would have dinner and then walk up to West Street, clean, lively West Street and join the throngs window shopping up and down. The weekly treat was to visit the Polar Bar and enjoy an ice cold root beer.

I can't remember how long we stayed there but we were soon moved to the company's block of flats – CTC buildings. Down a dingy but safe (except for the HUGE cockroaches that filled it) passageway. Into a rickety lift to the 6^th floor where we found home – a bachelor flat with an enclosed balcony. The enclosed balcony was my room and my parents shared the pull out sleeper couch with the lounge and diningroom. The kitchen had to be the smallest I had ever seen and a tiny bathroom and loo. But you know what? We were happy!

My dad worked for the OK group who owned the CTC. So dad's work was about 50 steps away from where he stayed. Mom and I caught a bus to work and school.

We still went for walks at night window shopping at Greenacres, the Hub and Stuttafords. When we arrived back at the lane (I have an idea it was called School Lane) my father put me off chocolate logs for life as he compared them to the eviscerated cockroaches in the lane.

Our crowning delight came when dad bought our first car. A baby Renault. It was the cutest, smallest car around. A bit of an oddity as the tiny engine was at the back and the boot in the front. I found two pics on the internet. I'm sure somewhere I have a pic of the little car!

He found a lock up garage near our flat in Pine Street. Our weekends took on another perspective. Dad used to love to get in the car and drive. We'd pick up his mother who lived close by and away we would go.

 

"Where are we going daddy?" I pleaded and he would say "You'll see when we get there." Half the time I don't think he knew where we would end up!

How I became me

I was an only child. I started out as the youngest child in a household of 10 siblings (I made it 11). My mother worked, my dad was in the army and my grandmother brought me up as one of her own. I was lumped together with the 4 youngest children. Joan was 10 years older than me and her job was to watch out for me, Ken was about 8 years older than me and he would spoil me when he thought of it and then he would dive out of the house to do teenage boy things. That left Colleen and Bob. Colleen and Bob were 5 and 4 years older than me. I was a perfect foil for all their crazy schemes. I was too young to say no and I was too cute to get into trouble. If I couldn't get into trouble then they sidestepped the blame nicely. This cosy, crazy household consisted of the 11 kids, my grandmother and grandfather, my aunt's husband, and various uncles and aunts (sometimes with their families) who were in various stages of employment (or rather unemployement!). It was a big double storey house! 

My Mom was the eldest. At some stage in the various christenings the minister told her that she would sew for the family so what happened she got and held down a job with a large Johannesburg sewing company. She was artistic so all the beading of bridal dresses went to her.

She got the artistic flair from my grandfather. He was a baker specialising in confectionary. He made the most wonderful bridal cakes with fine lattice work. We used to watch him with baited breath as the next discarded funnel (he made his own) was passed on to us to tear open and indulge in the delectable icing still hidden in there.

I had knock-knees and the doctor suggested that I learn Ballet so at the ripe old age of three I started ballet and so began my love affair with dance. I did ballet (loved it!), tap (didn't like how things wobbled), modern (loved it) Greek (Loved it) Traditional (Loved it) Spanish (oh wow!). This continued until I was fifteen and then discovered ballroom and Latin! Great stuff!  

When my dad came home from the army he joined this expanding household and set to studying to better himself. He had come from a poor background – his mother couldn't keep the older children so they were sent to a children's home. His education was not much to brag about but his MIND! Oh boy – his mind – his dreams, his aspirations for me stared the minute he became part of my life. At the age of 4 he was reading me mythology's, when I was 6 I had graduated to Charles Dickens – Oliver Twist was my first novel. He read children's books to me, he read classics to me. He challenged my mental powers. He saw that I enjoyed numbers so when travelling we played number games. He introduced me to Trachteburg's speed system of Mathematics – anything that I did not get in school he filled the gap for me. He introduced me to music – modern and classical. We would sit in the lounge while the rest of the household would be in the kitchen. Lights off, eyes closed and lose ourselves in music.

We had to move where his job took us. So at the age of 6 I left my first school in Johannesburg in term 3 and was enrolled in the only school that would take me for one term in Port Elizabeth. It was a bit of a dicey school so at the beginning of the new year I started grade 2 in my third school. True to form my dad's studies got promoted him promoted again and we had to move to Durban. I started my fourth school in the only school that would take me for 1 term. It was again, a bit dicey so at the beginning of the new year I started standard 1 in my fifth school. And yes you can guess it – promotion again in August – back to Johannesburg! Now however my dad dug his heels in. This was not good for me. I was an only child and I was a lonely child and I was becoming very shy and introverted and I battled to make friends. When the firm wouldn't budge he found another job.

I always stayed in a different area to the school I attended so it was hard to make friends and meet for play dates and homework dates. I was also quiet and a dreamer. I don't think many of my classmates could make head or tail of me! I would come home by bus in the afternoon and settle in my room. Homework would be forgotten – the dreamer would take over. Oh the stories I would weave. I would act them out and I would develop dances to them.

Good news!

My novella "Full Circle" is sitting with the editor. I have a book launch date - 27th November at Exclusive books in the Pavillion - Westville:
I am so exited! To whet your appetite here is an extract:

Bandile was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling, his right foot rested on his bent left knee. He aimed his soccer ball at the dull oblong mark on the ceiling. As he looked closer at the ceiling he could see less defined spots surrounding the mark. The more he practiced the better his aim. Lately his aim was getting better so the centre spot was becoming more defined. He took careful aim and threw the ball at the mark. Bullseye! As he caught the ball he aimed and threw it again and again. The monotonous thump, thump, thump had a mesmerising effect. The perspiration was dripping from his face. He knew he should be doing his chores but it was so hot outside and Durban's humidity was killing. He wished they had a pool. If they had a pool he would mow a bit of the lawn, jump into the pool, mow a bit more and cool off again.

"Thump, Thump, Thump" went the ball and Bandile's thoughts travelled back in time to the shack where he had lived with Aunt Patience, Uncle Lunga and mom and dad. There were no roads where they stayed, only dusty pathways. When the winds came dirt and dust swirled around his shack but Aunt Patience and mom had always kept the hut spotless.

The rhythmical thumping of the ball on the ceiling helped to carry Bandile back in time. He could remember sitting outside in the dust playing with his wire car. He couldn't remember who had given it to him but he loved it. The chickens were always very curious, peck pecking away around his feet. Sometimes he got very cross with them but most of the time he just ignored them.

Spring of the mind

Jason was an only child who went everywhere with mother. Adults tended to forget that he was in the room - he was so tiny and quiet. He always sat on the floor partly hidden by his mother's feet. He may have been quiet but his ears and his brain were extremely active. He drank in the stories of neighbours that were being passed around and stored them away for use at sometime in the future. He was a very patient boy.

As he grew older, the adults became more aware of his presence and the gossiping stopped when he was in the room. He became very restless as these stories were savoured by him and now the store was drying up. He tried to eavesdrop at school but found the girls talk very boring – all about hair and make-up. The boys were not much better. Sport, sport, sport. Jason hated sport as he was not at all good at it.

The first year of high school arrived and Jason had his first encounter with a computer. It was love at first sight. He became very fascinated in being able to write code to get the computer to behave just as he wanted. His parents, seeing his interest bought him a computer. He always did his homework first as this was a condition his dad had set and then he would be free to let the computer take him where he wanted.  He visited many places and gained a lot of inconsequential knowledge.

Shining prospects

Andy put his hand into his pocket and drew out the small bundle of money. He counted it for the tenth time. It still added up to the same miserable total. He walked to his car, opened the door got in and plucked up all his courage to return home. Empty handed again. Ella was going to go wild. Whatever had possessed him to get entangled with, let alone get married to such a money grabbing witch?

As he drove slowly home he reflected on his downfall. He had left University top of his economics class. He had fallen into a lush job that seemed made for him with plenty of room for promotion when the time came. He sat at the traffic lights waiting for them to change. He pushed his glasses up; he needed to get them adjusted. They kept on sliding down the bridge of his nose.

He pulled off when the light turned green ignoring the blaring horn of the taxi behind him because he had been a bit slow moving off.

He was one of the bright boys in his accounting firm. Bright boy? Yes. Nerd? Also yes. He should have realised that a stunning beauty like Ella would only be interested in his prospects. He had not wanted to attend that office function but his boss had persuaded him by telling him it was an ideal opportunity to start to make his mark in the company.

He had stood with downcast eyes on the outskirts of the gathering nursing a drink and wishing he was anywhere but there. Suddenly a pungent aroma assailed his nostrils. His downcast eyes picked up the bright red skimpy high heels. As his eyes travelled up they took in the skin hugging crimson skirt accentuating luscious hips, up to the sparkling diamond nestling in a pronounced cleavage, up to a pair of red sensuous slightly parted lips topped by the bluest of blue eyes framed by a tousled mop of auburn hair.

 
The lips parted in a smile. "Hi, my name's Ella!" The sexy, husky voice ensured that he was immediately hooked!

Extract from "Full Circle" (soon to be published)

Bandile inhaled the distinctive smell of the sea. He sat with eyes tightly closed on the soft sand letting the sounds of the waves break into his soul. His fingers curled in the sand. He opened his eyes as he picked up a handful of sand and let it slip slowly through his fingers. He thought of the egg timer in his mother's kitchen. He tried to get the sand to drift through his fingers at the same rate. He watched the falling sand, mesmerised. As his hand emptied he scooped up a new handful and watched it fall. The winter sun warmed his face and body. It was lovely and peaceful here. People were at work and children were sitting behind their desks in classrooms throughout the city.

He was now an outpatient at the hospital. His mom took him on many excursions after his therapy sessions. He turned his head to smile at her. She was getting strong enough now to help him in and out of the chair. His arms were becoming stronger and he was able to support his weight for longer lengths of time. In the beginning his family had taken turns to attend his therapy sessions so that they could learn how to help him and most importantly when to help him but now it was mainly his mom who took him about. He really enjoyed their excursions. The bond between him and his mother had grown. They had always been close but now she seemed able to anticipate his every need, his every want.

He turned to look at the water and watched a little dog bounding at the small waves as they broke on the shore, yapping as he snapped at them. A whistle pierced the air and the dog bounded over to an elderly man clutching a Frisbee. He repeatedly bounced up to try to catch the Frisbee. It was as if he was telling the man "Come on now! Play with me!"

 
The man took the hint and threw the Frisbee. The dog bounded after it, jumped at it and caught it before it hit the ground. Bandile smiled as he watched the dog catch throw after throw. He remembered how bad he had been when he first tried to catch one.

Children's TV.

I am a writer and frequently write about children and teenagers. It is important for me to "keep in touch". One of the best ways to keep in touch is to mingle with kids and teens but watching the programs that are offered on TV helps enormously to see just what they are into and what new jargon is on the scene.

I don't know what kids' TV is like in the rest of the world but there are some things here in South Africa that slap me in the face as I am watching.

I don't know what you would expect to be advertised during ad breaks in a kiddies show. I know that I expect (not necessarily like) ads from fast food joints. We still allow toys with our kiddies meals so maybe an ad to show what toys you can collect. Maybe breakfast cereals or juices or cool electronics.

I do not expect to see insurance ads. But I get them. What child of 10 wants to know which insurance company offers the best deal? What is the ads target audience?

But the worst is the funeral cover ads. Certain population groups in South Africa pay a lot of attention to burials, spending thousands of rands (that they cannot afford) to cover funeral costs. I find these ads boring in the extreme and distasteful as they are aimed at bleeding a section of the population dry so that they can hold up their heads during the funeral. But to air these during a child's viewing time is iniquitous.

Come on SABC. Surely someone in program control can allow our little ones to have a few more years of innocence before they are bombarded by the harsh facts of life. We are a child for such a short time – there is time enough (up to 60 years) when we have to face the realities of life.

Let our children be children.

"Man's inhumanity to man" (Robbie Burns).

Today I am supremely sad. I am a member of the human race but so many other members have lost their humanity.

What is happening in our beautiful country now makes me weep. Alan Paton used up a title that needs to apply again now but in a totally different context. "Cry the beloved Country".

 
Weep for your girls and old women who are being raped and murdered.
Weep for the driver who stops at a traffic light to be mugged through the car window.
Weep for the children who are homeless.
Weep for the children who witness the atrocious death of their parents at the hands of petty thieves.
Weep for the elderly who thought of the future and saved so hard for their old age – only to find that they are surviving on a pittance.
Weep for the elderly who are forced to look after their grandchildren because the parents died of Aids or violence and there is no-one else who can do it.
Weep for the single parent or no parent household.
Weep for the misery that surrounds us.
Weep for the early loss of childhood innocence.
Weep for the child who has to fight temptations previously unknown.

Forget the cheering on of our sports heroes and politicians who so quickly succumb to the pleasures of the flesh, bribery and corruption.
Forget the wealthy stars who pop in to SA for a few days to "make a difference". We live here!

What does it matter that people are forced to go through hardships to entertain huge TV audiences (and eventually win an enormous amount of money). We watch them but try to ignore the real suffering at our feet. Look at the microcosms around us who are trying to maintain human dignity. They reflect part of the true South Africa of the 21^st century.

South Africa – the land of my birth – I am a South African who once was proud to say those words. And now … I weep.

"Deck the halls …"

When I was growing up my grandparents owned Christmas. They were UK traditionalists as far as the party aspect was concerned. My father always complained that this food was not meant to be eaten on a hot South African day.

I have tried to see when the "Christmas in July" tradition started in South Africa. It seems to have just evolved about 15 years ago. One of the Drakensberg resorts seems to be ideally suited as the originator of the idea. A host of restaurants, other resorts were soon offering specials. Personal parties also soon became the fashion. The weather was colder, the food more suited to a winter's celebration. That I can accept.

A short while ago I heard of a "Christmas in August" party. I thought that maybe this was taking things just a bit far until I entered a supermarket on the 2^nd September. As I rounded the corner into the next aisle I was brought up short. I couldn't believe my eyes. There was a display of Christmas crackers. As my eyes travelled up the aisle I saw shelves and shelves of Christmas decoration and Christmas trees. I decided to text a few photos to my daughter. Her comment summed up my reaction to "Christmas in September"!

It was ***puke***!

    

Lose a kg a day

Yep thought that would get your attention!

It's really quite easy IF you are in the wrong place at the wrong time and the 'lurgy likes the look of you. Look I said it was easy I did not say it was pleasant.

Friends said "You must eat." "Can't I just lie here and whither?" were my thoughts. My mother asked if I had Brandy. I said "No and even if I did I would not have it. I don't like it and I don't want it." Her reply was "Sometimes you have to do things you don't like." I am very grateful that she doesn't drive anymore otherwise she would have been pounding on my door ready to force, through my clenched, virtually teetotaller teeth her cure all.

Mind you that might have helped explain the weird dreams. I am convinced that we have lost a top selling surrealist novel. Two of the "dreams/visions" that I do remember involve two gentleman of my acquaintance. Case One - a quiet, unassuming teetotaller turns into a raucous, belligerent drunk. Case Two – a shy, unpretentious guy becomes an obnoxious lout. I see something like a cross between "Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde" and "The Rocky Horror Show". Too bad the world will never see it!

Well day 6 draws to a close. Days 1 and 2 disappeared in murky high fever. Days 3 and 4 had me feeling like a wet sock. The upside is I had lost 4 Kg. Days 5 and 6 had me tottering around achieving little but sleeping lots. Can't wait to see what day 7 has in store!

Thoughts

As the work day was drawing to a close and people were making their way home a sword descended and severed the thread that held 22 people to their life in the Pinetown district. In a matter of seconds thousands of people were affected. Some horrifically so and others held the thought "There but for the grace of God…" in their minds.

I have been touched by a similar tragedy. Only one person was involved but that one was my daughter. It was a long time ago but I can still feel the horror and the sense of helplessness and I can empathise with all who were personally affected yesterday.

Life is tenuous. We need to take every second of every day and live it to the fullest of our capabilities.

 
One of my Facebook friends took a decision at the beginning of September to post something positive each day. Kudos to you, Lorinda. In this vein I would also like to thank all my FB friends who delight me, make me laugh and make me think. You show me that life is wonderful, life is a mystery and life is for living.

I was going to name you all but that would take too long and I would be sure to forget someone. Just know that I love and appreciate your posts!

Lets go back in time to the 80's

Yesterday I posted a cathartic rant. Today I want to laud some young people I know.

I taught at Brettonwood High School during the 1980's. Brettonwood "clientele" were many and varied. The school bordered on the Umbilo drive-in (now the notorious Umbilo park). Our "catchment" area extended from the lower reaches of Umbilo Road, up to Carrington Heights, from Seaview to nearby Glenwood.

It covered terrain housing the affluent to the borderline "just not coping financially".

The smallest family unit was one child, the largest family unit was 18 children.

The population of Brettonwood consisted of the most amazing hodge-podge of talent. There were the sportsman, the artists, the poets, the actors, the musicians, the intellectually gifted and the children who battled to succeed academically. All somehow got on well adopting the "live and let live" philosophy.

The classroom was a pleasant place to be. The kids were naughty (rather mischievous), the homework was often not done, coughs would waft in turn around the class BUT never once did I have to battle for respect. If punishment was handed out it was accepted graciously and was handed in on time. I don't ever remember having the following argument (which happens frequently now)

"Sorry. I won't do it again." Yeah till next time.

"Ah please no." You will do it.

"Can't I do it tomorrow?" No!

"I'll tell my dad." And dad would be at school like a shot to complain about you.

20 years has wrought a huge change.

BUT…

I look at the classes of the 80's and see where they are today. They are all successful men and women in their fields, sharing triumphs of their children.

Brettonwood in the 80's – you gave me some of my happiest teaching years. I relish what you have become and often through your own initiatives.

I salute you!