take a break to visit John.”
John wasn’t home for Christmas and Dad looks up searching for my reaction, he must see the question in my eyes and continues,
“He is trading for Frasers in Basutoland. Raleqheka is a remote trading store, situated in the Thabo Putsoa Mountain range; the only access is by dirt road or helicopter.”
He looks at me,
“After our visit, you could board the train in Bloemfontein to go south to Cape Town, and we can meander back north to Rhodesia.”
Mum and I look at each other, her eyes shine with excitement, as she says,
“What a good idea, let's leave tomorrow.”
We start planning and packing suitcases, while Dad phones John to see if it suits him and to get directions. Dad says he only plans to be away for five days or so and the farmworkers will be able to care for the ranching activities for that time, there is no danger of fire with the bushveld lush and green. However, we shouldn’t tell anyone how long we will be away so that they are kept on their toes. Mmmmm a silent “why not trust them?”
We set off in the Mercedes packed full of my cases to set up house for the first time. I notice Dad pack a shovel with the usual things: an overall, bottles of water, soap and a towel, in case of a puncture, and although I say nothing I wonder what he has in mind with a shovel.
The roads in Lesotho are all gravel once we pass the capital, Maseru. The summer rains have washed deep trenches in some places; other places are deeply corrugated - so travel is slow, particularly in the mountains where erosion has eaten away at the roads like a giant brontosaurus on a primordial moonscape. Dad comments that it is the result of overgrazing, cattle and goats are the measure of wealth in this country. A couple of times we have to stash rocks in the gaping holes to proceed, the shovel comes in very handy as a lever and to fill in with dirt. We don’t pass another vehicle in the three hours that it takes us to get to Raleqheka from Maseru, a distance of thirty-odd miles.
We arrive just before sunset, John meets us with a firm kiss and a tight squeeze and introduces us to Barbara who had joined him there a couple of months earlier. I hadn’t known that John had a girlfriend, and I am a bit shocked to meet her, as Dad had not said anything about her. I am not sure whether he knew or not, we don’t talk about it. Mum can’t conceal her shock, but she says nothing while we are together, her usual response to a tense situation.
I soon realise how great it is to have the feminine touch and delicious meals, despite the remoteness in the high Basutuland kingdom. I understand John’s need to have companionship and assistance with his quotidian life of buying and selling, far from his accustomed leisures - the joy of playing polo and tennis.
I had felt unsure at the time of asking Barbs how on earth she coped with such remoteness; only an occasional foray on those awful roads; once a month to Maseru to shop. She recently tells me that she loved it and got to know John really well.
As planned, I chug south by train and am met at Cape Town station by Steve and Elsie Smit. The ‘Tygerberg Service Centre for the Aged’ is their brainchild and Steve bubbles with enthusiasm, while Elsie is continually trying to match his passion with action to bring about their dream. I arrive in time for the opening of the Centre. Elsie and I are tasked with taxi-ing the elderly to the Centre from all over the northern suburbs; Bellville, Parow, Durbanville. We use their two elderly chariots (cars) to do so. One is an automatic transmission, with which I have no experience, but it is offered to me as the easier of the two to drive, especially in unfamiliar territory, where I will need to consult the map at intervals.
Oh for the mobile phone and GPS that makes life so much easier nowadays.
The Mayor is present to give his support and Steve makes the inaugural speech. It is lengthy as Steve is known to make the best of a legitimate time to ‘speech’ and the gist of it goes something like this,
“The Tygerberg Service Centre for the Aged is here for your convenience and pleasure. As the years tick by and our children are working, we spend many long hours alone at home. This Centre is here for you. There will be lunch provided daily at a minimal fee, activities such as knitting and sewing, some carpentry, and exercises. Outings will be arranged weekly. We will have a Chiropodist come fortnightly to cut toenails and remove corns. We have our Physiotherapist (moi) for those who are challenged with pain or discomfort or needing rehabilitation from strokes and amputations. Ginn has just come back from Europe and Scandanavia, with all the latest ideas on managing ‘geriatric’ conditions (this word is in vogue and seems to minimalise being elderly or aged). Please feel free to speak to any of us about questions you may have and invite your friends and neighbours to join this state-of-the-art centre.”
Within six months of living in a flat near The Service Centre in Parow, lonely is how I feel; no friendly trees or open spaces to wander and meet other like-minded souls. I bargain with God by putting my intention to love someone who needs loving out there. I find a flat in a small block called Lilford in the leafy southern suburb of Rondebosch and set up a comfortable home for the first time.
It is excellent fun, and Mum sends me the money for my first car, I fancy a Ford Escort and buy one for R1,000, new out of the box in mid-1969.
It almost seems impossible now that we could buy a car for so little; the equivalent of Aus$100 and yet at the time it was much money. I felt very grateful to Mum who never questioned how I spent the money. Afterwards, when I married, I passed the car on to David who was at Helderberg College when I left the Cape.
Dougie, the son of family friends Douglas and Grace Harcombe, moves into the flat next door with his flatmate Johann Fourie. When I’d been about ten, my cousin Claudette joined me by train in Bethlehem, to go to an Adventist seaside youth camp at Anerley, on the south coast of South Africa. We had an exciting ten days together meeting other young people. There’d been four Fourie brothers there, and I had rather fancied one of the twins, Vivienne, who was big and rough with a raucous laugh. He didn’t notice me at all. Then at Helderberg College I had got to know who Johann was, Vivienne’s older brother, but we had nothing in common at the time.
Now we are thrown together as next-door neighbours, and soon I begin to notice Johann. He is fastidious with his belongings and has a wry, cynical sense of humour. One morning we meet in the parking lot where he is cleaning out the boot of his car,
“Hi, how are you?” I venture.
“Sick in bed with a nurse!” he responds, and I think how strange!
But we both chortle and go on our way. The next time we meet, we talk about the comment and seem to find more and more to talk about, until we are going out as a couple. As we sit chatting one day, he mentions that his blood group is O negative, I prick up my ears because I am AB negative and know the complications of pregnancy and childbirth if I marry someone with a rhesus positive blood type.
Maybe this is a sign for me about the right partner?
John and Barbara married in July that year in Pietermaritzburg. The whole family converge; Ian and Irma from Malawi, Mum and Dad with James and David from Rhodesia, and I fly from Cape Town. It is a great wedding feast. Hazel, Enid and Geraldine, Barbara’s beautiful sisters, are bridesmaids, and Ian, with Barbara’s brothers the best men. In fun I say to Mum and Dad,
Before
