did let you know when she was displeased. She’d shake her head and let out a big sigh. She certainly told us when things were not to her liking or standard. Her standards were high, very high, especially in the areas of cleanliness and hygiene.
If it was my turn to do the dusting, for example, she’d run her index finger over the most inconspicuous place, like the top of a door. If a little dust showed on her finger, I’d have to dust the whole room again, from top to bottom. Similarly with cleaning and clearing the sink, making beds and any other chores. They had to be done perfectly. Of course, these rules applied to all of us, not just me.
If one of us really upset her or made a cruel remark, she’d turn around and walk away. Sometimes I saw tears well up in her eyes. But she never punished us; she left that up to Papa. Mama used to do the same, although she certainly used to tell us what she thought of our behaviour, and sometimes sent us to our rooms.
After Papa arrived home for dinner, one or more of us would be told to join him in the lounge-room. There he passed out whatever punishment he felt was suited to the crime. I dreaded his hands, he smacked hard, very hard, always on the backside, leaving red finger marks.
I found it difficult to bond with Aunty Jos, and her fussiness frustrated me. Sometimes I told her that she couldn’t tell me what to do, or tell her that she was too fussy.
Willie told me years later that she was very angry and hurt after Aunty Jos came. She’d been made responsible for so many things during Mama’s illness and after she died. When Aunty Jos came, she felt she was relegated to being a child again. It was good enough for her to be considered an adult when it had suited Papa.
Ann told me she’d resented Aunty Jos’ role. Ann believed she owed it to Mama to look after Papa and the others in the family. She said she couldn’t understand that, at the age of almost fourteen, she wasn’t considered responsible enough to be in charge. She used to enjoy helping with things, and felt she was denied what she felt should have been her role.
The younger ones took to Aunty Jos quite well and she was extremely patient with them.
Mama used to have a lovely singing voice, and encouraged us all to sing and dance. Mama and Papa met each other whilst both performing in a local amateur musical. Papa also enjoyed singing and could hold a note. Now that Aunty Jos was our housekeeper, we often heard her sing and hum.
Singing was one of the many happy memories I have of my childhood, both before and after Mama died. We sang when doing our chores together, danced around with the tea towel, or grabbed a sibling and just do a jig of some sort. Papa loved having the radio on, and he had a gramophone, but only owned a couple of records. These would be played again and again; we all knew the words of each song backwards.
As a family we made up plays and songs, with Mama’s input and encouragement. Every time an aunt or uncle, Oma or Opa, or of course Mama or Papa celebrated a birthday, you’d think we were the Von Trapp family! All the adults moved their chairs around the room for our performance. We made costumes from newspaper and bits of material. Mama sometimes let us use bed sheets and towels to wrap around each other. She also used to buy crepe paper, and we helped her make our costumes. We’d sing and dance for the family; the adults cheered and clapped, making us feel proud.
For my tenth birthday I’d received a brand new recorder from Mama and Papa. We had a recorder class at school, which I loved. I was able to play a tune from listening to it, and didn’t need sheet music, although we had to learn how to read music as part of this class.
After Aunty Jos came into our family she continued all these family traditions, and actually encouraged them. There was a sense of normality when we practiced together to entertain the family.
That I don’t recall either Mama or Aunty Jos losing their temper with me is amazing, as I was definitely no angel, and probably got into more trouble than all my brothers and sisters put together. I told lies when it suited me, and used to steal some lollies or biscuits. As these were luxuries in our family, Mama and Aunty Jos always knew how many they had. I also occasionally took money from Mama’s purse, maybe five or ten cents.
This was quite a lot of money then, as you could buy two salted liquorice lollies for one cent. I’d go to the corner store and buy my lollies, eating them on the way to school, really savouring them. Once I stole a whole guilder, a small fortune, from brother John. He had raised this through his bob-a-job work for scouts.
Looking back on this I have to laugh at my stupidity. I found the guilder on the floor in the upstairs hall; it must have fallen out of John’s pocket. I went outside for a while then ran back inside.
“Mama, Mama, look what I found outside.”
Mama looked at the guilder in my hand, and started to say something, when, at the same time, John came running downstairs from his bedroom.
“I’ve lost the guilder for scouts,” he cried, tears pouring down his cheeks. He’d worked so hard, doing each job for five cents.
Of course, Mama put two and two together, and came up with four. Mama got the truth out of me, and said she was very disappointed in me, and worried about my dishonest streak. Of course Mama told Papa. He told me years later that they’d been so concerned about me, an appointment had been made to take me to a psychiatrist. However, due to Mama’s illness, this was cancelled, and I never made it to the couch.
“You are our naughtiest child,” Papa said on more than one occasion.
I realise now that I was looking for attention, and I continued these bad habits well into my teens. Subconsciously I didn’t receive the attention I craved. I never stole anything outside the home, although I wasn’t averse to tell a lie to anyone if it got me out of trouble. Negative attention was better than no attention at all.
Margaret told me, “I used to see you get into trouble, and I’d be good, because I was too scared to get into trouble with Papa.”
Papa and Aunty Jos continued our family traditions, and we received our little nightly Saint Nicholas gifts, culminating into the feast of Saint Nicholas on the fifth of December. This was always a big celebration day in our family. A Saint Nicholas procession wound itself through Amsterdam. We’d excitedly stand in the cold outside, enjoying the big floats, bands, clowns and all the Black Piets. And then, last of all, there was Saint Nicholas, on his big white stallion, with his beautiful red mitre, and his golden staff.
In the evening we all joined in singing Saint Nicholas songs, and left the door to the lounge-room ajar. All of a sudden lollies flew through the gap in the door, falling on the floor.
We scrambled to pick up as many lollies as we could, helping the little ones get their share. More songs and more lollies flying through the air. Sometimes one of us would run to the door to see if we could catch Black Piet in the hallway, but he must have always been too quick for us. Even after I had learned there was no real Black Piet, I couldn’t work out how those lollies came through the opening of the door. Sometimes there were even one or two lollies on the floor in the hall, which showed someone must have been there!
When I finally found out I could not believe Papa could be so sneaky! He always sat at the back of the room, behind everyone. As we were all concentrating on the door whilst singing, Papa took a handful of lollies from of one of his pockets, and threw them at the corner near the door.
Of course to us they looked like they came through the door opening and it also explained how sometimes one or two lollies got through that opening, falling in the hall. How he enjoyed fooling everyone, acting out his part with relish.
Papa
