Cigarette cards

Dad and Ma smoked very heavily, three packets a day (60). Of course in those days there wasn't the sort of advertising we have today, so it was never even thought of as being a medical urgency. Dad started as soon as he became an usher at the local bio and these fags eventually killed him. In those days you would collect cigarette cards with each packet and this he did, carefully sorting and filing them away in boxes, and very proud of them he was too. We have these cards to this very day.

Lucky Dip

I love the story of how Ma and Dad eventually got together. Dad used to visit her step-brothers and he once told her he was going to marry her some day. She just sneeered at him because he was a lowly usher in a lowly bioscope, with low wages and even less prospects. His eldest brother, Jack, had paid for him to do a plumbing apprenticeship, but he was lazy and unmotivated and never completed it-thus ending up at the local bio. She was a bookkeeper by then and highly efficient, earning well with high ambitions. Ma was dating Karl, a mature man of 35, (she was in her mid-twenties), but supposedly not 'in love' with him. She was a very big woman and already on the 'shelf', so probably saw Karl as her 'last chance'. One evening they both arrived with engagement rings, asking her to marry them. She was in two minds and weighing them both up, money and security versus youth and excitement (and maybe even love?) They sat in her kitchen and glared at each other till 4 am until Karl got up and wearily trudged off home. Accordingly, she accepted Harry (and later told us that his ring was the nicer one anyway.) I think he just had more patience...or maybe more 'love'?

Bulldog Emergency

Ma had a stroke just before my 16th birthday, and I was left to take over the house, trying to stop Dad crying every day, cooking, and being 'ma' to everyone. To make matters worse, Sheba, our bulldog had four puppies. Bulldogs are known to be useless mothers, not knowing what to do with the cord, or how to feed them. So every day I woiuld get back from College to find that she had smothered a pup. It was heartbreaking and the worst of all was that I couldn't say anything to ma .Every time she asked after her beloved dogs, I had to lie. Sure taught me to lie well.

The Gravedigger

Ernest worked for my parents as their 'houseboy' for many years, and to me he seemed like part of the family. Sheba had her puppies and smothered one each day. Due to her ignorance and our lack of knowledge about this we coudn't prevent the inevitable. So we had to bury them. Ernest was given the unenviable task of digging the little graves in the back garden, laying the teeny tiny bodies inside, then covering them over as unobtrusively as possible so that Ma wouldb't know where they were buried when she came out of hospital.What an awful time for us all, and I often lay awake in bed at night worrying that I could've saved them. If only......

Ma's stroke

Two days before my 16th birthday, ma had a stroke. She was a heavy smoker and had always suffered from severe migraines. She lost all memories of her job ( bookkeeper) and , although she could still talk, her syntax amd vocaublary was all over the place. For some reason or other, I seemed to be the only one who could understand what she was saying. Although we didn't get on at all, I felt mortally sorry for this powerful woman, stripped of her intelligence and dignity, struggling to make herself understood. I worked really hard to help her to feel more comfortable and in some way, it helped me too. I felt that she needed me -perhaps for the first time ever, and that we were connecting in some way at last. A difficult time, but a very good one too.

The Six- day War

In my second year at College, the Six-day War broke out in Israel. A lot of the rabid Zionistic students went off to help ( dreaming of carrying a gun and going into battle, but in reality they were left behind to pick oranges). Of course, wherever there was a fuss and some excitement, I was always keen to be involved in it, so wanted to go too. This meant getting permission from my parents as I was under 21 and also would've meant me having to come back and start my studies right from the beginning again as they wouldn't give me any priveleges for dropping out halfway (of course no one knew it was only going to last 6 days). My parents of course flatly refused, and rightly so, as money was scarce in our home and I was halfway through my diploma course already. Ma always used to say 'you never finish anything you start!'They had to fight that war without me, as I had my own private wars to deal with.

College protests

Of course, all students have to protest about anything and everything, and we all did just that. Whenever we saw a horde of students gathering round in the street outside our Residence Hall, my friends and I used to hurry out and join the procession, no matter what it was for or where it ended up. As we went along, we always encouraged others to join our 'fight for justice'. When I was asked what we were protesting against, I never knew, but it was always jolly good fun.

The first bite is the deepest

My best friend in Greenside, Anne, had an Alsatian called Karl. He was a cute puppy, but he grew into a vicious animal. Before I went to see her, I'd phone first and she'd lock him away. One day, as I arrived and rang the doorbell, he came bounding round the back of her house barking ferociously. I went into panic overload and started yelling for Anne. He immediately headed straight for me and clamped his gigantic jaws onto my delicious meaty thigh. I thought I would faint from the pain and fear. She was right behind, dragged him off me, then pulled me inside and plied me with sweet tea and biscuits. How our friendship survived that day, I'll never know!

Spike the puppy

I must confess, I don't actually remember when Spike joined our family. I know till then we had only Spotty, a sort of Jack Russell and terrier mixture, white with some black patches, a tall long thin body and a very long tail that used to thump hard on the parquet floors whenever he saw us. Then we got Spike, and soon after, Sheba, as his mate. We had never had bulldogs before and they were a revelation. They snorted, drooled, farted and snored loudly. They were large, lumpy, bumpy, rolly, flabby creatures with pooled pleading eyes and flat squashed noses and it was love at first sight. What I will never forget about them was Ma's absolutley undying, unbending adoration of these new arrivals. I had never before seen her so warm and tender, her absorbed slavish behaviour threw me and I often wished she felt like me the way she felt about them. Her love for bulldogs has been passed down to me as I adore them too, and would get one tomorrow if I could.

Morris attack

Another boy who 'fancied' me was Morris. It was only the wierd and wacky boys who liked me, and this didn't change as I grew older. It was the waifs and strays of this world who wanted me. Somehow I recognised that their inner neediness was akin to my own. Morris used to phone the house daily and ask to speak to me. He never just popped in as Dennis had, he was terrified of Ma, and so he should've been. She was stern, unfriendly and downright rude to him on the phone, always refusing to let me talk to him. He was a few years older than me and I didn't like him anyway. All girls wanted to be liked by the most popular boy in school, not by the geeks! And I was no different.

Dennis attack

Dennis was a short, fat boy with a lisp and he 'fancied' me. He was always at our house, arriving at any time, and staying for ages. It didn't bother me either way, whether he was around or not. He was always nervous of Spike as a puppy, and when he became a fully grown bulldog, he literally quaked in his shoes. It made the lisp even worse. One Sunday morning we were all sitting on the divan couch talking when Spike came in and jumped up next to Dennis, putting his large meaty paw on his chest to greet him. Dennis started screeching and jiggling up and down to get rid of his bulk, and Spike's paw cut his upper lip. Then chaos erupted. Dennis was screaming at the top of his voice, blood was running down on to his shirt, Ma grabbed Spike and pushed him to the floor, and we all rushed over to ascertain the damage. His parents were wonderfully understanding, rerfusing all medical payment for the stitches, and went off gracefully and gratefully taking their blubbering blob with them. Of course he never came over to our house again, just admired me from afar!

Bulldog puppies

Two days before my 16th birthday Ma had a stroke. She was a very heavy smoker, had high blood pressure and suffered with excruciating migraines. She was only 42 but the doctor's weren't surprised. While she lay in hospital, our bulldog, Sheba, had four gorgeous puppies. I had no idea what to do with them or how to care for them; I was at College and running the house and trying to stop Dad from crying every day. Little did I know that bulldogs are the worst mothers, as they can't chew the umbilical cord after birth with their protruding teeth and have no idea how to feed or manage their pups. So, each day, when I got home from College, she had smothered another puppy. She took them into her mouth by their heads and held them there, with her jaws clamped round them. It was a heartbreaking few weeks for me, I was so strung out and felt so guilty about these adorable creatures, yet I felt helpless. We buried one a day in the back yard and said a little prayer for it. Then on I got with my daily tasks, keeping the family going. After all, I was only 16.

Girl Guides at night

I started going to GG camps when I was about 14. I know Ma was only too pleased to get rid of me for a few weeks. We usually went to Magaliesberg(only about 30 miles from home) and set up camp. I adored the freedom, the social whirl, the novelty of each new day and was never ever homesick. Leaving the tent at night to wee was exciting in itself. I took my torch and ventured out into the African bush, which is abslolutely pitch black. I stumbled a few metres and squatted, hastily shining my torch downwards to make sure that no creepy crawlies had come to investigate, and also that I wasn't peeing on my leg. It was always thrilling. This was mostly a solitary procedure, unless someone else had the same urgent need. Getting caught 'with my pants down' then took on a literal meaning.

Fun in the shower

The Boy Scouts also went camping at the same time of year, but their tents were pitched 'over the hill'. The most popular boys were those who had remembered to pack binoculars. Their parents thought these were for amateur ornithology, but they had other 'birds' in mind. Being out in the bush, we had makeshift showers with scanty plastic curtains round them. These were assembled under the trees, which was perfect for the boys. The girls used to squeal with delight when they looked upwards, but never enough to alert anyone in authority. I used to prefer showering alone, as Iwas very self-conscious of being so fat, but whenever I looked up into my tree, all I saw was leaves, leaves and more leaves. These cartainly didn't make me squeal!

Habonim camp

From 16 onwards I discovered Habonim camp. This was even better than GG, as it was 3 weeks away in the Summer at the seaside. I attended the boring weekly meetings back home purely for this opportunity, and once again Ma was very happy to pack my suitcase. The first year I went was quite a shock to me. Every evening after supper we used to sit round the camp fire (much like in GG) singing Hebrew songs (not like GG at all). Within days after setting up camp and settling in, couples started pairing off, like bees and honey! Being so busy all day with various activities, they didn't often get much privacy. But as soon as that fire was lit and the flames danced in the night sky, they were 'at it'. I had not only come from a tiny 'dorp', (African town/village) but had never had a boy even glance at me 'like that' - let alone do to me what these boys were doing to them. I always felt so sad sitting there alone, trying not to watch them, feeling that this would probably never ever happen to me!

Your feet smell

After about 4 years of regular holidays at Habonim camps, I became a 'Madricha' ( group leader) back home in charge of the 'Shtilims' ( 8/9 year olds.) That Summer I volunteered to be a Madricha at camp too, foregoing my own freedom and pleasures to look after a tent of little boys. I was nearly qualified as a teacher by then and was well able to manage these little scallywags. Bedtime was always a laugh. They used to be given time to shower and change in their tent and then I would go in for last inspection before lights out. Of course they didn't go straight to sleep after that, giggling and pillow fights ensued often late into the night. I had to go in many more times to tell them to 'shut up', before I could get any rest. I never knew just how dirty litle boys could be. They never washed, never brushed their teeth, didn't change clothes, just dived into their sleeping bags and zipping them up before I arrived. The usual interrogation followed, till I eventually forced them to get up, go and wash, brush their teeth and change, before I would leave the tent. They always did this very good naturedly,that's why i prefer boys to girls (even in the classroom). Little did I know till I became a mother myself, that at this age boys are completely oblivious to their own smells, and will wallow in being dirty, unwashed and smelly for as long as they can get away with it. Gob bless all mums of 9 year old boys!

Pain- some gain

1.) The piano lessons:

PAIN: were not what I wanted, but then which little girl wants to learn how to play the piano.

GAIN: far from being a concert pianist, I can still read music and have adequate skill in order to music to 5 year olds (which is great fun).

2.) The wooden ruler with a steel edge:

Pain: was what some teachers used to discipline us with at primary school. Mr Logan often struck me on the upper arm, mainly because I was a chatterbox, which often drew blood. Of course when I got home, Ma always said, 'Serves you right, you must have done something bad!'. No parents went rushing off to their local Council or Member of Parliament in those days screaming, Get rid of this man!'

GAIN: I became a teacher and have had 39 wonderful years, giving my 'all' to thousands of children, and never once laying a hand on them, unless in kindness and love.

3.) My mother's methods of punishment :

Pain: included the plastic flyswatter, her heavy hand and the dreaded 'sjambok', which was a thin leather strip, about 3-5 feet long, curving from one thin end to a very thick handle. This was kept behind their bedroom door, and if it was only used for very severe crimes!!

GAIN: I have tried to bring up my own two sons with firmness , fairness and honesty, and of course-the main ingredient- unconditional love. I believe I have largely succeeded.

Dancing with dad

Sunday evening after supper was the best time of the week for me. I was only 7, and dad taught me to dance. I was having ballet classes by then, and loved to dance anywhere and everywhere. He was an excellent ballroom dancer, very skilled and light on his feet. Talking of feet, that's how we started, me perched on the front of he shoes and holding on tight, while he slowly and steadily led me round the room showing me what to do. Then I'd hop off and try it myself.

Victor Sylvester's 'An apple for the teacher' flowed through the room as we whirled round and round and round. I mastered the foxtrot, waltz, tango, and cha cha cha in these blissful sessions.

Although he used to get ratty and sometimes yell at me when I made mistakes, these were wonderful times leaving me with good memories.

Tickey the clown

Every year we were taken to the circus, I think my parents must have enjoyed it too, despite the elephant's antics! There is no child alive who doesn't love a clown. Not only do they look funny, but they do the most ridiculous things and survive it all. Adults might not admit it, but they can't wait for the clown act. My favourite clown was Tickey, and he appeared every single year as expected. 'Tickey' was slang for the smallest denomination of money in South Africa. It was actually worth 2 and 1/2 pennies. No doubt he was called this as he was a dwarf, with the made up face and a sense of humour like no other. He cavorted, fell over, sobbed, was punched and pushed and beaten, and still he came up smiling. Years later, I read in the local newspaper that he had just died at the ripe old age of 82, penniless and alone. What price fame?