Tangent: Moonshine

Ian and I went to Cheder from Mondays to Thursdays. We rode there and back on our bikes.
The Rabbi's name was Rabbi Manshein, but all the kids called him Rabbi 'Moonshine', even to his face. He was old, doddery and boring, and we hated these lessons. He used to come round and hit our knuckles with a ruler if we didn't listen, so we hated him even more.

Tangent: Teacher's teeth

I had a lovely teacher in Standard five. His name was Mr Salamon and he was about 5' 2" inches tall ( if that!). He had a loose set of false teeth which wobbled when he talked, making him spit at anyone sitting in the front row.
One day he was giving us a Geography lesson, when the blackboard on the easel behind him toppled forward, hitting him on the back of his head, and ejecting his false teeth on to the carpet in front of him.
Without any hesitation, ignoring the giggles erupting from the room, he calmly picked them up, wiped them off with a spotlessly clean handerchief, placed them back into his mouth and carried on with the lesson.
What a gentlemen, what a star.
I loved him from that day and forever more.

I have a few small dentures in my mouth, but thank goodness they aren't loose and don't make me spit.

On guard dad

When I started dating (well past the age of 18), I was given a 'curfew' , a time I had to be home. Being a rebel, I often went past this time and dad was always waiting behind the front door in his thermal underwear watching me/us. It was highly embarrassing trying to explain to my date that the appariton behind the frosted glass was actually my father! Yikes, they very seldom asked me out on a second date!

Another Apartheid nightmare was when Ernest (our gardener) had a woman visiting him in his back room one night. When Ma heard them laughing and realised that she was not meant to be on our property, she called the police and they came immediately bringing their vicious dogs with them. The poor woman was literally hounded out of there by these dogs and the police were beating her with sticks. I don't knwo which was worse, my hatred for my mother, or my hatred for the police!

Birth lift

Ma and Dad told me I was nearly born in the lift. I am not sure of the whole story, but evidently she was rushed up to the delivery room and I was nearly born during that rush.
That's me, always in a hurry to get places, not always happy to be there when I arrive!

Driving Licence

As soon as I turned 18, I got my Learner's licence and had 12 lessons with a lady instructor. After that she told me to practise a lot for the next few months to gain experience, before I took my test.
I used to drive Dad's car (a green Rambler). He had no pateince to go with me, so when we went to our friends, the Handels, I used to nag Ivan (their 20 year old son), to come out with me, so that I could practice. Every time I did something wrong he would pinch my thigh, and I got back home black and blue, but I was crazy about him despite the pain.
And I passed my test first time!

Winning the Durban July

Dad loved gambling on the horses, and the biggest race of the year was the Durban July ( in Durban and in July). This was similar to 'Ascot' in South Africa, with the fashions, pomp and glory. One year he backed a horse called 'Migraine' because Ma used to suffer so badly with Migraine headaches, and it won. He gave Ma all his winnings (as her always did), but she was still mad at him for 'wasting money on gambling'. He never gave it up and enjoyed this pastime till the day he died.

Motherly Joss

We had an English teacher in Grade 6 called Mr Potter. he was so typically 'British', an old fuddy duddy, charmingly old fashioned and eccentric. He always called me 'Motherly Joss' and it irritated me so much. It was such a plain, boring, dull nickname. I often wished he had called me 'Princess Joss' or even 'Queen Joss' would've been fine. Specially as I was plain, fat and dull in those days!

Just as I adored my teacher in Grade 2, so I absolutely worshipped Mrs Purchase, who I had for English in Grade 8.
She was a minute woman, probably the age I am now, and she was superb. She revelled in Literature, groaned over Grammer and encouraged all forms of Drama. She was years ahead of her time in her teaching methods and she gave me such a passion for Romeo and Juliet and poetry, specially odes. She was a great fan of the ode!
All I wanted to do was to 'follow in her footsteps' and become as good a teacher as she was.
I have succeeded. Thank you Mrs P

Life at sixty

I loved acting and actresses and everything to do with Hollywood.
When I got to High School I joined the Daramatic Society and the first role Iplayed was of an old woman.
Wearing Ma's green dress, green hat and (faux) crocodile high heels (all of which have come back into fashion again), I felt so grand. so fine and so old!
Unfortunately I can never play the role of a sixteen year old now, but feel like one inside!

Wrong colour, wrong country

In South Africa during the Apartheid years, I saw many unjust and barbaric acts.
One sticks in my mind very clearly, maybe because I was only about 8 years old.
We had the gardener/general helper living behind our house in a room (as they did in those days) and his wife arrived one night to say she was in labour.
He called Ma and I went with her and watched this brave woman giving birth (squatting on a cement floor and catching her baby as it dropped out), with Ma cutting the cord and helping her.
Then Ma rang the ambulance service to fetch her and take her to hospital.
They refused, saying that she was not 'registered' to be on our property, as she wasn't our servant, and also that they'd ring the police to remove her as she was illegally visiting.
This poor woman was fetched by a friend in the dead of night and taken away ( heaven knows to where). We never saw them again.
I think my hatred for this inhumane treatment of another human being was born that night, resulting in me emmigrating to England 30 years later to escape the tyranny.

Measles and love

At the end of my second year at school, I got measles and couldn't see my teacher (who I absolutely adored and worshipped). I was so upset, and the more I begged to go to school, the more angry Ma got. I felt my life was going to end right there and then if I couldn't say goodbye to her.
Maybe that's one of the hidden reasons why I have always loved teaching this age group, and hate saying good bye to them on the last day of the year.

Final Words

In the last week of her life, Ma asked me to come and see her, and she seemed agitated and disconcerted. She spent the next 36 hours talking to me as I sat on the edge of her bed, her - hooked to the oxygen tank gasping for fresh air, me - wanting to get out into the fresh air.
She proclaimed over and over that she had always been very proud of me, and my achievements, and that she did really love me.

What a pity it was too late, too hard for me to forgive her or even to believe her!