Oh Boy

In 1958 Buddy Holly and the Crickets brought out 'Oh Boy' on a seven single record and I was totally crazy about this song. We were on the farm visiting my mother's other sister, Auntie Doris, who I was definitely not that fond of. She had a little transistor radio in huge farm kitchen. Whenever 'Oh Boy' was played, I used to jump up, grab Ian and start dancing round the kitchen (I was 10, he was 9). Auntie Doris got so fed up with us, she used to 'shoo' us out of the kitchen with her apron flapping at her waist. We danced out of the door, and continued jiving till the record finished, straining to hear it on the other side of the closed door. We must have danced to that song at least 4 times a day, thus driving everone mad. Why didn't they just join in?

A girl's best friend

Peter Visser was Ian's best friend from school. He was an odd-looking, very round little boy who always appeared at our house to 'play' with Ian (so he must have lived nearby). Ian hated him, and didn't want to see him. The problem was that he actually wanted to be MY 'friend' and wanted to do what I was doing, e.g. knitting, baking or playing with dolls. Yes, he was definitely an ideal girl's friend, and I really didn't mind him. This drove Ian scatty. He used to run off to play with his matchbox or corgi cars, while we got on with our own fun stuff. Wonder where he is now, probably famous in haute couture, or haute cuisine, or maybe just a grubby little hairdresser in the back streets of Joburg Wherever you are, 'Hi Peter'.

Boys are more important than girls

One of my dreams was to become a doctor, but there wasn't enough money to send me to medical school, and of course my grades were never good enough. But of course Ian had to be educated. He was the son and the future breadwinner in the family.

He had wanted to become an Accountant ever since I can remember, perhaps because Ma was a Bookkeeper, and he was very attached to her. Also, he could do this part -time, working as an articled clerk in the day and going to University at night. In this way he would be earning at the same time, thus not be a drain on the household. I was told to go to work and went on an interview in my last year at school. The first thing I saw when I walked out of the lift were six or eight typists sitting silently and expressionlessly in a row, tap tap tapping on their machines. It was gruesome, so I turned and fled. At that time the Government were prepared to fund teacher's studies as long as they paid every penny back after qualifying. Dad went with me to Teacher's Training College in Johannesburg and he signed on the dotted line (as I was a minor).

Thank goodness for that interview. I probably wouldn't have had such a fulfilling career if I hadn't been forced to go to it. Oh yes, and I have travelled extensively because of it too.

Super Sis to the rescue

After we moved into our slightly bigger, but not much better house(see 'Meet the neighbours'), we had a small coal stove in the corner of the kitchen where we used to huddle at night, and it was very cosy. This stove had a little door in the front which was opened with a steel hook- like object. The new coal was piled in, it was firmly shut and left to burn. One evening, before my parents had arrived home from work, and Miriam was looking after us, Ian decided to investigate and managed to open the thing and peer in. One of the coals leapt out and landed on his pyjama shirt and he started to burn through to his skin. He was screaming, and she was shouting even louder, so I grabbed him (I was only about 6 myself), dragged the shirt off him and pushed him outside to get him away and push him on the ground. I didn't actually wrap him in a carpet, but this looks far more heroic than what I did. Also, Ian looks like a little trapped worm. Think I better change my illustrator!

Nightmarish night

When I was about 7 or 8 (I supose a lot happened in these particular years), I saw Ian having an epileptic fit. He had Petit Mal Epilepsy, which is referred to as 'absence siezures' these days. They occur mostly in young children, don't affect their growth in any way, mentally or physically and they outgrow them in their teens. But 50 years ago they were quite serious and little was known about them.

We shared a bedroom, and one night while Ma was lying on the end of his bed, talking to him just before bedtime, she suddenly yelled 'Harry, switch the light on', and rushed to grab him. She told me to 'get out, get out, get out' and I was foisted from the house and found myself, barefoot on a Wintery night, wandering up and down our garden path, waiting for the doctor who had been summoned. I had never felt so scared in all my (short) life. I remember shaking with cold and fear, and sobbing, while begging God to please let him live. This had some profound consequences for my life. Firstly, it cemented me to my little brother forever, providing a fierce 'motherly' instinct that has made me protect him ever since. Also, it made me very nervous and unsure about doctors and wierd health problems! Mine and others!

Move over, Diana Ross

I was smokin'. I was cookin'. I was de buziness! I was standing on the front 'stoep' wearing Ma's gorgeous snake skin (not really) very high heels, with the peep toe at the front. Yup, long before the girls of today ever wore them, I did, and I was 'cool'. Then there was my school cardigan, not draped over my shouders like Doris Day, but plonked on my head, tied under the chin a la looong flowing hair. My audience was Ma and Dad, who had come on to the stoep to sit on their bench and relax, smoke a few fags and discuss the day's work events. They were quite compatible in this way, sharing fags and discussing their day. And Ian was there of course, championing me all the way. It didn't matter that the sun was setting and the day fading into night slowly and quietly, I felt I was bathed in the limelight, belting out my tune, the same one day in and day out with new words, all along the line of 'you're a lady, a pretty lady, the best of all, a wonderful singer' ad nauseam. I was going to be that singer, famous and loved by all. Look at me now, just a teacher. But still loved by all (well 5 year olds anyway.)

First day at school

Ian went to 'big' school only a year after me, as we are 17 months apart in age. His teacher in Grade One was Mrs Skoen. She had been teaching Grade One for 27 years and had a severe black bun, severe black rimmed glasses and was as stout as she was tall(or short). She bent over the desk to write something in someone's book, and he kicked her in the ass. Now to really appreciate this story, you have to understand that Ian would never hurt a fly, let alone kick a teacher. He was passive, shy, quiet, introverted, sort of a 'scared of his own shadow' little boy. What possessed him to attack her so vehemently, we'll never know, but he did. I am not sure whether my parents were called in to remove this pest, or not, but we loved giggling about this episode afterwards and he obviously felt very proud of this remarkably brave deed.

Going a.w.o.l.

When I was about 5 years old, I decided to take my brother, Ian, off to see the shops. We lived in a small rural town, with sandy roads and a few scattered street lamps. The central business district where all the main shops, banks and departmental stores were situated, as well as my father's bicycle shop (called Northlands Cycle Works), was where I was heading.
Off we trotted walking the ten blocks to town. In the meantime, Miriam, our Sotho Nanny, was frantically calling my mother to tell her we had gone a.w.o.l. One minute we had been playing in the back yard, the next minute we were gone.
As we reached 'town' and were ambling along, my mother suddenly appeared out of nowhere swerving the car round the corner searching for us. Her eyes were wild with anger, as she screeched to a halt, leapt out of the car, and started hitting me with her hands to the head and face and ears. The expression' I will box your ears', is one I understand completely, even to this day! I promise, I never ever took Ian to 'town' again!

Rumble in the Jungle (Pietersburg)

Of course we often used to bicker and quarrel, as all siblings do, at the age of probably 7 and 8 years old. And Ma used to shout and shout, as all mothers do. One day she came home from work with a pair of boxing gloves, and called us outside on to the front lawn. She put the right one on me and the left on Ian, which was very fair as I was right-handed, and he was left-handed. The other hand had to be kept behind our backs. Oh yes, there were rules to this 'game'. She then said, 'Now fight, but do it properly this time!' Of course, we didn't want to, and she then shouted, ' You will fight, come on hit him, hit her, and then you're both going to get a bloody good hiding and go to bed without any supper'. Of course this made us want to punch even less, knowing what our fate would be. And so it was , no good punches were thrown, no satisfaction was achieved and no supper was had that day!

Looking at the moon

The brightness of the moonlight woke me up and I went to wake Ian, unlocked the front door and dragged him outside. We sat on the top step of the stoep and gazed at this large, very large ball in the sky. I can remember my hand draped lightly round his shoulder, as we sat in complete silent contemplation. Suddenly there was a screech as Ma came running out in her nightie, shouting 'Harry Harry, where're the kids?' ( about 1952)