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.

Cinderella

I had my first experience of the theatre with Auntie Essie and fell in love at once. She took me to see' Cinderella' at the Empire Theatre in Johannesburg on a Saturday evening. We got all dressed up (which is what you did 50 years ago) and it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me in my first decade of life.. We had almost front row seats and I couldn't sit still waiting for the curtain to go up. I was enthralled, but when the golden coach, with four footmen and four white horses came on to the stage and this ethereal creature stepped from it in her swirly,voluminous white dress and those glass slippers, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. My mouth went dry and I gasped. I remember it so clearly, and feel my heart beating wildly thinking about that sight.When the curtain finally came down, I burst into tears and begged to come and see it again. Pure joy and pleasure to me is still a night out at the theatre.

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.)

Picnic Pleasure

That was a day everyone would remember and keep reminding me about in later years. I myself have no memory of it as I was probably only about 14 months old, and newly toddling. I know this as I have a picture somewhere of Terence walking me around carefully clutching my hand. Ma and Dad and Auntie Doris and Uncle Aurthur and us two kids went off to Boksburg Lake for a picnic. They lived on a big farm outside Pretoria, and I was never very fond of Arthur. He had a rough, crude,cruel, sardonic, no downright sarcastic form of wit, which always cut me to the quick when I was older.All I know about that day, was that I ruined it, little ole me, hardly even walking, got an eruption of measles (and presumably a temperature) and the picnic had to be cancelled and everyone left. Whenever I was reminded of this, I used to think 'so what?' and I still do!

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!