Saturday Treat

Every Saturday our parents used to go to the local bioscope (cinema) and leave us with our nanny, Miriam. One time, they had an emergency phone call as soon as they got there, saying that I was screaming and scared and wouldn't go to bed. So Dad went to fetch us and took us back with them to see the film. In those days there was no censorship on movies. This then became a weekly habit. But, in order to go out on a Saturday night, we had to sleep all afternoon. We were put in our respective bedrooms and as she shut the doors, Ma uttered her weekly warning: 'If you don't sleep, you won't come with us'. Then she collapsed on her bed and slept for hours while Dad went to his bowls' game. I had absolutely no intention of resting. As soon as I heard her snoring, I crept out and went into Ian's room where we played for hours: pillow fights, jumping on the bed, just generally messing around or 'hullering' which is the Yiddish term for being bloody naughty. I intuitively knew when she was due to wake up, and would steal back to my room quietly, creep under the covers and pretend to be fast asleep when she 'woke' us up. Then off we'd go to the bioscope feeling very grown up. The only thing that spoilt my fun was that Ma held Dad's hand, never mine. Never had, never would!

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!

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!