My 'walkie - talkie' doll

My first doll with moving parts. She was solid and firm and chunky and as tall as me. I was about 8 and it was love at first sight. She was dressed in something blue and frilly, had blonde synthetic hair which shone in the sunlight and a large blue ribbon, In those days, you couldn't dress these dolls, or comb their hair, but who cared? She had arms that could move up and down stiffly- when made to do so, and legs that would walk a step at a time when made to do so. I was in heaven, pure doll's heaven. I took her on to the 'stoep', held her one hand and proceeded to make her walk along with me just as a best friend would. Suddenly, without warning, she toppled over and crashed down the two concrete steps. There she lay, on her side, with her head smashed in and lying in two bits. Her beautiful blonde har was stained by the black' stoep' polish that was applied every day to make it's surface gleam, and her face was just not her face any longer. I howled for ages till Dad picked up all the bits, put me in the car and took me and her off to the 'doll's hospital'. This was an elderly Afrikaans 'oom' who used to mend kid's toys, for a cheap fee. She stayed the night, and I didn't sleep a wink. When we went back to fetch her the next day, she had a huge glued 'crack' from the back of her head right over to the chin in the front, her hair was matted and grimey and her dress was creased and filthy. I was devastated. I can remember it as I write this. She was not the same doll I had been given for my birthday just the day before, and I didn't even like her anymore, god help me, let alone love her. My dreams were shattered along with her head.

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.)

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)