Casual church

Although there were Large Dutch Reformed churches in every big, small or tiny dorp in the country, finding a church of English origin, was much more difficult.  Not that I saw my parents go to church that much when we lived on the farm.  My mother however, managed to get a church to send us very nice pictures with biblical tracts on the back.  As a small child, I would line them up and gaze at them for long periods of time, wondering what this young boy had done that was so bad, so as to cause his father to want to stab him with a knife.

A roving minister came once and spent the night with us, in order to  baptise me in the morning.  For dinner that night, my mother cooked a guinea fowl my father had shot a few days before.  It turned out to be as tough as old boots, and had the minister chewing his way through it, and spitting out bits of buckshot ever so often, and saying politely "I haven't tasted game for years".  My guess is, that after that meal, he wouldn't want to taste it again and for many years to come.

I can only remember going to church a couple of times when I was a child, in the little town closest to where we lived.  Yet another roving minister had arrived to conduct the service.  Being very small and rather bored, I fell asleep, only to awaken when a large bowl with money in it was offered to me.  With no hesitation, I dipped my fingers in and helped myself to a couple of shiny coins.  My father who hated having his kids do anything wrong, pinched me on my arm and sternly told me to put them back immediately.  He then stuck his hand into the top breast pocket of his jacket to extract the folded, crisp, one pound note he had carefully placed there.  This he did with great aplomb, slapping it down in the middle of the big bowl.  All eyes were on the bowl, as Mr Hobson the sidesman reviewed my father's offering.  A couple of used bioscope tickets.  My mother who had a wonderful sense of humour, said she saw Mr Hobson's eyes grow as big as saucers and she imagined him saying to himself "Hobson, do you see what I see?"

My father who hated looking foolish, blushed crimson and quickly exchanged the bioscope tickets for the pound note.  Personally, I think it served him right for pinching me!

Embarrassing Roof Rack

I went through a very awkward stage, as many children do, of being highly embarrassed with the car my father drove, especially when we were either being dropped off or fetched from boarding school.  I was unable to see any other car that looked remotely like ours, a small, maroon, mud-caked car with a heavily laden roof rack.  I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me, so that I didn't have to endure all the stares.  At that point in time, I was unaware that beyond themselves, most people didn't really care a continental!  For me it was painful to have to carry my ancient, old suitcase up the stairs and into the dormitory, together with my rolled up bundle of blankets.

When I think of it now, I take my hat off to my parents who gallantly ploughed their way through corrugated dirt roads, slipping and sliding and getting stuck when it rained, or alternately having everything covered in thick, brown dust  during winter.  It was a real mission to get us to and from school and took on average four to five hours of difficult driving.

Once while coming to pick us up from school, a flock of Guinea fowl flew over the top of their car. Only when they arrived at their destination, and after everyone who passed them, seemed to be laughing and pointing in their direction, did they discover that one of the birds had misjudged it's flight path, and was now dead and dangling by its neck from the side of the roof rack.

We did however, have a mishap with the roof rack which was not amusing at all.  It happened when we stopped to buy something from a shop in the town where our school was, and left the car unattended.  On our return, not only all the suitcases, but also the roof rack had disappeared without a trace.  Apart from losing everything we needed for school, I also lost Rosemary,the only doll I every possessed.  She was smartly dressed in skirt, jersey, hat and knickers knitted for her by my grandmother.   This was a real loss as she was my security doll, lying comfortingly on my pillow.  The theft of the suitcases was also a very big thing for my parents to deal with because I overheard my father say to my mother "Well, I suppose this means, I'll have to sell another cow at the sale yard next week."