#NABLOPOMO 6 Childhood Fears

2015-11-06 | puppy1952

The Nablopomo prompt for today – What was your biggest fear as a child? Do you still have it today? If it went away, when did your feelings changes?

Did I have fears – oh yes I did. I was a child full of fear and worry.

The first fear that I actually remember is of a treasured ornament my mother had. It was a Toby Jug – a scary container in the shape of an old, animated face. Now I loved my grandmother – but this face reminded me of her and in my childish mind I imagined it was her but instead of being comforted I was scared silly and wondered where the rest of her was. I could not express this to my mother at the time, all I could do was cry and tremble and to this day I remember how terrified I was. It was fairly large and stood on the floor next to the door or on a low table, my memory is dim on the detail but I know that I could not walk past it without the terror gripping me. I remember her holding me on her lap and talking to me about the jug, reassuring me that it was just an inanimate object and nothing to be bothered about. Logic did not come into it and I just buried my head in her her soft,warm shoulder, refusing to look. Wisely this jug was put out of sight until I’d outgrown the fear! After my mother died it was sent to Baby Brother overseas but was broken in transit much to our distress.

Ours was similar to this!

I wonder why I had this next fear which I only vaguely remember now – probably because of the constant reminders about it. Driving through an avenue of trees scared me silly. I know I hated Fairy Tales and it was probably the thought of Hansel and Gretel lost in the woods and meeting the evil witch that did it! One wonders how such gruesome tales could ever have been told to innocent children though they’re mild compared to the monster stories the children of today lap up. Being the sensitive little innocent that I was those tales of witches fattening up little children for the pot had a damaging effect on me – no not really but it did colour my attitude toward stepmothers until I become one of those wicked creatures myself. Aha – then I started to think about it from her point of view. (No, I didn’t eat or try to poison my stepdaughters.)

Even worse – they had to share accommodation!

When I was about four years old I had a scary dream the like of which has never been repeated. There was a dark, spooky house behind the one in which we lived (in the dream) and I ventured into it only to encounter skeletons and ghosts and the scariest of monsters the images of which live with me to this day. How at four I could have dreamed up such a thing I do not know as there was no Television to infect my mind in 1957. I woke up screaming and my mother rushed in to comfort me. I told her every detail of the dream and she soothed me back to sleep. That was the best part of the experience and I can still smell here sleepiness and feel her warm softness as she held me close and settled me down. Yet when I reminded her of this dream when I was an adult, she had no recollection of it at all. A wise friend told me – well she had four children whose troubles she sorted you know – she’s not going to remember every one of them! So very true. I, myself, tend to suppress awful things that have happened to my children. My baby was very ill and when the doctor came to examine her he got down on his knees to examine her in her camp cot on my mother’s lounge floor. She reminded me of this when my daughter was about 10 and I simply couldn’t remember it! So weird what the mind retains and what it rejects!

Of course I outgrew my fears and today I don’t consider myself a fearful person other than when flying or sailing in small boats! But those I have control over. It’s up to me to fly or not or sail or not.

But fearing for my children, I have no control over. I send up a silent prayer for them every day and put the angels on duty to protect them. I call out to the universe to keep them all safe – that includes my daughters, their kids and my nieces and nephews and their kids. I cannot even bear to think that anything bad should happen to any of them. I don’t worry about who they will marry, where they will live or how they will conduct themselves in life – that is up to them. They are all beautiful and adorable and I just want them to live happy, healthy and very long lives. God bless them all.

#NABLOPOMO 5 Angels at Sea

2015-11-05 | puppy1952

NABLOPOMO

A drabble tells a story in exactly 100 words. It can be used in poetry or prose. I wrote this one when my hubby nearly drowned after falling off the back of the boat on which he was fishing.

Angels At Sea

He’s overboard in the icy choppiness of a darkening sea. Crashing waves and roaring winds drown his cries for help. He gulps litres of ocean and begins to drown. His finger’s broken; he can’t remove his sea-filled boots and soggy clothes but angels buoy him up.

At the harbour the skipper finds him gone. Distraught he turns to search the wide, dark, sea. Angels guide him to his mate.

He smells the diesel, hears the engines’ chug and sees the bright search light. Arms reach down and angels give them strength to yank him back aboard to fish another day.

#NABLOPOMO 4 Childhood career dreams

2015-11-04 | puppy1952

NABLOPOMO

I have now come to Day 4 of my daily blogging in November committment. I’ve decided to give the Quintella memories a break but might return there later. In the meantime I am using the NABLOPOMO prompt for today’s writing – “When you were a kid, did you want to have the same job or a different job than your parents when you grew up?”

Immediately “SHOES” come to mind. My father was a shoe man – he sold them as a travelling rep, then as a store manager until he opened his own stores in Fish Hoek where I grew up. My feet were always shod in the best quality shoes that he could afford. He cared about feet and what was place upon them. You have a healthy foot, he told me – a good instep but they’re too broad across the toes and two narrow at the heel. This made it difficult for me to find a good fit – but luckily Dad made sure I did so that my feet grew properly. But I diverse – did I want to follow a similar career? No I didn’t – but Big Brother worked in one of the shops he managed and so did Little Sister – from very tender ages too! Neither of them went into retail but I’m sure the work experience made them wealthier than me who shunned the idea of touching the feet of all and sundry.

Not for me thank you

No secretarial work sounded more attractive. Mom had been one before giving it up to raise a family of four lively kids. But it was not that which influence my dream. It was more the idea of it – dressing up in smart clothes and wearing high-heeled shoes while taking dictation seemed to be a very glamorous calling when I was about 9 years old. And Dad encouraged it – If you’re good at typing and shorthand, you’ll be in high demand and can command your salary were his words.

I fancied myself as a smart, efficient secretary

Dad brought an ancient Typewriter home and Little Sister and I had hours of fun playing office-office, banging away on its resistant keys, talking on a discarded telephone and busying ourselves with writing out accounts.

But then in my teens the “higher calling” ideas started to set in. I should do something worthy – becoming a missionary or a nurse or perhaps work in an home for orphaned children became my desire. I fancied myself as saviour of the underdog. Yes, I would be the Perfect Florence Nightingale, ministering to the sick and making a difference in their lives. So when I was sixteen, Mom encouraged me to first try it out during the Christmas Holidays. And that is how I landed up working as a nurse’s aid at the local hospital. How I loved the white nurse’s uniform complete with red cape – it made me feel very grown up and oh so worthy. But it was hard and dirty work. I learned to make a perfect hospital bed, to dust and clean the metal beds and side cabinets and to empty bedpans!

Not very glamorous work!

One of my patients was a young mother, terminally ill with cancer. The first time I held a bowl for her to vomit into, I almost vomited myself! I won’t even describe the things I had to do for her but the emotional attachment was the worst. To me the staff nurses seemed indifferent and callous – but was probably a professional barrier they’d learned to develop. I, on the other hand, ran immediately to answer the bell when the young mother rang. She complained bitterly about the nurses and if one of them did come to her she would ask for me and they were only too happy to let me deal with her as she could be ‘difficult’ Well wouldn’t you be if you were suffering like that, I asked them but they shrugged their shoulders.

She was skeletal and her pallor was yellow but before visiting hour she’d call me to help her put on her makeup and brush what little hair she had. “It doesn’t matter how ill or old you are,” she told me “You must always make an effort to look your best for your husband.” I’d do my best to make sure she was fresh and presentable, prop her up on her pillows and stay and chat till her family arrived. Her hubby was always smiley and pleased to see her and the children were adorable – quiet and well-behaved bringing cards and pictures they had drawn for her.

My heart ached for them and for her as I knew she was going to die. The pastor from the Methodist Church visited her every day and told me that at first she’d raged against God for what was happening to her but that now she was beginning to accept her fate.

I was not there when she died. It was in the middle of the night before I came on duty. The pastor was there when I arrived and it was he who broke the news to me – “She went peacefully, believing that Jesus had come for her.” he said. I never saw her family again, but still think about them and wonder how they dealt with their loss and whether her husband married again. I am pretty convinced that he did as he was still young and very good looking! I, myself, married a widower with two young daughters and having had this experience in my teens helped me to understand what they had gone through losing a wife and mother to cancer.

But I also had a joyful experience while working at the hospital. I was going about my duties when the sister called me – “One of the mommies in the maternity section is about to give birth – would you like to watch?” Would I – Oh yes please!

I had no idea what to expect – I certainly did not expect the emotions that welled up inside me when that beautiful little boy popped into the world. I experienced a miracle and the tears flowed – tears of wonder, joy and excitement and I didn’t even know them! It was a lady doctor who delivered the little boy and the mother was her daughter-in-law. She said she was delighted and honoured to be allowed to deliver her own grandchild. When she put the baby into her daughter-in-law’s arms, she said, “Ugh he’s so ugly.” And there I was blubbing and thinking he’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen! But then I hadn’t been through the pain of childbirth!

It was a shock to discover that this is now how they're delivered!

It was a shock to discover that this is not now how they’re delivered!

So after all that, did I become a nurse? Not a chance! I rethought all that and decided that all this worthy stuff was over-rated and that Teaching would be more appropriate to my skills. After all I could still wear the smart clothes, wear heels and pour out my love to the youngsters I taught and school-school was my favourite game!

That’s more my style!

#NABLOPOMO – Day 3 – More on Quintella

2015-11-03 | puppy1952

NABLOPOMO

Keeping a large garden with its many fruit trees, vegetable patches and flower beds required a great deal of pottering so it was as well that there were many hands to make light work. Grandpa also kept bees and so of course there was plenty of honey to spread on one’s bread. Being the kind of inventive and practical man that he was Gramps decided that he needed to sink a borehole to keep his property watered. Good idea – but was there any subterranean water on the plot? There was only one inexpensive way to find out – use a divining stick. And this is where Granny had a super power. She took the forked stick and walked all around the acre until she was brought almost to her knees with the force with which the stick told her that here there be water! And sure enough when they dug down an abundant supply was to be found and this was used to do all the watering of the vast garden.

Big Brother found some very old photographs, scanned them and emailed them to me. I mentioned the dog – Atom and here he is with my brother aged about 6 or 7.

Big Brother and Atom the fox terrier – Don’t you love his shoes!

Grandpa working under the pine tree

The house in the background – Big Brother standing in the area where the swing (out of sight) hung from the tall denne tree. – Note the cars of the day. It was a long driveway and there were a few visitors on this day.

The kitchen was the hub of the house and those who popped in for a chat and a cuppa simply sat at the table and were entertained right there. Granny always said, No matter where I serve my guests, it seems they like my kitchen best!

But the bathroom is what brings back the most vivid memories. You got to it through a door from the kitchen. It was narrow and had a ball and claw tub with a cold tap and a geyser in which we burend denne balls. A thin copper pipe allowed the water to flow, piping hot into the tub. When we were small all three of us older kids we bathed together and then taken out onto a wooden board, toweled dry and dusted with Johnson’s Baby Powder. The smoky smell of pine and powder will forever be in my nostrils.

The sun did shine a great deal at Quintella but I also remember the icy winter days when a huge fire would be lit in the enormous open hearth in the lounge which was furnished with huge comfy chairs. The pets – of which there were many – 7 cats at one stage and two or three dogs – would flop down on the mat and we the kids would flop down with them and watch the pictures in the flames, listen to Springbok Radio or read the comics that Uncle Toto got us weekly. Little Sister and I got Princess and School Friend while Big Brother enjoyed Beeno, Look and Learn and Knowledge.

During the school holidays, our cousins would be there too and we’d gather in the outside room where they slept and play Monopoly – and this game would last for days! Big Brother was always the banker. The cuzzies and I started off with great enthusiasm but somehow one or other of us ended up with the Go Directly to Jail Card and do not collect Two Hundred and while we were languishing there Little Sister with her savvy business mind bought up our properties so we could buy ourselves our or something like that. Big Brother was not far behind with his smooth talking and it was always he or she who won! I became so sick of this game that one day I threw in my charm and said – that’s it I’m never playing this game again and I never did! Today my siblings are hugely successful in business and perhaps playing Monopoly honed their skills.

Another place we used to play when the weather was bad was The Clubhouse. It was a wooden building that my grandfather built next the house and it bordered the fish pond. A youth club called the Plumstead Young People’s Association or Pypas used it weekly for their meetings. It was also used for Scottish Country Dancing and we used to love to watch them at it. Of course it was also great for family celebrations and I remember our grandparents having their Ruby Anniversary there.

In those days we still made a huge thing of 5 November – Guy Fawkes Day. Grandpa used to make a straw guy and burn him on a bonfire before giving us the most magnificent fireworks display ever. Big Brother and later Baby Brother used to love the big bangs but Little Sister and I contented ourselves with sparklers. Everything was beautifully controlled and Gramps ensured that we were all safe when he sent of rockets and spun catherine wheels and it all seemed to go on for hours!

The other big celebration was of course Christmas. What a magical time it was for us. There was a Big Christmas tree in the garden that Gramps put flashing, coloured lights on. Each year the neighbour’s kids all came to see it. Gran would cook a traditional Christmas dinner and there were tickies in the Christmas pudding! Gran’s custard was made with fresh eggs and milk and was the best in the world. A week or two before Christmas our big treat was to go to the city with Granny and Gramps and get a Lucky Dip from each Father Christmas in each Department Store – Garlicks, OK Bazaars, Suttafords and Woolworths. Then we’d go to the Wimpy in the OK Bazaars – it was the only time in the year we ever went out for a meal!

Our grandparents certainly shaped much of our lives but there is a poem that I have remembered throughout my life and often think of although I’d forgotten which grandparent or parent had first read it to us. Big Brother reminded me that it was Grandpa and that made perfect sense!

Abou Ben Adhem —by James Henry Leigh Hunt

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw, within the moonlight in his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An angel writing in a book of gold:—

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the presence in the room he said,

“What writest thou?”—The vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.”

“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,

But cheerly still; and said, “I pray thee, then,

Write me as one that loves his fellow men.”

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night

It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blest,

And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.

And Grandpa was certainly one who loved his fellow man and it’s his and Granny’s example that my siblings and I strive to follow. May they rest forever in peace.

#NABLOPOMO Day 2 Quintella

2015-11-02 | puppy1952

NABLOPOMO

Baby Brother reminded me of the history of the name Quintella. Ever since he was a small child he has had an insatiable appetite for things of yore so he was always attentive when stories of the past were discussed. As he was much younger, he spent more time alone with Granny, soaking up her stories and storing them away in his encyclopaedic memory. It was the previous owner of the property that named it Quintella and this was after a town in Spain that she had visited. Granny and Grandpa liked the name so they kept it.

When we were very young two of my mother’s siblings were still living at home – Tony, the oldest was a bachelor till I was 10 or 11 and he took a keen interest in us all although we all knew and accepted that Big Brother was the favourite. Then there was Lee, the baby sister who I can still remember being in school uniform! Unfortunately, when I was seven, she was whisked away to Australia by her husband and has been there ever since!

Uncle Toto and Gramps, with Big Brother totally involved in the construction and design, built us a treehouse like no other. It was high in a gum tree in a faraway corner of the garden. This was no ordinary plank on a branch; this was like a real house with windows and curtains made by Granny and a leak-proof roof. It had proper little cupboards that were well provisioned and we ascended via a ladder that was nailed to the trunk. It even had a telephone – one Big Brother made with jam tins and string.

Imagine the modern child playing with those in this day of high technology. We would call down to gran and she would answer in a serious tone of voice or call us down for meals. How many hours didn’t we spend in this our very own house imagining we were shipwrecked or abandoned and having the time of our lives with no adult interference.

Miles away at the other end of the garden there was a swing made from an old tyre. Is there anything more thrilling to a child than to swing as high and as dangerously as possible. Uncle Toto used to say how high do you want it – how hard must I push and we would yell – “Give me “the works” Uncle To – Give me the works!” And with his powerful arms he would push and we’d go around in ever widening circles, higher and higher and higher till we screamed in glee.

The garden and house were haunted! Or that is what some people thought. Granny said they were friendly spirits and that it was a happy home and there was nothing to fear. But one of Mom’s cousins when sleeping over, awoke one night and encountered a ghostly woman who frightened the daylights out of him. None of Gran’s reassurances put his fears to rest and he never slept over again!

In one nook of our magical garden was a rather spooky fishpond. It had the clubhouse on one side (more of that another time) and bushes and hedges surrounding it so it was sort of separate with a little gate that opened into the nook. An eerie silence hovered over it, but it didn’t bother me and I would play there quite often. Granny told me that she’d seen the ‘lady’ there a few times. “She was searching,” she said, “looking under the bushes and into the pond, but she never spoke.”

“Did you speak to her, Granny?” I asked.

“No – I just watched her and wondered what she was looking for. Then one day I found it.”

“What?” I asked. “What did you find, Gran?”

“It was a brooch – a ruby brooch – it must have been precious to her.”

I felt a chill of excitement race down my back. “Did you tell her, Gran. What did she say?”

“No, I never got the chance to tell her. She never appeared again.”

“I think she must have wanted you to have it, Gran.”

“Yes, now her soul can rest in peace because she knows her treasure has been found.”

I haven’t thought about that story in years and wonder now what happened to the brooch because I can’t ever remember Granny showing it to me – but perhaps she did! Maybe Baby Brother will know.

Perhaps she looked like this?

Besides all the clocks and watches in my grandparents’ house there was also a magical piano. It was a pianola and didn’t this give us some good times. All we had to do was insert the paper roll and pump the pedals and hey presto you had music! I found this definition in Wikipedia.

“A pianola is a self-playing piano containing a pneumatic mechanism that operates the piano action via pre-programmed music recorded on perforated paper. ”

Here is a picture of one just like it.

The songs it played are as clear as ever in my head – There’ll alway be an England while there’s a country lane tra-la-la (We were very Colonial in those days) And Be my love, Violetta which we loved as we had an aunt by that name! I remember Grandpa singing loudly to the music when we played and of course we would join in too.

I loved visiting my grandparents with my parents but also on my own or with one or all of my siblings. Not a hair was turned, when even as young as 8, I would catch the train from Fish Hoek and take the half hour trip alone to Plumstead. Packed bag in hand I would walk to Ophir road but sometimes Gran would meet me on the way. Even if I was the only grandchild there I would amuse myself in the neverending garden. There was just so much to explore. Pretend games were the order of the day – I would be a pioneering explorer or a princess lost in the woods waiting to be rescued – usually by Grandpa calling me to tea or lunch. One could not starve in our magical garden though – it was dotted with every possible fruit tree and berry bush – there were loquats to gorge on, the juiciest nartjies to pick and suck and loganberries on the hedge which sometimes left dreadful stains on one’s clothes. We also had plums, peaches, nectarines, quince, oranges and lemons. Then there was the vegetable patch. Uncle Toto even grew mielies and potatoes. So if we were besieged in the treehouse we got our supplies from the land!

Of course Granny, being a ‘real’ old fashioned early 20th century grandma, was constantly in the kitchen cooking wonderful meals, baking scones, chocolate cakes and milk tert not to mention the delicious jams and preserves she produced. Did I mention the fig tree? Big Brother developed a taste for fig preserve, I am sure, from the wonderful ones Gran did from the spoils of that tree.

The days seemed endless, the love eternal and the sun always seemed to shine. But no, I do remember winter. More on that and other memories another day!

#NABLOPOMO Day 1 Childhood Memories – Grandparents

2015-11-01 | puppy1952

It is National Blog Post Month and I have decided to take the challenge. This means I have to do a blog post every day of the month of November. NABLOPOMO So join me or not as I waffle about whatever comes into my head each day this month.

Perhaps this is a sign of old age but I have found myself dreaming of the good old days and I mean the really old days of my distant childhood! It’s fortunately the good memories that have resurfaced and the love I feel for those who have gone before me have come flooding back.

There is a place I like to return to in my memory. A place that if I think about it played a huge part in shaping who I am today. My grandparents had a home on an acre plot in Ophir Road, Plumstead, Cape Town. It was called Quintella – I never thought to ask why it was called this but I always loved the name. Today I googled it and found that it a girls’ name meaning First Rose. This is what else I found about the name. “Quintella are lively, imaginative, enthusiastic and optimistic. Quintella are expressive and inspire others wherever they go. Quintella possess great verbal skills which make them good comedian, artist or writer.” And that is a perfect description of the home I remember so well! It was indeed a lively place with plenty of opportunity to use your imagination. There was plenty of optimism and enthusiasm and inspiration coming from both of our grandparents,our parents and our aunts and uncles. There was lots of talking, lots of laughing and lots and lots of creating.

The house was a simple one made in parts of brick, tin and clapboard. Well the internal walls were of clapboard and you could knock on them which when we were kids was so much fun.

A long unpaved driveway led all the way to the shed at the end of the property but there was a clearing under the pine trees near the gate where visitors parked their vehicles and then walked to the kitchen door which was where everyone entered. There was no front door as such. The door from the dining room led to the front garden. The property boasted the most beautiful and enormous pine trees – we called them Denneball trees as the Afrikaans word for pine is denne. The ‘denneballs’ would fall to the ground and the nuts from them scatter on the drive way. I grew up on those nuts; sitting on the back step smashing them open with a rock was the best way to enjoy them. We even fed them to the fox terrier, Atom who just gobbled them as eagerly as we did.

Now Atom – he brings back some good memories. There was Sparky his wire-haired mother too – She produced litter after litter of pups much to our delight as there is nothing like a warm puppy to love. But how sad we were when they were sent off to new homes at six weeks of age. Atom was a lively, smooth haired black and white bundle of energy. He romped with us and we never tired of throwing a ball for him while Sparky was gentler and quieter and guarded us with her life. When my baby brother was still in a pram she never left its side and growled at whatever stranger wanted to peep in at him.

The kitchen was large a the hub of the home. Granny presided and there was a big wooden table in the middle. Everything happened at that table – it was the work surface, the breakfast nook, the place where the horse meat was cut up into chunks for the pets who knew exactly what time to come and catch the pieces as they were thrown to the kitchen floor.

Granny was a proper granny. They broke the mould after she was born. She had white hair and wore glasses. She was plump and soft and warm and cuddly. She had a wide lap and loving arms. She never got cross and had endless patience and a million stories. Granny recited the most delightful poems and sang the sweetest songs. She smelt powdery and flowery and she was beautiful. We all adored her and wanted to spend every spare minute with her. We loved our grandpa too. He was bald and bony and jovial and fun. When he sneezed we all jumped out of our skin it was so loud. His hands were like sandpaper and he could scratch your back without using his nails! “These are working hands,” he boasted. “Not the hands of a nancy boy!” O how we loved those hands! Grandpa could do anything. He could make anything. He always had a plan. “I could have become an engineer,” he told us. “But I was poor and my mother couldn’t afford high school let alone university.” Because grandpa was a very clever man – an inventor – he always had bright ideas for doing something better. Gramps was never still – he was always hammering, fixing, making creating – gadgets for the home – (the toilet roll was a musical box) go carts for us to ride and kites for us to fly. He was a real hands of grandpa! When he was sitting still, it was at his workbench in the clock room – he would sit with magnifying monocle squeezed on one eye mending an endless number of watches and clocks. It was his hobby and a way of making extra cash. The clock room was where we as children slept when we stayed over. The walls were lined with a variety of different loudly ticking clocks, waiting to be returned to their owners and these cuckooed and chimed through the night as well. But these friendly, comforting noises did not disturb us at all. Nor did Grandpa’s own Grandfather’s clock in the dining room. How I loved watching him winding and setting it. It kept perfect time and I loved that old clock chiming the quarter hour and gonging out the hours.

There are many more memories which I think I’d better save for future posts. My grandparents set a very high grandparenting standard. And so did my parents – what hope have I with such an example to follow!

I have been a granny for 18 years now and I realise that I’m a 21st century model. They don’t make them like they used to!