This is a tale about two pictures…
In 1991 I was living in Pietermaritzburg and working as the Secretary to the General Manager of the Pietermaritzburg Turf Club. It was the first job I got after having worked for Nico in our own business. I absolutely loved the new job.
It was before legalised gambling was allowed, and the horse racing industry was thriving. I had never had anything to do with race horses and the entire experience was thrilling.
Being right there, in the middle of it, was heady. Having to be involved by handing out prizes in the winner’s circle, meeting the media and being taken out by the sponsors of the races was a new experience.
The major sponsor at that time was Gilbeys. Because of the kindness of one of their staff who found out that I had never been in an airplane, he gave me his Voyager Miles and told me to fly anywhere in South Africa and enjoy it.
I chose to visit my cuzzie, Penny, who lived in Cape Town. On this, my maiden flight I happened to be placed next to a drunk passenger!
The air hostess was aware of the situation and just as we reached the right flight altitude, she appeared at my seat and asked me to accompany her down the aisle. I had no idea what was happening, so obediently I followed her.
She stopped at the door leading in to the cockpit and knocked. The door was opened and I found myself being invited in to sit behind the pilot.
He apologised for the state of the other passenger and said that I would be welcome to fly all the way to Cape Town in the cockpit, but would have to return to my own seat as we approached to land.
Well, it was just too amazing. It was winter and there was a splattering of snow on the high mountains. I had a birds eye, unobstructed view of the beauty of the clouds and landscape as the journey progressed.
I flew over Table Mountain and as he banked the airplane to start descending I was then taken back to my seat. What an amazing experience!
But I digress, this is just a little bit of the setting before I tell you about the first picture.
The office block at the Turf Club
was built in the shape of a big U. The wing I worked in was on the right hand side if you stood in the parking area at the top. There was a long passageway which joined the opposite side of the U, where the accounts department worked. Walking from my office to the other side I went past the magnificent Board Room on the right where the table was shaped like a horse shoe, and large enough to seat all the Stewards of the Club and Management.
Further on you passed reception on the left, all the marketing offices and the photo copy open planned office at the bottom of the short passage which was handy to the accounts section.
My father, at this stage was 75 years old. He had been diagnosed with Oesophageal Cancer and, after having his entire family come from around South Africa to see him for the weekend before being admitted, he underwent a surgical procedure which, although difficult, was often routinely performed with a high success rate of survival.
Sadly on this occasion things went terribly wrong. It was only the following day that we were informed that he had suffered a severe stroke on the operating table. He lived for 25 days in Greys Hospital, being cared for by a lovely gay nurse by the name of Geoffrey. This was definitely the very worst time of my life. I visited him every day, spoke to him and, with my younger brother, Ray by my side, we sadly said goodbye to him. My dear mother slept in a chair next to his bed during the night and helped the staff during the day.
Life continued, as it does. Earth shattering experiences like these only really affect those who are directly involved….
I was lucky that I had many photographs and live cine camera footage of our young life and was able to look at photos of him when ever I wanted to. But they somehow didn’t capture the essence of my father.
One day, I can’t remember how many months after this sad event, I walked down the passage to the photocopy room. As I was working there I noticed that a fax was coming through. I glanced over to see if it was something I needed to action, when I was stopped in my tracks.
There, materialising in front of me, was a ball point pen sketch. It was from Raymond who, while sitting in his office in Welkom, started to doodle. This doodle turned out to be a sketch of our father. Ray was not an artist, but that sketch captured a certain essence of the man we both had loved and lost.
Even today, and I still have it, I am touched to the core by this, the first picture of my story. I made a copy of it and had it framed and it hung in my moms bedroom and moved with her as she got older. I removed it from above her bed after she died.
The second picture is one that has just been painted in oils by my sweet, hardworking and beautiful daughter in law, Ulrika. It is a self portrait that she painted this month. While it was on her easel and she showed the various stages of its birth onto canvas, I thought she had not been flattering to herself in the portrait.
But when I saw the finished painting, I saw that she had outdone herself. She managed to capture the true essence of herself, as I see her.
Brave, no longer the sexy young Swedish girl that I have always loved, but a mature, woman.
One that has given so much of herself to raise the two children in very difficult circumstances at times. A woman who has worked as hard, if not harder, than her husband, my son.
But she has not lost anything in this journey called life. She has taken all that life has thrown at her and survived. More than just survived, she has thrived!
Her website is http://www.konst.se/ulrikamuller and she has a Facebook Page which you can find under Ulrika Muller Art. If you like her work, please follow her!
Two very different pictures, but both have stories. I hope you enjoy reading about them.
