Schooling…
Schooling in those days was traditional and good. Sport was compulsory and there was no excuse for malingering of any sort. Our entire family engaged in sporting activities and my two brothers and I would have our holidays organised by my mother, Thelma Whittle, who would run round-robin’s at the Welkom Tennis Club. Over weekends we would all go to the local nine-hole Mashie Golf Course at the Western Holdings Gold Mine and spend the entire afternoon playing golf and socializing with other mine workers and their families.
I remember the second tee off so well. It was not at very long hole but it had an unused railway line which ran between the tee off and the green. For some unknown reason this bloody railway line spooked me. I think that during all the years I played there I seldom managed to hit a clear shot down the fairway without it hitting those rails!
The evenings at home were the best. We were always summoned to the table by my mother. She had a huge brass bell with a sturdy wooden handle. This she would ring while standing outside the steps leading from our kitchen. It never mattered where we were in the neighborhood at the time, we knew that when we heard it, we had five minutes to get inside, wash and get to the table. Once there we would have our evening meal, help the maid wash and dry the dishes and then put them away.
Home life…
Each night a barrel of sweets would be taken off the mantle piece and handed around. We were allowed to take three tiny sweets each. Jujube’s with their sprinkling of sugar, Sugas, a small little soft toffee wrapped in paper, my father’s favorite, licorice all sorts, some square in shape with pink and white top and bottom, or twisted and soft enough to stick to your teeth, mint humbugs or boiled sweets for gran gran.
After that it was time to move into the lounge and listen to Springbok Radio. The evenings would fly past while we sat quietly listening to all the favourite programmes. “No Place to Hide”, “Inspector Carr”, “The Creaking Door”, “Taxi” and the “Three Wise Men” to name a few.
Then it would be a kiss for Mom and Dad and off to bed.
One of my earliest memories happened in 262 Stateway, the first house that we lived in, in Welkom. My Grandfather, “Pipe” by nickname, was visiting us from 44 Gus Brown Road, Warner Beach on a short holiday. I had a front tooth that was hanging on by the proverbial thread and was petrified of it being pulled out. Pipe approached me with a pair of pliers and attempted to allay my fears by showing me how easy it actually would be for him to remove it.
Unbeknown to me he had a false tooth in his mouth and he attempted to remove this tooth with the pair of pliers. But what actually transpired was that he grabbed the wrong tooth, and gave a really good yank, and was horrified when his, so called, good tooth suddenly appeared at the end of the pliers, root and all. His confusion and angst was transferred to me and I ran away and hid behind the door in the lounge where I wriggled and pushed and pulled at my tooth until it came out with a small click sound and I was able to stick my tongue into the empty cavity and taste the blood, before he could try to use the pliers on me.
Two accompanying photos are of my darling Grandfather, Pipe, and I. The photo of him is taken at the Baggies pool that I love so much.
