We emigrated to SA in 1952. Part 1 Updated

1952 

Up on the high veld, where the oxygen is rarer, although I don't recall it affecting my breathing I discovered water boiled at a lower temperature and vegetables needed longer cooking. Thank goodness for the pressure cooker I had received as a wedding present!
There were dust storms from the nearby mine dumps, (picture left of the mine dumps behind our flat), and summers when, throughout the day it was roasting with clear blue skies and then regularly, shortly before 5  the heavens opened up and the rain pelted down for about ten or fifteen minutes and then stopped abruptly and the sky cleared. 
During some storms hail fell sometimes with such large stones the sound of them  hitting nearby corrugated iron rooves drowned out all speech. It was most amazing and something I enjoyed and I found the electric storms were exciting.
One thing we could no longer endure however was being burgled - twice in 1952 and once in 1953. Each time they came during the night while we were sleeping. On the last occasion they had entered through the bathroom fanlight window and came into the bedroom while we slept, taking clothes from the back of the chair at the foot of John’s bed and from the wardrobe beside me. It was frightening to think burglars had stood in our bedroom while we were asleep and we wondered what would have happened if one of us had woken.
We had little of value and could ill afford to lose what had been taken taken. Insurance replaced a few things but it never seemed to be replace everything stolen. The police come out and took a report but there was little chance they would recover anything. So after about two years, we moved.

Sometime in 1953 or 1954 we took a week's holiday in Rustenberg on a small guest farm which had rondavel accommodation while Ann stayed with her grandparents. John was keen on horse riding and said he would teach me to ride and his mother lent me her jodphurs.

On the second or third day ee went out for my first lesson  and the horses were brought out. They only had two. Once was a huge horse and the other had been a polo pony so it was decided I would ride the polo pony. I had never been on a horse before and the manager told me that if we became lost the pony would make for home.

John held the reins, keeping my horse near to his while I mounted. Polo ponies do not appear to like other horses close to them and immediately pulled away and started to move off. 

I had no idea what to do. When John pulled up beside me again my pony broke into a trot and as John tried to keep up and grab the reins the pony moved into a gallop. Soon I was clinging on for dear life. 

After a short while we were running along a path and I lost both stirrups. I was terrified. 

John, still behind us, was shouting to me 'pull on the reins' which I did but the pony had the bit between his teeth.

Ahead of me I saw a low stone archway coming closer and it was obvious to me that while the pony would fit under it was too low for me to stay on and I had to make the decision. Whether to stay on and get scraped off going under the archway or dismount in mid flight. I decided on the latter and came down hard on the ground, landing on my lower back at which point I lost interest in the pony. John didn't dare dismount because his horse took considerable controlling.

A short time later and while I was still on the ground trying to recover, the pony was brought back and it was suggested that I should mount immediately. I was advised that if I did not do so I would never overcome the fear of riding a horse after such a fall. I was in such pain that this was the last thing on my mind and I refused.

I was in agony for several days after this and was unable to move or sit without pain. I have suffered from back pain ever since.

Over this particular period there are fewer of these records because many were lost moving to the farm at Grasmere when a  box full of letters, photographs and mementos was lost from the back of the open truck (buckie) when the wind caught it. This was not noticed until much later.

John's parents had just purchased a small holding of 20 or 30 morgen  out 'in the bundu' near Grasmere on the main road to Vereeniging. A previous owner of the land had drilled for water without success and not only was there no water, electricity, gas or sewage facilities on site but no buildings either. 
A stream  ran along the bottom of the land (the east) which wasn't suitable for drinking because most running water in the country is infested by bilharzia. .

On the west side of the plot was the main road. A small plantation of gum trees grew down the south side of the plot, on the other side of which there was a dirt road which joined the other farms higher up to the main road. Our nearest neighbours, an old couple in their 80’s named the Robertsons,  lived about a mile away up the dirt road. The small holding was in very an isolated spot. 

Driving out to the farm made quite an enjoyable break at the weekend, it being a change from the flat. 
Early on a Sunday morning they piled everything they would need (water, cement, folding chairs, blankets, kettle, mugs,  tea, food for a braai, tools etc) into Walter’s Chrysler and after picking us up would drive out to the farm. On arrival a fire was lit on a primus to make tea.

Then Walter and John started building. First a little house for a caretaker and a small store for implements followed by a large rondavel which was about 15 feet across. A round house with a sort of thatch roof. 
During the week their old black caretaker, Charlie, who was probably about 65 or 70, and his wife Lizzie, who was about 35 and were now living in the little house, collected rocks lying about on the property and at the weekends my mother in law and Walter drove out, collecting us on the way and the men would start building. 
Tinca was a terrible driver so Walter always discouraged her from driving in the kindest possible was by saying the Chrysler was far too heavy for her to drive apart form which she was only five foot tall and could hardly see over the steering wheel but one time when we were about to leave he allowed her to turn the car around, which meant driving right around the rondavel until the car was facing the gate. 
While doing this she managed to knock over and break the wheel barrow, flatten the primus stove, and through the pile of newly mixed cement demolished a ladder  and a shovel leaning against the wall , hit the brick barbecue (braaivleis) and came to rest against the gate post!
I felt I was witnessing a comedy as we  watched in amazement hardly believing anyone could wreak so much havoc in such a short drive.                                Above: My daughter Ann helping to build the 
                                                                                  rondavel with Charlie's house and the store in the 
                                                                                  background.
On another occasion he allowed her to drive part of the way home and he must have been feeling very tired late one afternoon when he agreed and before he had even finished agreeing she was behind the wheel. 
John groaned.
Everything was fine until we reached the main road whereupon she put her foot down and the car took off with a squeal of tyres. 
She had little road sense and frequently overtook cars while going round curves on hills or on reaching the top of the hill. During this terrifying drive John and I gradually sank down in our seats in the back and, holding Ann tightly, I braced my feet against the seat in front. At least I couldn't view the close shaves we had - of which there were several. 
Frequently I heard terrified drivers coming the other way, sounding their car horns as they went past and she always asked most innocently as she drove along the middle of the road‘What’s wrong with them?’  completely unaware that she was doing anything wrong. 
She took every curve far too fast, making me wonder if she was going to make it, whilst trying to carry on a conversation with us in the back, even giving a glance behind her every now and then to make sure we were attentive.
Walter meanwhile tried to make light of the near misses with comments such as ‘It’s a fast road, isn’t it?’ and  ‘Oh, darling, that was a little close!’ or chuckled saying ‘Whoops, just missed!’ which  Tinca found hysterically funny. Sometimes after one of his comments which she had not heard she took her eyes off the road to ask what he had said - not returning her eyes to the road until he had answered.
Eventually, to our relief, Walter asked her to pull over for petrol at the next petrol station and without any signals to the drivers behind, who probably decided it was safer to stay behind us, she pulled into a petrol station and, hardly slacking speed, screeched to a halt by the pumps. 

Walter, I think, had got the message from the groans coming from the back seat and after he had filled up the car he walked round to the driver’s side and said that he would drive now. She was adamant that she was enjoying herself and wanted to drive some more but diplomatically he said ‘Now you don’t want to overtire yourself, do you, my little Tinca’. Reluctantly she gave in. 
It had been a nightmare journey for us for she was quite the worst driver I have ever had the misfortune to be driven by. 
At last Walter, John  and Charlie were working on the rondavel floor and walls and it took several months before it was completed. 
Unfortunately because it was free Walter used mine dust sand for the cement flooring not realising it contains cyanide which was used to extract the gold. The cyanide prevented the concrete curing properly and caused it to set in a compacted powdery form which meant sweeping the floor always caused a great cloud of red dust to rise and  settle on everything.

Left A poloroid photo of John and Ann outside the completed rondavel.
Anyway, eventually the rondavel, originally intended as a weekend retreat, was completed and the roof thatched and soon after it was completed (at about the end of 1954) John decided it would be cheaper for us to live there and with Walter and Tinca's agreement we moved on to a small holding. I felt rather nervous because not only was very isolated but there was no running water or sewage! John was happy though because we lived there rent free. 
The rondavel consisted of one room about 15 feet across with the inner walls whitewashed. Three windows and the door were equally spaced in the walls and we ranged our furniture around inside. One part (the bedroom) for the ‘bunk beds’ - two single iron beds lashed one above the other and to gum poles. 
Next was the lounge area, two small armchairs with a little table between. Then the kitchen area, a long table with two Primus stoves which all had to be lit with metholated spirits and were the only means of cooking, and a newspaper covered area for food preparation, and a cupboard beside it for  the food. In the centre a card table and two chairs for our meals. 
Initially we had wick oil lamps and later a pressure oil lamp with a mantle which gave a fair light and was much better and later we had two pressure lamps.There was still no sewerage, running water or electricity (this was in the mid 50s) and the thatched roof soon held a variety of beetles and insects, a constant hazard being having them fall into ones food or hair. It was not quite primitive living but almost.

Two or three miles away was Grasmere hamlet with its two shops. One the general shop which sold food, paraffin, clothing and farming equipment and nearby a butchers. My only access to them was on foot across the veldt. This was no easy stroll with a two year old child who needed to travel in a push chair because it was too far for her to walk and she was too heavy for me to carry.
By road it was about three miles and we had no car but once I tried walking along a typical dusty corrugated road, pushing the pram.   When a car passed us on the road it threw up great clouds of dust which covered us but no one ever offered a lift although many were neighbours. Then came the struggle back while trying to balance the shopping bag or bags on the handle while pushing the pram. It wasn't easy pushing it along the rutted roads or across the rough open veldt. 
For protection we had a Heinz variety dog which John suggested I took along for safety but there was no way I could have managed a dog, the push chair with a child and the shopping as well. 
Charlie also decided to get himself a dog and named her Lady. Not to be outdown we called ours Tessa short for Contessa. Whilst she did not take to being trained she did prove to be a good watchdog but had to be found another home when she broke into the chicken run one night and killed all two dozen of our bantam hens.

Sometimes I would give Charlie and his wife a list to take in to the village shop where they would wait for the order to be made up but there wasn't a great deal of choice and it was a case of 'half a pound of stewing beef' and hope the butcher would send something half decent for if we were to eat meat it had to be either canned or meat freshly bought that day from the shop. 
In any case cooking the evening meal had to be simple because I only had two primus stoves for the purpose and no oven, electricity or refrigerator. Fresh milk from the shop had to be boiled to make it last until we were able to arrange daily deliveries to the gate from a local farmer.

The thatched roof soon held a variety of beetles and insects and a constant hazard was having them fall into ones food or hair. It was not quite primitive living but almost.
Every day or so, until the neighbours on the other side of the main road, which could be accessed by a cattle creep under the road, sank a borehole, we had to send poor old Charlie and his wife up the hill to the nearby Robertson farm with two four gallon buckets to fill and bring back. 
Eventually Walter brought down a large (he worked for Bothners) enameled electric washing machine tub to which he sealed and attached tap. A cloth over the top kept insects out but it was so big Charlie and his wife never managed to fill it more than a quarter full which took them two trips either to the Robertsons or our new neighbours. 
John  caught the bus into work into Johannesburg in the early morning and from then on, until he arrived back, Ann and  I saw no one except Charlie and his family and the occasional neighbour driving past in a car.. 
My father, back in England, was outraged when he heard we were living in a rondavel on a farm because he thought I deserved better however one soon adapts to all the inconveniences and once arrangements were made for us to visit my parents in law to do the laundry in their washing machine, things were easier.

Another problem in the early days of visiting was sanitation and a wooden outhouse was built, under the gum trees. Inside there was a box like seat with a hole in it under which stood a large bucket. 
A short distance away John dug a deep pit, perhaps 4 foot square and 5 foot deep and the contents of the bucket were deposited in there regularly. John didn’t think this was work he could ask Charlie to do and assigned the task to me! Not only was the bucket heavy it was not a pleasant chore!

The days were long and lonely with John leaving for Johannesburg early and returning late. I had an interest in a number of handicrafts in those days so I painted and sketched, knitted, crocheted and embroidered and made clothes for Ann and myself. Because money was tight I had been making my own and Ann’s clothes since we arrived in South Africa, hand sewing the seams or borrowing a friend’s sewing machine when we lived in Jo’burg.

The local woman’s church guild met monthly and during the meeting usually had someone in to lecture. Mrs Robertson, who was in her 80’s, offered to pick me up in her car each month and drove us to the hall in Grasmere. I only went a few times - it was all too homely - with talk mainly about babies and cooking and the problems everyone was having with servants. They were all very traditional country housewives, mostly Afrikaans, and while I did not feel I was better than them I did feel I needed more stimulating talk. With Mrs Robertson being hard of hearing it was not easy to talk to her and the rest seemed to know each other and when they did speak English and allowed me to enter their conversation they often ran down England almost as though they expected me to apologise for being English.