We emigrated to SA in 1952. Part 2 1953/4

Walter decided to put in some fruit trees but we never saw fruit on them because there was insufficient rain and no means of watering them sufficiently. Walter and John constructed a little wagon from the rear wheels and axle of a car onto which a large clean oil drum was attached. A donkey was bought and Charlie was then able to go down to the river, in the dry season, and fill it with muddy water for the fruit trees but it was never enough. Charlie was and old man and didn’t enjoy the work of filling up with water from the stream so did not make as many trips as hoped to provide sufficient water for the trees. It was such a laborious business and he probably realised he was never going to be able provide the amount of water the fruit trees needed so he only did the trip once a week. But at least he was able to go into Grasmere and return with a larger order of food and the donkey did produce a foal.

Eventually John bought a second hand Ford Anglia and once a week we were able to visit Parktown, where Walter and Tinca lived. I was then able to do the washing on a more regular basis and also have a bath and wash my hair in comfort. Moving to the farm did not save us any money as John had hoped. True we weren’t paying rent but bus fares and later the car cost far more.

The second Christmas (probably 1955) on the farm  we decided to hold a Christmas party. We collected glass jars for several weeks and covered them with coloured crepe paper, stuck a candle inside and strung them from the eucalyptus trees to the rondavel. We hoped it would be dry so that the party could be held outside.

We had also bought a Christmas tree and I bought inexpensive presents so that all the guests would receive something, intending to hang them on the tree.

With everything prepared, and just as the guests started to arrive, the heavens, which had been threatening rain all afternoon, opened up and our guests rushed for shelter  inside the extension which had just been added on to the rondavel.

Everyone was happy drinking in the extension while I hastily decorated the tree in secret in the rondavel. By the time I had finished the guests were getting wet because the thatch in the new extension was leaking badly and soon after that the old thatch in the rondavel sprang a few leaks and we had to put buckets and basins everywhere to catch the drips.

The party quickly came to end as the guests started feeling chilled from the dampness and gradually everyone drifted off as soon as they decently could. It was not a success and we never attempted another party after that although we did have friends calling in at all hours if they were passing.

John and our next door neighbour in the new house over the road, got along fine because both liked to drink. He was also named John and he suggested to my John one day that they try making their own beer.

Soon they had buckets filled with potato mash and potato beer was in the process of being made. But that was not enough for them and they decided they would build a still. Another friend living on a nearby farm offered to have it set up in one of his sheds and they all behaved like schoolboys and treated it as a great joke but it was potent stuff and poisonous too as our neighbour discovered.

That New Year’s Eve everyone was invited to view the still and celebrate on the potato spirit. I didn’t drink alcohol and at about 10 my John was not feeling well so we went home. It was unusual for him to leave a party until he was legless and once in bed he did not move until morning. However everyone from the party turned up at a little past 12 and to wish us a happy new year and did their best to wake us. There was no waking John, who had passed out, but I ignored them and after ten minutes they eventually they went away.

The following day our next door neighbour was feeling extremely ill and visited his doctor who asked him if he had been making his own beer from potatoes and then distilling it. He had to admit he had and the doctor said he was killing himself because it contained fusil oil. So, much to my relief, that was the end of making potato spirit and the still was closed down.

After Tessa had disgraced herself with the bantam hens and been found alternative accommodation John decided to buy a Beretta for our protection and taught me how to shoot. It was kept unloaded on top of the wardrobe and apart from occasional practice I had no need to use it except on three occasions.

Charlie complained that a bird was attacking and killing his free range chickens and asked me to deal with it. John said I should try to shoot it and I had no trouble doing this because I was a good shot once it had settled on a nearby tree. Later it turned out to be a protected bird so we said no more about that.

One evening a short time later on his way home from work John collapsed and the doctor diagnosed yellow jaundice, no doubt from the drinking the potato spirit. The doctor wanted him to go into hospital for complete rest until cured but that would mean Ann and I leaving the farm until he was well and we had nowhere to stay and there was no way I wanted to spend weeks with my in laws and I offered to nurse him at home.

There were several different medicines and pills he had to have and I worked out a chart to make sure he had then as necessary and he was under instructions to rest completely and not to undertake anything strenuous and he spent all his time in bed not even being allowed to read for the first month. During this time I spent many hours reading Dover Harbour by Thomas Armstrong to him.

Tom, the Robertson’s African milkman, drove the Robertsons 2 horse high flat-bed wagon, filled with milk churns to catch the train into Grasmere twice a day. Once in the early morning and again in the evening. At the front it had  a double seat for the driver which must have been at least 5 feet above the ground with a low rail, no more than six or eight inches  high, running round it as a very minimal handrail to hang on to. We often saw and waved to him on his way back from his evening deliveries.

A young African boy of about 16 , looking for work, called at the farm when John was ill. and after consulting with Charlie we hired him to do a little gardening and help Charlie around the farm. The lad seemed to know what he was doing and on his first day laid a row of rocks around the garden area outside the rondavels, and painted them white and then started hoeing and weeding.

Every night we hung our milk can on the gate  for Tom to fill while on his way into Grasmere with the milk churns and on his return journey one morning  he woke Charlie at daybreak to say he had seen our new employee trying to sell off a variety of things including a push chair which he knew belonged to us. 

Charlie and I checked the padlock on the shed, which was broken, and several garden implements and  Ann’s push chair and several other items were missing.

John was still too ill to leave his bed and it was up to me to deal with this. At John’s insistence I put the gun in my pocket for protection and  climbed up on to the wagon seat beside Tom.  Charlie climbed up onto flatbed and once on the main road Tom whipped up the horses and we were soon speeding along at break neck pace. I felt I was in a very precarious position as I clung on to the iron rail for dear life, sure I was going to be thrown off. 

Tom hardly slowed to make the sharp turn on to the dirt road which led into Grasmere and the wagon was violently swaying from side to side  as we progressed along the rutted dirt road, being bounced up and down, while leaving great clouds of dust behind us. Looking behind I could see old Charlie being thrown about on the flatbed while trying to prevent himself from falling or I feared he was going to be thrown off. The very devil seemed to have got into Tom as he stood up and whipped the horses. It was like a Wild West film.

We had no trouble finding the young man at the railway station with our goods and I was surprised that he gave in so easily, making no attempt to run off. Having recovered everything he had taken we returned home with him and it was only when we got back that I realised the butt of the gun was sticking out of my coat pocket. The sight of it must have terrified the poor lad. 

John questioned him and discovered he had been in the local remand home for the last 18 months for theft. There they had tried to teach him useful work that he could do in the hope he would stop stealing. This accounted for his experience in gardening. After warning him to leave the district we let him go. I am sure that many of the farmers in the district would not have let him off so lightly.

I was always aware of how vulnerable we were living in such an isolated spot. The second time I used the gun was late one evening during this same time when  John was ill. There was always a bit of a curfew on after dark. 

It was pitch dark outside when we heard someone crossing the land near the rondavel. I stepped outside with the gun and shouted into the darkness ‘Who’s there?’ No one replied and I shouted again. The noise came closer and I identified it as someone coming towards me and felt very threatened. With no reply I fired a single shot into the air as a warning upon which caused Charlie to come rushing out of his house ‘Don’t shoot, missis,’ he cried, ’don’t shoot. It’s my son’. Poor Charlie. It was a considerable relief to me that I had not panicked and shot in the direction the noise had come from or been faced with having to use the gun to defend myself.

Our new neighbours had planted several yellow cling peach trees when they first bought the farm and, having plenty of water from the borehole, soon had a good crop of fruit which Bette, being a trained domestic science teacher, bottled in Kilner jars. 

We planted peas in our last year on the farm and because of  good rainfall they were more successful that than the fruit trees. When ripe it was clear there were so many most would go to waste until Bette suggested that she could bottle and share them with us. 

After consulting her recipe books she said she couldn’t understand why peas needed so much boiling and felt sure that as long as they were tender they could be bottled and went ahead, cooking them for less time than the book said, and then bottled them

A few days later she heard an explosion in her store cupboard. One of the bottled peas had exploded and eventually all the bottled peas did the same. Later she learnt that unless the germ (like wheat germ) in peas was killed by a long boiling the contents would ferment.!

In most matters concerning cooking Bette was excellent and I have seen her butcher a side of beef hanging in her garage, marinate it in a large tub, and hang it up to dry in the store cupboard for biltong which was delicious.

Money was a constant problem for us but some things were a necessity such as shoes for Ann who, at that time, seemed to need new shoes every month because her feet were growing so fast. However in the one month when we had enough left over to buy Ann a pair of shoes John said we couldn’t afford them and then arrived home from work the following night with a brand new camera. Angry, I bit my lip and said nothing.

Soon my in laws lost interest in the land and decided  to sell it meaning we had to find somewhere else to live. We heard of a cottage on a nearby farm run by two elderly sisters. It was small but not as small as the rondavels and had more conveniences, so we moved in.

The house did at least have a septic tank for the lavatory and running cold water but no bathroom or heating so it was back to using the galvanised bath once a week, and an oil heater when the weather turned cold. Water had to be heated up on a black cast iron stove and at least the one in the cottage seemed to draw rather better than the one installed in the rondavel extension but I still never mastered the art of baking in it.

On opening a food cupboard one day I found a mouse sitting on the shelf. It jumped down on to the floor and ran across the kitchen and I, who thought myself unafraid of such things, found myself leaping up onto a chair until it had disappeared.

On hot days I used to put the tin bath out in the front garden under one of the walnut trees and fill it with water to let Ann splash about in it while I lay nearby on a blanket on the grass.

John's interest in photography was sufficient for him to join a group in Johannesburg and he decided that a good test of his understanding of how the camera worked was to photograph the aluminium milk churns which, after washing in the dairy,  stood on a table outside the whitewashed dairy wall, to dry out. He bought film in bulk and reeled film into spare cartridges. For months he photographed the churns, developed the film and made prints, taking the best to the group for criticism. Most of our spare money was spent on new equipment for his hobby consequently we went without.

The two sisters who owned the farm often sent over home grown vegetables and fruit which were above their requirements and these helped with the housekeeping.

Following the problems with the potato beer John decided to try his hand at wine making and made sufficient for half a dozen bottles but decided not to use corks for the bottles (he always knew better) and covered them with greaseproof paper.

He and our ex neighbour John, after a drinking session in Jo'burg,  returned to the cottage late one evening and there being no other drink in the house decided to open a bottle of wine. They had drunk half the bottle when I pickedit up to admire the colour of the wine and held it up to the paraffin lamp. I then noticed hundreds of little worms wriggling around inside the bottle and pointed these out to the men who quickly disappeared outside and were being sick. I was grateful then I did not drink. It gave me a good laugh and a tale to tell!

We didn’t stay long at the farm. for John was always looking for ways to manage our income and when our ex neighbours decided to take in lodgers we moved in with them. I enjoyed Bette’s company. She was a school teacher at the local Grasmere school and enjoyed intelligent conversation and not the usual South African ‘women’s talk’ which generally consisted of discussing recipes. Her husband was not only a drinker, but deceitful, unfaithful and an unreliable timekeeper.

One evening when I were sitting with her at the kitchen table, on which stood a bowl of eggs, commiserating with her because she was thoroughly fed up. It was the last day of term and  her car had gone in for repair. and her husband had  promised to pick her up from school to help her with her books, equipment and the end of term exam papers which she had to mark during the break. He did not turn up and with the school empty and locked up she had to struggle home on foot with everything. I think she thought he was having an affair.

He didn’t arrive home until 10 pm and was very drunk when he eventually did. He started giving excuses for not having picked her up and was standing behind me, perhaps using me as a shield, but she was so furious she took an egg from the dozen in a bowl on the table and threw it at him. I ducked just in time and it missed him also. I don’t think she intended to throw it at me but she was so angry her aim was off.

After a few months they decided to sell up and move to a house in Florida and we went with them.