Growing in the sun … the book

GROWING IN THE SUN …
Not growing up. When are you grown up? Aren’t we always growing? Growing our minds … expanding our minds attitudes and growing into our fashion, sense or not. Growing into those gangly legs, into those huge teeth. Who wants to grow up, besides a teenager?
I have a happy contented life but always wonder, …have I done enough… which opportunities have I missed, do I only remember happy times? Why am I so lucky to have had a favourable outcome when other have suffered so? But we all live our own reality – everyone’s suffering differs. Suffering to some may not be so bad for others, they have a different level of suffering. Suffering is like being pushed out of your comfort zone. Public toilets might be one person’s version of suffering … to someone else not so much. I liken myself to a sunflower growing under the African sun. Face to the sun and surviving through it all. A happy sight that makes people smile when they look at me, but I do not have an overpowering scent that cloys anyone in my vicinity I can always only hope. Although I am certainly not as tough as some of my “boer se vrou” friends. I do like a wollies …..
There are many words to describe my upbringing but idyllic is the one I like most. Overused maybe, but it works for me. We were encouraged to simply be children in the natural surrounds of the farm. We were encouraged to be bored. We were encouraged to be busy. Whatever we did, we did with all our energy, wholeheartedly and to the best of our ability. “Work hard and play hard” my Dad would say as he gave us a bear hug dropping us at boarding school at the beginning of each school term. Mom was an anchor during adventurous times. Never too far away, but certainly not too close either. She was always willing to enjoy our adventures with us, encouraging the even. My parents were the archetype for the buzz word “fertile neglect”. Giving us the perfect environment to grow and thrive, not only survive, with no hovering. This is not to be confused with parental neglect! Growing up and raising children in Africa encourages you to live like that. Parents learn to respond quickly to any situation always be aware and alert but not too obvious about it.
I only have positive memories of my childhood and put that down to my ability to limit awareness of my surrounds, I am very self-absorbed (in a good way, I like to think) and very present in the moment at times. I do find this bothers me and I do try to think ahead, but it must be a conscious decision. I am reminded of a quote by one on my idols, Winnie-the-pooh. He asks Piglet “what day is it” and Piglet squeaks “it is today”. Pooh then replies “My favourite day”. I would not be surprised if I was told about a tragic car accident in which I had lost all my memories and all the happy memories that my family could think of were downloaded into my head. OK I have a bad memory of Dad hitting us for some bad behaviour – but only once! The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff is one of the books I try to live by. To think therefor I am confused … sounds right to me! Limit the needless hustle and bustle. Think less! (Sounds like advice my brothers would give me!)

Envy has never bothered me and I have no problem with my self-esteem. I think I am great. When I walk into a room, although I know very well I am no size 8, I act as if I am. I try to lighten up the environment and love to be the centre of attention. The vision of being a sunflower (not a wallflower) goes through my head. I never would have admitted this until I had met Lisa (my long-lost sister) who is just gorgeous. She is an actress. She is great. She lights up a room when she walks in.
“I am a princess … because my Dad is a King” rings true for my childhood. It also rings true for my adult life, I will adjust the quote slightly to read “I am a princess … because I am married to a King
 
Growing up on a farm in rural South Africa in the 70’s and early 80’s.
Our big draftee farm house on Kia Ora, in Bergville, KwaZulu Natal, was my castle. The busy farm yard always filled with people and animals, the constant action, the veld that we looked out onto and explored during our walking expeditions, the dams that were built over time by the family and in the distance, the beautiful constantly changing but all ways present, majestic, and picturesque Drakensberg mountains with Bergville nestled beneath them. This was my kingdom and I loved it. Driving through to Bergville with the contours of deep pink cosmos during the Easter season and how they would sprout on the side on the road. They are resilient plants and offer such beauty in harsh conditions…. A ray of light on a cloudy day…. Blue heaven on a rainy day…a pretty weed coming up in the paving stones … pointing their faces to the sun and getting things done. Bergville, our local town, has seen many changes over the time. A real farming community. It takes a village to raise a child certainly was true of Bergville. Our tennis coach was a friend of Moms, our Sunday School teacher (on a Wednesday afternoon!) was my aunt…. our teacher was the fiancé of my folk’s bachelor friend…
The tennis club was an integral part of our up-bringing. Every Saturday, tennis would be our choice of sport as a family. When we were little, we always had a nanny in tow to keep an eye on us for the afternoon. When we were younger we would play on the playground for hours, as we grew up we would venture down to the slide at the river and only when we were confident with our tennis, would we join the adults playing matches. Growing up in Bergville had its challenges for me. Imagine trying to shop for frilly tennis knickers for Saturday tennis. I could not figure out why you could not get these in Bergville. The Woods would arrive at tennis at 1:00 sharp, dressed in white, us girls had on the frilly coloured knickers under our short skirts and the matching short coloured tennis socks with the bobbles at the heel to stop them from slidding down into your tackies. Maybe we would be daring and wear a coloured peak. Matching the socks and knickers of course.
My parents only had two reoccurring arguments during our growing years. The first one was over money; usually the lack of it and the second was their different views over sport. Trying your best was a given but attitudes on the outcome varied. My dad was very competitive (unlike me!); while my mother did not have a competitive bone in her body (I take after her). The trouble came when they played mixed doubles together at the local tennis club. My father was ranked number one in Bergville for quite a few years, which of courses added to his god like qualities in my eyes. A few social drinks always followed these sporting Saturday afternoons, and so by the time we got home, mom and dad were always quite jovial. On this occasion, dad was convinced that they should have won the match but my mother was not trying hard enough. At this my mother constantly reminded him about the one winner she hit that went “shoo” down the line. A demonstration followed accompanied with a sound track how fast and accurately she had hit the ball down the line.
As a rule Saturday evening was spent at the Hotel Walter with the Dads in the pub and us kids with Moms enjoying drinks and company on the veranda or hotel grounds. Back in those days there was no ladies bar and the mothers were not allowed in the pub! The first winds of change were when the Hotel Walter built a lady’s bar – The Brigadoon. We must have driven the hotel staff crazy with our running around in the corridors of the hotel. If it was raining, one of the favourite games to play was tok tokkie- the game where you ring the door bell and then run and hide around the corner. We used to follow the waiter around as he played his portable xylophone to announce supper. On clear evening, we would play on the hotel grounds. The best fun was when it was school holidays and the boarding school friend were around. We would play open gates and catches till the parents carried sleepy kids to the cars to start the trek home. When we arrived, we would be given pocket money for the evening to cover any chips, cool drinks, or sweets. There was a café across the road run by “Nick the Greek” and so we would run across the road and take our time making our selection for the night. The streets were dead quiet at that time of night and the street lights lit up the road, our mothers could see all the action from the comfort of their chairs on the veranda. The work force would be brought into town by the big “Asmalls” busses and trundled back out after work, to make sure they were home by curfew. No taxis, no hustle and bustle – how different it is today.
The change of seasons on the farm were distinct, so when we went to school and learnt about the sun moving around the earth, cloud formations etc. this all made sense. The seasons showed us our position in the calendar and what big celebration we could start looking forward to. The summer storms in the afternoons with the thunder, lightning and heavy rains and wind. Sitting like rock rabbits in the sun coming through the windows in the sun room and reading a book meant that it was the long July holidays in the middle of winter and destructive hail storms meant that it was around Christmas / New Year. Exploring the farm after big rain storms was always exciting . We would see the water rushing in streams into the dams, across the roads and through the veld. Making new gully’s or roaring through old ones and inevitably we would pile out of the truck and start doing some earth works and end up having fun in all the mud. The fun of youth! One of these adventures had a purpose however. Dad had built a canal to transfer water from a smaller stock watering dam into the big irrigation dam and we wanted to see this stream in action. Of course, it worked perfectly! Coming home from school and joining dad at the fire-break told us it was the beginning of winter and that dad was securing the farm against run away fires. We would all get involved in stepping the small flames out and doing it in your school uniform with your school shoes and white school socks was much more fun. The eastern boundary of the farm runs along the great Tugela River, and over the years this natural fire break has saved us from fire disasters on many occasions. But with the wind howling, smoke blowing and dust in every nook and cranny, a run-away fire is a very scarey thing. Making you feel very small and insignificant, that at a whim you could spontaneously combust and join the dust swirling outside. I have often thought about what one would save if you had to leave your house at a moments notice. My mother had this on many occasions (the threat – not the disaster luckily) and she always went for her photo albums first. Going as far as to absent mindly put the frames away in a draw.
Our farm house had solid wooden floors throughout and these had been scrubbed clean and washed over the years until they resembled a dehydrated state. It had high ceilings and big rooms. These were all connected with a wide passage that linked the house with the land line telephone at the centre of the house right outside the bathroom door in the centre of the house. This would cause anxious moments when I got any calls from boys, they always phoned (which was certainly not very often) at night. The house was quiet, all had gone to bed, you could hear a pin drop! The bathroom was the only one in the house and housed the bath and the toilet. This was the way it was done in “the olden days” as the plumbing went to the kitchen and so to add a bathroom to a house was easier if the bathroom was next to the kitchen. The bathroom was a big room and housed the toilet, bath, and basin. We had a big towel stand in the corn er that we could hang all our towels on and down the one wall mom eventually got her first and only set of built-in cupboards with a built-in laundry shoot – very smart. In the later years, it was big enough to house the washing machine. Even with all the fittings in the room it was big enough for me to do some jumping exercise and star-jumps before bath! The energy of youth. The window-sills throughout the house were large sash type that were left wide open on the hot summer evenings The house had a wraparound veranda around two sides, one of which was closed in to form the sun-room. The big front veranda was always be the place where the family would meet twice a day for tea. The farm representatives would make their appointments to coincide with these times and join us for tea and business would be discussed while walking to the veranda, but never while we were all together. The question when Greg asked my Dad if he could marry me was also asked on the way to the veranda, but tea was quickly changed for a beer at 8:00 am in the morning. Was this genuine happiness Dad or a big exhale of breath?
The outlook of our home was over a flat lawn (called, ostentatiously, the tennis court) and then through an orchard ending with a clear view of the farm yard and all the farm activities and inner working. We could see my dad coming home at any time of the day. We would run to meet dad and walk the short walk home together chatting all the way home. I do not know if my sister-in-law loves this open plan but their children certainly will!
The physical layout of the farm yard was instrumental to our upbringing. The farm was all encompassing, it was a part of everything we did and everything we thought of doing.
The orchard was very productive with a variety of fruit trees dripping with their bounty. Our best-loved, especially during silkworm season, was the mulberry tree. Mulberry leaves were a favourite food of the lowly silkworm and if feed solely on mulberry leaves, their silk turned a shade of pink. Boxes of silkworms would be carted to school to show your friends, swop, and compare. If you cut out any shape and elevated it in your box and put a silkworm on to it, the silkworm would be trapped on the shape and weave a silk shape that you could swop or use (I still have a heart shaped silk bookmark) There was always something to munch in the orchard on the way to visit dad at the sheds. I can remember piles of vegetable (big white round solid pumpkins) on our front lawn waiting to be counted, loaded, and sold. Nothing was untouchable by farm work and this included our water supply. The house only got water after the dairy parlour had been washed and all the water troughs for the animals were full! My poor mother with four kids and no water! Her shouting “there is no bloody water” was heard on many occasions.
A result of this “open-plan” farm layout was a huge rolling lawn that went right down to the sheds and through the orchard. Mowing the lawn, before the ride on mower of today, was a 3-day affair. No sooner had that all been done and mom fixed all the patches on the extension cord that had been run over and cut, then it was time to start again.
Christmases on Kia Ora were always a noisy and chaotic affair. It would start when mom had returned from Church. All the furniture would be moved onto the veranda so that we could seat 30 odd people in the “fun room” and the mismatched tables would be decorated with crackers, along with all the cutlery and wine glasses hauled out for their yearly appearance. All the Aunts and Uncles and cousins would come plus any older folk that were alone at Christmas. The more the merrier.
The dogs would be put away as the staff with all their kids and wives headed down the hill. The staff children had rehearsed a dance routine and loved to show this off with a ghetto blaster on their shoulder. They would “gitta”, and sing in their best clothes picked out for the day. While they were showing us their moves, sweets would be handed out and all the while my mother would be chatting to the older ladies and putting the family groups together in her head. She also used to meet any new little people that had been born that year and make sense of the crowd. The men staff would sit with my father under the tree and they would share out all the alcohol that my father had for them. They would sit in their circle, take a glug out of the bottle, and then pass it around. Drinking the most and the quickest was the aim – not enjoying a drink with the boss under the tree in the December heat. When all the festivities were over, my father would give his staff a lift back up the hill, home. The children and mothers would walk home via our fruit orchard – filling their packets and pockets as they went.
Even though it was the height of summer in Natal and the fun room was also called the sun room – so it was as hot as Upington – Dad insisted we have a traditional English Christmas meal. Roast turkey, ham, roast potatoes, and veggies followed by Christmas pudding, ice cream and custard. This all in the 40-degree heat, for 30 guests and with a kitchen staff overcome with the Christmas spirit. But mom made it all happen and the toast to absent friends and family was always followed by a happy meal with plenty of laughter.
My primary school years were spent at Bergville Primary. There was an AM (Afrikaans medium) and an EM. The JP years were in the small quadrangle of classrooms, all homely and small and then we went into the SP. A big imposing three level structure built in the government- of- the-day style, face brick, with a large green roof overlooking the sports fields. In hindsight the view is amazing, over the farm fields and onto the Drakensberg, but in those days, who was looking at the view? I was a model student (even if I say so myself), a prefect, library monitor…. all round nice girl. I showed Mitchell (our youngest) the illustrations from my 1983 class prise – “Wind in the Willows”. It felt positively historic – like it should be behind glass in a temperature controlled room. One of the highlights of this time was the vetkoek and pannekoek that the tannies sold at the sports days, not sitting in rows waiting for your race on the hard-dry Bergville fields and getting sun burnt to bits. How things have changed. My kids no longer must sit still and quietly cross legged while waiting for their turn – things are much more free, cuddly, child-friendly…. soft even. Those tannies knew how to cook. I think that is where my love for “festival food” originated. I have now graduated cum laude in the festival food department, and have passed that love… skill even …. down to my children! We could debate for hours the pro’s and con’s of a donut with chocolate or icing …. the best kooksister (they are from Ouma Rooi in Ermelo next to the petrol station!) …. And much much more
A paragraph cannot go by without mentioning my best -friend Bridget. All our primary school days were spent together (and high school days as it goes). We were joined at the hips in Bergville and days together would lead to sleep overs on the weekends. It was always fun and games, but a soon as the sun set and the routines of bathing and supper time started, I always started to get a little homesick. Only once did my mom fall for the night time “rescue” following a frantic phone call, and after that it was put on your big girl panties and suck it up. I do remember that Bridget could watch Dallas (a “late night” tv drama), and she always remembers having to go to bed while the sun was still shinning when she slept over! After high school, we would make a “date” to meet for tea on the veranda of the Hotel Walter which always brought a smile to our faces and happy memories. Bergville is a very different town to when we gew up there in the 70’s and early 80’s. It is the closest town to the rural settlements on the foot of the Drakensberg and services a huge and growing community. There is now a constant hustle and bustle, cars, taxi’s and busses with people going about there business. The Hotel has also changed with the times but it still has the big wide deep veranda that our parents would sit on in the evenings and watch the world go by.
Robyn was also a great friend-and-relation. I spent many happy times with her and her family on the side of a polo field or at their family beach cottage. Her mother was a neat freak and I remember before leaving the beach cottage to head back home, her dad would take the kids to the beach, he always said “if you stand still you may get dusted!”. More like getting out of mom’s hair!
 
MY FATHER
To me my father was the living breathing talking God. Perfect in every way and funny to boot. Over time a lot has changed and I am aware of his faults, but he will always sit right up on high and I still find it very difficult to find fault with many of his actions. In my eye, he will always wear shoes of unfathomable sizes (he is only a size nine – the size of my son now), chase after porcupines with his bottle of rum as a weapon and the gentle soul who would hold my hand during dentist visits. This only stopped when I had emergency dentist visits during my varsity years and it was impossible for him to accompany me.
On a family outing to visit some friends-and- relations (in Bergville, as in Winnie-the-pooh you cannot differentiate), he met a friend of his in town. The clouds over the berg were black and Bergville was glowing in the yellow light that comes before a big storm. “Hold on to your hair and grit your teeth, that is an uncle of a storm on its way”. Our friend-and-relations lived up in the mountains under the heavy black clouds and so we blew in with the storm on our tail. A classic dad remark is when someone complimented him on his children. “A bull is 90% of the herd” he would say with pride. When we behaved badly however this was never said.
When my parents went out at night, the whole family would go along. Parking at these functions was always well thought out. At a certain time, the mothers colluded, all the children would be banished to the various cars to sleep until it was time to go home. Much fun was had after “lights out” and the parents always had to check who was sleeping in their car before starting the long trek home. Having four kids at home and keeping ever growing kids in the correct size sporting equipment was not easy, but was a priority for Mom and Dad. We always had good sporting equipment – not the best, but not just adequate either. The change of seasons always meant a change of sporting codes and a visit to “Jacksons Sports’ the sporting shop in PMB or to Ladysmith. Hockey sticks, tennis rackets and takkies always had to be the correct sizes. Dad and Mom always put an emphasis on good sportsmanship and this was always viewed with high importance. But of course, Dad could not hide his competitive genes and trying your best was the only thing he ever accepted. Even dropping us off at boarding school his parting words were “work hard and play hard”.
 
MY MOTHER
My mother was dads right hand and North Star. Through the tough times she was always there to help my father along, with constant support. She did not shy away from sheer hard work and tough physical labour. Getting “stuck in” with dirty hands and a smile on her face was not an uncommon sight. For any ethical dilemmas mom always knew the answers and expected us to follow the right course. Grey is not a colour that suits Mom. It makes her look insipid and drains her of her natural colouring. It is either black or white, right, or wrong. For the practical questions, she would find a creative answer and if she did not know the answer or lacked the time to really think about it, she would answer “ask your teacher … she is very clever”. Our farm house was situated 20 metres from the cottage where my Ganna and Gampie lived, my Dads parents. My Ganna and mom would always give each other shopping lists to limit the farm trips to town. One of Mom’s sayings was: “Good fences make good neighbours “so the shopping list and the change was always followed to the last cent. Another daily occurrence was afternoon tea. We would always have this together on whose ever veranda shouted, “I’ve put the kettle on” first. Sometimes Ganna would make her scones …. her recipe is super easy and so delicious…. Ganna was a chain smoker and in the later years you could always hear her by her throat clearing as she walked. Emphysema was her final demise. What a sad day that was. While we were growing up, whenever we got into any trouble at home, we would always run up to Ganna and Gampie. Even if it was only one of us that withstood the worst of it – we all ran up in tears! When my folks were going out at night and we were being baby sat, we would spend the night with Ganna and Gampie. During the afternoon pre-ceding the night out there would be a trek of mattresses and bedding up to the cottage. Ganna often made her toast and poached egg on tomato and onion mix for a quick Saturday night dinner after sport.
We were a family of four children and so there was always food to buy, school fees to pay and clothes to mend. Before buzz words like “home grown… buy local… seasonal” became fashionable, that is how mom fed us all. Mom could be the sole contributor, editor, and creator of cabbage101.com or 150 ways with tomatoes. Her favourite reply to the daily question of “what is for supper” was mince magnificent mince” in a jingle format. It was never mince… it was always golden brown Irish shepherd’s pie with carrots sprinkled with cheese or Anna’s delicious braised steak …
Her love for us children knew no limits and to find her crawling into the hedge to join us for “tea” in our home-made fort was common. We would proudly offer her “tea” sitting on our wooden stumps. Mother acted the part of guest. Her artistic flair always come out with clay creations when we went for walks on the farm. Before my father dammed up the spruit on the farm, we would go swimming on hot days and Mom would always make us clay animals which we would take home with pride. Enthusiasm was never lacking in my mother and her overzealousness would show when she tried to give me a leg up to sit on our pony and she pushed me right over the horse. I will leave you with three of my mom’s famous quotes that were passed down to us and I use on my children: 1. When you threaten to run away from home always shout, “remember your toothbrush” as they head out the garden. 2. Mom would often remind us, in the busy metropolis of Bergville while she was running to get the post from the boxes that was situated five metres away, “don’t talk to strangers” and finally always leave home in decent underwear in case you are in a car accident and are on display on the N3 splattered on the road.
I have a strange love affair with horses. At the tender age of 43 I have become very weary of horses. They can bite you from the front and they can kick you from the back. During my carefree youth horses brought feelings of freedom, adventure, and boys. I spent a lot of time with my cousins who were into the polo scene and joined them at numerous polo tournaments, so hence the boys …. Horses for me encouraged thoughts of “the wind through my hair” …” galloping over the African plains” …But as I got older, reality has a horrible way of getting to me. I now have a respect for a 500-kg animal with its own will and I find that my kids and my husband, who only total 200 kg’s, are enough of a challenge. It all started at the
My mother however was no doctor. This was highlighted when I was on a break from boarding school. I had a slight cold and mom decided to medicate me and try and get me over this. She had been dosing me for a few days and I had been sleeping a lot, she was convinced that I was really run down from school and needed the rest. She kept me at home for a few days and continued to dose me. It was only after a few days of missing school and a visit to the village Doctor that she worked out that she had been over dosing me and keeping me very lethargic and sleepy.
 
MY BIG SISTER – only in age!
When describing the characters in my family, I am reminded of them daily on the farm. The domestic animals we have around our present farm yard show attributes present in my siblings. Growing up on the farm we became a tight family unit and for most of the outing it was all or nothing.
In my animated movie, I would cast the guinea fowl as the lawyers and judges of the movie, this is my older sister. She is also the head of our family group which is a role she has carved out for herself and fulfils with enthusiasm and competence. She does not have children of her own, so when her nieces and nephews were small she showed tremendous interest in their lives. She does so now aswell, but not so much during the s@#$%^sixes and sevens and the awful eights and up until the terrible teens. She is older than me and so growing up she was much more aware of the goings on of our daily lives and for most of my childhood she was going through her teenage phase. An example of this was when my mom and I went to fetch her from a country tennis tournament (these were very popular during these years and many a happy day was past lying on a blanket under a tree chatting to your friends while waiting for your name to be called for your next match) and I arrived wearing a dress that our mom had made. That was not the problem. The issue was that she was wearing her dress made with the same pattern, and therefore not unique enough. Somehow this was my fault. I do not know if it was this experience, but this was when I no longer required my mother’s seamstress skills. Unless I would come up with this outrageous idea and ask her to create this outfit with the incorrect fabric. My clothing choice has always caused a little controversy with my parents. With my mom, I was always having these grand ideas and choosing fabric that was impractical to sew with and giving these “orders” to my mother.
When it came to my father, I gave him plenty of grey hairs arriving at my bothers school functions dressed inappropriately and causing many whispers from my mother encouraging him to “take a deep breath”. My bra strap would be showing – off the shoulder was fashionable at the time, my skirt would be slightly see-through – a varsity student in a petticoat! (really) and bright red hair – the home dye was a little expired. I will always remember a pearler comment from Kerry about wearing a spencer to keep warm. She came up with the illuminating comment that “you cannot see it you know” … thank goodness for Kerry. Experiments were not limited to my clothing however and I had many endeavours in the kitchen. Going through lots of expensive ingredients with only limited success. One recipe that will always stand out is trying to make homemade ice cream. We had a family friend who always made the most delicious homemade ice cream with a lot of varieties- always doing something different. She said that she gave me the correct recipe, but to this day we all believe that she left a secret ingredient out. Mine was always a flop, but tasted delicious anyway with all those delicious (and expensive!) ingredients.
This stubbornness characteristic of my sister had served her well throughout her life and culminated in her receiving the school trophy for fortitude when she finished high school, before heading off to university. Stubbornness was never too far from Kerry and shown at a very early age, when she forced my father to take her to school even though there had been a huge rain storm and the road was washed away. School would have understood had she not shown up for the day, as I am sure the rest of the farm kids took the day off. My father had to negotiate the track to the tar road on a tractor and organize to meet a lift there to take her into town. Her favourite trait also reared its head when years later we were attending a family wedding in Johannesburg and got lost following her directions. It took the whole family and hours of pestering to get her to say the three words that she hates to utter – “I am sorry”
To add to these stories, Kerry is one of the kindest people that you will meet. During my university years she was a constant ATM for me, and my friends thought her car was mine because she lent it to me so often. She was the poster child for an older sister and I abused that to the maximum. In the later years my children played an April fools trick on Kerry and told her that our car had been stolen. She offered to jump right in her car and come and rescue us. They had to come clean as we were 13 hours away, on a road trip to the Cape Province.
Heat and mosquitoes go hand in hand in Bergville and many nights ended in an argument between Kerry and me. We shared a room and Kerry insisted on reading in bed with me trying to sleep. Even though she had a bed side lamp, I was convinced that the mozzies were attracted to the light from the window. We would have our big sash window wide open onto the veranda trying to catch any breeze possible and I could just envision every mozzie in the southern hemisphere coming to eat my delicious blood. Of course, they never bothered Kerry – they were not after her blood!
 
MY BIG BROTHER
My (closest in age) younger brother Kemsley and I were close (thick-as-thieves) in the growing years until he was sent off to boarding school at the age of 10. An animal that is needed everyday, tenacious, versatile, and reliable but takes no nonsense. Kemsley will be layer hen, the hens I keep for laying eggs. . He had a great mate, a neighbouring farmers child, who had a very old Morris Minor that his father had semi-rebuilt and they used as transportation between farms. Very slow, unreliable, noisy, and smoky transportation which beat walking. “Freddie” was great entertainment for us and led to many minor accident and incidents. On many occasions, I can remember our Aunt leaning out of the window and shouting at us “shut up you blady kids”. She was taking a break from the city life over the holidays and her rest was being constantly interupted by the go-carts and Freddie going around and round the track. We had a whole farm to race on but chose to do it outside her window! On many occasions dad would have to rescue us after an accident and save us from and a long, hot, and sad walk home. On one occasion, he had to rescue a farm worker out of the boot after being trapped in there. He was our portable “push starter”, a must have for “Freddie”. Once he had helped us getting Freddie started and jumping into the boot was the quickest way to ensure that he was not left behind. Years later all this tinkering and gently getting life out of Freddie encouraged Kemsley to take on bigger restoration projects. He is actually on a expedition to Zambia in an old land rover that he has just finished restoring. Good Luck Kems…

There was a steep hill running down to the house on the driveway passing the cattle handling facilities. Going down this hill built up speed on any bicycle especially when Kemsley and I were sitting on the bike. Kemsley on the handle bars and me on the seat behind. When we hit a speed wobble and fell off near the base of the hill I landed on top of Kemsley in a pile. This was a very similar incident to when we were on a motor bike heading through the rye grass at top speed and hitting an irrigation pipe landing in a heap. This happened right in front of my dad’s staff who tried to hide their laughter.

During one of the many rabies scares in the district, when all wild animals were viewed with suspicion, we were all together in the family vehicle – a family adventure together. We were lying together on the seat under a blanket when a jackal ran out into the road. Kemsley, quick as a tick, chirped “rabies hide” and ducked under the blanket. We always had such adventures in the family car, with Mom and Dad at the helm and with Dan Williams or Val Doonican on the tape deck. To this day my family stare at me aghast when I burst into song with the correct words following the radio. So does “my band members”, but that is content for another chapter – road trips… my favourite.

Kemsley was always the blue-eyed boy in the family – this was way before Jeremy came bursting on the family scene, who wore this title with pride! The one day on the hot trip home from school we were fooling around in the car – my poor mother – when Kems gashed his head on the interior light. The cover on the light had been cracked and the jagged edges were exposed. He could cope with the initial pain but when he saw the blood, all hell broke loose, and tears poured out and he had an absolute melt down. So, blood does run through his veins… following all his sporting achievements, I often thought it was Powerade that fuelled him.

Kemsley went off to boarding school in PMB from standard three (grade 5). I don’t know what they taught there but he was hysterically funny on his holidays home. He would come out with these long words that would make Mom laugh, leaving us a little confused, but we would catch up…. and the stories he told were so funny. So his quirks that were always as quick as a tick just got funnier. I remember his letters he used to write home. They had to write a letter home on a Sunday night and when we did not get a blank sheet of paper, his letters were just descriptions of the movies they watched the night before and full of action stunts that we could not follow. Kemsley had a respect for people in authority, but not letting a uniform upset him too much. On a family holiday, at the coast, my father was stopped by a police officer and fined for an infringement. While he was explaining this to my father, Kemsley piped up that the officer could not fine dad, as he had no money!”. So even from the age of 5, not much scared Kemsley.

When he was at boarding school, he also thinned out and started his fitness fanaticism which is still ongoing till today. He had endless badges to sew onto his tracksuit and I can remember mom sewing on running badges in all venues – next to the cricket field, on a family Sunday at the Lion park, at my Aunts …Even at an early age, he could not sit still, and was always onto something new and exhausting. Just thinking about him makes me feel tired! And a little in-adequate. To date he has a few comrade’s marathons, a few Dusi canoe marathons, a few Freedom Challenges, Joburg to Seas under his belt and this is not even half of his achievements. He also has a lovely family, home etc etc … quite exhausting really.

With Kemsley at boarding school in Pietermaritzburg my folks often had to spend Sundays with all four kids keeping us entertained for the whole day in and around Pietermaritzburg, for little or no money spent, while he was with us on a day leave. We spent days at the Lion Park, at the Oval cricket park having fun under the trees, having picnics at parks in the Karkloof and lots of days with our Aunt at their small holding in Cato Ridge. These days were always such fun, a real adventure and always included a family picnic. During the early part of the year – a beer box full of grapes picked from the vine on the front veranda was standard. Kemsley’s birthday is in February so his birthday picnic always had the grapes – lucky boy.

 
MY “LITTLE” BROTHER – also only in age!
We need to go a little out of the direct farm yard and into the nearest animal camp to find the farm animal that has similar characteristics to Jeremy. Let us go and look for Jack and Ass – our two donkeys. The ones we keep on the farm to hold the jackal attacks on the birthing cows. Hard working, stubborn, lovely face but with a formidable kick. (so I have heard!)
My younger brother Jeremy is a real “laat lammetjie” and made his appearance when I was nine years old. As the fourth child of our family and with a gap between us children Jeremy was never backwards in coming forwards! This was shown while at the age of four years old he was already pulling out the milk truck when it got stuck in the summer mud while his nursery school teacher was raising her concern about him “missing out” on nursery rhymes and family reading evenings. She had not yet met the extremely capable Jeremy Wood.

As an older sister, I decided to “play dolls” with my young brother and changed his nappy one afternoon while my mother was out on the farm. I took off the nappy but got more than I bargained for, quickly shouted for some help from Anna (our ever-present helper) to finish the task and then bolted outside. I then carried on with my day. When Jeremy came along the shout of “beesie beesie manzi” (milk milk water in zulu) to our helpers on the farm during dinner changed to beesie beesie beesie manzi! You guessed it – I was the odd one out an preferred a glass of water after my meal!

During my third year studying at the University of Natal in Pietermaritzburg, I borrowed my sister’s boyfriend’s motor bike to get to lectures. My digs were in town and I just needed to get to Scottsville. To date I must be one of the few people who failed their motorbike learners twice! What an ordeal – I can’t say I love it at all. But Jeremy sure did benefit as I used to visit him on the way. He was a Merchie Mud Rat at the time. This is just one of the rewards of being a LL (laat lammetjie). Another reward of having older siblings is that we were earning a salary and always offering him money if he needed it. But ever the star, Jeremy seldom took me up on the offer. Maybe he realised that it was Kerry’s money that she was always lending me!

MY ELDEST SISTER
Look around the farm yard and see which animal stands out. It is the peacock. This is Lisa. Gorgeous, beautiful, and always attracting attention. The fact that a peacock is also an omnivore and eats the day old baby chickens throws me a little, but she is to radiant to be anything else!
Lisa is like a force of nature. When she is in the room, you know all about it- in a good way! Theatre runs in her veins and this trait has past on to her family. Marrying Aaron just cemented this into their veins and the whole McIlroy clan is like a freight train of fun barrelling down on you and leaving you happy and frayed around the edges.
2001 will always be a great year in my life – it is the year that Lisa and her crazy, fun, loving family came into our lives. Lisa had grown up with her adopted family in Johannesburg but had relocated to Durban and had met and married Aaron and started their family. I will never forget the first show we watched of hers and meeting her afterwards. None of us knew what to expect, but we hit it off straight away and ended up meeting her for early morning coffee at her home the next morning. To date whenever we see them we never run out of conversation, there is never enough time to have fun together. Our families just gel on all levels.
Meeting Lisa later in life I only had the privilege of knowing Lisa THE MOM and Aaron THE DAD. I did however see the change from Lisa, the new mom still trying to juggle her very active career and providing a healthy meal for her growing family, to Lisa the domestic goddess . I did not get to see the Lisa and Aaron who cycled across Ireland from pub to pub, or the Lisa and Aaron who worked in Hong Kong, or the Lisa and Aaron who worked for the Natal Playhouse Company … I would so loved to have shared the whole journey with them but am lucky enough to know them now! They are a family who haved faced may odds together and came out stronger and still smiling
A happier ending to a “late-in-life-meeting” you will not get.

Animal Antics….
Living on a farm all my life has led to many animal versus human interactions. And most of the times I have come out second best and run back to the farm house with “my tail between my legs”. Nature is a real leveller and will bring you down to size when you think you are to fancy and above your station! Being chased by the farm yard rooster at the age of 8, being chased by the ram at the age of 40 or being chased by a rogue bull at the bull sale the day I went shopping for my wedding dress, always had the same result. I would always head for the nearest fence and climb through to safety. Except the bull… my fiancé, now my husband, Greg – a big farmer(nudge nudge wink wink) and his farmer mates took all the space on the fence rails and left me running down the alley only to get rammed and run over by the bull. No serious injuries were sustained although I don’t know which was hurt more on the day, my body or my pride! I still get reminded of that day … of course it was all my fault!
Animals are like humans in that you get all sorts of characters. You get the grumpy brahman bull that took 7 hours to load onto the truck, you get Mischief- the dairy bull, who would not let any fence stand in his way, and you get Peter- the Sebright Bantam rooster, who was only 15 cm tall but had the attitude of an Australope! You only went into the chicken coop on his terms and when he was not looking!

My life so far ….

Being married and a mother of three boys puts me at disadvantage gender wise straight away. I am currently and continuously disadvantaged. The butt of many jokes while being loved by four men is my life in a nut shell. I am an easy target, but get buckets full of love along the way. I am lucky enough to be married to a farmer in the midlands and so farm life is still able to run through my veins. Although this time around I am not growing up immune to the financial aspects of farming. Most of the time it is a cash dribble we manage not a cash flow. But times do pass and life goes on at a sedate pace, depending on the season. Every season has its tasks and chores. Summer is maintaining what we planted in Spring, Winter is fire-breaks and Autumn is maintenance and getting ready for winter. Everything revolves around making sure that there is food for the animals in winter. But every day is milking, chores, and keeping the animals happy and healthy. This includes “my” small flock of sheep. Only mine when chores need doing, not when one is sold – then it becomes ours!
Jeremy and his family are now living in the main house on Kia Ora and I hope their girls have a happy childhood like I did. Changes have come to Kia Ora – electric gates have been installed, a farm school has been established to service the area and Jeremy has developed farmlands. All done in the name of progress, but the spirit of Kia Ora will always be the same for me.
Like a true farmers wife, my garden is overgrown, the pictures aren’t hung straight (I did them as I was tired of nagging) and I have glass panes missing throughout the house but I have plenty of fire-wood, an erratic supply of fresh milk and love in abundance.