HI-JINKS IN JOZIE

Once upon a time – what an old start to a story but it serves its purpose  when the muse won’t come up with an apt alternative.

There is me, Mols, standing in a queue in Pick ‘n Pay in Northcliff in Johannesburg commonly called Jozie, waiting to draw my government pension from the till. Behind me is a diminutive blond of indeterminate age who immediately started chatting in a cutting edge Joburg accent. At times it was hard to understand her.

Now I also talk to strange people wherever I find them so I was interested in her. She had her own particular fashion style and I gathered that she was trying to tell me of a place where pensioners could get free coffee and muffins. I tried to find out where it was but her directions were so obscure that I had almost given up when she told me she lived nearby and would meet me at the gate of the retirement village in which I lived and take me.

That Wednesday she was waiting and climbed into my car talking nineteen to the dozen. Within five minutes we were at a casino nearby! This was where she meant and I had been thinking of some community effort to feed local oldies!

The casino was a small outfit with friendly staff, good coffee and a free R100 voucher on Wednesdays for pensioners to enjoy playing on the machines no doubt hoping they would spend some of their own money.

Dana introduced me to the art of pushing the right buttons on a machine called The Black Widow and money came tumbling out! My free R100 voucher earned me R120! Although casinos were not my cup of tea I enjoyed the company and the coffee.

Another inmate of my village uses my services for lifts to and fro Cresta Mall our nearby shopping centre and I told Ingrid about this. Wow! This hit the jackpot! Ingrid loves gambling! So every week I took her along and things went well until the casino moved into Cresta Mall losing its intimacy and reducing the pensioner voucher by 50%.

In no time Ingrid had met Dana as they were both addicts and this trio of friends were cemented. The more I got to know Dana the more I loved this bundle of energy. She is not more than three foot six and walks everywhere on her spindly legs, selling biscuits and home made pies. She knows everything about her neighbourhood and has traveled the world selling leather jackets at trade fairs from Jakarta to Singapore!

It is time to change our SASSA cards, the cards the government pension agency gives us to draw our pension. They have come up with a different format. The Post office is on strike and we have to wait but on Thursday this week the strike was over and Dana ferreted out the nearest Post Office allowed to issue the new cards. Accordingly I picked them both up and we proceeded to an empty Post Office with a delightful helper called Brava who sorted out this trio with Dana having to stand tip toe to have her thumb scanned!

Overjoyed with the success of finding no queue and the new cards in our purses we three decided to go to a café called Scrooge in Greenside. Here we were greeted by Evidence a stunningly beautiful waitress with the deepest dimples you can imagine. Dana and Ingrid opted for coffee while I had a glass of wine.

Next door were four guys quaffing beer and chatting up a storm. One took a shoe off and rested his foot on a spare chair sporting a yellow sock. Dana had to compete; she whipped up her trousers to reveal psychedelic socks and waggled her foot at the man. They burst into laughter.

By now Evidence was intrigued by these three Gogo’s (Granny in Zulu) and sat down to talk to us. Dana boasted of her boyfriend some 20 years her junior and how they danced together. Then she told how recently she had fallen down a man hole and hurt her back and ribs. She stays alone and had nobody to rub Voltaren gel into her back so she enlisted  boyfriend Jan to accompany her to the local small PEP store.

These stores are budget orientated and sell clothing and shoes. The two repaired to a cubicle and Jan anointed Dana’s back with Voltaren behind the curtain to loud oohs! and ahhs! from her. Shoppers were standing gob smacked with imagination at what could be going on in the cubicle! Well by this time the whole restaurant was fascinated and packed up laughing.

Then I admitted to having a boyfriend thirteen years younger than me and Evidence threw up her hands. “I am forty three and have no one!” Sure enough Dana began to plot to introduce her to a few good looking guys she knew!

Then we were begged to come and have lunch one day and that is scheduled for next Thursday when I will take some photos of Evidence and paint her portrait for she is truly a beauty!

The moral of the story is that you can’t let three giggling gogos loose in a big city like Joburg!

 

 

A STRANGE TALE OF A NEW FRIEND AND A LITTLE WOODEN BOX

I lived in Langebaan village on the lagoon that lies just off Saldanha Bay on the West Coast of South Africa. My daughter Susan and I were producing a little monthly magazine called Out & About on the West Coast.

The magazine diarized current events, horse racing news, stories, recipes and information about the surrounding areas. It was very popular with residents waiting eagerly to read it every month. Susan did the layout and I was journalist and editor and coffee maker, you name it.

One day as I was at my computer writing an article a knock on the door disturbed me. I opened it to greet a strange young woman with blond hair who was not beautiful but very attractive. She held a back copy of Out & About in her hand and asked if she could come in.

Over coffee she introduced herself as Debbie. Debbie had always had a dream of writing and up to now her life and not allowed this. She asked if I needed a hand and could she do an article for the magazine each month. Well I knew how difficult it was to get published and I asked her to bring me an article. She pulled a sheet of paper out of her pocket and handed it over. I told her I would read it and come back to her.

Now just recently geologist David Roberts was picnicking  on the beach at Kraal Bay in the West Coast National Park. David knew that fossil prints of a large carnivore had been found on the dunes here and he began to scramble among the cliffs searching for more animal prints. He found three paw prints of a large carnivore on a rock slab.

David returned to the area a few months later as a scientist with the council for Geoscience to begin research on the geological history of the western coastal platform. He noticed a piece of quartz shaped by a stone age person protruding from the sandstone. Holding the artifact up his gaze was attracted to the low cliffs a few hundred yards away. Eureka! There he spied human footprints!

He splashed across the flats to reach the cliffs and began a systematic search that resulted in him arriving at a pinnacle known as the Pulpit Rock. He hauled himself up to a large block of sandstone and bent to examine it more closely. He brushed away the loose sand and had a heart stopping discovery for here lay two beautifully preserved human prints and so the existence of Eve as she was subsequently named, was discovered who lived and walked along these shores some 117 million years ago!

Debbie had written about this find and her writing was so vivid that I could see the real Eve walking upon the dunes thinking and dreaming much as I had done on many an occasion. I was overwhelmed at my discovery of an exceptional writing talent!

Debbie became my right hand man and little by little I learnt her story. She was married and had three children. Her husband abused her so badly that she ran away from their home in Maun, Botswana. She showed me the scars on her hands where he had forcibly held them against a hot plate on the stove. In desperation she had fled, leaving her children behind feeling sure that he would not abuse them.

She settled in Langebaan and met someone she could love and moved in with him. Some months went by and I was planning to travel to Robertson where Susan stayed on a thoroughbred stud farm with her husband and children. We had a lot of work to do together and Debbie was happy to hold the fort while I was away. However she needed to go away too and it was agreed that I would return on the day she was leaving. She would leave everything ready for me and get going early with her boyfriend.

I took a short cut back that led me to Mooreesburg on a lesser road that ended on the main artery running South to North on the West Coast. I needed to cross over, go through the town and on to Veldrif and so home. At the junction there was a huge accident with fire engines and ambulances and I crossed without seeing it in detail.

A week later Debbie had not appeared and was not answering her phone. We did not have cell phones then. I was not unduly worried but it was unusual for her not to have let me know if she was going to return late. Then my phone rang and a strange woman asked if she was indeed speaking to me. I confirmed that it was indeed I and she told me that she was Debbie’s mother. Debbie and been in that terrible accident that I had passed and had died. Her boyfriend was badly injured and was doomed to a wheel chair for the rest of his life.

I was very upset but was occupied packing up to go to Botswana for more research on the guide book Susan and I were working on,  Discovering Botswana. My friend Joy who lived outside of Gaborone was expecting me. Tidying up I picked up a little inlaid wooden box that had sat on the bookshelf since I moved into the house and what made me lift the lid I don’t know. Inside was a folded A 4 typing paper.

I opened the folds and saw that the letter for that was what it was, was addressed to me. I glanced at the end and there was Debbie’s signature. I knew her handwriting well. I sat down with a glass of wine and read the letter. Tears dripped down my cheeks as her words told me just what it had meant to her to be able to write for Out & About and my friendship. I was touched to the core.

Debbie must have written it before leaving for her trip with her boyfriend and planned to give it to me on her return. I returned it to the little box that had been on the shelf when I moved in, probably left by the previous owners of the house.

The drive to Gaborone went without incident in the bitter cold of a Kalahari winter and that evening Joy and I went to bed early, both in her bedroom. Our beds were opposite and we were both keen readers. Joy had a whisky beside her and I had a glass of red wine, each with a book. We were good companions with no need to chat.

Something made me look up and there was Debbie sitting on the end of my bed. She was pale grey white but unmistakable. She spoke to me, her words quite clear. “Don’t worry Mols, I’ll show you how!” Then she was gone. I was shaking as I lifted my glass to my lips and Joy dropped her book and asked me what was wrong. I told her and being Joy she accepted what I said unconditionally.

Now I had had a few episodes of seeing things having had a grandmother who was Cornish and another who was Irish. The family believed I was what they used to call ‘fey’.

Throughout my trip I pondered on Debbie’s words thinking that I was probably going to die too. However here I am in my eightieth year still very much alive. Looking at the little box I reflect that she really meant that she would guide me through the rest of my life for I have indeed ended in quiet waters with a life rich in friends and family and am still writing and painting. I will never forget Debbie and her words.

 

OF LIONS AND LIFE

At lunch time one day in my favourite pub, The Buck and Hog, chatting to my favourite Mine Hostess and bar lady with a lecturer, one of my favourite men, part of our magic circle. Mine Hostess sits at the head of this minature round table and favoured patrons join her from time to time.

 

Conversation reaches the heights of intellect and descends very quickly to the nether regions with risqué humour! This day we were joined by our favourite retired advocate now building contractor. His magnificent Land Rover was parked just outside the window and I could see the roof top tent. That triggered my memory.

 

The subject we were discussing was dangerous pets. I now chipped in as I had been watching the Lion series on DSTV set in South Luangwa Park in Zambia, a park that I know well and have wonderful memories of. The combination of the tent, the subject, and these memories had me off, telling the others one of my stories.

 

When in the Luangwa  I was often the guest of Derek Shenton of Shenton Safaris and I was staying at their Mwamba bush camp. On one memorable night drive we were near a lovely lioness, champagne coat gleaming in the spotlight.

 

We heard a faint mewing noise that I thought were cubs but Derek, as I remember, reckoned it was a call for the pride to come together for the hunt. I never forgot that sound and one year Susan, my daughter and I were in Khutse reserve in Botswana with a couple of tour guides having a holiday.

 

The mood was jolly around the early evening fire, looking forward to the braai (barbecue), Cape wine flowing, when I heard that very same noise.

 

“Lion! They are near!” Susan reacted immediately and we made our way to our vehicle together moving slowly whilst entreating the others to do the same. We reached the safety of the double cab with our drinks, prepared to watch. The others pooh poohed until the first lion came to within the edge of the circle of gas lamp light and they quickly retreated to their vehicle.

 

We were surprised at how unafraid the animals were as they walked nonchalantly through our camp. A couple of lionesses with young cubs and two sub adult males. They sniffed at our tyres, strolled around and the cubs treated us to their cute antics. The pride stayed for a long time so dinner was delayed, the fire falling into ashes until the lions tired of our camp and left. More wood was tossed on and all the while we kept a good watch out for the lions, speculating on their lack of hesitation of invading our camp. Normally the smell of humans would head them in the opposite direction.

 

My next experience was in Mabuasehube Reserve which is part of the Kgaligadi Transfrontier park that straddles South Africa and Botswana. Our route lay through Mebua to Nossop Camp on the South African side.

 

It was bitter cold that winter just after dawn in this desert and Susan and I stood warming our hands on our coffee mugs watching a Gemsbok (Oryx) on the salt pan below the ridge on which we were camped. The Gemsbok was watching something to our left and I turned to try and spy what had caught his attention. Creeping up on us were two young lionesses! We backed up to our vehicle calling others of our party to do the same.

 

Everyone sought the safety of the vehicles while the kettle sputtered away on the fire. Enter the lionesses. They frolicked around, half climbed a tree, bored with that, they knocked the boiling kettle off the trivet, jumping back in alarm at the splashed hot water! For about half an hour they examined everything. Thank heavens we had all zipped up our tents when we woke up that morning. The lionesses finally left the scene but found a vantage point further up the ridge and watched us packing up while keeping a good eye open for them!

 

Later I learned that Wild Life authorities had warned anyone wanting to visit Khutse to use roof top tents.

 

One year we were in the Okavango delta when the flood was exceptional. All night long we could hear the male lions roaring as they tried to defend their ever decreasing territory due to the encroaching flood. In the morning you could find the males sleeping exhausted beneath a tree with injuries and scratches all over! One had to feel sorry for them, it was almost embarrassing to see them so dejected!

 

And now it is we, the patrons of the Buck & Hog who are defected for our dear local pub is to close to make way for the building to be revamped and sold. It is goodbye to our fellow patrons who will no doubt find another watering hole and take their vibrant and amusing conversation with them. More importantly it is goodbye to our favourite Mine Hostess and our favourite bar lady. But these are strong women and the sadness will pass and their lives will move on as mine has, with new doors to open.

A WEST COAST CHARACTER

Paternoster is a small fishing village on the West Coast of South Africa. At least it was a small fishing village when this story started. Today it is trendy with the quaint West Coast cottages turned into restaurants or holiday cottages.

The name came from a wreck a long time ago. The crew could be heard singing the Lord’s Prayer as they waited for the ship to sink with no possibility of being saved.

The Paternoster Hotel was known far and wide for its grilled crayfish and enticing bar. One could sit on the stoep and watch the locals as they held out large red crayfish for sale and joked with their customers as only the coloured folk can do; all have a keen sense of humour.

On the other side of the headland is St. Helena Bay. Here is a fairly large harbour and along the coastline fishing factories that spew forth a vile smell when the wind is in the wrong direction.

Vasco de Gama the Portuguese sailor, landed here on 7^th November, 1497. He described the bay as calm and tranquil. He was the first European to meet the local Khoi people. There is a monument to his landing. The bay was named Bahai de Santa Helena after Saint Helena, a devout Christian and mother of Constantine.

Because of its position the local fisher folk called it “Die Agterrbaai.” (The bay at the back). One day I was exploring the area and came across a caravan parked near the shore. A burly man was bent over a fire cooking fish. I approached him and we chatted. His name was Pieter Pieterse and he was Afrikaans. His companion was an English woman, Jenny, but he called her “Die Engelsman.” (The Englishman)

Pieter Pieterse had his own television show where he showed his viewers how to cook the abundance of seafood that the West coast offered. I called on him many times and we would exchange tales of our travels. Pieter had traveled up and down this coast and ventured deeper into Africa as had I.

My daughter and I were planning a trip up to the Caprivi Strip in Namibia that runs along the top of Botswana to the confluence of the Zambezi and the Chobe river and where the borders of four countries meet. When I told Pieter he made me promise to stay at his camp on the Kwando River up there. Then he gave me his little seafood recipe book and inscribed it in Afrikaans “Aan Molly wie ook weet van die ver plekke. Mooi Loop.” Translated it means “To Molly who knows about the far places. Go Well.”

We duly traveled well through Botswana up the Western delta, crossed the border into Namibia, camping at Popa Falls. Popa Falls is right at the corner where one turns either left to Rundu or right to Katimo Mulilo. The falls are really a series of rapids where the river runs down the Western delta. This river rises in Angola and when it rains there the river comes down and floods the Okavango Delta. The flood spreads out like the fingers of a hand forming channels and islands. Then comes the dry season and the water recedes waiting for the next flood.

The Caprivi Strip runs directly from West to East depending upon which was you are traveling and has an interesting history. Before Nambia became a German protectorate the area was known as Itenge and for a long time was ruled by the Lozi kings, later becoming part of British Bechuanaland Protectorate. (Botswana)

At the Berlin Conference (1890) Count Leo von Caprivi, was the German negotiator. There it was agreed between Germany and Britain that the strip would be added to German South West Africa allowing Germany access to German East Africa and in return Germany would relinquish her interest in Zanzibar and the North Sea Island Heligoland that Britain had. The treaty was known as the Heligoland. So it was done; however Germany had forgotten that the Victoria Falls stood in the way and so the access to German West Africa (Tanzania) was blocked.

The following morning we set off east until we came to a track running alongside the Kwando River. The going was bad with thick sand and along the riverside the vegetation high. However we finally found the entrance to Pieter’s camp. What a delight! A reed and wood structure right on the high bank of the river. Bird feeders hung everywhere. The children (we traveled with Susan’s four children aged between four and ten) were delighted with it and spent their time feeding the bulbuls and birdwatching.

After two days we headed east again until we came to Katimo Mulilo, the capital of the Zambezi region, Namibia’s far eastern extension. The name comes from the SiLozi language and means douse the fire. In the early days the Lozi people would paddle their canoes down or across the river carrying the coals of their fire. They often moved their villages when the river flooded. The embers were for re-lighting a fire when they arrived at their destination.

The South African army was stationed at Katimo Mulilo as from 1940 to 1981 the government administrated Nambia after the end of the Second World War. This was a period when they were fighting the ANC and Swapo the revolutionary forces of Nambia and South Africa.

Whilst there, for some unknown reason the Commander of that unit decided to build a toilet in a large baobab tree! My grandson Shaun was determined to have his photo taken in the toilet as his father had been stationed there and had told him about it.

From there we took the Ngoma gate road crossing into Botswana and the long road south back to Robertson where Susan lived on a thoroughbred stud farm with her husband who was the stud manager. Here I picked up my car and made my way back to the West Coast. A few days later I had a glass of Robertson wine with my friend Pieter and told him all about our travels, a far cry from his camp on the Kwando River some 2000 kilometres north east of where we sat.

Sadly my friend died a few years later in tragic circumstances leaving his “Engelsman” alone. I still treasure his recipe book and many a time have consulted it, especially when snoek were running. This long game fish is much like a barracuda. It is very good on the braai (barbecue) basted with apricot jam!

 

TO LAKE TANGANYIKA

My daughter Susan and I together with my grandson Shaun flew into Lake Tanganyika about 10 years ago. The pilot warned us that the airstrip was just long enough to take the aircraft and sure enough I thought we would land up in the bushes at the end of the strip! As we approached we could see beneath the crystal clear waters and spied huge crocodiles and hippos.

 

Mpulunga is the Zambian town at the foot of the lake and that country’s only port; in fact has been in operation since the 1930’s. The lake is shared by Burundi, DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo), Tanzania and Zambia. The town is situated between mountains with very rocky soil so that the main occupation of the townspeople is fishing. Temperatures are high. Cement and sugar are exported from Zambia through the port to traders in Bujumbura in Burundi and Kigoma in Tanzania.

 

It is difficult to get to Mpulungu. After our flight the air service was terminated. From the south by road you would take the Great North Road via Mpika and Kasama. Charter flights land at Kasaba Bay. From there you would need to transfer by boat to  Mpulungu some 60ks away.

 

We were taken by road to Mpulungu and collected from the jetty there by our hosts and taken by motor boat to Ndole Bay Lodge. Our little rondavel nestled among the tropical vegetation and Shaun and I asked our host if we could swim in the lake. He said that crocodiles seldom ventured into the little bay but to keep a good watch out! Shaun snorkeled among the wooden posts of the jetty spotting vivid blue cichlids while I kept watch until it was my turn when Shaun kept his eyes open.

 

The water of the lake below 600 feet is dead or fossil water and supports very little life. The surface water is moved by wind and wave and fish and other organisms are at home in it. Storms can raise the wave height to around six metres and rain can come down in buckets! The water is clean and fine for drinking. The lake is known for its tropical fish namely the cichlids and these are marketed to aquariums around the world. Angling offers Nile perch, a truly delicious fish and the rare Golden perch. Nkupi is the largest cichlid in the world and the usual eating fish by the lake people. There is also a thriving kapenta industry.

 

As Shaun and I left the water’s edge gunfire could be heard from the north and our host reassured us saying that the fighting was in the Congo not much further north than the lodge!

 

David Livingstone called this an area of unsurpassed loveliness. The lake is 677 miles long running north and south and is the longest lake in the world. It contains nearly 7,413 sq miles of water, almost seven times that of Lake Victoria. The lake is part of the Rift valley and is the lowest part of the Rift valley. The reserves along the lake are protected by the countries that share its shores and comprise Nsumbu National Park, Zambia, Gombe Stream National Park and Rusisi Natural Reserve in Burundi and the Mahal Mountains National Park in Tanzania.

 

A ship that still plies the lake after over 100 years is the M V Liemba. She was originally commissioned by Kaiser Wilhelm the second of Germany for defending their territory on Lake Tanganyika in German East Africa from the Belgians and British.

 

She was a well armed warship some 70 metres long and 1200 tons and was built in Papenburg, Germany in 1913 and packed into 5000 numbered crates and shipped to Dar es Salaam and from there taken to the lake and reassembled.

 

When Germany began to lose the war and her troops retreated from German East Africa her captain scuttled her, filling her with cement. They removed her guns for other use. However her loyal engineers covered the engines with heavy oil and when she was re-floated upon Winston Churchill’s instructions in 1921 they were to carry on propelling her around the lake until the mid 1970’s when they were replaced with diesel. She was then named the M.V. Liemba.

 

She was made famous by a novel written by C. S. Forrester in 1935 that was turned into a movie, The African Queen, that starred Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn.

 

In 1993 she was overhauled and given a double bottom for safety. Her speed is 11 knots and ten 1^st class cabins were installed as well as 18 2^nd class cabins. She can carry 600 passengers and cargoes of maize, rice and pineapples.

 

In 1997 the M V Liemba and another lake steamer called the Mwongoze repatriated 75000 refugees from Zaire after the fall of Mobuto Sese Seke.

 

The M.V Liemba’s vogage around the Lake starts at Kigoma in Tanzania and ends at Mpulungu in Zambia taking around 3 days.

 

When we were there in this very remote corner of Zambia the male owners of two of the three lodges had fallen out and were not speaking! Any communication was through their wives on the radio. One can only shake one’s head at the absurdity of it with no other company to keep!

 

So often in my travels through Southern Africa I have found history in little known corners of this continent and Lake Tanganyika was no exception. I am eternally fascinated.

 

 

 

ALONG THE MOLOPO RIVER

KALAHARI
Red dunes, dry rivers.
Sweaty arms, icy shivers –
Extreme desert –
Upon my soul
Make me gentle
Make me bold
Give me strength
To carry on
In icy wind
And burning sun,
In your special community
If you need a human
Make it me.

My daughter and I took the grandchildren who were very young up to the then Kalahari Gemsbok Park. It is now the Kgaligadi Transfrontier Park in the North Western corner of South Africa. I went to the reference library in Cape Town gardens and did some research on our route.

The Northern Cape was like the old Wild West of America in the early days with bandits and other desperados living on the islands of the Orange River – now called the Gariep – far away from the reaches of the authorities in the Cape.

Our route lay from Upington and across the Molopo River, always dry in this Kalahari world. The Kalahari is an enormous semi-desert that stretches even as far as Zambia, appearing here and there. We stayed on that occasion at the Molopo Lodge and it was here that I first heard the tale of Scotty Smith, one of South Africa’s best remembered notorious outlaws.

Scotty Smith claimed to be the son of a Perthshire landowner, Mr. St Leger Gordon Lennox who educated Scotty in veterinary science and land surveying which attributes were to stand him in good stead in South Africa. When he was eighteen he joined the cavalry and eventually found himself bound for India. On his return his father required him to marry the daughter of his next door neighbour but Scotty refused and his father threatened to disinherit him. Scotty took ship to Australia and it was on this voyage that he gained his nickname, already called Scotty by the passengers because of his nationality, he removed a tight shoe from a thoroughbred horse on the ship, performing the duty of a blacksmith and was from then onwards known as Scotty Smith. Scotty left Australia under a cloud to arrive in the Cape at a time of turmoil in 1877 and took part in the Galeka Gaika revolt of that year. This was a war between the local natives and the government of the time.

Legend around this colourful figure has grown to such an extent that it is hard to draw the line between fact and fiction for he’s been called the Robin Hood of the veld, Captain Starlight of the frontier and the uncrowned King of the Kalahari, which says it all. I’ll relate a couple of his escapades when he operated along the Molopo River and you can imagine this renegade of yesteryear.

Groot (Large) Adriaan de la Rey, a brother of the Boer War General (The South African War between the English and the Afrikaners) set out to catch Scotty who was at that time a notorious horse thief, with a bunch of commandos.

Scotty had his ear to the ground and together with a friend made certain that they met up with their pursuers near the village of Amalia. They accosted Groot Adriaan and asked him where he was going. “To catch Scotty Smith” was the reply. “Oh” said Scotty. “Do you mind if we accompany you?”

Together they all hunted for the elusive Scotty Smith until one night Scotty and his friend volunteered to stand watch so that the commandos could catch up with their sleep. The next day Groot Adraian woke up to find that Scotty, his friend, and all the camp horses had disappeared!

When the long arm of the law got too close for comfort Scotty made for Zeerust – the town a real den of desperados who haunted the notorious Zeerust Club which had its headquarters at the Bucket of Blood Hotel where everything to please the heart of a bandit was on offer – billiards, gambling, women and booze. It was from here that he ventured into the theatre of the Stellaland-Goshen campaigns and successfully spied for the Imperial authorities. Goshen declared itself and Stella a republic in 1882 – 1883 and the conflict was between the Boers and the British Empire that caused its demise and was a forerunner of the second Boer War.

Near Rietfontein a Mr. Bouwer, mounted on a particularly fine piece of horseflesh, met up with Scotty. Scotty was so taken with the horse that he offered Mr. Bouwer fifty pounds for it. Mr. Bouwer declined and rode off to the Police Station where he spent the night in what he supposed was security. The next morning the horse was gone and Scotty had left the money in its place.

One day a farmer’s wife came upon Scotty and that evening he turned up at her doorstep, asking for lodgings. Her husband offered him a bed and a good dinner and it was as the first rays of dawn coloured the sky that the farmer heard a tap on his window. “Goodbye Mr.Thompson, thanks for your hospitality.”

Not much later the farmer’s servants arrived to say that all the horses had been stolen. About two hours later, however, the whole herd of horses was returned with a note from Scotty explaining that they’d been taken in error. “You treated me very well and as your guest I ate your salt – I had no intentions of robbing you – it was a mistake of my men operating in the area.”

Scotty retired in the burgeoning town of Upington on the Orange River and died there – his colourful life adding zest to an already fascinating part of Southern Africa.

OF CHILDREN, DREAMS AND MORE

I left school when I was sixteen, was expected to go to work, earn my living and start paying back my parents for raising me. Thereafter I was to marry well. End of story. Well it did not happen like that and after sailing to the UK and becoming an air hostess in the second intake of British European Airways that subsequently became British Overseas Airways and metamorphosed into British Airways, I loved the life and stayed there for two years. Finally I returned to South Africa and had a lump in my throat when the silhouette of Table Mountain rose from the Atlantic to welcome me and other returning South Africans.

 

I had lost a love and married by the time I was twenty one with my first child on the way. That was my daughter and a boy arrived some eighteen months later. I dreamt of the boy being a doctor. It never occurred to me that the world was moving on in spite of the fact that women had won the vote quite a long time ago, to dream of what my daughter would become. Then I had a niece and a nephew. It was not my prerogative to dream of their path in life although I saw a lot of them in their early years.

 

I married again and had a laat lammetjie – late lamb as we say in South Africa, a son,and decided he would be a civil engineer. Well as they say the best laid plans of mice and men!  Life moved on and my world turned upside down several times but I somehow survived.  

My daughter married a horseman and he became the under manager on a thoroughbred stud farm. My sister’s children were still very young and we would all spend a lot of time on the farm. My sons had taken paths I had never envisaged. The older one was studying to become an accountant, a surprising choice with a creative parent but obviously that gene did not transfer to him. Later he married and had a blonde little girl who is now grown up, doing a post graduate course at university and next year is off to Aspen where she will work on the slopes and then tour South America. I must admit I could not imagine what she would end up doing when she was younger. However she is an amazing artist so some of the old block has rubbed off.  

My niece began dancing during her teens and performed at the Opera house in Cape Town and finally at Sun City near Johannesburg amongst other venues. She continued after school taking a path that neither I nor my sister had envisaged until her knees took strain and she veered off into another direction.  I well remember having a family party at the farm and this little girl was reluctant to leave the fun and go to bed in the little guest cottage. “Come!” I enticed her, holding her hand and skipping. “We will take the short cut over the paddock! Here we go! Tip Toe through the tulips!” The child looked at me in amazement; looked at the green grass then stamped her little foot. “Aunty Mols there ARE no tulips!”

Her brother also took an unexpected path when he began driving horse trucks and when in the UK actually drove for the Prince of Wales! Trucking became his life whilst his passion for hunting has landed him in the Karoo owning a game farm!

My daughter had four children and we dragged them through Southern Africa while we researched material for our guide books, Discovering Botswana, Discovering Namibia and Discovering Zambia.  The children turned out no worse for wear in fact today have a lust for travel! They have displayed tenacity in life that I hope has come from our travels. Now grown up and scattered throughout South Africa they have all sorts of strengths and weakness, ambition and creativity not to forget loyalty and love.

My youngest son chose to be an electrician and moved on to IT. Thank heavens for that as he can guide me through the intricacies of the internet and Amazon etc.  He lives in Johannesburg with his wife so that I am able to spend a lot of time with his boy of eleven and a girl of four who are giving me loads of pleasure enjoying them just as they are. The boy is riding well, carrying on the family tradition of its affiliation to horses and the girl – well when they are that age they already know how to wind their fathers and uncles around their little fingers. This time I am making no predictions!

Below is my painting of my niece dancing the Flamenco!