Category Archives: Family & Kids

Clarens en route to Afriski

Winter 2010 – The Soccer World Cup frenzy was in full swing and I was pleased we were getting away from it all, off to the the relative tranquility of Afriski resort, high in the Lesotho mountains. The kids LOVED their winter skiing holidays!

En route we made our customary brunch stop in the village of Clarens and of course I had to inform our traveling companions, Andrew and Tracey Ogilvie, joining us for their twin girls’ first skiing holiday, that I had known the mayor of Clarens in the olden days. Actually, his son, the FSOC. America has POTUS and FLOTUS, so we can have Hizzoner, The First Son Of Clarens, right?

As I told my stories yet again poor Aitch just had to listen and try not to roll her eyes too hard – (btw, heard a good one: ‘rolled my eyes so hard I almost fell over backwards’).

Hilarious stories like: The TV repeater aerial and car battery on top of Mt Horeb and the walkie-talkie conversations twixt town and top that ensued; The Clarens telephone sentrale saying “34? No, Stevie’s not there, he’s at the Goldblatts, I’ll put you through;” Hilarious, right?

Oh well, Andrew seemed to enjoy them. He’s polite that way.

We were there just before the Soccer World Cup opening ceremony and the first game (Bafana the host nation vs Mexico). The Clarens central grassy square was crowded – a million kids dressed in Bafana yellow, blowing their zulufelas, I mean vuvuzelas and marching around aimlessly in neat lines. We blew out of there and mercifully, the radio reception soon got too poor to listen in.

If it wasn’t for bladdy satellites we would have been totally isolated up on the high mountains, too. So we had to watch some of the games in the pub. Civilisation is overrated.

~~oo0oo~~

telephone sentrale – the telephone exchange, in those days a real live human being who knew what was going on in town and dorp

dorp – village

vuvuzela – instrument of one-note aural torture; probly modeled on the instruments that toppled Jericho

Let it R.I.P Sambucca!

Sambucca – Tom’s picture 2018

So long, and thanks for all the fleas!

Dear old Sambucca obligingly died on Aitch’s birthday, making the date easy to remember. 2019, so she was about twelve in the shade. Tom and Lungelo buried her in the garden with much sweating in the heat. Not out of the kindness of their hearts or any soppiness, mind you. They did it for cold hard cash.

~~oo0oo~~

Train Journey

Tommy had a lovely fun collection of model trains. Mom Aitch and I started the trend, then his rolling stock fleet was given a boost when Val & Pete Excell brought him a Thomas the Tank Engine from England.

Trains were a thing. He went on a few train rides, one for his fourth birthday party:

Then all of a sudden he was grown and the trains gathered dust. He agreed it would be best if other children could play with them, so off they went:

~~oo0oo~~

Family pics

parked here for safekeeping – hard copies have been discarded. And there were lots of hard copies! Here are some of Aitch’s photo albums. All are gone now.

1986 diary:

1992 diary:

1989 – My first bond:

Jess & Tom – Dance & Portraits

2021 – house-emptying pics. Plus storage, furniture selling, etc.

Kosi Bay Again

Twenty years on, we’re here again. Me and Jess. Thanks to her, we have actually booked ahead and are staying in a comfortable chalet at Kosi Bay Lodge. She loves it, there’s DSTV and good phone signal. Also a restaurant that makes great food.  Really tasty grub. Oh, and some nature outside. You go, Dad.

It’s too windy for boat trips on the lakes, so I walk the grounds and drive around the area – Ezemvelo’s Kosi Bay camp. Utshwayelo Kosi Mouth Lodge – while Jess just chills. Good birding, including one I seldom see, an Eastern Nicator. My pictures were just shadowy blobs, so here’s one from a good camera:

Note: All the camps are quite far from the beaches, and as the only one that is actually on the lakeshore, Ezemvelo’s Kosi Bay Camp is, for my money, by far the best option.

~~oo0oo~~

Last we were here we camped at the Ezemvelo Camp, and Jess was young enough to enjoy the swing I rigged up using an umbrella pole and tie-down straps.

Out on the lakes in 2003 – Greg Bennett loaned us his rubber dinghy and Yamaha.

Matters Tonsorial

Oops! Sorry Daddy!
Huh? I started awake. What, Jess?
I cut one part way too short.
Oh, doesn’t matter, love.
Were you sleeping?
I did nod off.
Sorry Dad.
Really love, I’m just happy you’re giving me a haircut. You can see how relaxed I am.

After:
Jess you’d better sweep up here, my girl. It looks like an eagle caught a goat and pecked out all its fur on the stoep.

(*hoses herself* *fetches broom*) Okay Daddy. Can I have a picture of your haircut for my profile?

~~oo0oo~~

(Sure dear. And that’s the picture above)

The Nerve!

A cry from upstairs: “Wash your hands and put gloves on, you bloody cow!”

Jess must be surfing the net. Is someone doing something wrong on the internet, Jess? I shout from downstairs, hosing myself.

“Yes! This person . . ” long explanation of what they did and what they should have done.

Right, Jess. (I don’t repeat my advice of, It’s clickbait Jess; Rather just avoid sites that trigger you).

Snow Joke

Mom tries hard to see the bright side of things. She’ll often praise the staff and nurses that look after her and seldom criticises them. But once she said about one of them, Boy if these were the Seven Dwarves, she’d be Grumpy!

Realising she’d just been critical, she doubled down, tongue-in-cheek: And of course I’m Snow White!

~~oo0oo~~

To Popular Acclaim

Mom (97) tells me the male nurse and one of the inmates asked her to play the piano the other day. I can’t, she said, Some of the oldies are watching TV.

Ha! They’d see about that. So they went round and took a vote. Mary Play The Piano won easily over Watch TV.

The TV was muted and Mom played Roll out The Barrel.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=XERYdzH_aQ8&pp=ygUacGlhbm8sIHJvbGwgb3V0IHRoZSBiYXJyZWw%3D

The oke in the video is cheating. Mom actually plays it herself for real.

That reminds me: Jock n Brenda Grant had one of these pianolas in the Montrose Motel in Swinburne. Dangerous place, the Montrose.

~~oo0oo~~

Methodists on the Booze

There are many “Methodist” denominations throughout the world, not only the 1960s Harrismith, Orange Free State version, although that is the most important one. About 112 are listed in wikipedia. So there must be around 112 methylated ways to get to heaven, I spose. Many – or most maybe? – will deny whatever I mutter on the topic of their booze doctrine, but this is sort-of what they sort-of think, I think.

They gloss over Jesus and His wine. Jesus was a lot more pragmatic and accommodating than His Methodists. If he tried that water into wine trick in 2023 he’d be in trouble with this modern-day kerk! They would turn that trick of His into a whine. While it seems Meths are at pains to say they don’t actually BAN grog – no fatwas – they tut tut about it, and suggest that much-ignored Evangelical and Catholic tactic called ‘abstinence.’ The one that doesn’t work. That tactic. This is surely an opportunity for someone to start a 113th Meth sect: One that fearlessly BANS Booze!

From one of the many Methodist websites out there: “Abstinence from alcohol” witnesses to God’s liberating and redeeming love, and is part of living into the life God has prepared for us. We start there. We start with abstinence as faithful witness, and as the norm for guiding our behavior.” The fact that ‘where they start’ is 100% non-biblical? Well, the Bible is full of suggestions . . it’s a guideline . .

In 1960s Harrismith they didn’t get any of the above, sanks goodness. They got Mary Methodist who played the organ beautifully, coached the choir, sang in the choir, served on the Women’s Auxiliary (where women were kept away from any thoughts of usurping the patriarchy), kept us kids in line, or tried to, AND ran a bottle store. Which bottles contained liquor. She did all of these things well, and with love, did my Mom Mary of the Methodist Church and of the Platberg Bottle Store / Drankwinkel.

Do Methodists call for prohibition? Almost. They want “public policy calling for the strict administration of laws regulating the sale and distribution of alcohol.” Give them half a chance and they’ll prohibit, bottle stores will close, and the mafia will have our family’s income stream.

Well, despite their best efforts, if there is a place as boring as heaven, if it’s a good place, and if anyone is going there, Mary Methodist is most definitely at the front of that queue. St Peter won’t even ask to see her ID or her liquor licence. He’ll just wave her right through.

~~oo0oo~~

Here are a few more wafflings about booze by sundry Methodists:

https://www.umc.org/en/content/communion-and-welchs-grape-juice

https://www.christiancentury.org/article/2011-03/methodists-shun-bottle-no-one-wants-talk-about

https://christianityfaq.com/methodists-drink-alcohol/

Mostly it boils down to the same old ‘Yes, the Bible is the infallible word of God, BUT . . ‘ that all denominations use for various things.

~~oo0oo~~

Harrismith’s two bottle stores that provided much-needed succour to the grateful townsfolk were the Platberg Drankwinkel and the Horseshoe Drankwinkel. Sister Sheila tells the lovely story of the Aberfeldy farm school where the subject one day was Engels. The teacher asked, ‘Class, who knows the Afrikaans word for horseshoe?‘ And quick as a flash her friend Elsa du Plessis answered “Drankwinkel.”

Platberg bottle store, Annie’s garage, Flamingo Cafe & OHS 155 VW Beetle

Nocturnal Noises

Plaf Plaf Plaf Plaf Plaf (growing louder) *Huff Puff Huff* Plaf Plaf Plaf Plaf ( fading away)
Ermigawd I’m back in the Kruger Park.

The Kruger’s most abundant dangerous mammal is jogging round n round, earphones on, carrying a bottle of ‘pure’ water trucked in from hundreds of miles away, belching diesel fumes.

And again. And again. Eight laps at least, three joggers, running separately. All seem to be wearing Adidas three sizes too big, judging by the hollowness of the Plaf. Then peace descends. They’re finished. Or, Deo Volente, been eaten by a lion.

We’re camping in Letaba camp. Now the evening sounds can begin. I’m waiting for a Pearl-spotted Owlet, but nope, first to call is the Barred, then later the Scops owls.
Hyenas whoop; Hippos guffaw and snigger at their own dirty jokes; fart jokes, I bet. A Bushbaby cries, followed by a loud bellow. An Ele? No, more bovine. A Buffalo?

Must remember the rule though: For any mystery noise in a game reserve, always suspect Homo sapiens, so I can’t rule out a happy camper’s bowels being the source.

Then a Spotted Eagle Owl; Then – quieter and much nearer – another hyena? I roll onto my back to free both ears so I can listen in stereo.

Nope, just Jess having a mild little argument in her sleep, half sleep-talking. Sleep-mumbling.

~~oo0oo~~

The next night the same sounds, plus a lion’s roar. When it gets light I go for a walk along the Letaba river boundary of the camp. Lazybones Jess grunts ‘No’ and rolls up tighter under her duvet, so she misses out on seeing a distant pride of lionesses and cubs on the flood plain.

Undercover Operation

The lost puppy escaped an orchidectomy, anyway not having any external ‘orchids’ to harvest. Tiggers, the rescued kitty cat is unlikely to escape the ordeal. He’s heading off to MAWS animal wescue, and I don’t think he’s read the details of the invitation, poor fella.

The two heartless ladies are taking him. I was invited, but no ways I’m risking the vets getting confused as to which male needs doctoring.

~~oo0oo~~

Tigger is back. The deed was done by the voluntary vet at MAWS, and he survived the ordeal. He’s not happy, he’s resting and recovering, subdued.

One day later, and he’s almost back to his old self, full of energy and mischief, pouncing on anything that moves, including Jess, who he has forgiven, gullible cat.

~~oo0oo~~

Gift’s Puppy

Janet has a lot of energy. A lot. Also, she knows her patch. So when she said in the pitch dark of way-too-early morning, ‘Please come and help me,’ you don’t argue. Shoes on, grab your torch and out into the chilly fullmoon morning. What us loafers would more accurately call the chilly fullmoon night.

‘There’s a puppy with its head stuck in the fence. Go there, I’m going round outside to behind it.’ You do as you’re told.

And so there was: A cute little blonde pup with its head poked through the bonnox wire; its head smaller than the hole, so it could easily have pulled back but was pushing forward, determined to get into the yard. Word must have got out that the lady at number 1414 is a softie who feeds and waters five cats, a mutt, ten thousand birds and sundry cattle, goats and donkeys.

Well, the pup was right. Once it got into the yard there was food and milk and four outraged and indignant cats. Mom! You’re not letting This Thing into paradise, are you? they sniffed at Janet.

Still way too early, we left on Janet’s power walk up and down the dry Tamalakhane river with Muppet, the large hound with the small brain, most of the grey matter dedicated to enthusiasm, little to forethought. Raising dust as we strode towards, then away from, then back towards the sun, which had sensibly not risen yet. The full moon was still trying to set.

And at her heels was the new arrival, trotting along as if trained and long used to this. The walk was a good long one, up to Wilmot Island and down to Kagiso and back, but lil Puppy was relaxed and happy.

– blonde pup and full moon –

As we got back to Jan’s gate a young chap who told us his name was Gift met us and asked, ‘Have you seen a puppy? A female puppy?’ at which Blonde Puppy ran to him and rubbed against his ankles. Happy reunion and happy cats who muttered, ‘Damn Right, Be Off With You!’

Lucky for Puppy too, as while we thought she was a he, we had already planned his de-nackering by the vet.

Peace descended on the valley.

~~oo0oo~~

Raintree Camp

Raintree Camp is just short of Shorobe, north of Maun. Janet and I, gaily chatting our heads off, woke up when we got to the fork-off to Kazakiini Camp, a good 26km past the turnoff. We pretended we knew all along and were just reconoittring the area. Jess was unimpressed at our u-turn. We had actually both noticed the Shorobe Basket Weavers sign, but hadn’t figured out that meant we were passing through that village!

While backtracking, we went straight back to yakking and solving the world’s problems, including the fact that the bakkie was pulling to the left as a result of the road camber and the thick sand on the left compared to the harder calcrete in the middle.

Which was actually neither of those things. It was because of a left front puncture. Our prolonged diagnosis meant the tyre was shredded by the time we stopped.

Jess then took a near-plumber’s crack picture, which resulted in her forfeiting supper last night.

Some young guys stopped to help, only to be told we had everything under control. Noticing some slight huffing n puffing, they ignored me and kindly loosened the wheelnuts with ease. Other than that, of course, everything was under control.

~~oo0oo~~

A short drive north of Raintree there’s a lagoon in the Thamalakane with water from the last rains. Yellow-billed Storks, Spoonbills, Hamerkops, a lone Pelican, a Saddle-bill Stork, flocks of Sandgrouse, Blacksmith Lapwings, and a large pod of Hippo. A mokoro poler with two passengers gave the hippos a wide berth, hugging the reedbed on the western shore.

Along the dry shore, Magpie Shrikes, White-crowned Shrikes, Meves Starling.

We had a lovely campsite under a raintree – lots of those here! – near to Janet’s safari tent. The third night I moved the bakkie next to her tent as I had brilliantly left a light shining all night, so needed to charge the aux batteries by plugging in to Botswana Power Corporation.

To complete my puncture and battery faux pas trifecta, I then moved the car, snapping the charging cable. f&#-it! Luckily, we were fully charged already, and the fridge’s two compartments were back down to 5⁰ and 0⁰C.

Raintree Camp is a lovely place with lovely people, big trees, great ablution facilities, a bar and a pool. We enjoyed our three day stay. Some of the tents are close to the road, so noise can be an occasional factor. New chalets are planned on the water side of the property, away from the road, owner Neil Kendrick told us. So do check it out if you’re headed that way. As a transit camp on the way to or from Moremi, it’s ideally located.

~~oo0oo~~

Botswana Again!

Yay! Camping in Khama Rhino, good to be back in Botswana. Jessie’s first visit. She lost her passport and has only just got round to getting a new one.

Pumping up the tyres after reducing pressure for the sandy and twisty roads in the camp:

Palapye Red VW DubDub Club?

Back at Janet’s place at last. Yay! The Tamalakhane River on her doorstep dry and dusty:

– Father’s Day – a big breakfast at Sitatunga Camp –

Mapungubwe & Kaoxa

Planning ahead as always (not), we drove into Kaoxa Bush Camp hoping to find Virginia there to welcome us. She was nowhere to be found and her phone was on voicemail. So we booked into the SA Parks camp inside Mapungubwe, the first time I have stayed inside the park. Jess was pleased – the chalet had aircon! And it was hot. Even the eles sought shade:

I drove around Mapungubwe east, the more famous half of the park, and walked the boardwalk to overlook the Limpopo and into Botswana and Zimbabwe. Jess mainly stayed in the chalet. The day we left I drove the long way round to the gate, so she did see some of this interesting Eastern section of the park.

Then we moved on to Kaoxa. We drove down to Virginia’s home and found her. She asked us to bring cash, so we drove the 70km to Musina and drew cash as we needed to do some food shopping anyway. The tar road is in very good nick except for two patches near Mapungubwe with bad potholes. So 110km/h is easy, but when you see potholes, slow down drastically! Each patch is just a couple hundred metres, but bad.

Good ceiling fans and great showers, a cool shady pool and lots of shade under thatch. As we arrived there was a squirrel in the chalet. It jumped onto Jess and scratched her arm, then fled. We ate and swam and birded and stared at the view. For wifi we drove to Duncan’s homestead and sat on the back veranda. Good birding there, too. A very special place is Kaoxa Bush Camp. Do support it so it can stay wild forever! Best to book online.

– African Hawk Eagle – Gymnogene –

~~oo0oo~~

Birds seen in the area:
Cinnamon-breasted Bunting
Black Eagle (Verreaux’s)
Familiar Chat
Jamesons Firefinch
Mocking Cliff Chat
Kori Bustard
Grey-headed Sparrow
Lanner Falcon
Woodland Kingfisher
Dusky Flycatcher
White-browed Sparrow-Weaver
Rufous-naped Lark
Arrow-marked Babbler
Violet-backed & Redwing Starlings
Wood Sandpiper
Acacia Pied Barbet
Black-collared Barbet