When I phone at 5:20pm every second night, Mom Mary usually launches into her set routine: “I’m in bed, I’m warm, I’m comfortable, I’ve had my eyedrops, I’m just waiting for my cocktail.” But tonight is different.
She’s not in Azalea, she’s in Arcadia. Her second night in Greytown. “I’m sitting at the dining room table enjoying a delicious soup. The food here is wonderful,” she enthuses. Oh boy, looks like Greytown is going to be a dorp of wild late-night jolling. She may not get to bed before 6pm. She’s loving it. But there is one problem:
“Koosie, the piano here is badly out of tune! It sounds terrible. It sounds alright when Barbara plays it because she really thumps the keys, but when I play it some of the notes don’t make a sound.” Omigoodness Mom, let’s get Professor Bloch to come and choon it, I suggest. She hoses herself. “He’ll have to come down from heaven,” she says. “Did he tune pianos?” she asks. “I think he only tuned violins.” Oh well . .
I try another dodge. Mom! Maybe the reason I only went to one piano lesson in my rugby togs was cos Miss Underwood’s piano was out of tune?! Nooit! She leaps to Miss Underwood’s defence. “Oh no, she would have had her piano fully tuned. And I would have noticed. I had lessons from her for twenty years, from when I was six to when I was sixteen,” she defends stoutly if arithmetically dodgily.
True, I conceded, and you’ve been practicing for eighty years since. “Ooh, I spose that’s right,” she says sounding amazed.
~~oo0oo~~
“You know, when I used to play the piano in the Boksburg-Benoni hospital sometimes some of the nurses would just carry on talking.” Um, right Ma. I mean, NO!?
A few weeks later: “A man came to play the piano for us. He’s very good, some of the best playing I’ve ever heard. He teaches music here in Greytown.” I’m thinking, the piano can’t be too bad then. I ask, What did he play? “Oh, modern stuff. Sinatra, Blue Suede Shoes, I asked him to play What A Wonderful World, and he said, ‘Oh thank you! I love that and I haven’t played it in so long!’ It was beautiful.”
Last night Ma Mary didn’t have much to tell me. She has been distracted – they’re moving to Greytown soon and that takes up a lot of her thinking. But she did tell me she remembered Fats Waller’s song Alligator Crawl and can still play it.
So tonight I phoned and asked, Do you want to listen to some music? Ooh yes! she was keen, so I played this:
She loved that; she couldn’t remember Aint Misbehavin’ but the music freed her mind; And she was off! We went through four tonsillectomies: Her own as an adult soon after her wedding – she bled a bit afterwards; then Barbara’s – she had to get stitches in Frank Reitz’s surgery as she had a bleed while recovering; Sheila’s – she had to go back into hospital; mine – we went to recover on Kindrochart, no bleeding.
In the Boksburg-Benoni hospital when she was finishing her training her sister in charge said to her, I want you to become a theatre sister. But, Mary says modestly, ‘I don’t think I had the guts for it.’ She rather went and did her midwifery at Addington in Durban. I think assisting births takes lots of guts too!
‘Oh here comes my cocktail,’ ended our call, as it occasionally does.
~~oo0oo~~
Sounds like a fun frailcare, but her cocktail is completely alcohol-free; a mocktail: a painkiller and sleeping tablet, crushed with a pestle in a mortar and mixed with yoghurt, followed by a tiny quarter sandwich, which always ‘Is delicious, even though I’ve already brushed my teeth.’
On our call last night we spoke about smoking and stopping smoking and Mom remembered this from wayback Harrismith days in the Seventies:
Ernie van Biljon was a great character, full of smiles and laughs. He was the Rotarian who arranged for me to go to America back in ’73. Mom says they were at some function in town and Ernie was saying how he was worried about his smoking; and how everyone, including “The Englishman,” as he sometimes called Margie, his lovely wife, wanted him to quit. “But I won’t know what to do with my hands!” he complained.
Well, Mary had an answer for that: “I’ll show you what to do with your hands,” she said, “Here, put them together like this,” Ernie dutifully followed her instructions. “Then put them between your legs like this,” said Mary, putting her hands between her legs. With his mischievous grin Ernie said, “OK,” and made to also place his hands between Mary’s legs, causing great hilarity all round and distracting everyone so he could carry on smoking unchallenged.
Today, a sudden thought popped into Mom’s head (first time I’ve ever heard this):
I remember when you were little, Lina or Selena was off cos it was Sunday evening and you were washing the dishes. And you said,
“Mom! This is not a job for a little boy.”
Background: As a kid I was certainly spoilt and did very few chores. All my clothes were washed and ironed, my food cooked, my dishes washed, things got done – as if by magic, but actually by Lina Mazibuko and then Selina, and by Judas Thabethe, Anna and Jan Radebe, then July.
So I was probly suffering terribly! The effort! The injustice!
Vacation; Holiday; Spans of sea and sand and sun, and fish in the aquarium; That’s a lekker place; For a hol.i.day!
Us Vrystaters went to Durban once on a lekker-by-die-see holiday. Back in the sixties. Oldest sister Barbara got stung by a bluebottle.
Over the years Mom has related the tale often about how the dreaded blue ‘Portuguese Man O’ War’ stung her poor child.
But today it was worse! Things took a more dramatic turn! She told the familiar tale again, and then got to the part where poor Barbara was ‘attacked by the Spanish Armada.’
We’re in Mtunzini in a lovely wooden cottage on stilts in a forest. Lots of birds, Mom.
Well, be careful of the elephants.
Our forest doesn’t have elephants.
Good. The last time I saw elephants in a circus in Harrismith we sat in the high seats back from the circus ring. One of the town’s awfully fancy ladies walked in and sat in the front row at ring level. She was wearing her hair piled up high and her dress cost as much as a small car. Tickey the clown came in carrying two buckets of water. He threw one in the ring, wetting the sawdust, then threw the 2nd bucket straight at fancy madame, who shrieked and dived to the side. It was filled with confetti!
…
Next, we discussed cellphones and telephones:
At 95 Stuart the phone table was a converted hatstand. On the plot outside town – Birdhaven – the phone was fixed onto the wall. I kept a chair next to it to sit on while chatting.
Mrs Rogers from the forestry* phoned one day. You know Mrs Swanepoel, shesaid, We use this party line as a business phone, and your kids are on the line all the time! Terribly sorry Mrs Rogers. It won’t happen again! And I took away the chair so you kids couldn’t stand on it to reach the phone!
Seems I had a deprived childhood.
…
*(actually the pine plantation – plantations are not forests!)
Mom says sadly that she was reading Rex Harrison’s biography when her maculae gave in. So she never got to finish it.
She laughs about his song in My Fair Lady, Never Let a Woman in Your Life – ‘AND,’ she says, ‘He was married four times!’ I can tell you didn’t finish that book, Mom. I looked up his Wikipedia entry. It was actually SIX times.
…
Me the Driver – Mom tells of a time I got behind the wheel of Marie Bain’s car and my big mate and younger sidekick – Marie’s grandson or grandnephew – Gareth Taylor, sitting in the back, leapt into the front seat crying, I Don’t Wanna Die! Mom and Sylvia had a good laugh at his dramatics and sense of humour. I was too young to drive then but was always mad keen; I’d sit for hours in all our various cars – Annie’s beige 1949 Chevy Fleetline, our beige Morris Isis and light blue VW Beetle, our faded dark blue kombis, Annie’s green and white Opel Rekord – going thru the gears operating the clutch and gearshift. I can almost ‘see’ Marie’s car but can’t quite remember what it was. I imagine this probably happened outside Herano Hof in Stuart Street, where Smollie and Marie lived then.
Smollie walked with a stoop and had stiff legs. I remember him getting into the passenger seat was quite a performance. The seat had to be well back so he could swing his straight legs in.
…
First Piano – an Otto Bach? – Mom bought her first piano from Marie for 100 pounds. Paid for it from the money Annie paid her to do the Caltex garage books. Central Service Station in Warden Street. Corner of Southey Street. Opposite Barclays Bank, Freddies Grocers and the Town Hall. Diagonally opposite the Deborah Retief Gardens – the village square. Next door to the VC Cafe in Southey St, next door to the Portuguese Grocers in Warden Street. Annie’s complex consisted of her Caltex filling station, the Flamingo Cafe, the Platberg Bottle Store and the workshop behind her office off the forecourt. In years gone by it was known as Caskie’s Corner – her mom-in-law, Granny Bland was a Caskie.
Older sister Barbara has just (2025) renovated a wooden cupboard which was Annie’s mechanic At Truscott’s tool cupboard for Volkswagen tools only! It was painted Caltex green (as were many things around us – even the horse trough).
…
Scotty her English teacher – Miss Helen Scott – recommended they read Absolom! Absolom! by Wm Faulkner “so of course we didn’t,” she says ruefully. Rebel Mary.
Then a few years later, she found another Faulkner book, The Sound and the Fury, in the library at the Boksburg & Benoni hospital, and on night duty she and her nurse took turns reading it to each other.
…
Firecrackers – I asked if she’d heard fireworks last night – New Year’s Eve. Yes, even she couldn’t sleep! That reminded her: In Harrismith as schoolgirls ca.1945, Mom and Sylvia bought sparklers and wheels. She thinks for New Year or Guy Fawkes. They put them in a shoebox. They were planning to set them off at Granny Bland’s back gate. There were a few visitors who gathered there.
Suddenly they all went off at once – the whole box! Sepp de Beer had decided to light the lot!
…
A Concert for the Troops! – At their grandad’s Royal Hotel, Mom and Sylvia decided to give a concert to ‘raise money for the troops.’ They charged a penny each to watch. Mom played the piano, Sylvia danced and they both sang. She thinks they raised enough money to maybe get some troops as far as Kenya. ‘Maybe a shilling’!
I said, That may have made the difference to win the war. That cracked her up.
…
The English Visitor – A regular annual guest at the Hotel was a Mr Lewis from England. He came for two months every year to escape the harsh English winter. His room was upstairs looking towards the railway station. While he was there, all kids were banned from going up the beautiful wooden staircase. And – There was to be be dead silence from 2 to 4pm every afternoon! Mr Lewis was having his nap! One day he stormed out onto the pavement in his pyjamas and berated a local lady who had been talking to her friend across the road at Kathy Bain Reynolds’ garage! How dare she converse in seSotho while he was out from England!
The Garage across from the Royal – which can be seen in the photos of Oupa Bain’s funeral procession was owned by Jack Reynolds, a handsome man, say Mom. He was married to Kathy Bain, and when he died early – after having bad lung problems and going blind – Kathy took over the running of the garage, just as Annie had when Frank died. So two intrepid Bain ladies ran garages in Harrismith.
…
Dances in the Harrismith Town Hall – There was no alcohol you know. People would go across the gardens to the Central Hotel for a drink. Oh, I asked, Would they carry their drinks back across the gardens to the dance?
No, they’d bring them in their stomachs.
The dentist’s (Dr __) mechanic and his wife were wonderful dancers. But after a few trips they – Would dance even better? I suggested, dancing being one of the reasons I drink.
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!
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.
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:
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.”
Mom was watching the movie Titanic when the frailcare nurses came mid-movie and hauled her off to bed. Well, it was nearly 5pm.
Ever co-operative, dear old Mom sighed and accepted. The next day she asked two fellow inmates who had stayed on: “What happened!? Did it sink all the way to the bottom, or did it land on an iceberg and drift to safety?”
“They gave me a blank look,” she tells me. “Looked at me as though I was mad.” “Oops,” she says, “They didn’t get my little joke.”
Undeterred, she tells me with a chuckle , “Next time I’ll ask them what happened with Cain and Abel. Did Cain kill Abel in the end?” I’ll ask them.
~~o00o~~
Disclaimer: Mom Mary was only born in 1928, a full decade after the Titanic hit the bottom, OK?
‘They gave us supper early. We were saying, Soon They’ll Feed Us At Three.’ I said, In this cold weather if it was me I’d say to you all at lunch: Eat Up! Your Supper’s Ready! so I could get home early. She had a good laugh at that.
‘I played the piano at supper.’ Oh, good. What did you play? ‘The piano’ she says mischievously and laughs. The she sings, ‘Lady of Spain I adore you – right from the night I first saw you … ‘
‘We would dance to this in the Masonic Hall. Folk dancing. Also to When Irish Eyes Are Smiling. And a Welsh dance and a Scottish reel.’
‘For Girl Guides I had to play a March for my piano badge. Mrs Steytler said I was playing too fast, the girls marching couldn’t keep up. Then I had to play God Save The King, we were still under the monarchy then, in the Commonwealth. And Elizabeth has gone to hospital for the first time.’
Well, she’s 93, I said, same age as you. ‘Oh, I thought she was Pat’s age, older than me, and Margaret was my age.’ I think she’s 1928, same as you, I said. While we were talking I checked. True’s Bob, Mary was right, Mrs Queen is two and half years older than her. Pat’s age. I was foolish to contradict her. What do I know about poms?
‘I saw her in Boksburg, you know. She was keen to get back home to the only boyfriend she ever had. Philip.’
On the 14th July 1951 the biggest hugest massivest humungousest stroke of luck to befall him in all his life befell Pieter Gerhardus Swanepoel. By far. By a very long, long way the biggest.
And he didn’t realise it then. Still doesn’t now.
This morning Mary will wake thinking, I wonder how Pieter is, I hope he’s alright.
Sheila kept a diary in high school. It’s amazing reading such detailed notes of long-forgotten happenings. Last time it was a trip up Mt aux Sources. This time it’s a winter trip to the warm sub-tropical south coast of KwaZuluNatal by a family of Vrystaters.
Pennington, Monday 5 July: – Walked to the beach alone. Stayed for a while. Walked home (± 1 mile – the distance from our beach cottage to the beach). Left for Hibberdene with the whole family. Elsie & Richard Scott were there. Barbara went with them. Went on to Port Shepstone. Went to see Upsie Sorenson, a friend of Dad’s. Walked around a bit in town. Spoke to Lilly du Plessis. Went to Margate. Spoke to Philly and the whole Mikkers family. Swam in the sea with Philly. Went to Port Shepstone to the Sorensons. Chatted to Upsie and his daughter Ingrid. Had tea. Stopped at Park Rynie went to Scottburgh. Bought stuff. Came back to Umdoni Park/Pennington. Went to the café. Went to Uncle Joe Geyser’s sister’s house near our cottage. Met Danie & Pearly (Geyser) du Toit and Pieter Geyser. Went home, had supper with Mom, Dad and Koos. Bathed. Went for a drive. Came back. Barbara & Richard were here. He left. Chatted to Barbara.
Tuesday 6 July: – Had breakfast with the family. Walked to the beach with Mom & Barbara. Swam in the rock pool. Went to the café. Walked to the Caravan Park. Spoke to the Macgregors. Met Glenda & Joan Brand. Went to the beach with them. Spoke to Denise Brand, Glynis and Brian Fisher. Went for a walk alone. Sat on the beach alone. Walked to the café. There were six guys there on three motorbikes. They had met Barbara. They said they are having coffee at our place. They gave me a lift home on the buzz bike. Had lunch with the family. Then the guys, Mike, George, Charles, Terry, Dogs and Kevin arrived. Sat and chatted. Went down to the beach with them. Nine of us on three bikes. I was with Terry & George. Went to the café. They brought us home. Stood and chatted outside. Went to the Happy Wanderers Caravan Park at Kelso with the family. Sat at the boys tent. Had supper in the café. Chatted to them all in the café. Went to Park Rynie with Terry on the buzz bike, Barbara went with Mike. They brought us home. Chatted for a long time. They left. Mike brought Koos back.
Pic of us three taken in Harrismith around about then:
– all looking delighted to pose for the camera –
~~~oo0oo~~~
oops, posted this a bit late, but what’s a couple days after fifty years!?
vrystaters – citizens of the province of song and laughter – the Free State
Mom Mary Methodist tells me she played all the hymns she can remember on the piano in the dining room before breakfast this morning. It’s Sunday, see. She plays ‘for the oldies’ (she’s ninety two, some of the oldies are in their seventies already). ‘They liked them so much I played them all again.’
And she tells me one of the ladies found a screw about an inch and a half long yesterday, and walked round asking everyone, ‘Who’s got a screw loose?’ ‘She’s quite a wag,’ says Ma. ‘When she got to me I murmured to her, ‘Just about all of us, I think.’
Some of the inmates crowd around the piano when she plays. ‘Shame,’ she says, ‘When the meal arrives and I stop playing, some of them have to be shown where their tables are. They’re quite lost.’
Hey Eddie! Thanks a lot. I had a lovely quiet day at home with lots and lots of messages – way more than I deserve, as I remember only a few birthdays, so I say to them – as I say to you here – hope you have a wonderful day and year too! So many people remember my ruddy birthday. Can’t think why?
Spoke to Mother Mary on the day. She’s well. Also to the old goat, who pretended to hear what I was saying. Sisters Barbara and Sheila both phoned, and a host of others; a call from Janet in Botswana; a long call from Glen and Ali in Aussie; an even longer call from Larry in Ohio; people are amazing. Messages from all over. And all because I was lucky enough to be born on a highly suspicious day on the Gregorian calendar that people tell me is somehow appropriate to me!? Bastids.
And guess what I found out yesterday for the first time in sixty six years? Mary said, “Yes, you made a fool of me that day. You arrived two days late. You were due on the 30th March.” First time I ever heard that! Who the hell would want to be born on a nothing day like the 30th March!?
I’m guessing as Mom’s recent grey cells die off, and she loses what happened yesterday or this morning, some of the ancient ones – up to ninety two years old – are getting a fresh look at daylight, being dusted off and telling their story? Maybe?
Thank goodness I waited those two days, incubating quietly and delaying getting out into the noise. My whole life would have been different if I hadn’t been born on the 1st April. Different; Less fun, I think.
~~~oo0oo~~~
“Yes, you made a fool of me that day. You arrived two days late. You were due on the 30th March.” Then, “Did I tell you that already?”
Poor dear Mom Mary repeated that surprise news in the same phonecall, not three minutes after telling me the first time.
