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SUNDAY BEST FOR THE AEROPLANE

Ingrid Thompson

I remember my parents’ first overseas trip in 1965. Back then you could walk across the tarmac, almost all the way to the stairs onto the plane. The only thing separating the travellers and the non-travellers at D. F. Malan Airport was a low metal barrier.

Some friends brought gift baskets wrapped in colourful, crinkly cellophane as going away presents. They were enormous and contained dry and fresh fruit as well as chocolates and could not go on the planes. Thus those of us who were among the non-travellers got to share in the going away too.

For their flight, my mum wore a dusty pink suit with three-quarter sleeves, a brooch and a pair of brown suede shoes which I still have. Let’s not forget the handbag and matching gloves. My dad was