Lives Well Lived: Our Story

By Grace Rawlings

Captured from the rich oral and written history of her extended family, Grace's story gives us unique insight into a lost era of hardy pioneers of 1820 settler origin whose influence and legacy have left an indelible impression on the multicultural South African of today. Letters, articles, and newspaper excerpts offer fascinating personal accounts of those turbulent times in the Transkei of the 1800s and early 1900s. Included is a letter written by her grandfather, detailing his dealings with Mhlonhlo, the powerful Pondo chief of the time and an antecedent of the great Nelson Mandela whose kraal was situated not far from many of the events described in this book.

This is also the uplifting story of an inquisitive, courageous, and intrepid woman making her way in the dynamically changing world of twentieth and twenty-first century South Africa. In short, it is, as the title states, Our Story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Dec 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543404586

Grace Rawlings

Grace Rawlings was born in 1934 - the 3rd child of Robert and Eileen Tarr - a couple with strong 1820 settler roots. Her father's brother Ralph had married her mother's sister Daisy, and the extended family lived on adjoining farms settled in 1847 by her grandparents in the shadow of the Windvogel mountain outside Cathcart in the Eastern Cape of South Africa . She grew up speaking Xhosa and English in roughly equal parts and developed a love of the Eastern Cape. Though she lost an elder brother and her Father at an early age she blossomed under the influence of the large extended family and her independent, unconventional mother. She and her Cousin Kenneth were home schooled together by her mother before progressing to the village school in Cathcart where they both excelled. She later completed a Bachelor of arts degree at Rhodes University and qualified as a teacher before marrying Vic Rawlings and moving to KwaZuluNatal where she taught for many years. Throughout her life she has maintained a deep connection with the peoples and cultures of the Transkei and Eastern Cape of South Africa, and an interested, optimistic approach to life in a unique period in South African history. Grace's story gives modern multicultural South Africa a personal glimpse of its journey from its tribal and colonial roots to the present.

Book preview

EDDIE AND THE RISING

Dear Mr Brownlee, you are correct in thinking that I am Michael Goss’s son. My father and my uncle (James Goss) were killed in the Gcaleka war and soon after that I went to Tsitsa, where I was manager for White and Griffen at the Dakeni. I was there at the time of Hope’s murder.

One Saturday morning Mditshwa, with about 500 men, came to my shop, and when asked where they were going, said they were on their way to Qumbu to wish Mhlontlo goodbye, as he was off to fight against the Basutos. But after Mditshwa had gone four or five miles he returned. On my asking the reason why he had done so, he told me that Mhlontlo and all his men had gone to Sulenkama with Mr Hope. That afternoon I saddled up and went shooting at Lotana, where I was to spend the weekend with the Wilsons. When I told Wilson that Mditshwa had crossed with all his followers, he said at once, That means war!

Early next morning my boy came running from the Dakeni to tell us that the Natives were looting the shop. I got my horse saddled up at once, took my gun, and went off to see what was happening. By the time I left Lotana the surrounding hills were black with natives who had already started looting the Brunett’s store.

During the night Mtoninshi had told Mr and Mrs Wood that Mr Hope and his companions had been murdered, and he warned them to get away to save their own lives. Before they left they begged Martin to go with them, but he refused, so he was left at the hotel. (Wood’s station WTB)

While I was trying to rescue some of my stocks, several hundred Natives came rushing towards the hotel. I saw them chase Martin out of the house and along the river bank, and they stripped him of his garments one by one. When they got to the drift they chased him first upstream for a few hundred yards and back downstream, and as soon as he reached the drift again they stabbed him and hit him with their sticks. They then crossed the river to where I was, and when they got near they began shouting, Why is this fellow left? Why is he not killed? Fortunately I had my gun and was able to defy them. They were shooting at me from a distance but no shots came near me, and I had no need to fire. I was on horseback, and each time they shouted, Take his horse! I called back, All right, come and take it.

I then went back to Lotana, leading my horse till I got some distance from Dakeni, and all that time the Natives were shouting and shouting, but they took great care not to come within my range. I reached Lotana safely, and that night Nwayimani (a relation of Natanga’s) came to the house and demanded my gun, but I refused to give it up.

The Rev. Mr. Davis had sent word asking that all Europeans should go to Shawbury, as Mhlontlo had given his word that they would be safe there as his prisoners till the war was over. I went to Shawbury that night and found fifteen men there, among them the following: Brown, Mr. Alfred Davis, Sharpley, Rider, McGlashan, Bradley, Brunett, Cousins and Mr. Wilson. A good many women and children were also there. The next day, (Tuesday) Zantsi, (Mhlontlo’s brother), Rwayimani and five others escorted us to Qumbu on horseback to see Mhlontlo. When we arrived, there were thousands of Natives round the place drinking Mr. Hope’s brandy and eating food they had looted from his house. When we arrived, Mhlontlo said, I have sent for you to explain to my army how you escaped being killed. I was spokesman, and when the people asked why our lives had been spared, I referred them to their chief. They then wanted to know what white people Mhlontlo was fighting with if he spared the lives of those who were present there. Zantsi turned and said, If you have nothing better to speak about, I shall take these men back to Mhlontlo. When I reported all this to the chief he said, If the people had killed you and your companions they would have been stabbing me."

While this was going on, the Natives recognized Bradley as the maker of the stocks, so he was locked into them himself for about two hours. After this the people ran amuck, pulling down the courthouse, cutting the telegraph wires, and looting every dwelling. In the meantime, Mhlontlo and I sat eating biscuits. We could see Mahlangeni (Mhlontlo’s executioner) prancing and dancing, full of his own importance as the murderer of Mr. Hope. He was wearing the late magistrate’s trousers and beard, and was followed by Mr. Hope’s dog, (Pasha) wherever he went. When Qumbu was practically demolished, we were escorted back to Shawbury, and stayed there for two days.

At the end of that time Rwayimani was sent to fetch me again to Qumbu, as the wagons and guns were there. Mhlontlo caused me to give out 192 guns and all the ammunition. After this he sent me to Chevy Chase to rescue Mr. Rutters, as the Natives were about to attack the place. On my way I passed Sulenkama on the seventh day after Mr. Hope’s murder, and met thousands of Natives still on their way to Qumbu. They got very excited on seeing me and wanted to kill me. On the upper side of the road I saw Henman’s and Warren’s bodies and that of Mr. Hope on the lower side.

When I arrived at Chevy Chase, the magistrate, Mr. Thompson, and about 40 Europeans and about 500 Basutos were in laager. I delivered my message to Rutters, and Lehana, the Basuto chief, offered to provide him with a wagon and a span of oxen if he, Rutters, would provide a leader and driver. This was according to Mhlontlo’s instructions. Rutters, however, accused me of being a traitor and in league with Mhlontlo, and he refused to leave. Mr. Thompson begged me to stay and not risk the dangers of the journey back, but I knew that if I did so those at Shawbury would probably be killed.

My escorts refused to accompany me and I was obliged to return alone. On the way I was met by three messengers, who told me Mhlontlo wanted me to meet him at Qanqu (Mhlontlo’s great place). On my arrival there I found him and his impis and large amounts of provisions looted from the stores. He was sitting with his back against the dwelling house wall, with a Winchester, Snider, Martini and six-shooter beside him. He asked me of the success of my mission, and after I told him, he gave me a royal feast, to which I did full justice, as I had been on short commons for some time.

Before the war he had offered to buy my horse for thirty pounds, but I had refused to take less than thirty-five and when the war began Mhlontlo seized both my horses. Now, however, I told him that I was his induna and would be willing to take the thirty pounds he had offered previously. After some discussion he took me into the house and showed me ammunition boxes full of money. One box was packed with gold, and from this he counted out thirty sovereigns. He also let me take a favourite horse of mine and gave me a load of groceries to keep the prisoners at Shawbury going till after the war. Among other things he told me that in three days’ time he would be in Cape Town and would drive all the Europeans into the sea. He gave me one man as escort, and we arrived at Shawbury the same evening.

After my return, Moses (the headman) came and said we had been sent to Shawbury as a trap; that the Bacas and Hlubis under the command of Power, Leary and Maynard were about to attack the Pondomisi, and if they were beaten, they, the Pondomisi, would return and kill the Europeans at Shawbury. Mr. Davis believed this, and persuaded the men to leave during a storm that had broken, and try to get to Umtata. They thought the women and children would be safe at Shawbury.

We got to the border at first cockcrow, and while there trying to get horses for the rest of the journey, I was told by Mjungula, a Pondo chief, that Major Elliot, R. Cowie and other white men, with Nqwiliso and Numbelo were coming on with 2000 Pondos to relieve Mr. Welsh in the Tsolo district. We met Major Elliot near Qungululu and he sent us on to Umtata.

Later on the Pondos released the women and children at Shawbury and took them to Umtata.

E.C. Goss

As far as I can tell, the Goss family were not very religious. However, for some reason which I have never discovered, half the children became Catholic, and the rest were Anglicans. They all loved horses, particularly Old Stick. They loved company, and socializing. Some of the boys were heavy drinkers, and some were teetotallers! I still wonder how that came about. Old Stick was a lover of horses and an accomplished horseman. They lived at a time when there were fairly frequent uprisings among the Pondo and Xhosa tribes. At these times, settlers would take refuge at Shawbury mission station. The Goss family always received timely warning to seek safety because of an unusual occurrence in the Maguire family.

This is how it came about:

My great-grandmother, Bridget Maguire, (nickname Biddy) was alone at home when a terrified and breathless Pondo youth appeared at the door, seeking a hiding place. He was Mhlontlo, the future chief, and he was fleeing for his life from the regent, who wanted to kill him. Biddy put her husband’s nightcap on his head and hid him under the blankets on the bed. Sure enough, the search party came looking for him. I believe she was a sturdy and outspoken Irishwoman, and she was not intimidated. You can search the house, she said, but my husband is very ill in bed, and there will be trouble if you disturb him!". I am not sure whether they searched the house, or just believed that she was innocent, but they did not discover Mhlontlo, and when he became chief he always sent warning of uprisings to the Maguire and Goss families.

All of the Goss children were expert riders, with the exception of Jo. On one occasion, when she had said she was not well enough to go to school, she felt recovered enough by the time school came out, to ride there, maybe to tease her sister. When Eil emerged from the school, she demanded to be able to ride with her,You will have to sit behind me then, Jo said.

Come on Jo, you know I can ride better than you can!

No, if you want to ride, get on behind me.

So Eil had to mount behind her. The horse belonged to one of her brothers who was a drinker, and as they cantered along the street, the horse stopped dead at the pub – obviously unaccustomed to passing it. Jo, being inexpert and of course, not expecting the sudden stop, flew over the horse’s head, Eil with her.

Pat was the brother nearest in age to Eil. They both loved horses, and both were excellent riders. The two of them participated in every gymkhana that took place. They would ride as far as thirty miles on a Friday, take part in the gymkhana all day Saturday, dance the night away, (Eil always loved dancing), then ride thirty miles back home. Pat later became a racehorse trainer, and his horse, St Pauls, won the prestigious July Handicap in Durban one year.

Mom helped put herself through school by teaching the younger classes. I am not sure what level of education she attained, but I know that she held various office jobs. At one time she lived and worked in Johannesburg. Her brother Herbert was also living there, so presumably she saw something of him. She told me that sometimes she did not have enough money for a stamp to write home. She was an accomplished seamstress, and would refurbish her wardrobe by undoing the seams in her dresses, dyeing the fabric, and then re-styling them. Somehow, she obtained a little dog, which would accompany her to work. It would dart onto the tram or train and scuttle immediately under the seat. At work it would lie quietly under her desk. While I was at university she held a job in the office of Mr Allbrecht in Umtata doing bookkeeping. At some time she learned to type, and owned a portable Underwood typewriter.

My mother had wonderful holidays as a child and as a young girl. The family used to go by oxwagon to Ntafufu for a three -month holiday, almost every year. She used to ride much of the way, and stop and swim at the streams they crossed. The family used to sleep under the wagon at night, and she told me that waking up in the morning to the muted sounds of servants’ voices, the crackling of a fire starting, and the klink of coffee cups, was one of the nicest parts of the holiday. She would lie listening, breathing in the sharp smell of burning wattle and wood smoke, and later the rich coffee aroma. They took sheep and chickens with them for meat, and of course they caught fish. They had a servant called Quez-Quez, who was an excellent hunter, and whenever they felt that their diet would be improved by venison or guinea fowl, he was despatched to obtain it.

The beach there is very long – Vic and I visited it in about 1976, and there is a beautiful deep, rocky pool over the shoulder of the hill at one end. This was their favourite swimming place. It was on the way back from a swim that Big slipped and fell, sustaining an injury that led to her death in the Kokstad hospital soon after.

Mom’s description of their garden at home was idyllic. They had every kind of fruit one could grow there. I have seen a photograph of the family sitting around the table eating figs as big as your fist. In times of financial stress they used to trade strawberries or other fruit for groceries. They had a profusion of flowers as well, and Mom used to shower, summer and winter, at an outside shower screened by honeysuckle. (In winter it was festooned with icycles.)

MY GOSS UNCLES

Big had a brother named Brian Maguire. He was a great character and loved by all. His Pondo name was Naphote (pronounced naport). He would be my great-uncle, and of course I never knew him, but I mention him because there are photographs owned by Pat Goss’s grandson, of him teaching the famous author Wilbur Smith and his sister Adrienne how to ride a horse. There was another contact between the Smith and Goss families. When Uncle Charlie (Charles Barlow Goss) contracted a mysterious illness while in Tanganyika, it was Wilbur Smith’s father who got him out.

Charles Barlow Goss, born in 1890, was perhaps the most ‘colourful’ of Old Stick’s and Big’s sons. The main reason for this is that he was a ‘Big Game Hunter’ Today I think most people, deplore hunting of any type, and most of all, professional hunting. However, times and attitudes change and in the 19th and early 20th centuries, when it was not realised that animal species are under threat of extinction, ‘Big Game Hunting’ was considered romantic, even somewhat heroic. So it would be unfair to judge him by today’s standards..

In a letter he once described the strangest experience he had in the bush, in Tanganyika. At the time he was involved in control work for the government, but he also kept a look-out for tuskers, as ivory was commanding a good price.

One morning before daybreak, a runner arrived at his camp to appeal for help, explaining that elephants were raiding his shamba. Raider elephant were part of Charlie’s official business at the time, so, with his spotters and gun-bearer he headed for the village plantation, where he found that most of the shamba had been trodden down or uprooted. The elephants had departed by then, but his trackers and spotters located them within half an hour in a large patch of matete grass. These matete beds near streams are often almost impenetrable and he could barely see the colour of their hides, but he was lucky to find the necessary elevation in the shape of an anthill. This enabled him to look down on the sleeping elephants, and to select the largest tusker, which went down to his first bullet. Being an experienced hunter, he always held two spare rounds between his teeth, and he reloaded automatically. As he looked up again he saw two big bulls charge straight for the anthill. There was very little time left for aiming but the next shot had an instantaneous result and the bull in the lead slumped to the ground; this left him with only one round for the next bull and he said that when he squeezed the trigger the bull was not much more than about five yards from him, and in fact, when it went down, the trunk almost touched his leg .

While in Tanganyika Uncle Charlie contracted a disease, which as far as I know was never diagnosed, which left him paralysed from the waist down. I never knew Uncle Charlie in his heyday, but I met him many years later. Vic and I spent a night with him on our way through the Transkei. He was living in a rondavel home, and was cared for by a deaf and dumb long-time friend of the family, universally known as Dummy He was adept at mimicry and the sign language he had developed. Uncle Charlie spent his days making stuffed toys, using goat skin. These toys were sold at the roadside by African vendors. I think he received support also from his brother Pat Goss. We were impressed by his ingenuity and continued activity as far as he was able, and by his ever-ready sense of humour.

There is another experience which we thought for many years was a tall tale. For some reason Uncle Charlie had brought a python with him on coming to Durban for a holiday. He was staying in the Royal Hotel, and when the python was discovered he was ordered to get rid of it forthwith. The Royal Hotel was near the library, and somehow he managed to secret the python into the building and shut it in a cupboard. Many years later, when the librarian retired, he recounted in a newspaper article his strangest experience in the library – the discovery of a python in one of the library cupboards.

Uncle Shumi (Edward Desmond Goss)

Shumi was the uncle I knew best, and whom I loved the most. The following accounts of his father are written by his son Larry.

As a young man he left Qumbu to seek employment and his future in the gold mines in and around Johannesburg. Having been born and bred in a ‘native territory’, and being a fluent speaker of Xhosa, his first job was in a mine compound (in those days the mines did not employ black workers on a permanent basis, but used to rather recruit them from ‘native territories’, such as the Transkei, Lesotho and Mozambique, on contract for periods of 24 months, after which they were sent home again together with their accumulated pay. Such workers were accommodated in hostels known as compounds.) Unfortunately, while he was there a fight broke out between the workers from Lesotho and the Pondo workers from Pondoland in the Transkei. Obviously, it behoved Shumi, together with all other members of the Compound Manager’s staff, to try to quell the fracas. However, Shumi armed himself with a pick handle and joined in the fracas on the side of the Pondos. Needless to say, that terminated his career in the field of compound management.

His attitude towards his fellow human beings was that everybody is a good bloke, until anyone of them may have proved conclusively and absolutely to the contrary. Also like Old Stick, he had a pair of bright twinkling eyes, and an ever-ready and most infectious laugh. Indeed, his sense of humour, often impish, was, apart from his honesty, generosity and loyalty, one of his most endearing characteristics. In addition to all of that, he was a man of considerable courage.

Before leaving Qumbu he played polo and cricket for the local village team. On moving to Johannesburg, he took up wrestling and rugby. In wrestling he was selected for the 1936 South African Olympic Team but accidentaly broke his ankle and had to withdraw. He also played rugby as loose-head prop for the ‘Simmer And Jack’ first fifteen, of which he was the captain. He told me that their coach, Boy Morkel (a former Springbok), used to line the whole team up every Thursday evening after practice and give them all a dose of epsom salts. I have often wondered whether it it may not serve a good purpose to re-introduce that practice in respect of the current Springbok team.

He also told me about what, he thought, was a wonderful childhood adventure. Shumi at the time was about eleven years old, so it must have happened in approximately 1918. As was their wont, the family was on its annual holiday at the estuary of the Ntafufu River, near Port St. Johns. Although he did tell me, I have forgotten what it was, but some type of emergency arose which necessitated somebody going back to Qumbu. In any event, Old Stick thought that Shumi was sufficiently grown and responsible to sort it out, so he sent him to ride back to Qumbu on his horse. Today it would seem astounding that a responsible father would send an eleven-year-old boy on a ride of some 150-odd miles (240 kilometres) by himself. But those were different times and there were different circumstances in Pondoland at that time. The ride took him five days. He did not necessarily follow the road but went directly across country at times, so the distance may not have been quite as long as 150 miles. He did not carry any food or tents with him. Every evening he would call in at the nearest group of Pondo huts, which would have been fairly evenly distributed throughout the countryside. The Pondo people would, without exception, welcome him, feed him, and provide shelter in their huts for him to sleep in overnight. The next morning they would give him breakfast before sending him on his way. This code of hospitality was, of course, well known to Old Stick and Shumi and they had anticipated and relied upon it to facilitate his journey. Shumi, of course, spoke their language fluently and was well aware of all their etiquette and customs. He repeated this procedure on his ride back to Ntafufu.

TARR FAMILY / GOSS FAMILY

So what brought two such widely divergent families together?

I wish I had asked my mother more questions! I don’t know what training she had, but I know she could type. I still have the old Underwood portable typewriter she owned. I used it while I was at university, to type my essays and assignments. She could also play the piano. She used to play hymns on the piano at home, which Dad had bought her. She played other music too – I remember a jolly number called The Policeman’s Holiday. I think at one stage she worked at a school somewhere in the Cape, and it was possibly there that she met Alice Tarr, the daughter of Arthur Tarr, one of Robert’s older brothers. Alice invited her home for a holiday in East London. When Arthur met her, he lost no time in telephoning Robert: You must come to East London. Alice has brought home a beautiful girl – you have to meet her!

So Robert went to East London, accompanied by Ralph. They were walking along Oxford Street (the main shopping street in East London) when they saw an attractive, darkhaired girl walking towards them. Robert said, I bet that’s the girl! It was.

Before going on with the Tarr / Goss saga, I am going to say something about Robert, my father, and the kind of man he was.

ROBERT TARR, MY FATHER

We lived in a farming community and he was a Seventh Day Adventist. There was no church in our area, but my father lived according to what he believed. We had a church service each week with our extended family. He lived the health law of the church – no smoking and no alcohol. He taught his family to be prayerful. He paid tithing. We had, every Friday night, a ‘Family Home Evening’, though we had no manual or any aids, at which we read and discussed or memorized scriptures, or had spiritual discussions, followed by a ‘treat’, such as biltong, or cheese roasted over the fire, or rusks or biscuits.

My mother and father were married for twenty years, and she said that never at any time did she know him to act dishonourably or lose his temper, or even speak impatiently. For the last ten years of his life he was not a well man. For the last three years or so he was practically bedridden with asthma. The nearest he ever got to complaining was to ask whether I always prayed for him, and he continued to put forth whatever effort he was capable of, to live his life the way he should. He died when I was twelve.

How did sickness and death serve him as well as health and vigour would have? How were his prayers answered?

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He left for his children a lasting memory of faith and trust in the Lord, and of strength and patience. He caused me to look for someone with those same qualities, when I came to marry. I consider that the prayers of my father and his family were answered. Though he died when I was twelve, his influence is still strong in my life, and Temple work has been done not only for him and my mother, but also for hundreds of his forebears and their families.

When I think of my father I think of this quote from Shakespeare:

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace

When Robert arrived home again he invited his mother to go for a walk with him. He said, I want to show you where I will build my house when I marry Eileen Goss. He built the house, and planted a windbreak of wattle trees behind it but it was seven years before Eil agreed to marry him. He used to compare himself to Jacob in the Bible, who had to wait seven years before he could marry Rachel

Obviously Ralph was also impressed by Eil, because he asked whether she had a sister. So Daisy also visited the farm, possibly during the seven-year courtship of Robert and Eil. Ralph was obviously a lot more forceful than Robert, because when he proposed, he told her he was not going to wait for years; that if she agreed to marry him she should go home and make her wedding dress without delay.

So that is how it came about that two brothers married two sisters, and lived only a few kilometres apart.

The Tarr family were fairly strict members of the Seventh Day Adventist church, and did not have very much social life. Their lifestyle changed abruptly with the arrival of Eil and Daisy, who lost no time in making friends with neighbouring families. They had no transport other than horses, so they rode to go visiting. When they had babies, the babies were tied to their backs in the manner of the Xhosa women. Daisy had five children, fairly close together, so she would sometimes have a baby on her back and a toddler held in front of her – a somewhat hazardous proceeding when one considers that she was not an accomplished horsewoman. In fact, on one occasion when she had the eldest of her five children, Barbara, in front of her, and the baby, Boy (Donald) strapped to her back, she did fall off – and so, of course, did Barbara and Boy.

Neighbours and friends from the town were also invited to picnics on Tarsus. There was a small plateau on the mountain, which was the favourite picnic spot. Early in the morning there would be a procession of servants carrying salads, fruit, meat and bread, butter, jam, cake and cool drink (home made lemon syrup). A little later the rest of us would follow, some on foot, some on horseback. The more energetic of us would clamber up the steep, rocky, wooded slope to the top of the mountain. After lunch we would usually play rounders. A little way off was a huge rock, which we called the Dora Stone, where friends would paint their names. I believe a guest named Dora was the first to do so, hence the name.

In time, a tennis court was built, and besides picnics there were tennis days. At our house we had a large reservoir, which served us well as a swimming pool. During the war years a large black block of hard rubber washed up on the beach. We took it home, placed it on the edge of the swimming pool, and mounted a diving board on it – it was fabulous!

The original house on Tarsus, where Uncle Ralph and his family lived. had been enlarged, and his eldest brother Eustace, and his sisters Minnie and Jessie, lived in half of it. Jessie, (known as Aunt J), was crippled from an injury to her back while nursing. Aunt Minnie was a cheerful, buxom lady, and Uncle Eustace, when I knew him, was crotchety and old. He disapproved of the new lifestyle on the farm. Whenever there was a picnic he would write to his brother Arthur (known to all as Mfundisi, because he was either ordained or a lay preacher, I am not sure which). ANOTHER picnic today. Twenty whites and thirty blacks The numbers he quoted may have varied, and were certainly inaccurate, but in his mind the whole idea was frivolous. On cold days Uncle Eustace was to be found sitting in front of the woodburning stove, warming his feet by opening the oven door. It did get very cold in winter.

Both Eil and Daisy became Seventh Day Adventists, so all of us children were raised in that faith, and we attended church each Saturday at the old homestead, where Ralph and Daisy lived. There was an organ, which was pumped with foot pedals. Uncle Laurie and Aunt Clarice, whose farm Oribi bordered on ours, came with their children until they left home (they were quite a bit older than the rest of us). Middle Drift, the farm bordering Uncle Ralph’s, belonged to Uncle David and Aunt Mary and it was managed by Tim McMaster, who had married their daughter, Eunice. They came with their children, Cameron, David (nicknamed Gooden), and the twins, Nigel and Marion. Uncle David was bedridden with Asthma, so we sometimes all went to Middle Drift for church. All of us were dressed in our best clothes – in my case, a dress and shoes and socks instead of shorts or slacks and barefoot). All the members of the family were good singers, so the hymns sounded really good. Mom told me that Grandma Tarr used to play the organ and the children would gather round and sing. In our home we had family prayers morning and evening, and on Friday evenings we had a family night. I can remember playing a game where each member of the family would either recite or read a scripture beginning with a certain letter of the alphabet. If the person next to me quoted one beginning with A, I would need to quote one beginning with B. At the age of 80, I can still remember two of those I used to quote: Fear not, little flock, for it is the Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom and Behold the lamb of God, which cometh to take away the sins of the world. In winter, we would sit around the fire, for these family nights, and often Dad would cut slices from sticks of biltong, for us to eat. The biltong came from Len Tarr, son of Dad’s brother Charlie, who lived in Bechuanaland (present day Botswana). Each year he would send us a grain bag of kudu biltong. Sometimes we would roast blocks of cheese instead, on long sticks.

Occasionally, Seventh-Day-Adventist students would arrive by motorbike to stay a couple of nights. They carried with them church books to sell, I suppose in order to raise money for their studies, but also so that isolated families such as ours, could have access to them. One of them (Tom) had been to the Congo, and possibly other countries north of us. My clearest memory of him is of an evening when, after a shower of rain, there were hundreds of flying ants. In great excitement he gathered up a bowl of them, and to my mother’s horror, fried them and ate them, crunching them up in enjoyment.

The Seventh-Day Adventist church has fairly strict dietery laws, which we did not live as strictly as recommended. We did not eat pork or shellfish, there was no smoking or drinking of alcohol, but we did drink tea and coffee. I do not remember what my mother’s argument may have been against eating flying ants, but I suspect she may have been overborne by a reminder that John the Baptist ate locusts.

I have always loved fires. There was a small grove of wattle trees near the house, where our wood for the fire was sometimes chopped. When I was still quite young I often used to go there in the early evening and build a small fire of ntsasas (small sticks) and wood, and sit there all alone as dusk fell. I loved it! Mom was very understanding – she knew where I was, and just called me in when it was time for bath and supper.

In winter we had a fire every night, and often during the day as well. Cathcart has COLD winters. We never had electricity while I was growing up. We had lamps and candles. A tilly lamp or a candle to take to bed, and a Coleman lantern that was pumped to make the mantle glow brightly, for the lounge, or when camping, for the family tent. One night while I was having a bath, I had put the candle on the windowsill as usual. A breeze stirred the bathroom curtain, and the candle flame caught it. My screams brought Mom running (I was still a small girl!) and the curtain was torn down and thrown into the bath. I have another memory associated with that bathroom. I had climbed a tree, and when descending, I had forgotten that there was barbed wire round the trunk. As I slid down, it caught and ripped my hand. I ran to the house, shouting for Mom, who took me into the bathroom to wash away the blood. I remember asking Why is it getting dark so quickly today? The next thing I remember is trying to move my feet while being dragged to the couch in the lounge, where I fainted. I was taken to Cathcart where the doctor put three stitches in my hand.

We had a radio in our house, which of course, ran on a battery, as there was no electricity. I remember listening to the news, or classical music, or an entertaining show that my father enjoyed, called Applesamy and Naidoo. One evening some dance music came on, and Mom jumped up and began to dance around the room. She must have really missed dancing, because she had always loved it. Dancing was frowned upon by Seventh Day Adventists, so of course Dad never learnt.

We had a lovely garden – with three fishponds! Mom had always loved water. She told us that when she was a little girl, she made a series of ponds along the path to the house. When Old Stick came home that evening, he stumbled into several of them. He came into the house demanding to know who had made dang death-traps on the path. We also had a beautiful rockery. I can remember going for walks with my parents, and she would stop and say, Oh, Bobby! What a beautiful stone! The next day, one of the staff, De Wet, would be sent with oxen and a sledge to bring it home. Our garden was beautiful. We had roses and violets, daffodils and dahlias, a wisteria pergola, and a host of other flowers whose names I can no longer recall. There was a flowering cherry close to the house that was a glorious sight. Mom had a knack for creating a beautiful garden, and in fact it was not unknown for friends from Cathcart to bring visitors to see it. But nutrition was not neglected. We had a good vegetable garden, and all the fruit we could desire – peaches, plums, apples, pears, apricots, figs, prickly pears, oranges, lemons, a pecan nut tree, a persimmon tree and an almond tree. Uncle Ralph had all of these, as well as walnuts and cherries. As Kenneth and I were always at one house or the other, sometimes both in one day, we had free run of all this fruit. In season, what we could not eat was bottled. One of my favourites was Mom’s crystallized figs. I loved to slice them and put them on my bread, or eat them whole. When I was at university Mom used to send me a tuck box sometimes, and when it contained crystallized figs it was a red -letter day. I should mention some of my favourite recipes that Mom used to make. One of them was ‘flatbread’, which I still make now that I am eighty! It is very simple –

3 cups of self raising flour (or flour and baking powder)

A pinch of salt

About ¼ cup of oil

Mix in water to make a dough you can roll out to about 3mm and put it on a baking pan

Cut into squares, and bake at 180 degrees about 15 minutes.

Cut each square open, and you’re done, unless you want to put them in a slow oven to crisp.

It doesn’t sound like much, but everyone who tries it, likes it. I like eating it with butter, or with marmite, cheese or jam. I have never tasted nicer rusks than she made, and vinegar pudding was a favourite -(I still make it). We always had ‘maas’ (sour milk) to drink, but we called it ‘calabash’ because that is what it was made in – a hollowed out gourd. It doesn’t sound good, but in fact we found it delicious.

8%20Rocket%20sharing%20an%20apple%20with%20Mom%20on%20the%20mountain.jpg

8 Rocket sharing an apple with Mom on the mountain

Mom had always loved riding, and Dad was a good rider as well, so we always had horses, and I learnt to ride at an early age. Because Mom and Dad were not always available to ride with me, a trusted member of the staff, an African called, as near as I can reproduce his Xhosa name, Thwaitju, was sometimes assigned to ride with me. One day there was great excitement at home. Dad had bought Mom a horse from a well -known breeder. Diamond was his name. When he arrived, we were all there to inspect him. He was a very impressive, large, black horse. Thwaitju, who was a really good rider, and good with horses, was asked to saddle him and ride him a little way. After that, he was the only horse Mom ever rode. There was just one problem – he was terrified of anything with a wheel. He would sweat and tremble and bolt. One morning as Mom and I were setting out for a ride, one of the staff appeared from behind the shed, wheeling a wheelbarrow. Diamond bolted down the hill, shying from side to side, obviously terrified and not knowing where the danger was coming from. That was a real eye-opener to me, of Mom’s superb horsemanship. She sat in the saddle as solidly as though he were cantering smoothly along, and eventually brought him under control, though still snorting and trembling with fear. We discovered afterwards that while he was a colt, he had been harnessed to a cart. He had bolted and kicked the cart to pieces in his terrified efforts to get rid of it. He was subsequently sent to Jonny Oosthuizen, who was acknowledged as the best horse trainer in the district, but he could do nothing with him. It was really unprincipled to sell him as a lady’s mount. However, Diamond loved Mom. She never had to catch him in order to ride him. She would go into the camp where he was, and simply call him. He would come running to her and she would put her arms around his neck, then bridle and saddle him. When we came to a farm gate, I would dismount to open it, and Diamond would turn

his head, and gently hold Mom’s foot in his mouth. He gradually overcame his fear of wheels, and Rob was able to ride him to a sale in Cathcart. Jonny Oosthuizen saw him, and came up exclaiming, Never tell me that that is Diamond! I tried everything, but I could not do anything with that horse!

Rocket was Rob’s horse – friendly and greedy. He loved apples, and once shared one with Mom at a picnic on the mountain. Our horses were very tame. One day we heard the maid screaming in the kitchen. Two of the horses were in the doorway, eating greens off