Through the Cane Fields

By Shari Rood

Two young friends living in the lush surroundings of South Africa defy their families when their budding friendship turns to love and threatens to propel them both toward tragedy.

Through The Cane Fields is the story of two young sisters living a life of privilege in Apartheid era South Africa. Delia Hallowell is content with her carefree, luxurious life until she meets a boy named Thomas. As the son of the cook, Thomas is separated by the divide of class and race. As their friendship grows, so does the realization that they cannot be together. Delia must make a choice between her true feelings and her family's expectations.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613091449

Book preview

One

When I was very little , my father packed us up and moved us to South Africa, of all places. I think it was quite a shock to my mother, one she never really recovered from. Since my sister and I were small and malleable, it wasn’t long before we came to know warmth and sunshine to be a regular thing and so we left the gray skies of England to brood and blow and rain down pellets of sleet and ice without us.

I confess I’ve wanted to write about my childhood for some time but it seems that life often crept in and stole so many moments that before I knew it, time had passed and I find myself in the twilight of my life. It is the natural course of life to flow like a river which twists and winds so that one often has no recollection of how we arrived where we are in the first place. Nevertheless, I am determined to set down as much of it as possible, if only for my own pleasure.

I was quite young when we moved to Gilford and so much has happened in the interim that it wasn’t until the day I went to the Botanical Gardens in Washington that I really started to remember. I think it was the smell of jasmine. It seemed to open some door, long closed, and the memories came in the type of flood that thrashes the trees and soaks the plains and by and by, disappears.

My childhood was glorious and we were fortunate enough to be wealthy. I do not think that the word had much meaning to me any more than a fish that swims in water knows what it means to be surrounded by the life giving substance.

We lived in an enormous house in the Midlands of South Africa. On a clear day you could see the Drakensberg Mountains in the far distance. It was a grand life and I spent many happy days lounging about, sometimes on the lawn and sometimes by the pool in my fuchsia bathing suit and tortoiseshell sunglasses listening to the various comings and goings. South Africa was beautiful back then. I know how important it is for things to change. We can’t always live in a bubble, but, as for my childhood at least, it was a magical time. I didn’t understand how the world works I suppose, all those black faces passing by the window on their way to the sugar cane fields, so hot in the morning sun. I still dream about them.

Because we came from England when I was so young, my sister remembers it all better than me. She always made it out to be a crying shame that we came here. Personally, the thought of Africa seemed exciting to me even then, but my sister wasn’t the sort of person who got excited by adventures.

My mother seemed happy, though somewhat put out over the loss of her social circle and group of friends. I suppose that in hindsight, it would have been perhaps better if she’d stayed in England. I suppose it’s not really my business to speculate. My parents had their reasons and we children could do nothing but come along.

When I was twelve years old, my father became the head of one of the largest Sugar Mills in South Africa. We left our stately home in the Midlands and we moved to a remote place down the south coast only a mile from the sea. My parents, being the busy and important people they were, didn’t tell us much in regards to Sezela but I conjured enough images in my own head to make me feel like a young Robinson Crusoe. I was excited at the prospect of meeting new friends and even more excited at the thought of wandering alone in the wilderness with only my wits to protect me from some jungle cat that might stalk me.

These pleasant images filled my eyes and ears, and though my sister babbled in the background, I barely took notice. The dreaded older sister didn’t want to go. She was prone to hysterics over much smaller matters and when she found out about our upcoming move she nearly brought the house down with her sobs and tantrums.

We’d been told and dismissed as casually as if we were servants and she ran down the passage in her blue school jumper and broke down and cried. Her sobs were loud but perhaps not as hysterical as I’d made them out to be, but nonetheless, I found them hard to bear and hid in the garden and held Kitty for comfort. I stroked his soft fur and smiled at the thought of natives. Maybe I’d find my very own parrot and my own ‘Friday,’ and make him carry my pack and he’d be my faithful friend for all time.

In the coming weeks, it seemed as though our house was full of bees and my mother was the queen. She directed the workers to pack each item carefully and I sat and watched her speaking in English and broken Zulu. Qaphela, she said. Be careful. Some of our servants were coming with us and others were staying behind to tend to the new family. Our head cook was one of the chosen ones and she was ordering the kitchen girls around in a fury, packing and shouting and banging pots and pans. I knew well enough to stay away during this ruckus and preferred to spend my time out of doors anyway. I said my goodbyes to the old place and thought with all my heart that I would carry a bit of it with me wherever I went.

The day we left was humid and incredibly hot. The sound of the mosquitoes buzzed in my ears and there was a threatening, dark kind of look in the sky that suggested a thunderstorm later. The road was dusty and Mother and Susan were in a bad temper. Father was motioning to the Zulu men to hurry up loading our car. "Jahela, jahela, hurry, hurry." Susan was looking very glum and she kicked some little stones by the car, raising a small cloud of the ever present dust.

"Jahela," Father said again, looking very annoyed. I climbed into the back of the car and made myself as inconspicuous as possible. As we drove off, I turned around to look at the only home I had ever known. The jacaranda trees were in bloom and the bougainvillea climbing the side of the house was such a vivid shade of pink it hurt my eyes to look at it.

Bye, house, I said quietly. If anyone heard, no one said anything and thus I left the old place behind. I closed my eyes and tried to envision the new one which was to take its place.

The drive was tiresome. The steady rocking of the car made me dreamy and I fell into a lovely sleep.

In my dream I saw a cave. I was sitting in a boat. The impossibly blue ocean stretched out before me as clear as the sky. I dropped a coin into the deep part of the blue and watched it sink down, down to the bottom.

DELIA.

I was startled awake. Susan had pinched me and it felt like a sting. I glared at her and she said, You had better wake up, Delia, we are almost there. It’s truly savage.

I looked at my surroundings but didn’t see anything that out of the ordinary, just nature. Is that savage?

Two

Iremember the smell of the bush when we arrived at our new home. It was a few miles from town, deep in the sugar cane. I suppose it did feel a bit wild as we drove down the dirt road leading to the farm. I wondered if we were going to be camping, it was so remote. I saw a fish eagle soaring high above and as the road went along various twists and turns, I occasionally caught a glimpse of the sea in the hazy distance. It was too beautiful for words but my sister was too busy sobbing into her handkerchief to appreciate the wonders of nature.

Look at this godforsaken wilderness, she said to me. How will Henry ever be able to come see me out here?

Henry was a boy Susan had professed to be in love with, though I had never seen him and had started to doubt of his existence. Why had he never been to the house? I wondered. At any rate, Susan was too fat in my opinion to be seen as attractive by any boy named Henry or otherwise and I rolled my eyes at her lamentations.

I rolled my window down and felt the hot breeze on my face. I almost got whipped by the wild growth that was encroaching on either side of the road.

Not to worry, my father said from the front.

We are going to knock all this down and pave a right good driveway, my dear.

We drove on for what seemed like several miles down this lonely road when suddenly we came across a wide creek bed. Susan was frightened, of course, and looked at me as if we were traversing the moon instead of earth. I thought it rather exciting, the bubbling of the water and the large rocks. I leaned out of the window so that the stray splatters could wet my face, which was flushed and dusty. Father slowed down and shouted in broken Zulu through the open window at some of the men standing in the field. "Umfudlana, the creek," he said. "Is it ngenangozi?"

A dark man stepped forward. He looked just like the workers at our farm in the Midlands. He spoke to Father. "Ngenangozi, yes, yes, boss. It is safe to cross, it is shallow."

Oh, you speak English, do you? Good. Come up to the farm later, I may need a translator. I’ll have to have a word with you lot about maintenance and such, so why don’t you gather up all the workers and come to the house this afternoon.

"Yes, Baba." The man nodded his head and smiled, clapping his hands together and nodding again. Finally he turned and walked back to the cane fields. Everyone had stopped working when our car had appeared around the bend. Their faces were calm but tired and I wished I had been able to offer them some of the lemonade Mother had put into a glass jar for us with chunks of ice. I reached for the container but the look on Mother’s face made me think I had better not mention anything.

Father sped on and suddenly I felt a spray of water on my cheeks. It was fresh and cool and jolted me out of my sleepiness. I was suddenly very alert, and after we crossed the creek I saw the most amazing thing ever! There was a magnificent house, carved out of the very bush itself. It was white with orange roof tiles made of clay, in the usual fashion, but it was more formal than most houses I’d seen. It had a very large veranda and an English garden. Bougainvillea grew across the front in a wide swath of fuchsia. There was a fountain in the center of the circular driveway and it splashed over the tiles and made the place so gay and happy looking.

I leapt out of the car and ran to the veranda. I kicked off my shoes and felt the cool stones beneath my feet.

"Sawubona, welcome, little one." I stopped in my tracks and wheeled around. A large woman walked towards me. Her head was wrapped in cotton cloth and her face was smeared with clay.

I had seen this among the Zulu women back home and so was not frightened and said, "Sawubona" and stuck my hand out. She smiled at me, grasping both my hands in hers. Then she walked towards the car to retrieve some of our bags from the back of the sedan.

As she did this, the sugar cane fields around us started to move and within seconds we were surrounded by at least three dozen men and women sweating in the hot sun. They bowed their heads and said, "Sawubona." One man stepped forward. He seemed to be senior among the workers and my father spoke to him in Zulu and the man smiled. He motioned to the other men and they began unloading our car. My mother stepped out and began fanning herself.

Vera, she cried. The large woman I had seen on the veranda looked up. She was carrying two heavy cases and she paused while Mother said, Cold drinks please, Vera, set it up on the veranda.

Right away, Missus, Vera said. She sank beneath the weight of the cases and for a moment I wondered why someone didn’t help her, but I was too distracted by the beauty of this new place to spend much time worrying about a servant, although the time would come when I wouldn’t be so haughty.

At the edge of the veranda there were enormous clay pots filled with tall palms and growing up from the soil were petunias and geraniums. It seemed strange to see English flowers growing in this wild green place, but Mother always said that ‘proper’ flowers made the country seem more civilized. Mother never cared for the indigenous foliage. She seemed to have a grudge against nature itself as she beat back the jungle with roses, clementines and foxgloves. Mother was a great gardener and now that she practically had a whole army at her command, the grounds would be transformed into something worthy of Buckingham Palace within a year.

Three

Ientered the house . The first thing I noticed was the intoxicating scent. It was of roses and lavender with an undertone of lemon tree blossoms. The walls were paneled with yellow wood, giving the house a dark and serious air but also an ethereal glow. Most of our belongings had already been unpacked according to strict instructions sent ahead by our mother. The grand piano was there as well as the huge rug my mother loved so much. She said her grandfather had bought that rug in Persia decades earlier and there it lay, looking as though it had always been gracing the large sitting room. There was a sweeping staircase and I darted up to try and stake a claim on my room.

There were so many to choose from but I liked the one all the way down on the far right end. It was smaller than the others but more private with its own water closet and tub. There was a sweet little bed with a floral handmade quilt that I didn’t recognize.

I hereby claim this room, I yelled.

No one answered so I jumped up and went careering down the passage and looked down over the landing.

Mother, may I have the room on the end?

She was wiping the sweat from her flushed face and she looked up wearily and said, Staking your claim already, are you?

I fidgeted a little bit and said, But it’s smaller than the others, so that means I am generous and know how to take less. Isn’t that right, Mother?

Mum looked too hot to argue and said, Take it, take it, and waved me away as she walked towards the glasses of mango juice that had been neatly arranged on the large oak sideboard on the veranda. My very own room in this huge house. I skipped down the passage and I heard my sister coming up the stairs. The click of her flat heels was unmistakable. Like an army sergeant, she tapped out a rhythm on the wood floor as she made her way up the staircase.

Too late, I shouted. I’ve already taken the best room and Mother has agreed so there is nothing you can do about it.

Susan looked positively wilted. Her dress was soaking wet under her arms and she seemed out of breath. Probably because, like Mother, she was too fat.

I don’t want your stupid room. This one is much grander, I’m sure.

She untied the ribbon of her hat and threw it onto the bed of the largest room and then continued down the hall to see what I had chosen.

I told you, she said. This room is the smallest. It’s practically servant’s quarters.

I felt a hot flush of rage overtake me.

It’s the best one, I shouted. It has its own balcony if you crawl out the window and its own bathroom and toilet, you see, you will have to go downstairs because I won’t share mine!

I don’t want your stupid loo, she sighed.

I’m going to lie down now and don’t you bother me. She turned and walked back down the passage.

I was burning with rage. I had been certain she would be at least a little jealous. I lay on the bed; there was a curious breeze that blew through the room making it cool and I soon drifted into a peaceful sleep and dreamt of jungle cats and natives and parrots and mango juice.

Four

Mother called us for dinner a few hours later. I had been sound asleep and had woken up when I heard the bell. It was the same one she used to ring at our old house when she wanted to summon us. I heard Susan yell from the landing Mother, why must you ring that awful servant’s bell?

Just come down now, Susan, it’s time for dinner.

Dinner was served in the main dining room. I was surprised to see the good china and silver. The crystal was out as well. Are guests coming, Pa? I said as I rubbed my sleepy eyes, trying to wake up properly.

No, my dear, tonight is a special occasion. We are eating our first dinner together in our new home. We are not going to dine like savages, mind you. We may be in the jungle but we do not have to live like it.

Oh, I said.

May I have fruit salad tonight, Mother?

Sit down, Delia, please. I’m sure we can arrange something, but for now please just eat what you are given. Susan wandered in looking very put out and turned away when I tried to get her attention.

Father gazed at us both. I think he sometimes wondered what to make of us.

I know this is all rather sudden, he said. It’s a big change and I realize that you have had to leave your school and friends and everything you are used to, but I intend to make sure that your lives go on as normally as possible.

I don’t mind, Father, I said. I was quite happy to move, it’s Susan who is pining away.

Shut up, she said and kicked me under