Life is…

A Coming of Age Memoir

By Alf Q Wood

Copyright and Dedication

Copyright © Alfred Quested Wood 2010

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored on retrievable system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, publisher or their appointed representatives, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published and without similar condition including this being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Cover design and manuscript layout by: AQ Wood.

Proofread by: Denise O’Farrell MSc. BSc. (Hons) – Ulster, N.Ireland

Edited by Claire O'Toole M.A. (Hons) – Auckland, NZ

 

 

This book is dedicated to:

My beloved Mom, the late Ray Katherine Treges nee Wood nee Lavenski who had undying love for her two children.

We miss you Mom!

 

Foreword

Life can be wonderful; then again, life can be a total mess especially for a young boy just emerging from childhood into puberty and adulthood. Being a teenager can be a bitch at the best of times but when trying to cope with a family break-up it is even tougher. The following chapters are snatches of my life from ages twelve to eighteen in a South Africa fraught with racism. It is a snapshot of my life through the years written as a series of short anecdotes. Some are sad, some are funny, some are uplifting and some are naughty but hopefully all will entertain. Writing this has been difficult yet fulfilling. Where the memory has faded, I have invoked poetic license and used my imagination. If I have offended anyone in my writings, I apologize emphatically and can assure you it is not deliberate. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Warning!

This book contains coarse language, which may be offensive to some readers.

 

Book 1- The Break-Up 1960 to 1961

One

From Joh’burg to Potch

 

It is October 1960; I’m in standard five at Observatory East School, my last year at primary school. Life is good for me. I’m twelve years old and I’ve started to notice girls. One in particular has taken my fancy. Her name is Pat and I’m sure she likes me too. She is in the same class and we find ourselves stealing glances and smiling at each other often. We have also taken to meeting at lunch break at the far end of the playground so we won’t be seen by our friends; they will only tease us to death. We hold hands and chat about all kinds of nonsense.

My name’s Alfie and I have a sister Margie who is three years younger than me; although we fight like most siblings; I’m very protective of her and love her to bits. When she was three we nearly lost her to meningitis, so ever since I’ve felt she needs someone strong to look out for her and I do my best to do just that.

My parents are not what one would call the happiest couple - they argue a lot. Ronnie, (I call him Ronnie even though he is my father), hits the booze a lot and is not the nicest when pissed. He gets very aggressive and has been known to hit mom; we’ve all learned to dread him coming home drunk and angry. Mom’s name is Ray; she is a petit pretty woman and I love her very much.

I recall one Friday night when I was about three or four. Grandpa (Mom’s dad) was visiting. Ronnie came home late from work; he reeked of brandy and had an inane grin on his face. He’d obviously been drinking with the boys. I don’t recollect exactly what Mom had cooked but she was always proud of her cooking skills and had taken particular care with the dinner. When he didn’t arrive on time, I recall her sighing and putting his plate on a pot of boiling water on the stove. She knew the food would spoil. When he did finally arrive, she put his plate on the table in front of him without looking at him and started walking out of the kitchen. He took one look at the food and went from irritable to enraged; he started shouting about the shit food he had to eat; Mom tried to explain to him that if he had got home earlier the food wouldn’t be dried out. She hadn’t even got out a few words before he jumped up, grabbed her hair, spun her around and started choking her. Then he pushed her against the wall with enough force to make the wall judder... Grandpa, who was sitting in the lounge, heard the commotion and came running to see what was happening. He tried to pull Ronnie off Mom. Ronnie swung around and punched Grandpa in the face. By this stage, I was tugging at Ronnie’s legs crying for him to leave Mommy and Grandpa alone; he took a swipe at me, which sent me flying.

It was a pattern that repeated itself in the years to come; the next morning when he was sober he was very apologetic and sheepish. He went around to Grandpa and begged his forgiveness. I don’t believe that Grandpa ever really forgot that incident, any more than I did. He forgave but I know he never forgot.

Several years later, when I was eleven, the four of us moved in with my maternal grandparents. I don’t really know why, maybe my parents were having financial problems. They never discuss such things in front of us kids.

I’m happy with it though, I love Granny’s place. It’s a large double story house around the corner from where we used to live. The large French front doors open into a big entrance hall where Gran has an oak display cabinet cum radiogram and a couple of hall chairs with rattan backs and tapestry cushions. To the right of the hall through a wide arch supported by two Grecian pillars is the lounge. The lounge is furnished with a six-seater Chesterfield suite with those funny legs that look like lions claws, a coffee table in the middle and another display cabinet in one corner. The front bay windows are covered by red velvet drapes and white lace curtains. From the hall, a door leads to the stairs up to the bedrooms. To the right of the stairs there is the large country kitchen with a big coal fireplace as well as an electric stove. There’s also a fridge and a huge kitchen table that comfortably seats eight people. To the right of the kitchen entrance a door leads to an enormous walk-in pantry. In the winter, the family has all their meals in the kitchen.

Most Friday nights the adults play cards and Uncle Ruby, an old family friend and Grandpa’s cousin Les Berman and his wife Sheila sometimes come around. They play rummy or poker, usually until the early hours. There are always the Shabbat candles burning on the table. I forgot to say that Grandpa is Jewish and Granny is from Irish Catholic descent but probably knows more about Jewish customs than Grandpa does. They usually play in the kitchen in winter and in the dining room in summer. The dining room is to the left of the hall door and also has its own entrance from the front veranda. Next to the scullery at the back of the kitchen there is a toilet and shower and a walk-in linen cupboard big enough to count as a room on its own.

Upstairs there are four large bedrooms, three each with doors leading to the enclosed veranda and one with views to the back and side yards. One bathroom and toilet serves all the bedrooms. As Mom and Granny often say - thank goodness for the shower and toilet downstairs, it would be chaotic if it only had one bathroom/toilet for all the people staying here!

It’s great staying in this busy household. Granny is full of fun and is constantly playing practical jokes on us kids. Grandpa is a bit grumpy but I get on well with him. I was the first grandson so I think I’m his favourite. My cousin, Leon also lives with us, as do my Mom’s two baby sisters, Sandy and Vicky. Both are only a few years older than me and more like cousins than aunts. They both have red hair and freckles and are known as the carrot top girls. Leon is one year younger than I am. His mom is Aunty Dulcie (Mom’s eldest sister). She and Leon’s stepfather run a hotel in Cape Town, but they have arranged for Leon to go to school in Joh’burg and stay at Granny’s place.

I belong to a boxing club, Ronnie thinks I’m a bit of a sissy and really pushed me into it when I was ten, but I.ve got to enjoy it and now look forward to training nights on Tuesdays and Fridays. My trainer is Uncle Alf, he’s not my real uncle all the kids at the club just call him Uncle Alf. He’s taken a shine to me and always treats me rather special, like I’m one of his sons. He has three sons of his own, Eddie, Robert and Michael. Eddie is a bit older than me but Robert is my age, both belong to the club and are very good boxers. Michael is the youngest and is only six so he doesn’t box. We train in the hall of the old ‘Jewish Government School’ in Doornfontein. Doornfontein was once where all the rich mining moguls lived and some of the old mansions still exist, but they’re all run down and the area has become a bit of a slum.

So here I am, settled and enjoying a life that feels full of possibilities, and then, one night, the shit hits the fan as the grownups would say. It is a Friday and Ronnie is at a boxing officials meeting so has left it to Mom to take me to the club. Uncle Alf is acting strange and just can’t do enough for me. He is also paying a lot of attention to Mom, always going over to chat. When we are about to leave after training Uncle Alf comes up to me and says:

“I want you to take care of your mom tonight, boy,” handing me a piece of paper with a telephone number written on it. “Here is my number, if there is any trouble at home you just ‘phone me straight away, you hear.” I nod. I ’m not at all sure what is going on, but I’m starting to get nervous.

On the way home, as my stomach is tying itself in knots, I ask mom,

“Why did Uncle Alf give me his telephone number, Mom? What trouble was he talking about?”

She starts crying quietly, “I’m so sorry my boy” she sobs, “I’m leaving your father, I can’t stay with him any longer. I have met another man who loves me and I love him and we want to be together.” She is crying so much that she has to pull the car over. Luckily, my sister stayed at home with Gran so she’s spared this emotion. Strangely, I don’t really feel upset at all, in fact I feel a bit relieved. I lean over and put my arms around her.

“Don’t cry, Mom, we will be ok without him, you won’t have to worry about him coming home drunk and hitting you anymore.” By now I realise the tears are running down my cheeks as well, I hate to see mom upset, Margie would have been beside herself by now if she were here. We sit in the car hugging each other and crying softly. Eventually I calm down enough to wonder who this ‘other man’ is. I pull away from the hug and pluck up the courage to ask.

She hesitates for only a moment before answering, “Uncle Alf.” She says as she starts the car. “Your father may have found out today because Uncle Alf has already left his wife and is staying with his sister, May, I think his other sister’s husband Don, told your father so we can expect a bit of trouble tonight. I was going to tell him tonight anyway but I don’t want you to get upset, he won’t do anything to me at Granny’s place and I’ve already told Granny and Grandpa.”

“So… will he move out of Granny’s or will we move out?” I ask trying to imagine what my life will look like now.

“He’ll move out, I suppose, we will have to discuss it when he gets home. I just hope he’ll be sober.”

It’s about three in the morning when I’m woken by a rough hand shaking my shoulder. Groggily, I open my eyes to see Ronnie standing over me, swaying.

“Come, get up, come and get in with your mom.” He slurs, he is obviously pissed and he’s been crying. I get up nervously and go into mom’s room where I can see Margie already in bed with mom. They are both crying quietly. I climb in; Margie moves over to me and puts her arms around me as if she wants protection. I hold her tightly. Ronnie looks at me all glassy eyed and says:

“I suppose you know what’s going on,” Ronnie says accusingly, “You were always mommy’s little boy, spying on me for her, telling her when I used to stop at the Bertram’s Hotel for a beer. What do you have to say for yourself now, mommy’s boy?”

I say nothing; my tummy is in the now familiar nervous knot. He’s so pissed that he could become violent at any moment. I am fighting back the tears, I don’t want him to see me crying again and hold Margie tight, and she’s sobbing loudly. He looks at us and shouts:

“Oh look who’s trying to be a man, cry, I know you want to, you little sissy, wait till you stay with me, I’ll make a man of you!”

“Don’t upset the kids like that, they’ve done nothing wrong,” says Mom softly.

“Well, you can just fuck off with that piece of shit - but I can tell you now … if you try taking my kids away I will fucking shoot them and myself, see if you can live with that!”

“You can’t do that...And don’t use that language in front of the kids,” hiccups Mom between sobs.

“Well, you’re the one who was unfaithful, not me! And with my mate! I should have seen it coming.”

“You drove me away with your drinking and abuse!” Mom shouts back.

Just then, Granny walks into the room and fixes Ronnie with a glare, “You’ve woken the whole household and you’ve upset the kids. Why don’t you go to a hotel or a friends place and sleep it off. Come back in the morning and talk it out. I don’t want you upsetting the kids; I think you should leave… now!”

I don’t know what it is, but Ronnie has always been a bit wary of Granny, it must be the legendary Irish temper; you really don’t want to mess with her.

“Sorry, Mom,” he slurs “I’ll leave alright, but I’ll be back in the morning to finish this off.” With that he leaves the room, goes down stairs and slams out of the house. We hear the car start and tires screeching as he pulls angrily away.

The following morning is Saturday, but in spite of there being no school, it’s a really sombre day. Mom starts crying every time she looks at us, which starts Margie off, and again starts me fighting back the tears... Granny and the rest of the family are very kind and attentive. They try to make us smile and feel happy, but it’s difficult: we don’t feel like smiling. I have a horrible feeling that this is not going to work out very happily for us.

Ronnie turns up at about eleven that morning; I have been dreading this and am feeling sick with nerves again. Luckily, he seems sober and even greets us warmly, kissing Margie and hugging me. Mom and he go into what had been their bedroom to have a chat.

Mom’s older sister, Aunty Bebe arrives, she has her own flat and a long-standing boyfriend called Uncle Alf. He’s a millionaire and they have been dating for as long as I can remember. No one knows why he’s never got around to marrying her.

“Who would like to go for a drive to Uncle Alf’s farm?” she asks, clearly aware of what’s happening. She must have been assigned the task of getting us out of the house and keeping our minds off the situation.

Sandy, Vicky and Leon all shout, “Yes please!” Margie and I just nod; we are still in a bit of a dwaal.

We have a great day at the farm, swimming and horse riding and helping the farm hands with the milking of the cows and collecting eggs. By the time we get back home we are exhausted and have all but forgotten about the break–up and the unpleasantness.

We find Mom in her bedroom; she’s lying on the bed with her eyes closed. When we come in she opens her eyes and smiles at us sadly. Her eyes are very red from all the crying, she must have been crying all day. I feel the knot in my stomach again, something is not right; I am overwhelmed by the feeling that something bad is going to happen to us because of all this...

“I have to tell you both something,” she begins, and the tears start to run down her cheeks again. “I will be going to stay with Aunty Bebe if she’ll let me and you two will have to stay here at Granny with your father until the end of the year when you finish primary school.” By now, she’s really sobbing and can’t continue speaking. Margie and I are also crying our eyes out.

“No, Mommy I don’t want you to leave,” I sob, “why can’t you stay with us?”

Margie is bawling uncontrollably and has her head buried in a pillow on the bed.

“Please, Mommy, don’t leave us, what is going to happen when I finish primary school? I don’t want to stay with him, please don’t leave.” By now I’m working myself into a panic I’m so upset.

“You’ll go stay with Ouma, Aunty Val and Uncle Tim in Potchefstroom until your father gets himself sorted out, then, please God, you will come and stay with me. Your Ouma loves you and Aunty Val and Uncle Tim are very nice, it will be fun for you. I’ll phone you every day, here at Granny’s and when you go to Potch.”

Ouma is Ronnie’s Mom and Aunty Val is his sister. Oupa, my namesake, Alf Wood, is dead. He died in 1958 aged only fifty-eight. He had been living on only half a lung from before I was born. I’m not sure if it was cancer or some other lung disease. Anyway, his health just deteriorated. He was a great man; everybody loved him dearly, including Mom. They lived in Potchefstroom, a small ‘platteland’ town in the western Transvaal. Since Oupa’s death, Ouma has continued to live in their large old face brick house not far from the town centre. Aunty Val is married to Uncle Tim. Uncle Tim used to work with Oupa, which is how he met Aunty Val. They also live in the old Potch house with Ouma. Uncle Tim took over as foreman of the Public Works Department in Potch, a position held by Oupa for years.

“What school will I go to? What about all my friends? I don’t want to leave Joh’burg!” I gulp still crying. Suddenly I think of Pat, my ‘girl friend’… How am I going to cope? My best friend, Mike Evans is also moving away, he and his mom are moving to Welkom, a very Afrikaans town in the Orange Free State. When will I get to see Mike or Pat again? It feels as though my life is ending.

“Your father will enrol you into Potch Boys High School, it’s a very good school, and you’ll make lots of new friends.”

So that’s it. Neither Margie nor I are asked what we want. The decision that will change our lives forever is made without even one word of consultation. I resent both my parents for this and continue to do so for many years. I keep asking myself, ‘Why is mom allowing this to happen to us? She must love Uncle Alf more than us.’

The next three months race past. It’s a time of mixed feelings. School is good, I am in standard five, a senior and my love life is good, well, for a twelve year old. What makes it even better is that Ronnie starts dating. Well not really dating, more like getting a new dance partner. He and Mom have always loved dancing and in fact they won the Johannesburg Jive championships when she was pregnant with me. They had taken to ballroom a few months before the breakup. Anyway, unbelievably, the lady he is partnering is none other than Pat’s mom. So when they go to dance classes and dances we ask to tag along and stay at their flat. Pat has a sister about Margie’s age and two brothers; one is a year and the other two years younger than I am.

Life at Granny’s is always good, we are as happy as we can be there, although we miss mom almost constantly. She ‘phones every day to see how we are. She is staying with Aunty Bebe and says she’s fine, she doesn’t tell us much, she seems more interested in hearing what we’re up to. I share a room with my cousin Leon, and Margie is sharing with Sandy and Vicky. Ronnie is still in the room that he and Mom had before the break-up.

One night, on one of the rare occasions, that Ronnie is actually home we are sitting in the lounge when Isaac, Grandpa’s ‘handyman come gardener’, walks in with a bucket of firewood and coal to make a fire in the hearth. Being after hours, Isaac has had a few drinks and is a little tipsy. He is a young Zulu man who has been working for Grandpa for about a year or so. He is a very pleasant man, always smiling and a hard worker. Unlike Ronnie, the drink makes Isaac warm and friendly and he’s very talkative this evening. “Hello, young baasie,” he says to me “how is the young baasie today?”

“Hello, Isaac, I’m fine - you?” I reply.

“Lekker my bra, make a skyf baasie,” he says laughing.

“I don’t smoke, sorry,” I reply.

Just then, Ronnie jumps up and says to Isaac; “What do you want here?”

“Nothing baas, just brought some wood and coal for the fire.”

“We don’t need a fire, so bugger off.”

“Hau baas, I’m want to talk to young baasie.”

“I told you to bugger off, now bugger off before I make you.”

“It’s okay Dad,” I said, “he means no harm.”

“Don’t backchat me,” he barks at me, and turns back to Isaac saying;

“I told you to bugger off, kaffir,” and throws a punch, connecting with Isaac’s jaw.

“Hau, sorry baas please don’t hit me baas,” Isaac pleads, the shock and hurt showing clearly in his eyes.

I am thoroughly disgusted and cannot keep my mouth shut. “You didn’t have to hit him, he meant no harm he’s a very nice guy.” I have tears in my eyes and I can’t even look at the man who is supposed to be my father and role model.

Isaac runs out of the house saying; “Sorry, baas, sorry baas.”

“You better shut up or you’ll get one too.”

I run out as well, mumbling under my breath “Big man, big hero.”

For the next week I’m very cool toward him, he tries to be nice but I virtually ignore him.

All too soon it is break-up day at school and it’s quite an emotional day for me. I’m saying goodbye to all my friends, most of whom I have known for five years. I have a battle not crying especially when we have our final assembly and the principal Mr. Bonny gives a very stirring farewell speech. All the girls are crying as well as some of the boys. I don’t want to look like a sissy so I manage to compose myself until I get home, then I break down. I spend the whole afternoon lying on my bed crying like a baby. We are leaving the next day for Potch, which adds to my grief. Granny, Sandy, Vicky and Leon all try to console me and Margie (who is also having a hard time) to no avail; it really feels like the shittiest day of my life.

Two

Potchefstroom

 

The two-hour trip to Potch passes in silence; the more Ronnie tries to make conversation the more we remain silent. The farewell at Granny’s is a real tearjerker with “snot and trane” everywhere. Mom doesn’t come to Granny’s to say good-bye she ‘phones us and says it would be too hard for her to come in person but we will be in her heart all the time. She promises to ‘phone us every day.

The next month in Potch passes in a haze, I have withdrawn completely and just want to be alone. To pass the time I take Aunty Val’s bike and cycle all around the town. Potch is a very flat town and full of bicycles. Margie is very unhappy too, Ouma makes her feel very unwanted and unloved.  On one occasion Margie wets the bed, and sleepwalks into the bathroom where she undressed, leaving her pyjama pants in the bath.  The next morning she tells the old lady that she doesn’t remember anything, so the old women punishes her by making her stay in bed the whole day.  She also blatantly gives me more of everything, more butter on my porridge, more ‘soet koekies’ with my tea. I’m the first born so always get the extras. I’m lucky Margie is such a sweet little girl, she never resents me. Ironically, I was a bed wetter and had been since birth. Everyone knows this and in fact, my bed has a waterproof sheet under the bottom sheet to protect the mattress. I am never punished for wetting the bed. Fortunately, for Margie, she has befriended an English-speaking girl her own age who lives across the street so she spends a lot of time over at her house. I think Ouma encourages her to play with the girl to get her out of the house. I try to show her lots of love because she certainly isn’t getting much from the old lady.

Ronnie has gone back to work in Joh’burg and hasn’t bothered much to come down to see us. Mom keeps her promise and tries to call us every day but I think that Ouma doesn’t tell us when she calls while we are in the yard or out riding.

Aunty Val is really nice to us and tries hard to make us happy; she often loads us up in my late Oupa’s 1939 Pontiac and takes us for a drive to the Dam or to the shops or the local swimming pool. Aunty Val is a nursing sister and sometimes she is on night shift and sleeps in the day so we have to be very quiet. Uncle Tim is a very nice Afrikaans man who Margie and I both like very much. He is also very kind to us and tries to make us happy. Ouma is also Afrikaans speaking but Oupa was English. Some evenings we all get into the old Pontiac and go to the drive-in cinema and watch a movie.

Ronnie is supposed to come for Christmas. On Christmas Eve, we all go to a midnight service at the church. Aunty Val, Uncle Tim and Ouma are all religious and belong to the Dutch Reformed Church. We all think that when we get back home Ronnie will be there, but he isn’t. We go to bed thinking that he will arrive on Christmas morning. I am sure he will have been too pissed to drive. Turns out, I am half-right; at about eight in the morning the phone rings, Aunty Val takes the call. It is him; apparently he has had an accident in the car on his way up to us. As I suspected he was blind drunk and rolled the car, breaking his arm in the process. I’m ashamed to admit that at that moment I wished he had been killed and that we could go back to mom.

Mom phones and wishes us all a happy Christmas. There are more tears; I don’t think I have ever been so unhappy.

The rest of the festive season is a blur; I cannot recall much of what happened. I think the mind has a way of blocking out unpleasant memories; maybe I just don’t want to remember. I have all but forgotten my ‘girl friend’ Pat. I occasionally think of her but I’m sure she has moved on and in any case I have had far too much on my mind to worry about a girl.

About two or three weeks later Ronnie comes up for the weekend, his broken arm in plaster and a sling. During the weekend he calls Margie and I into the bedroom to have a heart to heart.

“Aunty Val tells me you are not eating and are very quiet, what’s the problem?” he asks sternly. I am only twelve but I think to myself, ‘is he stupid or something!!? What’s the problem!!? What does he think the problem is!!?’ I’m amazed at how stupid some adults can be. I am frightened of him though, so I don’t answer.

“I asked you a question!” he shouts

“Nothing’s wrong,” I say softly willing the confrontation to be over. ‘One day I’ll have the courage to tell you what I am feeling, you dickhead,’ I think to myself.

“I’ve been thinking would you kids like to come and stay with me in Joh’burg?” He asks, a little calmer. I can hardly believe what I’m hearing!

“I will be moving in with Uncle Ken and Aunty Sheila. They’d love you two to come and stay with me there. They have given me a very big room so we can all sleep in it. It’s a nice room, what do you think?”

“What schools will we go to?” I ask.

“They stay in Parkhurst so I’m sure there are plenty schools in the area, I’ll find out from Aunty Sheila.”

Uncle Ken and Aunty Sheila are not really our Aunt and Uncle; they are good friends of Mom and Ronnie. Some years ago when we lived in our own house, Uncle Ken boarded with us. I like them even though they are quite heavy drinkers. I am not sure if staying with them will be a good idea, I can just imagine the drunken parties that they’re going to have, but at least we will be in Joh’burg and we will be able to sneak out and see Mom at work during the day. Not once since we left Granny’s place has he asked us if we want to see Mom, never mind offered to take us, and we are too nervous to ask him.

“I’m moving in with them next weekend so I’ll come up the following weekend to fetch you and take you back. That will give us a week before you start school. I can enrol you both during that week,” he says and then repeats, “I’ll find out from Aunty Sheila what schools are in the area.”

The next two weeks go by at a snail’s pace. I’m amazed that when I’m looking forward to something the time seems to go so slow, but when there’s something to dread the time flies!

When mom ‘phones I tell her what is happening. She says that she knows about it, in fact she organised the whole thing. She ‘phoned Aunty Sheila and asked her if she would talk to Ronnie about bringing us back to Joh’burg. As Ronnie is still drinking buddies with Uncle Ken, they see a lot of him. Aunty Sheila said that they have a nice big room which they will rent him and he can bring us back. Mom and Aunty Sheila are good friends and Mom is relieved that Aunty Sheila will be able to keep an eye on us. She says that I must not say anything to Ronnie about her being involved in the plan.

Three

Parkhurst

 

Finally the day arrives when we say our goodbyes to Ouma, Aunty Val and Uncle Tim and make the two hour trip back to Joh’burg, to our new home in Parkhurst Johannesburg.

Our room is very big, on the one side there‘s a double bed where Ronnie and Margie sleep and on the other side against the opposite wall is a single bed where I sleep. There are also two wardrobes and a dressing table in the room as well as a bedside table next to Ronnie’s side of the bed and one next to my bed. Margie sleeps next to the wall. The room is light and airy and not at all cramped.

The nearest high school to our house is the new Greenside High school. The nearest primary school for Margie is Parkview Senior Primary. Ronnie enrols us into the respective schools and we buy Margie’s uniform. As Greenside High is a new school there was still no uniform so I am allowed to go to school in mufti. This is great, I feel like I’m in an American school.

My school is within walking distance from the house but Margie’s is a bit further and will need a bus ride. The distance between the two schools is a couple of blocks so we decide that I will take the bus with Margie and see her safely to school and then walk the couple of blocks to my school. The walk is quite pleasant, it goes through a very well groomed area with lots of trees and lovely gardens. We then reverse the procedure after school. Margie finishes earlier than me so she will wait at school in the playground for me to finish, we will then take the bus home. So begins our time in Parkhurst. As it turns out, it’s only a short time.

The first day of term is the 23rd January 1961, the day the whole routine begins: up early, get washed and dressed, eat breakfast. Run two and a half blocks to the bus stop, standing room only on the bus as it is already full with commuters. Eventually get off at the Zoo Lake which is the nearest bus stop to Parkview Senior Primary School. Run another block to Margie’s school, see her safely in and then race the next couple of blocks to my school. Shit, what a routine, I am usually exhausted by the time I get to school and the day hasn’t even really started!

As Ronnie wants me to become a medical doctor when I grow up, one of the subjects I have to take is Latin. (It is a requirement to get into medical school). Soon I have all my subjects organised and so begins high school. I don’t know anyone in my class; in fact I don’t know anyone in the whole school. The school is brand new and some of the classrooms are still being built. There are no sports fields, just muddy grounds where they’re going to be. Truth be told, the place is rather depressing.

Apart from boxing, I am not very sporty and hardly ever played sport in primary school. High school is different though, I’m an okay middle distance runner. The winter choice is different, I’m not a ball person so both rugby and hockey don’t really appeal to me. Anyway, because sport is compulsory I choose hockey. I don’t know what it is about high school boys but if you don’t play rugby you are considered a bit soft, regardless of whether you are also a boxer and/or an athlete. So I endure jibes from the rugby jocks as well as everything else. Being a very quiet and shy boy doesn’t help my cause either, I am constantly being teased and laughed at. Until the sports fields are completed we are using the Pirates Sports Club grounds, I don’t mind so much because it is not far from home. The problem is that I have to pick up Margie from school first, then get her home and then get back to the sports grounds. It is almost impossible to manage and I mention this to Ronnie. For once he sees my point and agrees to write a letter to the school asking them to exempt me from afternoon sport. The school agrees and, sweet relief, I am not required to play sport.

Life at home in the day is tolerable; because Aunty Sheila works during the day she employs a maid to clean the house and cook lunch for us kids and dinner for everyone. She is a very nice lady but unfortunately not the greatest cook. All we seem to eat for dinner every night is pork chops and mash. I think I must be beginning to look like a pork chop.

At night, life is not as tolerable, as suspected the drinking goes on every night to all hours. The more they drink the louder and more colourful the language becomes. Aunty Sheila can drink one for one with the men and can certainly hold her own in an argument. One night I’m woken with a lot of shouting which heralds the beginning of the end for our Parkhurst stay. Margie is awake and crying nervously in her bed. I call her over and she climbs in to my bed, she lies holding me tightly. I can feel her heart pounding and mine sinks in sympathy: she is terrified.

Aunty Sheila is shouting at Ronnie.

“Why don’t you let the kids see their mother, they are obviously missing Ray!”

“Fuck you, why don’t you mind your own fucking business, they’re my kids not yours,” he slurs loudly, obviously pissed. “I don’t want them seeing that bitch.”

“Hey! That is not nice, Ronnie, Ray is the mother of your kids and you know as well as I that she is not a bitch.”

“Man, I told you already to mind your own fucking business.”

“Well, I think it is my business, I see how unhappy the kids are. Alfie wets the bed nearly every night and tries so hard to hide it. Margie is as thin as a rake, she hardly eats, you have to do something.” Aunty Sheila was also pissed but is on a roll – I could have cheered for her!

“Oh go get fucked, Sheila!” he screams

“Don’t you fucking talk to my wife like that!” shouts Uncle Ken, a normally very placid man.

“She’s not your wife; she’s just your slut.”

“That does it, I feel very sorry for the kids but you better find another place to live, I can’t have you here any longer. I want you out by the end of the week,” says Uncle Ken softly, he sounds the most sober of the three of them and is obviously very angry.

“Come Sheel lets go to bed, you can’t talk to this piece of shit when he’s pissed.”

After that there’s quiet for a long time, I think Uncle Ken and Aunty Sheila have gone to bed. I don’t know where Ronnie is, probably passed out on the couch.

The morning after the big shouting match is a Saturday and you could cut the tension with a knife. Ronnie says we are going to visit Aunty Miem, Ouma’s sister who lives in Edenvale. We drive to Edenvale

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 20.08.2013
ISBN: 978-3-7309-4458-5

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Widmung:
This book is dedicated to my beloved Mom, the late Ray Katherine Treges nee Wood nee Lavenski, who had undying love for her two children. We miss you Mom!