YOUR SAFE PLACE

Those were indeed the days, the days that taught me what to value above all else, the gift of family.

We were poor and trying to survive on a Policeman's salary in Rhodesia in the 1970's. The bush war reached it's peak in that decade, and we were to become ever grateful for the gift of life. Never before had we appreciated one  another as we did at that time. Mayhem surrounded us, husbands were gone for months at a time, fathers missed huge parts of the growing up of their small children.

Our first child, above, walked at 9 months, her father missed her first birthday, as well as these first steps.

Mothers were left to take care of the children and the home plus all the responsibility that goes with it. Sleepless night followed sleepless night. One child fell ill and 2 others followed. "Where are you now?" I asked. But no one heard. 

 And three years later, when there were three, I was still asking the same question. There were no answers. I remembered then  my mother always telling me that nothing lasts forever. Good news then, but upon looking back, neither does having those precious babies last forever, for they grow up, marry and have children of their own. And we are left with memories. Photographs and memories.

It was a solitary struggle. We fought our own wars as mom's, taking children on outings, packing extra clothes, formula, extra formula that is, just in case! It was exhausting just trying to give our children a normal life.

 

We did.We also came out of it unscathed, and here we are, not quite all grown up, but happy and healthy! We had had to leave our beloved country for whom so many had died. They are scattered all over the world now, but many of us have found ways of coming together. We can thank some dedicated people for this. People who have formed groups where we can connect with old friends. So I for one have not only found old friends, but have also found half my primary school class as well! And that is thanks for a few dedicated  folks who have made this possible. 

How wonderful it is! You know who you are, and we are grateful that many of you cared enough, and had a vision that kept us connected. I also learned something else throughout the years. Strong bonds were unknowingly being formed between us because we only had one another. We stood alone for so long, but it made us strong.

We always found time to take time out and spend quality time with our young families when Dad's were back. This is Shirley just after her 1st birthday. Nine months after this picture was taken Kerry was born! So long ago and yet it is as if it were yesterday. In the mountains outside Umtali, The last time we were here was on our honeymoon 2 years before! A photo can bring back a memory of everything that was going on at the time. What wonderful things memories are. Especially photographs, they have a great way of transporting us back and bringing to life memories buried in the recesses of our minds!  

That my girls, ends a very special era of your lives, an era you will not easily remember if at all. It was of the country of your birth, and your father's birth. I hope that I have left you with memories in this blog that you can read and re-read, and pass onto your children as part of their heritage.

 

Now we enter another stage of our lives. Brian is born. He is not a Rhodesian. He was born in Pretoria. The only tie he has is that his father was a 2nd generation Rhodesian. His story will be a different one.

 

Brian had freedom. Freedom to experience his young life, with sisters around him, and an ever-present father. He was born free. He will never know what it is like to travel to school in a landmine vehicle! This is your life, in the land of your birth. Treasure the memories you have and will still make. Realise your dreams. You can.

 

Three years ago. Only Shirley and her family are missing from this picture. Enjoy making many memories with your children. 

 

I will not be writing much more about your childhoods. I have already captured the most memorable parts. But my wish for you is this - be happy, and remember your childhoods as the safe and magical place we tried to make it for you. A place where you can return to in your  minds when life's storms buffet you and knock you down. Know that hard times end. There is light at the end of every tunnel, a silver lining around every cloud.

 

 

Know that you were cherished, and let happy memories be your safe place to fall.

 

 

 

WHERE ARE YOU NOW?

Many years ago, when our children were small, we camped often as my husband was a keen fisherman. 

It was also the only way we could afford taking 4 children away on holiday or weekends as often as we did.

We set off one weekend as we often did, packed up the tent, pots, pans, gas stove (kitchen sink) and set off. A whole bunch of excited little kids.

We found a spot beside the dam we  unhooked the boat and got it into the water, set the caravan up, and once the tents were attached to the caravan, we had a braai whilst the children ran around in the dark, chasing one another and just feeling good to be alive. I loved these times, I could almost reach out and touch their happiness.

The following afternoon we took the children for a ride in the boat, but during the afternoon the weather looked ominous, the sky darkened, the wind came up and the water of the dam became frighteningly choppy. We headed for the camp when my husband suddenly said, "isn't that someone in the water?" I could not see anyone at that stage. But as I focused on the place my husband was pointing to, there was a young teenage boy in the choppy lake. He had fallen overboard and was fast losing the battle to stay afloat.

We pulled him into our boat and took him back to his camp. His parents were very grateful, but for me, I still think of that young boy all those years ago, because my husband saved his life that day, who would have thought we would come by in that weather.

Where ever he is, I hope he is happy, successful and is making his life count for something.

That day is clearly etched in my mind, this small lad being tossed back and forth in an overwhelming dam that had quite suddenly become a death trap.

ANYONE FOR TENNIS???

The other day I received an email from my eldest daughter Shirley (Dawn in the Home) who home schools her two daughters. I had asked her what the girls did in the way of sporting activities. She gave me a loooong list and at the end she said that they want to join a tennis club so that they can all play tennis together (this family would make James Dobson proud!).

Well, as usual, I was transported back to a time when Shirley, Kerry and Lisa were 5, 4 and 3 respectively, and WE also played tennis as a family! Only our version went like this .......

Their dad and I were on the court with the raquets and balls, the children were posted OUTSIDE the court and their job was to run after all the balls that landed outside the court, as we were beginners and that is where most of the balls ended up. I can still see them running all over the place to find and bring the balls back to us! Because they were small, they couldn't see through us so thought that tennis was played that way and it was great fun. We gave up eventually and tried something else.

Our way of life was unique at the time. We lived in a village called Triangle in Rhodesia as it was at the time. Triangle was and still is a part of the Hulletts group. Because of the hot and humid climate the sugar cane farming was a very lucrative business.

Triangle was a very small community 10Kms from the Mozambique border. "Town" was one enormous building from where we bought everything. Groceries, the butchery was inside, the stationers, hardware, baker, even a milkshake bar. All under one roof.

There was one primary school, 3 church denominations who all held services in the school hall, each having their own time slot.

We had no TV or radio reception and the newspapers were delivered 3 times a week by plane.

We had a proper cinema though, and movies were shown2 or 3 times a week in the evenings. Every Saturday afternoon a childrens movie was shown and all the village children went. In one day we saw everyone numerous times, at the school, in "town" at braais, school sports days etc. You get the picture?

So we gave up tennis and entered local community arranged fun days. One stands out in my mind as being among the most memorable. A go cart competition was arranged. For two weekends preceeding the event, families could be seen in their back yards dismantling old prams and with the wheels, crates or boxes of some kind went about fashioning a go cart. It had no brakes.

The day of the competion arrived. There was a festive and carefree atmosphere. I remember writing up the names and ages of the entrants as they arrived and arranging them in their correct age groups. Adults were also taking part.

The starting point was at the top of the steepest hill and at the bottom, a huge sandbank had been built up. The carts lined up, and at the start of each race a gun was fired and the carts flew down the hill at breakneck speed and crashed into the sandbank. It was a huge success and a day I will remember for its simplicity and fun. We all trudged home at the end of the day hungry, dirty, tired but very happy.

No cost was incurred but I am by far the richer for having the priviledge of leading , for a short while, such a lifestyle.

We never played tennis again.

FROM FAR THEY CAME

And they came to the end of another long hot day under the African sun, forging their way over the hilly terrain of the Eastern Cape, towards an unknown destination.

Hundreds of others would follow in their wake, and generation upon generation would look back and know that lives had been lost, hardships borne and blood spilled into the hot African ground. For many of us, they were our ancestors who were amongst the first pioneers to come to Africa.

After the Napoleonic Wars, Britain experienced a serious unemployment problem. Therefore, encouraged by the British Government to immigrate to the Cape Colony, the settlers were sent to Algoa Bay, now Port Elizabeth.

Approximately 4 000 settlers arrived in Cape Town.

Life was harsh.

Leaders of the Natal Settlers requested permission from King Shaka to stay on the land. When King Shaka witnessed the settlers technological advances, permission was granted in return for firearms.

Towns such as Grahamstown and Port Elizabeth grew rapidly, many of the settlers were traders by profession, and this was of great benefit to Africa and King Shaka saw it as an opportunity for his people to learn.

Some of the Voortrekkers trails can be seen today. Grahamstown, above, was a frontier town. There is a fort outside Grahamstown in it's original state. One cannot safely walk through all of it, there are steps leading up to the "turret" tower. My sister in law and I made the journey to the top once, where we saw the holes in the wall where the rifles had once protruded in wait for an unsuspecting enemy. The fort was well positioned. Any travellers of any kind could be seen as soon as they crested the mountains surrounding the fort and the town.

We saws a trail. Wide and meandering, coming down the hill, navigating boulders and rough terrain. No vegetation has ever completely covered it.

My imagination flew back over the years and I could see the wagons amidst a haze of dust, slowly making its way down the hill in its arduous journey inland.

This monument is a reminder to those brave pioneers who had had to leave their country due to a severe depression and venture into an unknown future. What turmoil surrounded their lives! They had left a civilised country which had a long and established history to venture into the unknown.

Take a look at that wagon. A far cry from the wagons we see in movies! Just a guess, but they could be travelling through the Karoo, which has very little to this day except some service stations for travellers.

South Africa is a poor 3rd world country today, but has much to be proud of. the first heart  transplant was performed in Cape Town, South Africa. The world soccer was held in South Africa in 2010, and who knows, maybe the Olympic games will come to South Africa too one day!

Beautiful Africa!!

Wow! What progress....colourful, cultural diversity, it advances in leaps and bounds. What an amazing history. May it never lose it uniqueness!

I am a descendant of an 1820 settler, who became involved with the French Heugenots...but that is another story for another day!!!

                                          JOHANNESBURG BY NIGHT

                                        THE UNION BUILDINGS

                                                   PRETORIA

And beautiful Table Mountain in CAPE TOWN, recently voted th new 7th wonder of the World.

WHEN I WAS YOUNG

The British Monarchy, as the world knows, has just celebrated the Queen's Diamond Jubilee, in grand style to as we all saw!

The homes and streets were decorated in abundance with flags and bunting, my daughter, Shirley Ann and her family who live in Manchester, sent gorgeous pictures and their little cottage looked lovely with all the decorations and flags flying! I could feel the gay atmosphere here in  far off South Africa! No doubt about it, the English know how to throw a party, don't you think? And their patriotism knows no bounds. They are proud of their long and rich history.

My mind went into rewind, back to a time when I was a small girl and growing up in Gwelo, Rhodesia (now Gweru Zimbabwe).  Rhodesia was a British colony at the time and we did things as the British did.

In primary school before each assembly began, God Save the Queen was played, we all stood and sang out lustily in our off key young voices.

The cinema as no exception. Before every movie, God Save the Queen was played, we all stood, but were not expected to sing! 

Below is the town of Gwelo in the 1950's. I think this was rush hour.

I accepted these traditions without question. I took them as my own. The only flag I knew was the Union Jack. I also knew that Winston Churchill was a great politician. In fact the only politician who knew anything about anything, his praises were sang around me. Keep in mind that I was 7 years old!

I also believed The Queen and Winston Churchill were the only two leaders in the world.

Unbeknown to me, Rhodesia had it's own Prime Minister and flag! It was only overseen by Britain.

Below is the Thornhill Officers Mess in the 1950's.

As I grew a little older and was more aware of what was going on around   me I understood  more of what the adults in my life were speaking of. And then one day there was BIG NEWS, President Kennedy of The United States had been assassinated. There were two players in this game now, not just my beloved Queen. Why did I not know this, and where had he been all  my life?? Suddenly there were so many questions.

A small child doesn't know too much about politics do they, they don't need to. They just need to feel safe, secure and loved. Parents know EVERYTHING... well, for a while they do don't they? The older the children get, the bigger the world is, and it can be a dangerous place. There are many leaders and many countries I learned over the years and with it came wars and bloodshed.

And so quite suddenly I lost my Queen, in fact she had never been mine to begin with.

But one thing has never changed, every time I hear God Save the Queen, I still want to jump to my feet....

EASILY FOOLED!!

I have written often of the children we have fostered over the years.

This evening I was going through old photos, and in among the millions I found this one.

The little boy in the picture is Charlie. The girls are mine-from the left, Shirley Ann, Kerry Lyn and Lisa Jane.

Charlie was 2 years old when he came to us as a place of safety placement, and stayed for 6 months. His parents were french, (my girls used to call him 'frogs legs') children can be cruel can't they. 

His father was a lot older than his mother. Charlie was the middle of 3 small boys. He was also the only one in a foster home for the simple reason  that his mother could not bond with him, 'didn't like him' were the exact words used by the social worker, and he had been removed due to her treatment of the child. How do you not like your child to the point that he is taken away??

Lisa, on the Right, was incredibly jealous of him. One morning I heard the kitchen door slam and loud wailing cries coming from outside. I just KNEW that Lisa was at the bottom of it. I was right.... she had shut him outside and told him to go home. This became a regular occurence with her, I was always rescuing Charlie!

His mother did not show much interest in him at all and seldom came to visit him. Then suddenly after about 3 months she became more and more involved until she was allowed to see him every weekend. 

By the time six months had passed, she had convinced the Welfare that she was fit to take care of him and she loved him very much.

He was returned to his parents and 2 siblings.

The day he went back we took him and were invited to a braai as a thank you. They seemed like a normal family, this was definitely a success for the Welfare as their first objective is to rehabilitate families.

Two weeks later my husband and I were watching Police File on TV when some very familiar faces appeared on the screen. The Police were looking for a couple with 3 small boys who had stolen a caravan that they had hired and disappeared with it. They were criminals and con artists! They were believed to be in Zimbabwe, if anyone had any information as to their exact whereabouts to contact the Police! 

All the pieces fell into place, this had been planned. They had to get Charlie back before they 'disappeared'!

Wow! I could hardly believe what I saw and heard. But then what does a criminal, rapist, child molester, murderer look like?

I'll tell you, just like you and me!!! 

MY 5th CHILD

 All our married lives, my first husband and I fostered children. It was something I had wanted to do long before I married. There was a part of me who was always aware that there were children who for one reason or another could not be taken care of by their own parents.

I was fortunate enough to marry a man who shared my feelings. So when we had  been married for 7 months, and I was 20 years old, we went to Nazareth House in Salisbury, Rhodesia, and spoke to the nuns.

We both worked full time, so they suggested to us that we become weekend parents. 

And so we became the weekend parents to a little girl of 20 months, called Shirley Ann.

Some time ago I wrote a post on The Lost Children, so I will take you forward in time to the time we fostered Matthew.

We had 3 daughters, lived in South Africa, and contacted the welfare authorities in Pretoria after our immigration to this country. 

It was decided that we would become place of safety parents. We had our own children now and they had to be considered first. 

In order to be available to take children in as a place of safety parent, we had to be prepared to take a child with only 2 hours notice, because the welfare had to have a placement for the child before it was removed from it's parents home. That is how Matthew, then 2 years old, came to us.  A maximum of 6 months is as long as a child is in a place of safety home, during that time the welfare look for suitable permanent placements  for the children. 

There were 4 boys in this family. They were immigrants from Scotland and came to South Africa to find work. At that time there were plenty of vacancies with the post offices throughout the country, and Matthew's father came to South Africa in a plane full of immigrants looking for work.

 The marriage did not survive the change and the father of the children found himself a single parent to 4 very small boys. The 2 youngest went to placements first, that was Matthew and his younger brother. When he arrived all we had for him was a black bag with a few odds and ends of clothing in it. Only 3 nappies for the nights (no Kimbies then) and a 6 oz bottle he slept with. Friends rallied around and before the end of the day I had enough nappies, waterproofs and a pin. That was at least a start.

In the picture above he was 3 years old and we had started him in the nursery school next to our children's school.

After 9 months we were all called into the social workers offices, no suitable home had been found for any of them. They had become very much a part of our respective families, and we all wanted the boys placed with us. And so it became permanent. They would not have to move again.

When Matthew was 5 years old we had Brian, our fourth child. Seen above are Matthew and Brian "gardening".

When Matthew was 7 years old his mother had remarried and the children were being returned to her one at a time. They all adapted except for Matthew, and his mother eventually brought him back to us. For some years he went back and fourth until eventually his mother said it would be better if he lived with us permanently as he wouldn't settle with her and he kept running away from his home and back to us.

 So once more he lived with us permanently. It was a private arrangement not involving the  Child Welfare. We put him through school, his mother would phone him from time to time, but he stayed with us until he had almost finished school.

He had two mom's, called us both mom, he also had many siblings, not only 3 brothers of his own, but he had 3 sisters and a little brother too. 

To this day, my own children and Matthew still think of one another as brothers and sisters, especially Brian, the two of them still contact one another. 

So my 5th child, together with my 4, not forgetting all the others who have lived with us, are among  the memorable young people who have left footprints on my memory as they have walked across my life.

There were hectic, crazy days, trying to fit them all into a 3 bedroom house was like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. They all wanted their own  room, going out in the car, and they all fought to be near the window.....

Would I do it again? Probably.  I have no regrets but a lifetime full of memories.