Our English Adventure #8

For the first four or five months of our stay in Plymouth, we didn't have a car and so it was the bus for us. Dad intended to see and experience as much as possible in the few short years we would be in Britain, and so every weekend we were out and about, and coach tours were the way to do it. The season was going into winter, but the coach company operated on the summer schedule for reasons known only to themselves, and most times we departed from the depot in the dark, returning later to a similar situation. That is probably why my memories of Plymouth involve buses and travelling in the dark.

We explored the counties of Cornwall and Devon in this fashion, our travelling companions mostly being pairs of old ladies on a day out, wrapped up in warm coats and cosy hats even when the sun shone. The Cornish villages were simply stunning, with little fishing harbours and a few rows of neat houses up on the cliffs. Our ancestors can be traced back to the village of Corfe Castle in the 11th century, and I have always liked to imagine that one or two were pirates or smugglers! Looe and Polperro remain on my wish list to return one day.

The rocky promontories of Land's End were reminiscent of our own Cape Point, the south-western tip of the continent of Africa, which has its own fearsome seas, submerged rocks and lighthouses, but I think both headlands bear a similar brunt and it would be difficult to say which had the worst weather conditions.

The beaches were quite different to what we knew back home. Torquay was pebbles and the weather was freezing, but a woman actually went in for a swim and Mom said she had the biggest goosebumps she had ever seen.  Newquay was sand. When we arrived, the tide was out and a vast expanse of beach stretched away into the distance, but once the tide was in, it reached up to the cliff and there was no beach at all!

The tours included lunch (egg and chips, or baked beans and chips, or sausage and chips, but never all three) and I suspect that we were seeking shelter from the icy air rather than looking forward to lunch when we went into the cafe to eat. I suspect that little has changed on the bill of fare to this day.

To stave off car sickness on the journey, we would suck on our favourite sweets, Opal Fruits, which were similar to the Sugus back home, except bigger. I wonder if you can still get them?

Wanderlust

Wanderlust is a strong desire to explore and travel the world. Not everyone experiences wanderlust, but as I get closer and closer to shuffling off this mortal coil, I feel the need to be somewhere else while I am still able to travel. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? To me, a life less lived is no life at all and we are here to experience the good things of this world, and yet my adage is: For every thing there is a season. I know that when I have travelled it has been the right time, and soon it will be that time again.

Everything I am working on is with the aim of going back to places I have loved - I have done the reconnaisance trips (but with a different twist - identifying places to be avoided and places to be frequented, rather than an enemy) and I have a basis for planning a trip, rather than randomly hoping to chance upon something interesting. Invaluable advice on pitfalls and pleasures can be found in the blogs and websites of a multitude of talented and entertaining travelbugs at the click of a mouse. Much pain and drama can be avoided by heeding the words of these seasoned travellers, and if they say don't eat at certain places or take a particular mode of transport, there is a reason for it.

Living as I do in one of the most award-winning-for-beauty-and-all-things-tourism cities, Cape Town, you might think I'd grown accustomed to my surroundings, but for that very reason I have embarked on a journey of being a tourist myself, and am blogging my excursions with, hopefully, a foreigner's outlook on value for money, friendliness, service and the whole experience. I hope to build it up to become a site of value to visitors to Cape Town, in the way that other travel writers have contributed to millions around the world enjoying a trip away from home, even if it has just been as an armchair traveller.

An interesting afternoon

I accompanied a friend to the eye specialist today in case she had to have drops to dilate her pupils and wouldn't be keen to drive afterwards. Knowing that she has no vision in one eye and severe problems with the other, I asked nonchalantly whether she should be wearing her glasses when she drives, and she gaily replied that she should but they were in her bag. I immediately leaned over into the back to retrieve her bag and handed them to her. She agreed that things did look better!

After depositing her at the eye man, I took her smart little Fiat 500 over the road to Constantia Village to do some shopping and have coffee. The difference between her car and my middle-aged Golf was astounding. Power steering, pedals that respond to the lightest touch, a gear lever above waist level and the shortest gears ever, plus a reverse gear that responded to a fingertip made me realise why I am always exhausted after driving any distance. My foot cramped yesterday in the traffic because of the effort required to keep on using the clutch! I'm sure I have a ligament injury in my shoulder from heavy gear shifts and as for turning the wheel...! Perhaps it is time to upgrade slightly, even if it's just for the power steering.

The short latte from Seattle Coffee Company (my all-time favourite) had a considerable sprinkling of cocoa on top and I sat down at one of those bar tables with the high stools to enjoy it. The stool was made of some ergonomically designed shiny plastic with room for only the tiniest of backsides, possibly a size 8. While I am by no means obese, I found it impossible not to slide off this poorly thought out design, which was about the size of a dinner plate, and had to brace my foot against my shopping trolley to stay seated. Despite all this, I did enjoy the latte. I used the tiny paper serviette to wipe my lips of froth - I should perhaps have taken out a large mirror to do it.

After a stroll up and down the mall to pass the time, I went back to pick up my friend. The receptionist looked at me in a manner which I thought a little strange and hastened to tell her that I didn't have an appointment and was just there to pick someone up. I asked directions to the bathroom and when I got there and looked in the mirror, I saw that I had a streak of cocoa up my cheek, just like a large Nike tick! What a laugh! No wonder she had looked at me like that. The people in the mall must have also thought I was a bit odd, but at least I had finished with the shopping first!

I can see clearly now

Today I got my first pair of multifocals. All my life I have struggled with astigmatism, one eye that sees far and one eye that sees close by. I have always had glasses but battled with using two pairs for a start, and it got even worse once computers came on the scene and there was then a middle distance to cope with. For years and years I have only used my distance glasses for driving, due to the inconvenience of having to swop for the close pair, and most of the time I have just managed without. It's not that I can't see; I just can't see the details.

A whole new world has appeared before me, now that I have just one pair and can adjust my viewing with a droop of the eye, so to speak. Suddenly everything is in focus - I can see the individual leaves on the grass and the plants, the weave of the carpet I am standing on, a thousand more stars than I did before. I can see the tennis ball on the TV screen, instead of squinting to try and follow the game. I can read the score on the bottom line. I can see the temperature on the weather report (if I ever bother to turn to the news channel - doesn't really happen).

I can identify the birds in the trees and spot an unusual stone on the ground. I never knew there was so much detail I was missing out on. I can see wrinkles and laugh lines, read labels on the back of tins and packets (an absolute essential - I had to resort to using a magnifying glass over the last few months).

When I go to the mall I expect to be able to identify people I know from a distance, rather than having to bump into them before recognition kicks in. I haven't tried driving yet, but I have no doubt my poor night vision will be vastly improved, to the benefit of all concerned.

I just spotted the large rain spider that dropped off the ceiling onto a pile of canvases in the corner. I wasn't quick enough to catch him, so will keep mum about his presence, otherwise there'll be panic in the house. It's going to be really interesting when I start painting. I'll see my work in a whole new light and may be quite horrified at the gaps! Also beneficial to all concerned.

But the biggest discovery of all is what a poor housekeeper I am. Without the benefit of focused vision, I have never really seen how much dust there is on the cupboards, or the amount of general dirt that accumulates in a house full of animals. There will certainly be an improvement on the home front, although my ambitions still do not lie in becoming Housekeeper of the Year!

I've been told for years by my eye lady that I wouldn't be able to cope with multifocals, but a second opinion (at last) has opened up a whole new world for me, that I would never really have appreciated without the proper tools. I can only say that we should never accept any limitations in life and always look for a new solution.

Settling in

Mango Kitty and Mr Bigglesworth (sister and brother) started their new life together very cagily, but their days (and nights!) are now filled with maniacal charging about, sliding on rugs, rough and tumbling like wrestlers, seeing how far they can run across the furniture without touching the floor and occasionally stopping to claw up my leg (only Mango). It is bedlam when they are at it, and perfect peace when they eventually exhaust themselves and cuddle up on their blankets.


The animosity has given way to over-exuberance, but today we found them lying peacefully in the same kitty bed, licking each other! Later they went to sleep curled up against each other. I think it was a bit of a lull, as it is now late in the evening and they are thundering up and down the house, even using me as a springboard, claws out, so I am feeling a bit shredded right now. Perhaps I should have their claws clipped!

I have to say they are a source of great entertainment and amusement, and we are all very happy to have been able to give them a home away from the streets where they were found.

The wedding in Marbella - 2012

This is an excerpt from the book I am writing on our Spanish Adventure (for the wedding of my nephew and his Spanish bride, two years ago today):

Luxury coaches transported the guests to La Cabane, an upmarket (are there any others?) beach resort. What a spectacular venue on a spectacular evening. Not a ripple marred the rim pool in the centre of the courtyard as we gathered in groups awaiting the arrival of the bridal couple. To say that the atmosphere exceeded all expectations was an understatement.

 

  A wedding singer crooned expertly and unobtrusively as we were fed champagne and exquisite hors d’oeuvres, with the Mediterranean lapping gently along the shoreline not twenty feet from us. While the wedding ceremony was traditionally Spanish Catholic, the reception was South African, with meat instead of fish, and speeches, which apparently is not the norm at Spanish weddings. And so a happy compromise suited all.  A special guest at the wedding was Chucho Valdez, internationally acclaimed jazz pianist, who I was fortunate enough to share a table with, and he entertained us with a selection of his music – a real treat that was much appreciated by all, especially the bride and groom. I was even more fortunate to have a diplomat on the other side who was from Australia and so had the most fascinating evening, and in English too!

      

       At 12.30 the dancing started in a ballroom next door, and everyone went through to watch the bride dance with her father before being handed over to her husband. As soon as we stood up, the tables were cleared, carried away and all the chairs stacked up. They were taking no chances that people were not going to dance by ensuring that there was nowhere to sit, or so it seemed. It did work and the dancing went on till 4a.m., but unfortunately we had to take the first bus back to the hotel as we needed to get a few hours’ sleep before leaving for Malaga.

       As usual, I lay awake until 5 o’clock worrying whether I would wake up in time! I may as well have stayed to dance.

Our English Adventure #7

The area surrounding Brandreth Rd in Plymouth was somewhat different to home. Apart from the long rows of houses, we saw, for the first time, the results of the bombing of Britain in World War II. Although it seemed like a long time ago, in the 60s the war had only been over for 20 years, and most of the bombed-out buildings remained exactly that - blackened ruins, piles of masonry and collapsed timbers. It seemed odd that they had not been cleared away, and I'm not sure if it was an economic thing or whether they were left as a reminder of the hard times. Although South African men of eligible age fought in Europe for Britain, the war had not reached our shores - at least not in the form of bombings - and these stark reminders gave us a glimpse of what we had been lucky to have missed.

Behind us, on the other side of the narrow lane at the rear of the row, was a disused tennis court with an abandoned clubhouse. We used to go in there to explore, but the sense of foreboding and general uneasiness soon chased us back out into the lane. It was probably quite dangerous due to the poor state of the building, but that is not something children usually think about when exploring.

On the other side of the road, in the front, were individual houses. One of them was also abandoned - quite a large house - and we went in there too. There was a staircase going upstairs, but I don't think we were brave enough to go up. For some reason, I seem to have a recollection of a dead horse, but perhaps that was just a story to scare us. I have absolutely no recollection of any other children in the area and assume that we just amused ourselves. 

Gillian tells me that we had to walk through a cemetery on the way to and from Hyde Park school, another thing I don't remember, so it couldn't have bothered me!

In 1964, Petula Clark had her great hit, Downtown. It was on the radio everywhere we went and for all of us, our clearest memory of Plymouth is of going to the high street one dark and wet winter's afternoon (were there any others?) on a bus, with the lights from the shops reflecting on the wet streets and the song belting out in the background - to this day none of us can listen to Downtown without being instantly transported back to that afternoon.

Reunited

Mango Kitty's brother has come to live with us. He had already been given the name Biggie, but we changed it to Mr Bigglesworth (Austin Powers), shortened to Biggles so as not to confuse him. He hated us at first sight and spent the first evening glaring, growling and hissing. Mango was not entirely charmed at the intrusion, and it was obvious that they did not recognise each other after a break of six weeks or so (not that I ever thought they would). So we put Biggles in a soft kitty basket with his toys and closed him in the bathroom to acclimatise overnight. It was best not to show him the dogs at that stage.

Next morning, I decided it was best not to pussyfoot around and put him and Mango together to acquaint themselves. After some initial hissing, flattened ears and boxing, I separated them again. Susie was allowed into the room, but she is blind and probably doesn't know there is another kitty. Monty had to stay outside all day. 

We kept putting the kitties together and they have now accepted each other, although there is still some serious play fighting going on, and a few timeouts for Mango, but Biggles has settled in well and I'm sure they will soon be on the couch together. Monty didn't even notice him when he was allowed back in the house and it took another day before he twigged that there was now a black cat staring down from the kitchen counter. After a cursory bark and a sniff or two, he walked away in disdain, and a crisis has been averted.

Of course we didn't tell HWCFA that we had got another kitty, and when he saw Biggles, he said we couldn't have another cat and no one had asked him. Well, I ask you, would he have had any say anyway? It wasn't ten minutes and he was making silly kitty-calling noises, so another crisis has been averted

The Tree Canopy Walkway at Kirstenbosch

The Tree Canopy Walk has opened at Kirstenbosch and I went to try it out today. It was a beautiful mild day, well suited to a gentle stroll around these magnificent botanical gardens with an elderly friend, and it seems that Cape Town is full of tourists at the moment enjoying all that we have to offer. Although perhaps it could have been a little more obviously signposted, we eventually reached the foot of the 'Boomslang' as it has been named. It became apparent why as the structure snaked up into the treetops, its layout and fencing reminiscent of the ribcage of this snake which inhabits trees in search of its next meal.

We were warned that the Boomslang would move as we walked along it and assured that it had been engineered to do that and it was part of the design. As I took my first steps, I could immediately feel the very slight movement, and my friend clung to the handrail somewhat nervously, as she is not steady on her feet at the best of times. I would say that anyone who is prone to motion sickness might find themselves a little queasy, particularly if there are lots of people on the walkway, and as you reach the central curve, the movement is probably all of six inches.

At the middle section it is fairly high from the ground, but there is absolutely no chance of falling off. The views across the Cape Flats to the mountains beyond will be marvellous on a clear day, but there was a bush fire somewhere causing pollution today and not much in the way of views. I didn't see any birds, but then they would possibly have been chased away by the boisterous crowd enjoying the novelty, and I'm sure on a quieter day there would be plenty to see. The aloes are at their best at the moment, and sunbirds abound.

At just over 100m, the Boomslang is just right for its purpose, although I did overhear a young American girl say she wanted it to go all round the garden!

Striking up a conversation

I love striking up a conversation with strangers, particularly in queues. Today I had to go into the bank to open up a call account - a sub-account of a main account, in my mind - and thought it would take no time at all. There were two counters open, both occupied, and two people before me in the queue. The customers appeared to be sorting out their financial affairs rather than making a quick dash into the bank for some petty query, and it was 45 minutes before it was my turn to hog the chair. As I waited on the queuing bench, I chatted to the man on the left and the woman on the right. A young woman entered the bank and walked straight over to a third consultant who had just seated herself at the desk. Well, if looks could kill! The lady next to me gave her such a piercing stare that it obviously burned a hole in the back of her head and she quickly scuttled into her rightful place at the end of the queue, suitably subdued. When it was my turn, I went over to consultant number three, who told me she didn't open accounts and I must see one of the other two. Back to the bench! Lady on the right swanned over to consultant number three and the atmosphere on the bench lightened considerably. Did I mention she was a large lady?

At last it was my turn and I sat at the desk while a personable young man bashed away at the keyboard at a speed to rival the perfect private secretary, and it still took nearly 30 minutes of frenetic tapping to make all the entries required to open a simple account. It did occur to me that perhaps 80% of the tapping was on the backspace key to fix the errors, but as he hummed a little tune to himself the whole while I felt it would be churlish to think such thoughts. In between the humming, there was even time for a little chitchat on the length Eventually all was done, and a mountain of paperwork (despite all the key bashing) spewed out of the printer and multiple signatures were applied. But my goal for the day was achieved and I left a satisfied customer.

Turning straight into the coffee shop next door to revive myself after the ordeal, I found the three tables already occupied, but a young woman asked my to take a seat as she tapped away on the keys of her phone. Once that was over and I was enjoying an excellent coffee, we struck up a conversation and in no time I had convinced her that she should definitely buy the red flowery mug that she just loved on the shelf next to us. If we don't spoil ourselves, who will? I asked and two more women joined in to continue that conversation. By the time we left the shop, we were almost planning a reunion.

Rushing into PnP to buy cat litter for new kitty, I ended up in the queue (from a choice of about 12) next to the man who I sat next to earlier, and so we had a quick recap of our experience in the bank, before finally heading in opposite directions.

Queuing is so much less onerous if you take the trouble to share your boredom with someone else!

Looking forward to another new kitty

Mango Kitty grows every day and continues to run up my leg, although not quite so often. She makes good use of her scratching post and loves all her toys, but can now climb up onto anything. She particularly likes to sit in front of the computer and tap the keys, or chase tennis players' shoes on the TV screen.

Since her last escapade up a tree where she poked her eye and was out there for 3 hours, she has been quite cautious and we have kept her inside but now take her out on a lead until she is better able to look after herself. Our main concern is that she climbs over the wall or falls into the well or even worse, is taken by a raptor. I think she is past the stage of the latter now.

Any day now we will be giving a home to her brother, a black kitty, and so it will be double trouble, but I have to say I can't wait, as we had a brother and sister pair for 20 years and things just haven't been the same since they died at the end of 2012 within a few months of each other. A home without a cat is somehow empty - their presence can be cuddly or disdainful, but they are independent and self-cleaning, which makes them ideal pets! They also make good hot water bottles in winter, and will usually come and sit on your lap if you are feeling sad or ill. 

Every cat has its own distinctive personality, and I look forward to introducing the new member of the family to you. He will be as spoilt (although I don't believe in that word applying to pets) as all our other cats were.

Our English Adventure #6

Things were very different for us when it came to school in Plymouth. First of all, everyone had started a year before us and so we went into classes a year ahead of what we had been doing. Secondly, Alison had not written an 11+ exam because we didn't do them and so could not go to a grammar school. Despite her teachers being adamant that she was wasting her time at the secondary modern and was far too capable for the standards there, nothing could be done to buck the system. However, I doubt whether she was too fussed, as everything was really only temporary in the greater scheme of things.

Gillian and I went to a primary school, Hyde Park, an old building that had been used as a hospital during the war and I recall many lessons taking place in what could only be called a garret under the eaves of the roof. The toilets were outside the main building on the other side of the tarred playground and were literally 'outside' with little protection from the elements. Here we learned English history, sewing and how to sing via radio broadcasts. It was very strange to sit in front of a speaker and hear the man giving singing lessons when he couldn't hear us! We learned old sea shanties and traditional songs, some of which I remember to this day. I still have the sampler I made at the age of 8 and remember how I struggled to do the stitching as a left-hander. There wasn't much sympathy for us in those days! The results were surprisingly neat, considering I had never done any sewing before.

I have to say that I really loathed that school - I found it primitive compared to back home, which was the most puzzling thing. We thought we were heading to the seat of our culture and background, and were sorely disappointed in what we found. I struggled to understand why the children thought my parents must be missionaries or why they kept asking if we had lions in our gardens. Of course there were no computers or cellphones with handy photographs to show people where you came from and what home looked like, and I was far too young to enter into any kind of deep discussion, so I tended not to make friends and was happy to go straight home after school. Home was a place of big sky and beaches and mountains and certainly not rain. So things were a bit tough for an 8-year-old who was missing her old school.

But the exciting things we did on weekends and in holidays more than made up for school, which was, as I say, a temporary thing.

The natural beauty of the Cape

The mountain dahlia is in full bloom on the mountains of the Cape Peninsula and the same one that has been clinging to a cliff on Ou Kaapse Weg for countless years - at least 20 - looked splendid this morning, with at least 15 blooms on it. I don't think it sees much sun in that position, but it has flourished nevertheless. The wild grasses on the verge, back-lit by the winter sun, gleam purple-bronze, waved gently in the slipstream of the traffic. Proteas and sugarbushes are resplendent with green-white flowers tinged with a pink blush to attract the long-tailed sugarbirds to feed on their nectar.

As I crested the pass, the view stretching before me was, as always, astounding. Row after row of mountain peaks resembling a dragon's back faded into the distance, each layer a paler hue of the previous one. Only the crisp air of winter reveals the entire topography of the Western Cape in breathtaking detail; summer's haze makes it all but disappear.

By the time I had decided to take a photograph, it was too late and the top hairpin had already been negotiated. Ah well! I'll just have to drive over again!

Our English Adventure #5

One of the things that stands out particularly in my memory of the voyage and our first few days in Blighty was seeing a television set for the first time. Back home I think it was considered an unnecessary evil because we only got the gogglebox in SA in 1976 (19 years after Mongolia) and even then Dad waited a few years before succumbing. As the ship came within range of television reception (I suspect it must have been once we had cleared the tempestuous Bay of Biscay), a set appeared in the lounge and passengers could look at a rather poor black-and-white picture to acclimatise to in-home entertainment.

We watched again during our brief stay in the two hotels in Plymouth (Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men comes to mind). Although the house in Brandreth Rd was fully furnished (apart from heaters), we had to hire a TV and it wasn't long before we were rushing home to watch Blue Peter, Dr Who and Tales from Europe. I was so frightened of the Daleks (who wasn't?) and we used to play games where we would glide about silently pointing one arm in front of us and when we spotted an 'enemy' we would intone "I am a Dalek! I will exterminate you!" Scary stuff!

Tales from Europe I found particularly traumatic and I have never recovered from the series where the dwarf (poor man had been cast as a troll) lived under a ruined bridge. It has taken many years to get over that phobia. One forgets how impressionable children can be.

Although we probably spent a good deal of time in front of the gogglebox, which I attribute to the poor weather, I can't say I look too enchanted in the photo of us below!

Hadedas happy in habitat

An untidy flock of hadedas flew over this morning. There must have been 30 of them, the largest group I have ever seen, which means that breeding is successful and we can anticipate an enormous increase in the population. They migrated from the Eastern and Southern Cape, apparently as a result of the proliferation of golf estates along the coastline. Their preferred foraging area is a nice clear piece of ground with lots of bugs and worms, which the fairways of golf courses provide in ample acreage.

On reaching the Cape, they must have thought they were in paradise, but as golf courses close down due to lack of membership or through the maintenance costs being prohibitively expensive and not capable of being covered by membership fees, and open fields shrinking to the point of non-existence due to another type of migration, these birds are now resorting to inhabiting urban gardens.

I often leap a foot off the ground when I round a corner and a hadeda flaps squawking from behind the shrubbery. It's enough to give me heart failure. The dogs have given up chasing them because they probably find that huge beak too intimidating (quite apart from Susie not being able to see them anymore) and so they are able to forage unhindered. There can surely not be an earthworm left in my garden or those blind worms that give me the heebies when I dig them up with a garden fork and they writhe as if in agony as they hurriedly bury themselves again. I can't say I will miss those, as I have always had a fear that I will chop them in half with a spade because they are underground - ugh! But if they get rid of cut worms and snails they may stay.

It is said that the hadeda's raucous call is linked to a fear of flying and certainly if you observe their random and untidy flight, it is not beyond the bounds of belief!

Our English Adventure #4

5a Brandreth Rd was a new experience for us all. We had the upstairs, with the entrance hall at the back down a flight of stairs and road access via a cobbled lane. Underneath us, in the ground floor flat, lived a young Royal Naval officer and his wife, a nurse, and I remember spending many afternoons in her kitchen, chatting to her while she made tea before her husband came home. I don’t recall what we talked about, but perhaps she was a replacement for the old couple who lived next door back home in Clovelly, who I also spent a lot of time with. Egg and chips was often on the menu. Many years later, they emigrated to New Zealand and came to visit us in Clovelly when they stopped at Cape Town.

We all shared a room at home, and so the prospect of having her own room was a source of great excitement for Alison.  We soon realised that the house had absolutely no heating system except for two contraptions which heated bricks in off-peak hours (middle of the night when no-one was up) and I can only think their purpose was to ensure that the place didn’t get so cold that we froze to death in the night. A one-bar infrared heater on the wall in the bathroom enabled us to keep water flowing from the taps. Coming from a warm climate where heating is seldom required even in midwinter, the severe cold was an unwelcome experience and we must have worn many layers of clothing just to survive. The ‘cosy’ room Alison had occupied with such enthusiasm was actually built outside the main house above the entrance hall and was the coldest place at any given time. She acquired chilblains during the six months we stayed there and has never recovered completely.

Another unfortunate event took place on board ship, during a games afternoon arranged between the First Class and Tourist Class children (I suspect to give us someone to play with – they weren’t allowed into First Class). Alison’s finger was trapped between the rope and a metal support holding up the roof during the tug-of-war, and was broken. The ship’s doctor, who apparently had a more pressing affair to occupy his interest, set the finger in an L-shape, and so she had to go to the Plymouth hospital to have it broken again and re-set, followed by lengthy physiotherapy. I doubt that today’s treatment is so laborious. So her memories of that time are somewhat on the jaundiced side.

It was a revelation to us that there could be rows and rows of houses all attached to each other, with different families living on each floor. We had come from the relative space and freedom of a seaside town and it was not easy to adjust to this new way of life, particularly when you are only 8 years old. The daylight hours were few and sunshine almost a thing of the past, and as for the rain…

Sharp showers

Short, sharp showers are currently the order of the day in Cape Town. Dawn brought a spectacular display of pink and orange clouds casting their peachy glow over the Peninsula and sending everyone who had an opportunity and a camera to vantage points where they could capture the moment for posterity. We had to be quick - even 10 minutes made a difference to the quality of the light - and I have to confess that if I wasn't posting my regular Good Morning from Cape Town photo, I wouldn't have gone outside and would have missed this soul-restoring scene:

 As an avid cloud watcher (some people watch birds, I watch clouds), I knew that these clouds would bring heavy rain in brief spurts, and I wasn't disappointed. It's a very convenient type of rain - you can watch the cloud approach and judge whether it will rain over the place you want to be. You can rush outside to fetch the washing off the line as it approaches and go back out to re-hang it not five minutes later.

As you drive along the road, the sun blazes down on you and then you ride into a curtain of rain, swooshing through a flood with wipers on double speed before emerging on the other side a kilometre or two later, where the road is bone dry. You can dash from shop to shop between showers without so much as batting a raindrop off your eyelid. It certainly is preferable to in interminable drizzle.

I'm told the reflections cast by these clouds on the wet sand at Long Beach were a sight to behold and hope that someone's photos will make their way onto the social media for us all to admire and enjoy.

Our English Adventure #3

The ship berthed at Southampton at midday. It was 1964 and the stevedores were on strike, and so we had to stay on board for hours until our luggage could be taken off and we eventually disembarked at the end of the day. Waiting at the foot of the gangplank was another naval officer, who had been waiting since midday for his winter uniform which Dad had undertaken to bring from Cape Town so that he didn't need to have a new one tailored. You can imagine he was slightly annoyed at the wait, but we eventually ended up as good friends and remain so to this day. That was our first experience of a British labour strike.

We were met by a Royal Navy petty officer who put us and the luggage in a 'tilly' - a kind of panel van - and took us to the station. There we were deposited on the platform, Mom, Dad and three young children in a strange land with just a train ticket to Plymouth. We were now on our own. An uneventful train ride took us to Plymouth at 10pm, where it was dark. We only had a few pounds on us and had no idea of its worth - the rest was Rands - no assistance for us in those days, you had to learn by your own experience! Dad hailed a taxi and asked for a reasonable hotel, and soon we were in front of a place which would have to do. Our rooms were on opposite sides of the passage and the whole place smelled of gas - Mom was up all night checking to see that her daughters were still alive - and the next day we left the dingy place in search of more suitable accommodation.

Next stop was a bright and airy hotel overlooking Plymouth Hoe. Lawns spread out before us, with the sea beyond - almost like home - and we explored the seafront, reading about the Spanish Armada and how Sir Francis Drake had spotted it from the very place we were standing. How marvellous to be in a place of such antiquity and history! Meanwhile, Dad went off to work - no settling in - and his first task was to find somewhere for us to live. Two days later, we packed up again and piled into a taxi, which took us to a row of terraced houses in a place called Mannamead. (I looked it up on Google today and it is shown as one of the most desirable areas of Plymouth today. I have no idea how it was regarded in the 60s!) The photo below is of the house we lived in and a view of the interior, prompted by some rare sunshine.

We were now officially living in England!

Wide awake

Drat! The full moon is keeping me awake again. It's not shining through the window onto my face or anything, it's just being full moon. Many people are affected by the full moon, especially relating to their sleep patterns. Perhaps it's a throwback to ancient times when people had ceremonies linked to the full moon, taking advantage of the ability to see clearly throughout the night without artificial light, and some deeply rooted gene is remembering that we used to stay up all night.

Perhaps the liquid which makes up the majority of the human body is unsettled as it feels the extra pull of the moon, like spring tide in the ocean. Even the underground fresh water aquifers feel the pull of the moon and rise closer to the surface at this time.

Perhaps it is just the mind telling me that I am affected by the full moon and so I am; after all, what we imagine is what comes about.

Perhaps it's the delicious roast pork dinner I had that is sitting heavy in my stomach, too rich for the body to digest in a somnolent state.

Methinks it is the latter.

Our English Adventure #2

The Union-Castle Line operated the mailships which plied between Southampton, England, and Durban,South Africa, via Las Palmas - one left every week, ensuring a regular postal service which took about 12 days. The Capetown Castle (that was the official spelling of the ship's name) was built in 1938 (27000 tons - not very big) and launched by Mrs JD Louw, wife of the mayor of Cape Town at the time. It was therefore already pretty old when we set sail on her, but as I said, through the eyes of a child cosmetic appearance means nothing and experience is everything. I wasn't a very good sailor and spent at least the first day on my bunk, but once I got my sea legs, there was no holding me back from enjoying every aspect of the voyage.

The ship called in at Las Palmas for a day to take on and offload mail and presumably some supplies, and passengers could spend time ashore. We set off to explore the town and one of the first stops was to buy curios - at least I can remember choosing a little Spanish dancer in her beautiful flamenco gown perched on a stool with a guitar, as you will see from the pictures below. Here we are walking through the main street, which looks remarkably like Woodstock Main Road today, and I can recall that the taxis drove without any regard for the rules of the road, much like everywhere else in the world, even today. Perhaps they feel a little adrenalin rush will enhance the experience for their passengers. Although you can't see me, I know that the socks and shoes are mine, as we were always well turned out. The taller girl was another passenger.

I am proudly showing off my newly acquired Spanish dancer doll in the picture above, as we stand overlooking the beach at Las Palmas, and the one below is of her 50 years later!

The flat seas around the Canary Islands did little to prepare us for the stormy Bay of Biscay, where the ship rolled and pitched to such an extent that many of the passengers took to their bunks, and it wasn't the best way to end a voyage which had been one of the most exciting experiences of our short lives so far. But soon we would be landing on the shores of a foreign land and a little seasickness was quickly forgotten as the port of Southampton hove into view.

Our English Adventure (1964) #1

On a sunny winter's day in 1964, when I was just a kid, the Union-Castle Mailship Cape Town Castle sailed from Table Bay, bearing the Barnes family across the sea to their English Adventure.

 
Father was sent on a course in England, and as it would last for 2 years, the family went too, lock, stock and barrel. We left tenants in our home in Clovelly, with Granny in charge (in the downstairs flat) and the neighbours looking after the garden. I still remember the military green VW Kombi that came to collect us to take us through to Cape Town to board the ship, and also going through the customs shed and out onto the quay and up the gangplank. All very low key and primitive by today's standards, I am sure, but still a source of wonder and excitement to an 8-year-old!

As one of only a handful of children in First Class, we had the most marvellous time, hardly seeing our parents at all during the 2-week voyage! I can only imagine they must also have had the most marvellous time. We spent our days in the playroom, where there was supervision and organised activity. As far as I remember, I spent a great part of the voyage on the back of a large and very realistic rocking horse!

Children ate separately from the adults in a dining room with round brass portholes, and during a particularly rough passage, water came gushing through these, and the sailors had to rush to close them. There was an indoor swimming pool, salt water, in the bowels of the ship, which was rather horrible and I don't recall swimming in it, but in the rough seas, the water would swish up and down from one end to the other in a very alarming manner!

The best times were when we were outside on the deck, where we could run around and play deck quoits and lie in the deckchairs. In equatorial waters we would hang over the railings and look for flying fish and the Crossing the Line ceremony involved King Neptune and a number of mermaids. If we'd had digital cameras back then, you would be looking at the video now, but imagination will have to suffice.

The ship had its own particular smell and as a small child, I thought it was a behemoth of the seas, but in actual fact, I think it was probably a lot smaller than the average cruise ship these days. It didn't have stabilisers and sometimes the going was pretty rough, particularly through the Bay of Biscay, but it was an experience of a lifetime, and it played no small part in our broader education on life.

Instant recall

Photographs have a wonderful way of jogging the memory and enabling us to recall long-ago events and experiences. Perhaps that is why, in the event of a fire, it is said that photographs are the things that should be saved first. Nowadays, with everything being digital and stored in cloud computers or scattered around via social media, flash drives, etc., there is little need for panic in that area. In fact, we possibly have so many photos now that it would be better to only keep the really meaningful ones and go back to using our minds for recall.

Some years back, we girls made a disc of all the photos Dad took from when we quite young, which he had in slide form. Alison projected the slides onto a white wall, took digital photos and stored them on the computer, distributing copies to all concerned. It cost absolutely nothing to recapture these photos from our past, and the quality couldn't be better. So if you have old slides that you want to convert to digital, this is the way to go.

Of course, when saving them to a folder on the computer, pressing the wrong button means that they get saved somewhere where you cannot retrieve them. I am referring to myself here. I have been searching for years for the place I stored them, and late last night eventually worked out that they were hidden in a folder totally unrelated to the subject - it was like opening a filing cabinet, taking out a folder, finding three smaller folders inside and then inside one of those was the folder where I stored the photos. Talk about technologically challenged!

It all seems so obvious in retrospect and I have learned more about folders and files, and how to use them to best advantage - exactly as old filing systems worked. In my days as a private secretary, I always took pride in the fact that I could always retrieve a letter with maximum efficiency, and all I have to do is learn how to file on a computer to achieve the same results.

The first task is to delete the unnecessary photos - I currently have more than 10 000 photos on my notebook computer and many are duplicated on the PC. This could keep me out of trouble for years!

Technologically challenged and ready to do damage

I freely admit that when it comes to the wiring of computers and their accoutrements, I am severely technically challenged. I have bought the new modem, and had it set up by the technician in the shop, who assured me that I would just have to plug it in and it would work. The Telkom man connected everything and showed me that I would just have to plug the phone line into the splitter. It all seemed so simple.

I connected it as instructed - there were no spare holes to plug into - and of course I still have no internet. The wireless connection is there, as always, but the ADSL connection still does not exist. Back to the drawing board. Phone Telkom who say that although the fault which I logged in the week had been confirmed by them as fixed (as I also assumed, the man having worked on the line for 45 mins yesterday), they could see that there was no ADSL connection and they would work on it straight away. Does this mean it was not the modem that was faulty? Have I been fooled into wasting R1 000?

I phoned the man who did the installation of the modem at the shop and he told me that my service provider must have changed the username and password. How on earth did he come to that conclusion? Why would they even think of doing that when they didn't have any reason to? Anyway, I get an sms from Telkom to say they have now fixed the ADSL line and I must confirm that it is working. It's not. So I phone MWeb where I can barely understand what the woman is saying due to her very heavy accent (English is not her first language) but whatever she was saying was not progressing the problem and she got cut off anyway so that was a complete waste of time.

So I still have no ADSL connection. No one is able to help me fix the problem because communication is impossible. Do I have to pay a computer expert to come to my house to do the connection? Why was I told by everyone that I would just have to plug it in? Is it possible that I am a Complete Idiot? Am I the only one who doesn't know how to fix these problems? When is it going to be sorted out and by whom?

If anyone out there has anything in the slightest bit useful to say, please do so.

Chit chatter

Our first good rains of winter have soaked into the soil, bringing renewed life to the garden and much singing from the birds. The sea is rough and tumbling and the roar blots out any other sounds - not that there is much else down this end of Kommetjie. It's either birds or the sea. With it has come a sharp drop in temperature and coats are now the order of the day, together with socks and closed shoes.

The dogs don't enjoy the rain when they have to go out into the garden for toilet duties, and I can't say I do either, particularly in the dark of morning or late at night. If only they could use litter trays! Mango Kitty wasn't impressed by the rain either and rushed back inside as soon as the first drop hit her. Another new experience for her. She is double the size she was when we got her, although still small, and there is no end to her curiosity and love of exploration. Her favourite game is to tap Susie on the head while she is trying to sleep - it doesn't amuse Susie very much, particularly as she can't see the new addition to the pet family. She also likes to run underneath Monty who gets quite grumpy about it and snaps and mumbles to himself at the cheek of it. It won't be long before she is too big to do that, but I'm sure she'll find some other way to tease him.

The leg climbing persists. This morning the Telkom man came to fix the phone line - reconnected the landline after a year and a half, connected the fax and told me the modem needed to be replaced (:() (will do that tomorrow), and Mango ran up his leg, attaching herself quite firmly with her claws. He didn't really know what to do - I suppose it's not the sort of thing that usually happens on house calls - and as I am so used to seeing her run up my own legs, I didn't react as quickly as I should have. I prised her off and I think he worked at double quick time after that to make sure he could leave as soon as possible. A different slant on a guard dog.

The week has drawn to an end and with it, at last, these interminable public holidays - 7 in a month - which contributes so much to the lack of productivity here. It's poor at the best of times, but any excuse to get paid for doing nothing... The worst part about them was never knowing whether it was the weekend or just another holiday.

The elections are finally over and hopefully the posters will be removed from our street lights so that we don't have to look at those faces any more. It all gets rather tedious. The only good thing about the results is that it looks like the ANC are on the downhill trail, which can only be of benefit to South Africa in the long run. I will leave it at that.

Technical tizz!

With multiple technical breakdowns in the broadband, microwave and radio wave fields at home over the last view days, it is a miracle I am able to sit here and tap at the keys. My frame of mind has been bordering on panic attack (according to my daughter), but to me, a complete lack of self-control in the temper department. Anyone who really knows anything about me will know that maintaining equilibrium at all times is of utmost importance to me, but the sight of the knot of wiring connecting the computer, fax machine and phone line is enough to send my blood pressure into orbit, particularly when I am trying to either disconnect them all or, even worse, trying to reconnect in the correct order.

I have to realise that not having access to continuous contact with the outside world is not important in the greater scheme of things, but somehow the lack of ADSL blows everything out of proportion. If it weren't for the facility of wi-fi at the local coffee shop and current use of my (very expensive) data bundle on my cell phone, I wouldn't have been able to execute a number of vital business functions today. But now that I have done them, I can relax a bit and spend a few minutes bashing out this blog. It's something I've got used to doing and I feel incomplete if I haven't sent something out into the ether at least once a day!

I'm going to spend a lot of time reading this weekend - it doesn't require an internet connection or any form of electrical equipment. I'll just have to hope my eyes hold out!

Here's a calming picture to enjoy!

Active ants

Word has it that we can expect very heavy rains in July here in Cape Town and warnings have been issued for all gutters and drains to be cleared well ahead of that time to minimise flooding. The bush telegraph has apparently spread news of this inclement weather to the local ant population, and in anticipation (sorry) of massive disruption to their daily lives, they appear to be digging bunkers under the brick paving. Vast amounts of sand are being excavated, veritable mountains in ant terms, and I once again marvel at their industry and perseverance when shifting material many times their own size or weight.

It is rather disconcerting to observe these heaps, all with a central ‘plughole’ to show the entrance to the bunkers, appearing all over the garden, the bricks, the gravel driveway, flowerbeds, the lawn. There must be billions of them at work underground and, having a wooden house with lovely warm gaps between the inner and outer walls, I fear the worst when thinking how nice it would be for them to live there for the winter. Perhaps plans are well under way for their arrival – I must listen in the still of the night for sounds of marching!

I can’t wait to see what they will carry into the bunkers once they have made sufficient space for living and storing food for the winter. I really hope it’s not going to involve a long line to my pantry!

Not a good day!

What a day it’s been! It started off with the ADSL going on the blink yesterday afternoon, so this morning my priority was to go to the coffee shop to use their wi-fi, as I needed to check my emails, etc. You can’t run a business or two from home without internet access, not to mention my daily weather report on Facebook and my blog! Last night I phoned Telkom from my cellphone (land line another story altogether) and waited for 40 minutes before I finally got through to an operator, then 10 minutes trying to fix it with no luck. That cost me R200 in airtime. I remembered I could use one of my cellphones as a modem, so plugged that into my laptop and managed to download an email or two then saw to my dismay that the third one had an attachment of 13MB and quickly pulled that plug. That cost me R100 in airtime. What a disaster, considering I usually only use R150 in a month with normal usage.

So with the help of the free wi-fi, I downloaded the document, saved it on a flashdrive and went to the post shop to print it out. When I got home, I found that everything except my photographs had been deleted from the flashdrive – movies, music, downloads, bah! Who knows what happened there.

Made for the mall where I used Telkom’s free line (they answer immediately, no waiting for 40 minutes – I recommend it to everyone) and they said a technician would call me. As a backup, I bought R100 data bundle for my phone as it is much cheaper than airtime – talk about closing the stable door after the horse has bolted! I get home, plug the phone in and the computer won’t recognise the device. After much whinging and whining, the obvious occurred to me and I switched everything off and started again. Success! Downloaded some more emails, checked blog stats and Facebook.

I then turned my attention to a little housework and took a load of washing down the garden, where the wonderful sight of a hole in the fence, multiple attempts to dig its way out and all my beautiful spinach in tatters revealed that the dratted porcupine has once again decided to raid. The vegetable patch is in ruins (I almost took a picture yesterday, it was looking so good – and even considered picking the largest spinach leaves for dinner), and the compost heap has had a good going over. So it seems my dreams of an organic supply of home grown vegetables are never going to happen. It also bit open two packets of eco-friendly snail bait and scattered it everywhere, obviously not finding it to its taste. I tried to plug the hole in the fence but don’t hold out much hope there. My big concern is the dogs. They won’t be allowed out at night alone.

An owl ate something on the bamboo roof of the deck last night. I only realised this when I saw the mess on the table – it must have been a mouse as there were no feathers anywhere. Well crunched up – I hope it doesn’t make a habit of it, or if it does, it must at least roost there in the daytime so I can enjoy looking at it. Alternatively, it could have been the red chested sparrowhawk that has been hunting here every day, which is just as exciting but not while Mango Kitty is still so small.

Mango Kitty slipped off the edge of the deck and managed to grab the beam underneath where she was trapped. Fortunately we saw her slip and rushed to her rescue, but as I bent to lean over the edge, I cracked my head a terrible shot on the railing and saw stars for a long time.

It’s been an eventful day. But there is hot water in the shower, petrol in the car and food in the fridge, so I wouldn’t want you to think I have anything really important to complain about!!

Snapping away

Yesterday we had some spectacular swells off Kommetjie. After a prolonged period of mirror-like seas, it was invigorating to spend time at the rocks, watching the plumes of spray creating aerial art as the swells moved across the reefs that surround Kommetjie. A photographer was there with an incredibly fancy looking camera with a lens about 2 feet long, and I felt slightly embarrassed to be standing alongside him, clicking away randomly with my little cellphone, not even a smart phone! However, this phone takes all my photos and is of a standard not to be sneezed at, having a Zeiss lens, and its only fault is that the zoom feature is not great.

When I think back to the time of film, and how careful we had to be about every picture we took as we only had 12 or 36 frames available and then had to wait a few days for the film to be developed before we could see if they had been successful, it is easy to understand why we click away almost continually these days. Digital photography has enabled us to capture every last detail of every significant moment of our lives, even to the extent that we can make movies at the touch of a finger. How many of us have only a handful of photos of ourselves and our families when we were kids? The odd posed shot of us playing on the beach on a family holiday, or a lion under a faraway tree on a visit to the Kruger Park? Faded photos lying in the back of a drawer are the sum total of most of those memories.

I currently have more than 10 000 photos on my little notebook computer. Ok, on the chip in the notebook computer! Such a thing seemed inconceivable not too many years ago, and now they are also stored in a cloud computing system in case my computer crashes. For me, the inconceivable thing is trying to imagine where exactly all this information is. It's not physically anywhere, is it? But its storage depends on electricity, as far as I am aware, and this brings up the subject of what happens when the lights go out? There is no way to retrieve it then.

We would, I believe, in case of a fire, grab our photographs first. Perhaps we need to print those which are really, really important to us in case of loss of power? It may be an interesting exercise in de-cluttering!

An indoor day, kind of

The first blustery, rainy day of true autumn sent me scuttling straight for the recipe books - what else is there to do if you can't be outside? It's the perfect opportunity for curry and luckily I had all the ingredients in the store cupboard for my old favourite, a Malay recipe which is more fragrant than spicy, although I do enjoy a real gut-burner from time to time. The only disadvantage of making your curry from scratch and not using curry powder is that most mouthfuls are punctuated by the distinctive taste of a clove, or a piece of cassia bark or that ultimate horror, biting through a cardamom! That always seems to be reserved for the last mouthful and stays with you for a long time!

I also relented and made the first hot pudding of the season - apple crumble. Having run out of flour - I very seldom use it these days - I hotfooted up to the deli, where they only had non-GMO (fantastic find!) stoneground, unbleached flour from a family concern out near Caledon. So local is definitely lekker! It was R36 for 2.5kg which I thought was a bargain given its properties. It should last for most of winter at the rate I use flour.

A trip to the fleamarket at Muizenberg yielded excellent results yet again - my favourite coffee at R35 less than the shops! Pie dishes at 1/6 of the retail price. Razor blades, deodorant, shampoo and make-up, all sealed and within sell by dates, vastly cheaper than normal. A very fresh north-westerly was blowing down from the Peninsula mountain chain, flapping the awnings and makeshift shelters that the traders use, and it wasn't long before they were dismantling everything and calling it a day. Those who had sturdy canvas tents sat very comfortably, hardly noticing the bad weather, and it seems that their example should be followed if traders want to make a living out in the open. Needless to say, the ice cream van didn't bother to turn up!

As usual, the sun has come out just before it sets. I don't think we ever have a day in Cape Town where the sun doesn't peep out at least once. As my grandmother used to say, all you need is a patch of blue sky big enough to make a sailor a pair of trousers, and it means the weather is clearing.

Rumours of rain

It is said, by the ubiquitous 'they', that we will experience heavy rains in July and must ensure that drains, gutters and other waterways are cleared before the floods arrive. We don't have any drains on our side of the road here in Kommetjie and so the river that flows down the road leading down from the mountainside has free access to the sea via our property. It rushes across the road and through what we laughingly call 'The Hedge' but which is in fact a copse of myrtle (trimming it became such a mammoth task many years ago that we just gave up!), down the driveway, under the gate where it gathers in a courtyard, goes underneath the garage doors, seeps under the side fence and over the bricks, then forms a river through the flowerbeds, taking what we, once again laughingly, call 'soil' into the neighbour's plot.

Over the years, the roots of all the plants on that side of the garden have become exposed and I regularly have to replenish it with soil bought from outside or from other places in the garden where I may have done a little, again laughingly, 'landscaping'.

About 15 years ago, the council brought an excavator and dug a trench to divert the water from our driveway and that worked well for years, and it is definitely time to see if they still offer such a service. The neighbours have a similar problem except that the water flows underneath their front door, and they have dumped two lines of soil across the front of their property to see if that will work.

Perhaps I should suggest stormwater drains. The whole road has a problem, if the homemade dykes we see are anything to go by. I'll give it a try.

A kitty exploring the world

Life with Mango Kitty is definitely getting easier in the leg-climbing department. Now that she has had her injections she is allowed outside (under supervision, being a baby, and to ensure that she doesn't chew on anything poisonous). Her favourite activity, unsurprisingly, is to run up the milkwood tree, and she makes her way to the very limit of weight bearing, which is nearly as far as the leafy part forming the canopy. There has been a lot of slipping and sliding and clinging desperately with her little legs, but she is learning fast.

As you can see, a milkwood tree is 'empty' inside - or bare of leaves - and the side shoots die off and eventually fall to the ground, leaving interestingly gnarled and shaped limbs stretching out into an umbrella-like canopy of leaves. With careful pruning, a cave can be formed underneath and provide marvellous shade for plants such as clivias and bromeliads, brunfelsia and impatiens. I call it my zen garden, as the tree blocks out the breeze and outside noises to a large extent, and there are always little birds hopping in the branches. A very peaceful place to sit quietly with a book.

Mango knocked off lots of the dead twigs and did some natural pruning, giving us plenty of kindling for the braai, and at least she won't poke her eyes out now. Her first observation of a bird was interesting - she was immediately on the alert and crouched instinctively, not moving a whisker. Fascinating to watch her discover the world. Every plant and stone is of interest to her and she dashes around like a lunatic, then hides behind a pot plant before leaping out at some insect she has spotted.

The best thing about all this exercise is that it exhausts her and she sleeps for hours before the next session! What a furry bundle of joy!