In memoriam

Over the years, on my many visits to Kirstenbosch, I would sit on the bench along the pathway leading to the Otter Pond, near the sundial, and gaze out enraptured with my surroundings and particularly the view across to the far mountains. I sat on that particular bench because it 'belongs' to Great Uncle Norman and Great Aunt Louis and bears a plaque in remembrance of them. As time has passed, the trees and new vegetation have obscured the view, but it still remains my favourite bench. Soon a new plaque will be fixed to the backrest, to be read and wondered about by others who come to sit in quiet contemplation in these gardens. Mom and Dad loved Kirstenbosch and were longstanding members of the Botanical Society, which enabled them to access the gardens at a very reasonable rate and keep up to date on related matters. Our garden at home was filled with indigenous plants bought at the annual sale and more recently from the well-stocked nursery.
Yesterday I passed by the gates, after a good hike at the foot of Table Mountain, and my reluctance to go back to mundane chores on such a glorious autumn day in Cape Town easily twisted my steering wheel in the right direction and I decided to combine business with pleasure. The pleasure of course was a little lunch at the tea room. In the old days, this was situated further down the steps where there is now a lawn, and I still remember being taken there for tea and scones as a small child and seeing stuffed antelope heads adorning the walls. I'm not sorry they have gone! I usually have the grilled fish with vegetables and sweet potato chips (a marvellous addition to the menu for those of us that don't eat nightshades) and although the price appears to be adjusted for tourism and is slightly eye-watering for us poor locals, I have to say that the vegetables were varied, perfectly cooked and covered in basil pesto. The fish (previously frozen if my experience can be trusted, but still flaky) was enhanced by a light homemade hollandaise which lifted it above the ordinary. The chips were served in a portion beyond the needs of the human body, but were crisp and delicious even if half had to remain on the plate. So not run-of-the-mill.
Then on to the business of arranging for a plaque to be fixed on the bench. It turned out that the office I needed to be at was way over at the top of the Camphor Avenue on the other side of the gardens, and so I set off down hill and up dale, quite a toil after the morning's hike, and I have to say I would have really struggled in the past. But 10 months of dedicated hiking has enabled me to scale undreamed of heights (let's not get carried away here; it's hardly Everest) and I achieved the summit in no time. In less than ten minutes, the friendly and very efficient staff had sorted out all the details and it looks as though we will see Mom and Dad on the bench in a few short weeks.
The gardens are looking beautiful, with lilac, purple and pink plectranthus in swathes under the trees, and I know they will be happy with their place in this natural beauty so beloved by them.

Margaret Barnes (b. West) 14.2.1930 - 5.8.2015

Eric Lancelot Barnes 19.5.1928 - 19.5.2017