Stories: Growing up in Queenstown

GROWING UP IN QUEENSTOWN

A story by Olive Wilson (nee Hartley)

A gust of wind lifted the tent flap, sending a cold current cutting through the steamy air. May shivered and clutched the towel which Sanna had wrapped about her. Sanna glanced up from where she was pouring hot water from a heavy iron pot into a half-filled bath.

"Rub yourself dry, Mis May, make quick," she scolded. "And you, Mis Enid, make quick and get into the bath while the water is yet hot."

Sanna had a peculiar way of expressing herself, often using English, Dutch and Bantu words in the same sentence, as she spoke in a high piercing voice.

Sanna was a skinny, wrinkled, light-skinned Griqua, quite different from the heavier, darker neighbouring tribes. In spite of her stature, she was inordinately strong - she could lift and carry heavy loads with ease, she could chop trees or yoke oxen like a man, and could walk long distances without flagging. Dad said she was like "biltong", tough, all sinew and muscle without a trace of fat.

When the pot was empty, Sanna set it aside and turning towards May, she grabbed the towel and started to rub and pummel. The towel was rough and Sanna's hands were hard. In spite of May's protests, "Ouch, ouch, you are hurting me," Sanna kept up a swift massage. Soon May felt warm, and Sanna pulled a vest and nightie over her head. May made a dash for the door of the tent, heedless of Enid's squeals, "Don't open the door until I am out of the bath."

Across the small grass clearing she scurried to the back of the wagon and was scrambling up, using the break lever as a step, when Dad called, "Get your coat, May, and come sit by the fire, I want to talk to you and Enid."

May reached for her coat hanging on a peg just inside of the wagon tent, then hastily grabbed Enid's coat from the opposite peg. Living space in the wagon was limited and Dad was always preaching. "A place for everything, and everything in its place," he would say. It was hard to remember, and, but for Sanna, the living quarters would have been in a constant muddle.

Jerking on her coat, she skipped to the fireside where Dad was sitting on his old folding chair, carefully pushing a ramrod through a rifle barrel, oiling the wad and repeating the process again and again.

"He is forever cleaning this guns," May thought. "He treats them like precious jewels." When the guns were not in use, they were carefully locked away in a long oblong box which stook below the driver's seat on the wagon and the key was safely tucked into Dad's wallet attached to his heavy belt. May had often wondered what the locked box contained, only to be disappointed when she had by chance seen the contents. There were papers neatly tied in bundles, little bags of stones and sand carefully labelled, a small cash box, three guns - a rifle, a two-barrelled shot-gun and a revolver - a bandolier filled with cartridges and extra boxes of ammunition. Enid joined them at the fire after putting on her coat. She sat toasting her bare feet.

Mommy was sitting opposite Dad in a rickety rocking chair, holding Baby snugly in her arms. Although Baby had been asleep for quite a time, Mommy continued to rock slowly and to gently pat the sleeping child.

"Are you going to tell us a story Daddy?" asked May as soon as Enid was settled.

"No, well, perhaps a sort of story," answered Dad absent-mindedly. He put the rifle down carefully, took up his pipe and plugged it with tobacco, pressing it firmly, then struck match after match until the tobacco glowed as he sucked and blew out clouds of smoke.

"Now, Enid and May," he began solemnly, "I want you to pay attention. Do not interrupt until I have finished talking.

"You have been travelling around with me for two weeks, as you have often done in the past during school holidays. I have enjoyed having you and Mommy and Baby with me, but when school begins, you will have to attend another new school. It is bad for you to be constantly on the move from one school to another, but you know that my work takes me from place to place. I try to find a home for you as close to where I am working as possible. This means that you never stay long enough in one place to call it "home". Your education must suffer.

"May, you are seven years old and you have been to three schools during the last year, while your record, Enid, is even worse.

"You know that I work for a mining company, who send me collecting samples of stones and earth from various places, always looking for banket. I am what you might call a prospector, although I work for a regular salary. Now my company has offered me a long contract..."

"What is a contract Daddy?" interrupted May, who had been trying hard to follow.

"Ssh," Mommy gave May a reminding tap.

"A contract?" Dad answered patiently. "A contract is promising to do my best at the task my employers set me, in return they promise to pay me a certain sum of money regularly for doing this work. This contract will take at least two years; they have given me a map showing places where they want me to collect specimens. These places are widely spread over the Eastern Transvaal. If I leave you in one of the little dorps, I will often be so far away that it will be difficult to reach me."

"Why can't we travel with you in the wagon?" Once again May interrupted.

"Be still," reprimanded Mommy.

Dad knocked the dottle from his pipe and commenced again. "I am trying to explain that you and Enid must go to a permanent school; if you continue chopping and changing you will find yourselves far behind other children of your age."

"Mommy can teach us as we go along," remonstrated May.

"Be quiet, May," scolded Mommy, Dad and Enid together.

Dad resumed. "Mommy and I have been talking over this problem for a long time. We thought of boarding school, but you are so young. We feel you would be happier in a proper home. I wrote to your Grandmother, and she has invited you to live with her and Uncle Tim on the farm for the next two years."

"Two years," wailed May.

"May, do be still," said Dad crossly. "You can ask all the questions you like when I have told you of our plans. We thought that we would take you girls down to the farm. You will love your Grannie, and I know she will be good to you. She will teach you how to be young ladies - here you are growing into young savages."

"We don't eat people," whispered May.

"Not cannibals, silly," said Enid.

"We will try to visit you at the end of a year. Your mother will travel with me. I do not think she will mind that, as she enjoys camping. At the end of two years, we shall see, perhaps I may have a more settled job, and we can all make our home together, as we should do. Mommy and I will write to you often."

Dad paused, and once again May protested, "Oh! Mommy and Daddy don't send us away, we won't see you or Baby for two years."

Dad rose and gently smoothed the top of May's head. We are not sending you willingly, my girl," he said sadly. "We are trying to do what is best for you. What do you think, Enid?"

"I do not know," said Enid thoughtfully. "I can remember Grannie and Uncle Tim. It was nice when we went there on holiday, and it will be nice to be near shops."

In the stillness that followed, each member of the little group sat thinking of the coming separation. The beautiful mountains were darkening; below in the valley lights twinkled from a little village. Dad had ridden to the village that afternoon, and returned bringing newspapers, magazines and the mail. Ever since his return, he and Mommy had been discussing something very seriously. That is when they must have decided to send the girls away.

May looked lovingly at the camp. It looked the same, but it did not feel the same. The big tented wagon stood in a small clearing, one tent was pitched close by to serve as a living-room, bath-room or Dad's office, as required. A second tent pitched further down the slope housed Sanna and Paul. Sanna and Paul were busy outside their tent, where their fire still smouldered. Sanna was adding "mealie-meal" to the meat simmering in the pot. She would stir the mixture with a flat wooden branch, then return to the bath to continue washing clothes.

After May and Enid bathed, Paul helped Sanna carry the half-filled bath to their fireside, where Sanna used the lukewarm water for washing. Water was never wasted in camp. Dad refused to camp on river banks; he insisted on camping on high ground to avoid dampness where midges and mosquitoes flourished. Water was carried to the camp in covered buckets slung across the horses' saddles, but when the river bank was too steep, Paul would hoist two buckets onto a wooden yoke resting on his shoulders and stagger into the camp bent double beneath his load.

In warm weather Enid and May were permitted to bathe in the rivers. Dad always selected a shallow, quiet pool then fired three or four shots into the water to be sure that the pool was free of crocodiles. He would sit patiently, his gun close at hand, while they splashed and played in the water, clad only in their knickers. Often Mommy would join them, and it was such fun. Dad would go swimming in the river almost every day, even in the winter, heedless of Mommy's warnings of crocodiles. When they camped for long spells, the washing was done in a riverside pool, and spread out in the sun to bleach.

Paul was herding the oxen close to camp. He carried a small stick - one tap was enough to turn an ox in the right direction. May was sure Paul could talk to the beasts, whenever he was with the span, he murmured and grunted and the oxen seemed to understand. When they were inspanned, Paul would walk along, flicking his whip and scolding, calling each beast by name.

"Witbooi, Vaalpens, Trek," he would yell.

When the going was tough, he would shout encouragement, and you could see the oxen responding as he called them by name. It was strange, because he seldom spoke to people. When spoken to he would nod and grunt a long "Mmm" for yes or shake his head and murmur "Mm-Mm" for no.

There was so much to see and do when travelling by ox-wagon. There were birds everywhere, and Dad could tell wonderful stories about their habits or where to look for nests. Dad knew everything about the country: he could name the trees, he knew which berries one could eat, he could spot wild animals in the bush when no-one else could. Dad explained "camouflage", a difficult word for being able to hide. They often saw buck or warthog when travelling. Dad said there were no more lions in these parts, but leopards could still be a danger. That was why the oxen were brought close to the camp at night. Dad had a little fox-terrier, who, with Paul's skinny yellow mongrel, kept watch. If the dogs set up a sudden barking, Dad would leap from the wagon with his gun at the ready. Often he would fire a couple of shots to frighten intruders. Sometimes warthogs visited the camp, scavenging for scraps; they were not as timid as most wild animals, and were often seen quite close even during the day.

May felt sure the farm would not have so much to offer. Then suddenly she thought of Paul and Sanna. What would become of them?

She broke the silence, "Dad, what about Sanna and Paul?"

Dad puffed thoughtfully before answering. "Mommy and I have been talking about them. We hope they will want to stay with us. As soon as you are in bed, we intend to explain to them where we will be going and we will ask them to come with us. I think they will come with us. I hope so.

"Do you remember, Enid, when they first came to work for us? It is quite a story. Sanna had worked in Mommy's home before we were married. One day when you were small, she arrived at our home in great distress. Paul had been drinking and had created a disturbance and broken windows in the neighbourhood and would be sent to gaol as they did not have enough money to pay his fine.

"I was looking for a wagon man at the time and asked whether he would work for me: Sanna to help Mommy and Paul to look after the wagon and oxen and camp. They jumped at my offer, and I paid the fine. That was five years ago, and I have never regretted taking them into our service.

"There is only one problem - we have to keep Paul way from the villages as far as possible. Sometimes he does not drink for months, but when he does he goes on a rampage. We had thought of asking Paul and Sanna to stay with the wagon at a camping place, while Mommy and I took you to Pretoria, put you in the care of a guard and let you travel by train. But we dismissed the idea as you are so young and Paul so untrustworthy. We have decided to trek to Queenstown. Besides, I want to see my mother and brothers and I must replace one or two oxen and have minor repairs done to the wagon."

"When are we going, Dad?" asked Enid.

"We are leaving at sunrise tomorrow, so you two had better be off to bed."

With that Dad lifted May and carried her to the wagon; setting her gently down on the mattress he kissed her goodnight. Then after lifting Enid up beside her, he carefully took the sleeping baby and climbed up into the wagon where he tucked him into the cradle, firmly fastening a mosquito net around the sides. Enid and May scrambled forward to their sleeping quarters on a mattress behind the driver's seat. Baby's cradle was lashed to one side of the wagon tilt and a chest of drawers to the other, leaving a little "gateway" into their "room."

Mommy and Daddy slept next to the back opening of the wagon. The canvas back-drops were kept open and the girls could see the stars. A lamp hanging about twenty paces from the wagon was kept burning throughout the night. Dad said it kept insects away from the wagon, as insects were attracted to light. Each evening moths, midges and mosquitoes swarmed around the lamp and each morning a pile of dead insects lay in a circle below.

May lay gazing at the stars. She knew she would never sleep. She could hear Dad and Mommy and Sanna and Paul talking softly.

"Enid," she whispered. "Enid, what are we going to do? I know it will be dreadful at the farm."

"Mmm," grunted Enid.

"Enid," May persisted. "I'm frightened. What is Granny like?"

"I wish you would go to sleep," grumbled Enid. "What are you afraid of? I'll be there to look after you. Never mind, silly, now that you have woken me I may as well talk. We visited the farm about four years ago. Granny was very nice; you do not have to worry, she is such an old lady now we will be able to do exactly as we like. Uncle Tim is fun, he used to put us on his horse. Granny makes lovely cakes, and we can feed the chickens, and there are bantams and ..."

May heard no more. She woke with a start to the noise and bustle of breaking camp. Before sunrise the big wagon started on the long journey. Sanna walked ahead holding the leading reins. Paul flicked his long whip and shouted directions. Dad walked behind, keeping close to the brake lever, turing it quickly so that the wooden brake blocks pressed hard against the wheels on steep down grades, and loosening it completely when on level or uphill tracks. The two horses were tethered on long reins at the back of the wagon, while the dogs ran ahead or wandered off sniffing in the long grass, but never far from the wagon.

When they reached level ground in the mid-afternoon, Dad saddled one horse and led the other. After explaining that it was too tiring for horses to travel at the pace of oxen for long distances, he rode ahead to prepare the next camp.

"The fun has gone out of travelling," thought May. The oxen were only rested when Paul said they could go no farther. They reached camp towards sunset, to find the ground cleared, a fire burning, the horses feeding from nosebags. Everyone was weary. Dad was busy, Sanna could not spare time from cooking and washing. Paul spent all his time with the oxen or greasing wagon wheels, even Enid was too grumpy to play.

And so it was day after day. Camping had been fun in the mountains, but now all the grown-up thought about was pressing forward. When May protested, Mommy explained that the journey was very long and Dad had to return in time to start his new work.

Day followed monotonous day. The foothills grew less steep until the wagon moved easily over ridges or between kopjes. Day after day it grew hotter, the sun beat down from a steel grey sky with never a cloud in sight. They reached the flat veld of the Orange Free State, where the land was parched and the heat almost unbearable.

Whirlwinds swept across the bare veld, leaving a thin film of dust coating everything. Tempers were frayed, the oxen flagged. The distance travelled each day gradually lessened. The trek would start before sunrise, and mid-day rests became longer, but the oxen were little relieved by the break, as they searched in vain for shade.

Dad said it was the worst drought in the Free State in living memory. The family would gather in the scant shade of the tent, too lethargic to move.

During one of the mid-day rests, when the heat was at its most oppressive, May lay on her stomach, idly watching antlions patiently trapping ants. Mommy sat in her rocker trying to comfort a hot, grizzling baby, while Dad and Paul were mending a rough yoke, while the dogs lay panting below the wagon.

Sanna called out suddenly, "Thunder, I hear thunder."

A hush followed, while everyone listened; even the dogs pricked up their ears. But after a long stillness, Dad grunted, "Imagination," and they returned to their tasks.

A little later a faint rumble was distinctly heard, and far away the first flash of lightening flared. Soon it was followed by another and another. Dad and Paul rose to study the sky. Seeing a darkening mass of clouds forming on the horizon, they began to prepare for a storm. Paul brought the oxen close, although he could find no shelter for them. Sanna packed all the utensils into the wagon then turned to help Dad who was lashing mattresses across the tilt of the wagon, using the tent as an outer covering, passing ropes firmly over the canvas.

"What are you doing, Daddy?" asked May wonderingly. "Keep out of the way, just keep out of the way," snapped Dad. May, feeling hurt at Dad's sharp tone, turned to Mommy. "Why is Daddy so cross," she complained fretfully. Mommy drew her close. "Dad is worried about the storm; he is trying to make the wagon secure before the storm breaks. It looks as if it could be a bad storm. Often after a long drought the first storm brings hail. We do not want our wagon tent riddled with holes, do we? Come girls, up you go into the wagon where we will be out of the way."

May was pleased to be close to Mommy as the clouds moved swiftly, darkening the sky, while lightening flashed ever nearer and the noise of thunder and wind combined in a frightening din.

Suddenly all was still for a few moments as the world waited breathlessly for the storm to break. The uncanny silence was more frightening than the noise which had preceded it. Even the whimpering of the dogs ceased. The stillness was broken suddenly by thunder, wind and hail combining in an ear-shattering chorus. Paul, Sanna and Dad scrambled into the wagon and sat anxiously watching the oxen, hoping they would escape injury.

Gradually the fury of the storm spent itself. The wind dropped, the thunder rumbled farther away, the hail changed to rain and the rain to a drizzle. A weak ray of sunshine pierced the clouds. Then the sun burst forth, dazzling the eyes as it glinted on the earth's white carpet of hail.

"Good," laughed Dad. "We still have a roof over our heads. The mattresses broke the force of the hail. Some of the stones must have been as big as pigeon eggs. What a good thing we were prepared. The dry canvas could have been ripped to shreds."

Paul was off the wagon among the oxen before the rain stopped. The oxen had stood with bowed heads, their backs turned to the wind while the storm raged; now they turned to drink at the little rills and to look for pasture where the hail was melting away.

Enid and May jumped from the wagon. It was heavenly cool and fun to find hailstones to suck while the ice singed one's fingers and burned on one's tongue.

They paddled and splashed in the puddles. Then Enid dropped a hailstone down the back of May's dress. "Mommy, look at Enid, she put ice down my back," complained May.

"Don't be a baby, do the same to her," said Mommy impatiently.

What a lovely game they had for the next half hour, trying to find unmelted stones, while the dogs chased kiewiet birds. Baby lay propped up with pillows, while Mommy tried to light the primus stove which they carried on their journeys to use in times of emergency, cooing all the while to Baby. Dad and Sanna untied the tents covering the mattresses, laughing at their task. The storm had restored good humour to the camp.

"Well, the tents and the wagon top are intact," called Dad, "but I'm afraid there will be no mattresses to sleep on tonight. They are saturated at the edges."

No one seemed to mind the discomfort; the storm had left a blessed coolness in its wake and although they slept on hard boards that night, they slept well and awoke refreshed.

After the storm they were able to travel at greater speed, and a few days later they reached their destination.

* * *

As they drew near, Dad pointed out landmarks. "That is the kopje behind our house, there are hundreds of baboons living there.

"If you look to your left you can see the roof of the railway siding waiting-room; the school used to be close by.

"I see the quince hedges are still standing around the house. They have been growing for years and years."

Suddenly they were there. Uncle Tim came running through the gate with Grannie close at his heels. Then all was confusion. May and Enid stared at the grown-ups all talking at once. Uncle Tim was whooping and slapping Dad across the back, Baby was crying, the dogs barking, while Paul was shouting at the oxen. Grannie kept repeating, "How good it is to see you David," as Dad caught her in a big bear hug.

Grannie kissed Mommy, then took Baby into her arms, murmuring, "You darling wee thing, you poor little soul." Then using her free arm she gathered Enid and May to her. "Poor little mites, you poor little mites," she murmured.

"Oh, Selena, David, how could you neglect them so? They look like, like ..."

"Savages," laughed Dad.

"Ragamuffins, I was going to say," retorted Grannie. "How could you let them get into this dreadful state?"

"Come now," answered Dad, "they have been travelling for weeks by ox-wagon, not the easiest of journeys either. Anyway, I wrote and told you we were bringing them to you so that you could turn them into young ladies."

Grannie turned to Mommy. "Come, Selena, you must be in need of rest. Why do you allow David to treat you so? The fire is burning so there is lots of hot bath water. You can have a quick wash up while I see to lunch. Girls go along and clean yourselves as best you can before you come to table."

Mommy led the way to the bathroom, while Uncle Tim and Dad helped Paul to unload the chest of drawers and the clothing kist, before directing him to a site near the dam where he could pitch his tent and where the oxen had easy access to water.

Lunch was soon ready. It felt strange to sit at a long table covered by a snowy linen cloth with napkins in place and flowers in the centre. It felt like a party. How could cold meats and salads look so decorative? May almost forgot she was hungry, there was so much to distract her. Dad and Uncle Tim laughed and joked, Grannie joining in, as they chatted about people she had never heard of.

As soon as the meal ended, Grannie went into action. "Come girls, we cannot have you looking like this a moment longer. Let us unpack your clothes and find something cleaner for you to wear. This is your room, you will be able to hang your clothes in that wardrobe, and you can share the chest of drawers you brought with you. That table will do when you start doing homework. Now, start unpacking."

As Enid and May pulled out garment after garment, Grannie held each item in turn in the tips of her fingers before dropping it on to an ever growing pile, while she murmured, "Washing and mending."

"Phew!" she exclaimed when the unpacking was over. "There is not a thing that does not need washing and mending.

"Johanna," she called. Johanna was the big Khosa woman who had waited at table and who was now busy washing up. "Johanna, call Picannin from the garden, tell him to fetch your mother and one other who can wash and iron."

The huts of the farm servants were clustered in a group about half a mile from the farmhouse.

When Grannie started to do something, it seemed that it had to be done immediately. The back yard was soon a hive of activity; fires were lit between bricks, paraffin tins stood on the bricks and filled with water. Grannie grated soap into the tins, then as the water began to boil, one by one the garments were dropped into the boiling suda.

The women stirred the clothes with long sticks. As soon as the pile grew less, Grannie hurried indoors and returned carrying every garment she could find belonging to the family. There were sheets, towels, Dad's shirts, socks, Mommy's dresses, petticoats and camisoles and heaps of Baby's clothes.

"We will need the things you are wearing," Grannie explained, stripping the girls and wrapping them unceremoniously into big bath towels. When the garments had boiled for about fifteen minutes, they were lifted with the stirring stick, dropped into a bath filled with clear water, rinsed, swilled around then into a second bath of blue water. Some went from there into starch water while others were hung on the line where they dried quickly in the hot sun.

While clothes flapped in the sun, live coals were scraped from the fires and dropped into hollow irons. A long work bench stood in the tool shed and this was converted into an ironing table and ironing started.

"Gee, Enid, does Grannie always carry on so?" whispered May.

"I don't know. This looks like a factory: into one tin, out into another, out into a bath, out into another bath, onto the line, off the line onto the ironing table. I wonder what comes next."

She did not have long to wait to find out. "Come now, Grannie called. "The servants can carry on, this will take them all afternoon and part of tomorrow. Your bath water is ready, but first I must do something about your hair."

May wanted to run away to Mommy, but Mommy and Dad had gone to give Paul instructions.

Grannie led the way into the bathroom, where she had prepared a concoction of coconut oil and herbs. She massaged their hair until the scalps tingled. They had never had such a shampoo, nor such a brushing afterwards. "Now, into the bath," Grannie ordered. The bath was half-filled with sweet scented water and looked inviting, but why should Grannie treat them like babies? - they had bathed themselves with little help from Sanna for years.

"Grannie, we always bath ourselves," protested Enid weakly.

"Well, this time I am going to do it for you. We will see later how you manage. Poor little mites," she murmured as she sponged rough cracked heels and knees and knuckles.

It was no use arguing with Grannie, she just turned a deaf ear to their protests, the girls decided.

"Now let me see what clothes are dry and you can dress yourselves."

As Grannie left the room, May whispered, "Goodness me, Enid, how often will we have to have this palaver? I liked it better when Sanna helped us to bath."

"Mmm," answered Enid, "but the bath water and soap smell lovely, don't they?"

Grannie returned with a pile of garments, but when they came to dress she found a button missing from the stays or a loose frill on a petticoat, or a torn seam on a dress. So Grannie sat carefully mending each garment before passing it on.

When they were dressed, she plaited their long brown hair. "Look at yourselves in the mirror," said she. They had to admit the looked "different".

May felt, "What does it matter?", but Enid turned from side to side as she preened.

"Do you know, May, I am really quite good looking, don't you agree?" she said.

"Do you know, May, I am really quite good looking, don't you agree?" she said. When Mommy and Dad returned, they agreed. As Enid and May met them at the gate, Dad said with a solemn face,

"Good afternoon. Look Mommy, Grannie has visitors. I wonder who these good looking young ladies are."

"They are putting me to shame," she said. "I had better try to follow their example."

When they sat at dinner that evening, Dad looked proudly at his family. Mommy had shampooed her hair and allowed it to fall gently over her ears, instead of pulling it back into a tight bun. She wore her "best" dress, which was seldom taken from the kist, and a black velvet ribbon around her throat.

"My, she looks different," thought May, and Enid whispered,

"When I grow up I will always wear a ribbon around my throat, but I will fasten it with a big diamond."

"Grannie," teased Dad. "I brought two girls to be changed into ladies. I expected the transformation to take years, but you have achieved this in a few hours."

Grannie laughed. "They will have to fend for themselves tomorrow. Tim is taking Selena and me shopping. We are taking Sanna with us as she has purchases to make for herself and Paul, and she can help care for Baby as well. We will attend to Selena's wants this time; next week I will take the girls to town and get them rigged out afresh."

Turning to Enid and May, she proceeded, "I am afraid you will have to stay at home tomorrow. Johanna will be here to keep an eye on you, but you can come to no harm if you stay within the boundary hedge. Your Mommy and Dad are here for such a short while, we must attend to their wants first.

"Another thing we must do is see the parson about christening Baby. It is very short notice, but we hope he will be able to come to the farm on Sunday afternoon."

Dad broke in, "You be good girls tomorrow. I will be off before you are up. I want to visit a couple of farms looking at oxen, and I must replenish our stocks on the wagon. Uncle Tim has offered to lend me the mule wagon for the day."

Enid and May, left to their own devices the next day, decided to explore. The time flew by as they wandered around.

First, there was the long low room where meals were served at one end and Uncle Tim's desk and papers kept at the other. This room was built of rough stone plastered with red dagga, the floor was hard-baked mud, skilfully polished. It was a room in constant use. The rest of the house was quite different, built of brick with boarded floors. There were three bedrooms and a study (now being used as Uncle Tim's bedroom), a parlour where it was always twilight, where the curtains remained drawn and everything was spick and span. White sheepskin mats gleamed white against the dark floor and the heavy leather sofa and deep armchairs. A piano and music stool stood in one corner. The piano was ornately carved in front with red velvet backing, between two brass candlesticks. They opened the piano and ran their fingers over the keys, but Johanna soon appeared.

"Not to play in the drawing-room," she scolded, shooing them out and locking the door. They moved on to the kitchen with its large black coal stove connected to two hot water tanks in the roof. Then they peeped into the pantry, where shelves were neatly stacked. There were hundreds of jars of canned fruit standing along the top shelves all neatly dated.

"Gee, look May," said Enid, "some of those bottles of canned fruit are twenty years old and they look as fresh as the new ones."

Again Johanna protested, "Not to play in the pantry."

They found outdoors much more interesting. Ironing was continuing apace in the tool shed, but next door the wagon house was empty.

It was a long corrugated building where the mule wagon and a Cape cart stood. The walls were hung with saddles, reins, harnesses, and looking out of place, long strings of onions drying. Dozens of pumpkins were spread over the roof. In one corner steps led up to a loft filled with fodder. When they climbed up the steps, hens flew cackling in every direction, protesting at the invasion of their second home.

What Granny called the dairy came next. This was built of brick with plenty of air vents in the walls. Inside damp hessian covered the walls, continually drawing water from long pans lining the verges. The breeze blowing through the air vents onto the damp hessian kept the room cold at all seasons. Milk cans and a butter churn stood on the low shelves, and big jugs of milk and butter-milk stood covered with gauze. The bottom shelf was fitted with compartments for holding eggs. Some were empty, but those compartments containing eggs were marked clearly with the date of collection.

When they explored the garden they found a large cooler built on the same lines, where water from the pan at the top oozed through lavers of coke. There was a big oven made from anthill: it was scraped clean, but Enid and May who had often seen bread baked in just such an oven, knew it could hold a dozen loaves at a time.

The farm yard was surrounded by a wide quince hedge, neatly clipped. It looked so solid that May bet Enid she could sit on top of it. Quickly they found a ladder, May scampered up and took her seat on the hedge only to find the twigs and branches bending beneath her weight, ripping her clothes and painfully scratching her legs and bottom. Quickly she grabbed at the top of the ladder, screaming, "Help, help."

Johanna came running and tried to pull her free while May howled more loudly and Enid stood watching helplessly.

"Fetch Picannin," ordered Johanna.

Picannin and Johanna managed to pull May free, scratched and bleeding and with knickers, petticoat and dress torn in a dozen places. Johanna carried her to the bathroom and bathed the wounds with hot salt water, talking crossly in her clicking language while May sobbed.

Two very subdued girls spent the rest of the afternoon waiting impatiently for Mommy and Grannie to return. May was hurt when she showed her scars expecting sympathy, and Mommy and Grannie laughed heartily at her story.

"They are more upset about the torn clothes than about my sores," thought May resentfully.

When Mommy called to them to help her unpack, they rushed excitedly to help open parcels. Mommy had bought lots of things, a lovely new "best" dress of brown bombazine, new shoes and stockings, underwear and aprons, shirts and trousers for Dad, sheets and towels.

"Stacks of new things, but not a single thing for us," grumbled Enid in a whisper, as they turned away from the parcels resentfully.

At supper that evening, Mommy and Grannie told of their shopping, and how busy they had been.

"We wanted to start buying things for the girls but we did not have time," they said.

"Poor girls," Daddy laughed. "There can be very little left to spend on your clothes. When I look at these parcels, I'm sure there is no money. You will be wasting your time going to town on Wednesday as Grannie had planned.

"I had a great day. I bought two oxen and the price was right. I have crates of food and tools. I hope I remembered everything."

The girls went to bed disgruntled.

When they awoke in the early morning the smell of cooking pervaded the house. There were so many "hungry-making" scents, they jumped out of bed to investigate. Grannie was in the kitchen surrounded by utensils and ingredients. Large trays of bread stood ready to pop into the outside Dutch oven, tartlets and ginger bread were cooling on racks. Grannie was just putting a Rainbow cake into the oven, three layers - white, pink and brown, while Johanna was stirring syrup for making koeksusters. Grannie must have been up for hours. She explained that as it was Baby's christening the next day, she was preparing all these delicious things for the party.

"Your Aunt and Uncle and your cousins will be coming from town, bringing Reverend Miller to take the ceremony. You will have to help me all you can today, there is so much to do."

They set about their given tasks eagerly. May collected eggs from the nests to make meringues, while Enid whipped cream. Grannie found one task after another, and they enjoyed helping. "A party is such fun," they thought.

Preparations went on apace the next day, Sunday. They helped Grannie arrange flowers throughout the house. Large leaves were added to the dining room table until it doubled in size. An epigene in the centre was filled with fruit, and ivy trailed across the beautiful damask cloth. Johanna folded napkins into stiff cones. Their lunch was to be served at a little side table. Then Grannie instructed everyone to dress before the guests arrived.

They stood in a group in their finery watching a Cape cart approaching along the stony farm road. Gran wore a black bombazine dress, her plain little bonnet had been replaced by one of black lace with purple velvet ribbons. Mommy looked "good" in her new dress while Dad and Uncle Tim wore black suits with stiff white shirts. The dresses worn by Enid and May were so stiff with starch that they scratched, and Grannie had done their hair herself, allowing the plaits to fall over their ears.

Daddy and Uncle Tim helped the visitors to alight, while Enid and May gazed in awe. They had never seen such grand clothes. The lady wore a green dress lavishly trimmed with cream lace and a cream ostrich feather covered her hat completely. The baby's dress hung in yard-long folds of embroidery, while the two girls looked like pictures, in white sprigged muslin with sashes and hair ribbons matching the flowers, one mauve and the other yellow. "Just look at those dresses," whispered Enid.

"Look at our Grannie making a fuss of those other children," returned May.

"Well, she is their Grannie, too," returned Enid. They hung back feeling "left out" as Mommy and Daddy and Uncle Tim greeted the visitors lovingly, until Grannie drew them forward.

"Meet your Aunt Charlotte and your Uncle Sam, and these are your cousins Mabel and Lottie, and of course Baby. I hope you girls will become good friends."

Their arrival was followed almost immediately by the Christening. Gran led the way into the parlour where a spare table covered with a crocheted cloth formed the pulpit. Aunt Charlotte played the piano and all joined in singing "Now thank we". Then the parson talked and prayed for a long time, before he took their baby and splashed him with water giving him the name of Harold David Wright. Sanna sat next to May and would not allow her to say one word.

When they reached the dining room all the wonderful cakes and pies were set out. It was hard to know what to eat first. While Gran poured tea, Johanna handed round hot pies and pasties.

"Mother, you have really killed the fatted calf," chaffed Dad.

"Oh, no Daddy," called May, "that is a pork pie you are eating, we watched Grannie cooking all the meat. No-one killed any calf." She wondered why everyone laughed loudly.

After tea the grown-ups returned to the parlour, leaving the four girls to amuse themselves. Gran put a dish of silver paper-coated chocolates on the table, saying as she left, "These are for you, if you can eat anything more."

Enid promptly grabbed the three choicest and popped them into her pocket. "You can't do that," complained May.

"You have taken the biggest. I'll tell Mommy."

"Alright, tell-tale," snapped Enid. "I'll put them back, but you can't have them. We'll divide like Mommy says, the divider gets last choice and you must be divider."

May did not want to divide, it was so hard to have last pick. Carefully she measured each sweet, when four piles looked equal, she called, "Visitors first," and each selected a little pile in turn.

Turning to Mabel Enid said, "Your dress is the most beautiful I have ever seen. And your hair ribbon must be at least four inches wide."

"Yes, I suppose so," answered Mabel. "My dress is new, but I like some of my other dresses better."

"How many dresses have you got?" asked Enid enviously.

"About a dozen, I suppose," was the answer.

"How old are you?" continued Enid.

"I'm ten and Lottie is just five. How old are you?"

"I'm nine and May is seven."

"Funny you are about the same size."

"Yes, Gran says I'm going to be small like her and May is going to be big like Mommy and Daddy."

May did not like the way she was being overlooked. "Let's play a game," she butted in.

"What shall we play?" asked Enid and Mabel together.

"Hop Scotch," suggested May hopefully.

"I can't play Hop Scotch. I'll scuff my patent leather shoes, and my mother will be mad," answered Mabel. "Haven't you got any toys?"

"No," said Enid.

"Yes, we have, we have rag dolls and teddy bears and we have a lot of clay oxen Paul made," said May.

"I would rather play with my paper dolls; come to our room," sniffed Enid.

So Enid and Mabel spread the paper dolls across the bed. The dolls were all cut from magazines, the most prized ones were those cut from glossy paper. Lottie played a game of her own with the clay oxen.

May felt resentful; how could her sister keep making such a fuss of Mabel and leave her out of the game? She was pleased when Gran came in saying,

"It is almost time to go home. I"m pleased to see you getting along so well. But Mabel I want to hear you play your new piece of music before you go."

So they followed Gran to the drawing-room where Mabel sat confidently on the music stool and Aunt Charlotte held the music while she played. May did not think much of the music, but everyone clapped and Gran said, "Well done, you must be practising hard. Keep it up, you have a talent like your Mother."

Dad and Uncle Tim and Uncle Sam stood together on the stoep chatting, while Gran packed cookies and pies into tins and a basket of farm products, butter eggs fresh lettuce from the garden; Mommy and Aunt Charlotte attended to the babies, when Picannin came running up to the stoep.

"Come quick," he called. "Paul is fighting."

With a hasty, "Excuse us," Dad and Tim set off at a sharp pace toward the wagon camp. May and Enid started to follow, only to be checked by Grannie's stern,

"Come back at once. A drunken brawl is no place for you."

"Can they manage, or shall I go along?" asked Uncle Sam.

"Of course they can manage: you must be on your way, you have a long drive ahead."

As they waved goodbye, Gran turned to the girls. "What do you think of your cousins?" she asked.

"I like Mabel very very much," said Enid enthusiastically. "She is so clever, look how she can play the piano. Gran do you know that she has more than twelve dresses and her hair ribbon is four inches wide?"

"Yes, your Aunt Charlotte is a very good needlewoman and dresses them well; besides she is so strict, their manners are beyond reproach. What did you think of them May?"

"They are alright," said May grudgingly.

It was dark before Dad and Uncle Tim returned. "Sorry we did not say goodbye, but when Paul starts trouble, he can't be left. He was offering to fight all and sundry and when Sanna tried to intervene he gave her a black eve. We put a stop to his nonsense quite quickly, but did not know what to do with him, so we cleared the tool shed and have locked him in for the night where he can come to no harm."

"Poor Sanna," murmured Mommy. "We must attend to her."

"I think she is capable of looking after herself and would not appreciate our interference. I have given Paul a blanket and he will be alright by morning."

Dad and Mommy were very busy the following day, preparing for their departure, but they kept Enid and May constantly close. Dad would stop work suddenly to make odd remarks, like, "Now see that you are good girls, listen to your Grandmother, remember to help her whenever you can, she is getting old," or "Don't forget to write every week, even if it is just a short note; tell us of your problems and even if we are far away we will try to help."

Mommy would give them affectionate hugs in passing. They felt very important having so much attention showered upon them. Dad took them with him when he went to see Paul and Sanna.

Paul was working, greasing wagon wheels and oiling leatherwork, only stopping to talk to his oxen, especially the two new members of his team. He kept his eyes lowered and pretended not to see Dad and the girls. Sanna's eye was swollen, but this did not appear to worry her as she made tea for Paul and hurried between the wagon and the tent in her usual bustling way.

By sunset the wagon stood outside the homestead, spick and span, fully loaded, ready for the long journey on the morrow.

They breakfasted very early and said their farewells with Enid and May trying to hide their tears. Gran held them close as the wagon moved off, with Sanna leading, Mommy and Baby waving from the rear and Dad testing brakes. May buried her face in Gran's apron, she could not bear to see them go.

Uncle Tim said in a loud voice, "I have wasted too much time, I must be off. There is a new baby lamb I am trying to rear on a bottle; should have had his feed an hour ago. Will one of you come and feed him?"

"I will, let me," they cried together.

"Well, come along quickly, the poor little thing need lots of care." Off they went with Uncle Tim. The little lamb was bleating sadly, and they were delighted when he took milk greedily and followed them on spindly legs.

Uncle Tim was busy with the sheep and kept them busy too, fetching and carrying, they did not realise that hours had passed and were surprised when he said, "We must hurry, we are late for lunch."

In the afternoon the Cape Cart was inspanned, and Gran took them with her to see Mrs Boucher. The house was not far, but Gran said the distance was beyond her to walk these days. She explained that the little house stood on Uncle Tim's farm and the Bouchers were "by-woners", meaning that Mr Boucher did not own a farm of his own. Uncle Tim allowed him to graze a certain number of sheep on the farm, to plant a certain acreage, in return Mr Boucher helped with shearing and ploughing.

Mrs Boucher ushered them in, dusting a chair on her checked apron. "Sit down, Mrs Wright. Will you take a cup of coffee? Aletta come bring coffee for Mrs Wright."

Aletta soon appeared bearing a tray and coffee was soon served. She was a big capable girl. A toddler was trying her legs and grasping at everything in sight, while three young lads kept peeping shyly round the door.

Gran enquired after the health of the family, handed the toddler a sweet and gave Aletta a tin full of cookies, explaining that these were left over from the Christening and she hoped the children would enjoy them. Then she asked Mrs Boucher whether she would have time to help with a great deal of sewing as she had so much before school started. While they discussed patterns and quantities, Aletta led Enid and May outside, calling upon the boys to join them. She soon organised a game of "Sheep come Home". All the Boucher children were bare foot, so Enid and May took off their shoes and stockings, and soon six hot and dusty children were laughing and dodging. In no time at all it was time to go home.

"Oh, Gran," May exclaimed as they jogged along, "we learned such a lovely game, and they only caught me once. It was such fun."

"You will be able to play that game and many others at school next week. I have arranged for the Bouchers to fetch you each morning. Stephanus Boucher drives a donkey cart to and from school. Uncle Tim provided them with transport."

There was scarcely time for bathing before supper. Then Gran handed each girl a sheet of foolscap paper, saying, "I want to explain all the things you may or may not do. I don't like a lot of rules, but you must learn obedience; an undisciplined child is never a happy child. I want your stay on the farm to be a happy one, so please make a list of these instructions and carry them out.

"The first rule is, you must be clean when you come to table and you must be clean when you go to bed."

Enid and May started to write. It took a long time to write such a long sentence. Uncle Tim looked up form where he was writing figures in long columns.

"Gran, you will be here all night and all next week too at this rate. I'll tell you what, you explain each rule carefully and I will list them."

Taking a big cardboard sheet, he headed it "GRANDMOTHER'S COMMANDMENTS".
1. Clean for meals. Clean into bed.

Grannie continued, "You will try to keep you room and cupboards tidy. Every Saturday I will inspect."

Tim wrote:
2. Cupboards and Room inspection every Saturday.

Gran continued, "Don't eat any berries or wild roots, even if you see other children doing so. There are too many poisonous plants.

"You must not go near the dam or the reservoir unless accompanied by an adult. It is too dangerous.

"Each time you use the lavatory, you will throw a shovel of lime into the hole. This keeps down the flies.

"Every member on a farm has to help, so you will each be given a daily task. May, you will collect the eggs every day, putting them into compartments and labelling the compartments clearly with the date.

"Enid, you must fill the waterbags, the water troughs in the dairy and the water pan above the cooler every day."

"Your homework must be done before supper, unless there is a special reason for not doing so.

"I think those are all the rules for the moment. I hope I will never have to add any more."

Uncle Tim held up the cardboard showing the commandments neatly set out. "I will get some drawing pins and fasten this to your bedroom door," he said.

"Goodness, you ought to be in bed," exclaimed Gran. "Come I will hear your prayers."

Suddenly they felt guilty, they had forgotten that Mommy and Daddy were far away.

Gran stood at the foot of the bed while Enid and May gabbled as fast as they were able,
"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child.
Pity my simplicity,
Suffer me to come to thee.
Amen"

Up from their knees into bed, while Gran stood for a while thinking. "That is a very pretty prayer. I wonder if you are clever enough to tell me what it means."

No answer.

"Come, you try first, May," urged Gran.

"Gentle Jesus," answered May, "means kind Jesus, meek and mild, meek and mild, meek and mild. Mild is soft. Look upon a little child, watch me to see when I am naughty. Pitymy, Gran, what does Pitymy mean?"

"Haw-haw," laughed Enid.

"Alright, Enid, now you try," urged Gran.

"Oh, I know what it means Gran, I just can't explain," said Enid defensively.

"Come now, May tried. You try."

"Oh, Gran it's too hard."

"Yes," said Gran, "that's what I thought. When you are older you will find out what it means, but I think prayer is more than reciting a verse, it should mean talking to God.

"I think God is like a very perfect father, so perfect that when we come to Him we kneel. Now, if you were speaking to your father you would start by saying, 'Good morning.' To start to pray you would start something like this, 'Heavenly Father, please listen to me.'

"The next thing would be to say thank you. I am sure there are hundreds of things to be thankful for each day: the sunshine, flowers, enough food to eat, people to love.

"After thank you, I think one ought to say, 'I'm sorry for what I've done wrong this day.' Again there is never a day when everything we do is right, so we should ask for help, try to see how Jesus behaved because He should be our pattern.

"After that we can ask for all the things we would like for ourselves and others. We should never forget to ask God to care for those whom we love. Think about it, and tomorrow night I hope you will say your own prayers."

"Gee, she can preach," grumbled Enid. "You can do this, you must not do that."

"Yes, she in funny, sometimes so nice and sometimes so preachy. But you know Enid, we should pray about Mommy and Dad and Baby."

Mrs Boucher and Aletta arrived the next afternoon, with tape-measures, and paper patterns. Aletta and May played outside, while Enid remained to look at the patterns.

"Our chickens will hatch out soon," said May.

"Well, our ducklings are swimming in the dam now. You should see them," replied Aletta.

"Oh, I would like to," said May.

"Come, I will show you."

So off they set. When they reached the dam, May paused. "I'm not supposed to go to the dam without an adult," she said.

"Ag, come along, I'm old enough to look after you. I'm twelve," answered Aletta.

They could see the ducks on the far side of the water. It was a long way to walk. "If we go along the top of the wall, it will be quicker," suggested Aletta, but when the started to run across the top, May kept slipping on the damp stones.

"Take off your shoes and stockings, it is easier barefeet," suggested Aletta.

Away they went. The ducklings were lovely, it was amazing how quickly they had learned to swim.

"We must hurry back," said Aletta. "Ma does not like to leave Baby with Petrus for long."

So they hurried back. May tried to grab her shoes in passing, but sent one spinning over the wall. She stood aghast, as it tumbled down into the water and out of sight. She started to scramble down the rough wall, but Aletta pulled her back.

"Don't be stupid, the water is too deep. Your shoe will be at the bottom. Come on, we must get back."

"What will I do?" wailed May. "What will Gran say?"

Aletta hurried on. Enid met them nearing home. "Where have you been? Your mother has started to walk home."

Aletta, with a hurried, "Goodbye," went running after her mother.

"Enid, what shall I do? My shoe fell into the dam. What will Gran say?"

"Gee," said Enid sympathetically, "Gran will be mad. You can't tell her you went to the dam, she will really punish you for that." They walked on slowly. "I'll tell you what," said Enid eventually. "Pretend you can't find you shoe, say the dog must have carried it away. She need never know."

"Mmm," answered May dubiously.

"Why have you come to table barefeet May?" asked Gran later. Gran never missed anything.

"I can't find my shoe. I think the dog took it," answered May staring at her plate.

"That's odd. Have you looked in the chicken run or the loft? Where were you playing with Aletta this afternoon?" questioned Gran.

May kept staring at her plate. "We were just playing around," she answered weakly.

"May!" Gran spoke sharply. "Where were you this afternoon?"

Suddenly feeling sorry and ashamed, May confessed.

"It fell into the dam. It was not my fault, we went to see the ducklings."

"May, you must learn that rules must not be broken," said Gran tapping her fingers on the table. "I will have to punish you."

An uncomfortable silence was broken by Enid, who asked, "Whatever is May going to wear to town tomorrow? She has not got another pair of shoes."

Gran looked up. "Well, May you have punished yourself. The treats I had planned for tomorrow are not possible. You can't walk around town barefoot."

May went to bed thoroughly miserable; in the dark she sobbed quietly into her pillow.

"May, May," whispered Enid. "Don't cry. If you can't go into town, I won't leave you, I will stay at home too."

So Gran set off the next morning, leaving the girls with Johanna. It was a long dreary day. Enid reminded May a few times that her foolishness had spoilt the day and how much she had wanted to see the shops.

They helped Gran unload when she returned, then she gave them permission to open the packages.

A bolt of calico, "To make stays, knickers, petticoats, pinafores and kappies," explained Gran. "I hope it is enough."

Navy floral cotton for school dresses. Two pairs of shoes each, one patent leather. Their excitement mounted. A parcel of ribbons and laces, and some of the ribbon was four inches wide. The last package brought squeals of delight, as Gran explained that the lilac taffeta was for Enid's "best" dress and the blue for May.

"Oh, Gran, it is so lovely. When will you start making it? I will help you. Oh Gran, it is the most beautiful colour in the world," enthused Enid.

"Now Uncle Tim has a surprise for you," said Gran passing two boxes. "Open these carefully."

"A sleeping doll, a real sleeping doll." There was a sob in May's voice, as she hugged the beauty. "Uncle Tim, thank you, Gran, thank you, thank you."

When Gran came to hear their prayers, May kneeled and started, " Heavenly Father ...

"Oh. Gran, I can't say any prayers, all I keep on saying is 'Thank you God, Thank you God.'"

Gran stroked her hair tenderly. "Never mind, perhaps you have just prayed the best prayer of all, because you really mean it."

Busy days followed with Mrs Boucher arriving early each day, bringing the toddler and Aletta. Gran did the cutting while Mrs Boucher sat working the treadle at such a pace that the machine made loud whirring noises. By Friday evening two new cotton dresses, two white "kappies" (sun-bonnets), two sets of underwear, hung in the bedroom, ready for Monday and the start of school.

"I don't know why we have to go to school," complained Enid. "There are only two weeks before Christmas holidays."

During those last few day before school began, Gran would attend to household chores, making butter or a pudding or cake, re-arranging flowers. Enid champed when Gran stopped sewing.

"When will she start our 'best' dresses," she fretted, but felt ashamed when after a long day of housework and sewing Gran sat after supper making button holes. Uncle Tim took the sewing from her,

"That is enough for today, you have been working far too hard lately." Gently he edged her into a rocking chair, "Now, don't you leave this chair until you get up to go to bed," he instructed.

"But, Tim, there is so much to do," protested Gran weakly.

"No doubt, but if you go on at this rate you will make yourself ill. Tomorrow is another day."

Gran rocked gently for a few moments. "There is half an hour before your bedtime, would you like me to read to you, or to tell you a story?" she asked.

"Tell us a story," answered both together.

"A fairy story, a history story, a true story, or perhaps a story about the farm when I was little?"

"A story about when you were little," they said.

Gran started a story, which had no end, as she told of her mother and father and their mothers and fathers and the rest of the family travelling by sailing vessel, a long hard journey to this continent. Of their landing at a little port, and being taken to the interior, to make a living where no one had ever lived before. She told of the wild animals that roamed the farm, of the hardships of those first years, of the first school.

From then on whenever it was story time they would press for her to continue telling about the adventures of her family. But Gran had other ideas: she would tell stores one evening, she could make the stores seem real as she imitated people, sometimes true stories, sometimes historical stories, sometimes she would recite. She knew lots of verses off by heart. She tried to teach them well known songs, and would sit at the piano slowly playing tunes, but they could not keep in tune.

On Monday morning they climbed into the donkey cart driven by Stephanus Boucher, a big boy who wore corduroy britches permanently creased and baggy at the knees with a gap between britches and veldskoens. Gruffly he promised to look after the girls, while Gran explained that Uncle Tim had already registered them and paid their school fees. Aletta shared the driver's seat, while Enid and May were squeezed between the two younger boys on the back seat.

The cart bumped and jolted over rough farm track to the school, an old corrugated iron house, where the inner walls had been removed to leave one large room. When Mr Walters, the school master, rang the bell the children, twenty-six in all, formed a ragged queue and marched in to take their places, two at each desk. Stephanus pushed Enid and May forward, muttering, "Mr Wright's children."

They felt foolish standing in front of the class while Mr Walters took their particulars and found seats for them. School started with a hymn; Aletta led the singing, followed by a short prayer. Enid told Gran that she had seen Mr Walters reading the prayer from a folded paper, but she was confounded when Gran asked how she could see with her eyes closed.

They enjoyed school on the whole, but it seemed more grown up to decry it. Playtime was great fun, as they joined in rough-and-tumble games.

Mr Walters had a difficult task, dividing his attention between classes from Sub A to Standard VI. He would set sums on the blackboard for two or three classes, set another group writing essays, while he taught history or geography to another group. May found if very difficult to concentrate, especially when he was telling history stories, and often found herself having to finish her work at home. Mr Walters reported at the end of term that Enid and May were bright pupils, but Enid was rather lazy, and May easily diverted and with poor hand writing.

It was fun arriving home from school each day to see what progress had been made with sewing. Enid was wildly excited when Gran fitted the lilac dress. She skipped round the room, saying, "It will be finished tomorrow. Look at me, everyone look at my beautiful dress."

When she arrived home next day, the dress hung unfinished and Gran was busily sewing the blue for May. Enid kept hopping in to see, but Gran and Mrs Boucher continued working on other garments. When she reached home on the second day to find the lilac dress no nearer completion, she bust our, "Gran, you are doing all sorts of other things. When will you finish my dress?"

Gran continued with her stitching. "I had planned to finish your dress yesterday afternoon, but I found the water trough in the dairy empty, the water bags half full and the cooler had to be emptied as some milk had turned sour in the heat. It took me a long time."

"Gee, Gran, I forgot," protested Enid quickly.

"Did you?" asked Gran.

Enid blushed. She had told May that she was tired of filling water bags and troughs every day and was sure if she pretended to forget someone else would do her task. How did Gran know that she had deliberately left her work undone? May would never sneak and tell.

Gran continued sewing, the lilac dress hung untouched. Enid felt ashamed, she had to own up. "I'm sorry Gran, I was just feeling lazy," she confessed.

Gran nodded. "I'm sure you won't forget again, because when you leave your work undone someone else has to do it for you."

Later Enid asked May how it was that Gran always found one out, but May's answer was, "Serves you right. I reminded you to fill the bags and trough."

Amazingly her dress was finished within hours of her confession.

Needlework was put aside when school holidays started and preparations for Christmas taken in hand. Gran found lots of interesting things to be done. She set the girls the task of painting pine cones bright colours, ready to be tied to the Christmas tree, with multi-coloured ribbons to match paper streamers which Gran folded and the girls cut as instructed. They helped stir puddings and counted the "tickies" as they were added. The Boucher children would sometimes come to play rough-and-tumble games and Gran always supplied tumblers of cold butter-milk and biscuits for refreshments.

Enid's greatest enjoyment came from their visits to town. On their first visit Gran had handed each girl half-a-crown, explaining that they should spend it carefully on gifts for Mommy and Daddy and Baby. Uncle Tim added a sixpence each.

They visited Uncle Sam's draper's shop. Enid was enthralled with the showroom where at least a dozen beautiful hats and gowns were displayed. May was more interested in the little cash boxes as they sped over the wires to the cashier who sat in a little office perched high above the counters, taking money and sending the boxes whizzing back with change.

Uncle Sam, in a black alpaca jacket worn over a stiff white shirt and high white collar, conducted them through the various departments, proudly pointing out to Gran improvements he had made. It was difficult to decide on presents: what had seemed a fortune, now seemed wholly inadequate. They had decided to buy gifts for Mommy, Daddy, Baby Harold, Gran and Uncle Tim, when they remembered Sanna and Paul. Enid worked out that they could spend five-pence on each gift. At last the decided to pool their resources, and with the help of a very patient saleslady they ended with a satisfying parcel.

For Mommy they bought two tortoise shell combs, Daddy and Uncle Tim pipe cleaners, Gran two lacy handkerchiefs, Baby a celluloid ball, Sanna a red scarf and Paul a packet of butterscotch. It was difficult not to tell anyone what their packages contained.

Their evenings at home were the best part of the day. Gran would spend an hour or two with the girls and one never knew what entertainment she had planned for that particular evening. They were anxious to hear more of the early days on the farm, but Gran said each day should be different. One night she taught them to play card games like "snap" and "donkey", another evening she sat at the piano trying to teach them to sing easy songs and hymns. This was not successful; she kept stopping.

"You are flat," she would say, or, "Listen to the notes, you are out of tune," until Uncle Tim intervened with,

"Gran you can't make canaries from crows."

Nevertheless Gran continued to try to familiarise them with simple tunes. She liked to read rhymes and simple verse, and was delighted when May joined in. She encouraged her to memorise and taught her to recite with feeling. When May had mastered a poem Uncle Tim was called to hear her recite, and May gloried in the applause. She learned eagerly and easily, astonishing Gran with her aptitude. Gran gave her a long narrative verse, "Mary's visitors", and asked her to memorise.

Other evenings Gran would read well known fairy or history stories; on Sundays biblical stories were to the fore. The story of the early days on the farm continued in instalments, sandwiched between other activities. An air of excitement prevailed as Christmas drew near. The house was full of warm mouthwatering smells, decorations were hung, mysterious packages appeared and disappeared. Uncle Tim set up the Christmas tree which they helped to decorate. How lovely the whole house looked. Gran and Johanna had been polishing and scrubbing before baking started each day, although to May and Enid the house looked no cleaner than it usually did.

At last they were permitted to hang their stockings, with strict instructions that it must be light before they started unpacking.

Christmas morning in the half light they could see the stockings bulging with exciting parcels. The sun rose slowly, oh so slowly. As the Grandfather clock began to chime five, they jumped out of bed with one accord. Each little parcel was opened to excited "Oohs" and "Aahs". Whistles, balloons, games, crayons, colouring-in books, real paper dolls; lastly the toes stuffed with nuts, large walnuts and brazils and almonds. They had barely finished when they heard Gran stirring in the kitchen. Through the house they raced, calling, "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas. Look what we have got Gran."

Gran explained that the stockings were only a foretaste of good things to come, as other parcels were waiting under the tree, but were not to be touched until the town cousins joined them after church.

At last the day had arrived when they could don their "best" dresses, with four inch wide hair ribbons below their best hats. Even church was fun, when one could walk up the aisle hoping everyone would notice the beautiful clothes.

Church was held in the school house, and farmers and railway workers came from far and near to be present at this special service. Lustily they joined in singing the familiar hymns.

Gran seemed to know everyone as she stood shaking hands and chatting while they waited impatiently.

On the way home, they stopped at the Bouchers where Gran handed Mrs Boucher a basket of Christmas fare tied with bright red ribbons, and Mr Boucher presented Gran with a huge water-melon from his home grown crop.

Their cousins were waiting when they reached home, the pile of parcels under the tree had doubled. Tea and mince pies were served, then Uncle Tim passed parcel after parcel to Gran where she sat in her rocker calling out names.

The first parcel for Enid and May was one from Mommy and Daddy and Baby, two lovely coral necklets and a photo of the three absent ones. Enid proudly showed off, before fastening the clasp about her neck, but May was too busy hiding her tears as she turned the photo around and traced the outlines of the faces with her fingers. How very sorry she felt that Mommy and Daddy and Baby were not present to join in these lovely celebrations, but her mood soon changed as present after present was opened.

Gran and Uncle Tim were very pleased with their gifts from Enid and May, and thanked them profusely.

Gran had made four sets of dolls clothes for the little cousins. Lottie thought this the finest present of all. Uncle Tim gave each of the four a net Christmas stocking, more exciting than a dozen lucky packets.

The giving and receiving of gifts was followed by Christmas dinner. May had thought that no dinner could ever compare with that on Baby's Christening day, but this wonderful spread surpassed it. She loved food, but could not have a second helping of pudding, even to look for another "tickey". Oddly enough everyone at the table found a lucky coin.

Gran told the girls to help clear table and pack way after Johanna had washed and Piccanin dried, promising another surprise when their task was done. They worked with a will and soon returned to say Johanna did not need them any more.

Gran uncovered a large snowball made of cotton wool with multicoloured ribbons protruding from the sides. She instructed each member of the party to select a ribbon and to pull gently. "Each ribbon is attached to a gift; anyone breaking the ribbon forfeits the gift," she said.

It was great fun. Aunt Charlotte was first to pull her little parcel free and was delighted to find a hairpin holder. Uncle Tim made them laugh as he drew out a little pink mirror and comb and pretended to be a young lady titivating. Later Enid drew out a cigar so a happy swap was made. May got a silk handkerchief. After some exchanges were made, each thought their own gift was the best.

"Well timed," said Gran as they picked paper and cotton wool from the floor. "It is time for us to wish our workers 'A Happy Christmas'. You girls hand round sweets to the children, one packet for each child, while Uncle Tim gives the men and boys their Christmas box, and I give each of the womenfolk a little something."

They found the African staff, wives and family dressed in their best, waiting in the shade of the hedge. Uncle Tim called to the picannins to come forward as they clustered together, with parents giving the shy ones an encouraging push. Shyly they took their packets holding out two hands to receive the gifts. Uncle Time explained later that this was their way of saying how pleased they were. The gesture says, "Your gift is so great, I cannot receive it with one hand."

Uncle Tim had slaughtered a sheep and after receiving their presents, the men carried the carcass and a bag of mealiemeal to their huts while the women clapped and stamped and ululated. Their Christmas celebrations were about to begin and would last throughout Boxing Day. We must end this lovely day with music," suggested Gran. So they trotted into the parlour, where Mabel played a medley of carols.

"Now listen to Lottie," urged Aunt Charlotte, as Lottie with very little prompting sweetly sang, "Away in a Manger".

"May's turn," said Gran, and everyone looked surprised.

May quickly left the room, and returned with a shawl draped over her head, carrying her doll wrapped in a towel. Confidently she seated herself on a stool, just as Gran had secretly taught her to do. In a low voice she recited "Mary's Visitors". Without a hitch she reached the last line, "To you a King, to me a precious Baby". The applause was heartwarming.

"Excellent, excellent," said Uncle Sam, "I see you have inherited your Gran's gift."

"How can you remember a long thing like that?" asked Mabel.

May glowed inside, it was thrilling to be the centre of attention. Gran too was pleased. "May is a natural, she learns words so easily, that is her talent. Enid has a different gift, she is so clever with her hands; fetch your tapestry Enid, show how them what you have been doing."

After Enid's work had been examined and she had been congratulated they ended this lovely day singing together "Hark the Herald Angels" and "Now thank we".

So ended a Christmas that Enid and May would recall with pleasure throughout their lives.

* * *
A routine slowly evolved in the new year: school work, home duties, playtime and what they called Gran's time during the week, with Saturday as a "free" day and Sunday school on Sunday following, and less noisy games. Gran never permitted life to become monotonous; there were often planned treats to look forward to, a birthday celebration, a picnic, a trip to town, a visit to a distant farm.

Each month when a registered letter arrived from Dad, Gran would buy something special for each girl. Daddy and Mommy wrote regularly; Daddy's letters often filled with squiggly drawings of Baby with silly stories of his progress, or of Sanna chasing goats who had eaten some of her clothes, or of Paul tumbling into an antbear hole and the antbear scuttling away in disgust.

A red letter day was The Queen's Jubilee. Gran promised weeks before that they would be allowed to attend the celebrations in town. The whole school talked of going, they were given special lessons about the Queen and had to write sentences and essays about her. Each scholar was presented with a mug with the Queen's picture in red, white and blue on the side. They sang "Rule Britannia" with more verve after they had studied the map of the world and seen the far flung empire.

They left the farm early one wintry morning to join with the crowds thronging the town. The streets were gay with bunting and on the square Japanese lanterns swung gently in the breeze, while a band played throughout the day.

To start the celebrations, children were invited to join in races. A man with a big trumpet that boomed across the square, called to the groups, "Girls six to eight years on the left. Boys, six to eight years on the right."

May won one shilling for coming second in her group. They watched Stephanus competing against twenty men in the long distance and coming first, without any signs of fatigue. The most exciting event was the last when townsmen and countrymen locked in a tug-of-war. They heaved and pulled, first one side gaining an advantage and then the other, while spectators clapped and shouted encouragement. When it seemed that this must be declared a tie, the countrymen, with one last burst, drew the townsmen over the line. May said she was quite sure the win was due to the efforts of Uncle Tim.

Gran insisted on a rest at midday, much to their disgust. When Enid protested vigorously, Gran said, "Very well, you may remain, but we will be too weary to watch the main events this evening." Hastily they agreed to rest and set off to lunch with their cousins, knowing full well the futility of arguing with Gran.

It was late afternoon when they returned to the square, where bands still played and clowns and big-headers mingled with the crowd. They saw Uncle Tim with a group of young ladies and gentlemen, but Gran prevented them from rushing to join him, by pointing to a Punch and Judy show. After wriggling and pushing through the crowd they reached the platform where they stood enchanted.

The sun was setting when the puppeteer packed his props and they moved back to find Gran. They had not noticed the transformation taking place on the square - it had changed into a veritable fairyland. The bandstand sparkled with multicoloured lights and the Japanese lanterns which they had admired were now alight, forming a beautiful picture above the heads of the crowd. They joined Gran seated near the bandstand. Soon the Mayor and his entourage arrived. Everyone stood and sang "God save the Queen", then the Mayor made an unnecessarily long speech before he lit the first rocket of a dazzling fireworks display. Rockets broke into myriads of coloured stars overhead while Catherine wheels whirled between sparkling fountains. What a wonderful show. They decided they would write to Queen Victoria to thank her for such a splendid show.

It was over all too soon. Uncle Tim escorted them to the cart and they set out for home. In spite of being cosily wrapped in blankets the cold night air stung their faces, and home was a welcome sight.

Although Gran had a zest for fun, she always put duty first, and slowly they learned to do their school work and home chores cheerfully.

It was a different Gran who cared for them when illness struck. When they had measles it was comforting to find Gran close at hand at all times, ministering to their wants. They would wake at night to find her changing hot bricks used as bed warmers, or bathing a fevered brow with vinegar soaked cloths. When Enid had toothache Gran heated salt in a pan and held the warm salt folded into a handkerchief firmly against her sore cheek. She would cover sore eyes with a bandage filled with damp tea leaves, and when sniffles started she would set the girls gargling with a mixture of water and bicarbonate of soda, rubbing camphor on to the chest and back and soles of feet.

It was strange how Gran always knew when one was malingering. When they pretended to feel ill to avoid some task, or as an excuse for leaving work undone, Gran would administer a large dose of castor oil. They always missed something special - a strawberry cream pudding would appear on the table, Gran would shake her head sadly, saying "I'm so sorry you are not feeling well, strawberry cream will be too rich for you," or she would send the complaining one to bed after arranging with Uncle Tim to join her and the remaining girl in a game of Snakes and Ladders or Chinese Checkers.

* * *
Time passed quickly. It was two years after their arrival at the farm when Gran started speculating about the return of Daddy and Mommy, and wondering what plans they had in mind for the future of the girls. Their last letters had told of the arrival of another baby brother. This one was to be called Charles, and Mommy said he looked just like his older brother.

A big registered letter arrived as usual, with funny pictures for the girls and a little note at the end saying, "We have written a long letter to Gran and Uncle Tim, which we have asked them to read to you in simple terms."

Gran read explaining as she went along. "Daddy and Mommy are very disappointed at not being able to be with you as they promised, but there is a lot of unrest in the Transvaal. This could even lead to war, so Daddy can't leave his expensive equipment in the care of Paul, nor can he make the long trek himself as he would be away from his diggings too long and might lose his permit to prospect.

"Mommy thought of coming to the farm by train, but little Charles isn't very well, and Mommy would find it difficult to travel with two small babies when there are changes to make from one train to another."

Gran tried to ease their disappointment by assuring them that Mommy and Daddy were no less heartsore and loved them dearly, and how she, Gran, enjoyed their company and would hate to part with them.

The year 1899 promised to be no different from the preceding two, until trouble upset the easy rhythm, half way through the year.

Stephanus had left school on reaching the age of sixteen, and spent his time helping Uncle Tim with the stock. One autumn afternoon they had been out together examining grazing, when Uncle Tim was bitten by a cobra. Stephanus immediately made deep incisions around the bite and sucked out the poison, quite regardless of danger to himself. He made a tourniquet of Uncle Tim's shirt and drove back to the farm at great speed and, leaving Uncle Tim in Gran's care, he hurried on to the Railways siding to telephone Dr Murray.

Gran took over, keeping Tim as quiet as possible until the doctor arrived. In spite of treatment and care, Uncle Tim was very ill indeed for a few days and the girls watched fearfully, not daring to ask, "Is he going to die?"

Gran spent hours by day and night caring for Uncle Tim, and it was only at Mrs Boucher's insistence that she left the sickroom to snatch a few hours sleep each night. Once out of danger, Uncle Tim was soon his old energetic self and laughed at their solicitude, but Gran had developed a cough which persisted in spite of Dr Murray's treatment.

Uncle Tim drew the girls aside one day. "Try to help Gran as much as you can. She must slow down. She can't do all the things she used to do. I'm very worried about her."

Alarmed at his tone, they helped wherever they could for a few days, but soon slipped back into the old ways of expecting Gran to be here, there and everywhere.

Another letter from Daddy and Mommy caused Gran deep concern; again she read aloud slowly and carefully:

Dear Mother & Tim, you will know that war has broken out. I prayed that this would never happen. I have many friends among the Boers and they have been sorely provoked. Nevertheless, I feel that as Britain is committed to this war, it is best to try to get it over with as soon as possible and then to do everything in our power to heal the breach.

Knowing the country as I do, I have been asked to act as a guide and will be away for some time. I cannot continue prospecting in this climate, so am leaving Selena and the little boys on the farm of a friend who will keep and eye on them. The wagon is camped near a farm store, with adequate water close at hand. Paul and Sanna will stay with her, and I should be away only a few weeks. She should not want for anything, as I have left my savings bank book with instructions that she continue to send money to you as usual. I cannot thank you enough Mother and Tim for looking after our beloved daughters. Their letters confirm that they are well cared for and happy. I hope when this little trouble blows over, we will be united as a family again.

"Did you understand the letter?" asked Gran. They nodded miserably, but soon forgot that war brought danger and were shocked a few days later to learn that Stephanus had left the previous week to join the Boers.

They questioned Gran. "How can Daddy and Stephanus be on opposite sides? Perhaps the could shoot each other. Which is the right side?"

"When Gran shook her head and said sadly, "Each man must follow his conscience and do what he believes to be right," they were more confused. How could there be two right sides?

More alarming news followed - a letter from Mommy saying that the wagon had been commandeered (Gran explained that in war the Commander could do this if he required any item to help his side) and the oxen driven off by British troops, who had given her a letter of authority to claim compensation. Again Gran explained that the Government would pay her for her wagon and oxen.

Worse was to follow: the wagon seat box containing all Dad's papers had been stolen, together with the letter of authority and the savings bank book. Paul and Sanna had fled. Mommy was destitute and relying on the farm owners who had taken her into their home, but they were moving to Pretoria or Johannesburg until hostilities ended.

While Gran was explaining the letter to the girls, Uncle Tim was preparing to go to town to send aid. He was absent all day, and returned wearily in the evening, saying that he had arranged with attorneys to send money but they were having difficulty in tracing Mommy. Often telephone wires were cut by the Boers or Railways lines damaged, which delayed communication.

Suddenly life at the farm changed.

Uncle Tim made frequent visits to town, returning with no news. Gran still tried to entertain the girls, but they could see her heart was not in it. Little luxuries disappeared from their lives. When they complained of no bacon or fruit cake or no more new clothes, Gran chided them gently, "Uncle Tim is spending a lot of money to trace your mother and to get a message to your father. He has sent what we can spare to Johannesburg, ready to be used when needed. Don't you think we should help too?"

Gran carried on trying to do all the tasks as heretofore, with Tim scolding her for overtaxing herself, until one day she awoke with a heavy fever. There was great consternation when the doctor diagnosed "pneumonia". Mrs Boucher move in, leaving Aletta to care for her family until Aunt Jane and Aunt Susan arrived.

Aunt Jane was much like Gran: she was the eldest of their family and soon took command. Enid and May liked her immediately as she told them how much their Gran loved them and how she enjoyed having them at the farm. She chatted about their Dad when he was a little boy on the farm, and told stories almost as well as Gran. Aunt Susan was quieter, and spent much time at Gran's bedside. The girls were sure with such care, Gran would soon recover, but in spite of all the medicines she grew steadily worse. They listened fearfully as the grown-ups talked of a crisis. Enid looked up "crisis" in the dictionary and decided that when the crisis was passed Gran would be better.

Enid and May slept on stretchers on the stoep, while the aunts had taken possession of their bedroom. One night as the family kept watch throughout the long hours, May tiptoed from the stoep to find Uncle Tim and Uncle Sam sitting in the cold hallway, while the aunts remained at Gran's bedside. It was so still, and frightening, May crept back and hugged the blankets close, waiting for morning.

She awoke next morning to smiling faces, the crisis had passed, Gran was on the mend, they could see her for a few moments, all would be well. Joy filled the house as fear and worry receded.

Gran looked very small and frail as they bent to kiss her. Lovingly she stroked each head and whispered, "God bless you darlings."

The aunts started making preparations to return to their families. Uncle Sam went back to town. Uncle Tim was his old laughing self, as he promised the girls a trip to the sea with Gran as soon as she was fit to travel.

After a day of relief the family went happily to bed for the first time in many days.

May woke in the cold grey dawn to see Uncle Tim standing in the doorway. She scrambled from her warm bed, ran towards him A happy greeting died on her lips when she saw how weary he looked.

"Uncle Tim, are you sick?" she asked.

Without turning he answered, "Your Gran died in her sleep last night."

"But Uncle Tim," protested May unbelievingly.

He seemed not to hear. Without answering he went striding across the garden and out of the front gate.

"I don't believe it," whispered May, but when she rushed to wake Enid and said aloud, "Wake up, Enid, Gran is dead," she knew it was true, and sobs choked her as tears rolled down her cheeks. Enid pulled a blanket around their shoulders.

"Don't cry May, please don't cry so," she comforted. The two sat clinging to one another until their sobs turned to gasps.

The sun was shining when Aunt Jane came through the door. "I see you know," she said in a choked voice, disappearing back into the house to emerge a little later with glasses of hot milk and hot toast.

"There, now, poor little mites. Eat up and you will feel a little better. Your Gran has gone where there will be no more pain. She will have a special place in Paradise. When you have eaten, get dressed, I want you to take a note to Mrs Boucher to thank her for her help and to ask her to make your black clothes.

"Don't make a noise, your Aunt Susan has a headache. I gave her some medicine to make her sleep. I will need your help during the next few days, as we will have half the countryside coming to pay their respects."

They returned from the Bouchers to find visitors coming and going in a never ending stream. No caller came empty-handed: one brought meat pies, another cake, at third a cooked chicken, while so many brought flowers that the house soon looked like a hot-house.

As the visitors sympathised with the girls, they praised Gran, telling some story of her many kindnesses in the past.

On the third day the homestead looked like a fair ground as mourners arrived in carts and wagons, on horseback and on foot.

May and Enid, and Mabel and Lottie followed Uncle Sam and Aunt Jane and Aunt Susan and Uncle Tim to the graveside. There was scarce a dry eye as Gran was laid to rest in the little farm cemetery.

The girls returned home with hearts too heavy for tears, and their loss was made harder to bear when Aunt Jane and Uncle Tim explained that they would soon be going to live with Aunt Charlotte in town.

"Please let us stay here with you Uncle Tim," they begged.

Aunt Jane tried to make light of the move. "Uncle Tim is often away, you can't possibly stay here alone. Besides Uncle Tim can't sew for you and your homework will soon be too difficult for him to supervise."

Uncle Tim spoke seriously, "I am so sorry to see you go, and I promise to see you in town as often as I can," he said slowly.

* * *
Life was orderly and cheerless in Aunt Charlotte's home. She was strict to a point of hardness about tidiness and punctuality. May soon found herself constantly attending to the baby boys. Aunt Charlotte would say, "Mabel and Lottie have to spend so much time at the piano while you idle your time away."

Enid advised her, "Don't be so good to the kids. Let them cry, like I do, then Aunt Charlotte will not be so keen for you to look after them. Don't give the baby his dummy and don't be so ready to amuse young Charles or you will find yourself saddled with them all day." But May, afraid to protest, and too conscientious to be negligent, found herself spending hours each afternoon with the babies.

Aunt Charlotte spent much of her time working on committees; she was chairlady of the Church Union, secretary of the Ladies Sewing Guild, assistant organist. Uncle Sam busied himself with the affairs of the town, attending frequent meetings. Social gatherings or meetings were often held in their home, when the children would be called in for a few minutes to greet the visitors. Aunt Charlotte would have Mabel play and Lottie sing, proud when the visitors praised her gifted children. On the first such occasion, May stood waiting for her turn, only to hear Aunt Charlotte explaining that Enid and May had no musical talents.

"She could have asked me to recite just once," thought May resentfully.

She resented being pushed into the background, always being overshadowed by her cousins; she resented having Mabel's dresses handed down to her, even if they were like new. She wanted new clothes of her own, even if Enid did not seem to mind.

They were delighted at Uncle Tim's frequent visits, until Aunt Charlotte remarked that he was coming to town so often to see the widow who owned the florist and millinery store, and only popped in on passing.

She was proved right, when a few weeks later Uncle Tim invited Enid and May to take tea with him in town and Mrs McFarlane joined them. She was a plump laughing lady and Enid thought she was a wonderful person because she made those beautiful hats on display in her little shop. May thought she liked her, but Uncle Tim seemed to forget everyone else when she was around. Mrs McFarlane told them that she had two fifteen-year old sons, twins, who were at boarding school in Grahamstown, and Uncle Tim said he hoped the girls would like the lads because they would be sort of cousins, as Mrs McFarlane and he were soon to be married - then she would be their Aunt Dolly.

They met the twins, Gordon and Duncan, at the wedding a few weeks later, but Enid and May decided they were much too grown up to be their friends. Only the family attended the wedding on the farm. Aunt Dolly was very kind to Enid and May, making much of them, and sending them home with special little packages of wedding cake and sweets.

It was not long after that Aunt Charlotte told Enid to begin packing as she was returning to the farm to live with Uncle Tim and Aunt Dolly.

Packing began immediately as two exited girls made plans for their return, only to be appalled when Aunt Charlotte said, "Not you, May, you are to remain here."

"But Aunt Charlotte, why? I want to go back to the farm."

"That is rather ungrateful of you May. I have given you a good home here. Anyhow it is enough for your Aunt Dolly to look after one of you when she is still busy taking up new duties at the farm. It's no use pulling a long face about it."

Enid assured May that she just wouldn't go unless they could go together, but when May returned from school a few days later, she found Enid had gone, leaving a note, "I will be at boarding school in town, only going to the farm each week-end, so will see you every single day. Aunt Dolly says you can come to the farm any weekend you wish."

Throughout the day May bottled up her feelings; she felt ill with disappointment and loss, as she repeatedly told herself, "No one cares about me." When at last lights were out, she lay in her bed sobbing into her pillow, "I want my Mommy, I want my Mommy."

She was off hand and cool to Enid when they met at school, and would have none of her explanation that Uncle Tim needed her at the farm as he was going to the Wool Auctions in Port Elizabeth, and Aunt Dolly would be alone on the farm. Luckily it would soon be school holidays, and Aunt Charlotte was taking the family to the sea and she, May, would have a lovely holiday, seeing the sea for the first time.

So May consoled herself, promising herself lots of fun at the seaside. But on Friday Aunt Charlotte announced that, as she was going to stay with her sister, there really would not be enough room for May.

Uncle Sam protested saying, "Surely they can fit a child in somewhere," and Aunt Charlotte replied crossly,

"I wrote saying that May was staying with us. I have had an answer today but no invitation to bring her with us. Besides my mother is visiting at the same time, that makes six extra people, she just would not have enough beds to go round. May will be alright with Lena during the day and you will be home each evening. Besides it is only for eight days."

Mabel asked timidly, "I would not mind sharing my bed with Lottie, or even sleeping on the floor if May could come with us."

"Indeed you will do no such thing," said Aunt Charlotte.

"I don't mind," piped up May weakly. "I will look after Uncle Sam."

After dinner Lottie whispered to her, "We are so sorry you can't come with us; we will bring you sea sand and shells."

Mabel chimed in, "You can use any of my things while we are away, you can use all the games. I wish you were coming with us."

May pretended not to care, but waving goodbye as they drove off to the station was hard, and she had to run inside to hide her tears. After a little cry in her room, Lena brought refreshments, trying to show her sympathy; she even offered to make May's favourite pudding for lunch.

May played with her doll, started a game of snakes and ladders - throwing dice for two people, but that was no fun. She looked at Mabel's books, but they were too "old" for her to enjoy. She wandered down the path and was swinging idly on the gate when Mrs Harris from the big house just up the road stopped.

"I thought you were off to the sea today," she said.

"Not me," answered May. "The others have gone."

"Are you all alone?" asked Mrs Harris incredulously.

"Uncle Sam will be home this evening," explained May.

Mrs Harris continued on her way, but half an hour later she reappeared. "I stopped off at your uncle's shop and asked for permission to take you home with me to play with Billie. He is convalescing after another bout of bronchitis and will be glad of company."

May jumped off the gate. "I'll tell Lena where I am going."

The Harris' home was a big double storied building with lovely grounds for playing games like Hide and Seek. Billie, looking pale and thin after his illness, was sitting on the sun porch idly screwing Mecano pieces together.

"Can you make things that work with your Mecano?" asked May.

"No, there are too many parts. This book shows how to assemble the parts, but I never get it right. My dad knows how."

"Let me try," volunteered May, trying to follow the instructions; they were proud when they had completed a wobbly windmill with a wheel that really turned when pushed hard enough.

"Shall I read to you?" asked May eyeing a pile of books. Picking one up she continued, "I know some of these verses, my Gran taught me to say this one - I have a little Shadow".

Billie clapped when she finished reciting.

"Gee, you are clever," he praised.

"No, it was my Gran who was so clever. She taught me lots of verses and other things too."

May was telling Billie about the fun they had had living with Gran, when they were surprised to hear the lunch bell. Billie chatted throughout lunch, telling his parents how clever May was and what fun they had had, while Mr and Mrs Harris watched him enjoying his food instead of pecking at it as he usually did.

He enjoyed May's company so much that Mrs Harris arranged with Uncle Sam for her to spend as much time as possible with him each day.

Billie was soon well enough to play out of doors, and when Mrs Harris worried about chilly winds May promised to see that he wore a jersey after any strenuous game.

Billie brought his bicycle from storage where it had lain for months, as he had not yet learned to ride. Such fun they had each teaching the other. They were hot and weary by lunch time, but elated because they could ride, even getting on and off without help.

"I have never had such fun," Billie kept telling his parents.

Mrs Harris helped to make the time pass quickly by planning little treats, so the week that May had dreaded flew past.

May was surprised to find that she had not missed her cousins at all. They returned bringing gifts, and all pleased to see May again. The baby stretched out his hands to her and gurgled when she took him. Little Charles had incoherent stories to tell of the "puff puff". Lottie told her about visiting Shelly Beach and collecting the very best shells for May, and how they had been to a dark cave full of bats, how they had watched ships coming and going in the harbour, even sailing vessels with big white sails. Mabel had bought her some new hair ribbons with her own pocket money, and hoped May had not been very lonely.

"No, I have not been lonely," said May, "I have had a lovely time. I spent every day with the Harrises. Mrs Harris took me with her for a picnic and we went to the children's concert and ..."

Aunt Charlotte interrupted, "What were you doing at Mrs Harris'?" she asked crossly.

"She asked Uncle Sam to allow me to play with Billie while he was ill. We had such fun that she invited me to spend each day with them."

"Did she ask you to come every day, or were you making a nuisance of yourself? I hope you behaved yourself. The Harrises are most important people," Aunt Charlotte spoke sharply.

May felt downcast. Aunt Charlotte was spoiling all the fun of the lovely holiday she had had.

When Uncle Sam returned from work he confirmed that Mrs Harris had invited May, and seemed to want her to spend as much time as possible with young William.

It was soon back into the old routine of fetching and carrying for Aunt Charlotte. The little boys, though very lovable, were very demanding. Mrs Harris had asked her to come and play with Billie as often as she could, but when May suggested this to Aunt Charlotte, she was rebuked sharply with, "If Mrs Harris wants you to visit, she will send a note inviting you."

A week after their return, Aunt Charlotte was busier than usual; she was having the Church Sewing Circle to tea. "Please keep the babies quiet May, while the visitors are here. Lottie and Mabel have to start music lessons again."

Baby was dozing in his pram when little Charles started demanding "tea". "Wait her, while I fetch your tea," said May, hurrying indoors to find Lena. As she passed the drawing-room, she heard her name mentioned and stopped to listen. Aunt Charlotte was saying,

"She is such a sulky child. Goodness knows, I treat her like my own, but she never shows any gratitude."

May heard murmurs of sympathy, then Aunt Charlotte continued, "It is a trial having her here, but I suppose I can only do my best. How her father could go wandering about the country, leaving his children to the tender mercies of others, I will never know."

A voice intruded, "I thought he was with the troops."

"Yes, I suppose you could say so, but no one seems to know where he is, or his wife either. They seem to have disappeared, and in the meantime we are faced with the trouble and expense of raising another child. We really do not have room for her. Mabel is growing up; she should have a room of her own, but must perforce share with Lottie. Goodness knows, I want to do my Christian duty, but I wish I could make some other arrangement."

May heard further murmurs of approval, then Mrs Harris' voice, "I am so pleased you brought up the subject I have been wanting to broach myself, and have not known how to. My husband and I have discussed this often. We have been wanting to ask you to allow May to stay with us. She is such a wonderful companion for Billie, and he adores her. We were very happy to have her with us when you were on holiday, and have missed her very much."

Aunt charlotte interrupted, "I could never allow it. It would be quite wrong to have one's kin beholden to strangers. No, I will continue to do my duty by her."

Mrs Harris answered quietly, "Believe me, you will be doing me a favour. I will be beholden to you, not the other way around. Say no more, I will ask William to speak to Mr Wright to see how soon we can arrange for May to move in with us."

May heard footsteps and fled.

She found it harder than usual to be polite to Aunt Charlotte in the ensuing days, and it was with a sigh of relief that she heard Aunt Charlotte say, "We are loaning you to Mrs Harris temporarily, because we feel you can help look after young Billie when he is ill."

Uncle Sam took May aside and talked seriously to her. "Don't go unless you want to. Mr and Mrs Harris are pressing us to let you live with them, but our home will always be open to you. I do not know whether I am doing the right thing in allowing you to go for an experimental period."

May thanked him politely, not daring to show her elation. "Someone really wants me. Mrs Harris and Billie really want me," her heart sang.

She moved into the Harris home, to find her own room ready and waiting. Mrs Harris had spared no pains in making it a pleasant place. She let May choose bright curtains and bedspread, she filled the little bookcase with children's books. It was a happy moment for May when Mrs Harris hugged her saying, "You will be the daughter I never have always wanted."

Billie was overjoyed to have a companion a few years older and wiser than himself, and Mr Harris called her his adopted daughter.

She could hardly wait for school to start to tell Enid of her good fortune.

Enid was waiting for her at the junior school gate on opening day. "Gee, May, it is good to see you. I had a wonderful holiday; Douglas and Gordon were home from boarding school and they know lots of games. They may be nearly grown-up, but they are fun and Aunt Dolly is wonderful. She is teaching me to be a milliner, like she is. You should see what I can make. What about you? Did you enjoy the sea? Did you swim every day?"

"I never went to the sea, I ..." May started to answer, only to be interrupted by Enid.

"You never saw the sea! Why not? Was your holiday cancelled?"

"No, the others went, but there was no room for me," answered May.

"You mean they left you behind?" exclaimed Enid incredulously.

"Don't worry Enid, I had a lovely holiday. I stayed with the Harrises, and we had lots of jun. I looked after Billie when he was sick; when he was better we went to a lot of lovely places. I am staying with them now."

"You mean you are Billie's nursemaid?" asked Enid growing indignant.

"Oh, no, I'm their adopted daughter."

"You can't be. No one can adopt you, you belong to us, you are Daddy's and Mommy's daughter and my sister, we won't let anyone adopt you." Enid sounded upset.

"But I like living with the Harrises; Mrs Harris says ..."

"I don't care what she says."

The bell interrupted the argument and the girls fled in different directions to their classrooms.

The following afternoon, Aunt charlotte sent a note to Mrs Harris asking whether May could come and help with the little boys, as Lena was ill and Mabel and Lottie had music lessons and she, Aunt Charlotte, had to make cakes for a f�te.

Mrs Harris asked May whether she would care to go. "You need not go, it is up to you if you want to oblige your aunt," Mrs Harris explained.

"Yes, I'll go, I like Charles and Baby. Please let Billie come along with me, we can play together in the garden."

When they arrived at Aunt Charlotte's they found Charles was "chesty" and Aunt Charlotte told them to play in the children's room.

They had not been there very long when May was surprised to see Aunt Dolly hurrying up the garden path. She gave a perfunctory ring, and strode into the dining room where Aunt Charlotte was packing cakes.

Aunt Dolly was red in the face and breathing heavily and, without even greeting Aunt Charlotte she burst out, "How dare you give our niece to strangers? How dare you? You know Tim and I begged you to let us have Enid and May to keep them together, but you were adamant. I know why, yes indeed I know why. You wanted an unpaid nursemaid, you ..."

"Don't speak to me like that," interrupted Aunt Charlotte. "I have looked after that child like one of my own, and little thanks have I had, nothing but a perpetual sour face."

"You looked after her? You used her. No wonder the poor little girl looks depressed. How much love or consideration have you shown ..."

May stood in the doorway staring, she had never heard grown-ups squabbling like this. It was worse than any row she and Enid ever had. Aunt Charlotte went on, "You have the facts quite wrong, I ..."

"Facts," sniffed Aunt Dolly. "Let the facts speak for themselves. Nothing you might say can gainsay the fact that you went off on holiday leaving the poor child behind on her own, or the fact that you have handed her over to complete strangers. Heavens knows why."

Aunt Charlotte was beginning to speak, when she spied May standing in the doorway, and turned her attention in her direction. "What are you doing eavesdropping. Leave the room at once," she scolded.

"Come here, my pet," countermanded Aunt Dolly.

As May hesitated Aunt Dolly walked over, placed her hand firmly on May's shoulder. "Come," she said kindly. "We have come to take you home. We must go and explain to Mrs Harris."

Aunt Charlotte stood glaring as Aunt Dolly propelled May towards the door with Billie trailing behind.

"Aunt Dolly," protested May, "I am supposed to be looking after the children."

"Let your Aunt Charlotte care for her own children," answered Aunt Dolly without pausing.

When they reached the Harris' home, Aunt Dolly paused to titivate, wiping her face with a fresh scented handkerchief and smoothing her hair, while May ran indoors to call Mrs Harris, who came forward with hand outstretched. "Do come in, Mrs Wright. How nice to see you," she greeted.

Aunt Dolly followed Mrs Harris into the parlour and, coming straight to the point she began, "I have come to thank you for being kind to our niece, and to tell you that I have come to take her home."

Mrs Harris turned to May saying, "Ask Katie to bring tea please, May dear, and while you are in the kitchen put some of the cookies you made onto a platter. I am sure your aunt will enjoy your baking, and be pleased to see what a good cook you are becoming."

May helped Katie set out the tea things, putting lace doyleys onto the plates and starched napkins ready on the tray. Then she returned to the parlour, and found Uncle Tim had joined Aunt Dolly and they were talking quietly to Mrs Harris. He held out his arms like he used to and May flew to give him a big hug.

"I arrived back from Port Elizabeth yesterday to be greeted with Enid's telegram, which did not make sense, so Aunt Dolly and I came straight to town. We have come to take you back to the farm, and we promise to look after you, and make you happy there."

Mrs Harris was pouring tea when she noticed that Billie was absent. "He was here a moment ago," she said.

"I will fetch him," volunteered May.

She found Billie lying face down on his bed, sobbing.

"Billie, what is the matter?" she said consolingly.

"Go away, I don't want you here. You promised to be my sister, you have only been here a few days and you have decided to leave. I will be all by myself again with no one to play with, and you just don't care," complained Billy.

"Gee, Bill, I had not thought of that. Goodness you look sick, and you are starting to wheeze. I must call your mother to give you some medicine. Stop crying Billie, I will be back in a moment." May hurried back to the parlour calling, "Mrs Harris, come quickly. Billie is wheezing again."

"Oh, dear, excuse me," said Mrs Harris following May.

She dosed Billie and pulled a light cover over him. "Lie still for a while and you will feel better. I must return to my guests."

May sat on the edge of the bed for a while watching Billie looking thoroughly miserable.

Suddenly she shook him, "Listen to me Billie, stop crying. I have made up my mind. I am not going to leave you. I am going to stay here and look after you. Come with me to tell Uncle Tim."

Billie looked up unbelievingly, then rose to follow May as she returned to the drawing-room.

"Uncle Tim, please may I stay here and not return to the farm?" she asked haltingly.

Uncle Time's face dropped. "I don't blame you, May, for feeling sore. So often grown-ups hurt children all unwittingly. Can you not forgive us for our stupidity?" he asked.

"Oh, Uncle Tim, it is not that at all. I want to be on the farm with you and Enid and all, but I want to be with Mrs Harris and Billie too. You see, Billie needs me to much, especially when he is sick," May hastened to explain.

Mrs Harris murmured, "Bless you darling girl."

A long uncomfortable silence followed, broken by Mrs Harris. "I can't begin to tell you how much I would like to keep May, she is a ray of sunshine in our home. Apart from the fact that Billie needs companionship, we love her dearly for herself. I have been thinking, would it be possible for her to spend the weekdays with us and return to the farm with Enid every Friday? She will have to join Enid at boarding school next year, when she will be too advanced to continue at the farm school, so she will be absent from the farm anyway."

"An excellent idea, Mrs Harris," said Uncle Tim approvingly. "But you must permit me to pay her expenses, you ..."

Mrs Harris held up her hand, saying, "Excuse me. May show your Aunt Dolly your room. I am sure she would like to see how you have arranged it."

May was delighted to comply and Aunt Dolly was very complimentary, admiring the curtains and bedspread. They returned to the drawing-room to be greeted by Billie hopping about impatiently, waiting to be the first to announce the good news, "You are going to stay with us forever. You can still be my sister," he cried, his tears and wheezing completely forgotten.

Uncle Tim confirmed this, saying, "May you seem to be so happy here with Mrs Harris, and as she has pointed out you will have to live in town as a boarder in a few month's time. We have agreed to part with you. You will have two homes, which I hope you will love equally well. You will spend the weekends on the farm and the rest of the time in town."

"Thank you, Uncle Tim, thank you." May's face sparkled as she carried on, "Can I bring Billie with me sometimes?"

"You may bring whom you like," Aunt Dolly answered quickly. "The farm is your home and your friends will always be welcome. Besides we will be pleased to have Billie every weekend if his mother will permit him to come."

Mrs Harris beamed. "He is a bit young, but perhaps we might be permitted to visit the farm with him some Sundays."

Uncle Tim and Aunt Dolly welcomed the suggestion together, "We will be delighted, come as often as you can."

Uncle Tim continued, "Now that you are happily settled May, I have good news for you. We received a letter from your father today. I have quite a story to tell you."

Mrs Harris rose to leave the room, but Uncle Tim stayed her, "Please do not go, I am sure you will be interested.

"Your Dad's letter explains how he came to be away so long. He was sent as a guide, as you know, but in crossing the Eastern Transvaal he found Boer commandos moving in all directions, and to avoid capture he veered South and reached Ladysmith just before the seige.

"The seige lasted some months; when the town was relieved he was asked to lead a small party up to the North Eastern Transvaal to investigate rumours of fresh supplies of arms and ammunition reaching the Boers over that border. He could not go as a British soldier as he would be operating in enemy territory, so he and three companions, who could speak Dutch, spent the last eight months close to the border, more or less in hiding. He could not send or receive letters from those remote parts, so you can imagine his distress on returning to find your mother gone, the farm where he had left her, deserted.

"He found many letters awaiting him in Pretoria and the money I had sent. After much trouble he traced your mother to a concentration camp at Irene.

"When the Smith's fled to a farm in the Magaliesberg to save their remaining stock from confiscation, your mother had accompanied them.

"A little baby girl was born on the Magaliesberg farm. Again there were no means of communication. Food was running short, so Mr and Mrs Smith decided to visit Pretoria to replenish their larder and to see whether they could return in safety to their own farm.

"Your mother stayed behind. During that period a roving band of British troops arrived to search the area. They would not believe that your mother was British - she speaks Dutch very well, as you know.

"Only last month she was brought back from Magaliesberg and put into the camp at Irene, where the baby girl died and the two boys were very sick indeed. She must have had a dreadful time. The Smiths were doing everything in their power to have her released when your father reached Pretoria. I imagine it did not take him long to have her set free.

"His letter says that she is living in a comfortable little boarding house in Pretoria - there are letters from her too. As soon as he is discharged from the Army he will set about making a permanent home for his whole family. I need not tell you how distressed he has been, and still is.

"Here are letters for you from you mother and father. It would help if you wrote as soon as possible, to reassure them. I will give Mrs Harris the address."

May had listened wide-eyed. The tale sounded like one of Gran's adventure stories. "Poor Daddy and poor Mommy," she sighed.

"It is getting late, we must get back to the farm. Mrs Harris, allow us to thank you once again. I will see Mr Harris when next I am in town," said Uncle Tim, taking his leave.

May waved happily from the stoep and Billie clapped and laughed.

In the coming months May was thoroughly spoiled by Mrs Harris, and Enid, Uncle Tim and Aunt Dolly made much of her when she visited the farm.

Letters arrived regularly once more from Dad and Mommy, and altogether life was without it's troubles.

The Harrises visited the farm regularly. On the first occasion they drove out in their automobile. Mrs Harris wore her new hat with its protective veil and Mr Harris dressed in a motor coat and dark glasses. In spite of these precautions, they reached the farm stiff and shaken and covered with dust. The car had stuttered and clattered over the bumpy farm roads, the hump running down the centre of the road threatened to tear away the under-carriage, and the journey seemed long and tiresome. Thereafter they travelled at a more leisurely pace in their Cape cart, and found the trips delightful.

Billie looked forward to his visits to the farm and was overjoyed when his mother reluctantly allowed him to spend a weekend. He helped May collect eggs, he rode on horseback, sitting astride in front of Uncle Tim. Best of all he struck up a friendship with the Boucher boys. Petrus took him to the creek to catch tadpoles. He had never been so dirty or carefree in his life. When he returned to the homestead, muddied from head to foot, Aunt Dolly laughed unconcernedly, "Nothing soap and water won't cure," she said. He returned to town sunburnt and glowing with good health. Mrs Harris kept remarking how much good his visits to the farm were doing him.

May felt she had the best of two worlds, the pleasures of shopping or going to entertainments in town during the week, and the long restful weekends on the farm. The war was drawing to an end, peace talks were taking place, Mommy and Daddy were safe, she did not have a care in the world. Everything conspired to make this a memorably happy period of her life, so full of interests and pleasures that she scarcely noticed the changes taking place around her.

A little parcel arrived one day from Daddy and Mommy, containing a broach in the shape of the Southern Cross, with each point tipped with a small diamond chip. The note inside asked her, May, to give it to Mrs Harris as a small token of appreciation.

Billie stopped demanding May's undivided attention. His schooling was no longer broken by long days of illness. He made friends easily and brought his new companions home to play at Britain and Boer, or Cowboys and Indians, and who would want a sister to join in these manlike exercises. On the farm he preferred the company of the Boucher boys to that of Enid or May or even Uncle Tim. He and May remained fond of one another, but found their interests leading them along different paths.

Mrs Harris encouraged May to invite friends from school to lunch or afternoon tea. Mabel and Lottie were frequent visitors. After one such visit May turned to Mrs Harris saying, "Do you know? Mrs Harris, I am beginning to like my cousins very much, yet when I lived with them I often hated them. Do you think I was jealous?"

After giving the matter some thought, Mrs Harris replied, "Yes, you most likely were. They are well mannered girls, but I find them rather without ideas of their own."

May found that she could talk to Mrs Harris about any subject under the sun and Mrs Harris was always interested.

When Aunt Dolly invited some friends of Enid's to the farm for Enid's sixteenth birthday, May was suddenly aware that Enid had grown up. She wore her new long skirt and her hair was "up", twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck. "Goodness me," said May. "How did you manage to grow up overnight?"

"Aunt Dolly said I could put my hair up when I reached sixteen, and there you are, I am a young lady, but she says I must wear plaits to school," explained Enid. However before the afternoon ended, Enid was joining in all the old rough-and-tumble games, holding her skirt above the knees as she raced and dodged. Just as suddenly, she later reverted to the role of a smart young hostess, pouring tea and waiting upon her guests in a most ladylike manner.

When they assembled for church on Sunday, Enid was quite grown-up, from her side-buttoned boots to her leghorn straw hat, swathed with an ostrich feather.

Uncle Tim whistled and bowed stiffly as he greeted her, "Good morning, Miss Wright. I am pleased to meet you."

"Aunt Dolly said that I could have an ostrich feather in my new hat, as long as it was small and neat. She says I am too short to wear a large hat - it would make me look top heavy. Do you like it?" she asked the bystanders.

Enid was always quoting Aunt Dolly. She thought her aunt the wisest, kindest, prettiest person. There was a special bond between niece and aunt. They would spend hours discussing patterns and colours, and Enid, who did as little school work as possible, would spend long hours helping Aunt Dolly with millinery. Aunt Dolly's opinion on dress was sought by neighbours, and often she would undertake the task of making brides' and bridesmaids' dresses and head-dresses and bouquets with Enid's assistance.

Letters from Dad told how he was working on a diamond mine, sorting diamonds, and how the ground was washed in a "dolly" and the gravel thrown upon the sorting table. Mommy wrote about the excitement of furnishing the little mine house, and how the little boys were growing. Dad told her how disappointed he was with the compensation paid for the goods commandeered at the beginning of the war; nevertheless he was happy that he had sufficient to repay Uncle Tim.

Mrs Harris explained that she had discussed the matter with Uncle Tim, and they had written asking Daddy and Mommy to allow the girls to remain until the end of the year to enable Enid to complete her schooling and May to pass into a higher standard. When Mrs Harris discussed this, the end of the year seemed ages away, but it seemed suddenly upon them.

There were school examinations with last minute swotting. There were farewells at school and at home. May paid her last visit to the farm. It was hard to believe that she was leaving the dear old familiar things behind. She and Enid walked across the veld, along the dam wall (May recalling with a smile and a tear the loss of her shoe and Gran's reaction) to the Bouchers.

Having coffee with the family, Mr and Mrs Boucher stood in the doorway waving goodbye. "Do not forget what I told you. Look out for Stephanus as you pass through Johannesburg." When they explained to her that they would only stop in Johannesburg long enough to change trains, nevertheless Mrs Boucher insisted that there might be a chance of them meeting Stephanus, who was working on the mines.

She said, "Miracles sometimes happen. Tell him to write more often and to save up enough to pay his fare to visit to us."

Their last visit was to the little farm graveyard to place flowers on Gran's grave, knowing full well that the blossoms would be scattered by marauding baboons as soon as they left.

The little farm school was filled to capacity when they attended morning service, and they were surprised to learn that many of the worshippers had come long distances to bid them "Godspeed".

The last few days were sorrowful and exciting in turn. Friends popped in to bring little parting gifts, Aunt Dolly was sewing furiously making new clothes for Enid and altering old, while in town Mrs Harris took May shopping, spending money on quite unnecessary items, just for the sake of spoiling May while the opportunity presented itself.

There was the bustle and rush of packing, decisions to be taken as to what could be discarded, somehow the old things had become very precious. How could May leave the doll that Uncle Tim had given her so long ago, or discard the beautiful taffeta dress that still hung in her wardrobe? The problem was solved by Mrs Harris buying a big tin trunk which was packed to capacity and sent off in the guards van.

They stood on the platform surrounded by loving familiar faces. Aletta, who had married a young policeman and lived in town was there, bringing home-made konfyt.

"Totsiens, I hope we meet again some time," she said. Gordon and Duncan, quite grown up, on holiday from university, came bringing a large box of chocolates with a card inscribed, "Best luck to our half cousins."

Aunt Charlotte gave each girl a parting gift of Lavender Water; Uncle Sam brought enough magazines to keep them occupied for many a day. "Take our best wishes to your parents and brothers," he said. He seemed truly sorry to see them leave.

Mabel, looking elegant as always, and quite a lady, had made lace handkerchief sachets for each girl. "I will miss you a lot," she said. "But then I will soon be leaving to carry on with my studies."

Lottie, plump and blonde and pretty, gave them a big hug. "I want you to have my Book of Verses, May. You can recite most of the verses but I always loved listening to you."

Aunt Charlotte's little boys could scarcely spare time to say goodbye, they were having such fun dodging Billie as he chased them around the platform. "I'll come and visit you soon," promised Billie.

Aunt Dolly had packed a huge hamper of goodies. "There's enough to feed a regiment," teased Uncle Tim.

"Never mind, one never knows, there could be a delay on the way," protested Aunt Dolly.

Mrs Harris had given each girl a travelling case, beautifully fitted with bottles and jars with silver tops, their names neatly engraved on the outside of the case. She kept wiping away tears that came unbidden to her eyes. "I hope you will be very happy. Please write often, come back for a holiday as soon as you can.

"May dear, the house won't be the same without you. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for Bill. Just look at him, haring around like a wild thing. His improvement is all due to you."

"Oh, no Mrs Harris, I did nothing for Billie, he has just outgrown his illnesses," protested May.

"That may be, but I was mollycoddling him too much before you came. We shall miss you so," she sniffed.

Mr Harris gave each girl a gold half sovereign, saying, "Keep these for luck. Only use them in times of great need."

Uncle Tim fussed about just like Daddy used to do. "Always keep your handbags with you, do not leave them lying around, do not talk to strangers on the journey, when you get off the train in Johannesburg, your parents will meet you. If you do not see them immediately, stand still on the platform, they will find you. When you change trains ..."

The warning bell cut short his lecture, and they scrambled into the compartment and leant from the window, waving and blowing kisses as the train steamed northwards.

When they could no longer distinguish their friends, they sat back on the bunks. "Gee Enid, I did not want to come to the farm, and now after seven years I am so sorry to be leaving," sighed May.

"Mmm," grunted Enid popping a chocolate into her mouth. "Mmm, everyone was so nice, but it will be good to see Mommy and Daddy again. Besides I like seeing new people and new places. Stop snivelling, silly."

"Well, I saw you crying as we said goodbye too, so there. Yes, it will be wonderful to see Mommy and Daddy again, and the little boys. It is a shame that one can never have all the people one loves in the same place at the same time. I wonder if we will ever return."

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