A tailor’s daughter from Wellington
Eleven o’clock was the most important time for me. The Boeing flew so high over our house that everyone had to be quiet (after I’ve made a racket calling them to come and see the aeroplane) just so that I could close my eyes, stretch out my arms, enjoy the sun in my face and listen to the sound of the aeroplane’s engines.
My Dad was the town tailor. He must have been good at what he did because everyone came to him for their suits for that special occasion. Actually, when I grew up, men still wore suits to church.
We had a statue of Andrew Murray overlooking Church Street. I did an assignment in Grade 5 but for the life of me, I can’t remember who he was or his contribution to our beautiful town.
There was a leather tannery outside our town that caused such an unbearable stench, especially on hot days that the neighbouring Paarlites named it Smellington.
We had a piano factory which made the most beautiful handmade pianos. This inspired me to take piano lessons.
We produced the best dried fruit in the country. The factory, the South African Dried Fruit Company sponsored the half marathon which became a very popular marathon in South Africa.
The Berg river flowed through our town and we took pride in keeping not only the river, but also our town clean.
Having a car meant that you were rich. We walked everywhere where we wanted to be.
The only time that your Mom was waiting outside of the school gate to pick you up, was the first few weeks of Grade 1 and she walked in the hot summer heat waiting for you with a cold bottle of water or Oros.
The biggest treat was taking a train on an hour and a half long journey to Cape Town with a bottle of guava juice, a packet of Niknaks and Smarties as provision. The most ‘snacks’ my Mom would allow us to have for the next year, never mind all in one day!
Saturday morning couldn’t come quickly enough for my ballet class.
There was a mysterious bus that picked the neighbour up every morning at five. Legend had it that he worked at an explosives factory outside town and that he wasn’t even allowed to take matches to work. True story, I swear!
We would make a cart from scrap found in the neighbours’ yards. The design of the cart depended on the scrap we collected.
Every child in the neighbourhood could climb trees. There was no mercy for the mulberry, fig, loquat, plum or any other fruit tree.
We mixed the quince pips with water and made our own glue for our projects. Try it!
I would feel like Heidi just looking at the beautiful mountain ranges especially the snow capped mountains in winter. Small town myth was that ‘Groenberg’ was a dormant volcano. Scary thought for any child.
Peer pressure meant that I had to take my shoes off at school during summer otherwise I would be the only one wearing shoes.
We would take a short-cut through the vineyards back from school even though we feared the farmer would shoot us for trespassing.
On the way back from school, on the hot summer days, our afternoon snack was the berries from the overgrown trees at the Industrial School. I still don’t know if those berries are suitable for human consumption.
Winter seemed like an eternity. There was no television; at least we didn’t have one in our house. My Mother, brother and I kept each other entertained during the rainy days. My brother and I religiously ate our beetroot during winter just so that we could have a collection of jars for spring.
The highlight of our year? Spring! Oh, the fields would be covered in wild flowers. We would wake up to the chirping sounds of the birds in the early hours of the morning; the honeysuckles with their fragrant blooms, the streets would be alive with the kids!
Spring meant we could go out in the field and catch any creature, experiment in eating flowers and plant roots. We were naive to have thought that the earthworms, chameleons, grasshoppers, butterflies and bees needed to be saved and nurtured. What they needed was to be saved from our probing hands. Our unlabeled and squeaky clean beetroot jars had holes punched into the lid so that our new pets could breathe and see be able to have a ‘nice’ view in their new home. The poor creatures were held hostage for days…
This is my hometown, Wellington. Though I don’t live there any longer, I appreciate and enjoyed the greatest childhood there. A couple of years ago I met a family from Paarl. The daughter asked me what it is that I do for a living. She remarked that it is unbelievable that Wellington produced a pilot since all people from there are backward. I had to laugh. Here is to Wellington!
