5. How we All Came to Be
When I was small, I never stopped to think about why we would live in the mountains of Lebanon. I had no real concept of nationality or geography and to me our village life was the most normal thing in the world. It is true, we went on a ship to South Africa when I was about three, but this Shemlan, this was home to us. As I grew older, I was made more aware of the uniqueness of our being there, and as an adult, of course I wanted to know more. I was interested in the events and circumstances that led Dad and Mom to come to Lebanon, and where each one of us was born. One day, perhaps my grandchildren will want to know some more of those details, so I include some chronological details of what I know as a record.
My father, Leslie Durand de Smidt was
born on 6th March 1916 in Springs, near Johannesburg. His father,
Sam de Smidt, was an inspector on the mines and had married Serena Durand, the
fourth of eleven children. They attended a Brethren church, and from what I
heard, Dad used to preach from a young age. He had an older sister, Yvonne, and
a younger brother, Ernie. Sadly, when he was twelve years old, his father died,
and his mother moved to Cape Town. They lived together with Sam’s widowed
mother in Sea Point at 20 Ave La Croix. Sam’s maternal family was from
Switzerland and the Buchlers had been general dealers in Robertson. Rumour had
it that the people from Appenzell ‘had a ‘twinkle in their eye, smoked lidded
pipes and the men had earrings’, though I could not detect any twinkle in the
eye of my great-grandmother in the pictures I have of her. Barbara Buchler
married Isak de Smidt, of Dutch descent, and they had three daughters and two
sons, including Samuel. Two of Sam’s sisters, Maria (Ria) and Lydia were well
known in the YWCA and Temperance circles.
As the oldest male in the household,
Dad felt somehow responsible for his mother and was always very solicitous
towards her. I remember once we were a bit older, and we were on a car trip
around Chapman’s Peak together. Granny Serena would say, “Les, there is too
much draft, can you put the window up?” Dad would oblige and a few minutes
later, there would a plaintive, “Les, it is a bit stuffy in here, can you put
the window down a bit?” Again, Dad would comply with her request, and our eyes
grew bigger as the drive proceeded. We did not often see Dad so compliant.
There are many things I would have
loved to ask Dad, but at the time those subjects did not occur to me. He
apparently attended a good boarding school at Kingswood College in Grahamstown,
and gained a first class matric. However, he needed to work after school, as
the family could not afford to send him to university. I found a pamphlet
written for his memorial service that added some information I did not know. “He
started work and became rebellious and wild. His mother prayed earnestly for
his conversion. All of a sudden, coming in late one night, he announced, ‘Mother,
I have become a Christian.’ It’s not known how he became converted, but that
God had worked a transformation no one could deny. It was dramatic.”
My mother Agnes Mathew was the
firstborn child of James and Hannah Mathew who lived in Lower Piers Road,
Wynberg at the time of her birth on the 21 April 1918. Hannah was born on
Robben Island, where her Swiss father was a storekeeper on the island when it
was a leper colony. Later, the family moved to Lower Piers Rd and called their
house Sahli, named after the family
farm near Kleindietwil, Canton Bern. Two Welsh Mathew brothers, Archbel and
Albert, had married two Luyt sisters and each family had around six children.
At some point one of the brothers (some accounts say both) absconded to
Australia, leaving a dozen children to wonder who was a sibling, and who was a
cousin, as they grew up together. From that brood, two Mathew siblings married
two Lanz siblings and so Mom had a large, inter-related family occupying some
houses in close proximity to one another. I am still discovering all the
connections.
Granny Hannah could have been
called ‘firm of purpose’ and I think Mom was rather in awe of her. She taught
Mom to sew well, as she had been to ‘finishing school’ in Switzerland. Mom also
absorbed her family history and was able to tell the most wonderful stories of
Switzerland, of Robben Island and of her Sahli cousins who she loved so
much. She adored her schoolmaster father, Jim, who taught her to be fair and
how to laugh. Her younger brothers, Jim and Hugh, featured strongly in her life
as did Edel, her sister-cousin.
Mom went to
the Wynberg Girls’ School, off Aliwal Road in Cape Town, and walked there every
day. The family were members of the Wynberg Baptist Church. Her uncle, E.A.
Mathew became a life deacon at the church and laid a cornerstone of some part
of the building. When Agnes was about sixteen years old, her father died just
after playing a game of tennis. This was a great shock to her and the family. She
completed her eighth year of school and then needed to go out and work to
supplement her mother’s income as a seamstress and housekeeper. Hannah felt
that it was very important to put the boys, Jim and Hugh, through school first
before even thinking about Agnes’ education.
Mom spoke
of having to leave school at the age of 16, when her father died early. She regretted
not being able to finish high school, but looked on the positive side of being
able to receive some later training as a midwife. The way she spoke of her
early years, Childen’s Special Service Mission (CSSM) lived in our imagination
as a magical holiday world of youthful fun, fellowship and friends. Fish Hoek
beach was a place of laughter, joy and romance. Apparently during an early
mission she dedicated her life to the service of Jesus. At a later mission
event she met Dad, a handsome young surveyor from Springs. One evening Les
asked her if she loved the moon and when she affirmed that she did, he told her
of his wish to be that moon. Little did he know that he already was.
The Second World War broke out and my
father became a land surveyor with the South African engineers in the army and
took part in the North Africa campaign, including preparations for the battle
of El Alamein. He was later posted to Syria to build a railway. While there he
visited the local missionaries and became a regular helper in the activities
and meetings held in the mission house in Damascus while he was in camp nearby.
During that time, he became concerned
for the people of Lebanon. Going into a Church to pray for them one day, God
spoke to him: “Not your prayers, I want you for Lebanon!” He was shocked and
stunned. It was so sudden, so clear.
He wrote a reflection of his
encounter with Mount Hermon in his journal. “We were camped in a Wadi on the
banks of the River, nearly midway between Damascus and Qunaitra. In the morning
as we drove out of that Wadi, we were faced with that great brown wall of
immovable rock, which is Mount Hermon. As the winter deepened, its crown of
snow sank lower till it extended midway to the foothills, forming a great nine
thousand foot high beacon. The cold increased until on January 2nd,
I think it was, a cloud enclosed us, the air seemed to be at once warmer, and
as we looked out of our tents at first light, the snow began to fall in great
swirling flakes and within a very short while, lay thick around, enveloping all
in its fresh purity and loveliness. It snowed fitfully through the day and I
went up the Wadi a little and climbed to its tip and then looked down to see a
flock of fat-tailed sheep nibbling at any bush still exposed – each sheep a
little moving pile of snow, which had collected on its back!
“We waited three days, but the clouds
clung low around Hermon. On the morning of the fourth day, when I looked out,
the sky was clear. We dashed up the side of the Wadi and then as we topped it,
the glory that was Mount Hermon burst on our sight. From tip to plain, from
north to south, that mighty mountain was clothed in spotless white, not
gleaming, but soft and pure. The hardness of the barrenness and rocky scree was
banished by indescribable loveliness. The robe of righteousness could be the
only fitting thought as I gazed at that perfection, which melting sank deep
into the land and burst out in crystal clear springs in the foothills.
“The next morning, when I came out of
our tent, I saw another glory of nature – not a massive masterpiece, but a
marvel in miniature. In the clear air of the night and the biting morning,
frost had formed on the snow, forming an infinite variety of patterns, out of
innumerable quadrants of delicate transparent ice, with a perfection of
symmetry and endlessly changing designs. Time stood still as one contemplated
this beauty. So fragile that a stirring of the air was enough to tumble some of
it, yet so sturdy that some stood firm when a gust hurled all loose particles
away. And then as the sun rose, the little fans shrank and burrowed into the
snow, their beauty but a stirring, awe-inspiring memory. He clothes the
mountains and beautifies the snowflakes!”
He came home from the war and had to
work out, together with Mom, the matter of how this affected them, in light of
God’s call to Dad in Lebanon. Eventually, they felt it was God’s will for them
both go to Lebanon. However, it was not a quick journey. They were engaged for
a total of nine years. The War accounted for some of those years and Bible
School in the UK added some more. Some of Mom’s family members were upset with
Dad for keeping her waiting for so long. “Is he ever going to actually marry
her?”
What I do know is that after being
‘demobbed’ from the Army, Dad trained at All Nations Bible College (ANBC) in
the United Kingdom. Mom trained at Ridgelands Bible College (which later joined
ANBC to become All Nations Christian College). She then went to Lebanon and
worked for a year before Dad joined her. Their wedding invitation was worded
thus:
Miss L.M. Simonsen
and
Members of the
British Syrian Mission
request the pleasure
of the company of …
on the occasion of
the marriage of
Agnes Mathew
to
Leslie D. de Smidt
at the Evangelical
Church in Shemlan
on Tuesday 19th
of August, 1947 at 3.30p.m.
Mr Garboushian, the Principal of the
Blind School and who became a good friend of Dad’s was the best man, and Mom’s
friend, Dora Raad was her maid of honour. No family members could be present,
so another missionary, Liv Simonsen gave Mom away.
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