13. Into a new world

 

It was general mission practice for missionaries to spend five years on the field and one year in their home country ‘on furlough’. The specific dates would be subject to various factors. In our case, political turmoil in the Middle East gave impetus to our whole family going to South Africa in July 1958. Due to Shemlan being the line of resistance for the clash of forces, we had already moved to Beirut and when the unrest seemed likely to continue, flights were booked to Johannesburg.

We went by plane to Cairo and then Khartoum. In Khartoum we had a night in a hotel and had enough time to see some gazelle in a park nearby. Brenda remembers sitting in wicker chairs in the posh hotel and I remember trying to sleep in the heat with just a sheet and a pillow on the bed, unsuccessfully. The ceiling fans moved the air infinitesimally as they rotated slowly above us.

From Khartoum we flew to Nairobi where we encountered small swarms of flying ants. After time in the transit lounge we got back on the plane and travelled on to another airport, which could have been either Bulawayo or Salisbury, where we did not get out but dozed fitfully until the plane took off again until we finally reached our destination, Johannesburg. There, we were met by friends and part of the mission support group, Nugent and Dorothy Hubbard, who hosted us before taking us to the central railway station to board our train for Cape Town.

A train ride was a totally new and exciting adventure for us. Everything had to be examined, learned about, tried and mastered and made a part of our own experience in this new land.

It was intriguing to have a whole, small compartment to ourselves and we had to negotiate turns to sit at the window to watch the landscape go by. Dad had developed a carbuncle on his knee so station stops were always a challenge, as Howard would want to explore. It was imperative that we kept tabs on him as it would be disastrous if we lost him just as the train had to leave.

The sleeping arrangements were fascinating. Three bunk beds on each side were pulled down when it came time to sleep. In the daytime, the top bunks were used for storing the extra bags. I remember that only some of us got bedding, since it was beyond our means to get bedding for everyone. Joan and Howard had to share.

Early morning tea was served by one of the stewards who would announce his arrival by rattling his key in the door handle. We would open it up eagerly to see what goodies he was bringing or selling. We had our own packed food hamper and did not buy any of his wares, but it was intriguing to discover what could have been bought, if we had the money.

The rhythm of the trains’ steel wheels on the track was a mesmerizing background noise through the night. Silence reigned when we stopped at stations in the Transvaal, the Orange Free State and the North Eastern Cape, in contrast to that rhythm of the train in motion, only punctuated by the sound of steam brakes being checked or the light tapping of the railway men knocking the wheels to check for potential cracks.

As the sun came up, we left Beaufort West and watched the arid Karoo go by. Bushes forever and then now and again, some sheep, became a little boring and so we started playing various board games which could be broken off at any time, particularly when the odd ostrich appeared or when a raptor was seen on a pole. We went through Laingsburg, the Hex River valley, past Worcester, Wellington, and Paarl and then down the straight to Cape Town with the much-anticipated view of Table Mountain. Dad pointed out Devil’s Peak, Lion’s Head and Signal Hill in the background.

We were intrigued by the toilet rooms on the train, one on each end of the long carriage. You could see the ground going by underneath when flushing. On at least one occasion Howard managed to get himself locked in the little room and we had to explain to him what to do to get out by shouting through the door.

Another new experience for us was the kitchen and dining car. We walked through with wide eyes to see people sitting at tables, using an array of multiple eating utensils – at least two of each all round the plates. The food was elegantly served as the waiters in the dining cars swayed impressively as they moved with the rocking of the train, pouring tea and coffee without mishap. We did not have our meals in the dining car as we had our hamper of food in the cabin where we could eat and converse with our usual abandon.

On reaching Salt River, the train’s progress slowed down to a crawl and then seemed to go at snail’s pace past Woodstock. With much hissing and clattering we came to a screeching stop. It was over and we collected our scattered belongings, put them into cases and bags, then passed some smaller things out of the window to Dad, while bigger cases had to be dragged down the length of the coach to the doors and taken down onto the platform. A porter came with his trolley and our luggage was taken to the main entrance where a crowd of people waited to meet us.

Apart from the relatives and friends, which we were to get to know, Brenda remembers that there was one gentleman by the name of Mr. Roland, who gave each of us children a candy cane. We felt that he had the right idea and his name became associated with sweetness and welcome among us.

Over the next days and weeks we were to meet many people, but our first stop was to 60 Cook Road, Claremont, where we were to live. The name of the place was “Handsworth” and it had two bedrooms, a lounge, a dining room, a kitchen, a back yard and a garage with a driveway.

We got to know Leighton and Mary Edwards, who had provided us with the house. Mary was a Durston, and somehow related to Mom. Then came Brian and Vera Cameron, just down the way in St. David’s’ Road, with their sons Ken and Roger. Brian had been one of Dad’s hiking companions in the past and was a good friend of his.

It took a while to get settled into our new home, each one in their allocated section. Brenda and Joan shared a room with Dad and Mom while Howard, Graham and I shared the other.

Soon, arrangements were being made for us to attend school and it was necessary to work out who would go where and how we would get to and from school. Brenda and Graham, in their green uniforms, went to Claremont Public School (CPS) off Belvedere Road just down the way from our place. Howard went to St. Stephens Nursery School, some of the way by tricycle, and wore a bow tie, which made him look smart.

I was to go to Wynberg Boys’ Junior School, off Aliwal Road, but had to learn how to get there and back. Mom’s brother, uncle Jim Mathew, was a teacher at the high school and helped Dad and Mom to get me accepted to the school. For the first week or so I went with Mom to learn about the intricacies of public transport. We caught the bus to the Claremont station from the bus stop nearest Cook Road, in Victoria Road, and had to buy a ticket to do so. From the station we walked to the Claremont main Road and waited for the public trolley bus going to Wynberg/Diep River. When it stopped for us to climb on we had to buy another ticket and say where we were going. Mom and I then alighted at the bus stop at the top of Aliwal Road and walked down the hill for some minutes to my new school entrance.

The first day of school was taken up with a lot of waiting and being introduced to teachers and some boys in what was to be my class, 3B with Miss Ekron as my teacher. I was entering in the middle of the South Africa school year and it was quite daunting to meet up with so many new people. I was given a desk, the nickname “Lebanon” and warned not to put my cap on Hammond’s hook as he would want to fight me if I did.

By the end of the day I was somewhat subdued but glad to meet with Mom and journey home. She had gone to visit some of her relatives in the Wynberg area and was buzzing with news of their activities and commitments. On the way home I was listening to Mom and wondering to myself how I was going to manage with no real friends. After some supper, I went to bed and slept well.

Later, I found the Jewish boys easy to relate to and they included me in their circle. One of them, Newman, invited me to his home in Kenilworth and introduced me to his parents. With this small group of friends, I became more able to relate to the others in my class as well as one or two from Miss Lampod’s class, 3A. She was a very pretty lady and her class adored her. Malcolm Bates, a good friend from many years back, was in her class and described how devastated they all were when she left. Evidently each heart was broken.

I became friends with Clifford and Denzil through a particular activity we would engage in. We would spend break times acting out “Captain Silver and the Sea Hound,” a radio serial we followed on Springbok Radio when we returned home each weekday. Sometimes, we even went so far as to act out parts of the “Superman” serial which followed. Up, up, and away!” was the phrase we each to a turn to build up to saying with dramatic flair as we sought to help yet another person in distress.

One particular event around this time highlighted to me the difference between Lebanon and South Africa. I basically understood the rules of engagement, and felt at home in Lebanon, but though I was in fact a South African, I had no idea how differently things were done in what was really a foreign country to me.

One boy in our class, Cully, was bullying my friend Newman, so I started shouting at him and pushing him, even though he was bigger than me. We stood opposite each other and I said he should leave Newman alone. The upshot was that he got hold of me round the neck, wrestled me onto my back, straddled me and was fixing to beat me up. I blurted out, Ï give up!” and that effectively ended things. But, throughout the confrontation, I was horrified that none of my new friends had tried to stop me getting into the conflict and no one had stopped Cully either. All they did was gather around us both in a circle, shouting, “Fight! Fight!”

In Lebanon we would have amazing fights, which contrasted considerably with what I had experienced in the playground during that break. We would shout and yell at each other promising death, broken bones and total annihilation to our opponent. Our friends, both his and mine, would hold us back from each other with phrases like, “Leave him, he’s not worth hurting!” “What would his mother say if you destroyed him?” “We know you would completely demolish him, but he would not learn a thing. He’s too stupid!” The potential fight would be broken up; opponents would be removed from the scene with friends trying to quieten their emotions. The next day we, as opponents, would be able to resume our friendship, safe in the knowledge that our egos were intact, no one was shamed, and we had had an excellent and well managed fight, without a single blow being exchanged.

My encounter with Cully left my ego in tatters. I felt shamed, Cully was the victorious bully who would keep up his manipulating and I would have to learn what kind of friends I really had. I was forced into working out how friendship functioned in this strange new place. I do believe that standing up to Cully modified his later bullying and generated some kind of mutual respect. As far as I am aware, he never bullied Newman again.