Beech Ave

This blog is a bit of a follow on from my last Blog. We had moved from Wankie to Queens Park West in Bulawayo. Within a couple of days of moving in to Dane Road my second youngest brother Shane had an horrendous accident, certainly one of the worst our family and especially Shane have had to date.

For some reason we boys all take after my Dad when it comes to a love of climbing and heights. Dad lost the sight in his right eye whilst climbing a tree as a child and Shane (aged 5/6) fell out of this tree at Dane Road from about 10 -12 feet off the ground (I'm old school so if you want the metric conversion - it was about roof height) and landed very badly.

Scattered around the yard usually under trees were home made planters. These planters were made from old 44 gallon drums that had been roughly cut in half and when I say "roughly", I mean precisely that. Shane landed face first on the rough rusting edge of one of these planters and slashed his face through his upper and lower lips, both sets of gums where he knocked out several teeth. Fortunately Dad was home (Mom didn't drive and we only had one car) and we all rushed Shane up to the hospital where they did a marvellous job of putting him back together.

I don't recall how long we lived in Dane Road but it would have been a year or so. I recall Mom often sending me up to the Butcher with a 10 bob note to buy meat for dinner and a couple of packs of smokes from the corner store. The shops were in a sort of semi circle and all next to one another at the QPW round about.

Not long after changing schools from Newmansford to Hugh Beadle we moved to 21 Beech Avenue in Sauerstown. This was the smallest house we lived in but it had a big yard for us kids to play in and it had a lot of colonial charm. I'll never forget whilst we were moving in my Uncle Joe brought in our very first TV and of course we were all so excited to have a radiogram with pictures. As uncle Joe put it down on the cement floor the front legs which were rather spindly, did the splits and the TV fell flat on it's face with a rather shattering sound but there was no glass on the floor so we kids hoped that it would be fine but alas it was not meant to be, however the TV was replaced a few days later and the very first show I saw on our beautiful massive 15 inch black and white TV features a cowboy with a mask across his eyes and the theme music was Rossini's William Tell Overture. Instantly the Lone Ranger was my hero with his sidekick Tonto and his horse Silver. The next day I made my mask and relived my hero's actions. I still love Rossini's William Tell Overture.

The house had it's back to the street and was actually a rondavel (round house) with everything else added on as an afterthought. There was only one bedroom but it did have a large kitchen and a small dining room so the dining room could accommodate a couple of bunk beds and that became Shane and Dan's bedroom. Another set of bunk beds was put at the "foyer" entrance for Guy and myself, there was just enough room for an adult to squeeze through. We had no running water but the well was only about six feet from the back door and it was fitted with a state of the art hand pump that the smallest of children could use. We had a beautiful massive cast iron coal/wood stove with ball and claw feet and the ornate brass trim was a delightful green colour. I can't remember the names of our neighbours in front of us (between us and the Umguza River, down a short lane way but I recall the day that they took delivery of their new electric stove, everyone came out to have a look at this modern wonder.

A lot of the mod cons had been around for a while but people on this side of town were mainly single income families so we were a bit behind the times.

My Mom's sister used to visit every Thursday. While sick with malaria I dreamt that my youngest brother Dan had wandered onto the Road (Beech Ave) through a personnel gate that we never used - I dreamt that Dan was run over by the Sauserstown Omnibus whilst I was running after him as my Aunt drove up the street. The dream was so vivid that I woke and went to check on the gate at about 2am - it was open, I closed it. (Several years later I would be chasing after my best friend as the Sauerstown Omnibus ran over him on that very street in the exact same location - strange hey).

I found a few old photos from the old days, I'll leave you with those.

37 Spreckley Road North End 1970-1977

28 Marula Avenue - there was no fence till Dad and I put one up. 1966-1970

I bought this R4 from Dad in 1977 - the year Ronnie and I married.

Mom in the front yard 28 Maruala Ave about 1967

Mom and Dad's house 130 Borrow Street 1978 - 1981

21 Beech Ave 1965 note the hot water system next to the well (left) which is not visible from this angle.

Till next time, God Bless.

Queens Park West

I have been working pretty hard on the family tree, gathering and sorting information and of course cross checking. Don't you just love it when you have conflicting records, I have a copy of the church record of my great grandfathers birth and baptism 1n 1870, I also have a copy of his death certificate with his birth recorded in 1876, different dates, different months and different years I can hear the protests already - a different person? I doubt it since the parents names are identical, that would be two sets of 3 people in the same parish, astronomical odds - literally.

Anyway I needed to take a break from this brain scrambling stuff and so continued with a little more work on my Project_2/2014 (An artistic/photographic project that I am working on and getting a huge amount of satisfaction from.) While working on this I kept thinking of my new blog-pal (friend) Ron who lives in Sauerstown, a suburb in my hometown of Bulawayo. He sent me a few more photo's that I'll include at the end of this blog. I can't help but remember my cousin Alan who was a couple of months older than me. We spent most of our school life in the same class, we even did similar trades, went to Bulaway Tech together, learned to drive together and were as close as brothers but as similar as chalk and cheese.

My earliest memories of Alan are from a fishing trip that was made to the Zambezi when I was about five years old. I have a few old family photo's that I have posted on my Facebook page which include some from this particular trip which would have been taken in (about) 1960. Alan was the eldest of my Mom's brother Joe and his wife Jill's children. We were living in Wankie at the time and we had moved there after Dad's posting by the Rhodesia Railways. I believe that Uncle Joe and his family had moved to Wankie as well for a very short period and I recall that they were in the house next door.

Side note : My memory is not the best for this period but is improving for some odd reason. I found that quite a huge portion of my childhood memories were quite badly effected following severe head trauma at the age of 18/19 where I had been beaten and left for dead following a car jacking. A story for another time though.

When I was about eight years old Dad was transferred back to Bulawayo and we lived at the corner of Dane and Victoria Roads in Queens Park West. The majority of the houses built in Queens Park East and West were made of Mud Brick and plastered with Mud. They were built during the second world war as housing for the Rhodesian and Royal Air Force as this was where a lot of the training took place. The Air Base itself would later become a race track and then a depot for the Second Battalion Rhodesia Regiment. An interesting point about these homes is that the bottom two feet of the external walls were painted a dark reddish brown so that when it rained and portions of the mud plaster gave way it wouldn't be quite so unsightly. All external paint was lead based glossy enamel to protect the Mud on these temporary homes. Quite a large number of those temporary home still stand today, some 70+ years later a testament to the skill of the tradesmen who built them.

I started school at Newmansford Primary School, I remember the corrugated iron walls of the classroom block that I was assigned to in Standard 2a. I remember the porcelain ink wells, the ink nibs on the wooden stems that had replaced the quill and of course the blotting paper which was to keep our work and our uniforms smudge free. I do recall that we managed to keep our uniforms in very good order considering. We were a very proud and patriotic lot who took a huge amount of pride in our school's and our uniforms. I guess the school rules, standards and cane had a lot to do with that.

My eldest cousin Gary attended the school with his best friend Keith and they were two or three years ahead of me so I didn't get to hang out, younger kids were usually a pain in the rear. My cousin Alan was going to school at Hugh Beadle and lived on Hurrell Road which was a lot closer but I would have to negotiate the drift in order to get to school and Mom and Dad were not too keen on the idea but they capitulated and I started school at Hugh Beadle shortly after the end of the CAF (Central African Federation) I recall vaguely a big to-do in relation to the lowering of one flag and the raising of the new flag whilst in assembly at Newmansford School.

Red=Our Home, Yellow=Alan's Home, Blue Line=Drift, Green=Newmansford, D/Blue=Hugh Beadle

My friend Hugh used to live here in 1965

The old  "OLD"S HOTEL" where I lived 1966 - 1970 (It was condemned in 1960)

My Great Aunt Lettie's house where her son Timothy built a Gyro-copter.

 Till Next time - God Bless.

Family Tree

Well I have had a huge few months with the family tree, amazing. I am however quite disappointed at the lack of interest by my closer relatives. I have so far sent 47 invitations to the family tree online with 'My Heritage', a great research site and inexpensive (free doesn't cost much). Of the 47, 7 are complete strangers who are distant relatives researching their own trees and regular visitors to ours for that purpose. 10 are relatives known to me but I wouldn't call them close and 30 are close relatives.

3 of the 40 have popped onto the site so see what the link was about. Contributor's = NIL, Researchers = NIL. That's okay though we all have busy lives and our own interests and I understand that but what I don't understand is the lack of curiosity about our heritage. 

Yes a lot of it is boring and a little mundane but there are some interesting gems such as a Scottish Castle, a Bank, Persecution, Gold Mines, Vineyards of international acclaim, Farmers, Miners, Infidelity, Betrayal,  Reunion, Mysterious deaths, Presidents, Murder, Military Medals, Officers, NCO's, POW's, Concentration Camps, Hunters, Explorers, Executioners, Thieves, Con Artists, Memorabilia, Writers, Publishers, Fortunes won and lost, Rare works and Heroes from around the globe. 

Lombard - ours is a heritage that dates back to the tribes of the Long beards "Longobards" around 600-400BC. That is a lot of history. I have included a short excerpt from one of the sources is Wiki but I must point out that there is some dispute.

The first mention of the Lombards occurred between AD 9 and 16, by the Roman court historian Velleius Paterculus, who accompanied a Roman expedition as prefect of the cavalry.^[17] Paterculus says that under Tiberius the "power of the Langobardi was broken, a race surpassing even the Germans in savagery".^[18]
From the combined testimony of Strabo (AD 20) and Tacitus (AD 117), the Lombards dwelt near the mouth of the Elbe shortly after the beginning of the Christian era, next to the Chauci.^[17] Strabo states that the Lombards dwelt on both sides of the Elbe.^[19] He treats them as a branch of the Suebi, and states that

Now as for the tribe of the Suebi, it is the largest, for it extends from the Rhenus to the Albis; and a part of them even dwell on the far side of the Albis, as, for instance, the Hermondori and the Langobardi; and at the present time these latter, at least, have, to the last man, been driven in flight out of their country into the land on the far side of the river.^[20]

The German archaeologist Willi Wegewitz defined several Iron Age burial sites at the lower Elbe as Langobardic.^[21] The burial sites are crematorial and are usually dated from the 6th century BC through the 3rd century AD, so a settlement breakoff seems unlikely.^[22] The lands of the lower Elbe fall into the zone of the Jastorf Culture and became Elbe-Germanic, differing from the lands between Rhine, Weser, and the North Sea.^[23] Archaeological finds show that the Lombards were an agricultural people.^[24]
Tacitus also counted the Lombards as a remote and aggressive Suebian tribe, one of those united in worship of the deity Nerthus, who he referred to as "Mother Earth", and also as subjects of Marobod the King of the Marcomanni.^[25] Marobod had made peace with the Romans, and that is why the Lombards were not part of the Germanic confederacy under Arminius at the Battle of Teutoburg Forest in AD 9. In AD 17, war broke out between Arminius and Marobod.

Other little known facts that are pertinent today:- There are now three generations of Lombard in Australia, I was one of the 13th Generation of Lombard in Africa. Our family were in Africa before the current ruling tribes of Southern Africa and I've only mentioned 1 of the 500+ families whose heritage we are linked to and that I've been recording.

I have only this month started to uncover another branch of the family and I have to say what a find. My Great Aunt (GA) Marie's family are scattered far and wide but are still in contact with one another. In a previous blog I spoke of GA Joey, the Matriarch of our family, well it seems that a lot of the recorded information that she cherished and which I thought had been lost has actually been in safe keeping with this branch of the family. I received several emails from at least three members of this particular branch who have provided me with a huge amount of data, much of which I had but had not been able to connect chronologically. Having the information is one thing but knowing how they fit and interact is quite another. Verification is vital and impossible without accurate names, dates and places so to know how it all fits is absolutely imperative.

I can only hope that more of the younger generation develop an interest in our history and heritage. My Daughter and Son-in-law have an interest in our family heritage and so I have named them as beneficiary's of my research and memorabilia so that it will not be lost.

Till next time, God Bless.

Sauerstown

Today I received a number of photo's from a friend, I'm not sure what the politically correct term would be but back in the day we called them "Pen-Pals" so I guess "Blog_Pal" would be the accepted term, I shall simply refer to him as my friend Ron. Anyway the photo's are of one of the old neighbourhoods that I used to live in - Sauerstown.

Sauerstown is north east of Kenilworth and Rowena in Bulawayo and west of Queens Park. I lived there between the age of nine and fourteen. My grandparents on my mothers side lived in Kenilworth on Irene Ave. Oupa Dan and Granny Phoebie's was the first house built in the area, long before the siding and the shops, oh how I loved that old house with the stable kitchen door, Oupa's sheds under the Syringa Tree. I can still smell the dank musky smell of dust, mud, linseed oil and rust that assailed one's nostrils upon entering those dark cavernous sheds. The promise of mystery since they were always locked up tight and it was a rare occasion to accompany Oupa into one of those dark and slightly eerie sheds.

I remember the old black car ramp which would become the "Star Ship Enterprise" when all of us cousins got together. We were always trying to move the exceptionally heavy steel channels so that the "Star Ship" was just the way we liked it. Funny I don't recall ever fighting over who was to be Capt. Kirk, Cousin Gary was the oldest and so it was a foregone conclusion that he would play that part. What imaginations we had.

I have mentioned Sauerstown and one of the tragedies in a previous blog, the loss of my best friend Mitchell so I'll not go into that again. Whilst living at 28 (I think) Marula Ave, diagonally opposite "Skippers Garage" we had a few tragedies or rather I had a few tragedies but I also had some awesome times there.

A little about Skippers Garage, it was blue and white (a "Caltex" servo with the flying pegasus symbol) and the Pumps were stood in little blue and white ship like platforms with portholes, ropes and anchor's at either end. There was a duck pond and a wishing well on the northern side. We would often make wishes at the well while feeding the ducks. Old Skip loved to give kids those little flattened cardboard garages that would pop up by sliding the top and bottom parts in different directions. I got my first Yoyo from Old Skip too, never did become the whiz I believed that I would be with that thing but I did manage to master "Walking the Dog".

On the opposite side of the street (Sauerstown Road) and the other end of the block was "Thackewray's (Sp) Garage" (a Shell Servo I think) I think Mr Thackewray had three daughters but I do know that I had my first almighty crush on one of the beauties when I was thirteen, of course I didn't stand a chance since I know that I wasn't the only kid feeling that way. I have three wonderful brothers - Oh! young innocent love.

On the topic of brothers, my second youngest brother Shane had a friend who lived in the rather stylish and up market two story house on the corner of Jacaranda Ave and Sauerstown Road, John was his name, sadly deceased far too early. This friendship would see remarkable chapters written into our family and all of our lives but especially Shane's. John at about age 16 was abducted by terrorists and held for over a year in one of Robert Gabriel Mugabe's ("Uncle Bob") camp's in Mozambique ... but that is another book and not for me to write either.

I am a western movie nut and have always been this way, my Mom said I was born in the wrong era and I tend to agree. Well it's not cool for a senior school child to play Cowboys and Indian's which is exactly what I was doing at age thirteen and hoping not to be seen by my class mates who would rag the heck out of me if they saw me. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed since we lived on the corner of Sauerstown Road (Main Street) with the yard visible to all and sundry.

Anyway one fateful day, probably a weekend as Dad was home, it was getting late around 17h00 (5pm) when there was an almighty loud bang, that sounded like an explosion to my left, I got such a fright I froze to the spot for what seemed like an eternity, as (what appeared to be) an angel fell from the sky to land about two meters in front of me. No sooner had this thought shot through my mind when a great big dark object smashed down upon her, bounced off and rolled over... it was a Morris 500 SideValve with a box backie. I realised a moment later that this was no angel, but a very pretty young oriental lady dressed in white, she looked so clean and peaceful with only a little trickle of scarlet running from her left ear. Suddenly! Dad was shaking me..... "Run up to the police station and tell them to come quick with an ambulance - hurry Peter!"

I shot off as though my tail were on fire up to the BSAP Station opposite our Junior School "Hugh Beadle" a block south of us. I told the police that there had been a terrible accident at our home and they called for ambulance and fire brigade.

On my arrival back at the house my mother had covered the lovely lady with a blanket, she was deceased. Mom and Dad were trying to help a young man who was unconscious in the other vehicle, a pale blue Ford Customline if memory serves me correctly. It amazed me that after hitting that Morris so hard that it became airborne, the Ford had taken out our telephone pole, a safety bar over a culvert, our (New) corner fencepost and had only been stopped by a huge Jacaranda tree. What a mess!

My classmates found out that I had been playing cowboys and indians and yes they did rag the heck out of me. They were and still are a great bunch of Northlean's, would'nt mind a bit of that ragging right now :) Eddie in particular had been my personal bully ever since (my) arriving in the neighbourhood, little bugger had even shot me once, .... and no it wasn't an accident, he had missed three times as I tried to outrun him ... but that's a story for another time.

I'll leave you with a few recent photo's, the ravages of time and a lack of maintenance may leave you a little heartbroken too.

Marula Ave - 30 years of neglect

Marula Ave and Sauerstown Road (Nick's old Home next to Thackwray's Garage)

Thackwrays Garagec

Sauerstown Road with Skippers Garage on Left

Bridgewater Road

Bridgewater and Beech Ave (Mitchell died here) bitumen gone now.

Thackwray's Garage from Beech Ave

Thackwray's Garage from Beech Ave

Thackwray's Garage - I remember when upstairs was built and the shop to the left of the courtyard.

Mr Thackwray passed just after completion if I remember correctly

Nick's home (I think Nick was in Guy's class)

There was no wall, gate or razor wire back in the day - what a shame.

If I hadn't been told that this is Skippers Garage I would never have believed it. There was a windmill in the duck pond once.

Matabele Steam Laundry - There were no gates or fences back in my time.

Hugh Beadle I think

This house was the envy of everyone - Jacaranda Ave/ Sauserstown Road

Matabele Steam Laundry in front of the "Drift"

Beech Ave Shops

Till next time, God Bless.

Vinyl Records and Memories

My wife Veronica (Bonnie Ronnie) and I have been digitising our old vinyl records for the past couple of days. A few years ago Ronnie bought one of those Digital Turntable Players and we just never had the time to set it up, learn how to use it etc. - you know... all the excuses the procrastinator uses. Well we finally got around to setting it up and learning how to use it as we practised on some of our older less popular records, just in case we mucked up.

Once we got onto a roll and actually worked out how we could listen to the digital recording as we were duplicating and dubbing etc. we really started to have a bit of fun. We started with the "seven singles" (45rpm) as we used to call them,  Bonnie Ronnie had sorted them by Genre with Romance at the top of her stack.

This is the first record player we have had since leaving Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) so we hadn't heard some of these songs since the seventies and very early eighties. It didn't take long for the memories to come flooding back and it was as though we had gone back in time almost forty years. The memories were so vivid and the emotions as real today as they were back then. Progress is slow because we have laughed till we cried, danced a bit and sobbed till we were exhausted, we would then rest and reflect on our life together.

It has been a very good life, an adventurous life with more trials and tribulations than we expected but it has moulded us together in such a way that my Bonnie Ronnie is not my soul mate, she IS my soul. I realised this when we were broken down, penniless halfway across the Australian Nullarbor with two small children asleep in a small tent - it was midnight we had just finished some repairs to the car when she commented on the beauty and serenity that surrounded us. There was no panic, or accusation of failure. I had brought her half way around the world, completely cutting her off from everyone who was near and dear to her, to a point in time and quite possibly the most isolated place on earth to become destitute with little hope for the future and in return she gave me strength, through her love and faith in me. This however is a story for another time [Perth-Brisbane].

There had been two occasions while we were courting and romancing back in the day when pressure from my parents, particularly my father had caused us to break up. We were fighting a war at the time and I would often be deployed for months on end which really cramps a courtship I can tell you, so that didn't help matters. Why were my parents so against my Bonnie Ronnie I hear you ask?

For a start my father had unrealistic expectations for me, we often joked about his desire for me to study law and enter politics - he would tell everyone that I would be Prime Minister one day ...but Dad wasn't joking so I became a huge disappointment to him when my grades dropped at school, I left early and took up a trade - well that didn't go down well I can assure you. Dad didn't have much to say about the various girls I dated (there weren't many anyway) but Bonnie Ronnie was different and I learned a thing or two about my father that I must say I don't much care for to this day. Dad is my father and I love him and honour him but Ronnie wasn't just a girlfriend, I was totally smitten and completely in love with her and she loved me... and I loved that she loved me.

Dad was rude, abusive and downright obnoxious to Ronnie, we were young, fighting prejudice, parents, so called friends, time, distance and a war and the pressure became too much for us - for me... and I couldn't stand the way Ronnie's heart was breaking while looking for acceptance from my family. My brothers all three, always accepted Ronnie right off the bat and I knew that they would take care of her if anything were to happen to me. I think that they each were a little in love with my Bonnie Ronnie and I'm not talking about lust here. I have the best brothers on earth.

Anyway on two occasions I tried to end our relationship primarily because Dad had managed to convince me that I would treat Ronnie badly in the future - yes I know my mind wasn't exactly healthy at the time, one of the occasions was after sitting at a guard post sucking on the flash-hider of my rifle for four hours (Definitely another story!) Life was not going as expected and hope had almost run out (almost - I didn't pull the trigger although I had applied some pressure from time to time). 

Our break-ups never lasted more than a day or two but they felt like an eternity because I simply could not stop loving this girl no matter how hard I tried and believe me I tried, what kind of life could a screw up like me offer this beautiful creature. She needed love, she had had so much abuse prejudice and rejection in her life and she had a right to expect a good life with a good provider. I knew after the second break-up that even if I couldn't be the provider that my Bonnie Ronnie deserved, she would never find anyone who would love her more than I. This was something that I could give her and I believed that this would see us through anything that life could throw at us.... and guess what - I was right.

Oh you should have seen her light up like a Christmas tree when our son was born, my heart swelled so much that day that I felt sure it would explode in my chest. Words cannot describe the positive change that our Son and later our Daughter would have on my Bonnie Ronnie, she was determined to prove all the nay sayers wrong - and she did, but in such spectacular fashion that my Father actually accepted her in the end.

This is only a glimpse at what these vinyl records have rekindled - The range of emotions are incredible.

Bonnie Ronnie

Till next time God Bless!

Shane and the Shunter

Since writing my last blog this morning about Mom's home remedy and Guy's scalding, I've had my second youngest brother Shane on my mind. Shane was born while we were still living in Wankie, Southern Rhodesia (forgive me for using the old names but I grew up with these names so my fondest memories are inextricably entwined with them). In fact Shane was born shortly after Guy's scalding/burns incident.

Shane now lives with his family in the UK and I was able to catch up with him and enjoyed his company for the whole of September 2011, this is relevant because I hadn't seen Shane for 30 years 5 months and 11 days. That is another story in itself and I'll tell that another time suffice to say we created a whole new batch of awesome memories.

About six months ago Shane had a nasty fall off a ladder and shattered his right ankle. It has been touch and go ever since, as to whether he will lose the foot because of the severity of the injury but I digress - back to our story.

As I've mentioned in my last post, my Dad worked for the Rhodesia Railways as a Telegraphist at that time, down at the shunting yards. We lived at the time in Motherwell Street, the number escapes me but we lived directly opposite the only house on the other side of the street just up the road from the Railway clinic (I was already a frequent visitor, as were my brothers to a lesser degree but "frequent flyer points" or "flybys" as they are commonly known today hadn't been thought of at that time - pity, haha!). The Taggarts lived opposite us in that house, I always thought of the nursery rhyme 'Jack Sprat' whenever I thought of them.... come to think of it I still do. They were a lovely family who had their fair share of trials and tribulations as most families do.

I probably shouldn't mention this but I will anyway as it seemed so comical to me at the time. Dad would often get home from work in the evening, get out his guitar and mouthorgan (harmonica) and play (between sips of coffee) on the veranda. Mom would sometimes sing if we didn't have an audience which wasn't very often. The neighbours would always come out and ask Dad to play various tunes. 

Frequently during these impromptu sessions Mr Taggart would arrive home from the pub which was up the road at the top of the hill. The neighbours would snigger as Mr Taggart made his way on wobbly legs (there had been a tragedy and he no longer drove, I suspect this was the reason for stopping at the pub on his way home). Mrs Taggart would politely escort him into the lounge from their veranda, their curtains were seldom drawn so we could see quite clearly into the lounge and Mrs Taggart would give Mr Taggart a clip across the ear which would always send him sailing across the room past the picture window. She would be heard saying "...and that's for not coming directly home" then as she helped him up "..now come and have your dinner pet". This usually signalled the end of Dad's playing and bath time for us kids.

I was an early riser regardless of the time I went to bed and this holds true to this day but as a child this was problematic because I was one of those 'hyperactive' kids I think they call it 'ADHD' these days, anyway I couldn't stay indoors I had to get outside and play. I loved westerns which Dad would read to me on occasions and we would sometimes go to number three colliery to watch silent black and white 16mm movies of 'Hopalong Cassidy' or 'Buffalo Bill'. These were my hero's and I would enter my fantasy world and play on my own for hours. 

While I was allowed to go outside to play early in the morning I had strict instructions to make sure I closed the door properly and to play in the back yard. I usually did this however on one particular morning I was coming in the back door when there was a loud banging at the front door. Dad was right there and opened the door... I had a clear view through the passage to the open door.

I'll never forget the big Dutch shunter standing at the door thrusting his right fist forward and asking, "Is dis yorn?" (Is this yours?) and dangling from his huge fist was a little dirty bundle looking like a little puppy that had been dragged backward through a coal shaft... it was Shane!, he was about a 10-12 months old (from memory) and had yet to master the art of walking. "I fond him zitting by the trak at the yardt" said the Dutch Shunter in his thick guttural accent.

By now the whole family, servants included had come along to see what all the fuss was about. Mom took Shane from Dad who had thanked the Dutch Shunter before closing the front door and beckoning me to come closer. "How did your brother get out Peter?" asked Dad, without waiting for a reply he stated, "Didn't close the door properly, did you?". I know now that the questions were rhetorical but Dad was a man who believed that sparing the rod would spoil the child and a lesson needed to be learned - it was fortuitous that a tragedy had been avoided when Shane was saved by the Shunter and so I learned a valuable lesson on responsibility that day. For that I am grateful to both my parents.

Red - Our Home, Green - Dads office, Blue - where Shane was found.

To this day we have no idea how he managed to cover such a distance as a baby, and in less than two hours - incredible!

Till next time, God Bless.

Burns - Guy's Incident.

I came across this interesting post this morning on Facebook;

A young man sprinkling his lawn and bushes with pesticides wanted to check the contents of the barrel to see how much pesticide remained in it. He raised the cover and lit his lighter; the vapors ignited and engulfed him He jumped from his truck, screaming. His neighbor came out of her house with a dozen eggs and a bowl yelling: "bring me some more eggs!" She broke them, separating the whites from the yolks. The neighbor woman helped her to apply the whites onto the young man's face. When the ambulance arrived and the EMTs saw the young man, they asked who had done this. Everyone pointed to the lady in charge. They congratulated her and said: "You have saved his face." By the end of the summer, the young man brought the lady a bouquet of roses to thank her. His face was like a baby's skin. A Healing Miracle for Burns: Keep in mind this treatment of burns is being included in teaching beginner fireman. First Aid consists of first spraying cold water on the affected area until the heat is reduced which stops the continued burning of all layers of the skin. Then, spread the egg whites onto the affected area. One woman burned a large part of her hand with boiling water. In spite of the pain, she ran cold faucet water on her hand, separated 2 egg whites from the yolks, beat them slightly and dipped her hand in the solution. The whites then dried and formed a protective layer. She later learned that the egg white is a natural collagen and continued during at least one hour to apply layer upon layer of beaten egg white. By afternoon she no longer felt any pain and the next day there was hardly a trace of the burn. 10 days later, no trace was left at all and her skin had regained its normal color. The burned area was totally regenerated thanks to the collagen in the egg whites, a placenta full of vitamins.

This reminded me of a few incidents when my mother's home remedies were used to great effect and I thought that I might share one of these today.

When my brother Guy was a toddler we lived in a little coal mining town called Wankie in the north west of Southern Rhodesia, I think the name(s) have been changed to Hwange in Zimbabwe. My father was a Telegraphist working for Rhodesia Railways at the shunting yards on the west side of town. I was fascinated with my Dad's ability to communicate using Morse code and loved the almost musical tapping of the telegraph.

My mother was the home maker as was common in the 1950's with usually only one breadwinner in a family. Yes we had 'servants' as the black Africans were commonly referred to, but truth be told every person regardless of colour felt that it was incumbent upon them to alleviate poverty and unemployment and so would employ as many people as possible, of course the pay was pathetic and that was why these 'servants' would be supplied with life's necessities (accommodation, clothing, food, detergent's etc.) in addition to the meagre pay. For the most part those who could do more - did.

We had a housemaid and a gardener, not that they had much work to do since we didn't have a garden and my mother preferred to do her own housekeeping, but the housemaid could make tea and baby-sit from time to time and the gardener could water the fruit tree's twice a week, thereby assisting with feelings of self worth. (These people became family members over time.)

Early one morning the housemaid had made a huge pot of tea, placed it on top of the tea trolley and wheeled it through to the passage and left it outside my parents bedroom door. Guy and I shared a bedroom opposite and I was an early riser (this would prove to be problematic from time to time as I often woke my siblings) and woke my brother Guy. After helping Guy escape the confines of his cot, I left him to his own devices and went off to explore the yard (remember - no garden) and enact my favourite fantasy while playing the part of my favourite western hero 'Hopalong Cassidy'.

A short while later I heard a blood curdling scream from Guy and raced indoors to find out what had happened. I came upon the scene of my mother, handing my screaming brother to my father calmly as she instructed the almost hysterical housemaid, "Kajima - boysa lo baby powder and lo Vaseline" ("Quickly bring the baby powder and the Vaseline") as she stripped off Guy's clothing. The tea trolley was laying on it's side, the teapot had lost it's cosy and was laying in a mixture of tea, sugar and milk upon the linoleum. It was apparent that Guy who was just starting to learn to walk, had crawled over and tried to pull himself up by using the tea trolley. He had managed to pull the tea trolley over emptying it's contents onto himself, including a teapot full of boiling hot tea.

My mother righted the upturned tea trolley, and gave it a swipe over with her dressing gown just as the housemaid returned. Taking the canister of 'Johnsons Baby Powder' Mom removed the top and emptied the contents onto the tea trolley, then she took handfuls of Vaseline and started mixing it with the powder which she then applied as a paste to Guy's burns.  Guys screams abated to sobs as the soothing paste was applied to his entire body. Mom then grabbed a crepe bandage and bandaged Guy so that he looked like an Egyptian mummy. This whole incident had taken less than five minutes and although Guy was taken to the General Hospital as a precaution immediately after, it was my Mothers calm quick thinking and her home remedy that had saved Guy.  

Guy has absolutely no scaring as a result. The home remedy was continued for several weeks as it was a very soothing balm which I can personally attest to having used it on my own second and third degree burns after an afgas explosion - but that's another story for another day.

A Telegraph similar to the one my Dad used in the 1950's

Till next time - God Bless.