STORIES FROM SPRINGS
Luky;
When you are talkative, you can amaze even yourself at the amount of rubbish you speak. I remember one time I was saying goodbye to a colleague; 'Sien jou more as die Here ons spaar. * And if he doesn't, please send a wreath to my funeral. I'm not interested in donations to charity. The poor you have always with you, but I don't die every day.'
Driving off I shook my head at my unnecessary verbosity, though it can raise a giggle. My older sister Elly was another talkative and amusing one. My son had a holiday job in a food factory once, and saw enough delicatessen fare to last him a lifetime. He was having lunch with Elly one day, cold meats and rolls. 'Have some pressed beef, or would you like some ham?' 'No thank you, Auntie Elly. You see, I worked in a polony factory...' Elly's gaze wandered around the table and settled on the breadrolls. 'Well then, have a roll. Or have you been working in a bakery as well?'
Her husband's father was an Austrian, and when I first visited them after their marriage, he made a comment which I never forgot because of its unusual phraseology. Elly was talking away nineteen to the dozen and he was looking at her in silence. In the end he shook his head, chuckled and commented; 'Menschenskind El, but you can quatsch!' That was about his only contribution to the conversation, but I never forgot it.
One morning I saw Dr. Smith* who for many years had been attached to the local municipality. On one occasion I had to pass his inspection, as a candidate for a job at the library. I had gone for a similar medical examination before working at Springs library at the age of sixteen, and the entire medical staff had flocked around me because when the little hammer hit my kneecap my leg wouldn't shoot up. This time I wasn't so worried about my kneecap. I had a dark suspicion that I had cancer, and had been giving my own doctor a wide berth indeed for fear he'd confirm my diagnosis.
However, I couldn't get out of this examination and lay gripping the sheet, waiting for the moment of truth as I gazed fearfully at Dr. Smith and his nurse. Sensing my anxiety, the doctor put his stethoscope down and smiled kindly upon me. 'I see from your application form that you are of Dutch nationality,' he commented. 'And I also see that you are very tense. What about the great Dutch heritage of courage? Relax and cast your mind back to those who made the Dutch nation great: Tromp, de Ruyter, Jan van Riebeeck. Or else contemplate the little boys and girls of Marken and Volendam in their traditional costume.
And what about man's titanic sturggle against the elements, the changing of the Zuiderzee into the Ijsselmeer by means of the building of dykes?'
By now I had forgotten my fears and was caught up in the mental pictures he had conjured up for me. 'What, indeed?' I mused. 'What about the dykes and the one that got a hole in it and the little boy who put his finger in the dyke and stood there on guard, like the boy who braved the burning deck?' My voice petered out as I became aware of a distinct chilling in the atmosphere. On the doctor's face I saw a look which seemed to say: 'Silence! I make the jokes around here!'
The nursing sister saved the situation. She burst out laughing and said: 'Gosh doctor, we meet all kinds here, but never one like this yet.' It happened many years ago, and I was sure it has all been forgotten long ago except by me. But if this were so, why does Dr. Smith still seem to get a fit of the giggles when we meet in the street?
Catherine Nicolette
My aunt El was the most fantastic lady. As well as being my aunt, she was my godmother and was always excited that I loved spiritual ministry. 'You see,' she would say proudly, 'I'm the best kind of godmother there is. My niece serves God, and the best is, I did absolutely nothing. She did it all!' Well, I couldn't say Aunty El did nothing. She was always there, always caring, always supportive at birthdays and Christmas and births and baptisms and communions and confirmations. She always dressed stylishly, and would slip me lipstick and scented soap which my strict mother had forbidden me to use too young. 'After all,' she would say to me with a little smile, 'What are aunts for?'
One day years ago, while I was on holiday from spiritual ministry, I visited my Aunt El's beautiful home. I had just heard about the time she had asked my brother if he worked at a bakery. Giggling, I told her it was the funniest thing I had ever heard. 'That wasn't the funniest Tinks,'* she told me, 'The funniest was his face. He turned down the rolls as well. I only just managed to restrain myself from finally offering him an egg with the words, 'Would you like an egg, or don't you approve where they came from either?' For one long moment we looked at each other, and then rolled around laughing at the thought of my dignified brother's reaction to such a remark. Oh, I loved my Auntie El. She had the most amazing sense of humour, and underneath the humour lay depths. Those depths were evident one day when I asked her what she believed defined her as a person. Aunty El simply said quietly; 'My children are my all.''
*Afrikaans for 'See you tomorrow if God spares us,' a popular South African greeting
*Name has been changed
*My Dutch family's nickname for me
Photograph of flowers were taken by Rev. Catherine. Please feel free to use photograph copyright free for any Christian, educational or spiritual purpose
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