Luky;
Although I am dithering, indeterminate and uncertain when my life is going smoothly - this does not often happen - I become efficient, pragmatic, and as cool as ice in an emergency.
Sean worked afternoon shifts on the mine and whenever he did so, was due to get home by about 10 pm. When he didn't, I could be sure that there was some sort of an emergency at the mine.
On those occasions I would awake with a frightened feeling at around 2 in the morning and spend hours alternately praying and wondering whether to call the police.
Yet somehow I always managed to pull myself together and do what needed to be done.
One particular morning things were easier than usual because I had slept through the night.
When I woke up at six and found Sean not yet home, I at least felt rested.
Just in case
I called the children and told them to go to school by bus after their breakfast.
I dressed very neatly in case something had happened to Sean because I wouldn't have liked to digrace his memory before his colleagues.
I promised the children that if they didn't hear from me at school their father would be all right.
If anything was wrong I'd come and tell them.
Then I left them in Angeline's capable hands, got into my blue Mazda (Sean's was red) and drove towards the mine.
Plan of action
On the way there, my mind was working overtime.
Fortunately I have a black dress, I thought, but the girls must wear white.
Thank heavens Sean was at confession recently, no worries there.
How long would the mine let us stay on at the house?
Just as well I typed out that last will and testament a year ago.
Must ask my friends to sing for the funeral.
I'd like to ask the organist to play the Ave Maria as they are wheeling the coffin out of the church, because Sean loves Our Lady so much.
He always said he was scared of God in addition to loving Him, but He only felt love for the Blessed Virgin.
Which one?
Now was it Schubert's version or the Bach/Gounod adaptation he preferred?
No use asking Catherine Nicolette to play it for us, I knew.
I asked her once if she'd play the Ave Maria at my funeral and she said: "You must think I'm made of stone."
Maybe I was made of stone, all I could think of was whether we'd have enough money to live on.
I started humming the Schubert version of the Ave Maria as a red Mazda drove towards me and flashed its lights. I drove around the circle and turned back after Sean.
Relief all round
As we drove into the gate after one another, the children were just leaving to catch the bus.
All of us went back into the house.
Bully was frantic in the courtyard. He must have sensed something was wrong.
I remembered again the look of my brother's Alsation the day my father died.
That was the day I stood next to a plant and drops fell on my hand.
I thought they were my tears, but my eyes were dry and only the dog and the plant seemed to care.
My mother and the others had gone to arrange for the funeral and left me behind to answer the telephone and receive callers.
Funny, that day I had the same stony feeling.
The only thing I had been interested in was whether my father's insurance policy had been paid up to date so that my mother would have enough to see her through.
It was long after everyone else had finished crying that my own bout started.
But it had proved very useful to my mother, who didn't need a weeping willow just then but a person whose mind was clear.
When Sean had finished telling us the reason for his late return home (and any miner's wife and child know what those reasons can be) I said to him:
"You know how I've been moaning at you about saving. Discard everything I said.
I was talking through my hat.
I was adding and subtracting all my way to the mine, and I'm happy to tell you you've made a convert of me at last.
Never again will I obstruct your attempts to save for an emergency.
From now on I'll be behind you every step of the way."
One might think he'd be grateful that he'd finally convinced me of the need to save, but ingratitude, thy name is man.
Do you think he felt uplifted by my cool pragmatism?
On the contrary, he was distinctly chilly...
Catherine Nicolette
How well I remember the times Dad didn't come home.
We as miner's daughters and sons, were so blessed that eventually he always did make it home. But some of the miners didn't ... names come to mind.
We still remember and honour each one, especially a Sesotho friend of Dad's that he grieved until the day he went to heaven.
Whenever I see an item made of gold, I think of the self-sacrifice and heroism of the miners who put their lives on the line for their families and children. May blessings be with them all.
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