Luky;
ONE NIGHT we nipped into the public lounge of one of the local hotels for a drink.
I am uneasy in hotels. In strong contrast, my husband loved them.
Whether he entered the pub, or the lounge with its dim lights and soft music, it was all the same to him - he was in his element.
And so I sometimes went along with him, especially when I wanted a quiet, uninterrupted chat about the things in life that count, such as money.
I did not get far that night. In the corner of the lounge, a woman was seated, unescorted. She sat with her back to us, and a pretty back it was. Then she turned and stared at us in a certain unblinking, wavering way, and I could see she was inebriated. Under the lovely dark hair her face was ravaged, and I reflected sorrowfully on the pity of the fact.
I did not watch her in a spirit of censoriousness or disgust. I am the last person in the world to have the right to that, having decided to become a teetotaller only when I began to have difficulty in putting the cork back on the bottle when I should.
Troubles
One bad day somebody imparted a bit of information to me which made me feel as if the ceiling had dropped on my head, and that feeling persistently grew worse until I felt like the old man who said:
"Everyone's got troubles, but no one has mine."
"You look all in", my husband would say with concern: "Let me pour you a spot."
And I'd agree apathetically. That was when I sampled the therapeutic value of a drink for the first time, and incidentally learnt to have an abiding pity for those people who turn to the bottle for solace.
That heavy stone resting on my heart would lift, and soon I'd be feeling almost human. Ten minutes later the stone would drop back and I'd toss off another few drinks like a seasoned veteran.
If you are expecting this to turn into the heartwarming story of a young mother, who, having descended to the gutter on her drinking sprees, found her feet again, I'm afraid I must disillusion you. I didn't get as far as the gutter because I've got more sense than that.
Our Lord counselled us to firmly resist temptation, and He never spoke lightly. I do give the front door of the bottle store a very wide berth.
You may feel that everything taken in moderation is good for one. But what happens if you don't know how to moderate yourself?
Catherine Nicolette
Moderation; what a balanced word. And how hard it is to manage at times. One time I didn't manage it was when I visited some deeply respected families. Feeling somewhat out of my depth and, not knowing many people there, I became a little wallflower next to the luxuriously patterned wallpaper. But not for long. The host, an expansive and kindly man, took the measure of my discomfort and came over to me. "I've got just the thing for you", he said, "some of my homebrewed wine."
"Don't touch any of it", his wife warned me, "that stuff is lethal."
"Why?" I asked, intrigued. "What is it made of?"
Harmless
The host, embarrassed, mumbled of such items as elderflower, honey, raisins. And sugar. They all sounded most harmless.
"Yes, of course I'll try some", I said. The host beamed, and poured a generous tumblerful. I drank it. Then some more. It was a hot day, and I was really thirsty.
I followed it with rice wine. And what better to end it all up with than peach wine - which, incidentally, had a mellow and well rounded taste.
Dear Reader, take it from me; if wine from the grapes needs to be treated with respect, homemade wines should only be handled with fireproof oven gloves, and drunk to the maximum of a sewing thimble size.
Foreigner
Within one hour, I was merry. Within two hours, one of my fellow elderflower drinkers got up, bowed deeply and ceremonially to the foreigner in their midst, and serenaded me with a beautiful local song. I do remember part of the song paying tribute to my shining eyes. They were shining all right; warmed with peaches and spice.
It seemed only right that I stand up and sing a song back to him. After, of course a deep ceremonial bow from the waist from the foreigner to the locals in the midst. We were both misty eyed with emotion and overcome by the beauty of our songs. I had, of course, not taken one vital fact into consideration; the gentleman had a wife. To whom he had been married thirty years. Who was seated next to him.
Disgrace
One of my friends came to visit me the next morning. I was in deep disgrace. After receiving a strong lecture, to which I humbly listened, I fervently begged forgiveness and contritely promised never to touch of the juice of the elderflower or peach again.
My friend bitterly ended by recounting his deep shame that morning, when one of his friends came to him and said, "You never told me that your friend from Ireland was a drinker . . ."
Luky;
I HAD SUCH A MISERABLE EXPERIENCE: there was a little shop in one of our suburbs, a cosy little place. Everything was spotless and shiny, and the shelves were crammed with such homely items as English jams and packaged cakes. I could spend hours in a place like that.
Unfortunately, when I got to the till, a young girl was caught pinching a packet of sweets.
I was scared of the consequences for her, so I offered to pay. The cashier accepted the payment, but said that the child's mother had to be told.
I did, too
I could go along with that, but it did cast a gloom over that cosy little shop.
I blush to remember all the sweets I pinched in my life. Fortunately for me, the only shop I pinched them from happened to belong to my parents.
In view of this past of mine, I've ended up surprisingly honest. I've managed to keep to the straight and narrow.
Only once in my adult years have I been seriously tempted to steal something.
Faded glory
We were living in the seaside resort where my husband was born and brought up. A house was up for sale in the middle of town, and my husband, his brother and his sister wanted to go and look at it; so we all trooped up to the estate agent for the key and invaded the house.
What a sorry sight met our eyes. Dry rot had set in, and though my sister-in-law who wore size 12 dresses scaled those staircases like a gazelle, the steps creaked so alarmingly under my more solid weight that I bade the others godspeed and remained on the landing of the first floor.
Threadbare
From the landing I looked into the parlour, a picture of past grandeur. The brocade curtains which still hung there were so threadbare that they would have looked at home only in Miss Havisham's boudoir. Two easy chairs were covered with holes - can a chair be covered or filled with holes? Perhaps not, but these certainly looked at though they were.
And yet the whole place looked as though people had once been very happy there.
"Was there ever a sweeter colleen in the dance than Eily More,/ or a prouder lad than Thady as he boldly took the floor?"
Sudden treasure
Beside me on the landing was a lofty built-in dresser, its empty shelves visible through big glass doors. Idly I opened a drawer, expecting it to be empty, but in it were two perfectly preserved leather covered photo albums, clearly dating from another epoch.
What a find! Breathlessly I paged through the album, admiring pages of exquisite photographs of family groups dressed in the fashion of the very wealthy of the late nineteenth century.
Friendly house
You don't often see it in real life, but each one of those men, women, boys and girls looked beautiful, perfect, glowing with health and life. Their exquisite clothes caught my fancy and I began picking out Eily More and Thady, whose wedding photograph appeared near the end of the second album, after they had been shyly edging more and more closely together at picnics, dances and family entertainments.
So these were the people who had lived in this gaunt yet friendly house. No wonder it still retained its pleasant atmosphere.
Seemed doomed
I was carrying a bag, a shopping bag. Should I quickly put these albums into it? Who'd miss them? They had clearly been overlooked by the present owner of the house and were going to be demolished when the house was. It did not need an expert to tell me that even the low asking price of the house would not cover the rebuilding that would be needed.
On the other hand, I could ask the landlord if I might keep the albums. But perhaps it would be better not to; ever since we'd landed in his country my husband had been blushing for me, mutely apologising for my many clangers.
Moment of decision
I heard voices coming closer; the other members of my party were returning. Sighing, I returned my albums (for somehow they felt as though they were mine) back to their drawer. With the others I made my hazardous way downstairs, walking as closely to the bannisters as possible, since the stairs appeared more sturdy there.
For many years after I was torn between two emotions, gratitude that I hadn't given in to temptation and sorrow to think of the fate of my albums.
But now I'm please I left them there, because however could I have explained my possession of them to the children?
LUKY:
WHEN RETREAT FATHERS preached a mission in my hometown, we were all filled with joy and love for each other.
Any time you'd bump into a fellow parishioner you'd beam at each other breathlessly and make foolish comments like:
"Didn't they give us blazes last night?"
"Yes! Aren't they wonderful?"
When the priests had left we all tried to turn over a new leaf, and for a while I wasn't allowed to gossip at home. If I did, my husband would quell me with a stern glance and say: "We must be careful not to hurt one another!"
My own work
Thoroughly chastened I sat down and composed my own quiz, entitled: "Do you hurt people?"
And as there is no law against playing a game during a coffee-break, I invite you to answer it here and now in order to see how you score.
Now for the quiz:
A
Your friend is complaining about the current cost of living. You know that your friend has a higher income coming into the family than yours. Do you say:
1. Everyone is complaining about it
2. Oh, I think salaries are correspondingly good
3. Gosh, whatever do you do with your money?
B
You are at a wedding when the groom blushingly gets up to make his speech. Do you:
1. Listen attentively to his words, making sure you're wearing a benevolent expression
2. Make use of the lull to fill up your plate
3. Chant "Why oh why should we believe you." At every breath he takes
C
You meet a friend who has picked up weight. Do you say:
1. My, but you look well
2. Lovely to see you again
3. You've picked up weight, haven't you?
D
A friend proudly shows you a coat just finished. You think it looks homemade. Do you say:
1. Have you ever thought of taking lessons?
2. Can you still undo that bit in front?
3. My, you have been busy. The coat is a tribute to you
E
You walk into a friend's house and find it very untidy. Do you say:
1. Sorry I didn't let you know I was coming. Pass me a dishcloth?
2. Not finished yet? My place was spick and span by eight
3. Why don't you hire help?
F
Your friend is looking off colour and starts running down his/her spouse. Do you say:
1. Give us all the news. Don't hold anything back!
2. I never could see what you saw in him/her
2. Stop moaning, we all know you adore him/her
G
You visit a friend whose children are being children. Do you say:
1. Never mind the kids. Mine are the same
2. Children, why don't you listen to your father/mother
3. I'm glad I can control MY kids
H
You are at a party when someone makes an inappropriate remark. Seated beside him/her is his/her spouse, and they are visibly mortified. Do you:
1. Turn, grin at him/her and answer in kind
2. Smile uncomprehendingly and walk on
3. Make a pointed remark and watch the spouse squirm
I
Your spouse has got an increase. Do you say:
1. Congratulations, I'm so proud of you
2. Hurrah! At last I'll be able to get some new clothe.
3. Just remember it's mine, e.
J
Your child is appearing in a school play and wants to sell you a ticket. Do you:
1. Buy two, one for your spouse, in the hope you can get a babysitter
2. Take one, intending to have an excuse on the night
3. Say: "Tell our teacher I can't afford either the money or the time"
YOUR RATING
Three marks for each of the following; A1, B1, C2, D3, E1, F3, G1, H2, I1, J1.
THE VERDICT
27-30: You are a tactful, pleasant person to know and will not hurt anyone deliberately. Your friends can turn to you in times of trouble. Congratulations
20-26: You are basically kind but have an uncomfortable knack of hurting people in your honesty. Might it be a good thing to sacrifice brutal frankness for charity more often?
1-19: You should watch your words more carefully, remembering that words can cause actual pain
LUKY:
YEARS AGO ONE MORNING THE CAR WOULDN'T START, so I came to work on my bicycle.
There is something about an ample 40-year-old matron on a bicycle that appeals to the South African sense of humour and gives rise to many funny comments.
I can never see what the fun's all about; where I come from even the Queen rode a bicycle, and we all liked her that little better for it.
All you need to drive even a Rolls Royce is a driver's licence, but to ride a bike you need strength, good health and perseverance.
On and on
The distance from my house to the job measured about ten kilometres, but to one as unfit as I, it seemed an endless journey.
Fortunately the weather was kind, with just a breeze to keep me cool without holding me back.
You meet some characters on the road. I do feel that we who drive cars are insulated from real life.
One jester went so far as to drive up right beside me and yell "Yahoo!" into my ear, in the hope, presumably, of scaring me into falling off my bike.
But I've cycled since I was eight, and didn't turn a hair. On the contrary, I froze and assumed what I hoped to be a dignified expression, then made the biggest sign of the cross of my life.
The driver couldn't see me, but I hoped the half dozen or so passengers on the back of his bakkie told him about it later. It certainly wiped the grin off their faces.
Top of the Bridge
When I got to the top of the bridge, having had to walk the previous half, I got on to my bicycle and went soaring down all the way to the stop street at the end of it. It was like being at the show, and all for nothing too.
"Jy gaan val!" somebody yelled, and casting dignity to the wind I yelled back: "Hoekom?" as I flew past. Lovely!
I used to start work at seven thirty in the morning, so I missed the early traffic rush, since most people began at eight.
When I arrived at work the staff took a good look at me. Some of them had passed me on the road, but hadn't hooted for fear they might frighten me into riding into the ditch. I must say I appreciated their restraint.
I never minded
"Never mind, Luky", one girl said consolingly, "I wish I had a bicycle, then I'd ride to work too."
"Never mind what?" I asked, "I've seldom enjoyed myself so much."
The day before as I looked through my office window I saw one of my male colleagues cantering off casually on a horse, and I stared at him all the way until he left the premises.
As he walked into my office the morning of my bicycle ride I congratulated him.
"You certainly know how to ride a horse!"
"I used to", he replied ruefully, rubbing the back of his shoulders. "I seem to have got out of practice a little. I can feel this morning that I rode a horse yesterday."
Speaking for myself, I still felt like a million dollars. But I had a sneaking suspicion that by the next day, I would be feeling that I had been riding a bike the day before.
Catherine Nicolette
Ah, travel. I have enjoyed watching many friends from different countries getting from A to B in manners which can only be described as enterprising.
Donkey carts in South Africa.
A shopping trolley in the Free State some lads were busy wiring an engine on; I don't think it worked.
Wooden boxes with wired wheels and thick string reins coasted to the top of the Free State farm roads. Then pushed from behind; thundering down the track with their drivers shrieking and more often than not landing in an undignified heap at the bottom in the veldt, thornbushes and sometimes mis.
Carriages trotting by
The loveliness of Dublin; carriages trotting by at a brisk pace drawn by beautiful horses blinkered, their glorious coats shining in the sun.
The sheer fun of a large group of people solemnly peddling a bicycle car down O'Connell Street.
The enjoyment of passersby as an adapted train sails by on the road, nonchalant tourists draping their arms over the backs of their seats.
The enthusiastic roar of the Viking Splash tours, where an amphibious car goes by, its occupants wearing imaginatively adorned Viking helmets.
The River Liffey boat graciously bearing down the River past seagulls bobbing on the water, and looking with beady and interested eyes through the boat windows.
Joy to meet
The grace of London, with the big double decker buses and the strolling passersby always ready to give directions to bewildered visitors.
The sophistication of France; the bustle of Rome; the beauty of Zimbabwe, the dignity of Israel. All have such beautiful ways of travel, and the people in each country are a joy to meet.
Beautiful India
And India; Beautiful India. Strolling down the main street in a town, seeing an elephant - his two drivers relaxing in a box on his back - slowing his brisk walk when the traffic lights turned from amber to red. Then his leisurely amble while waiting for the lights to turn green; upon which he picked up speed to take the turn for the road to the Temple in the next town.
What about the baby elephant being petted by the children, his mom proudly looking on; the children had plaited the baby's forelock and entwined jasmine in the plait, and lined her eyes with kohl.
Bridegroom's Party
The memory of a bridegroom's party making their way to the Temple.
The magnificently turbanned groom being carried to the Ceremony, the other members of the party laughing and dancing around him.Two little children in magnificent clothing with shimmering turbans and waist sashes laughing down at me as they swept by on large camels on their way to the Temple.
Mode of Transport
What can be greater pleasure than to watch others' mode of transport?
In my opinion, nothing.
And while I'm remembering so many creative ways to travel, I will never forget the soccer game held next to the sunflower fields by some enterprising Afrikaans lads in the Free State.
They had trained their two pet ostriches - both well known among the farmers for their uneven tempers and ferocious kicks - to race around kicking a football, while they clung to their long necks, whooping for all they were worth . . .
LUKY;
SOME TIME AGO A FRIEND OF MINE gave up her well paid job as a Nursing Sister to become full time mother to her young children.
Her colleagues could not understand why she left work. Among her employers her work was highly thought of, and she had been working for years.
However, my friend felt her children needed her and so, from the month her husband paid off his prestige car, she stayed at home.
Full time
At first she loved being a full time housewife. She went on diet and did lovely things to her face and hair. She spring-cleaned her house, planted flowers in the garden, crocheted and knitted, sewed new curtains and bed-spreads, baked rusks, fudge, biscuits and pancakes for her offspring and spent entire afternoons talking to them and checking their homework.
A year later she still performed these tasks, but her erstwhile euphoria had worn thin.
"At the hospital", she said, "the patients, nurses and doctors had respect for the opinion of nursing sisters like myself.
For instance, if we organised rounds for 8am, our request would not have been disregarded.
I suppose my position of leadership may have turned my head a little, but I do feel that at home things are too bad. Not even the dog listens to me there."
Cry from the heart
Any full time housewife can identify with this woman's cry from the heart. Yet my friend had to learn, as did the rest of us, that it is only a privileged handful of us who can manage to stay at home.
So we do feel frustrated and depressed at times: what of it? Life can be a valley of tears from time to time, whether you view it from a classroom, a hospital ward, a scientific laboratory or a kitchen window.
It is the housewives, moreover, who have the best of it.
This fact was brought home to my ungrateful heart by a friend who went back to work after twelve years at home.
On the day before she was due to start work, she said to me mournfully:
"I was hanging out my washing for the last time this morning, and I thought how dreadful it will be to miss the smell of lovely clean laundry."
"Never mind", I consoled her. "At least you'll get a smell of lovely dirty money now. I wish I could change places with you."
I didn't really mean it, you know. I was old and hopefully wise enough by then to realise that the grass is always greener on the other side, and that this is the reason why working wives and the stay-at-homes sometimes wonder about each other.
Motherhood and marriage
So each time I reflected on my stenographic skills as opposed to my utter inability to bake a sponge cake - unless it's one of those packet affairs you mix with a couple of eggs - I shrugged my shoulders and told myself:
"You chose marriage and motherhood at the time when your job was going well, and you were only too glad to do so. Why can't you be grateful now for your protected and privileged position of wife and mother?"
Luky;
MANY YEARS AGO I compiled a children's book about the Fatima visits of Our Blessed Lady to Three Shepherd Children, with the aim of enkindling a love of the Rosary within the hearts of those who read it.
Alas, poor me.
My book, surely the simplest little story ever related, travelled to publishers in America, Australia, Scotland, the Netherlands and I can't recall where else. It cost us a fortune in stamps, but nobody wanted it. Nearly everyone said it was very nice but that nobody was interested in stories of that sort at that time.
My mother, who was most astute, said to me: "You may not believe it now, but one day that story will be published", and she said it with such conviction that I believed her, even though that manuscript had lain unopened in a drawer for years.
Offer to pay
She was right. One day a Southern Cross reader to whom I'd lent a copy, wrote to tell me that if I would donate my manuscript to charity, she'd pay out of her own pocket to have the book printed.
I could have done that myself, and in fact the thought had occurred to me, but I felt after reflection that if nobody but me was interested in printing the book, it wasn't worth printing.
To cut costs, she asked if I'd type the final product and arrange for illustrations, so a period of great activity ensued. It all took a while, because my friend paid off the printing costs in monthly instalments of R100 each. When the book was ready, we advertised.
The books sold very cheaply and there was no sales tax because all proceeds went to charity. We didn't want to become rich, it's the message of the importance of the Rosary we yearned to spread.
Quick roundup
When I looked at my copy, I found that the last page, which explains the great promise of the first five Saturdays, was missing, so I rounded up some Fatima literature from my Portuguese buddies.
I made my own five first Saturdays many years before, but I was again touched to the core of my heart to read how Sister Lucia, Fatima missionary, experienced the request.
Message
You will probably recall that after the deaths of Jacinta and Francesco, their cousin Lucia entered the convent of St Dorothy at Pontevedra. She told us she was in her cell one night when she saw our Lady, accompanied by the Holy Child.
Touching Lucia's shoulder with one hand, our Lady showed her a heart, encircled by thorns, which she was holding in the other. The Child Jesus pointed to it and spoke to Lucia:
"Take pity on the heart of your most holy Mother, which is covered with thorns which ungrateful men at every moment nail into it with no one to make an act of reparation to remove them."
Our Lady added: "Look my daughter, at my heart, encircled by thorns, which ungrateful people at every moment nail into me with blasphemy and ingratitudes. You at least try to console me, and announce that I promise to help at the hour of death with all graces necessary for salvation all those who, on the first Saturdays of five consecutive months, confess, receive holy Communion, recite the rosary, and keep me company for fifteen minutes, meditating on its mysteries with the intention of offering reparation to me."
I was changed
Nobody could have been more indifferent to our holy Mother than me when I made the first five Saturdays, but even I felt as though my cold heart was rent apart when first I read our Lady's diffident plea; "Do you at least try to console me."
I felt as though she were talking to me directly, because my name too is Lucia, and despite my disinclination I obeyed her. I was rewarded by the gifts of a strong devotion to and special protection from the Queen of queens, and Mother Most Holy during this life, and I confidently await the fulfilment of her promise to help me with all the graces necessary for salvation at the hour of my death.
Photograph by Catherine Nicolette - poster on side of Garage; with thanks to the Garage Attendant and poster Artist
BOOK; THREE LITTLE SHEPHERDS MEET OUR LADY OF THE ROSARY CAN BE FOUND ON
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