Janet Alice Ford (Duncan)
My
Story
Book 1
Commenced 18/09/90
Today
I am to commence my memoirs. I promised Pam, instead of sitting around and
wondering how to occupy part of my day in being “useful”, since the loss of my
garden, I would undertake this task. I could easily become lazy and
undisciplined. Aging and becoming redundant can be quite a challenge. If one is
so lucky in being given longevity, it is imperative to aim at constructive
living. Physical incapacity could become a burden; departure of one’s friends
in one’s age group, traumatic. I believe mental degeneration takes place when
one is prepared to sit back and vegetate.
Now
to begin the family history as I know it:
My
parents were married on November 26th, 1906 in St James’ Anglican
Church (consecrated in 1850), Graaff-Reinet. The wedding photograph has
completely disappeared. My mother was in a lovely, full-skirted white gown with
a nipped-in waist - the high fashion of the time. She said she was so tightly
laced in the hot Karoo afternoon that she concentrated on the ceremony with
difficulty. My father wore the uniform of the Cape Mounted Rifles. My mother
possessed two broad 18ct gold wedding rings.
On
the afternoon of the wedding, my father went to hand over the ring to the best
man. The ring had disappeared from his tunic pocket – PANIC. Fortunately, in a
small town everyone is well-known. They proceeded in haste to the jeweller, whose
shop was closed on a Saturday afternoon but he was kind enough to supply another
ring.
A
year later, a friend of my mother’s “dreamt” her maid was wearing the lost
ring. On investigation, it was found that she was the “girl friend” of the man
who had delivered the drinks for the reception. He was proved to be the thief!
Hence two rings.
My
father, William Joseph Duncan was born in Easington, County Durham, his father
James being a Scot from Banff in the lower Highlands of Scotland. Bridget
Stanley, his mother, was born in Dublin.
A copy of James
and Bridget Duncan’s Wedding certificate, dated 18th August 1871
James
was in the Merchant Navy and was drowned at sea. I don’t know the details.
Bridget was left with three sons to care for. She became a cook, at which it
appears she was excellent. At some stage she had been in the employment of the
Governor of the Bank of Ireland.
John Henry Duncan was the eldest, James second and William (my father) third. John and William both joined the Manchester Fire Brigade. John (Uncle Jack) of whom I shall tell later, became Chief Fire Officer of Irlam, near Manchester. James joined the army. He was killed at the Dardanelles in 1916. Bridget cared for her “boys” into adulthood and had a difficult life. She died of miliary tuberculosis (called Galloping consumption by lay people).
When the Second South African War was declared, James was posted to South Africa for service. He was in the permanent army. Jack and William decided to volunteer for Service and fight for “Queen and Country”. My father had many stories to relate. He certainly was of the opinion, after fighting in this war, that it was an unjust affair and he disagreed most vehemently with Kitchener’s “scorched earth” policy to bring about the defeat of the Boers.
After
the war, John and James returned to England. William had no desire to return as
his mother had died, to whom he was very attached. He stayed on the Reef for a
while, bought a plot of land at some ridiculous low price, next to what was to
become the first Stock Exchange in Johannesburg, sold it for £200 and set off to
see the country. He used to speak particularly of the Northern Cape, a wild
land, heat and sand and Kalahari Desert – Keetmanshoop and Upington.
After
his wandering, he joined the Cape Mounted Rifles, which became the South
African Mounted Rifles (SAMR) and then joined the South African Police. He was
stationed somewhere around Graaff-Reinet or Middelburg (Cape) when he met my
mother. Hendrina Maria Bisschoff (Ma always stressed that her Bisschoff was with
two esses). She was the eldest daughter of Hendrik Bisschoff, and granddaughter
of Andries Adriaan Bisschoff (1799-1875) who was, in turn, the son of Johann
Heindrich Bisschoff (1762-1823), a German immigrant who has been identified as the
source of the retinitis pigmentosa gene in South Africa. Mary had the papers
and certificates which Ma used to treasure and I never read properly, if at all
– having been involved. These have now completely disappeared. I deeply regret
that I did not sit and write down the details. (William has retrieved some of
the details from a heritage site on the internet. The family tree can be seen
at https://www.myheritage.com/site-family-tree-347180951/ford). She remembered
her grandfather well, an autocratic man; “old German”, she used to say. Lazy -
he used to do his farming from the stoep, somewhere near Cradock. He had
married Ellen Vorster whose father was a successful farmer – I take it also
from those regions. When Ellen died, the “old” chap re-married twice, left
Ellen’s money to his last wife and his two sons £50 each!
Ma’s
mother was Hester Botha. I remember her well, a very gracious lady. Her mother
came from Huguenot stock from Malmesbury. Here, again, I’m not sure; I think
she was a Marais. Hendrik fought in the Frontier Kaffir Wars - for Britain –
contracted Rheumatic fever with subsequent heart damage. He died quite young,
before my mother was married – though if I recall, he did know my father. My
mother was engaged to an Australian soldier, also here to fight the Boers. Her
father would not consent to the marriage. This grandmother was also left a
widow - with five daughters.
Mum’s
stories of those early farming days were fascinating. I wish I had paid more
attention to my mother and father’s tales of their childhood and adulthood.
During
the First SA War with Britain, she was a young girl (born in 1881). She was
sent for walks with her black Nanny (the daughter of slaves). Messages were
placed in the sole of her shoe to take to the “British Lines”, informing them
of Boer whereabouts. The Cape Colony was under the British Government and most
of the farmers were Loyalists and out of sympathy with the Transvaal Boers,
regarding them (according to my mother who was a staunch Victorian) as REBELS!
According
to my father, they were a brave lot of people who endured great hardships
defending their territory. According to my mother, Queen Victoria was on the
throne and all was well with the British Empire. She remained a staunch “Brit”
to the end of her days, despite the fact that, as far as I know, she had not a
drop of English blood!!
Due
to the wars and during this period, the farmers were strictly rationed and had
to go to their nearest towns for their food – theirs was Cradock – once a
month. This was quite an excursion by ox wagon. The fear was always there that
their supplies would be taken by the Boers – never by the British!! These ox
wagon excursions were quite an undertaking – rough roads – camping at night –
tales of ghosts – romances.
She
also told of their parties. The young people had to supply their own entertainment
– singing round the piano, dancing to concertinas, accordions and guitars. They
would ride on horseback to the farm of the party – my mother only rode
side-saddle – their dresses, voluminous petticoats and underwear carried in
their saddlebags. They had to take an extra dress and underwear for the party and
change for dancing. This took place in the barn and the dirt was terrible. The
big parties took place at New Year and often the celebrations would be for a
complete week between Christmas and New Year. In any case, dancing took place
throughout the night as they only returned home at daybreak.
The
dancing was vigorous and many a young lady, in the course of cavorting around
dancing the polka, would lose a petticoat, the waist tape having snapped. The
partner would grab the offending garment, fling it across his shoulder, the
lass covered in blushes, and the dancing would continue. She loved dancing the
quadrille, a gracious dance.
During
the New Year festivities: The farm for the party would be selected. Each family
would arrive by wagon with sleeping equipment, “wakists” full of food – tarts,
biscuits, bread, cakes and puddings. Sheep would be slaughtered at the host’s
farm, as well as chickens, turkey etc.
Despite
these party tales, the girls had to behave to a strict code of conduct;
chaperones were always present. “Courting”, the young man had to ask permission
of the girl’s guardian or father before approaching the lass. Permission
granted, the young couple were then accommodated in the sitting room or
voorkamer whilst the rest of the family disappeared. They were given one or two
candles and certainly the chap had to leave when the candles had burnt down to
a certain level. To make the candles last, they used to place salt around the
wick. The candle was called the “opsitkers”.
Asking
the girl’s hand in marriage was another affair full of protocol; income
prospects etc. There were girls’ colleges, but my mother certainly did not
attend any of these. She was taught mainly by a governess. A group of farmers
would club together for this purpose. The teacher very often was recruited from
England. I’m not sure who undertook teaching of Hollands, “High Dutch” as it
was called. Afrikaans as a language did not exist. It was spoken in all homes
of German, Dutch, French ancestry and called “Kitchen Dutch”. Cultures differed
as they always will. The folk with a British background had their own way of
life.
It
was essential that every young woman was a good horsewoman; it was her main
form of transport. She certainly had to be an expert needlewoman. All garments
had to be neatly sewn and this was by hand until sewing machines became freely
available. There were tucks, laces and flounces and layers of these clothes.
Young ladies at an early age were “well corseted”.
The
shopping expeditions to the towns, Middelburg, Cradock, Graaff-Reinet were
highlights. These were taken by ox wagon if a number of people went on a
shopping expedition. Otherwise it was by Cape cart, a bumpy and time-consuming
business over dirt roads. My mother also used to tell of the filthy habit of
tobacco chewing. This tobacco came in the form of a sausage-like roll. A piece
would be cut and chewed. All living rooms and stoeps had to have floor space
for one or two spittoons as, in between coffee drinking, this chewing would
take place. There was one old visitor, a “bywoner”, who would come to see my
grandfather on business. He had revolting habits and would spit on the floor.
My mother was allocated the task, when this old body arrived, to move the
spittoon within his spitting range. Whenever she moved the thing, he spat in
another direction. He eventually said, “Kind, as jy nie daardie ding weg vat
nie, spoeg ek sommer daarin”!!
Welcome
visitors to the farms were the travelling tinkers who mended and soldered pots
and pans or anything else that could possibly be repaired. “Throw away” days
were still far away. Manufacturing in South Africa had hardly begun; most
articles were imported.
The
“smous” was a chap who did the rounds in a cart or wagon – drawn by donkeys or
horses. His was really a little haberdashery shop on wheels and a great asset
to the community. It is said that children of these smouses often became the
big business men of the future. As well as selling very necessary wares, the smous
also brought news from the towns and other farms. It is difficult to imagine
the isolation without regular post and telephones.
When
diamonds were discovered in Kimberley, all kinds of foods were needed for the
fledgling development and everything had to come from the Cape Colony. There
was no organised transport system. Farmers were well paid to transport these
goods. My grandfather did undertake this with his wagon and oxen, as did many
of his neighbours. A long journey in those days over terrible roads, but the
cash received was a great help in maintaining the farm. My mother told many
tales of gangsters encountered on these journeys.
Before
I finish the ancestry story, I must tell how my father contacted his brother
Jack after long years of silence. As I said, after the war, William went
roaming in 1902. Some time in 1916, he was in an hotel in Graaff-Reinet. He
woke very early one morning, ±3 am. He was unable to fall asleep again, so lit
his pipe. As he was gazing in the semi-darkness, he saw his brother Jim
standing at the foot of his bed. This apparition gradually disappeared. He was
greatly disturbed by this event. He told my mother about it when he arrived
home. She noted the date and advised him to immediately write home. He wrote to
Uncle Jack c/o Manchester Fire Brigade – hopefully – it was the middle of the
First World War and letters took a long time by sea. Eventually, a delighted
reply was received. Jack gave him all the news. He’d thought that William must
have died by this time. He told him that Jim had been killed at the Dardanelles
on the very date that he, Jim, had appeared in the bedroom at Graaff-Reinet. My
father, who was a sceptic about things supernatural, was very confounded by
this story.
This
is where my Great Aunt Julia also came into the picture. I was about 8 years
old when she started writing to me. She was granny Bridget’s sister and a
Matron of a hospital. How I wish that I was older and able to correspond with
her in an interesting way. She used to send me presents and the one I’ve been
able to pass on to my grandchildren: her 18 carat watch chain, which is now in
three strands in the bank, a strand each for Richard, Clare and Victoria. I
hope they will cherish them. When my sister Julia was born in 1921, I was told
to name the new baby. I said “Julia” after Great Aunt and Frances after my
mother’s youngest sister, whom I adored and also unfortunately did not see
again after my teenage years.
I know a little of Tom’s family. His father wasn’t very forthcoming with me. In fact, he was quite unkind to me though, Heaven knows, I didn’t warrant this treatment. His Mother, Lily Frances, was a Kenniford. Her mother and father came from Wales.
Ellen
Kenniford and Thomas William Kenniford, Lily Ford’s parents
She
was born in the Cape. I don’t quite know how she came to be at Premier Mine,
where she met Douglas Ford. Before her marriage, she worked for a reputable
firm of jewellers, Charles Greig. They were well-known. I bought my first
watch, a Tudor (Rolex family) from them. That is, the first watch paid for by
me. She left Charles Greig in 1906.
She,
Lily, knew a great deal about diamonds. Her marriage to Douglas was a complete
disaster, rightly or wrongly. She was a very depressed kind of person. Whether
it was completely Douglas’ fault, I cannot tell. They were just completely
incompatible. She was extremely kind and generous to me.
I learnt some of the Ford history on my visit to England in 1958. Hilda Hodge (daughter of Douglas Ford’s elder brother Stanley) took me to Bristol to see her Aunt Hilda, a maiden lady who welcomed me very warmly. She was Douglas’ sister. This is what she told me. Her father, Thomas Ford, was the adopted son of a butcher in Bristol.
Douglas is on the left in the top row with his sister Hilda below him
Thomas
Gardiner-Ford and Martha, née Green, Douglas Ford’s parents
Thomas
was actually a Gardiner and went by the name Gardiner-Ford. The hyphen was
dropped by Douglas. It appears that Thomas’ father, an architect from Somerset,
had died young, leaving his widow in poor financial standing - hence the
adoption. The Gardiner side were linked to Winterflood who was a surgeon and
killed at the Battle of Waterloo. Mary Winterfield or Winterflood owned the tea
caddy which is now in John’s possession. Aunty Hilda died shortly after my
visit and left me a cameo brooch which had belonged to Thomas’ wife, Douglas’
mother, Martha, who was a Green. (She had Huguenot forebears) She left the tea
caddy to me.
Stanley,
Hilda Constance and Douglas Bernard Ford, early 1900s
Douglas came out to South Africa to the Premier Mine, which was near Pretoria. He had been trained in London as a victualler and he undertook the management of the stores, etc at the mine. He never returned to England (like my father) even for a holiday. Except for meeting Aunty Hilda, I know nothing of his brothers, except Stanley. Two were clergymen. Uncle Stanley was a mining engineer and was out here in the early days of Johannesburg. He became a very wealthy man. Hilda Hodge was his daughter. His only son, Norman, was killed in a flying accident in France in the Great War. Hilda married Simon Hodge, the artist. She became a very good friend of mine. She was a very special lady and a great hostess to me through the years.
Tom
Ford at Jeppe High
Briefly,
Thomas (my Tom) and his father were in perpetual misunderstanding and it was
for me a very unhappy and dreary household. Tom wanted to study art or
architecture and his father wanted him to go into commerce. In the end, he ran
off to join the South African Police after failing to pass his medical for the
Rhodesian Police – he was colour blind.
Ready for
inspection at SAP Auckland Park
Tom
would have liked to have been a permanent soldier in the British army. He was
educated at Jeppe High at the same time as Ian Drewett.
Tom Ford in
THA uniform
He
was an intelligent person and, with the right guidance, would have been suited
to a profession. At the same time, he was interested in soldiering and joined
the Transvaal Horse Artillery (voluntary) Regiment.
Pen and ink
drawing by Tom Ford
He loved horses. I think this love directed him to the South African Mounted Police.
Tom Ford on Grenade, Hospital Hill, 1934
Before becoming a policeman, he was appointed to Lindsay Smithers advertising
agency, but couldn’t continue without Douglas’ aid. (He was also, apparently, offered an apprenticeship by the distinguished
sculptor Anton van Wouw). He had great sympathy for his mother and took her
part in the bad feelings. His sister Stella was always on her father’s side.
Once
in a moment of “letting down” his hair to me (in retrospect, maybe his
treatment of me was due to Mother also having my sympathy through Tom’s
influence – the tingling suspense of human relationships!! Douglas said that
Lily’s pessimism and misery had a great effect on Tom’s life and that he,
Douglas, did not oppose Tom’s going to university. I don’t know. It now seems so long ago and I can only feel sad that
people are able to make such a mess of their lives. I hated the times I went or
had to stay in that household. More stories will be forthcoming if I ever get
so far in this epistle. I’m lazy and undisciplined in writing this saga, but am
trying to keep my promise to Pam!
Also
in retrospect and in fairness to Douglas, he was a business man. After Premier
Mine, he joined the South African Railways as a victualler and held a high
position in charge of the stores, dining cars, etc. He met many influential
people. His brother Stanley was high on the social scale and was one of the
founder members of the Rand Club.
Lily
refused to entertain or be entertained and this must have been a difficulty to
a man who enjoyed a social life, given a chance. Lily said, in her turn,
Douglas was a gambler and lost money on the races and Stock Exchange and how
was she to entertain and buy clothes!! He certainly gave her plenty when I knew
their household. She passed a good deal on to me. Anyway, he left quite a good
portfolio when he died.
Janet’s
Story
My
earliest memories are very vivid. I will tackle the task of writing the
sequences as best I can. Dates in the broad sense are correct, but I cannot
consign them to particular parcels of years, as I shall be able, more or less,
in my adult life.
I
was born at Nieuw Bethesda, a hamlet near Graff-Reinet on July 24th
1909. My father was sent there shortly after their marriage. My eldest sister,
Hester, was born in Graaff-Reinet, I think. She died in infancy shortly before
I was born, causing great sorrow to my parents. She is buried in the cemetery
in Nieuw Bethesda, a sad little tombstone.
My
sister Mary was also born in Nieuw Bethesda. I was 3 years older but I really
do not recollect anything about her at that time.
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Mary Duncan
My
mother told of an adventure. She and my father owned a trap and horse for their
transport. My father had his official horses, but had to have his own for
private use. Well, after my grandfather died, my Gran had moved to a farm near
Middelburg. My parents set out on a visit (I was a baby). Nieuw Bethesda is
situated in a valley between mountains. Actually, many trekker wagons
negotiated over mountains and through this valley as a passageway to the
hinterland. They, of course, went in their horse and trap, me on my Ma’s lap.
They had to go over the mountains to get to Middelburg; that passed without
incident. On the return journey, it started to rain and darkness caught up with
them on the Lootsberg Pass. They simply couldn’t see the road in the darkness.
Suddenly, the horse refused to move. Nothing my father could do would make him
set a foot forward. So there they sat, cold and wet. At least they had a
blanket for me. At daybreak, they were horrified to see that they were at the
edge of a precipice and their horse had saved their lives.
I
was baptised by the Anglican priest from Graaff-Reinet in the big Dutch
reformed Church – very large for such a small village – by the Reverend, Rowlay
was his name. When I was training at Johannesburg General, his daughter
Kathleen was there as well. She also married a Ford, but they were from
Grahamstown. Her sons also went to St Andrews. So our paths crossed in later
years, very happily.
We
were moved, shortly after the paraffin incident and that exercise is very
vague. The transfer was also in the Graaff-Reinet district to a place called
Noodhulp. The police station was placed on this farm belonging to a Mr Goedhals.
I cannot visualise our house, but have distinct memories relating to the place.
One I recall vividly was the darkness at night. I hated going to bed in the
dark and used to call out to my Ma and Pa: “Goodnight Mummy, Goodnight Daddy”
incessantly to make sure that they were still awake. I’m still not keen on a
dark bedroom.
I
was sent to a little farm school; can’t even remember the teacher. A maid used
to escort me hither and yon. On a particular day, there was a rain storm. When
storms happened, a brisk little spruit
would come into being. I arrived at this spot; no maid, late on account of the
rain. I suppose I should have waited at the school. I decided to cross on my
own. To my horror, the water wrenched me off my feet, just as the maid appeared
to rescue me, sopping and terrified. Maybe that is why I am so frightened of
water. I remember it all so well. The clouds cleared and there was bright
sunshine. I ran away and sat in a cluster of prickly pear bushes to avoid the
smacking I would get from Ma. Great pleading from Ma could not remove me from
that thorny refuge. I was thoroughly dry and Ma’s agitation had calmed down
before I emerged. At this stage, I must have been about 6 years old.
My
first attempt at reading. I was sitting in what, in my memory, remains as a
sand dune: “Alice in Wonderland”. Whether this was before I went to school I do
not know. My friend was a little girl called Valerie Goedhals. Her father owned
the farm. He bought the first black Model T Ford. It was a great event. Mrs Goedhals
and my mother went out in it. I don’t know if Mrs G did the driving! The roads
were rough. My mother wore a dust coat and tied on a tulle veil – it was grey –
over her hat. They wore hats for every occasion to keep off the clouds of dust.
Mary and I yelled and screamed on the first time, as we wanted a ride as well –
to no avail. Ma went off ignoring her screaming brats!! We had a kindly nanny
to wipe our tears.
Christmas,
for many years, was a mystical, magic time for us. I don’t remember a decorated
tree; I don’t think we had the trees or the baubles in the middle of the Karoo.
We didn’t hang a stocking, but a pillowcase for a number of years. I felt the
great excitement of crawling to the foot of the bed through the night to feel
my bag and, towards dawn, the excitement was almost unbearable when the bag was
full of goodies.
Also
at this particular home in the Karoo, one Christmas, Mary received in her bag (she
was the “housekeeping” child) a set of pots on a little stove. The maid used to
take the pots out of the kitchen to scour with ash, I think. There were no
cleaning powders etc. I must have had a cleaning fervour on Christmas
afternoon. I grabbed Mary’s pots, took them out for scouring and made holes in
the bottom. My bottom received a good spanking from Ma. I don’t remember Daddy
ever spanking, but he did have a razor strop. Men used cut throat razors. I
have an idea we respected that strop, but can’t remember him using it. My pal
Valerie couldn’t speak English and I no Dutch (there wasn’t an Afrikaans language
as we know it today). It was a kind of Dutch patois called “Kitchen Dutch”.
Nevertheless, we communicated and probably that is how I started speaking
“Afrikaans”, a language I refused to use unless absolutely necessary. We were
not obliged to use it at school until, I think, Standard 7.
The
Great War was declared in 1914. I don’t remember that. My father would not have
been involved in going overseas as he was already in a soldier/police position.
I think it was called the SA Mounted Rifles. He was called up for the regiment
to invade German South West Africa under General Botha. History gives the dates
and length of the campaign – I’m no good at dates. I don’t remember packing up
the house – which happened. My last memory of Noodhulp was running in my button
boots in a furrow after rain. I hated their restriction. They were made of soft
kid leather. My mother put them in the oven to dry. Dry they did; hard and
unwearable. I don’t know if they were replaced with more button boots.
For
quite a number of years, our clothes were ordered by mail order from a
catalogue, usually from Port Elizabeth; shoes from Cuthberts and clothes from
Cleghorn and Harries. My father bought his suits from Hepworths. In those days
they were “tailored, made to measure”. Even in Tom’s time, suits were still
tailor made. I think it was only after World War II that “ready-made” became
common wear.
At
any rate, at this stage my memory fails me. I don’t remember leaving Noodhulp
or my father’s departure for the war.
We,
Ma, Mary and I, went off to my Granny’s farm at Middelburg, Cape. A kindly
Granny, whose kitchen always smelt of freshly baked bread. Huge loaves came out
of a Dutch oven, farm butter and lots of honey. The latter was gathered from
wild hives. Great big dishes and honey in the comb was a child’s delight.
Activities vague for me were fruit canning; preserves e.g. watermelon and whole
fig, soap making, slaughter day, which I didn’t like, wash day, when the
washing was taken to the stream or river, I think. There were big boulders for
bleaching in the sun. The soap was made outside in a big pot over an open fire.
The liquid then poured into moulds to set, then cut into chunks and placed in
the sun to dry. There was lots of milk and cream.
The
farm manager was my Gran’s youngest brother, Martin Botha. My mother didn’t
like him and he certainly had an antipathy towards me. I refused to speak Dutch
to him. I heard him say to my Gran, “Daardie kind is te Engels hoogmoedig. Sy
dink sy is beter as ons”. (That child is too English high-minded. She thinks
she is better than we are). I understood it all. My mother was unhappy with the
setup and returned to Graaff-Reinet to await my father’s return.
We
stayed at “Mrs Basson’s Boarding House”. Mary and I went to school at the convent.
My next memory is of my father’s return from the war, the Regiment Botha having
taken what is now Namibia from the Germans. That story also is now history. We
met my Pa at the station in a cab. Mum and Dad in the main seat, Mary and I on
a little seat facing them. My father, even after what must have been not a long
period, was a stranger to us. I was most shy of him. The war must have gone on
for another long period to peace in 1918. Daddy was sent to another station in
Graaff-Reinet district, called Petersburg. This home in my childhood memory
could have gone on forever. We had a roomy house; front verandah, shady trees
and a back stoep; built up quite high. There was an orchard with many fruit
trees, great big blue figs, peaches, plums, quinces. Spring is embedded in my
memory, also the blossoms and the bees buzzing. I was stung by one on an
occasion and what a palaver. There was a big area where Daddy grew lucerne and
oats – a lovely bit for playing “hide and seek” to my Dad’s annoyance! We had cows;
our own milk, butter and cream.
I
had a bout of severe illness from whooping cough. The time of convalescence
must have been spring or summer, because I was wrapped up and placed in the
shade of a big tree, under which grew periwinkles. To this day, that little
blue-flowered creeper brings back that happy childhood. Also in that vicinity
was a yellow tea rose; gorgeous scent. My mother worked for the War Effort,
sewing and selling dried fruit, which fruit she got from our garden. Canvas
bags of figs, apricots and peaches, also raisins. There were lots of grapes.
There was a pergola of, I think, hanepoot grapes – at any rate they were big
and sweet - on the back wall. Our dining room window opened out onto this.
Mummy used to open the window and pick the grapes for the breakfast table.
There was no casual eating; we sat round the table three times a day, said
grace and behaved ourselves – very strict table manners.
We
went to a small school. It was there that one day I wet my pants, to my horror.
I was shy child and this putting up my hand, “Please, teacher, may I go to be
excused” in front of the boys in my class was not for me – but wetting
my pants was so much worse a mortification that the hand went up in the future.
The teacher was so good. She saved me by saying, “Janet, you’ve spilled the
water. Best wipe it up quickly”. The whole affair happened as the class was
packing up and I don’t remember ever being teased about the incident.
Mary
was known as a “sickly” child. She had a very bad attack of jaundice. My horror
at her being given an enema remained with me for a long time. After her
recovery, she refused to go to school and there was a yelling session every
morning. My dad grabbed her and carried her to the classroom.
It
was when we lived at Petersburg that my parents became very friendly with sheep
farmers named McNaughton. We used to go to Graaff-Reinet by cart and horse and
spend overnight at their lovely farm. Also in my memory at that time are the
crisp mornings and a white cactus that always seemed to open at sunrise when we
were leaving for the rest of our journey to Graaff-Reinet. The town was sad
because the war in Europe was still on the go. People had to gather at the
newspaper office to study the list of casualties. I’m digressing back to the
War here. Mary and I loved our trips to Graaff-Reinet. Electric light switches
fascinated us, the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the streets as the cabs
passed down. How strange to think back at that world. Only newspapers for
communication; news travelled slowly.
To
get back to Petersburg – a place I’m even now loathe to leave. There were four
enormous walnut trees facing the back stoep. I loved reading and became very
bored with my mother’s tuition of how to keep my bedroom tidy. So what must have
been in holidays or weekends, I used to grab what reading was available and
disappear up one of the walnut trees. Down below, they would be searching for
“that lazy Jenny”. Mary and I used to build houses with blankets and usually
ended up in a fight. She was a biter and at times was a very irritating
tell-tale child.
It
was at some time during this period that my mother went visiting and would be
given the “wartime” coffee which she tried to make me drink. I refused,
obstinately. The moment the hostess left the room, she’d pour it into the pot
plant which, fortunately, always seemed to be available. I also had a period of
generosity with my mother’s “fancy work” crocheted doylies etc. I’d offer these
presents to visitors, give my father’s best pipes to beggars. My mother tried
to teach me to crochet to no avail. She was far too impatient.
Another
trial to her - she had pantry shelves laden with preserves: whole orange, figs,
watermelon. Mary and I would tackle a bottle – it was fun – take the preserve
by the mouthful and then place the empty bottle in the vacant area at the back,
much to Ma’s annoyance. “Why can’t you ask and be honest about it?” That wasn’t
fun at all!!
I
don’t remember particular pals at this stage except Sydney Hill whose father
owned the grocery shop. Mrs Hill was a gardener like my mother and they both
grew violets, beautifully scented, and these bordered their flower beds.
It
was also at this time that my mother developed a ‘stomach” complaint which I
now know to have been ulcerative colitis. We used to have periods of going with
her to Graaff-Reinet for medical attention. We loved it because it was exciting
to go back to the Convent where the nuns always seemed prepared to have us.
I
wonder if living in “the sticks” really appealed to my mother, though she was a
farm lass. She didn’t seem to be happy. In fact, I recollect that she was much
more relaxed living in Mrs Basson’s boarding house. I don’t think she ever
liked housekeeping and would have been much happier in a profession. She loved
music and taught herself to play the piano by ear! At this stage we owned an
upright piano.
It
was for this reason, my mother’s illness, that we were again in Graaff-Reinet
during the 1918 flu epidemic. We were staying in the Commercial Hotel which has
now been converted back to its original shape – The Drostdy. The lady of the
Hotel died and my mother had to assist with the daily running of the Hotel.
Mary and I were left upstairs in our room which opened onto the verandah. We
used to watch all the coffins go by. It was horrible. Mrs Basson’s daughter, an
intimate friend of my mother’s, also died.
It
was about this time that my mother took us on a “local” train; maybe it was on
our transfer to East London. There wasn’t a corridor – to go to the lavatory.
Mary and I wanted to wee and again we performed to my Mum’s consternation. She
climbed on the seat, unscrewed the light bowl and sat us down on it. In
emptying it out of the window, it all flew back in through the window. Why am I
writing all this rubbish? Maybe it is to remember what would now be very
punitive living. I pity you typing all this, John.
To
me, those Graaff-Reinet memories are firmly embedded – trees, flowers, fruit,
lovely smells, water furrows in the streets. My really happy memories: the home
in Petersburg, my training days at Johannesburg Hospital (on the whole) and
that wonderful period of excitement in England 1938/9 of which I shall tell
later, if I ever reach there at this rate!!
Also
remembered of those Graaff-Reinet days: the trees, flowers etc. were at the
backs of the little flat-roofed houses, the wide stoeps and the gardens and
trellises of grapes. No wonder, despite the dreadful droughts that do occur
there and the drying up of the Van Staden’s Poort Dam (built after my birth),
the area is called The Garden of the Karoo. At Petersburg, I had my first
encounter with ostriches. There was an empty field next to our property. Here
grazed the ostriches. If any of our tennis balls went over the fence, the
ostrich would gobble them. One day we decided to climb over the fence and
retrieve the ball. To our terror, up came running the male bird, wings spread
wide. I don’t remember what happened to Mary; for safety she probably followed
me up into a tree whilst the damn bird stood below for ages before we could
escape. To our joy, one of the ostriches died and we retrieved some of our
possessions from its stomach! Such silly things to remember. The field was
owned by two Afrikaans chaps, cousins; they were both called Paul van den Berg.
One was called Pollie Perdebek and the other Pollie Volstruisbek. It was said
that one chap had been kicked by a horse and the other by an ostrich and hence
their scarred lips. I now realise that they had repaired hare lips and for
those days, the scars were not unduly ugly. It is strange that I can still
picture their faces. The field also had cattle grazing and on another day our
tree climb was in our fear of the bull.
My
father was then transferred to East London. That is where I started having
piano lessons, which continued for years. Mary and I went to the Girls’ High –
a very pleasant school, if only it could have lasted. My brother James, the
alcoholic one, was born there. It was fun going to school by tram and having a
house with electric light. I had a wonderful teacher, Miss Haggart. At
Brenthurst, I met her brother who was one of Sir Ernest’s top executives. He
died at Brenthurst Clinic.
It
was while we were in East London that contact was made with Uncle Jack and
family and Aunty Julia. She sent me lovely presents, including lovely soft
cambric handkerchiefs, which I needed so badly. There were no tissues in those
days. The spell of whooping cough had left me with a persistent cough and awful
sinuses. Those music lessons and a running nose a horrible memory, even now. My
chest was continually being rubbed and I smelt of camphor oil.
Mary
and I were not so pleased with the new baby. He took my Mum’s attention and we
liked being the only two for so many years. Except for the school, our short
stay in East London left me no nostalgia of my childhood. I sometimes think my
short childhood of bliss was left in Petersburg. I must now continue, but
retrack to our Graaff-Reinet days.
Whilst
recalling “what happened” in East London, there was one very exciting incident
for us. Anything totally British fascinated me. I wanted to be completely
English. A “man of war”, a warship docked in East London harbour. My father
somehow met the officers. He was invited to visit, bringing Mary and me. What a
thrill and, most of all, we went to tea and had the most delicious fruit cake
in the wardroom with the officers.
Another
British ceremony was a military funeral. A friend of my father’s died. We knew
him as Uncle Bobby Murphy. He was given a full military funeral; the cortege
was led by his riderless horse with his riding boots hanging back to front. It
made the most devastating impression upon me. I wonder how I was allowed to be
present. On the other hand, it added to my emotional growth.
I
also failed to relate our holidays from Graaff-Reinet days. My father believed
that children should vacation by the sea once a year. Port Elizabeth was our
venue, either a “boarding house” or a cottage. We would play blissfully on
Humewood Beach, take long walks to the quite distant lighthouse and go into the
sea in funny little bathing costumes, my mother in the “covered up” type of the
period and we in likewise smaller editions. I never liked the waves beating up
onto me and one day my Dad decided it was time to take me into the waves himself.
I was dragged in (I’m probably exaggerating, but that’s how I felt), the water
over my head. I was terrified and ran off to the cottage, hiding under the bed.
Since then, I’ve hated doing anything adventurous in water and never learnt to
swim.
My
father needed a son!! Mummy was very angry over this incident. There will be
sea stories later. Other than this nonsense, we loved our holidays,
particularly fish and chips from a fish and chip shop called, I think,
“Something Fishy”. In writing, I had also forgotten our Sunday walks. Mum and
Dad were walkers, but not dressed as today. They would get into their Sunday
stepping-out gear, Father suited and carrying his silver topped Malacca cane
(in my possession) and we children in Tussore silk dresses. For everyday wear,
little girls wore aprons, made from a beige material called “Holland” and edged
with pretty braid. I like those. For best, we wore white and frilled with lace
that now reminds me of Broderie Anglaise, starched. I remember taking one off
and rubbing the frills in the sand in my disgust. How I hated frilly
things.
I
did likewise with a felt hat. We had to wear hats for best. The thing reminded
me of a chamber pot and one day I put an end to it by taking it off and
stamping it with my feet into the sand!! These antics meant smack bottom from
Mummy, but it was worth it – showing my displeasure.
It
is strange; when I see Victoria rebelling in a very positive manner, I see
myself!! I was supposed to be – and heard myself described as – “a child with a
sunny disposition”, at times “high and mighty” and not disagreeable, but very quick-tempered. Mum and Dad
always seemed surprised that my school reports said “a well-behaved scholar”. I
liked learning and straightforward discipline.
Now,
after all that, I shall get back to East London with few indelible memories of
pleasure. Other than a screaming baby, “don’t make a noise the baby is asleep”,
cough and more cough, a snotty nose, horrid piano lessons, Mummy tired and
short-tempered. I think the gap in Mary’s and my ages was too great and perhaps
just not enough. Mary, I don’t believe, reacted psychologically as I did – with
acute distaste of all things to do with babies, until I had my own
It
is really strange, as I write, to try to remember other places besides
Graaff-Reinet. My memory returns there. This time to the occasions Mummy took
us to the Bioscope. Silent movies, with people bobbing about at great speed on
the screen; Charlie Chaplin, particularly, in his funny trousers, bowler hat
and walking stick. Whenever someone tackled a carafe of water, Mary and I
became thirsty and wanted a drink. Water, of course! We always passed the
chemist’s shop, pressing our noses to the window, looking fascinated at the
huge bottles of red and green advertising liquid. To draw attention to the
shop, I suppose. Gold, bold lettering on the woodwork above the door. That shop
is now a National Monument, as is the case with much of Graaff-Reinet.
Those
must have been good days for Mummy as well. I really believe that she did not
like housekeeping and the loss of her freedom – hence the colitis, which helped
her to get away and be “under doctor’s treatment”. (I’ve written this
previously). My father was an extrovert and I think his exuberance and optimism
overwhelmed her.
How
does one not discuss events with one’s mother? At least, I did not to any great
extent dive into her psychological make-up. Our home was always clean and
attractive and she made our pretty dresses. We always had one or two maids, but
I think she did most of the cooking; but it was not what she would have chosen
for herself, given modern day outlets.
I’m
really writing as I think and wonder if my grands and great-grands will even
bother to decipher this writing! I also must stick to a subject in hand and not
wander off - for which I apologise. On the subject of cinemas: it was usual to
have piano music – usually a lady, oldish, whatever that meant - to a child
everyone over 20 looks oldish. This little lady would sit down at an upright
piano and tinkle away, before the picture, during the interval when Mary and I
would quench our thirst: a cool drink out of a bottle with its marble stopper. We
never drank out of the bottle, a proper glass was always provided. Plastics
were in the very distant future. The “little” lady always looked very precise,
straightened her skirts, placing a hankie at the side of the keys. I haven’t
thought of these instances in years!!
I
also call to mind the most gorgeous caramels that used to come in little
milkmaid buckets. How I wish I’d kept one. Lots of our goodies were imported,
Lyle’s Golden Syrup, Bourneville Cocoa, Grant’s Scotch, oatmeal.
To
get on with this story, very long-winded: From East London, Daddy was
transferred to a place called Bell in the Peddie district, what is now the
Ciskei. I must have been 9 years old. Peace was declared in 1918 and we had
arrived at this place. I don’t remember much about the house. It was a country
school, but must have been quite advanced because one of my subjects was Latin.
I was useless at the compulsory sewing and my little specimen for inspection
was always pretty filthy due to being taken to bits “to do better”. This was
where my father became serious in teaching us to ride correctly – a pastime I
loved.
Bell
was a hilly place with many German people. This is an area where they were
mainly settled after immigration after one of the European wars. My particular
chum was Ruth Leih. Her mother was a Dubrowsky (Polish). We used to roam the
koppies, in my memory rolling hills, always green, being near the coast –
Keiskamma River mouth. My mother had made me a lovely pink dress, the material
decorated with little roses. I went roaming with Ruth, slipped and fell on a
pad of cow dung – horrors. My dress stained and completely spoilt.
My
father became interested in photography - a large camera using plates of glass
and a black cloth. He did his own developing and printing. I was his helper. He
and I were always in trouble for using Mum’s kitchen spoons for measuring
“hypo”. One morning, Mary, in one of her interfering moods, came and ragged me
about the stained spoon. I was hanging out starched laundry. I was so mad with
her, I pitched the basin of starch at her and she was a sight – running off in
a complete mess to tattle to my mother.
It
was here that I last remember my dear Granny. She came to visit, bringing her
youngest daughter, Aunt Frances, who had lovely dresses and was so pretty. They
stayed for quite a while, because when they left, I howled for a week. I had a
mass of curly black hair which would go into knots in a breeze. Mummy would
drag a comb through it and it would hurt me. Granny used to sit me down in the
evenings and patiently comb the knots.
By
the way, this brings me to bathrooms; nothing like anything we have today. No
running hot water, the bath was a big galvanised iron affair, placed in front
of the wood stove in the kitchen. The water was heated in a drum. Mary and I
shared the bath, what a procedure. I only remember our bathing but, of course,
the adults did likewise. We were not unique in this respect. The other families
in the village did likewise. I now remember our beloved Airedale dog, Nell. A
wonderful friend and watchdog; she was poisoned by someone and that sent Mary
and me into a great depression.
Mum
and Dad started to play bridge at this point and used to go out in the
evenings, leaving us with a nanny who told us terrific tales of Tokoloshes. She
probably also babysat for the screaming Jimmy. During the day, I was sent to
take this impossible child for walks and he screamed for my Mum during the
whole walk. How I detested babies and this child in particular.
Julia
was born in Bell. She was a lovely baby. It was also at this place that I can
remember my parents quarrelling. The Hotel was the centre for the men. They
used to gather there after work and my Dad would come home late for supper. For
years I was conscious of that evening anxiety, seeing my Mum upset and then the
row. I’d forgotten all this and it now comes to mind in writing. How unhappy it
made my mother. We had our seaside holidays, which were happy ones. We would
set forth to Hamburg at the Keiskamma mouth and hire a cottage. We went by ox
wagon.
I
couldn’t bear the smell of the tarpaulin and used to walk for long stretches
behind the wagon. Actually, I don’t think it was great distance to get to the
sea. I think a place called Bodiam was also close to Bell. I used to become
horribly sunburnt and so sore. No sun lotions in those days.
My
father was a keen fisherman (shades of his Banff ancestry). He gave me a line
as well. I had to be very silent. One day, there was a big tug at my line and
really quite difficult to land. Suddenly, out it came – at the end of the line
was an eel. I’d never seen one, yelled “Snake, Daddy, snake” pitched the line
and eel at my father and ran away.
That, I think, was the end of me as a fisherman. They were lovely holidays nevertheless. We had long walks on the beach, fetching bait. This was where I saw my first octopus. They used to hide under the rocks. I loved the rock pools and all manner of little wriggling things. I did venture into the sea again but, one day, I was quite adventurous and got myself completely dragged away by a wave. Fortunately, my mother dragged me out. The incident helped to take away my fear of water.
My
father used to bring in quite large fish, Kabeljou I think, and Ma used to cook
it fresh from the sea. My eel also caused quite a commotion. Daddy remembered
his eel eating days in England. Mummy would have none of it. But, on his
instruction, much against her will, she prepared the dish. We refused to eat
it. Daddy somehow, likewise in the end decided it wasn’t English eel and the
whole thing was pitched away. End of story. It was in this kitchen that I, one
evening in the lamplight, nearly ate a spider. It was after supper of rissoles.
The meat plate was standing on a kitchen table. I was nosing around, thinking
it was a meat crumb until I saw the legs moving – what a horrible memory. Clare
thought it a juicy story!
It
was at this school that they moved me on too rapidly. I passed into Standard
VII at 12 years old and then had to go to High School which was in Peddie. It
was a completely new school and modern for those times. This must be a separate
story. I wish I had taken a holiday in the Eastern Cape whilst I was still able
to drive, and visited the place, Bell and Hamburg again, just to see what it
was really like, apart from my distant memory.
Before
I go on to Peddie for Junior Certificate, commonly called JC, I must attempt at
recording the dates correctly. I’ve become muddled. Peace must have been
declared in 1918 before we were sent to East London when I was aged 9 years.
Wars, as such, don’t affect young children, unless there are family losses or
particular associated hardships. I was conscious of the upheaval. I remember
the consternation when Lord Kitchener was drowned. As history is told today, he
was no friend of the Boers with his scorched earth policy during the SA War.
The other terrible factor was the murder of the whole Russian Royal Family;
Czar, Czarina and five young. Also under discussion was the sinking of the
Waratah, or rather its mysterious disappearance and then, also in 1910,
Halley’s Comet. My mother used to say she took me as a small baby to look at
the comet and hoped I’d be alive to see the next appearance which, of course, I
was when I went to Graaff-Reinet in a delightful party of people from Wits. Halley’s
Comet then appeared like a dissolving Disprin.
The
following stages of my life are a bit jumbled. It must be psychological,
because I was often unhappy. I became very conscious of my appearance, lack of
athletic ability, being corrected as a left-hander in tennis, generally younger
in my outlook, as I was by far the youngest in Standard VII. Mary and I went on
some excursion or other by train from Kingwilliamstown and I had ice cream for
the first time. We went to Kingwilliamstown in a Model T Ford (not ours). We
used to be either rained wet through the flaps or stuck in the mud!
Stage
2
I
will try to remember as much as possible. Peddie High School was newly opened
when I started. The school was opened by Sir Frederick de Waal, the
Administrator of the Cape, after whom De Waal Drive was named. It was a great
ceremony, all in English and very
British, in which I gloried. I remember proudly singing Land of Hope and Glory and God
Save the King.
There
were no boarding facilities, so students were lodged with families. I was with
the Vice-Principal and his wife, who was pregnant with her first baby. A man
called Ettling, horrible man. His wife seemed always to be crying. He was
sarcastic and dreadful to me, destroyed any confidence I might have had. I was
bitterly homesick. Mealtimes were agony. My mother sent me the most gorgeous
tuck box including a rich fruit cake. He took it and gave me small slices which
I couldn’t enjoy anyway for the dreadful lump in my throat. I was 12 or 13 and
thought the end of my world had arrived. Mr Lawson was the principal of the
school and Mr Lazarus, a newly qualified and very shy young man – rather pimply
and long-nosed, but very kind – was my History and Geography teacher. I don’t
remember the others. Mr Lawson was the maths teacher. I was terrified of him
and with my muddled unhappiness, Maths got off to a very bad start. He used to walk
up and down in front of the class and down the corridor between the desks
waving a cane.
Somehow,
I survived the first term, but it left its mark. From being quite an outgoing
child, I became withdrawn, shy and very self-conscious. I was saved by a girl
who befriended me, Iris Welsh. Her father farmed near a place called Wesley,
1820 stock. Her mother was a Scot. Iris and another girl, Phyllis Timm, were
boarding with a lady called Mrs Foster. She had a vacancy for another pupil.
Mrs Welsh contacted Mummy and I was delivered from the dreadful Ettling. I have
a distant memory that he was dismissed from the school; I certainly can’t
remember any further contact with him. I wonder what happened to his little
fair-haired defenceless wife. I owe so much to Mrs Foster. She was the widow of
a postmaster. Her eldest daughter Beaty (Beatrice) was a musician. She played
the cello. And then there was another who was training in Grahamstown as a
teacher. Cyril was about my age. I met him again years later in Cape Town. Mrs
Foster, as well as having three lodgers, was the local librarian. Lovely for
me; I have always loved reading. I had my own bedroom, which was bliss. Her
house was roomy and comfortable; lovely home-cooked meals.
The
three of us had piano tuition and had to take it in turn to start practising
early in the morning. Phyllis and Iris were Methodists. Mrs Foster was
Anglican. Cyril and I sang in the choir. A lovely stone church, built with the
sponsorship of Sophie Gray, wife of Bishop Gray. This I’ve now learnt from the
tombstones in St Saviour’s Church grounds in Claremont in 1991. Cyril and I
were naughty and used to get the giggles.
This
is where the exercise book ends. If we find any more in our papers, I shall add
it to this. A part of her story is missing and I shall add what I remember from
what she told me. She left school after Standard 8, also known as Junior
Certificate. Today, it would be Form 10. Our grandfather, William Duncan was
farming near Port Elizabeth and was hit by the drought, locusts and the
Depression. There was no money for her to continue school to Matric. Through a
family friend, she was given a job at the Komani Psychiatric Hospital near
Queenstown, known then as an asylum or Mental Hospital. It was deemed
unnecessary for people who nursed “mad” people to be matriculants. She went
through the training programme at Komani and passed the exams, earning a
Certificate in Psychiatric nursing. This qualification earned her entrance to
the General Nursing programme at the Johannesburg General Hospital. This story
will continue after the ruminations in the next few paragraphs.
Continued after loose sheets were found in an old file, February 2021
26.05.91
I
have been back in Jhb for nearly a month. I have spent the time in settling
down psychologically. I find it very difficult emotionally leaving the Cape. I
know I have to tremendous privilege of family there and one in Jhb. I
appreciate this fact tremendously and won’t dwell on that aspect. I am
convinced that a great deal of one’s physical well being stems from a
psychological aspect (excluding bones and joints). I need a combination of
nature & walks as well as the hustle and bustle of a city. I found that
combination when I stayed at Fairfield. Transport is easily accessible for
excursions to the sea & parks (despite the warnings of muggings). I have convenience
in meeting friends without the worry of being “fetched”. I have come to terms
with my way of life and count my many, many blessings. I have redecorated my
bedroom. The big furniture has gone and my flat is looking quite charming. The
woodwork easily manageable with John’s furniture polish recipe.
The
archaeological society and Art Gallery supply interesting meetings which Louise
and I attend. Louise, Dennis, Joan and I have started a regular Bridge four.
Anne van Dijk and her two friends play with me – this gives me insight into
modern conventions, some very baffling.
05.06.91
I
had my first luncheon party on 31st May, great fun, with the Malkins,
Weinbergs, Dennis and Louise. I spent weekends at Jubie Road. I have had the
haemangioma on my lip removed after a tiny bleed. Ben Hugo operated O.P.L.A
very painlessly and efficiently. I hope now the blemish on my lip will be gone
forever. I will now discipline myself to continue with the Memoirs – a few
extra reflections – how secure I am here in these surroundings. “My Girls” so
caring, even with this small lip operation. Daily enquiries, brief visits,
little dainties. Transport to Morningside for consultation, operation,
stitches. William was away and Stephanie had to take Richard to school early
mornings, when I had to be at the hospital. Anne van Dijk stood in for all the
transport.
I
ended in Cape Town – I think – on my commencing at the Johannesburg General
Hospital. I was entitled, due to my Psychiatric Certificate, to train in three
years instead of four. Nevertheless, I had to pass all the examinations in the
curriculum, which was tough going, as we had to attend lectures in our “off
duty”. We had a very competent Sister Tutor and Doctors for the various medical
and surgical disciplines.
My
first encounter with Nancy Simpson was quite amusing. She was at the end of her
first year and, apparently, was known as “the brain of the class”. I joined
them fleetingly (having left my own class behind). No one bothered to speak to
me and I didn’t know their individual names. They were my “seniors” at that
stage. The period in nursing at that time (1929) was very military, sisters
having worked in The Great War! As far as I can remember, ours were mostly from
the UK. At any rate, one had to “stand back” at doors, even for a senior of one
month. There were no such things as Christian names. One was addressed as
“Nurse So-and-So”. I was Duncan to my chums. “Sister” and Staff Nurse” put the
fear into us. Staff Nurse was a senior person. Sister was the term used for the
Nurse in Charge of a Ward.. Her deputy was the Staff Nurse. Promotions were
very slow in the Provincial Hospitals and Staff Nurses had to wait four or five
years before reaching the Holy Ground. Most of them married or went for private
nursing. There were very few private hospitals and these were called Nursing
Homes until recently in South Africa. Jack copied the American style of
“Clinic” for Brenthurst. Clinics as such were staffed by District and Health
nurses.
I
wander off the point. (John is very brave to tackle this amateur affair).
At
the end of this Temporary class (for me), we had to write an exam. The main
question was on the Central Nervous System. Thanks to Dr Twomey’s teaching, it
was quite my field. When the notice of results was placed on the board, there
was general astonishment. A new name, DUNCAN, and, what’s more, she’d beaten
Simpson to it, who had second place. It was after this one that I joined the
class, with whom I stayed. Jessie Dowthwaite was in that one.
As
well as having to complete medical and surgical wards, we had to do three month
stints at Fever Hospital and another at Childrens’, which was then the
Transvaal Memorial Hospital for Children. My first Christmas and New Year was
spent at Fevers. My beloved Mrs Hofmeyr was the Matron. It was a very happy
experience, except for Christmas and New Year. I had to be warded with horrible
measles, which I contracted from the patients.
The
Childrens’ Hospital stint was quite frightening. I landed in the surgical ward
with a martinet, Irish Sister O’Herlihy. It was there that I met Philip
Penberthy, Ruth Skea’s brother, Janet’s uncle. She was named after me. Philip
had post scarlet fever heart complications and was doomed. He died not long
after. Mr and Mrs Penberthy took me under their wing and were lifelong friends.
I was happy in that ward. The young boys teased us. I was 20 and quite shy
(hard to believe now).
Janet Duncan
(right) at Childrens’ Hospital 1933
I
enjoyed every aspect of my training, except Theatre, which had a martinet of a
Sister in Charge. When I think of it, she was quite daft and no Staff nurse
would work with her. She had two probationers and on principle, it was said,
she was good to one and horrid to the other. She chose me for her victimisation
and I was there for three months. She “scrubbed” for all the cases, so
must have had quite a responsibility. We operated on a general scale except for
orthopaedics.
Our
Training was of a high standard and I was registered in the United Kingdom with
no extra training required in any of the disciplines.
There
is no doubt that that our Training could have been undertaken in a much shorter
period, if we were not subjected to so much domestic work. We certainly were a
source of cheap labour. We were paid £2.1.8d per month in the first year,
finishing for the final year at £4 or thereabouts. I may have written this
before – we were very comfortable “Living In” and had excellent food. (See note about currency at the end of this
document).
I
completed the junior stages of nursing quite rapidly. I was very demoralised
after the Theatre experience. In fact, I was all for leaving and returning to
Psychiatric nursing, but my father wouldn’t hear of it and said I had completed
too much to throw in the sponge.
By
this time, Mrs Hofmeyr had become Matron-in-Chief. I was forever in her office,
begging to be moved. She also stood firm and wouldn’t allow me out. She said I
had to learn to withstand obstacles. How right she was for my future! Mrs
Hofmeyr herself had been through the mill. As Sister Wild, she had married Dr
Hofmeyr. He was sent to German East Africa with General Smuts’ Brigade in World
War 1. As a married woman, she was not allowed to go. He contracted Typhoid
Fever up there and, by the time she was allowed to go, he had died. So I can
understand her gentle handling of her wayward staff.
I
was posted to the casualty department after this experience as Senior Nurse.
Sister Theron was Sister-in-Charge. What an amusing motherly lady, red hair,
pigeon-chested. She took the frightened me into her ample bosom and restored my
self confidence. There were two of us. I was “My Senior nurse” and the other
“My Junior Nurse”. I don’t remember her using any other name. Her brother was
Colonel Theron in the Permanent Defence Force and she frequently quoted “my
brother the Colonel”. Sister Maxwell was our Staff Nurse and she eventually
took over from “our Josie”, as she called Sister Theron.
We
had to complete three months’ night duty a year, 12 hours on duty. We were
allowed a two hour “rest” period. I never went to sleep as it was impossible to
wake up. I think we had two nights off, when we were moved to separate
quarters. One was forever packing up one’s rooms for night duties and holidays.
Not really difficult as we had few possessions. The big attraction of night
duty was that one could see more of the young housemen though, actually, this
did not materialise until the final year as “acting Staff Nurse”. Staff nurses
monopolised the young doctors and the latter hardly noticed the miserable
juniors far below their dignity.
I
never encountered Jack Penn, although he was a houseman at this time. My
colleagues spoke of him as the young doctor who took all night sewing up the
drunks in Casualty with fancy stitches, but that he was a thorough gentleman in
comparison with many of the others!
Junior
Night Duty Nurse was responsible for collecting the ingredients from the dining
room for supper, also tea, coffee and hot drinks for patients; an enormous jug.
We ate our dinner before going on duty. The supper was provided in a three-tiered
enamel “billy can”. It never varied – cheese, eggs, tomato and onion. The day
staff sometimes left us a bit of extra such as sausage or polony. Invariably,
we made a concoction on toast, cooking the above ingredients into a mush which
was called “Kosher”; why I don’t know, probably because there was no meat in
the contents.
I
never fancied the task of “extra” or “relief” nurse. I was a junior on night duty.
One was forever being sent to “lay out” the dead and accompany the orderly to
the mortuary – a taciturn old chap, I think called Higgo. He frightened the
wits out of me along the dim corridors to the mortuary, which faced opposite
what is now the old Medical School - and the Medical Research. Other tasks were
swabbing the soiled sheets and, almost worse, stoking the coal stove in the
kitchen. I was forever in trouble with Senior Nurse for poking or pitching the
coal too loudly.
We
were jolly scared of our Staff Nurses; they were full of authority. I remember
one particular van der Vyver, who terrorised us. I was only a “relief” in her
ward. One night, I decided instead of going through a ward, I’d go along a
verandah to the kitchen. Those side wing wards jut out toward what is now the
Hillbrow Hospital. It was a lovely bright moonlight night. A nun in white was
supposed to haunt the place. As I was tiptoeing along the verandah, I saw in
the ward doorway this white figure. I stood in my tracks and then decided to
make a run for it, passing it rapidly. Crash, bang into the door: it was my own
reflection. I was nearly decapitated, not by the glass, which didn’t break, but
by the wrath of Staff Nurse.
In
one of the ward kitchens, also on night duty, I had a pet mouse. He used to
come along every night for his little crust of bread.
The
nursing procedures, in fact all medical procedures by today’s (1991) standards
were positively primitive
1.
Tonsillectomies were never outpatients or rapidly discharged. There was
always a great fear of post op haemorrhage.
2.
Appendisectomies. 14 days in hospital. This condition was often feared
due to the fact of late diagnosis and rupture peritonitis. An absolute enemy in
this regard was treatment of any stomach pain by “outside” GPs or even young
doctors on Casualty duty. They ordered a mixture which came in large Winchester
bottles, called Mist Alta. This white mixture consisted of Magnesium Sulphate
(I suppose to make it white) and peppermint.
I
learned early on never to give this stuff, even if ordered by a doctor, by
witnessing one tragedy; a young man dying quite unnecessarily from this
treatment. Always, I used to ask the patient if I could inspect the abdominal
region for tension first. Twice I diagnosed right and saved their lives by
sending for a surgeon.
The
standard of sepsis control in the wards was as high as could be achieved in
those days. There were no Central Sterile stations. All dressings were packed
in the wards in large drums and sent for sterilisation. This method is now
quite primitive. Nevertheless, we had very few cases of sepsis post op. It was
the sepsis from within like peritonitis etc. that was dreaded. There were no
antibiotics. Septic wounds took ages to heal. Syringing cavities was time
consuming. Most abdominal operation wounds had in situ corrugated rubber drains
to allow passage of fluids.
Inguinal
hernias,
14-16 days. They would have to lie flat on their backs, constricted pelvically
by a draw sheet and a large sandbag on each side. There were no suction
machines like Waggesteins. A tube would be passed for persistent vomiting and
fluid drawn off by syringe.
No
intravenous salines. Rectal salines were given by a small catheter and a douche
can held on high. This infusion usually ended up in the bed!
There
was quite a pre-op performance with thyroidectomies. I’m a bit vague about it
now. What I remember is that they had to “steal the thyroid”. The patient was
given a pre-op rectal infusion of some drug and then taken to theatre. Gallstones,
cholesystectomies were also prolonged post-op periods.
All
these surgical procedures were nursed for all these days strictly in bed - full
washes, strict diets, mouth trays. For prevention of bed sores, pressure points
were rubbed. The terrible “donkey” - pillows wrapped in mackintosh sheeting and
draw sheet under the knees were used to help maintain the “Fowler’s” upright
position.
Prostatectomy. There was a
special Uro ward and this was quite a procedure pre- and post-operation with bladder
washouts pre-op and then masses of towels afterwards for drainage. The odour of
that ward was awful.
Medical
wards
were not popular. The biggest dread was pneumonia and for this, nursing was the
great essential. The patient was critically ill for seven days. Again, no
antibiotics; cough mixture, “Mist Expect Sed” was used for calming and “Mist
Expect Stim” for loosening. Chests were rubbed with camphorated oil; aspirin
and small doses of brandy administered. The patient’s chest was wrapped in a
pneumonia jacket – a thing made of double layers of flannel and tied with
tapes. For high temperatures during the seven days, regular bed spongings were
given.
Temperatures
(blood pressures were taken by doctors), dressings, medicine routines were all
administered by Senior nurses. Juniors were responsible for lockers and bed
cleaning, dusting, teas, “bottles” (urinals), bed making, bed washes, basins to
convalescents, screen carrying, meal serving. Lectures and studies, in
off-duties, evenings and early mornings, and tasks made up the daily round.
There were outside-the-ward tasks for Juniors. Taking “blue papers’ to the
workshops for repairs, bed letters for patients on discharge, messages to
dispensary. We were general factotums and enjoyed the daily run on messages. I
think we also accompanied patients to X Ray and massage departments.
I
must mention the dreaded micro-organism which was streptococcus. Sore throats
neglected led to dire circumstances. One of our nurses died from a throat
infection in two days, another from a prick from a baby’s nappy pin. Staph was
a general nuisance..
This
must be the story of my own life, not a tome on between the wars medicine, so I
will get to life outside the
hospital. I want to mention something that used to puzzle the nurses. Klein
Street was closed to traffic from 7pm to 7am and we nurses thought it was due
to consideration for the patients. I read many, many years later that it was
due to Sir Lionel Phillips being a patient at the Gen and he hated the noise –
some time in the early 20s, (I think) and it was only opened up after the
Second World War.
As
Nurses in Training, we didn’t have much time and certainly no money for clothes
for a social life. The world and South Africa were in a state of financial
depression. Our salaries certainly didn’t go very far; by the middle of the
month, we had not a penny between us. Whilst we had money, we went to the
Bioscope, the Orpheum and the Bijou. We shopped at the Dee Bee Bazaars where
the prices were a penny, a tickey (3 pence), sixpence; a shilling was the
highest price for any one article. They stocked haberdashery, writing materials
and sweets and, I suppose, face creams. We certainly couldn’t afford cosmetics,
except toothpaste. I do remember having face powder. We very much enjoyed – I
think for a shilling – going to Fanny Farmer’s for cream cakes and ice cream,
or to the Corner Café or “house” (I can’t remember) upstairs at Cuthberts in
Eloff Street. That was 1/6d (one shilling and sixpence) and a band playing
Sylvester music. For days off, if we could get them off together, we were
allowed “sleeping out” leave and I would go home with Jeanne Moreillion (later
Paton). There I first heard French spoken, as that was their home language. I
wish I had concentrated and learned a little. I only remember Mrs M always
saying, in winter, “Fermer la porte!” We were always leaving doors open to the
Transvaal winter wind.
My
other friends were Mr and Mrs Dewar (Sandflats friends). He was a Scot and Mrs
D from Yorkshire. She gave me the blue Doulton jug which had been given to her
by a C of E priest. Harry and Duncan were their sons. Harry, I think he was an
engineer on the mines, wanted to marry me. No go. Duncan was a draughtsman. It
was the days during the Depression and young men simply couldn’t find
employment. No wonder nursing was so popular and there were long waiting lists.
I met Alice Allen (now Byrd) who was Senior nurse in the Medical ward, treating
chest ailments, mostly TB. I was the Junior. There were semi-detached houses in
Kotze Street, opposite the Nurses’ Home and Alice introduced me to the Shortts,
Jack and Enid. Jack was a curate at the Cathedral. They were English, poor, as
we were, but “we girls” had great laughs together. It was very good to have a
“home” when off duty. We used to pool resources and have suppers together to be
social. No Sundowners – no money! We nurses had jolly good meals routinely. I
had no “boyfriends” as such during my Training. I was a bit of a lump,
certainly had no sex appeal.
I
met Nancy again at Childrens’ Hospital. It was at that time that her only
sister died of a brain abscess after a mastoidectomy. She was shattered and so
was her mother. She never really accepted Nancy in Babs’ place. We were a happy
bunch and laughed a great deal, especially about the “old dragons” who were
responsible for making professional nurses out of the given material. I wrote
my Second Year exams at Childrens’. I used to rise early in the morning and swot
before breakfast. Sometimes, I’d give up and sit at my window (I had a very
nice bedroom overlooking the garden), do some embroidery and “pass the time”. I
passed with Honours. My two best friends remained the ones with whom I started,
though I wrote my final a year before them, Jeanne Moreillion and Haitlie
Pringle – she came from Bedford and wasn’t poor. She had a legacy from her
father. Her brothers ran the Bedford farm. One lass we all envied was from a
Cape wine farm. I can’t remember her given name, but she was a Naude. Her tales
of the plentiful wine (something we hardly knew anything about) were
fascinating.
I
can’t remember having wine at Jeanne’s home, although her family lived well.
They had lovely antique furniture. They moved from Kensington to Saxonwold –
Northwold Drive. All those big trees were newly planted. It was a special treat
for us to be taken by Mrs M for drives out of Johannesburg on our days off.
Reading
over my descriptions of our Training sounds as if I was in constant fear of the
Sisters and Staff Nurses. There were some charming folk among them, but,
certainly most of those I worked with were fear-inspiring!! I was so keen to do
well that I was probably over-reacting.
Eating
in restaurants for us, my friends at any rate, was not on the cards. I don’t
think that restaurants as they are today were available to working young
people. There were night clubs (of that later) and hotels such as the old
Carlton, Dawson’s, The Langham and The Grand. In those days, also, there were
splendid theatre companies from England. I only sampled the Social World after
my Hospital Training days.
We
were not allowed out. We had to sign in, if out to supper with friends, at 9pm,
with one late leave per week, I think, till 11pm. We were allowed one dance
leave till midnight per month. There were lasses who climbed through windows
etc., but I was too mealy-mouthed and, at any rate, never had the opportunity
for these pranks. On reflection, one could only go out until 9pm on one’s day
off, because on working days, there were never any evenings off. Afternoons off
and then back on duty at 5pm and off at 8 or 9pm. (John, don’t type all this
rubbish if you feel it is redundant). We had one month’s holiday per year. I
always went home, partly because of filial duty and partly because I couldn’t
afford anything else.
It
was quite touching – when the Africans heard that “Miss Jenny” was home from a
Hospital, they appeared for all sorts of treatment: constipation after eating
too many prickly pears, septic sores. For the latter, I mixed a plaster of
Sunlight soap and brown sugar – a very effective paste. I was delighted to ride
my horse again. I went to play tennis in Paterson and generally passed the
time. On one leave, my father had to inject the cattle for some disorder. I
helped and, goodness, couldn’t get the needle into the hide.
Springhares
were a menace to the crops, so my father would go out at night to shoot them. I
accompanied him. We went on horseback. I felt sorry for the hares being shot at
when their eyes were glowing in the dark.
I
used to spend quite a lot of time sleeping off the year’s fatigue. One
Christmas, I decided to go home for my leave. Psychologically that was a
disaster. How I missed my chums and the Hospital activity at that time of the
year.
It
was quite a palaver going on leave as, though one didn’t have many possessions,
they had to be packed for the box room and my room vacated. How we looked
forward to the taxi, at last taking the trip to Park Station (2/6d a ride).
Luggage consisted of a small cabin trunk which went in the goods van, a bed
roll, lunch box and handbag. As there were six to a Second Class compartment, I
don’t think we undressed for the sleep. It was quite a weary journey to
Sandflats (our station) and I usually arrived covered in soot and quite dirty!
When
I returned to Johannesburg, the train from PE arrived at Sandflats at midnight.
I can still remember the mixed feelings of regret at leaving and excitement at
returning to Jhb and my friends when I saw the steam engine puffing in to the
station, letting off its steam – and that big shining light.
A
particular evening “out on the tiles” I remember very vividly. A Staff Nurse at
Childrens’ Hospital (Groman by name) invited there of us to join her for dinner
and a show. She supplied four men. We went in two cars and didn’t know our
blind dates. The first warnings we received when commencing our Training were
1.
We were NOT to go out with young Jewish housemen – they had a reputation as
philanderers and were “out for one thing”, horror of horrors!
and
2. We were never to accept invitations to go to near Pilky Vale, Sans Souci,
Jackson’s Drift and one other hotel near Johannesburg because again one was
taken there for “that thing”. Well, on this party, instead of going to dinner
and the cinema, our escorts suggested all four in turn, being turned down at
the mention of each one - as they drove to them in turn. We sat glued to our
seats refusing. In the end, after touring Johannesburg and district, weary
girls were taken to a Phillips Café in town at about 2am for bacon and eggs.
Phillips also had a café in Hillbrow on a corner in Klein Street. This episode
must have happened when I was a Staff Nurse at Childrens’ – not possible
timewise in Training.
We
cashed our miserable little cheques at Barclays Bank next to the little Post
Office in Kotze Street, one storey little buildings. We bought our Big Ben
Westclox fob watches at Osher’s Jewellers, still in Kotze Street. We did not
own wrist watches and needed these for taking pulses. I don’t know when I
bought my first watch.
The
Nurses’ Home had a very good library, not that we had much spare time for
reading but, as I enjoyed this, I made time.
Johannesburg
winters, in memory, seemed much colder. We had central heating in our rooms in
the New Wing, so felt the cold very much when visiting friends. The Dewars used
to invite me to sleep before a day off. The bed was on a verandah and I used to
have awful nights of cold feet. Stupidly, I never had the guts to refuse; Ma
Dewar valued my visits for some reason.
My
third year Training was much more exciting. “Senior Pro” was shown some
recognition and my confidence had been restored after the Theatre experience.
Toward the end, I studied a great deal. Dowthy and I used to rise at 4am and
study together before duty.
I
was now 23, rising 24 and was quite eager to leave “Training” behind me. A this
stage of writing, I recall my 21st birthday. I arrived in June 1930
and turned 21 in July with nothing to mark the day. Sitting on the green bench
in front of the Nurses’ Home in the cold waiting to go on duty at 5pm,
wondering how I would spend the rest of my birthdays. Little did I think what
wonderful experiences lay ahead of me and now I would be writing this in June
1991.
We
had to write the Hospital Examination for the Gold Medal. I was the recipient
and No Way did I ever expect it. The certainties were two girls, my seniors by
a year, having done four years’ training. Neither did they expect me to
get it. There was consternation on one hand and lots of joy from my little band
and the Hospital authorities. There was no ceremony attached to the
presentation as happens today. I went to the Matron’s office – still, I think
Miss Alexander. She just handed the medal to me. She probably thought her Zulu
would have been more deserving. Actually, after my Orthopaedic Training in
England, Miss A had retired and was living at Warburton in Princess Place, then
a private hotel, here at the end of Park Lane. She invited me to tea to
congratulate me on being the second nurse in South Africa to be a qualified
Orthopaedic trained nurse. She was then a very charming old lady. “Old” as I
thought between 60 and 65! I passed the final State Examination (it is now the
SA Nursing Council Registration Certificate and much altered) with Distinction.
I
had been given study leave from the State Mental Hospital to complete my
General Hospital Training. Although I only needed 3 years of actual training,
the time needed was well within the four years, waiting for exam results,
registration etc. I decided to ask for extra leave onto the four years to
complete my Midwifery training. This was not granted and I was asked to return
to the Service at the end of four years. As soon as we qualified as Staff
Nurses, a selected few, of whom I was one, were asked to join the General
Hospital staff, as vacancies occurred. I felt in honour bound to return to the
Mental Hospital service. I had tentatively been offered an opportunity by them
to qualify for a Sister Tutor’s Diploma in Mental Health in England. I decided
to use the extra time by taking a protracted holiday on the farm. I was very
tired. The usual train journey, this time, nothing left at the Hospital.
In
my handbag, I had £1, my sole finance; my precious Gold Medal, fortunately, was
packed in my suitcase. On going to sleep, I put my handbag under my pillow in
the middle bunk towards the window. One of the other occupants opened the
window and in the morning I had no handbag! Either stolen or fallen out. I was
devastated – lost £1, return train ticket, luggage ticket and badge.
Fortunately, my father was at the station to hear the sad tale and bail out my
luggage.
After
a month on the farm, I was raring to go, but had four months’ study leave left,
so I applied and was accepted at the City Deep Mine Hospital as a Sister. £15 a
month all found. It was a fortune. I spent my first month’s salary on lovely
new clothes. It was delightful to buy silk stockings for best and wear decent
lisle ones for duty, instead of the horrid black darned things of my training
days. Not to forget the pride after seven years of training at last to wear a
“VEIL”.
City Deep
Mine Hospital convalescents 1933
I
spent a very interesting time at that Hospital. It was strange to be in charge
of a unit and all African men. Most of the time was spent as Sister in Charge
of the Hospital on night duty. I didn’t find the task daunting at all, having
had experience of this at Komani. There were two categories of wards, Medical,
which in many ways was sad. The African man was terrified of being medically
“ill”, with something he couldn’t see. A great number had pneumonia and died,
terrified. I had problems as all the nurses were black and, at that time, not
reliable, firstly because they couldn’t stay awake and secondly because of
ignorance. I had to do two-hourly rounds, so was on the go all night. Quite
often, I would find a seriously ill patient dead without the nurse being aware
of it. This situation was very worrying.
The
surgical injuries were mostly penetrated knees and fractures from work
injuries. On Saturday nights, ghastly factional fighting wounds, disembowelments.
I had to “take the Theatre” as a “scrub” nurse. The disembowelments made me
feel very squeamish, but it is remarkable how the patients recovered, always
remembering that there were no antibiotics. The fighting occurred if different
tribes were in the same compound. Usually Pondos, Basutos and Zulus were the
offenders. I learned to do quite a lot of stitching of superficial wounds.
I
don’t remember much of a social life. City Deep Hospital was situated where the
container depot is now. There was a bus service, which we used. I was very
young in comparison with, I think, two other day Sisters. The Matron I remember
not at all! I was joined by May Collins who wrote her final with me, so we went
about together. She stayed on when I left.
I
did have my first experience of a doctor “out for only that thing”. I was
terrified and, sadly, he was Jewish. He invited me to dinner
and a show – Bioscope. He took me to the Blue Room at the Station which, at
that time, was one of the “in” eating establishments, also something I’d never
experienced. I don’t remember the menu, except that I’d never seen an olive or
even heard of one. I tried to stab it with my fork and it darted all over the
plate. To my consternation, he said, “pick it up in your fingers”. Maybe, on
reflection, that made him think I would be an easy prey. Well, the dinner with
wine (also an experience for me) seemed to go on for ever. I wondered if we
would ever arrive at a cinema. Finally, we got to his car and he was driving
out of town. I said, “Aren’t we going to the cinema?” “No”, said he, “It’s too late;
I’ll take you for a walk somewhere”. Now I became nervous, remembering all the
warnings. He parked somewhere in the grounds of Killarney, not the actual golf
club grounds, must have been where the shopping centre is now. Instead of
walking, he decided to sit on the grass. By this time I was ready to run! My
heart thumping, “Sit down”, said he. I did and then he started to maul me,
stuck his hand right down my pretty new dress and proceeded to open his fly.
It’s quite funny, writing this makes me laugh. He was puffing and panting. I
said, hardly able to control my voice, “Please leave me alone, I’m not that
kind of a girl”. Quite overwhelmed with fear, I slapped his face – hard – and
said, “Take me home, immediately”. We departed in absolute silence and, though
I had to work with him and do rounds, beyond professional contact, I never ever
spoke to him socially again. I washed and scrubbed myself and felt absolutely
contaminated. Years later, here at Brenthurst, Jack said, “I want to show an
old friend of mine round the Hospital. Will you join us? Dr So-and–So from
so-and-so”. The name rang a bell and I refused, saying that I was busy. I
peeped and I was right, it was HIM!! He’s dead now.
Tennis
Party, City Deep Mine Hospital, 1933
I
forgot that Jeanne and I used to play tennis with her cousin, George Kohler and
friends. His mother was the Rev. Moreillion’s sister. Just by coincidence, I
had known her for a brief period at Komani Hospital whilst she had a bout of
severe depression. May and I had tennis parties at the Mine, rather vague to me
now. One of George’s friends was a charming lad – man – named Lawson; I’ve
forgotten his first name, except that he owned a second-hand Rolls-Royce and we
were delighted when he gave us a lift. It was a kind of sports-looking car,
with a long bonnet.
Another
chapter in our Training days was going to Christmas and Easter Church services
in a “Crocodile” early in the morning. Either to the Cathedral or to St Mary’s
Chapel which, in those days, was a little tin shanty in the grounds of Dean
Palmer’s house, where the block of flats called “Palmer Place” is now and where
the new chapel was built. Dean Palmer was a crusty old chap and we young were
in awe of him. By the way that I write, it appears that our elders were quite
severe sort of people – probably in our minds, not so far from the Victorian
era.
My
brief period at the Mine at an end, I had to return to the Mental Health
Service. To my consternation, I was not sent back to Komani, where I had
received nothing but kindness in Training and never feelings of fear of my
seniors. I was sent to a branch of Fort Napier Hospital in Pietermaritzburg. It
was the private hospital at Town Hill where the patients were not state
committed, but what was known as Voluntary Boarders. It was pleasantly situated
on the Hill in lovely grounds and I could have been very happy. My life was
quite the opposite. Ni instructions were sent to the Superintendant as to my
position. I was placed as a “Junior” despite my seven years’ training and two
certificates! The Charge Sister, to my mind, was more crazy than the patients –
Miss Burnett. Her second in charge was a little squirt called Botha, who was
absolutely beastly. I was not allowed to even give out an aspirin without being
checked. The whole project was laced with jealousy; I had to do all the menial
work of a maid.
I
was forever in the Superintendant’s office asking to be classified. The answer,
“I can do nothing until I hear from Pretoria”. The Matron was useless as well.
I wrote to my father and said I was leaving and they could keep their bursary.
Pa said once more, “Don’t throw in the towel, wait and see”. It sounds like a
horror story and it was! I had had enough and wrote to the Johannesburg
General, Mrs Hofmeyr, my beloved Matron. She replied and said, “Come home” and
completed all the forms. I waved Cheerio to Town Hill and never was more
pleased to see the Jhb mine dumps. I never heard why this awful muddle
happened. Maybe the local Powers-that-be saw me as a threat and wanted me to
resign. Whilst in Maritzburg, my sanity was saved by Sybil and Iris Marwick.
Sybil was Sister Tutor at Grey’s Hospital and Iris was Sister Tutor at Fort
Napier in the Mental Health Service. She did her General Training first, and
Mental Health second. She was absolutely puzzled by the whole situation. I also
received great kindness from the Penningtons, Canon Pennington’s family. One of
his sons used to take me back to the Hospital riding pillion on his motor bike.
15.06.91
Interlude.
Today, Louise and I went to the annual “Old Girls” lunch at the new General
Hospital. A delightful occasion; a very good meal with wine, meeting friends.
The oldies are fading out, but there was one of 93 and another of 96, then Mrs
Childe, also 96. I know her by name from the SA Nurses Trust Fund list, a real
live wire. She is now resident at Caro House. Unbelievable, beautifully
dressed, upright, no glasses, helping me with the other two old ladies, pushing
the wheel chair of one. She suddenly appeared at my table where I was sitting
with my friends, the “young ones”. She said, “I’m doing the rounds of all the
grey heads”. She was a Cloete from Queenstown, educated at DSG, her brothers at
St Andrews. She started her training in 1916 and was nursing the 1918 Flu
patients. If I can be like that at 96, I’ll be delighted to be alive!
22.10.91
Now
to begin one of the happiest periods of my life. 1934. I can’t remember the
month.
I
have neglected these pages since returning from Cape Town with deep nostalgia
for life there. I’ve had to come to terms with my psychological self. I have
to live here for financial reasons and so, as I don’t like to be unhappy, set
about putting my mind in order. Thank goodness I have succeeded. My flat is now
attractive and comfortable. I have a very pleasant social life and am at last
settled and happy with visits to the Cape and J, P & C to look forward to.
We
are planning our Egyptian trip which is great fun.
The
winter passed very pleasantly. The jacarandas are out. We are doing a jacaranda
walk in Westcliff on Saturday, Joan, Gay and I. Our Game Reserve (Kruger) trip
in August. So many animals, including 26 lions.
The
New South Africa is causing problems, but it has to come and be faced. I’m lucky
to have lived such a long span, to have seen the enormous change in the world.
I’ve also been fortunate to have travelled to so many countries and seen
changes taking place throughout the world – for better or worse.
Now
to return to way back in 1934. The absolute misery and unhappiness of
Maritzburg and psychiatric nursing wiped out. It was bliss returning to my
beloved General Hospital – welcomed back by many friends and an understanding
Mrs Hofmeyr (Matron-in Chief). I was placed in a surgical ward (makeshift) in
what was known as the “Old Home”. The new Central Block was being built, the
original block where I commenced my Training having been demolished. I was at
last a fully-fledged Staff Nurse – TRAINED – a free agent in my private life. I
began to have a social life. Had men friends, one or two quite serious, but
none that I would have wanted to marry – or I don’t even know if they would
have wanted to marry me – except that three of them became quite serious and
did pursue. In those days, the “love affairs”, at any rate where I was
concerned, didn’t get to any degree of intimacy. I was rather “strait-laced”, I
suppose. I certainly also had jolly faithful male pals, “no nonsense”. I now
realise that they were “gays”.
It
was whilst working in this ward that I met a charming young patient who had had
a riding accident, Tom Ford. He was discharged and I didn’t hear from him for
over a year after which he wrote and asked to meet me. I was doing my Midwifery
training at the Queen Vic. I was enjoying my work, but remained ever restless
and didn’t feel complete without my Midwifery Certificate. I started that
training in 1937 and enjoyed it enormously. I was very poor. My father paid my
premium for entrance and we had to receive our training without pay. Nevertheless,
we had our Hospital dances and medical students doing their training as well –
tennis parties and general fun. We were all in the same boat. The world hadn’t
come out of the Depression, so we had to make our own fun and come out on our
parental subsidies.
After
qualifying, I stayed on as a Staff Nurse. A rule was made, that if one did a
year as a post-graduate, the Premium would be returned. I think it was £20 but,
as one’s salary was £4 a month, this was quite a sum. I enjoyed the work; it
was a happy occupation, not many crises once the baby had arrived. The Night
Sister’s task was practical teaching. Ours was forever on sick leave. I was
placed on night duty and had to undertake the teaching – student midwives as
well as medical students. Hard work, but I loved it. It was at this time that
Tom contacted me and I went out with him from time to time to plays and
cinemas. We had only trams as transport and absolutely nothing serious
developed. I didn’t meet his family.
I’m
quite muddled. I now recall that I didn’t stay long at “The Gen” and set off to
Childrens’ Hospital to do my childrens’ training, all under the auspices of the
General Hospital. Just prior to going to Childrens’, I had done night duty in a
very busy surgical ward and there became very friendly with two Housemen, Jock
Gear and Alf Tinker. I played tennis and partied with them. I had quite a crush
on Alf!!
After
my stint at QVH, I was returned to The Gen and placed in an admin position in
Matron’s office. There were two of us Staff Nurses, working under the House
Sister, who was actually a third Matron.
It
was a large Nurses’ Home and we were responsible for the welfare of the nurses,
attended to the “sick room” for minor illnesses and were in charge of the large
staff of maids who did the domestic work in the home – all white – no black
maids or staff whatsoever. We had to do “roll call” at breakfast and, after
this, had breakfast with Matron and her assistants. The dining room was staffed
by Zulu men under the fierce eyes of the Induna, Jeremiah, who also ruled us
with a rod of iron!
Among
other duties, we had to leave notes for untidy nurses. We hated doing this; it
made us feel like spies. Nevertheless, again I enjoyed the work. A special
concession was breakfast in bed on days off. What bliss and what breakfasts -
gorgeous plates of fruit with the most enormous pears, peaches and grapes. How
I missed this when I went to train in England!
Another
perk was tickets to the Hospital Ball, held annually at the Carlton Hotel, a
very posh affair, white tie and tails. Matron gave the two free tickets to her
Home Staff Nurses. My companion was Doris Moore. She was engaged to a doctor
named Bill Harrison and my partner was a delightful young man, Brian Middleton.
What a dancer! We went two years in succession. In fact, Brian was also my
partner at the Hospital dances. How the pendulum can swing after all these
years. Rob Thompson is now involved with his great-niece. He died many years
ago. I’m, so far, the survivor, in recollecting. These dancing partners of mine
are here no more. Some of them were older than me, so therefore they’d be more
on their way to 90!
To
return to the “story”: I had finished my Midwifery and Children training,
another 2+ years as a student. Tom had appeared on the horizon. Quite strange,
it was a completely platonic relationship. At no time did he even kiss me Good
Night. I, meanwhile, went dancing and playing tennis with other chaps. In fact,
I went to “Moonlight Picnics” at Nel’s Rust with other couples. I never invited
my dancing partners; my pals were engaged to their blokes – three couples and
they always brought along a chap for me. I’d sit there making serious
conversation whilst they disappeared into the trees with rugs!! One chap they
brought along, a bank accountant, tried to get “fresh” with me and I belted him
one. That was the end of him.
A picnic in
the Florida Hills
I
must have been an odd fish. I had no desire for casual relationships of the
nature that takes place today. I enjoyed mens’ company and had lost a great
deal of my shyness. Times were hard and cash scarce, very scarce. Maybe the
young men enjoyed having a companion who wasn’t pining for a ring on the
finger.
In
the midst of all this, there was a man I was very fond of at home in Paterson.
There were stumbling blocks nevertheless. I was too ambitious in my career to
become involved. My father discouraged me as well, among other things:
1.
He didn’t clean his shoes.
2.
I wouldn’t be able to settle as the wife of a village shopkeeper. How right he
was!
Whilst
on the subject of dancing, a pastime I loved, Tom wasn’t keen at all, though he
was a good dancer - all ballroom in those days. It wasn’t his social scene.
After he became a police officer in charge of areas, he had to be host at the
Police Balls. I loved their wonderful band and thoroughly enjoyed myself. One
particular year in Cape Town, he was busy conducting examinations in Pretoria.
I mentioned in a letter that one of the officers had invited me to the Ball. I
was thrilled. A telegram came back on the turn, actually forbidding me to go. I
was furious!
I’ve
gone right off the track here.
Leaves. I always went
home for my holidays as in the days when I was training. Actually, I couldn’t
afford to go to the Natal South Coast as was the wont of most young people.
They used to return with stories of romances, going round in gangs, apple-pied
beds, buckets of water as booby traps that to me was absolute rubbish and a
waste of money, should I have possessed any.
One
thing must have been certain. My actual “sex appeal” must have been practically
“non est”. It is strange looking back all those years. The shortage of cash
doesn’t seem to have bothered us much. Life and amusements were much simpler.
One’s cosmetics, at any rate, mine, were toothpaste, Nivea cream (right until
1955) Houbigant face powder, Mum, a cake of soap which washed body and hair. I
never possessed a lipstick. Fortunately, I had curly hair – always unruly,
which was a bother – talcum powder, Yardley’s Lavender and, when really extravagant,
Coty (I think) Three Flowers toilette water. We used to roll the ends of our
hair for shaping in “Queen Bess” curlers.
When
we were no longer wearing home-made undies, we wore celanese and, as a real
treat, handmade silk camiknickers from China. Silk stockings were for best,
black lisle for duty as a Staff Nurse and as a Probationer. This is all pre-war
in the 30s. For me, going home on leave meant the long train journey, second
class with picnic box and roll of blankets and lots of soot from the engine. In
later years, this was John and William’s experience three times a year (each
way) to St Andrews in Grahamstown, first from Lobatse and then from
Johannesburg! So I needn’t feel badly done by.
I
wanted to be with my parents, but I found those days on the farm very boring
and I used to spend hours on my horse or playing the gramophone.
I’ve
got a butterfly brain and don’t seem to be able to stick to sequences in the
correct order.
Back
to my career. Having completed Childrens’ and Midwifery, I returned from those
branches to the General Hospital and this was when I was placed on Matron’s
staff as I mentioned before.
They
were restless days among nurses; there were many grievances. Young women became
dissatisfied being treated like school children and with the military regime of
nursing. Many of our senior sisters had actually been trained in England by
women who had been trained under Florence Nightingale’s regime. Going my own
way, I was quite contented, but was exposed to the Staff Nurses’ sitting room
and continuous grousing. I took myself off to Mrs Hofmeyr and told her what was
happening – the prevailing rebellious mood. I became a rebel myself and wanted
to see things in order. This story has been described in my history for the SA
Nursing Association.
I
drew up petitions, held meetings, all above board, with Matron, the Medical
Supervisor and guidance from my beloved friend Jane McLarty. When the Board of
Enquiry was held under the auspices of Sir Edward Thornton, I was a chief
spokesperson. That was in 1937. Late leaves were increased for Staff Nurses,
living out was allowed and we had better off-duties. I don’t remember salaries
being much improved. Our food was always good at The Gen, so I don’t remember
any grousing there. It was a period of great change; Nursing Act, SA Nursing
Association, etc. My main function was not to tolerate undercover grousing. I
believed in facts being discussed openly and having the courage to do so.
Towards
the end of ’37, I again became restless; having to wait four years as a Staff
Nurse and not being in charge of my own unit was not for me. I applied to the
Colonial Nursing Service in Basutoland, not mentioning it to my mentor Mrs
Hofmeyr. When she received their request for references, she told me I was
crazy to want to bury myself in Maseru or, worse, in some outpost. I said I
wanted to go where I could keep a horse. She made short work of that. I was
encouraged by an Assistant Matron to do an Orthopaedic Training in England and
return to the Chamber of Mines Hospital to work with her, as she was to be the
Matron there when the place had been built. Again, Mrs H ticked me off for
muddling around, said I certainly could go to England and train for
Orthopaedics, but only on study leave. She would see to it that I would be
given sufficient unpaid study leave to stay as long as I pleased. As it
happened, Mrs Pearce’s mentor who was to be the Superintendant of the Chamber
of Mines Hospital was killed in a car accident and she never got the Matron’s
post.
That
is how the wheel of fortune turns. There is a destiny that shapes our ends,
rough hew them as we will. Shakespeare’s words are to that effect.
I
obtained my study leave and, having been accepted at the Lord Mayor Treloar’s
Cripples Hospital and College in Hampshire, I was a very happy and excited
lass. England was always my goal. I literally could hardly contain my
excitement.
Tom
was around and he must have viewed the scene with bewilderment. He made no move
to portray that he was serious about me. I liked him tremendously, but
certainly wouldn’t have stayed if he had proposed marriage. He said later that he
didn’t know how to handle the situation and wasn’t going to make a fool of
himself. If I had cared for him, I wouldn’t have gone haring off to England!!
I
wrote to my uncle in Irlam near Manchester, where he was Chief Fire Officer.
They were delighted that at last a South African Duncan would be seen in
England. I have forgotten exact dates, but I sailed for England from Port
Elizabeth, where my parents had retired after selling that farm. The
send-off from Park Station in Johannesburg was terrific; the platform was
crowded with my friends, even though I was travelling second class with the
usual bedding roll and food for the journey. I arrived in PE with a dreadful
head and chest cold and was immediately bundled into bed by my mother – what
bliss. I recovered in the five days available before sailing in the Dunottar
Castle. Thank goodness the sea was calm round to Cape Town; it was my first
voyage. In subsequent ones, I’ve been seasick in the Cape rollers.
The
Union Castle liners docked in Cape Town for, I think, four or five days. There
I was taken to the Klossers, James and Diane, who were newly married. Their
home was in Alma Road in Claremont; fantastic hospitality on my first visit to
the Cape. Diane and James were both graduates of UCT and were proud to show me
around the Campus – a small one compared with the buildings of today. I was
shown all round the Peninsula by Diane and appreciated every moment. Groote
Schuur Hospital, newly built, stood out against the mountain. I cannot remember
the structure of the buildings in the suburbs or even the trams of that time in
1938.
On
sailing day, I was joined by Jack and Enid Shortt, Jack being a curate at the
Cathedral in Johannesburg, on their first “home leave”.
They
lived opposite our Nurses’ Home in a flat, which has long since been
demolished, where Enid always welcomed and shared tea and coffee with the
Probationers, as student nurses were termed in those days. It was great having
their companionship on board, Enid being a very agile lass in deck games – I
was forever useless at this recreational activity – she walked off with many
prizes. She was also an accomplished bridge player, a game I wouldn’t have dared
to play!
Janet
(middle, front) with Enid Shortt and friends aboard Dunottar Castle
With
her activities, I could cash in with the young set on the ship. We were all
rather poor, so one didn’t feel victimised by not having much cash to indulge
ourselves. We laughed a great deal at parlour games of those days: musical
chairs, deck dancing etc.
Group including Janet Duncan in Funchal, Madeira en route to England
We
had beautiful sailing weather, but slightly stormy in the Bay of Biscay, where
I was a little indisposed.
It
was quite awful through the tropics. We were six in a cabin without a porthole.
We carried some cover up on deck and slept there. I cannot remember anything
about my cabin mates now. We went our different ways in England.
05.01.93
I
left off this saga quite some time ago and have decided to carry on again, on
visits to the Cape. Somehow, I have lack of discipline in Johannesburg. I left
the preceding pages at 13 Stamford Rd and I am not sure of the dates. Since
writing last, I’ve been very occupied and life is full of activity. I’ve been
to China and Egypt, both wonderful experiences, with Louise and Dennis, Joan
Robins, Gilly McLellan, Hildegard van Eyssen. I have been blessed with
wonderful friends and family. So many of my girlhood friends, like Nancy and
Edith, have gone, leaving empty spaces.
John
and William, Pam and Stephanie are supportive in old age when one becomes a bit
bewildered, to put it mildly, sometimes. Most of my friends are in the 40 and
50s group. I am so fortunate.
I
was speaking on the phone this morning with Bob Langley. He says he’s also
writing for his grandchildren. He has much to tell. He was a cadet at the
Police College with Tom. He had joined the Protectorate Police, Basutoland,
Bechuanaland and Swaziland, and encouraged Tom to do the same. South Africa was
not then a Republic. At that time, it was a member of the British Commonwealth
and Tom preferred to stay in the South African Police force. That’s another
story for later. Bob has much to tell, as Commissioner of Police in
Bechuanaland and, later, Uganda. Well, he is using a computer for his story. If
I wasn’t so lazy and not wanting to spend a sum of money on a computer… I leave
this task to my dear John.
06.01.93
In
between my travels to China and Egypt, I came to Cape Town at least once a year
and enjoyed every moment. John and Pam are very hospitable. After visiting
them, where we do all sorts of exciting outings e.g. Champagne breakfasts at
Villiera, drinks on the beach at Llandudno, picnics at Delaire, I stay with the
Penns at Clifton and go for outings with my Cape Town chums, Joanie Edwards and
Pam Warburton. In 1991, Billy Knabe died, my old friend and neighbour from
Bellville days. I was very sad. I stay at Fairfield; it’s near the bus route,
friendly. Visit museums and then, this year, 1993, is my fifth Summer School at
UCT. I find it very exciting, attending many courses, mainly Art, History,
Music with John, Archaeology, a smattering of Religion, Medicine and World
Affairs as times change.
A
highlight for me, I bought 14 days time share at Bantry Bay in Flexitime, June
to October, right on the rocks at Bantry Bay. What a delight! I chose August in
1992. I hate that month of wind and dust in Johannesburg.
I
last visited England in June 1990 when, on account of taking Brufen for a neck
pain, I developed a gastric ulcer and had to cancel a trip to Paris to visit
Diana and Gerard. The latter just wouldn’t allow me to be hostess. What a
delightful Frenchman! Diana is as beautiful and effervescent as ever. I’ve
promised to visit them in Paris this year. I’ve decided to make it just a short
visit, 10-14 days to do a few special outings in Paris.
Goodness,
life has given me so much and daily I recognise this. Of course, I have moments
of nostalgia for Tom and my other friends who have gone away. I’ve had moments
of ill-health but, usually, due to an allergy to a drug for muscle relaxant
(back) and very recently to a heart pill. I’m better off with natural cures –
walking for back and a healthy diet!!
Now
to continue
I
landed at Southampton on a clear day towards the end of April. My cousin Norah
Davies (née Duncan) was there to meet me, all the way from Cheshire. She was my
dear Uncle Jack’s daughter. He was Dad’s eldest brother. We docked very near
the big ship Queen Mary. I was full of wonderment at everything I saw. Norah
shepherded me to the Boat train to Waterloo. I was enchanted by the countryside
from the train window, spring flowers on the banks and THEN, London.
Norah
had reserved rooms for us at a private hotel, B&B, Ensleigh Gardens, near
Euston Station, at 10/6 to 15/6 per day!! Full breakfast was served in one’s
room. I went to visit it in 1958 and it was a bombed ruin. In the late 70s,
when Joan Jenkins and I went on our Trafalgar Tour round Paris, the Loire and
the beaches of World War II, we stayed at the Grafton Hotel. It used to be a
Nurses’ Home for the Middlesex Hospital or, I’m not sure, University College
Hospital. Well, I found Ensleigh Gardens very nearby. The site is now occupied
by some very attractive town houses.
Norah
stayed with me for a few days and, My Goodness, we traversed London by Tube.
She then saw me onto a train to Alton in Hampshire. The town is situated
between Aldershot and Winchester. I don’t have any recollection of how I
arrived at the Hospital. It was about two miles out of the town. Lord Mayor
Treloar’s Hospital was founded on the grounds of a hospital for soldiers
wounded in the Boer War. It was supported by donations from the Nobility and
influential businessmen. It catered for pre-General Hospital nurses and for those
training in Orthopaedic and Plastic surgery. In 1938, it was decided that they
would run a post-graduate course for Certificated Nurses registered by the
Nursing Council in England. Nurses who trained at Johannesburg General,
Somerset Hospital in Cape Town (later at Groote Schuur), Addington in Durban
and Grey’s Hospital in Pietermaritzburg were registered in England without
having to do extra study.
Treloar’s
was a delightful place, very modern for the time. It catered for TB, limbs and
lupus treatment in a special light department, followed by Plastic Surgery.
There were more children than adults.
The
wards were constructed on an open air solarium basis. The beds were constructed
for Orthopaedic pre- and post-op treatment. As a high percentage was for the
care of the ravages of tuberculosis in the bone structure, the beds were
wheeled onto the solarium in good weather. Britain had a very poor summer in
1938 and we had practice in bed-wheeling in haste to avoid sudden showers!
Off-duty
time was limited by today’s standards. My search for the sun was very
frustrated, but I revelled nevertheless in living in the English countryside,
right near a beautiful wood called Ackenden Woods. The spring flowers,
bluebells, primroses, dandelions, little white daisies and cows in the meadows
had me in a state of euphoria. I had very little time for homesickness in my
mind. When I visited Treloar’s in the 1970s, a great deal of the woods had gone
for the spreading out of Alton housing.
Treloar’s
On
my first weekend off, I went up to Town (London) and stayed at Ensleigh Gardens
again. I was busy exploring at every waking moment and saw a play whenever
possible, seated in “the Gods” for 1/6d. Lodgings were on a good B&B basis.
A good lunch at a Lyons Corner House was also 1/6d for canned grape fruit,
meat, potato and two veg followed by ice cream. When Norah showed me around, I
thought that London had only one Underground line, the Northern line. After a
few mistakes, I soon became acquainted with London’s magnificent Tube setup.
After
paying my 15/- pension contribution to SA, my £4 per month was very splendidly
budgeted. Phyllis Cox (later Hodder), was one of my friends at The Gen. Her
father had been in the Indian Service. She was very “top drawer”. She wrote to
some families who were wonderful friends to me. Among them was a younger member
of the Army and Navy families, Ralph Medley. During the 1939-45 War, he was Commodore
Henry Harwood's senior staff officer at the Battle of the River Plate in
December 1939. He was serving as operations and intelligence officer on the
light cruiser Ajax when the German pocket battleship Graf Spee was trapped
outside Montevideo and scuttled by her captain. It was quite an experience for
me to be entertained at gracious country homes with their pre-war staff of
fresh-faced country maids.
One
was wakened in the morning with tea and a copper can of hot water for
ablutions. On weekends, the one or two bathrooms were insufficient for all the
needs. There were chamber pots and slop pails in the bedrooms for emergencies.
Gosh, it is interesting to recall those conditions today.
In
the winter, the bedrooms had grates where a fire warmed the room. We had
central heating at the Hospital for which I was very grateful. The winter
weather thrilled me. I had never seen snow, except on the distant mountains in
SA. In 1938, it snowed heavily in Southern England. I was on night duty when it
first started and I could hardly sleep for long intervals, hopping out of bed
to see the continuous fall of snow.
Two
night supers left, one ill in bed and the other absconded to be married. It was
my fate to be chosen to replace them both. Staff Nurse to Temporary Sister,
doing the work of two for no extra allowance, but allowed to eat in the Sisters’
Dining Room with cider to drink. It was Christmas time and I felt most bereft,
as I was allowed only one hour off. I changed into my black velvet dress and
was escorted for that hour by my favourite doctor, Ronald Thompson, who was
doing the Orthopaedic internship. A dear man who showed me the English
countryside in his little car - a Morris Minor, I think. He loved Winchester as
much as I did and we often visited there, as well as the beautiful Cathedral. I
had heard a great deal about English pubs. He took me to many interesting
places, but never to a pub!
One
particular evening in the Chawton Woods I remember. No rain, midsummer, singing
birds, a place frequented in writings by the naturalist Gilbert. We were seated
in natural surroundings and entertained by music in the style of the old
English flute, or pipe. I must ask John, he’ll know what I wish to describe. I
have described, I think, my first fifteen days leave in my saga in the
Brenthurst Clinic magazine. I was due to go to Irlam to visit Uncle Jack and
Aunt Hannah and Norah and Tom Davies when the 1938 autumn was ruined by the
Munich crisis. In any event, after “peace in our time” was declared by
Chamberlain, I set forth. Norah had worked out a plan of approach, even if War
was declared but, as it happened, I could go in peace. It was great meeting my
father’s brother who was a dear man. He and Norah showed me around Manchester.
Irlam was in Cheshire, but on the border of Lancashire. Aunty Hannah could tell
me of my Grandmother Bridget Duncan, née Stanley. I wish I had written down in
detail. It now seems so long ago and it’s hard to recall. Norah and Tom took me
on a tour, very extensive, right down to Devon and Cornwall and up to the
English Lakes. I think that was on my second leave.
If
one wishes to embark on writing for one’s grandchildren, one should keep a
diary. I am relying on my memory.
Tom
filed all my letters, which would have helped me now. They were packed with
other interesting letters from Sir Ernest Oppenheimer, Noel Coward, Lord
Balfour and Miss BG Alexander and somehow they got lost in my many storages at
Brenthurst Clinic. I’ve searched all the store rooms.
I
couldn’t buy much as I never had any spare cash but, in Looe in Cornwall, which
was then only a fishing village, I bought a beautiful blue pottery vase. I
carried it all over England and on the ship back to South Africa. Someone had
given me pink gladioli on my first day back at The Gen. The curtain from an
open window crashed my precious vase!
I
also spent a long weekend with one of the nurses from Treloar’s, surname
Napier. We traversed the Isle and I remember it was a beautiful summer’s day.
We rested in a field, hearing the bees in the blossoms of (I think) an apple
tree, seeing daisies in the field – absolute bliss. The next time I can
remember something similar was en route from Bariloche in Argentina in 1965,
except that there we were in sight of Lake Esmeralda and Mount Osorno in Chile.
I
do digress John and, if you ever get down to this, it may become boring for
you, but memories come tumbling out of my “computer” and, oh dear, this was
only the beginning of my life, in my late twenties, which was to be an entry
into a very full life of travels and people which I may never have time to
describe. I’ve had so many wonderful travelling experiences and people on my
way up to 82 years.
Where
am I? I’ve described in the saga my working colleagues at Treloar’s and the
famous surgeons. The graciousness of the surgeons in comparison to the rudeness
of people like Joseph Levin, Gordon Grant, Fouché - excellent surgeons, but so
rude.
Another
highlight of my stay in England was visiting Jack and Enid Shortt in Kent. Both
their families were Army people. Enid’s father was a Colonel, attached to the
staff of Dover Castle. They lived in the outskirts of Dover in a charming
house, Crabble Court, with an English garden and beautiful antique furniture.
It was there that I learned a great deal and have retained a lifelong interest
in beautiful woods and the craftsmanship of yesteryear. Mrs Gray, Enid’s mother
was wonderful and hospitable to us. Jack was relieving as priest at Battle
(site of the Battle of Hastings in 1066) and lived right within the Abbey walls
in another gracious house.
They
must have spent quite a long sabbatical in England for I went there for
weekends off, having become quite familiar with rapid transport. Train from
Alton to Waterloo, tube to Victoria and on to Dover.
At
these weekends, the house always seemed to be visited by Army Generals and
Colonels. Jack and Enid are cousins. I was more than awed. Enid drove a little
car and showed me all round Kent; Canterbury, like Winchester, now being one of
my favourite Cathedral cities. Oh, the memory of that countryside, picnic
lunches, wild flowers and always bees buzzing around; butterflies and
dragonflies; hop fields and oast houses, before the days of mass insecticides.
Jack is now 89 and Enid 85. Both frail and actively involved while retired in
Canterbury with a large family, all the way up to great grandchildren.
Enid Shortt's
home, Crabble Court
In
1971 when John and I roamed in his new Renault in England and the Continent, we
spent a night with them in Walmer, near Dover, where Jack was the parish
priest. We ate strawberries and cream by the punnet on our way down and then Enid
gave us more with dinner.
Their
friendship gave so much to my future life. Their second daughter was named for
me and I visited them on my trips to England. I value them among my oldest
friends, still living and communicating.
My
trips to London always included a play. My first was Robert’s Wife with a very young Edith Evans. I loved Diana Wynyard;
saw Ivor Novello, Rex Harrison and John Gielgud as young men. Novello’s The Dancing Years was the pre-war
Musical of the Day
Quite
amusing, I was the first South African to be encountered at Treloar’s. I was
told that the young nurses were awaiting my arrival with interest, but they were
very disappointed that, though I had an admired tan, I wasn’t a true black.
Conditions in England have changed, like the world over. There are many
top-ranking nursing staff of all colours in this year, 1993. Goodness, I had
two certificates 60 years ago and went on to earn three more. Nurses in England
are being retrenched; an unheard of situation. I maintained a vast correspondence
with my chums in South Africa.
Tom’s
courtship took place by letter. He was stationed in the Transvaal at Louis
Trichardt and Leydsdorp. He proposed to me by letter and, when that arrived, I
was really flummoxed and didn’t know what to do. I was very friendly with
Robert Thompson, friends with no “hanky panky”, and Tom and I had really never
had a chance to get to know each other. I had never met his parents but, of
course, he had told me of the mismatch between his mother and father and his
dislike of his father, a situation quite foreign to me. In real old-fashioned
style, I asked for time. Goodness, I had never even flirted with or kissed the
man. How I wish those letters that he bound together had not been lost.
I’d like to see what I really wrote. I had no plans to return to SA. I had
enough study leave to let me stay on after my Orthopaedic exams.
In
late 1938, Nancy Simpson’s parents came to England to visit her. Nancy and
Jessie Dowthwaite were studying at London University for their Sister Tutor’s
Diplomas. They had charming accommodation in a house in Church Street,
Kensington, so I was a frequent visitor there as well. Mr and Mrs Simpson took
me to the Albert Hall to hear Handel’s Messiah. What a musical
experience for me. They also brought an enormous box of black grapes on the
Union Castle ship. We simply gorged on them. We students didn’t have money to
buy many extras and were rather starved for fruit. I visited Kew Gardens and
saw a miserable little pawpaw. My mouth watered!
I’m
now getting off the track of the marriage scene. The proposal came in 1939.
Soon after, rumours of the inevitable war started again. Hitler was on the
rampage. My parents began to nag. I’d saved to do a short trip to the Continent
with some friends, but my Uncle Jack strongly didn’t want me to go. He was
afraid that I’d be stranded with fighting in Europe. I obeyed, but still didn’t
want to return to SA. I didn’t have the return fare anyway. My father took a
firm stand and sent my ticket, saying that I was the cause of my mother
becoming ill, etc. Which was nonsense; there was nothing wrong with Ma’s health
when I arrived back. I wrote to tell Tom the news of my return and that I would
decide about an engagement on arrival. I told Ronald Thompson of my plans and,
at that time, I wished he had declared his intentions because he looked
quite stricken when I told him that I was returning to SA to be married,
probably.
I
really was not happy to be leaving England, my many friends and dear Uncle and
Aunt and, even now, at this late stage in my life, I relive that period with
great nostalgia. I sailed from Southampton in late May 1939 on the Dunvegan
Castle and once more saw the tulips, bluebells and primroses. After the
declaration of War in 1939, she was requisitioned as an armed merchant cruiser,
HMS Dunvegan Castle. She was torpedoed off Ireland in August 1940.
We
had a great deal of fun on that voyage. There were other young people returning
to South Africa and I was adopted by Professor and Mrs Phillips. He was
Professor of Botany at the University of the Witwatersrand and a friend of
General Smuts. They lived out on the Wits experimental farm, Frankenwald,
outside Johannesburg. On arrival in SA, I sailed to PE after Cape Town and my
parents met me off the ship. I had exactly one tickey (threepence, equal to 2½
cents in 1961) in my purse as my sole worldly wealth. Pa had to pay my fare up
to Johannesburg. I didn’t tarry in PE as I had arranged to start at The Gen
immediately on arrival. I have no recollection of how I fared after the train.
I suppose my parents lent me some pocket money for taxi fares, etc.
I
received a great welcome from all my chums, was given my veil and opened the
first Orthopaedic ward. That story I have told in Matron’s Saga (which comes later). Mrs Hofmeyr, our
Matron and my dear friend was not well. She had been on holiday in England and
was so good to me. She stayed in the Regent Palace Hotel, quite smart in those
days, and paid for me to spend a weekend with her and Miss Potts, the Matron of
Childrens’ Hospital. Whilst there, she discovered a lump in her breast and had
the operation on her return. Thank goodness she did have some respite, for she
helped me in my decision to leave The Gen and go to Brenthurst after my
demotion on marriage, remembering her own wartime marriage and widowhood.
It
is very difficult, I find, to write a saga and stick to the chapter in hand
with my butterfly brain. Tom called butterflies “flutterbyes”.
I
arrived in Johannesburg by train and, the next day, Tom arranged to fly up from
Durban. He was then stationed in Eshowe.
I
really didn’t know what to expect and was quite nervous about decisions.
Goodness, how I got to Rand Airport, or how we arrived back in Jhb – there must
have been transport. Anyway, there I stood on the edge of what, it seems now,
must have been quite a primitive airport; there was no Jan Smuts (ORT).
The
plane lands and here comes a tall, good-looking young man to meet me. He must
have been 26. We shook hands! Passed a few pleasantries and then he said, I
suppose we ought to kiss each other. On arrival in Johannesburg, “in no man’s
land”, the only communication I had had with his family was a letter from Mrs
Ford. She was sorry she had never met me before her son had proposed marriage
but, as he had chosen me, she would be pleased to accept me!! There was no
invitation directly to me to see her on Tom’s arrival.
Somewhere
on the way to the City – I’ve completely forgotten the mode of transport – Tom
said, “Will you accept my engagement ring? If so, we are going directly to Katz
and Lurie. Well, my mind had been in turmoil on this subject for some time. I’d
had heart throbs galore, but never a complete commitment or, for that matter, a
“love affair” as it is known today. Here was a sincere man, 3½ years younger
than me, attractive to women and he had chosen me. I said “Yes”, on condition
that I could serve at least a year as a Sister in my profession at Johannesburg
General Hospital. So off we went to Katz and Lurie after one platonic kiss.
Katz and Lurie was a very posh Jeweller’s shop down in Eloff Street. A tray of
sparkles was produced. I had no clue what the man could afford or what a ring
would cost. My eyes fell on the ring I liked. I picked it up and immediately
replaced it, choosing a smaller diamond. Tom had seen my movement. He said,
“That is the ring you want, that is what you will have”.
Tom Ford in
army uniform, 1940
I
decided to give it to John and Pam upon their engagement, if she was willing. I
loved that ring. Pam and John had it changed to a more modern setting. The
original was set in platinum and white gold. I wanted a gold shank, so we had
to kill time while waiting. The ring shank is still in existence. It is
Richard’s and is in the safe. I’ve had my father’s tie pin diamond mounted on
it. At some stage in the day, after waiting for the ring – I think – Tom said,
“Will you come to meet my mother?” So off we set to Auckland Park by tram; we
had no car. Mrs Ford was an unemotional person. It must have been after 5pm,
because I met Tom’s sister Stella as well. She was a welcoming person, which
relieved what was, for me, a depressing atmosphere; quite the opposite of my
rather “harum scarum” home.
I
was told we’d have a family dinner to celebrate the engagement. I think it was
the same night, as Tom had a very short leave and had to be back in Eshowe.
Anyway, The Blue Room at the Railway station was very much a pre-War “In”
place, so there we went. Douglas Ford was in charge of purchasing for all the
Railway dining cars and restaurants. He booked the table. Tom thought that his
father was throwing the party. NO WAY. Douglas did the ordering of the food and
the wines, which were good French. When it came to paying, he cruelly handed
the bill to Tom, who told me afterwards that he was quite unprepared and
should, in retrospect have known better. His father had never taken him to a
decent restaurant. He didn’t have enough on hand to pay for what was an
expensive dinner - the very first bill with me involved and he had to borrow
from his Pa. Poor chap, I felt dreadful at his embarrassment. I still believe
that his father was being vindictive. I’m not now going to sour my thoughts
with his nonsense!
Tom
went back to Zululand. I was back in my old haunts with my old friends and
loving it all. I was engaged to a man I respected, felt affectionate, but deep
down knew I should have had – both of us – a “sorting out” courtship period.
His whole background was so different from mine. I was always happy, ready for
adventures and had many much-liked people around me. I can’t now quite recall
my muddled mind. Suffice to say, much emotional hardship lay ahead; by any
standards a short marriage, but I’ve never again met a man like Tom, that I
really wanted to marry. I’d choose him all over again. What he would have felt
about me, had he lived, I don’t know.
11.01.93
I’m
now heartily sick of living in the past, raking up rather muddled memories, so
I’m attempting to place my present thoughts on paper. Today, we have a crystal
clear, warm day in Cape Town. The surroundings at Fairfield are sparkling. This
morning, I’ve been chatting to some of the other “oldies”. They all tell me
their age – younger than me – but they think I’m the young one! Lesson One:
Don’t let one’s aching bones, rickety heart, indigestion dominate one’s life.
If
financially possible, stay in the “outside” world until the end. Why should one
allow oneself to be “written off”, particularly if one’s mind is still active.
The bones and the eyes do make a difference, but fight it and, for goodness’
sake do not let one’s self-esteem lie on a dust heap. That is what I’m telling
myself today, after listening to a few of the negative ideas. A positive one is
little Eva Flagg. On the way to her late 80s, still playing the piano for
ballet, is still “so very busy, my dear”, writing after-Christmas letters and
meeting the family, etc.
John,
you are constantly in my mind. William, our other reliable soul, agrees with
me. You have such a zest for life. You spread joy wherever you go and people
“light up” when they meet you.
14.01.93
I’m
now on a small social round. I spent a delightful day on the 12th with Joanie “E” (Edwards). So cheerful and helpful to others, despite her physical
disability.
Yesterday,
I had lunch with Pam Warburton in Clifton. What a beautiful place to live in.
Her “garden”, pot plants, splashes of colour on verandahs and patios could beat
the Riviera any day. A white house with red tiles, brilliant blue sea views
from all the windows. A truly lovely day.
I’m
still soul-searching my bad points, all to the fore:
1.
Chatter
too much
2.
Become
critical of my own faults in other people
Those
two bother me the most. I also, by trying to be helpful, trespass on other
people’s preserves. I must learn to sit back and mind my own business
and not feel compassionate when compassion is not needed!!!
I’m
glad I’ve written this because my self-esteem is having a very negative time.
I’m glad Summer School is starting on Monday, where I’ll meet my friends and go
to lectures that will curtail my introspective session of the moment. I love
the physical being of this pleasant room at Fairfield, but there’s a lack of
real communication for a great part of the time. It is difficult to judge how
one would feel if one were a permanent resident. I take it that one would have
a little clique of buddies. It appears that no-one plays bridge, which is a
pity. Maybe, if someone arranged it and investigated, players would be found.
I
had lunch with Di and Jack and four friends that I know. A lovely lunch and
interesting chat, except that Jack was very remote from it all. He wanted to
play his CDs. Mozart, for me, turned up high. We had to ask him to switch it
off, and then he was silent for most of the time. I think he lives in isolation
quite a lot at this time of the year. The house is taken over by Joan, her daughters
and their husbands and her grandchildren, and he sits and waits for his beloved
“Johnny” to arrive. They say youth is difficult to handle. I think that, for
some, old age needs a lot of psychological handling. I know from my own
experience.
I
must return to this life story. The professional part has already been told in
the Saga. I will continue with my private life as different from the public
one.
Tom
returned to Zululand. I lived at the Nurses’ Home and soon was back with my
social set, tennis and dancing partners. I could never have been an “easy”
piece, because I danced away happily with no incidents from my men friends.
I
think Tom must have appeared on a longer leave, before or after War was
declared, because after the disastrous engagement parties, we were given other
enjoyable ones by my friends, of whom I had many. Tom stayed in Eshowe for
quite a while after the declaration, training his black staff on a war footing.
I suggested that I should visit him, taking a short leave, but he was adamant
that that was situation not to be done because we were not married!!
He
was then stationed at Roberts Heights (later renamed Voortrekkerhoogte),
preparing to go “Up North”. He wished to set a marriage date, but I had made a
stipulation that I would be a ward Sister at The Gen for a year. Compare this with
the way things are done today. We had to wait four years as a Staff nurse
before we could have a ward of our own. Hence my bouts of study leave, as
stated in the Saga. Marriage blotted out all hope and one would be demoted. If
one was engaged to be married, one did not receive the Veil. Therefore,
officially, I was not engaged, though my dear Mrs Hofmeyr, who had met Tom, and
liked him very much, was “officially” not wise to the situation.
By
June 1940, I had served my year. Tom was then due for the “Red Tab”. Men who
were prepared to fight outside SA signed a pledge and wore a red tab on their
epaulettes. Tom came to me with an ultimatum: either I married him or the
engagement was off. He was not going away leaving a fiancée behind. I think he
had had enough of my dilly-dallying. They were scheduled to leave SA imminently,
so we were married in the All Souls Chapel of St Mary’s Cathedral on 22nd June
1940. My family couldn’t be present at such short notice. I was married in my
“going away” suit; there was no time for bridal affairs; not at all the
romantic dreams of my youth.
Mrs
Hofmeyr gave me away. There were so many weddings that we literally had to
queue, after having obtained a Special Licence from the Magistrate’s Court that
morning. Maeve Niven, and my friend, organist at St Mary’s played the organ - Gounod’s
Ave Maria, requested by Tom. Jack Shortt married us. The Chapel was packed with
my friends. After the service I went to shake Douglas, Tom’s father by the hand
and he turned his back on me! Duncan Dewar, my girlhood friend, acted as best
man because Tom’s friend John Rose couldn’t obtain leave from the Army. Duncan
drove us down to Parys for one night’s “honeymoon” and fetched us the next day.
Douglas said to Tom, I take it you will be home to sleep tomorrow night”. He
expected me to go back to sleep at the Nurses’ Home, where I was still living.
Briefly,
Tom and I spent one night at Riviera and one night at a private hotel at the
Old Gen’s gates in Smit Street, now demolished. He returned to Camp and I to my
room at the General Hospital. I think I’ve recorded all that time in the Saga –
the professional side.
It
was a difficult situation as I never knew when Tom would depart for “The North”
or when he would come for a weekend. I stayed at the Nurses’ Home and he at his
parents’ home. Quite Mad! Due to his father’s rudeness to me, I refused
to go to their home. One weekend, Tom and I spent together and, in the evening,
he left for Camp via his parents’ home. During the course of the week, a
policeman came to see me at The Gen, demanding to know what had happened to my
husband. I got such a fright. I phoned his home to discover that he was in bed
with the flu. His father swore that he had reported his absence to
Headquarters. There was no record. Tom had been posted AWOL. That very weekend
he had been commissioned as an officer. The commission was taken away and never
reinstated – a long story of misery.
My
anger at his father was immense; why wasn’t I informed, so that I could have
attended to the whole matter of sick leave. The frustration to Tom, who was
officer material, was to last for he was taken prisoner at the capitulation of Tobruk.
As it happened, they did not go Up North for a year. After Tom didn’t leave in
that first year, he was posted to Pietermaritzburg for most of the year but, at
least he had a few leaves and we had a few weekends, part of which he had to spend
at his parents’ home, to see his mother. I had decided to “live out”. I took a
flat in Manley Court at the foot of Hillbrow in Goldreich Street. I made it
into a very pleasant home. I enjoyed having my own place and being able to
entertain my friends. I worked in the Nurses’ Home as Acting Home Sister and
made the most of it, having had to surrender my Orthopaedic ward status on
marriage, already described in the Saga. I contracted German measles (there was
an epidemic in the Nurses’ Home) and wasn’t really ill, but was confined to my
flat. Tom had been home and also came down with it but, unfortunately, had
returned to Zonderwater Camp, where he was confined. What a pity we couldn’t
have been in quarantine together for 14 days. It would have been an opportunity
to be together for a period – which, when thinking about it now, would have
been our longest time together until the end of the War. We got married never
having spent more than a few days or weekends together ever since we’d known
each other. We did also have a few days together in PE on “Embarkation Leave”,
which I obtained, but it was a very frustrating year. I thought marriage was an
impossible situation and I shed many tears and thought longingly of my happy
single days.
I
must tell of this year’s Summer School. What a joyous fortnight; most
interesting courses. Meeting old friends at UCT and Kolbe House, where we were
like one big family, all living happily between lectures in our little
community, doing for ourselves. My feeling of depression and soul-searching
completely disappeared. I’m at peace with myself and not even moaning at
returning to Johannesburg. I’m back to my very pleasant room at Fairfield,
enjoying seeing the family; John ever willing to drive me hither and yon with my
large case and bundles of belongings like a smous.
01.02.93
January
has gone. What a delightful Summer School stay in Cape Town. William stayed at
No. 13 this evening; slept there. We had a happy time together. I am feeling so
well mentally and physically and not one bit depressed at going back to Jhb,
where a welcome awaits me. I know full well that I can return here any time where
Fairfield management will find a corner for me.
This next part of her story comes from The Brenthurst Phoenix - the in-house journal of Brenthurst Clinic in Johannesburg
HOW IT ALL BEGAN - FROM THE
NURSING POINT OF VIEW
I
am unable to write of the beginning of the Brenthurst Clinic, nor of the events
that led up to what was to become the Brenthurst Clinic, without telling some
of my own story and how I was given the opportunity to meet Dr. Jack Penn and
become involved in a most fascinating venture.
My
nursing career began early. I defied parental plans to enter me for the
teaching profession. I did not know what I wanted as a career, except that it
was not school teaching for me; nor marriage to a local farmer, to spend my
life fighting droughts, locusts, ticks and flies. Farming, except for the few,
was a very tough business in the 20’s and 30’s. A walk to the “loo” was in
itself an event. There were buzzing bees at the place during the day and, at
night, scorpions on the seat and even the odd ringhals rearing its head. We did
not have the “chugging engine” of the modern homestead to supply electricity,
but had to rely on paraffin lamps,
Whilst
waiting for the great inspiration as to my future, I decided to try poultry
farming for pocket money. Result - empty pocket! I was told that turkeys
fetched a good price on the market.
After
my experience, I wonder that the grown bird is not as precious as a diamond. A spot
of rain is enough to make them keel over, likewise the wrong food. Their
incessant “peep-peep” drives one crazy. Diet consisted of hard-boiled eggs and
onion tops. A special delicacy, obtained with pain to myself, was finely
chopped stinging nettles. After much patience and diligent feeding, the few
miserable chicks became decent looking adolescents. More trouble; these birds
are peripatetic and stray from the homesteads. When sunset came, a frantic
search began to bring them in to roost. I was covered in scratches from
clambering into bushes, thorn or otherwise. While rescuing the birds from roosting
out, sometimes my posterior could be seen protruding from the bushes as I
grappled with the wretched things. Invariably one or two would be left out and
all I would find in the morning, would be feathers where jackals had fed.
The turkeys
The
financial situation became grave. In desperation I would mount my horse and
ride for miles around the farm, planning escape routes that would be to my
satisfaction. Rescue came from the most unexpected quarter. One of our neighbours
had a daughter who was a Sister at the Queenstown Mental Hospital – as it was
then called. She encouraged me to become a nurse - said there was more satisfaction,
if not much more money, nursing human beings rather than turkeys.
I
applied to several General Hospitals, but was not accepted on account of being
under twenty-one. I was accepted at the Queenstown Hospital and at the age of
twenty, qualified by passing the Final Examination for nurses of the Royal
Medico-Psychological Association. At the Johannesburg Hospital, my name was
placed on the waiting list.
I
commenced this training in June 1930 and qualified in three years, because I’d
earned the first certificate. One did not automatically stay on to become a Staff
Nurse; after the results were published the chosen ones were summoned to the
Matron’s Office and invited to join the staff. Frequently, this meant being
placed on another waiting list! I did not accept a position as a Staff Nurse,
as I had Study Leave from the Mental Hospital Service. This is a story in
itself. I returned to the Town Hill Hospital, Pietermaritzburg, resigned after
a few months and was delighted to return to the “Jo’burg Gen.”
Once
a Staff Nurse, the period of waiting for one’s veil - a Sister’s Post, at the
hospital was from four to six years.
I
dearly wanted to qualify for a Sister’s Post, so I made the best of the waiting
period. I worked at the Children’s Hospital for over a year and took Study
Leave to do Midwifery at the Queen Victoria Hospital. I was placed on Matron’s
Office Staff as “Home” Staff Nurse for approximately a year. In 1937, the
“veil” was still not in sight.
Queen Victoria
Hospital, 1937
Mrs.
Hofmeyer, the Matron-In-Chief, learnt of my restlessness in the waiting
period, and advised me to apply for Study Leave to go to Britain. I did this,
was granted fourteen months and went to the Lord Mayor Treloar’s Hospital for Orthopaedic
and Plastic Surgery.
The
work at this hospital was done by Resident Orthopaedic surgeons, whilst
visiting Surgeons were famous “text book” Surgeons, like Professor Hay Gooves
and Mr. Fairbanks. Professor Kilner was on the Plastic side, Sir Harold Gillies
having recently retired. These gentlemen were a delight to meet and to watch at
work.
As there was no bus service from the hospital to the town, most British nurses
possessed bicycles. I was an adequate horsewoman, but no cyclist! My colleagues
tried to teach me the art with no success. Stinging nettles once more came into
my life. By keeping to the edge of the road as much as possible, all my falls
landed me in the nettles
My
post graduate experience at this hospital was very worthwhile. I was there for
the Chamberlain Flight to Munich and cried over a basin of Plaster of Paris,
whilst making Plaster bandages - (before the days of ready-made bandages). The
tears made little knobbles of the Plaster and I thought I would never see South
Africa again! After this wave of homesickness, I dried my tears and visualised
myself as Florence Nightingale - no less! - if war should come. As it happened,
I returned to South Africa in May 1938.
My
parents insisted upon my return and, as I had no money whatsoever, my father
paid my fare. I landed in Port Elizabeth with threepence in my purse and not a
penny in the bank.
Over
and above my parents’ insistence, an offer had been made from South Africa for
“my hand in marriage”, and I felt that the prospect should be given personal
attention.
My
father paid the fare to Johannesburg. I entered the Nurses Residence - always somewhat
dismal and dingy - as if it was a palace. Within days a veil was upon my head
and a diamond ring, wrapped in tissue paper, lay hidden in my purse.
An
engagement ring, in those days, was a hazard if one wanted to become a Sister.
Married nurses immediately became relief staff. If one wanted promotion, one
did not announce an engagement. I would have loved to flash my diamond, but I
very badly wanted my veil. I pranced in front of my looking glass in my stiffly
starched, snow-white veil and told my bridegroom-to-be that I was determined to
be a sister at the “Gen.” for at least a year. I opened the first orthopaedic
ward there and worked for the late Mr. Fouche. I remember the late Mr. Edelstein
and Mr. David Polonsky for their kindness to me when Mr. Fouche roared and
shouted.
I spent an interesting year. War meanwhile had been declared, but it was a matter of “waiting”, Volunteers for the South African Medical Nursing Services were called for. I was very keen to go on Active Service to Northern Africa; “Up North” being the parlance of the day. When one is young, the horrible implications of war are overshadowed by the sense of adventure and excitement. My fiancé had “joined up” and gave me an ultimatum. He was tired of my playing the waiting game; either I married him before he left for North Africa - or it was all off.
I didn’t rush, but after due consideration, I decided on the golden band. The result of this was my restriction in the Military Nursing Field, as married nurses were not accepted for service outside the South African borders. Gone were my dreams of adventure: this time I could not wrap the ring in tissue paper. I lost my veil and Sister’s uniform, being immediately demoted to temporary Staff Nurse. Despite all this, with a husband at Camp. I had to work and returned to the place that had always been my beloved “Gen’, with a sore heart and a feeling of having been completely let down. This losing of rank through marriage, was cruel psychologically. The war-time bride faced the insecurity of a husband going to fight, plus the indignity of demotion, I reported for duty a fortnight after marriage and was told that I was now a junior Staff Nurse on relief. Fortunately, I was sent to Ward 24, the Charge Sister being Amy Tarr, an understanding and sympathetic person. If it wasn’t for her, I think I would have given up.
Tom Ford in Hillbrow on leave before going North
At
this stage,
fate’s wheels began to turn.
A flu epidemic was rife in 1940. It caused a crisis in the Nurses’ Home. Home
Sister had to take up duties in
Matron’s Office. I was plucked from my position
as Junior Staff nurse to Acting Home Sister - very graciously, the term “Acting Sister” was bestowed on this married woman. I assisted with administration and had
to take my turn at being in
charge of the hospital in the evenings.
The
term Sister was
not applied to me officially;
for the records I was Staff Nurse Ford, but everyone called me Staff Nurse Duncan. Though in a position
of authority, I was behind where uniform was
concerned. Once more
a veil, but Staff Nurse’s stripes, black shoes and
stockings. At this stage of my life it
is very amusing, but at that time, I
felt confused and
angry.
After
the initial upset, I settled down and was pleased to have work. I was paid £18.0.0
a month living out salary. I thought this would be my lot until the war ended.
I was envious of my unmarried pals who left the country in their smart
uniforms.
I
think that it was in April or May 1941
that I saw a “write up” in the Star. It stated that
Sir Ernest and Lady Oppenheimer were giving up their home “Brenthurst” to the Red Cross, as a convalescent
hospital for soldiers. The article was accompanied by a picture of the house -
the whole thing made little impression on me. This so often happens in life, some
event which makes no impact whatsoever, can later be a turning point. A few days after
seeing the article, I happened to have
Sister Margaret Burnett to lunch. At that time, she was
Sister-In-Charge of the Military Ward at the “Gen”,
and was later to become Principal Matron at
Baragwanath Hospital.
She
opened the conversation by saying, “Duncan, t want to talk to you. There is a
wonderful post available, suitable for you”. She went on to say that Major
Tinker, who worked in her ward, had suggested that she took on the post of
Matron at the Red Cross Auxiliary Hospital, Brenthurst, the home of Sir Ernest
and Lady Oppenheimer. Looking into the future, she did not want to give up her
permanent post at the General Hospital whereas, she reasoned, I had nothing to
lose.
I
turned down the suggestion, and refused to even discuss the possibilities. I
felt that my experience was quite inadequate to become a Matron of a hospital.
A few days later, Miss Burnett again approached me; this time I decided that,
after all, an interview was not binding.
I
saw Major Tinker, who arranged a meeting with Lady Oppenheimer on my own. He
warned me that she would have to like me to appoint me. I was terrified. The
Lady was to meet me at the entrance to the Nurses’ Home. She was at the appointed
spot to the minute. She drove a red Lincoln Continental, which she called her
Red Devil. Her son, Sir Michael Oppenheimer, accompanied her. We introduced
ourselves. I was enchanted by the beauty of this poised and well-groomed woman.
She was so friendly and disarming that fear left me. We drove off to Brenthurst.
What an experience! The house was splendid. She took me on a tour of inspection
- gorgeous Persian carpets, antique furniture, china and priceless paintings. I
was trying to take it all in, thinking that if she likes me and asks me to take
the position, how do I turn this magnificent home into a hospital?
We
were in a large panelled reception room when she suddenly turned to me and said
“I like you. I feel we will get on together, will you please be our Matron?” My
reply came instantaneously, “Yes, thank you, I like you too”. The die was cast.
From
that moment, Ina Oppenheimer and I never looked back. I admired her enormously;
her recent tragic death robbed me of a wonderful friend. I returned to the
hospital, praying that I would not let this woman, who had placed such instant
faith in me, down. The next step was a dinner party to meet Sir Ernest
Oppenheimer and Mr. Scheepers, the Secretary of the S.A. Red Cross Society.
This was held at Brenthurst and my husband, Tom, accompanied me. I had to give
a month’s notice at the General Hospital. Mrs. Hofmeyr, on hearing my story,
was very sympathetic, as she was a war widow herself - First World War. She
told me to take the post, and to telephone if I needed advice.
Sir
Ernest and Lady Oppenheimer moved to “Little Brenthurst”. I spent my off-duties
compiling lists of equipment, numbers of staff. In June 1941, the Second
Division was given marching orders and, on a beautiful sunny day, my heart like
a block of ice, I saw the troop trains leave Pretoria. Tom went off into the
unknown. I was thankful to have the challenge of equipping and managing a
Hospital. I moved into the butler’s quarters at Brenthurst, a cosy little
suite.
Pastel portrait of Janet Ford by
Cecile Ormerod, Brenthurst Military Hospital
I
shall never forget my first night at dinner. I was allocated my own manservant,
a splendid African gentleman, clothed in immaculate white complete with red
sash. After serving each course, he stood watching every mouthful. I endured
this performance for a few nights and then appealed to Lady Oppenheimer, asking
that my food be left on a side table, so that I could serve myself - what a
relief.
Three
of the household staff stayed with us. Mrs. Roberts was the Chief Cook. She was
excellent; staff and soldiers experienced wonderful catering. Miss Kate Withers
was in charge of linen, and cared for me. She used to tell me how she was
employed in the homes of British Nobility. I felt sorry for her; it must have
been a come-down for her to be in charge of my meagre wardrobe. She insisted on
laying out my clothes, despite the limited choice. On completion of my lists of
equipment, I went off buying with the staff of the Anglo American Buying
Department. The furniture was specially made for us. Sterilizers had to be
electrically operated, likewise sterile water urns - these were gorgeous copper
things. The house had to be made suitable for hospital wear and tear. It was a
monumental task.
I
was lucky staffwise, three sisters who knew me at the General hospital offered
their services; they were top class nurses and one was a fully qualified
Theatre Sister - Orica Clar. Kathleen Morgan and “Bizz” Wayto were the other
two. The nurses were supplied by the S.A. Red Cross. When all the cases, beds,
cupboards, linen and instruments were finally within the house, the staff
arrived and the place was alive with activity. Lady Oppenheimer was ever at
hand to help if possible. I have not kept records, but this must have been at
the end of July 1941. Major Tinker, who was our MO, came to do an inspection
the night before we opened. After we had finished, he informed me that he would
not be with us after all, as he had been promoted to Colonel of the Cottesloe
Unit and we would be part of that unit. (We were called The Brenthurst Red
Cross Auxiliary Military Hospital. He told me that a Major Jack Penn was to be
our M.O.
Portrait
of Jack Penn FRCS by Cecile Ormerod at Brenthurst in 1943
Sadly, the pastel original has been
lost
I
was furious. I knew Major Tinker well, and feared what would happen in the
future - my ignorance and a stranger. I had heard of Jack Penn vaguely during
my training, as the houseman who did meticulous stitching in casualty! There
was no turning back at this point, so when my chagrin had subsided, I decided
that Jack Penn would have to put up with me and I with him. Little did I know
at that time, that here was to begin a partnership that would stretch far into
the future. I was to learn that when Major Penn set his sights on a course,
that course, if humanly possible, would be followed.
Our
first patients were convalescent soldiers from Cottesloe, Zonderwater and a few
from the United Kingdom. After about a week, I noticed that among the patients
from the General Hospital were men who had obviously had plastic surgery. I
inquired of Major Penn what it was all about, and he told me that he was a
qualified Plastic Surgeon, having recently returned from Britain. He had worked
with Sir Archibald McIndoe, operating on the Battle of Britain pilots.
Major
Penn had volunteered to go “up north” with a Plastic Surgery Unit, but for some
obscure reason, the South Africans would not permit this. Here he was, still in
South Africa and in charge of a convalescent hospital. He operated on the
soldiers and sent them to our Hospital for convalescence. One of these soldiers
was a man called Gerald Spaulding. Major Penn had commenced a Rhinoplasty on
him and between operations, he was sent to us. He was very self conscious and
was forever hiding in the garden. This man attracted Lady Oppenheimer’s
attention and she wanted to know the details. I told her Major Penn’s story as
far as I knew it. Meanwhile, Major Penn and I had discussed how good it would
be if we could run the hospital as a Plastic Surgery Unit. The ingredients were
ready for a major event.
Lady
Oppenheimer went full steam ahead to make the giving up of their home really
worthwhile - a hospital for Plastic Surgery it had to be. The combination of
Lady Oppenheimer, Major Jack Penn and Sir Ernest’s finance was quite something.
Looking back, I think that I was simply swept up in the tide of their
undertaking; steam rollers had nothing on them. The Auxiliary Hospital became
the Brenthurst Military Hospital for Plastic Surgery.
We
entered the most wonderful phase of our planning and buying equipment. Money
was no object. We built a beautiful theatre - Orica Clar was in her own
territory and so well qualified for it.
Before
this event we had our official opening by the Prime Minister, Field Marshall
Jan Smuts. What a day! Ouma Smuts accompanied him. V.A.D.s lined the paths and
the garden was laid out with gaily set tables.
Janet Ford, Jan Smuts and Sister Clar
A
special canopy was placed for all the VIPs. Major Penn and I sat on the platform.
I could not really believe that all this was happening to me. This period was
the beginning of what was to become for me a most wonderful experience.
Our unit was equipped to become a viable hospital for plastic surgery. Auxiliary was deleted from the title and we were named the Brenthurst Red Cross Military Hospital for Plastic Surgery. At the closing of the Suez Canal, casualties from land, sea and air were sent to South Africa. Many of those requiring plastic surgery were drafted to our hospital. We became an international community. From time to time we had an occasional Italian prisoner of war. They looked so pathetic, I felt very sorry for them. Despite our varying backgrounds, we blended into an harmonious family.
So far as nursing staff was concerned, the sisters came from a common back-ground. The Red Cross Auxiliary Nurses were very varied - typists, teachers, shop assistants and housewives. Mrs. A. Hamilton, their Commandant, was of great help in giving us relief when necessary. There was no such thing as “shortage of untrained nurses; when one became ill, she was replaced immediately. The manner in which these women settled into the discipline and routine of our work was most commendable. I shall never forget the loyalty and co-operation that I received from everyone.
We
were paid salaries by Sir Ernest, but I insisted that these should not differ
from the scales paid by the Red Cross Society. We had one voluntary part-time
relief sister, Mrs Thelma Southey. She insisted on no pay, as part of her war
effort. We could phone her and she would arrive for emergencies. I was the only
member of the nursing staff who lived on the premises. Most of the staff were
conveyed to and from their bus stops by vans belonging to the Red Cross. All
the drivers were voluntary workers.
Pam
Susskind, later Mrs Fordyce of Johannesburg, was an invaluable member of the
team. She filled the position of secretary to Lady Oppenheimer and to the
hospital. I have never known any young person more badgered. She was PRO,
Information Officer and Emergency Chauffeur; even accompanied me on marketing
sprees when I felt we were being too extravagant!
Cecile
Ormerod, now of Cape Town, an artist, illustrated Dr Jack’s “Brenthurst
Papers”. She also assisted in the manufacture of artificial eyes by painting
the irises. These were unobtainable and a substitute had to be found. They were
made of acrylic to fit specific patients. After plastic surgery, the dental
mechanics took over. Cecile’s work was extremely delicate and she was often
teased for gazing ”soulfully” into the man’s good eye - for matching purposes.
Diana
Lorentz, now in Swaziland, and Joan Edwards, now in Cape Town, did the
physiotherapy and by their good Looks and cheerfulness, were good morale
builders. In fact “our girls” were all a good looking lot. Marietta Clayden now
married and living in Knysna, did the photography. These lasses, all voluntary
workers recruited by Pam, were as much a part of the team as the nurses. I kept
a list of hostesses who were willing to take patients into their homes between
operations or for holidays. Plastic surgery was a long term procedure and one
felt that getting away from the hospital environment was critical for the
patient’s well-being. The first outing was sometimes an ordeal for the patients
but, once they had braved the public, they became enthusiastic. Mrs. Dorothy
Douglas, mother of Diana Lorentz, and also living now in Swaziland, and Pam
Fordyce’s mother, Mrs. Dorothy Susskind of Johannesburg, gave invaluable
assistance as hostesses. They were so to speak “on call” when I had tricky
first outings. Both patients and staff were always welcome at their homes.
Some
of the men were very fond of music and, though we had a radiogram, a classical
programme was not always acceptable to the majority. I therefore used to have
musical evenings for the few in my flat. Dawn Wentzel, later Mrs. Dawn Haggie,
of Johannesburg, came to the rescue in this respect; the musical evenings in
her mother’s charming old house were greatly appreciated.
Janet Ford in The Wilds,
Johannesburg
The
house, “Wentzel Towers”, was situated within walking distance of Brenthurst,
off Oxford Road. Alas, it has been demolished in the path of progress for the
new highway. The men who suffered most mentally were those with facial disfigurement,
the blind and those who had lost both arms. Added to these difficulties was the
lack of mail from home. Most of the staff had problems due to our men being
away fighting in the war, but it was essential to keep a balanced and cheerful
aspect.
Although
we were working under ideal circumstances: our very best service could be
produced in times of suffering and stress. Lady Oppenheimer came into the
hospital every day to give us her valuable assistance in many ways. As well as
my duties of administration in the hospital, I did the first dressings. The
surrounding convalescent homes housed the men during periods of waiting for
further stages in operations. It is difficult to describe our schizophrenic existence,
for though at the time we were anxious, the days ware interspersed with fun and
laughter. Love affairs blossomed and waned, wedding bells rang. We had one
hospital wedding, a really lovely event when Hildegard Hagemann married Reevey
van Eyssen.
Sir
Ernest and Lady Oppenheimer sponsored parties and those held at Christmas were
memorable. Dr. Jack, Mrs. Penn and I were always included in the Oppenheimer’s
family celebrations. On heavy intake days when I felt particularly weary, Lady Oppenheimer
used to take me to Little Brenthurst “to put my feet up’. During my time at the
hospital, I nursed men of outstanding patience and fortitude. Many famous
people visited us and I regret now that I did not keep a visitors’ book.
We
used to look forward to “sing song” evenings arranged for us by women like Ivy
Tresmand and Eileen Gondirs. I have poignant memories of these maimed men with
their future unknown, standing around the grand piano, singing lustily; one moment
gay, the next filled with nostalgia for home, country and family. Dr. Jack
arranged for prominent professors from the Witwatersrand University to come and
talk to us. Most of the men appreciated this, but there was a percentage of the
non-intellectual laggards who had to be prised from their hidey holes to swell
the numbers.
We
were determined that the men should not become morose from boredom. Dr. Jack
encouraged those with artistic talents to draw, paint and to model in clay. From
this stemmed the idea that the hospital should have its own emblem. A badge committee
was elected, resulting in a drawing of the blue phoenix emerging from golden
flames, on a back-ground of royal blue; the flames were more dramatic than the
proverbial ashes and the phoenix was actually a proud looking eagle, with
outspread wings: At its feet came the badge representing the Air Force, Red
Cross, Navy and the Tank Corps. it was supported on each side by a springbok and
the motto was “RESURGAN”. The phoenix used to be referred to affectionately as
the “old bird”. The complete emblem was drawn on canvas and worked into a very beautiful
rug. Everyone in the hospital was encouraged to do some stitches. The completed
rug was proudly hung in the dining room. Unfortunately, it was lost or became
moth eaten after its transfer to Tara, but I have a photograph. It was the
forerunner to our present phoenix designed by the famous artist Ernest Ullmann.
Memories came flooding back when quite recently a new member of the staff said
to me, “Please Matron, what does that old bird signify?”
In
1942 to everybody’s delight, John Graham Penn joined our family. For this event
we are today still grateful, for now in Dr John we have someone to carry the
tradition of Brenthurst into the future.
No
saga of Brenthurst would be complete without the mention of “Speedy” Bentel. He
was our anaesthetist - this rather dates him. This very popular young man and I
had a love-hate relationship, for he had no respect for military rules. We had
but few, but these I had to enforce. Between operations he used to leave the
theatre, invariably without upper garments, sit on the stairs and play the guitar,
surrounded by singing men. An actual recording was made of one of these
performances. One particular day, I was doing a round with a colonel from the
British Military Mission. Dr. Jack was operating. To my confusion, I heard the
strains of the guitar. I visualised the scene. But there was no turning back.
Fortunately, on this day, Speedy was clad respectably, if somewhat informally.
Said the Colonel, “What a musical orderly”. I wonder what he would have said if
I had informed him, “That, sir, is an officer in the South African Medical Corps”.
It was an experience to see how the Colonels and Brigadiers, particularly from
the British Army, reacted to our unmilitary ways. One never knew what would be
found round the next corner - a gambling school or a bookie’s Tote. One
Brigadier, after a round, remarked, ‘Matron, a strange set up for a Military Hospital,
a most relaxed atmosphere, but congratulations, it works!”
On
Tom’s departure for North Africa, he presented me with a car, a dark blue 1941
Chevrolet Traveller’s Coupé. I had never touched the wheel of a car and had to
have lessons. What an ordeal for me. The whole experience was beset with the
devil – I failed the test twice. After this, Spaulding, one of our patients -
cum orderlies - took the whole situation in hand and put me through my paces.
The
patients ran a sweep - to pass or not to pass. Dr. Jack decided to come with Spaulding
for the third test. This will give an idea of the drama my driving brought to
the hospital. I went off with chattering teeth and shaking knees. I managed to
avoid clanging tramcars, going through red lights and mowing down pedestrians. I
passed! Dr. Jack tells the story of how a white faced examiner said, “take her
away and don’t let her loose on the public for six months, 1 can’t risk my life
for a fourth time:”
Cartoon from a letter from Tom Ford to his sister Stella, from Egypt
Three
years passed. For two periods of eleven months, I had no news of my husband. In
the first instance, I did not know that he was a prisoner of war, captured at
the capitulation of Tobruk. After the capitulation of Italy, I had no word at all.
During this period, as an escaped POW, he lived in the Italian woods near Rome,
shared his shack with a Cape Coloured man and had his meals with Italian communists,
who were friendly towards the fugitives. These people risked their lives in helping
our men.
He
was recaptured once and again escaped in Italy and was therefore not sent to
Prison Camp in Germany - hence the silence. In the middle of 1944, we were
receiving fewer patients from the North. The Red Cross Society bought Tara,
which was the Headquarters for Inland Command. It was decided to move all the
patients from Brenthurst and the surrounding convalescent hospitals, and place
them under one roof at Tara. I once more had to deal with planning for
alterations, rooms had to be made suitable and equipped as operating theatres.
This
time, my heart was not in the venture. In the midst of everything, I heard that
due to the advancement of the American Forces, my husband had been liberated
and would be returning home. The reaction to news of this kind is
indescribable. He returned in the midst of packing up and removing equipment to
Tara. I had to complete my mission at this stage. I wanted to lock up the doors
of Brenthurst Hospital and hand the house back to Sir Ernest and Lady
Oppenheimer. How wonderful that fate dealt so kindly with me, that the cycle at
this hospital was absolutely neat and rounded off. The day arrived when I said
goodbye to my many friends. As far as I could see, this was the end of my
nursing career and the beginning of another.
An
event which happened around this period should be recorded. Sometime in 1944, I
was visited by Mrs. Caro. She offered me the sum of £350, (left over from a
fund she had collected for charitable purposes during the war) for my Red Cross
Nurses. I told her that I could not accept it as my nurses were all well cared
for. I consulted my senior nursing colleagues as to what to use this money for.
A meeting was convened and it was decided that something be done for retired
nurses. For about five minutes, I was the first chairman of what is now the
South African Nurses Trust Fund
The
Brenthurst Military Hospital phase now ended, I had to adjust to the state of
marriage. We decided on a month’s holiday before setting up a home. Due to
petrol rationing we travelled by train and bus to St. Michael’s-on-Sea, at that
time a small seaside resort.
The
“holiday” psychologically was not easy. Tom was restless, unable to enjoy his
freedom whilst the war was still raging and many of his friends still in Prison
Camps. This period was necessary for our personal readjustment. We spent a
great deal of time out of doors, on the golf course, walking along the seafront,
and on the lagoon in a canoe. As I am no swimmer, this canoe part always caused
a little apprehension, “in case” I fell into the water. I was very conscious of
Tom’s suffering for his fellow men and listened whilst he sorted out his
thoughts. I was fortunate my war work had been so interesting and under perfect
conditions.
At
the end of the month we returned to Johannesburg. Tom chose a posting to Natal -
Isipingo Bench - encouraged by me. As we wore travelling on official business,
we were able to go by car, accompanied by our golden spaniel Peter. Those of you,
who remember Penny, will know of my affection for spaniels. I had them as pets
in an unbroken line from 1944 to 1970, when Penny died.
Mr
& Mrs CS McLean lent us their Beach house “The Turrett”, a charming place
on a cliff overlooking the sea. We had to leave our furniture in storage. Tom
was soon deeply involved in work, due to the great number of policemen still in
German prison camps.
The
crime rate was high and he was away from home a great deal. Time dragged for me.
The McLean’s resident cook/house servant rather resented my presence, so I
could only behave as a guest in the house. After brushing Peter, I went for
long walks and read literature of every sort. It was a period of general
education, something which used to be lacking in the life of a nurse, due to
long hours of studying as well as working and infrequent off-duties. Due to a
shortage of water, I couldn’t even garden - not that I knew much about
gardening.
It
is quite difficult to describe this transitional period in my life. It was more
than adjusting from one occupation to another. My direction, during the years that
my husband was away, was quite clear. I knew it as a period of waiting and I
was determined to fill the time with something worthwhile. This opportunity was
given to me. I worked at top key, enjoying my work and play, but never without
tension and often with heartache. Tom returned, the world was still in turmoil,
yet my active responsibility to it all had ceased. It is from this point that I
had to build a future and become acquainted with a new concept of occupation
and direction.
Tom
was busy with his own adjustment and overwork, and he had no time to deal with
my problems. I was not used to the Natal summer, and I think this had something
to do with my lack of energy. I longed for Johannesburg and my many friends. I
eventually won through and started to look seriously for occupation. I joined
the Red Cross Sewing Group and knitted and sewed for soldiers’ Gifts and
Comforts.
When
the McLeans or their families came down for holidays, we moved to one of the
hotels. After two or three of these moves, I decided that we must find an abode
of more permanence whilst in Isipingo. It was impossible to rent a house and
the only way to settle was to purchase outright.
Tom
wasn’t keen as he knew we would soon be on the move again, but I felt that he
needed a settled base, even if it was temporary. We viewed houses in spare
moments and eventually settled for a very pleasant one in spacious grounds,
with frangipani, pawpaw and avocado trees, and a Bougainvillea hedge. It was
off the seafront, which was my only regret. At last the long awaited day
arrived when my furniture was delivered from Stuttafords and unpacking began. The
spare bedroom floor was covered with crockery I had received as wedding
presents. Furniture-wise things were a bit sparse for the big drawing room and
dining room combined, and I walked around finding odd tables to fill the vast empty
space. My one Persian carpet looked like a postage stamp on a piece of foolscap.
I
also set about learning to cook. The first of many crises was the meat
situation. I did not know one cut from the other, so I decided that, until I
was more experienced, grilled steak was the answer - I ordered fillet. We
couldn’t cope with the toughness, so I consulted my neighbour. She asked to see
the meat. When it was delivered, she discovered that I was giving the fillet to
the gardener whilst Tom and I were chewing our way through the brisket.
Once
I had organised my household, I decided to engage a Zulu cook and general
factotum and apply for a “morning only” post. There was not enough to occupy my
time, and having embarked on my big house I needed the cash. To keep in touch
with nursing activities, I attended Durban Branch meetings of the S.A.N.A. I
was elected to the committee of the branch and settled for a post at King Edward
VII hospital in Durban. What a far cry from our beautiful Brenthurst. The
overcrowding was terrible. There was also a shortage of Sisters. Matron immediately
asked me to work full time, and their need was so great I couldn’t refuse.
My
first afternoon was a nightmare. I was the only sister on duty with the African
student nurses. My sympathy with “new people” stems from that day. It was a
surgical ward and our “intake” patients seemed to appear by the minute. The traumatic
work in that section gave one vast experience, and I learnt a great deal - but
I shall never forget that afternoon. I was literally pitched into the situation
and didn’t know where a thing was kept. I heard to my chagrin sometime later
that the houseman had said “he hoped he would never be on duty with that idiot
again”, A few days later “that idiot” had to take charge of the ward. The
charge sister became ill and did not return in my time. I brought some
organisation into the place for the nurses and myself and thoroughly enjoyed my
work.
I
never won the battle with bedbugs. As fast as we moved one ward to temporary
premises so that fumigation could be done - new ones would be brought in. I was
at first horrified at the situation, but discovered that the routine of fumigation
from time to time was the only method of combat. One day I carted a little
fellow home in my uniform. Tom was not at all philosophical about the situation.
After
four months, I found that John would be making an appearance in my life. This
indeed was exciting. I worked for a further short period, and then once more
retired from active nursing, this time with no heartbreak. I had a great deal
to do with my time. I frequented second hand shops for nursery furniture, painted,
and made curtains. It seems ridiculous in these times of plenty, but baby
equipment was impossible to find after the war. Feeding bottles were supplied
with only one teat. I had to buy a pudding bowl to use as a “potty”. I tackled sewing
and knitting with dedication and ate pawpaws to keep down my weight. I had
never heard of ”raglan” sleeves and consequently, after two months, John grew
out of his viyella jackets, and a beautiful white shawl was never used, because
the Natal climate did not require one.
All
this kept me occupied and at peace, particularly as Tom was by now swotting for
examinations and needed a calm atmosphere in the home. In retrospect he was a very
patient man. John must have been a very tough baby to withstand the onslaught
when he returned from the Claribel Nursing Home in Durban. There he received
the attention given to a nursery full of babies. Everything had to be sterilised.
I burned to pulp the only teat by letting the sterilising pot boil dry; its
replacement was a marathon. Feeding was done by the clock, sunbathing likewise.
However, he thrived despite his mum. We were well settled when word came of a
transfer. As we did not want to keep the house, it was put up for sale. Those
of you who have waited to sell, a house, know the apprehension of every knock
at the door. Fortunately, we soon found a buyer and made some profit. Although
I’ve had near temptations, after this buying and selling experience I’ve never
really wanted to be a property owner again.
Once
more the furniture had to be stored and crockery packed and we moved back to
“The Turrett” to await our move. I thoroughly enjoyed this stay. I took Dick,
our man servant, along with me. Domestically, I had learnt a great deal. John
was given a Christening party, which his parents, relatives and friends enjoyed.
t
loved watching the ships passing by. What a difference from my first stay. Tom
and I were adjusted to one another and I recall those tranquil days with pleasure.
At this point, I decided to make my own dresses, feeling I should justify my
existence. This phase did not last long.. Dressmaking and Natal heat did not
“jell” and I’ve never attempted it again.
We
were eventually moved to Verulam on the North Coast. The house was awful, added
to which I had too much furniture this time, and the crockery was more than overwhelming.
At this point the Nursing Council asked me to inspect some Midwifery Training schools
in Natal, and I was delighted to accept. My mother was staying with us at the
time. I was not away for long periods and Tom was pleased to see me occupied in
an interesting project, particularly as Verulam offered no outlet for my energies.
The house was nothing more than a barrack and had not one redeeming feature.
Inspecting
hospitals was a new adventure for me. At first I found the situation quite
embarrassing, but soon learnt a positive approach to the difficulties that beset
hospitals, particularly in the years after the war. I did condemn some as
Training Schools and eventually they were reinstated when they were able to
meet the requirements of the S.A. Nursing Council.
After
four months in Verulam, we could see no future for Tom unless he tackled the
Afrikaans problem, and it was requested that he should move to an Afrikaans speaking
area. Reddersburg in the OFS was chosen. No place could have been worse for me
than Verulam. “Pack and follow” was becoming my motto. This time our belongings
were sent off by train. Tom, Peter (the spaniel), John and I travelled by car.
One would have thought that I was going into the bush where John was concerned.
His food, utensils and vegetable strainers were packed in a separate box. I was
still on the no lumps and sterility game. I boiled water and placed it in an
earthenware wine jar marked “Oom Tas”. Tom carried all the parcels into the
hotel for our night’s stop, but flatly refused to have anything to do with Oom
Tas. This was his first taste of domestic moving and, when he wasn’t exasperated
with my nonsense, he found it quite entertaining. He never stood a chance of
being bored domestically; there were too many variations in the themes.
It
was a pleasant trip; our car was the aforementioned dark blue two-seater Chevrolet
“traveller’s coupé”. In the open space behind the front seat, we stacked boxes;
on top of this lot perched John’s crib. He was near the roof of the car; there
was no chance to crawl out.
I
enjoyed the trip; it was my first real view of the Orange Free State. We
travelled over the Drakensberg and then, in full view of the Maluti Mountains,
through Harrismith and Bethlehem. My previous trips had been by train, through
the rather dreary O.F.S. countryside to Johannesburg from the Eastern Province.
The varied colours of the veld, interesting rock formations and distant blue
mountains gave a feeling of endless space, and the crisp clean air was very
exhilarating after the humidity of Natal.
We
stayed at a little country hotel near Bethlehem and were introduced to a typical
platteland breakfast - porridge, large mutton chops, eggs, boerewors, bread and
konfyt and coffee. We arrived in Reddersburg in the afternoon and were booked
into the local “hotel” in the village. The present hotels on the main road were
then not in existence. A house had been booked for us, but the furniture had
not arrived. Thus began another interesting period for the Ford household.
The
Reddersburg house
Our
sojourn in the Orange Free State was short, but full of interest. After a short
stay in the Reddersburg Hotel, our furniture arrived. It had to be transported
from Edenburg by lorry, and that little dusty town was our nearest railhead. It
was quite astonishing how little had been damaged or broken.
The
house was situated in one of the main streets, with a wee patch of dry earth as
a front garden. Due to my ignorance of gardening tor one thing, and lack of
water points for another, the only plant I can remember seeing was a rather
tatty looking morning glory on the wire-netting fence. In appearance, the place
was such an improvement on Verulam that I was elated. There was a two-sided
verandah for summer and a glassed-in porch for winter. When the wind blew, the
place was covered in red dust and the verandah was deserted for days on end. The
summer could be most unpleasant and I used to long for a Transvaal thunder
storm.
Houses
in the platteland were not designed with a bathroom. These were often added later,
as was the case with ours. To get to the bathroom, one had to go through the
kitchen. The hot water arrangement left me bereft of speech. I couldn’t cope.
The water was heated by a pipe passing through a copper geyser on its way to
the bath. The geyser was fed with twigs, planks and scraps of paper. Hot water
came in spasmodic spurts depending on the rapidity of feeding the flames. At
intervals the geyser venomously spat diabolical flames right out of the door,
with much banging and crackling. It Tom were not home to heat our bath water, I
had a cold bath, and heated John’s in a paraffin tin on the stove. The kitchen stove
was another of my trials; I think it was called a Dover. It also had a fiendish
temperament, and would belch thick smoke until I was almost suffocated. With
streaming ayes and heaving lungs I would peer into the cooking pots, hoping at
the end of the ordeal to produce a cooked meal. Finding a cook was quite
impossible, so I was forced to produce meals in earnest.
John Ford playing
on the verandah in Reddersburg
Tom
always had a lean, hungry look and this stirred the hearts of our neighbours.
I’m sure they thought the ‘Engelse meisie’ was starving her man. They sent all
kinds of foods to an embarrassing degree. I have never known such open hearted generosity.
The permanent residents had lovely gardens, but I was worried because the water
was pumped from underground by numerous clanking windmills. With the sparse rainfall,
I wondered when the flow would cease.
Nevertheless
I was kept supplied with vegetables, flowers and fruit, and had great
difficulty when it came to paying. The ladies were eager to teach me the arts
of canning fruit and vegetables and making jams. I invested in dozens of Ball’s
jars. Our water supply also came from a windmill, which poured water into a
reservoir situated a little distance from the house. It was conveyed to the
house by rather narrow pipes running just below the surface of the ground. In
winter these were frozen, and the spurting geyser could not be used. One
bitterly cold Sunday morning, I found Tom digging away the surface earth to
uncover the pipes. He then poured hot water from an electric kettle along the
pipes. His attempt to get water for a bath was completely foiled. As fast as he
unfroze one section, the other section froze up again. I thought the whole episode
very funny, but didn’t let him see it, as he was in great earnest.
Electricity
was very expensive, and the house was inadequately wired. Besides the lights, I
could plug in only a kettle and my refrigerator. We had to use paraffin heaters
in the winter. There was no hearth and an electric radiator was out of the
question. I partially solved the stove problem by using a double burner primus,
a relic of days on the farm, given to me by my mother. I became so attached to
this stove I couldn’t bear to part with it and it travelled everywhere with me.
Only recently have we come to the final parting, when I moved to my present
flat and gave it to Topsy! I learnt very rapidly to treat paraffin with
respect. It is the most horrible contaminant of food in careless hands.
Tom Ford and
John with Peter the spaniel, Reddersburg 1946
Once
my domestic affairs had been brought into proper perspective, I set about
thinking what to do with my ‘spare time’. Everyone was very kind. Both Torn and
I could communicate well, although we were the only family in the town who
spoke English as a home language. We chatted to each other in English and Afrikaans.
Nevertheless I missed having a special friend. Tom was very busy studying for
his examinations. Except for playing golf, his off-duty time was fully
occupied. Sometimes I loathed the sound of the typewriter. John commenced
walking and talking and was a great companion, but, of course, he went to sleep
early. The evenings were incredibly dull, and I couldn’t grouse because I knew it
was an essential part of Tom’s career. I took myself In hand. I set out
seriously to learn home crafts. I knitted Fair Isle pattern jerseys which required
great concentration. When Tom and John had reached saturation point in jerseys
I started on myself, and made quite a number of gaudy, ill-fitting twin-sets. I
defy any woman to tackle knitting with greater fervour than I did. I baked cakes
in the hated black stove and made the flops into trifles, soused in sherry. I
canned fruit and made jam - that was fun.
Janet, Tom & John Ford, Reddersburg OFS
I
became interested in antique furniture and discovered that a few genuine pieces
of Cape Queen Anne were available if one knew where to look. I wasn’t sure where to look, but I accepted every
invitation to tea parties, even on distant farms. My first instinct on entering
a new place was to appraise the furniture for possibilities. People began
giving me hints and these I followed up with zeal. Some were completely
useless.
Quite
a number of people had relegated beautiful old pieces to their sheds when
buying new suites to be in the fashion. These were so neglected and ruined it
made one’s heart ache. They could be used only as scrap wood to repair other
pieces. Dealers from the Reef had thoroughly combed the farms, and people in their
ignorance had sold valuable pieces of furniture for ridiculous prices. As a
follow-up to my tea-parties, I was fortunate to acquire a few good pieces which
Tom repaired for me. He was very good at furniture restoring, but sometimes
looked askance when I walked in with rickety old chairs and said “Now lass,
don’t overdo this old furniture lark”.
As the town was on the main road to the Cape, many of my friends called to see me; Dr. Jack and Di, the Drewetts, the Haggies and the Ormerods, as well as our sisters. Some stayed for tea, some for a meal and some even braved a night or two. In retrospect I realise what an ordeal this must have been for them. Our domestic arrangements must have appeared unbelievably primitive. How I appreciated those visits. My stay in Reddersburg was short, but it taught me a deep appreciation of what are sometimes considered the little things in life. Tom passed all his examinations up to 1st class Warrant Officer, and his Afrikaans examination. He was posted to an Officers Course at the Police College in Pretoria. Once more the packing took place. This time the furniture had to be stored in Bloemfontein. Somehow, something in the nursing field always crops up when I need it most. The Nursing Council asked me to inspect psychiatric hospitals in all the provinces. I left John with my mother on my sister’s farm at Queenstown.
Tom accompanied me on my first session to Cape Town. We both loved
the Cape and wondered if it would ever be our good fortune to be sent there.
Tom then went off to Pretoria, whilst I travelled by train and bus throughout South
Africa, inspecting hospitals and writing reports. It was great experience, and
also disturbing. The hospitals were very short-staffed, and one had to battle
for recruits as conditions of service were poor.
Miss
Iris Marwick did her share in working for the benefit of psychiatric hospitals.
Her work has been greatly appreciated in South Africa. On completion of my tour, I went to my sister’s farm and once more played “the Waiting Game”.
In the process of writing this, I realise that the journeying in South Africa appears to have continued interminably. My wanderlust was certainly gratified, though it only meant living in the different provinces of South Africa. This yearning for new places has never left me. A travelling case is always at the ready for an expedition - long or short. The desire to be mobile has caused me to have no fixed property, and no real roots, but has given me an infinite understanding for other peripatetics. I experience an acute sense of excitement merely at the thought of walking across the apron to the waiting plane. It is the same with the bustle, noise and smell of a railway station. My old legs become young again, and I walk with a swing. I like ships as well but, as a poor sailor, I don’t enjoy a long voyage.
She
did, nevertheless, literally take a slow boat to China in her retirement. In
the 1970s, Safmarine had a small number of cabins for passengers on their cargo
ships. There was no strict schedule and the ship stopped at ports en route to
pick up and discharge cargo. She travelled like this from South Africa to Japan
and back
However,
returning to a ship after excursions ashore has a special place in my
travelling enjoyment. My round of psychiatric hospitals was completed with
reports written for the Nursing Council. I had to wait for Tom to finish his
course at the Police College. I decided not to stay near Pretoria so as to leave
him free for his studies.
Brother-in-law
Bill Clark and my sister Mary very kindly gave continued hospitality to John
and me at their farm at Queenstown. The experience of returning to farm life
was exciting. I am not endowed with the qualities necessary for living with the
oft-times harsh elements of nature. I am able to understand, particularly in
the evenings and at night, how people who live in the country enjoying clear
air, magnificent sunsets, blue mountains, and stillness (except for those
special ‘noises of the bush’) can never become city dwellers. Bill and Mary
Clark belong there, and anyone willing to share the experience with them is
given abundant hospitality.
Tom
and I had decided that at the end of his course we would go on holiday to the Cape.
Our delight was overwhelming when his posting was made, for we heard that the
Cape was to be our home in the foreseeable future. Once more, the car was
packed and off we went with John and Peter the spaniel. We chose the Garden Route
and travelled at leisure. One of the places I remember particularly is Plettenberg
Bay, where we stayed at the Beacon Island hotel - a special place from which to
view the sea in all its moods. “Plet” in those days was little more than a
seaside village. With hindsight, I wish we had tarried long enough to buy some
land. It was my first trip along the route beyond Port Elizabeth. I enjoyed the
charm of the mountains, their passes, the forests, the seascapes. Tom was most
considerate; he appreciated my bubbling joy at this new experience, and in case
I should miss a special scene, he declined offers to share the driving. I
remember that, somewhere near George, I was so exhilarated at the sight of the
peat-stained water in the mountain streams, that I inadvertently banged the car
door and locked the keys inside - very trying.
Lieutenant TD Ford
The
next move took place in a reasonably short period to the Boston Estate in
Bellville. “The Sheiling’ stood on an expanse of sandy earth which appeared to
have a flea to every grain of sand. It was a new housing development. How I
hated those fleas, and they did not disappear until I had established a garden.
I set about our wee house, making the best of my newly acquired stinkwood furniture
- how I blessed the Orange Free State for those. The place was humble but it
was home; loose covers and curtains brightened the aspect enormously. Once the
house was in order, I tackled the sand. Loads of horse manure, extra water
points, garden implements and the “Gardening in South Africa” manual were the main
ingredients - actually, I found a book called ‘Gardening in Australia” easier
for reference
An
enormous amount of energy was needed and I seemed to possess this in abundance.
I cannot remember ever feeling tired, probably because I never had time to
think about it. Tom was once more involved in his work, so the complete domestic
scene was mine. I set about the gardening with the dedication of the ill-fitting
Fair Isle jersey period. I had read about the value of hydroponics on sandy
soil, and selected a bed of larkspurs for the experiment. They grew with the
speed of the Beanstalk. I was not prepared for the first Cape Southeaster,
which struck with all its blast one evening. I rushed around - with hair almost
torn from the roots, finding suitable stakes, which included handles, complete
with brooms and rakes. The larkspurs were saved. A lawn was planted as well as
a vegetable garden. The beautiful flowers and fresh vegetables proved to be a
very rewarding experience. I became so fertiliser conscious that, on our weekend
outings, sacks and a spade always went into the boot of the car for oak leaf
compost and stray blobs of manure - the latter much to Tom’s disgust. I
couldn’t afford a regular garden man, and obtained one only for the heavy
digging.
Granny "Drienie" Duncan and John in Kirstenbosch c.1948
A
new interest bringing enjoyment was cooking, particularly in a decent kitchen.
John was about the place, but amused himself, and with his books and toy cars,
he seemed to take contentment for granted. Once having established the rhythm
of the domestic scene, a need was felt for outside activity, for Tom’s sake as
well as my awn. I was involved with social duties on his side, and needed
stimulation to do this successfully. I joined the Cape Town Branch of the South
African Nursing Association, and also became a corresponding member of the
International Council of Nurses on Mental Hygiene in South Africa. This was a
worthwhile task, involving corresponding with centres, attending meetings and
reading reports — all to obtain accurate information. I was invited to attend a
Biennial Conference of the South African Nursing Association in order to read a
paper on the subject. This was my first congress and the second time only that
I had faced a public platform. It was quite frightening, but in the end an
uplifting experience. It was evident that the S.A.N.A. had contributed a great
deal to the advancement of South African Solidarity in the field of nursing.
I
enjoyed living at the Cape, and that first spring will be forever in my memory.
The daisies on the slopes of Devil’s Peak, the mesembryanthemum (vygie) cascading
down walls and rockeries, arum lilies in the vleis, watsonia and varieties of
proteas on the mountain slopes all conspired to create a riot of colour. The
oak trees were in young leaf on those clear crisp days, when the sunlight
filtered through the delicate green leaves, touching them with fairy fingers.
Tom and I experienced great happiness in our home and surroundings, and it was
a joy to “stay awhile”.
We
joined Brian and Petrina Brooke’s Theatre Club, a new venture before they
opened in Johannesburg, which we appreciated after living away from the
theatre. On the weekends, we explored the beaches, mountains and nearby towns
of Worcester, Paarl, Stellenbosch and Ceres. Sometimes we would spend weekends sitting
and walking in the Kirstenbosch Gardens or Wynberg Park. Peter was severely punished
by a swan on one of these excursions - he had sniffed too far into forbidden
territory!
Our
upcountry friends came to see us, and my immediate reaction was to ask if there
was time for a picnic into the mountains. I used to accompany Tom on his
country inspections exploring the village or town, whilst the chauffeur
entertained John. As one of the chaps had been a crematorium attendant on his
last employment, some of his stories were rather macabre!
The
time had come for William to arrive at the Booth Memorial Hospital in July 1949,
and after a rather ragged beginning, he thrived. If I say more than this, I
will be severely chastised. He was pitched into the large play pen on the lawn,
so that I could attend to my garden. John helped to entertain him, and was only
occasionally rebellious, when he wanted to be about his own business.
William's Christening
L to R Back Row: unknown lady, Neville Fischer (holding Bill), Maureen (Bimbo) Fischer, Tom Ford, Don Hawke
Front Row; David Drewett, Janet, John, Mrs Tomlinson (Mary Drewett's mother), Peter the spaniel
The
inevitable happened, and we had to move on. This time our destination was
Mafeking. Tom was told he was required to be the liaison officer between the
South African and the British Governments. The Bechuanaland headquarters were
then in this town. After my initial heartaches, there was no more to it than to
get on with the new venture. This time we travelled by train. After numerous
farewell parties, two rather weary parents, two frisky children and a spaniel
boarded the train. Whilst we were saying our farewells, someone spotted William
sitting on the compartment seat, demolishing the contents of a tin of humbugs.
I don’t think he had any teeth at that time, so the sweets that were not
located in his bulging cheeks must have been swallowed whole. We arrived in
Mafeking on the dustiest day of the year. It was a public holiday, and the place
was dead. The fairest Cape belonged to another world.
Mafeking
was nondescript, flat and dusty but, despite first impressions, this was a
period very different from anything I had experienced previously. In many ways
it was a preparation for the difficult path that lay ahead. How fortunate that
one cannot see the future. There was not a cloud on my horizon except for the
frustrations of house hunting. Our furniture was stored in dusty stables which
dated back to the Boer War. We had no option but to accept residence in the Grand
Hotel. It may have been grand at the turn of the century, but it had lost any
glow that it may have possessed.
The four of us, and Peter the spaniel, were piled into a horrid little room with the bathroom down a filthy corridor. A cot could not be provided for William, who refused to stay in a bed during any part of the day and some of the night. The object of his delight and the cause of my shattered nerves was a fish pond within a few yards of our room. Peter added to my distress by cavorting into the street after other dogs. This nasty place was later demolished after being condemned at my husband’s instigation.
A
week after our arrival, a Cabinet Minister visited the town. Tom had to
participate in the official welcome, then dash back to change for a banquet.
The confusion of that night is among my amusing domestic memories. We did not
have space to unpack so our belongings remained in cases. I was gowning myself
in the inadequate light. Tom could not locate his dress studs. There was such a
panic that I offered to continue the search. We were perspiring like race
horses in the badly ventilated room. The children and the dog did nothing to
ease the atmosphere. Finally the chaos appeared to be under control, when John
said, “Mum, look at William.” The latter had emptied an ink bottle into the
middle of his bed! We eventually arrived at the banquet on time. It was held in
the dining room of Dixon’s Hotel, of historical note as it had been Sir Robert Baden
Powell’s headquarters during the siege.
The
social setup in Mafeking at that time was indeed quaint, as the influence of
Victorian England had not yet been brushed aside. The older residents
remembered the siege. The brother of the librarians, the Misses Goodyear, had
been Baden Powell’s first scout. Socially the town was divided into three sets;
the British Government officials headed by the Resident Commissioner were the
administrators of the Bechuanaland Protectorate. Most of their residences were
located in the part of the town which belonged to Britain and was called the
Reserve. We were part of the S.A. Government. The ‘Town People’ were the business
and professional citizens. There was also the Railway Camp - a large repair
workshop for the railways operated in Mafeking.
A
good deal of snobbery existed. One had to be careful when compiling one’s guest
list not to ask the wrong people to fraternise. I did not take this too
seriously, and found it an experience in human relationships. The British Government
had its own protocol. Such was their prestige that being on the Government House
Dinner list and Garden Party list were sought after invitations.
It
was fashionable to shop at ‘Ma Clark’s’. She sold imported food expensively.
Kemps catered more cheaply. I preferred the middle way and patronised both! I
prayed for a house to come our way. It was impossible to return the abundant
hospitality from that terrible hotel. ‘Calling’ with cards was still the
custom. I had to have these printed. As far as I can remember, one left two for
oneself and three for one’s husband. My first callers were the Mayoress and the
wife of the District Surgeon. They were escorted to that dreadful room with no
warning to me. I opened the door to behold two smartly attired ladies, hatted
and gloved. Callers were far from my mind at that moment and my consternation
was beyond speech. I plucked William off his pot, kicked it under the bed, and
attempted to concentrate John in a smaller area.
He
was at his favourite occupation, drawing cars; crayons and paper strewn across
the floor. Somehow I regained my composure and ordered tea. Later these ladies
and I became good friends.
Tom
liked his work, so he managed to cope and not grouse too much about the
difficult living conditions. I think at this point William and I bore the brunt
of the discomfort. I bought a push cart for him and traversed the streets,
followed by Peter.
During
this period, Torn was sent to relieve in Vryburg. We stayed in a very dull, but
a reasonable hotel. When the month was up I could not face Mafeking again
without a home. I felt guilty at leaving Tom, but this did not deter me from
going to Johannesburg for a spell. At last a house was found and I returned
with speed to Mafeking.
The
house was old but it had a certain charm. The kitchen was primitive with the
usual black coal stove. I acquired a pressure cooker and resorted to primus
stoves. One day the safety valve blew out and I was covered in pea soup and
thought my last day had come. John hastened to the scene and said, ”You are still
there. I thought you was all blowed up”. The loo was at the further end of the
garden and the children undertook the expedition on their tricycles. The squeak
of the ox drawn cart for ‘Night Soil was a familiar sound, as well as all that
goes with it. The odd collision after a hectic party was not unknown.
We
settled in rapidly. Removing the filth from our furniture was undertaken with
joy. People who were lonely or bored in Mafeking at that time had only
themselves to blame. The activity was continuous. There were dinner, supper,
and cocktail parties at whatever level one wished to become involved. Morning tea
parties were the vogue for the women. These I tried to avoid as they meant
hostesses vying with each other for bigger and better cakes; also it was at
these sessions that small town gossip could become pernicious. It would have
been fatal for the Government wives to have become involved.
Life
did not consist of a long social round. Various welfare societies existed, and
to these many of us gave a great deal of our time. I worked for the Girl Guides
and the Anglican Church. My main interests were the Red Cross Society, the Dramatic
Society and the Women’s Institute. I was approached by the wife of a Bantu
policeman to give Home Nursing lectures to the Bantu ladies of the town. It was
a very worthwhile undertaking. The Division continued to flourish after my departure.
The
Dramatic Society was very active, and the public looked forward to the plays
produced. I was invited to join and did, not without trepidation; my only
experience being in some disastrous school plays. I was very glad that I joined
for I enjoyed what it had to offer. They accepted my humble contributions very
graciously. I did not wish to leave Tom out of it, so he became the very
efficient Stage Manager. All in all, I think he would have preferred to have
stayed at home and pursue his hobby of wood carving at which he excelled. My
mother lived with us at this time, so the children were well cared for.
|
|
The hot summers were enervating, but we had a few lines of escape during the weekends. Molopo Oog provided streams and shade, a lovely spot for picnics. The ‘Wondergat’ was an eerie geological feature situated in the veld, surrounded by trees. It was a great, round hollow rock cavity containing water of ghostlike stillness, the depth of which had never been fathomed. |
The ’Girls’ used to organise trips to Johannesburg for shopping. Five of us would go at a time, leaving early in the morning and returning late at night. During summer storms, these journeys were hazardous in the extreme. Only a very short part of the road was tarred. On the dirt we used to skid all over the place or become bogged. For this reason our husbands took rather a dim view of these jaunts, also we rather set back the bank balance.
 Tom and I paid our first visit to the Victoria Falls at this time. We travelled by train through Bechuanaland in the dry season, and I marvelled at the miles of nothing but sand and bush. The Falls for us was a most glorious experience. She took John and Bill there in 1956, by train to Bulawayo, then flying to Livingstone in a Vickers Viking. The view of Victoria Falls from the aircraft’s cockpit was truly unforgettable, still vivid, even after more than 60 years. |
I made many friends, some of whom are on the mailing list of the Phoenix. They have stood by me through the vicissitudes of life. I salute and thank them most sincerely. The date was named for the inevitable transfer, this time to Johannesburg; Tom was given charge of the Jeppe area. The breaking of ties and packing could have been traumatic, for I was very happy. However, I had not lost my love of change. A round of farewell parties started, official and social, and we did not have a break for six weeks. In the midst of this, one had to cope with the packers. We acquired a flat in Bellevue. I was so exhausted that my senses were completely dulled. I could not even feel sad.
We
lived there for three months. My days were taken up with my family and two
dogs. Peter had sired a litter in Mafeking, and thus we had a doggy daughter,
Vicky. Torn was unhappy in his environment. John loathed the Yeoville Boys
School. William decided to ignore the scene, frequently walking out of the door
and ‘visiting’ neighbours while I went crazy searching for him. From my point
of view, this was a very unproductive period. I had many old friends here, but
the time was too short to renew relationships on a realistic basis.
Tom was offered an assignment in the Colonial Service in Serowe, Bechuanaland. My feelings were mixed, but I felt that I should let him make the decision. This time I was following into the unknown, except for what I had seen of a rather dreary looking country from the train.
The
decision to move to Bechuanaland (now Botswana) having been made, packing up
had to be organised. Our problem was that we had signed a year’s lease on the
apartment. It was a new building with many vacancies, and there was no way of
escaping the lease without subletting our particular place. Fortunately we were
situated on the ground floor, and the main room opened onto a little patio
garden. This little area was the gem which sublet the flat for us. What a relief.
I packed very systematically into small boxes, marking them meticulously so
that, when I reached the bundu, I would have no difficulty in setting myself
up, the kitchen in particular. More of this later.
I
went to Mary and Bill Clark’s farm in Queenstown. The time was spent in nursing
activity. Both boys developed measles, also infecting Mary’s children. My
children were upstairs and Mary’s ‘down’. William was very chesty and needed constant
attention. He needed inhalations and became a wee beastie at each performance.
I don’t know who inhaled to the best advantage, he or I. The measles session over,
my sister’s children developed whooping cough. Mine had been immunised, so I
felt safe where they were concerned.
One
evening, I received a phone call from Tom to say that the date of commencement
of his assignment had arrived. He was leaving immediately for Serowe and I was
to follow with the boys. He wasn’t prepared for the blast. I said, “Not one
step without me, I’ll be on the next train out of Queenstown”. I was not going
to travel into the wild with two small children on my own. My sister Mary is an
efficient lady and, with her assistance, we were bundled onto the first
available train. Tom had us for better or worse. We left Johannesburg in the
blue 1941 Chevrolet packed to full capacity, including two spaniels.
Our
very good friends Mary and Ian Drewett gave a delightful ‘wish you well in your
new undertaking’ party. I was glad of the appointment for Tom’s sake, but had misgivings
for myself. I had become a city lass and could not visualise living so far away
from it all. Having packed our belongings and sublet our apartment, the exact date
of the Bechuanaland posting had not been stated and this meant more waiting.
Tom decided to stay with his parents in Johannesburg, where he used the time to renovate a Victorian antique table that I’d bought for a song in the Mafeking township. It needed a centre pedestal and Tom used stinkwood for the purpose. I now possess a unique table.
We travelled as far as Mafeking on our first day and spent the night with our friends Robin and Betty Latimer. Again I met Vera Hodgkinson, who had recently married Noël Redman. Tom teased Vera and said, “Serowe next for you,” and she protested at the very thought of it. I mention my friends by name as they played an enormous part in my life, and I don’t know how I would have faced the grim days which lay ahead without them.
The next stage of the Journey took us through Lobatse and Gaberones to Mahalapye. We called at Gaberones, where Tom had to collect some equipment. We left Mafeking after lunch, which was a stupid thing to do, as we did not bargain for a lengthy delay at Gaberones stores. It was hot, the dogs were sick in the car, and the children restless. By the time we recommenced our journey, it was near sunset. Bob Langley, the Commissioner of Police, had given us an African Police escort, two policemen in a truck, from Gaberones. They travelled some distance behind us to avoid the clouds of dust. The road was narrow and had an enormous “middelmannetjie” The sudden darkness of the African veld was soon upon us after a beautiful sunset. If I hadn’t been apprehensive about the journey, it could have been a magnificent experience. Fortunately, I enjoyed many of these in the years to come. The sky appeared as a dark bowl with twinkling sparkles. On the verge of the road the wild animals’ eyes shone like little torches.
We
travelled on with no sign of Mahalapye. The children literally cried for their supper,
and I had become so unused to country travelling that I did not provide a
picnic basket. All I had in the way of provisions was a huge round of cheddar
cheese (a gift from my sister Mary) and some dry water biscuits. We were so
busy pacifying our hungry children that we forgot about our escort entirely, as
there were no lights following us and we did not notice when they ceased to be
there. Tom suggested we should retrace and see what had happened. My opinion
was to press on, find Mahalapye and feed the children.
When
we finally reached the village, the children were asleep and so was everyone
else. The ‘hotel’ was situated on the railway-station. We roused someone to
show us our room, but no food or hot drink was available. I gave the boys hunks
of cheese. Tom insisted on returning to find our escort. And he finally
returned between 4 and 5 a.m. cold and exhausted. He had found the African Policemen
bivouacked for the night, as travelling in the darkness was ‘not for them’.
What
a contrast! The houses were well-built with pleasant gardens and a beautiful view
of the distant hills. My spirits rose; I accepted my fate and decided to make the
best of the experience. The population “on the hill” consisted of a District
Commissioner, Assistant Commissioners, Postmaster, Agricultural Officer, Veterinary
Surgeon, Police officers, medical officers and their families. The hospital was
situated on its own piece of ground.
As
we drove into the grounds of our residence, I was even more cheered by the big house
in beautiful grounds and we were surrounded by people wanting employment. It was
traditional to employ a cook, housemaid, nanny, washmaid and gardener. Topsy
was employed as the housemaid; my two boys did not need a full-time nanny. We
were asked to stay at the Residency and this was an enormous house in beautiful
grounds. Our hostess, Ethel Batho, was a kind, fussy lady, who said, “My dear,
I hope you packed sensibly, and put your kitchen equipment into the most
sensible place. I assured her that, after so many moves, I was well-versed in
the art of packing. I had reckoned without Tom - whilst I was at the farm, he
surveyed my many small boxes and decided to re-pack them into a large packing case
which was not marked. When the pantechnicon arrived with our belongings, I was
all set to be very organised and my horror and letdown to find this confusion was
quite desperate, and made worse by my hostess breathing down my neck, telling me
how I should have packed!
The
boys caused a bit of an upset to the village children. They had slight coughs
and I had completely forgotten the whooping cough, and this is what they had in
a mild form, due to the inoculation. I didn’t for a moment recognize the
affliction until the village children started to whoop after John and William
had attended a party. What with my inferior packing and undiagnosed whooping
cough, I really had to set out to prove my ability.
We
had to cope with temperamental wood burning stoves. When the wind blew in the
wrong direction, one deserted the kitchen with smarting eyes and choking lungs.
Wood burning was an art and the wives had to be initiated. Wet wood caused
havoc. I became an expert buyer. Eggs had to be tested; this I learned after breaking
a dozen which contained chickens. When the egg vendor appeared, one ran for the
basin of water for testing. The milk came in brandy bottles - it had to be
boiled and there was always a dark sediment. Meat was incredibly cheap, but came
in the most amazing looking chunks. Communication with Maria, my cook, was
through the phrase book, sometimes with disaster. I always prepared the dishes
for dinner parties and then left Maria with the end bits. Topsy was excellent
at table “waiting”, having been well trained by Mrs. McLaren, the mother of one
of the commissioners. Maria never learned to fry Tom’s eggs to his
satisfaction, and this became quite a neurosis with me. I decided that this had
to be my task. Maria prepared the pan, I’d go to the kitchen, listen for his
step, pop the egg into the pan at the precise moment, cook it to perfection -
and peace! What would women’s lib say to this?
Tom
worked, as he always did, with dedication. I felt that I needed more than tea,
tennis and dinner parties. The hospital work was not practical as there was no
part time work, and as I had many social commitments with regard to Tom’s work,
1 couldn’t undertake fulltime nursing. Jack Leech, in charge of the department
of Social Welfare, asked me to inaugurate and develop a Girl Guide Division in
Serowe. His wife, Joan, was the Divisional Commissioner, and they had become very
good friends in our Mafeking days.
This was Tom’s first experience of the complications of his assignment. After breakfast of congealed eggs and indifferent coffee, we took to the road again. We were very weary. The journey to Palapye was uneventful and in the daylight the ravages of the long drought were very evident; some areas appeared semi-desert and even the large Mopani trees appeared limp. Palapye itself appeared even more depressing than Mahalapye. All that time I saw no way to come to grips with what appeared to me as complete desolation. Nevertheless I did come to appreciate the bush, its scents, noises and spaciousness. Palapye was the railhead for Serowe and, when we left it, I felt that my process of severing all links with civilisation was complete - there was not even a telephone service to Serowe. The drive was quite attractive and the entrance to the town was hideous. There were many neglected burnt huts, the result of the riots that had taken place due to mishandling and prejudice as result of Seretse Khama’s marriage. We came upon the trader’s shop, from whence we were directed to the Government village on the hill.
A security camp was situated in the valley, consisting mostly of British Officers and other ranks sent there as a peace-keeping force after the riots. The presence of the young men livened up the social scene. The traders were long established and catered for our basic needs and for the Tswana population. There was a much-needed garage but no hotel, as King Khama was a teetotaller and would not allow a licence for an hotel in his capital.
My first domestic hurdle was coping with what appeared to me as hordes of servants and added to our retinue was Tom’s batman. My Setswana was non-existent and their English less than basic. I soon acquired a phrase book, absolutely necessary, for to everything I uttered came the reply, “Ga ke itse”, which sounded like ‘Rakitse’. I asked my neighbours, ‘What on earth is this word?’, to be told it is ‘I don’t know’. Enough said.
I soon settled down to the way of life as it was in those colonial service days. Running one’s home wasn’t easy, as all except our basic groceries were ordered from Thrupps in Johannesburg once a month. Our liquor cupboard had to be stocked from Palapye - in this respect I was lucky, as mine came from the Police canteen at greatly reduced prices. We had to do a great deal of entertaining and each department entertained their own guests. We also had many dinner parties among ourselves.
I gardened enthusiastically, and grew strawberries, vegetables and flowers. Soon after our arrival in Serowe, the rains came and the awful drought seemed a thing of the past. Hard, barren patches were miraculously covered with grass and tiny flowers, and the bloom on the Mopani trees was beautiful. Water was plentiful and, joy, there was always lots of hot bath water. A ‘Dutch oven’ was attached to each residence. It contained a large drum and it was the gardener’s task to keep a fire going to heat the water in the drum whenever it was needed. His last stoking was in the late afternoon before going off duty. The first question a hostess asked her guest after the dusty journey was “Would you like a bath?” This came before the offer of refreshment.
My own lone Guide days were far removed in time so I went to a Commissioner’s training Camp in Grahamstown for 14 days. My mother cared for Tom and the boys in my absence. It was quite an experience - hard beds, camp fatigue, early morning parade. We were doing a camouflage exercise in the Grahamstown Park. I was well, hidden in some bushes when a lady and a gentleman passed. I heard the man say, “It appears the Girl Guides are doing a practice session here”. “No, my dear said the woman, ‘They are too old for girl guides, they must be lady guides”.
The response to the movement was beyond expectations. I was assisted by the hospital Sisters. Vera Redman did our secretarial work. The Redmans were posted to Serowe and Vera was quite magnificent in the way she coped with a life so foreign to her. They arrived with their baby, Angela, only a few weeks old, an added undertaking.
Janet Ford with Joan Leech and guides, Serowe
The guides were included in the Queen’s Birthday Parade. Having embroidered our flag, we chose a standard bearer. 1 instructed her to be strictly on time on the great day. All the officials turned out in their Ceremonial Dress, the Police Guard of honour very smart indeed. My Guides all lined up, so very British and colourful on a piece of African veld, my anxiety beyond description - no standard bearer: When all seemed lost and the ceremony couldn’t be held up any longer, I had just decided to carry the flag myself, when I saw streaking across the veld the truant, quite breathless - she had timed the rising of the sun wrongly, and was in a complete muddle. Our parade was a great success in the end.
John went to the local school, while William spent his days blissfully roaming the village carrying “things” from other peoples’ yards to ours and then having to return them. These were happy days for them. A trip to Johannesburg was quite an undertaking, but we did this on an occasional long weekend. Topsy was quite staggered by the great city on her first visit. She had never been out of Serowe. We took her on an Easter Monday to the Rand Easter Show - an exhausting day for her, as she kept on diving into the crowds to save ‘Willyam’ from what she thought would be complete obliteration.
The first year in Serowe, our little spaniel, Peter, contracted rabies and had to be shot. I was heartbroken. We decided that our faithful blue Chev had to be sold, as the rough roads were too much for her, and my guiding activities amongst the rocks and boulders did not add to her life. We left William with friends. John stayed at the Security Camp with the officers and we set out to Mafeking to collect a new, light grey 1952 Chevrolet.
Our return was delayed. Torrents of rain swept Bechuanaland. I never saw a drought again after that first one. What should have been a maiden journey for the new car became a maiden voyage. The roads became rivers, so in the end we had to leave the car at Palla Road and return by train. After reaching Palapye we couldn’t get through to Serowe, as not even large trucks could traverse the expanse of water, and the place had the appearance of a large lake. John had a wonderful time at the camp and, I think, hoped we’d be delayed for an even longer period. He was driven to school, had his own batman, slept in his own officer’s tent, ate in the officers’ mess and for weeks afterwards paraded around, saluting. Both Nancy Simpson and Jessie Dowthwaite visited us, visits we enjoyed so much. My mother stayed with me often and loved the life.
At the end of 1953 we decided on a break. We drove to Durban and boarded the Athlone Castle, visited my friend Edith Lawrie in Port Elizabeth and stayed with the Knabes in Cape Town. It was on this holiday that I noticed that Tom was not well; he loathed crowds of people. I was indeed glad to get back to the peace of Serowe for his sake, little realising that 1954 was to be such a fateful year for us.
Tom settled to his work and appeared to have overcome his irritability which had become so evident in the previous month. One afternoon in late February, I saw the District Commissioner’s car in our drive and a horrible feeling of apprehension was upon me. How right I was; it was the starting point of a nightmare ordeal. Tom had had what was termed “a blackout” in the office. They sent for Miss Fletcher, the hospital matron, and she saw the end part of the attack. She told me it was definitely accompanied by spasm, but not epilepsy. He regained complete consciousness and the only after effect was a severe headache. He was examined by the Medical Officer and returned to work the next day. The doctor told me ‘to await further developments’. At the end of March, he complained of a deterioration in his eye-sight. He had developed bilateral hemianopia (blindness over half the field of vision), and an appointment was made with Johannesburg specialists. I drove Tom, William and a nanny over the dreadful roads to Johannesburg. John stayed with Vera Redman in Serowe, as he was at school.
Dr. Jack Penn, as a friend, told me what he surmised could be the diagnosis - a tumour at the base of the brain. This honest and sympathetic approach greatly prepared me, if only subconsciously, for what was to lie ahead.
I asked if I would be allowed to sit with Tom if I wore my sister’s uniform. The Sister in charge replied, “If you want a special for him, hire one:’ I went to the Matron and the specialist but was told that Sister made the rules in her ward - that was when I vowed never to set foot in a Johannesburg ‘nursing home’ again.
I worked for three nights, and although my state of mind was such that I could only doze during the day, it was wonderful what the knowledge of being able to be useful did for me. At the end of the observation period, no diagnosis was made, but I was told as a last resort it was decided to use sleep therapy treatment, which I refused, and took Tom back to Serowe. In retrospect I must have lost all reason, but in a way 1 was driven to it. The hospital had become a prison to us. Tom refused to stay in bed, groping his way to a telephone, asking Mary Drewett to send me to him and life had become a nightmare.
My sights were set on London. I had to be systematic in the arrangements, and set about notifying friends and relations. This had to be done by letter as Serowe, at that time, had no telephone service. I received no help from the Acting Director of Medical Services and I sincerely believe that he did not know what to do. I booked on BOAC and wrote to my friend Miss Ruth Foxton of Cape Town days, who had become Matron of The Mothers Hospital in London, to book accommodation for us.
Sir Robert (aka Robin) Latimer of the British Embassy in Pretoria, our friend from Mafeking days, heard of my predicament from his wife, Betty. He immediately notified the Commonwealth Office in London, asking for all possible help for me. He telegraphed to tell me this but, as our departure by then was Imminent; there was no time for confirmation of the plans.
This appeared on my passport, and I was in possession of uniforms. We were flying first class to London and neither he nor anyone else would stop me getting there. I was scared stiff that my cheek would inflame him, but it had the desired effect. He said: ‘Very well, get on with it’. The kind Station Commander brought his car to collect us and take us to the Airport that night. It was quite a performance getting Tom onto the plane; his right leg was almost completely paralysed. I had given him supper and his tablets before we left and, in my relief at getting so far, I let him sleep whilst I partook of the bottle of chilled wine on offer as a first class passenger.
It was a most uncanny feeling after my months of apprehension and distress. I landed to find that indeed all arrangements had been made for transport by ambulance, one by BOAC and the other by the Commonwealth Office with Robin Latimer’s help. A bed had been booked at the Whittington Hospital in Highgate. At the airport to meet us was Colonel Bob Langley, Commissioner of Police in Bechuanaland, Tom’s friend and mine. My lifelong friend Edith Lawrie, who was spending a long awaited holiday in Britain, cancelled all her arrangements to be with me. She found a mutual wartime friend, Norman Boyd-Leslie, who took leave to find lodgings for us and also to help us with transport.
During those three days, emotions of all kinds piled up. I felt deep compassion for Tom In his plight, which wasn’t even a fight for life, but hours of living with nothing - in unconsciousness; Sorrow for myself and the boys, and a fear of inadequacy in caring for them. Above all there was a feeling of thankfulness at being surrounded by so much mercy and kindliness. London to me was hallowed soil - Edith had to remind me that the people intimately around me were South Africans.
Our landlady was a peculiar old doll, kind in a droll sort of way. She made it her business to see that we did not sneak two baths from one coin in the slot. We were intrigued with Television, but there were not many moments away from the hospital. It was raining incessantly; my footwear was most inadequate, and my feet made squelchy noises. I lost weight rapidly; shed all the fat from the “cream and porridge” time. Eventually my skirt would not stay up, so Edith tacked it with stocking darning to make it fit. We did find time to buy some rainwear, navy blue coats with hats to match, We saw our reflections In the window of a tube train, heads nodding like two crows and burst out laughing right there.
The cremation took place on August 11th in the morning. To help me through the afternoon Bimbo supplied lunch for us afterwards. Boyd Leslie drove Edith and me to Winchester, one of my favourite places in 1938. That little expedition was balm to my soul. I went into the Cathedral which had stood on that spot through Britain’s days of greatness and in her hours of peril. I prayed at the Altar rail and my thoughts came into perspective.
Escapist thoughts, such as staying on In London were firmly repressed. Reality had to be faced. Two small boys were waiting for my return to Serowe. Moneywise, I had not used any of my emergency funds. I could pay back the loans. Sir Ernest very generously gave me some good shares, which have stood me in very good stead over the years. After paying the South African medical bills, I still had resources and Tom’s insurances. I was also informed that I would receive a widows and orphans pension. My main nest egg was Tom’s salary that I had saved and Invested during the war years, by working and keeping myself. I was determined to supply further security for us by working and using whatever talent I might possess. The fact that I had kept my interest in nursing was by way of an investment.
Marjorie had tired of the rainy English summer and decided to return home. She took the second last berth on the ship: That is how fate had brought us together. I had developed a very severe neuritis in my arm, the beginning of my back troubles. She gave me A P Cods and listened patiently to endless nattering about a home for my children and suitable employment so that they could live with me. She used to say. “Talk, and sort yourself out”. Thinking In retrospect, she was my psychiatrist. Marjorie left the ship In Cape Town, whilst I voyaged onto East London, where I was met by Mary and Bill Clark.
It was a relief in some ways to at last reach Serowe and take positive action. Vera and Noel Redman, John and William met me at Palapye station. John looked very sad, William quite chirpy, having not understood the implications. He immediately asked, “Where Is my Daddy?“. John had undergone a very traumatic period. He was a sensitive 8½ year old. Soon after being told of his father’s death, he started to worry about my financial position. “Daddy had earned the money, whilst Mummy had cooked the food”, what now? To help boost the family coffers he took our wheelbarrow, dug up vegetables from our garden and hawked them around Serowe - I was very proud of him, when I heard of his enterprise. Vera was mortified.
John and Bill at the Khama Memorial, Serowe
I was offered a nursing post with the Bechuanaland Government, and after investigating other possibilities - some very good offers came along - I decided to stay on in the service, particularly as life would be so much easier for John and William. Miss Brenda Murch (now Mrs Carling, living In New Zealand), was the Matron at Lobatse Hospital. She had asked for me and, whilst waiting for a vacancy, I worked in the Serowe Hospital. John was at Mrs Blackbeard’s little school In Serowe and Topsy cared for William.
I enjoyed working in Serowe Hospital and being with my friends, but knew that this had to be a temporary arrangement. It would be much better for us all to be In Lobatse, where I would be given a house; it was on a railhead and I was near to Mafeking, where I also had many friends. Whilst in Serowe, I did venture forth with the children on a visit to Johannesburg. What an experience. I was accompanied by a young English policeman, Tony Goater. He had no knowledge of driving in sand and neither had I. We were bogged down for many hours. I blistered my feet on the hot sand, walking to try and find some African huts. Fortunately the Woodfords, owners of a general dealer’s in Serowe, arrived; they carried tow-ropes, sand mats and iced water. What a relief. We were out of the sand in no time and on our way. It must be a terrible experience to be stranded in the desert. That wasn’t our only calamity. Tony drove over some rocks at quite a rate and poked a hole in the petrol tank. Fortunately we were at Mahalapye and had it soldered. Just as we reached Lobatse the leak started again; there we fixed it with soap and limped thankfully into Mafeking. I’ve never been more pleased in my life to reach a hospitable home. Joan Leech gathered the children, who were filthy, and bathed them while Tony and I refreshed ourselves with iced beer.
Veld fires were raging at the time quite close to the road. We stopped for a picnic lunch and William squeaked his head off, saying “1 don’t want to be burnt whilst you all sit there eating”. We assured him to the contrary and his inevitable desire for food silenced his yells. We arrived in Lobatse on a hot sultry evening; we stayed in the Nurses’ Home, where we encountered great friendliness. I am still able to recall that evening sitting under the big tree, tired but relaxed, mentally feeling that I had forged another link in the chain of life.
The house allocated to me was at the bottom end of the town, the only one available - a dirty little place. Pat Leeney helped to make it habitable and we scraped and white-washed the peeling walls. After a very busy first day, we couldn’t summon the energy to return to the hospital for supper. I found a tin of pilchards, bread and butter and some canned peaches, and as we were about to partake of this wee picnic, John enquired “Aren’t we having wine for dinner?”. I found some sherry to complete the niceties for John’s idea of the normal. Pat reminded us of this incident when she wrote her congratulations for John’s marriage.
I
needed the therapy that gardening provided, as I found difficulty in adjusting
to the new circumstances. I was placed in charge of a male surgical ward at the
hospital – it was a primitive place with ‘make-do’ equipment and, as well as
caring for patients, I had to train orderlies. All our bowl and instrument
sterilising was done in individual pots on a primus stove which stood in the
small boiler room, and everything was covered in ash. Fights used to occur when
nurses did not keep in strict rotation for their pots to be first on the stove.
Boiling took place once a day, and the pot was carried back to the ward, where
it remained for two hours. At the end of this period one didn’t know if the
remaining liquid was acriflavine or water!
The
period as a ward sister was a short one. I was moved to relieve during Matron’s
holiday - 6 months’ long leave. I did not want to be a matron and cried in
distress - to no avail. There was no alternative but to bite the bullet. Pat
Leeney was in charge of the theatre and teaching. Shortly after Matron’s
departure, her request for study leave was granted, and she went to London for
a year. Two ward sisters had not been replaced and four sisters were engaged
for relief duties from SA Nursing Services in Johannesburg. They stayed for a
week and then said the bundu was not for them and departed on the first
available train. The housekeeper developed a uterine haemorrhage and the chief
cook strained her back and went off duty.
I was reeling from these events when I was told to prepare for the midwifery students from Serowe. The midwifery school was closed due to some trouble and I had to organise for the course to be continued in Lobatse. Thus I became the Matron, Sister Tutor, housekeeper, Theatre Supervisor and wards supervisor. Matron also worked in the X-ray Department, mainly chest and fractures, so I became a Radiographer. Fortunately the night sister stayed the course.
Gas burners were supplied and I disposed of the boiler room pots. The black staff responded very well, and I enjoyed my work enormously. A permanent white sister arrived to help me with the administrative work and to nurse the white patients. This was before independence.
Whilst acting District Commissioner, he was instrumental in allocating a very nice new house for me, and also secured one for himself.
Stephen and I enlisted her assistance in inaugurating a Dramatic Society called the Lads – The Lobatse Amateur Dramatic Society. Various activities took place under its auspices. Scottish Country dancing - a weekly performance in the Hospital Dining Room, Play Readings and even treasure hunts. Everyone in the village was interested and participated, the feeling of belonging to a large family prevailed.
John disliked the Lobatse School intensely. He obviously had been moved too often to small, indifferent schools. I decided that, however much I resisted the idea of parting with him, it was time to send him to a worthwhile school, so he went to St. Andrews Prep in Grahamstown in 1956, a 2½ day unaccompanied train journey. There were other boys from the Rhodesias and Nyasaland on the train as well.
William stayed with me for a further two years - a well loved character in the village. The back seat of the car was frequently his bed. He would gather his blankets and pillows as soon as he heard that I was going out for the evening. His activities were numerous, including afternoons and Saturdays spent with the engine drivers in their cabins, shunting between the Abattoir and the station. Every time it rained, he lost a shoe at a puddle - unfortunately the leftovers never made a pair.
Bill (in the middle), school sports, Lobatse
In 1958, he too went to boarding school, joining John at St. Andrews. His roaming life in Lobatse was a source of worry to me, as he refused to be disciplined by Topsy after school. Once both the boys had left home, I had to cope with more emotional adjustment as I missed them enormously.
Despite these advantages, when I returned from my trip, I found it very difficult to settle to a permanent life in the Territory. I wrote in my diary: “11.8.58: Spent the day preparing for the boys’ arrival from school. During the course of this week, I have been aware of an anticlimax. A wonderful holiday has ended. I am able to think more clearly and must decide upon my future. Lobatse at this stage does not hold enough for me. The children being away at school makes settling even more difficult. A CHANGE MUST BE MADE - BUT WHAT? Ah well, I’ll see what the future holds for me!!”
I decided to move to Johannesburg, but had to wait for my replacement to be appointed - this took 4 months. I realised that I was embarking on a much more demanding career, and there were certain misgivings as to how I would cope with nursing in a Private Hospital. Lobatse hospital, whilst I had given it my unstinting services, had given me much more in return: Security, comradeship, and more. Now it was goodbye to starry nights with the silence broken only by the odd motor cars on the rood.
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Janet Ford at Cintsa with Bill & Mary Clark, Carol and Granny Duncan
I
am very grateful to the Drewetts and Haggies for all their kindness and
patience when I descended upon them from Lobatse, accompanied by dogs and young
men of varying ages: The period had now ended. The Pantechnicon once more was at
the door. Topsy and 1 watched it drive away. We packed our luggage into my new Austin
and off we went on our new adventure, the date being 30th January. 1959.
The 1958
Austin A55 Cambridge
I inherited the full supervision of the hospital in March 1959. Miss Benedict, the Matron, married Mr. Freddie Goodman, a charming gentleman. Sadly she was widowed some years later, and she is now Mrs. Sacks.
After my month of observation in February, I realised that fate had operated for the best. I could not have found professional fulfilment in a lesser post. I embarked upon a challenging and exciting period in my career. At the onset, I wish to pay tribute to Dr. and Mrs. Jack Penn and Melville Malkin for their faith in me. This went a long way in helping me in the task which lay ahead.
The method of anaesthesia used was hypothermia (this method was later abandoned). I was all agog when I first saw the baths full of ice in the theatre suite. The Workmen’s Rehabilitation Hospital had not yet been built, and we contracted to accommodate the patients and their Casualty Department. There were many severe, traumatic injuries, mainly orthopaedic and spinal damage with accompanying paralysis from severe to lesser degrees - also many amputations. The whole of this arrangement was a strain financially, as the cost of running this department was underestimated. Because the casualty department did not receive all the injuries - the concept was new - many patients wore channelled away to other casualty departments. It was felt that full-time staffing was not necessary. There was a “mornings only” sister, 3 days a week. The afternoons were covered by whichever section was not busy! There were only 2 sisters on duty in each section, and they were all busy. Imagine the chaos - having to send a sister to casualty at a moment’s notice.
The tennis court is situated on old George’s mealie patch - many will remember faithful George of the green fingers and various straw hats. He had been a cleaner in the flats, and remained on the staff after the take-over. At his request he was pensioned off in 1977 at a considerable age and, as well as his long service watch, he chose a large wardrobe as his parting present. George also planted vegetables on the portion where Mrs Duncan’s flat is now situated. I think he must have operated a private market garden. The hawthorn tree which grows in Mrs. Duncan’s garden was transplanted from the area in front of John and Pam’s sitting room.
Dr. Jack offered to alter the cottage for us, but the alterations would have been very costly, so 1 settled for a flat. The cottage has always been a popular abode. The first occupant was David van der Lith, who worked here temporarily as African Supervisor, and who married Margaret Thorpe. Margaret and Mary Murrin, now Pasifakis, were the first two English girls to arrive after I became Matron. They were invaluable members of the staff, and Mary Pasifakis’ return to us a few years ago was welcomed. Roy Hunter was the next occupant. He was our bachelor accountant, and a great asset to the social life. John and William, when home on holiday, helped Roy to organise parties and braaivleis evenings.
The swimming pool was welcomed with enthusiasm. Its opening party was a very hectic affair. There was a conspiracy to pitch me into the pool - I wore a swim-suit under my dress - when the diabolic moment was about to happen, I unzipped my dress and leapt into the shallow end of the pool, (I can’t swim) and after that it was a free for all.
As the hospital expanded, so we had to provide more accommodation. Dr. Jack has always given thought to the sisters and their comfort, and wants the best possible for them within our means. The extension into the garden was built in 1966. Once more, 1 was given a flat, this time with sunlight. Whilst this was being built, we had to hire outside accommodation, a flat at Eden Roc, near Phoenix Place. I had to provide furniture and housekeeper’s facilities, and it was quite a chore.
John and William were very useful people during the holidays. John, for stoking the boiler (before we converted it to oil-burning), and running messages, helping to open doors and doing other odd carpentry jobs. William was pushed through fanlights and side windows to rescue locked-in keys. As he grew bigger, I often wondered when we would have to rescue him from a fanlight, with a hacksaw!
There is a great deal of interior decorating talent among the Sisters who live in and some rooms are very attractive. Housekeepers at the Residence were varied and caused me a great deal of consternation. One day I called Mrs. Simpson (Simmy) - I knew she had hotel experience, and was working as a nurse-aide in section 3, and placed her as housekeeper at Phoenix Place, and she has been a great help there ever since. She asks to be moved from time to time, but we turn a deaf ear. Recently all the kitchens and bathrooms wore renovated, and equipment replaced. I hope Phoenix Place will be a happy home for many of the sisters in the years to come.
The
Saga concludes:
19.03.95
My
good fortune was to have two wonderful General Managers, Monty Goldberg and
Norman Weinberg looking after Admin and Business. They trusted me. I was in
sole charge of all Nursing departments. They respected the fact that Dr Penn
fully supported me and was amenable to consultation. After I became Matron, I
dispensed with the Managerial and Admin team who were most incompetent. Monty
Goldberg was GM for about five years. He organised the building of the New Wing
of the Clinic. Norman Weinberg succeeded him and remained there until the
Clinic was sold to Afrox. It is now in the Life hospital group.
In early 2000 she said that she intended to move to the Nurses’ Trust Fund home in Pinelands. She was attending her beloved UCT Summer School. She stayed in Kolbe House, a student accommodation in Rondebosch, below the University. She walked up the hill to lectures in the hot summer weather and didn’t drink enough water. She said that her diuretic pills would make her want to visit the loo during lectures and this was a nuisance. One night, in late February, John received a phone call from her friend Louise Duncan who said she was seriously ill. He called Pam, his ex-wife, who worked at the Southern Cross Hospital in Wynberg, and she told him to take her to Casualty there. After several days in Intensive Care and regular dialysis, she was moved to a private ward.
Her breakfast and the dialysis machine had come in the morning and she sent both away. By the time John reached the hospital she was incoherent and was comatose by midday. She died in the Southern Cross on 4th March 2000 in her 91st year.
Notes:
2. Ford family photographs
The family tree can be seen at https://www.myheritage.com/site-family-tree-347180951/ford
A Ford Family Portrait, 1899
Clifford died in the 1920s from the after effects of inhaling poison gas in the trenches in the First World War
Lily Kenniford’s Confirmation certificate
%20with%20Stella%20and%20Tom.jpg)
Norman Ford, son of Stanley Ford
Hilda Hodge, daughter of Stanley Ford, in 1971
Hilda’s son, David Hodge, Robertson, October 2008
Cecil Ross Burnett
Cecil studied at Blackheath School of Art and the Westminster School of
Art and in 1892 he entered the Royal Academy schools. In 1895, he obtained a
Turner gold medal, a silver
medal for a portrait from life and a scholarship for landscape painting at
the Royal Academy schools’ prize giving.
In 1898, he founded the Sidcup School of Art, where he was Headmaster for many years.
He specialised in portraits and in mostly rural landscapes and scenes. Many of his landscapes were of areas of Amberley, Sussex where he owned a cottage. He worked in oil and watercolour. In 1907 he joined the Langham Sketching Club and was a member of the New Society of Water-Colour Painters from 1910. He was also a member of the Pencil Society.
John Ford has a collection of his works
Association of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeons of Southern Africa:
Valedictory address delivered by Dr Jack Penn
During the mid-1950s, there were only 6 registered plastic surgeons working in this country. The leading figure in our field of surgery was Dr Jack Penn, in the prime of his life with an enormous practice at the Brenthurst Clinic in Johannesburg and an international reputation based on the important work which he had done during World War II in Israel, and his numerous publications in the field of plastic and reconstructive surgery. At his instigation a meeting was arranged in his office in Johannesburg on 4 August 1956 to form a SA Association of Plastic Surgeons. At this meeting, attended by James Cuthbert, David Davies Senior, Franklin Bishop and Dennis Walker, Jack Penn as convenor read an inaugural address in which he formulated the reasons for the establishment of the Association. After drawing up a constitution - so we read in the minutes al this historical meeting - Jack Penn was unanimously elected President. He was thus the pioneer of plastic surgery in SA, founder of the Association of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeons of SA and also its very effective and enthusiastic first President. Today, nearly 25 years later, we are very fortunate to have him here to deliver a valedictory address.
Dr Penn then gave his address, of which an abridged version follows:
There were no plastic surgeons in SA before World War II. Luckily for me, I was in the active citizen force at the outbreak of the war and seconded to the SAMC in Britain during the blitz to gather experience on the treatment of casualties requiring reconstruction and rehabilitation. Later I was able to visit the US Army plastic surgery unit although, in the meantime, I had gathered considerable experience as OC of the Brenthurst Military Hospital for Plastic Surgery in Johannesburg.
The Early Masters
However, the most popular surgeon during the blitz was Archibald McIndoe who was Sir Harold’s cousin and assistant in peacetime. ‘Archie’, as everyone called him, had the hospital at East Grinstead that specialised in Air Force casualties. Technically Archie was even better than Gillies, but not as original in ideas. His popularity was to a great extent due to his personality, as his patients grew to love him. Pomfret Kilner operated on civilian casualties and congenital lesions. His work on cleft lips and palates was superb. He was gentle, kind and a superb technician. These three friends and mentors of mine are now deceased and one wonders whether Britain will ever see their like again.
Two other names of that vintage must be mentioned as pioneers in hand surgery. Sterling Bunnell of San Francisco, was 40 years ahead of his time and I cannot speak too highly of his ingenuity and warmth of character and turn of phrase. I remember his starting a talk by saying: “The fingers are the eyes of the hand. Remove all scars in order that the hand may breathe again”. Sumner Koch of Chicago was also gentle and a great teacher. When asked to comment on one of Bunnell’s talks, he said: ‘No comment; when the nightingale sings, other birds remain silent”.
All these pioneers I have mentioned are now dead and I pay homage to them not only because of my personal gratitude to them, but also because of their great services to the world in general and to our specialty in particular. Before passing on to the next stage of this story of modern plastic surgery, I should mention the name of Rainsford Mowlem who held the fort during the war by operating on the casualties in the north of London at Hill End and Mount Vernon hospitals. There may not have been quite as much glamour in the work he had to do and possibly he did not receive sufficient recognition, but there is no doubt about his skill and the importance of his contributions. An interesting story about the man is that after operating on his 60th birthday, he took off his gloves and said to his theatre assistant, “This is the last time I shall ever wear surgical gloves”. He then retired to Spain where I met him some time later - doing everything but surgery. But his mark had already been made with great honour to the medical profession.
Sometimes one remembers wisdom or wisecracks that are not related to medicine at all. For example I remember meeting Yehudi Menuhin who enquired as to my occupation. I said “Like you, I fiddle with horsehair and catgut!” But no-one uses that stuff today. Everything is synthetic, antibiotics have controlled infection and one seldom sees blood because of hypotensive anaesthesia. I am glad to have retired before the art and craft of plastic surgery is replaced by the computer.
To return to the early days of World War II, in SA the Brenthurst Military Hospital saw the birth of our specialty. This was due to the generosity of Sir Ernest and Lady Oppenheimer who gave their home to the Red Cross for the duration of the war. I had my eye on it as soon I returned from England and General Sir Edward Thornton did not need to be persuaded that patients with facial deformities should he kept in their own unit for reasons of morale. He told me that if I could persuade Lady Oppenheimer to give me the place as a Plastic Surgical Military Hospital I could have it. Accordingly I met her and when she asked me what plastic surgery was all about. I told her to wait in a chair until I got back from m office with my photographs of patients at the General Hospital, which was about 2 miles away. When I returned she had not moved and after explaining what I wanted to do she said: “Right! You can have the house and make it into a hospital. I will pay for all the changes”. From that time we never looked back. Many years later Lady Oppenheimer had a serious car accident from which she died, but a few days before she died she said to me: ‘You might as well know that when I gave you Brenthurst as a hospital in 1941 was not because of your photographs or persuasive tongue, it was because you told me to sit in a chair and wait for you while you drove into the sunset. I thought that you were an impertinent young man and I was furious, but then I realized that you knew exactly what you wanted and that your tenacity and purpose would do for the soldiers exactly what I wanted”.
As in Britain, our main problem was the burns, particularly from planes and tanks. It was indeed distressing that in my first convoy there were half a dozen blind due to the fact that their burned eyelids had not been grafted. This did not occur again, as one flew as far as Kenya to graft the eyelids in essential cases. We modified various methods of grafting and because there were no antibiotics we treated our serious jaw fractures and grafts with extra-oral clamp splints designed at Brenthurst and made for us by the SA Railway Engineers. There were a number of forehead flaps for nasal reconstructions but we eliminated the Gillies horseshoe flap and utilised a circular flap which allowed full breadth of nostrils even when the forehead was narrow, as one could always obtain the required 7cm across. Naturally I used the Gillies pedicle but by zig-zagging the edges, I was not only able to use full elasticity of the skin but was usually able to close the donor area without grafting it, thus saving considerable time.
Owing to the lack of contact with other plastic surgery centres at the time, we had to create our own innovations. We developed the ‘gun turret’ method of making eye sockets and created artificial eyes, coloured to match each other, out of acrylic. We also used acrylic as well as tantalum as contour grafts. In 1942 we published a little journal on some of our methods. 1 was surprised to discover that II was the first journal on plastic surgery in the English language. At the end of the war however, co-operation with Britain and the USA was flourishing and we have been grateful for it.
In SA the period since the war has been one of transition. Plastic reconstructive surgery is in a phase similar to that of general surgery 50 years ago, and we have not undergone the division into specialized branches which is inevitable. Nor have we produced enough specialists to look after the entire population. When one considers the amount of reconstructive surgery necessary in the whole of Africa the prospect is virtually impossible to contemplate. It will take many generations before the local inhabitants can be trained to look after themselves.
There has been some hesitation, and even resentment, at the idea of linking up with other specialties. I cannot see how it is possible to obtain adequate knowledge in faciocranial surgery unless one understands where the neurosurgeons or maxillofacial dental surgeons come into the problem. And so, it is with aesthetic surgery vis-a-vis ENT surgery or hand surgery vis-s-vis orthopaedics. It is my opinion that we should allow overlap to occur and allow the system to be legalised so that the best possible training is available for the coming generations. If we don’t do this, we will lose and become an inadequate specialty.
Jack
Penn (14 August 1909 – 27 November 1996), M.B., Ch.B., F.R.C.S.(E.), Mil. Dec.
M.B.E., S.M., was a plastic and reconstructive surgeon, sculptor and author,
who was also for a time a member of the President's Council in South Africa.[1]
Early
years: Penn was born in Cape Town in 1909, the youngest of 7 children. After
World War I, the family moved to Johannesburg, where he was educated at
Parktown Boys' High School and the University of the Witwatersrand.
The military context: plastic and reconstructive surgery: Penn enlisted as a part-time officer with the rank of major in the Union Defence Force (predecessor of the South African Defence Force), being called up in 1939 as a major attached to the 7th Field Ambulance. In this capacity he went to London to help with war casualties in need of plastic and reconstructive surgery, notably during the Battle of Britain. Here, Penn trained in military plastic surgery under Sir Harold Gillies and Sir Archibald McIndoe. Returning to South Africa, he founded and was commander in charge of the Brenthurst Military Hospital, which he founded. Severely damaged by fire in 1944, Brenthurst was restored and returned to its owner, Sir Ernest Oppenheimer.
Brenthurst Clinic: Penn resigned from the University in 1950 in order to found his own clinic, which he named the Brenthurst Clinic. Penn originated innovative techniques in plastic surgery, notably the Brenthurst Splint, which was standard for many years for jaw fractures.
Penn was also responsible for the first academic journal of plastic surgery in the English language, the Brenthurst Papers, and he authored many professional papers, editorials and book chapters in this field.
Penn's sculptures are to be seen in various places in South Africa and elsewhere. A bust of General Jan Christiaan Smuts was commissioned for the Jan Smuts Airport (now O. R. Tambo Airport), and a statue of Henrietta Stockdale, the nursing pioneer, is in the grounds of St Cyprian's Cathedral in Kimberley. His bust of Albert Schweitzer was presented to Strasbourg, while those of David Ben-Gurion and General Moshe Dayan are in Israel. He produced a bust of Joseph Lister, in England. He also made sketches and paintings.
Jack Penn died on 27th November 1996, aged 87 years.
SA History Online
Jack Penn, a well known plastic and reconstructive surgeon, was born on 14 August 1909 in Cape Town. Penn later moved with his family to Johannesburg, where he attended Parktown High School and studied at the University of the Witwatersrand (WITS). After marrying Diana Malkin in 1934, Penn moved with his wife to the United Kingdom (UK), where he became a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons in Edinburgh in 1935. Penn continued to work in various hospitals in the UK and in the United States of America (USA), before returning to South Africa to lecture Clinical Anatomy at WITS. During WWII, he served in the 7th Field Ambulance, as part of the Union Defence Force. He went to London to help with war casualties, and on his return to South Africa founded the Brenthurst Military Hospital. Penn was also later appointed professor of Plastic Surgery at WITS. Penn later started his own clinic, called the Brenthurst Clinic, and developed techniques such as the Brenthurst Splint, which is used for jaw fractures. He also helped to establish the Association of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery, and helped initiate this kind of surgery in several countries. Penn was also a notable artist and sculptor, and completed work such as the bust of Jan Smuts that was on show in the former Jan Smuts airport, now called O.R Tambo. A collection of Penn's books and other writings can also be found as part of the Jack Penn Collection at the University of Cape Town (UCT) library. He died on 27 November 1996, at the age of 87.
