17November1995

Johannesburg: 17th November 1995
My dear family,

Great splots of rain are crashing down in the courtyard outside. Splash, smash on the bricks. It's music. The skies greyed over early this afternoon & by the time I had to run Bea up the office to deposit a whole batch of letters, it was just pissing down. The letters were from Mum to various neighbours, to be discovered on Monday morning, saying, hi, why and goodbye for now. It seemed simpler than a round of emotional farewells, the last thing Mum needed.

We're just about set, I think. The bags are all but packed, the food all but ate. Bea is watching an old Ingrid Bergman film. I can hear it in the background. We had cannelloni for dinner over a bottle of 1983 Alto Rouge. Then she had a 16 year old whisky & I a mellow port. Afterwards, Mum & I went for a walk around the complex. We must have walked close on half a mile, between the near silent cottages, just a few faces visible inside dining rooms or lounges. I was very pleased. Last night, we turned back after four short turns on the nearest roadway. There's no doubt that the morphine she's now taking is having the desired effect. It's like watching someone rise from the dead. She's very hesitant about it & repudiates my suggestions that she should just sit back & enjoy the ride. But she's a new woman, ready for the journey, just in time.

The pills do make her a bit dopey. She was overwhelmed when a box of laxatives arrived from the chemist this afternoon, enough to keep a herd of elephants on the run for a month. The doctor had intended her to have sachets available instead of bottles for the journey, but surely not a dozen boxes of them. Bernie & I couldn't see the problem. I could offer them to red-faced passengers on the flight or donate them to stressed-out Merrowdowners. But for Mum it was serious stuff, enough to reduce her to tears for a while. Trying to get her tummy right has been a full time job on its own and has carried it own emotional burden. Too tight & she suffers horrors from piles; too loose & she hardly gets to lie down. It can be a rough old word.

But I don't want to emphasise the negative for it's the positive that's had the day. For the first time I can remember, she climbed into the car this morning without the comfort of her hugger (kind of microwavable hot cushion). The session with the chiropractor went well & for the first time she expressed a sense of some benefit. One of the former nursing sisters here, Helen, a real sweetie, dropped in before lunch to say hello & show off her new baby daughter. Sadly, pregnancy means an end to the sisters' term here at Merrow Down. The latest bunch aren't a patch on Helen & Melanie, both of whom have new daughters. It was good to see her & chat a while.

I went off for lunch with Freglet, stopping first for a beer at his luxury pad near Rosebank. A huge electric gate rolls back to allow one access to the house. He & Gary have spent thousands on security since a couple of nasty break-ins. We sat on the patio, admiring the garden & telling Albert what a handsome cat he was. Then we went to a delightful pub in Craighall for lunch. The pub, a sprawling place that serves quite serious food, is run by two Namibian girls who get to know all their regulars by their first names & serve them drinks with their initials on top (amazing but true!). Most impressive PR. When they asked if I had enjoyed my chicken Piri Piri, I asked if I could have a season ticket - and meant it. They are going to make a fortune.

This evening, we finished off the last of the correspondence & most of the last of the phone calls. We arranged with Josephine, the maid, to clean the cottage once a month from January, an arrangement so lucrative for her - Mum doesn't want her to lose out - that she should be able to retire early. The newspaper deliverer (one hesitates to say "delivery boy" since boys in the new South Africa are restricted to youths) was rewarded for his fidelity with a suit, a supper & a Christmas bonus. The gardener is to be similarly blessed. The maids are to be tipped, the birds to be fed. Our departure may be hurried but none is to be forgotten in our haste.

Thank you Cathy for your long fax, read out to your attentive aunt and mother. Annie, forgive my brief conversation, I had an old friend from the SABC around for a chat. She works now for her ANC bosses the way she used to work for her NP bosses before. She's a woman of integrity and I can but admire her efforts. But when I see on television all the old Broederbond types who once worshipped at the shrine of apartheid, now bowing down to the new gods, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Truly, the wheel of fortune turns and there are those who still manage to cling to it and present an honest face .....more Vicars of Bray to be seen than believed.

Little Jones I bear good wishes to you from various callers, from Mrs Gohdes (she was high on my list), from Helen, from Noeleen Vorster, from my cousins. You are as well wished as anyone might hope.

Now the rain has gone away and there's a kind of whistling silence without - competing with Ingrid Bergman and her Inn of Sixth Happiness (or Seventh?) within. The gardens are lovely, the grass is green and damp, the bird-calls fill the air from early morning....a bit too early sometimes.

There is much to give thanks for.

I doubt I shall write tomorrow. Bren and children are due up around lunchtime, Louise soon after. Bill and Betty will join us later. Wish us well. It will be quite an epic journey. I think Mum will manage it well but she will need a lot of support of every kind in her new environment. I have told her she has four aims; first to get there; then to get strong; then to have her back problem diagnosed and resolved, and then to plan the rest of her life. They are to be taken strictly in that order.