I will be making an attempt to narrate a story on a rather delicate subject. I am apologising in advance, in case I offend anybody.
In the 1960s, I lived in Kimberley in a house that was about 100 yards away from a home for mentally disabled children. I won’t mention the name, just in case it still exists. This home was situated on a plot or small-holding if you will. It must have been a rather large farm house, at one time. The folks in charge, along with the residents, grew their own vegetables and kept a small herd of cows. Often, in the evening, I would be sent to buy milk from these people. Sometimes Ma (my step-mother) would take the walk to fetch milk – she became very chatty with these folk.
Every now and then, this home held fundraising functions. One particular Saturday afternoon, they hosted a garden party – many dignitaries were to attend, plus any others that possessed fat wallets. Before I knew it, my services had been ‘volunteered’ by Ma to tend tables at this prestigious event. I was not impressed!
Armed with a spotless white apron, and a bad grace, I presented myself for duty. Soon I was scurrying between the tables set out on the manicured lawn and the kitchen. I don’t think I had ever seen so many cups of tea emptied in such a short space of time. Nor had I seen so much cake guzzled by elderly matrons. It absolutely boggled my mind. Picture, if you will, a carcass being set upon by a lot of vultures – that is how it appeared to me. I wasn’t the only ‘serving wench’, but we made countless trips to fetch more delicacies, which would magically disappear in the blink of an eye.
The afternoon was winding down, and clearing up was initiated. We carried load after load of cups, saucers and plates to the kitchen. Out of the blue, the scullery maids had disappeared and the empty kitchen echoed hollowly. I was struggling to make space on a kitchen table to deposit my tray, when there was a scuffling noise behind me, but I took no notice at first. When I had managed to make space and unload the tray, I turned around and nearly walked slap bang into a young man. At a glance, I noticed that we were alone in the kitchen. I raised my eyes to his face. I was about to ask him if there was anything I could help him with, when I noticed the vacant look in his eyes. Hmm, one of the residents, I thought to myself. I side-stepped, attempting to go around him to exit the door into the rest of the house. He blocked my passage with an outstretched arm.
Ripples of alarm started coursing through my veins. I turned to my left, where the back door stood invitingly open. I stepped towards it, but with a strange noise, the young man made a grab for me. Quick as thought, I made a run for it - out the back door and onto a stoep! I turned to my right and fled, heavy footsteps thudding behind me. The polished red stoep ran the whole length of the building, seeming to continue on around the corner. As I rounded the corner, the stoep came to a dead end. There weren’t any steps leading off it and the enclosing wall was almost waist high.
Momentum had carried me into the blank wall. There I stood, like a buck caught in the headlights – back against the wall. I stood transfixed as the panting young man caught up with me and placed his hands on either side of my head, his face looming nearer. I wasn’t about to stick around to find out what his intentions were – it certainly wasn’t to have a friendly chat, as the only sounds he had emitted were grunts and snorts.
In panic, I ducked under his left arm and vaulted over the retaining wall. I guess the drop into the flower bed and bushes must have been about five feet. I landed in a prickly bush on all fours. Regardless of the scrapes and scratches incurred, I took off running. I found the large exit gates and ran all the way home.
I don’t think I ever bothered to ask the excuse Ma gave for my sudden departure. I didn’t give a rat’s patudy! After that, nobody could get me to fetch milk from there again.
