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Called by His Name - Made for His Glory

Noreen Holmes

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This edition published in 2021.

Other Publications by this Author: The Fingerprint of God - March 2020

Front Cover: Painting by Neville Holmes

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DEDICATION

This is for my two children – Jeanette Nadia and Paul Mounier – and their families.

Foreword

This is my story as I remember it. This is not the full story. I have deliberately left out certain matters - either because I don’t choose to share them or because someone might be hurt. Some very personal parts of my life I have shared only because others may be helped by my experiences. I apologise for the fact that the word “I” occurs so frequently. It is hard to avoid it in a personal narrative. I am very conscious of God’s hand on my life and His faithfulness through everything. Isaiah 43:7 says it all – “Thus says the Lord …… Everyone who is called by My name, whom I have created for My glory; I have formed him, yes, I have made him/her”. To Him be the glory.

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5 A South African Childhood It was after midnight on 16th July, 1938, that I was welcomed into the world. I was born in the City of Cape Town, in my Grandmother Lilley’s bedroom at No. 4, Gibson Road, Wynberg. My parents were married in July 1937. I was their only child and they named me Noreen Pamela. My father, George Francis Keenan, left Birmingham in England and immigrated to South Africa, with his parents, at the age of six. He was an only child and nearly fell overboard on the trip to Cape Town. My grandparents were working-class people and were both employed at factories in England, my grandfather as a radial driller. I still have the testimonials they received from “Alldays & Onions, Pneumatic Engineering Co., Ltd., Contractors to his Majesty’s Government”, “T. Harris & Co., Manufacturers of Mail Carts, Bassinets, Iron Chair Bedsteads, Chair Cushions & Perambulator Rugs” and “Wells Brothers Manufacturers of Fenders, Curb Suites, Fire Brasses and Brass, Iron and Wood Bedsteads”. My grandfather’s forebears came from County Claire in Ireland. He was a gentle, kind man and always generous to me as a child. I never went home without a half-crown in my hand. He worked as a timekeeper in a furniture factory in South Africa for many years. My grandmother had a stronger personality. Apart from her home, she got involved in working for the United Party of General Smuts. She served in the St John’s Ambulance and also joined the army to assist in the Second World War effort. She worked in the Old Supreme Court building and trained telephonists for the army. She had quite a caustic tongue and was not an easy mother-in-law to my mother. To me she was my grandmother and I loved her. While living in Gardens, Cape Town, my grandparents started the Hercules Athletics Club that continued for a number of years. I have a silver cup that my grandmother won. My father was a cross country runner before taking up long distance walking, when he was the South African and Western Province long distance (50 km) walking champion for a number of years running. He hoped to compete in the Olympic Games as he was the best in SA, but his time at the trials was not fast enough to qualify for the Games. The family were nominal Roman Catholics, although my grandparents were married in St Jude’s Parish Church, Birmingham - presumably my grandmother’s background. The only time I knew my grandparents to go to their church was when I expressed a desire to attend an Easter service. I was twelve and found it too long for my liking - and it was in Latin.

6 My father had been to school at Marist Brothers and served as a choirboy (or altar boy) in the church - probably St Mary’s Cathedral. He completed his schooling in Grade Ten (Std 8). I had a book he won as a prize at school so he must have done quite well, academically. Grade Ten was considered a good standard of education in those days. His mother took pride in him, being an only son, and he was always well dressed. On leaving school, he started work as a clerk at the City Hall. The one thing for which I am deeply grateful to my Keenan Grandparents was that they showed me a good marriage - although my grandmother was the stronger person. They celebrated their Diamond Wedding anniversary together. Every evening, my grandmother trekked a considerable distance to meet my grandfather halfway as he walked home from work. Sometimes I accompanied them to the hotel where they stopped for a drink. Against the law, they smuggled me into a lounge with the connivance of Tommy the waiter. I sat behind the door and it was presumably hoped no one would notice. I drank Lemonade, my grandmother gin and my grandfather Lion lager or ale. Sometimes I stayed home with Nana. Occasionally they got sentimental as we sat round the table in the big kitchen and they sang Irish songs to me, such as “When Irish eyes are smiling” and “The Rose of Tralee”. In their home I had my own beer mug. My mother would have had a fit. At the age of twelve, I went to a Temperance meeting at Rosebank Methodist Church and signed the pledge. So, I gave up alcohol at the age of twelve and, although my grandparents scoffed at it, I never went back on my pledge. My grandmother’s home was very well organized. I remember the many glass jars with cream-painted lids on the shelves in her scullery. They contained herbs and other ingredients used in cooking. She had some lovely white, blue and yellow china too. Out of the cups we drank Ceylon tea mixed with the indigenous “rooibos” (red bush) tea from the Cedarberg Mountains and sweetened with condensed milk. At the end of their fairly big garden was a fowl run. I enjoyed feeding the hens that they kept. A special treat was to go and collect the eggs in the henhouse, leaving behind the artificial one – supposed to encourage the hens to lay more eggs. I ate the strawberries that my grandmother grew. They were planted in long beds behind a fenced-in area entered by a gate. Overhead was a pergola with clusters of Dorothy Perkins pink roses climbing all over it. The toilet was outside in the garden as well. Municipal workers collected the bucket, containing “nightsoil”. Newspaper, cut into squares and threaded on a string, served as toilet paper. The approach to

7 the outhouse had a wooden trelliswork, covered with pink, climbing ivy geranium. My great-grandmother Clarke (Nana) lived with my grandparents. She knitted and crocheted socks and other clothing for me. She was small and thin and somewhat bent. She was also very kind to me, her only great- grandchild. She died of cancer in her eighties. Nana had been widowed at quite a young age as my great-grandfather was already deceased when my grandmother got married. Another member of the family was an Alsatian dog, called Duke. One day Duke ate my cake. I was unafraid and Duke was tolerant. So, no harm came to me when I put my hand in his mouth trying to get my cake back! One traumatic incident was when a butcher bird (Fiscal Shrike) killed the canary in its cage and the household was bereft of its musical member. My parents were divorced when I was five years old and my mother was not their favourite person. So, I did not mention her. My father was away with the army in Egypt and Italy. Part of the divorce settlement was that I was to spend half my holidays with my father (or his parents). Although quite young, I travelled on my own by train from Wynberg to Cape Town and met my grandmother at the ladies’ waiting room on the station. I felt nervous when I stayed alone with Nana in the evenings and sleeping alone in a big room. The house had an empty field next to it and seemed lonely and unsafe. I lay in bed and heard the sound of the steam trains some distance away. Although homesick for my mother I could not talk about it. In Duncan Road, Parow, where my grandparents lived, I stood on the rockery in the corner of the front garden and watched the neighbourhood children at play. My grandmother would not allow me to play with them. I was lonely by day and scared at night - and I could not share with my grandmother and grandfather without hurting their feelings. So, I kept my own counsel. Once at least, they must have sensed my distress because they put me in their bed, between the two of them to comfort me. I know that I felt very hot under their bedding. One remembers the strangest incidents - often apparently insignificant moments. They did all they could to make me happy by taking me to see children’s films, providing me with crayons and colouring-in books and papers on which to draw. I wanted to draw beautiful things, but the results were disappointing. They also took me to restaurants with white linen napkins and all kinds of silverware, and to the magical (for me) Del Monica Restaurant where “stars” shone in the dark ceiling. The restaurant had a Moorish theme with quaint eastern balconies. On a more mundane note, I also enjoyed going along the dirt road that was Duncan Road, to the corner shop and buying sweets.

8 Mangos are a messy fruit to eat. My grandmother, being a practical woman, undressed me and put me in the bath to eat mine. She broke the law during the war by sieving the brown flour and making white bread. After the war white bread reappeared in the shops – also white chocolate – and it was delicious, just like cake! My grandparents took me to collect periwinkles and mussels at Blaauwberg Strand and I learnt to enjoy shellfish. I also came to like fish roe and soles. I loved eating the underdone beef and even the cabbage my grandmother cooked. The vegetable was so green due to the Bicarbonate of soda she put into it (the damage done to vitamin content unknown); not overcooked like that at Grandma Lilley’s house. Polio was still a scourge (there was no immunization available) and their neighbour’s child succumbed. We visited Princess Alice home where he was lying in a frame with his head in a “half football”. I had to stay in the car, but I think my grandfather came out of the hospital with tears running down his face at the children’s suffering. My grandmother was made of tougher stuff, more matter of fact. They had beautiful, carved, oak furniture in their lounge/dining-room. This was sold when they gave up the house to take a boat trip to England. That was after my grandfather retired from the furniture factory. It was the only time they returned to their families in England although they corresponded over the years. Apart from having British accents, they had a peculiar way of speaking of my father and myself. We were always “our George” and “our Noreen”. There are probably so many “Georges” in England that it is the only way to distinguish them. (Many years later, I was told that it was a common saying in England to refer to people as “our”, but when it was your family, it was a term of endearment.) In an age when it was totally unacceptable, I called them by their first names – “Leah” and “Jim” – but I never felt disrespectful and to me their names were like titles because that was how I had always known them. I loved my Keenan grandparents and never gave them any grief, except once. I was about twelve years old and a patriotic South African. They kept on talking about how wonderful England was and obviously comparing South Africa with their homeland. This day I had had enough and burst out (so unlike me) in indignant protest! After they returned from their trip to England, I would take the train to Salt River, or Maitland (depending on where we were living) from the southern suburbs. Sometimes there was a long wait as trains were infrequent on a Sunday. Then take another train to Parow or Elsies River in the Northern suburbs and walk to their home - first in a block of flats and then in the only house in an industrial area - opposite Starck’s Furniture factory where my grandfather had a retirement job. They shared

9 the house with a bank that got robbed while they were living there. The walk from Elsies River station was long, lonely, possibly not that safe. Later they moved to another block of flats. When my grandfather finally retired, my grandmother bought a pile of underclothes for him – to last for life, I presume. She was very economical in making a little go a longer way. They spent their last years in Nazareth House, Cape Town. My mother, Daphne Florence Lilley was the fifth of ten children - four boys and six girls: Evitt who died of Diphtheria when he was six, May, Laura, Stella, Daphne, Lennox, Isabelle, Kenny, Stanley, and Olive. My mother was born in a cottage on the grounds of Timour Hall Manor in Plumstead, Cape Town. Her mother Florence, usually known as Flo, was born in Mowbray, Cape Town. My mother’s grandparents, Benjamin and Ann Bolton (nee Ingham) immigrated to South Africa from Halifax, Yorkshire in England. They were married at the Baptist church in Grahamstown, Eastern Cape in 1889. They had six girls - Celia, Florence (my grandmother), Laura, Mary Emma, Annie and Nellie. Only two of the daughters had children – Great-Aunt Nellie had two and my grandmother made up for all the others by having ten. Great-Grandpa Bolton was a Master Printer, reporter, editor and entrepreneur. He was a Methodist lay-preacher for much of his life. He travelled to outlying churches in a horse and cart, sometimes taking my grandmother with him. He owned a printing business and would not print anything to do with liquor or dancing. Great-Aunt Celia helped in the business, only marrying late in life. I remember Great-Grandma Bolton in her nineties. She was sweet and smiling with a little bun on her head and a shawl over her shoulders. She lived with Celia, the eldest and Annie, the second youngest of six daughters. Great-Aunt Annie was principal of Ellerton Girls’ Junior school in Sea Point. She had her own sad story. She was engaged to a young man when he started having epileptic fits. They were advised not to marry and she vowed never to marry. He later drowned during a seizure. She died of breast cancer in her fifties. As a child, remarks were made about my resemblance to Great-Aunt Annie so I had a secret fear that my life would follow her pattern. I should stay a spinster and possibly die like her! Grandma Lilley had a hard life. My grandfather caused her grief for various reasons. Everyone who knew her, loved my grandmother. When her children were older, she supported herself by sewing and the room where I was born was her workroom as well as her bedroom. She had trained to be a milliner and sometimes remade her old hats. They looked attractive with flowers around the crown. She always wore a hat when she went out. It was still the custom for “decent” ladies to wear a hat and

10 even gloves, especially for going to town or church, but it also helped to hide her very thin, fine hair. She set her own hair rolling it up in flat, metal curlers. Once her hair was curled, she wore a hairnet to keep it in place. My grandmother wore corsets – looser ones for the house and tighter ones to go out. She also made her own dresses. When people came to the house, they usually visited in Grandma’s room, rather than in the lounge. She was often busy finishing a wedding dress or some other garment. When the family left the Cape Flats, they stayed in a double storey house in Wittebome (between Wynberg and Plumstead) and any visitors on a Sunday were expected to go to Plumstead Methodist church with them. They later moved to Gibson Road, Wynberg. We lived with my grandmother in Wynberg when I was small as my father was away at the war. In fact, I spent about eleven of my young years living in her house. Grandpa was there as well but it was Grandma’s house! One of my earliest memories is of standing on a long table naked in her bedroom. It was dark and I had had a bath. There seemed some connection with the blackout. There were Nazi submarines around the coast. During the war, my mother was working at the military hospital. So, my grandmother was the one who kept me in check! I had more than one hiding from her (once because I took money that was not mine when I went to the shop for her) but I never resented it. I deserved it and the hidings were not frequent, cruel or malicious but to teach me right from wrong. We all expected to get a smack or hiding if we misbehaved. No one was any the worse for it. My cousin and her mother also lived in the house. Elva told tales and I got into trouble although she was as guilty. We got every infectious disease that was going – measles, mumps, chickenpox, whooping cough. My cousin would get it mildly and I would follow and be really ill. Whooping cough made me look like someone from Belsen. I was ill for months. I also had ear infections and suffered considerable pain. The only thing that comforted me was to lie in Grandma’s bed and have warm sweet oil dropped into my ear and kept in with cotton wool. I had my tonsils out at Victoria Hospital. Uncle Kenny was also a patient. One of the nurses liked him and knitted me a thick Fair Isle jersey - too warm and scratchy. My Grandmother Keenan sent me new dresses (far too big for me) and a round loaf of bread with a topknot on top. She would not visit. She and my mother were not on speaking terms. Grandpa Lilley (Albert Evitt) was a good-looking man while Grandma was plain but with a sweet face. She tended to be a bit heavy as she got older although she had been very thin after the 1918 ‘flu’ epidemic.

11 Grandpa’s mother was Sarah (nee Eaton), born in Barking, England. She immigrated with her parents from Britain to the eastern frontier of the Cape Colony. She did not have an easy life. She had twelve children and eight of them died as babies or toddlers. She raised two boys and two girls. One daughter had a cleft palate. Although Great-Aunt Ellen had a speech impediment as a result, she used her life well by nursing the lepers, first on Robben Island and then in Pretoria. Great-Grandpa Lilley, born in England, had been in the Mercantile Marine, then came to the Eastern Cape where he fought in the Border Wars and the Boer War. He married Sarah Eaton in Grahamstown. He was later a shopkeeper and bookkeeper. My grandfather went to a prestigious church school for part of his education and was an average student. He played rugby and later used to take my mother to watch the games - probably at Newlands Rugby ground. When he married, he had a secure job on the railways but left it to “be his own boss”. This led to poverty for the family. After business failure in Montagu, they moved down to a small farm near a cement factory in Klipfontein on the Cape Flats. They built a house with their own hands, during which time Grandma’s engagement ring was lost. In spite of hardships my grandmother continued to starch and iron her linen, using irons heated on the fire. Of course there was no electricity. Water came out of a well. My grandfather had a lime kiln on the farm and my mother’s first job was to cycle some distance to Mowbray and hawk pink lime powder door to door. The bucket system was still in use and the lime powder was sprinkled on the raw sewage. Although poor, they had plenty of fun living on “Golden Sunset” farm. Here are a few stories. It was near Christmas time. An affluent German family invited the poorer children of the neighbourhood (including the Lilleys) to a Christmas party. Uncle Kenny (or Uncle Lennox) had done something to annoy his siblings. While Grandma was out, they held him fast, put a small basin on his head and shaved off his hair below the basin. He was such a sight that he had to go to the party wearing a bonnet. The neighbouring boys came to call on some of the girls. One boy cycled from some distance away. By the end of the evening, it was raining hard. Feeling sorry for the youngster, my grandparents offered him the couch to sleep overnight. When he disappeared, they thought he had gone to the outhouse, but he did not reappear for a long time. Eventually he arrived soaking wet. He had cycled home to get his pyjamas! Grandpa had a cantankerous donkey and he insisted that any young man who wished to take one of his daughters out had to ride the donkey. They were all thrown except one who rode it back to front.

12 Great-Grandma Lilley sometimes brought apples or oranges for her son, but not for the children. They quarrelled over a share in the peels. There was little fruit in their lives. Once my mother collected the orange peels and threw them along the front path. This was so that any visitors might see them and realize that the Lilleys were rich enough to afford oranges! Grandma made her pick them up, so she surreptitiously ate them. By moving to the Cape Flats, the family made a number of German friends as many immigrants had settled there and developed small dairy and vegetable farms. Once I attended a German wedding on the Flats with my mother. There was so much to eat and drink! They had put food into large zinc baths that contained, amongst other things, potato salad. In spite of poverty and walking to school barefoot, breaking the ice with her toes in the winter, my mother passed her “Boere matriek” (Grade 8) at the New Eisleben School. Their setwork book was “Ben Hur”. She has always been excellent at mental arithmetic. That she learnt in their small farm school. There were two classrooms for 8 classes! My grandfather was his “own boss” for the rest of his life without any noticeable success. He had a van with the caption “We lay floors” when he worked at laying parquet floors. We children rather irreverently dubbed him “We lay eggs”. Then he started a new business and the caption changed to “We sand floors”. The van was a legend in its time. It was practically held together with string (certainly wire was used), lacking windows, etc. Grandpa was very friendly with all the traffic cops, maybe hoping that they would not stop him driving that unroadworthy vehicle! He was usually willing to give me a lift to the station or the hospital. So, I should not complain. During the time Grandpa was in the parquet floor business, he burnt himself badly with the hot tar. Grandma told me how much she admired his courage and the way he handled the pain. The saddest episode in Grandpa’s life came during the war years when he was sent to prison for at least six months for favouring friends in his position as a petrol coupon controller. The disgrace “nearly killed” my grandmother and she felt unable to go to church for a long time as she could not face people. Grandpa returned home very thin. Some years after this my grandfather was converted to Christ through Rev Jack Cook of the Wynberg Methodist church. The prodigal was found. Grandpa was active in the church men’s groups. He and Grandma were to be seen in church together, while Grandpa gave to each of us sharing their pew one of his XXX strong peppermints for which he was famous. The sad thing was that he could not communicate to Grandma how he felt. He was sorry and wanted to show her he loved her. He would put his arm around her in a joking way, but they could not really say what was in their hearts.

13 Grandpa died of bowel cancer in Groote Schuur hospital just before his seventy-ninth birthday. The family took comfort in the many floral tributes and the number of notices placed in the newspapers, which indicated in those days, that he was held in high esteem in the community. Grandma died when she was about eighty-seven after suffering from dementia for some time. They were both buried at Plumstead cemetery where other family members’ bodies were also laid to rest. During my high school years at Wynberg Girls’, I cycled home to Grandma’s house for lunch most days. It was hard work going back to school, as I had to pedal up two steep hills and often wait for the booms to open after a train had passed. I think I made the effort to see Grandma rather than for the food. Maggie was the live-in domestic worker for years and we were fond of her. She came from the Moravian mission station at Mamre and enjoyed doing chain stitch embroidery. However, I did not like her cooking. She cooked everything to death, overcooking the vegetables etc. Still, she was always happy to bring us an extra cup of tea. Later, when I was nursing, I visited with my grandmother and we would drink tea together. After a discussion one day, my grandmother told me that I was the first person she had ever talked to about sex - and that after 10 children!! She came from the Victorian era and was a real lady. Amongst early memories are the people who called at Grandma’s house. The greengrocer came with his horse and cart and presented a basket of fruit and vegetables at the door. The fishmonger passed blowing his horn for those who wished to buy. Most people had fish on Fridays – Catholics because they had to and Protestants because it was the custom. The milkman arrived putting bottles of milk outside the house. The dirt cart came drawn by Clydesdale horses with enormous feet. We were sent out with a scoop to collect the horse droppings for the garden. The grocer’s man rode a bicycle and delivered the goods. Grandma phoned her grocery order to Mr Gantovnik. Mr Gelfin, the shoe man brought shoes to the house and fitted my grandmother at home. Once the grocer’s man brought my small cousin back in the basket on the front of his bicycle. She had wandered away and was only partly dressed. Many years later my sister disappeared from 79, Gibson Road. (The house number had been changed.) We hunted the neighbourhood and went all the way up to the Main Road looking for this child. Eventually we found her fast asleep behind the couch in my grandmother’s lounge. Grandma’s house played such a big part in my life that it deserves a section on its own. It was the last of a terrace of four double-storeyed, semi-detached houses. My mother went from this house to be married to my father. Here I was born. Here I lived in my early childhood and during

14 most of my junior school years. Here I felt safe with Grandma. When not living here, I came for lunch during high school. Here I visited my grandmother during my nursing and midwifery training and while at Bible school. Here I brought Neville home for the first time. Grandma lived in this rented house for about thirty years or more. There was a small garden in front with Dorothy Perkins roses trailing around the wooden fence. This surrounded a lawn with a birdbath and some roses. The front door with two glass side windows opened off the stoep (porch) that ran the length of the front of the house. Wooden trelliswork made the stoep private. There was a stand with pot plants and also chairs for sitting outside. At the back of the house was a yard that opened on to a lane. The yard consisted of sand surrounded by corrugated iron sheets set on wooden posts with a tall, back gate. I was very upset when the yard was later cemented over. I thought that they had put the concrete over my tortoise’s eggs and they would not be able to hatch. I played in the lane and held burial services for dead insects that I found. I seem to remember that matchboxes served as coffins. The lavatory (water-borne sewage by then) was in the back yard and next to it a small room in which Maggie slept. Later Grandpa put up a shed where he kept his work materials. There was a large loquat tree that bore very sweet fruit. I spent hours in the top of the tree pretending to be a princess in her castle and so forth. Entering at the front door, there was a fairly large entrance hall ending in an archway with pillars and continuing as a passage. To the left was the lounge/dining room with a Victorian-type tiled fireplace and mantelpiece. There, a pink and green teapot of Great-Grandma Bolton’s was kept on top of the display cabinet. It was filled with letters and sympathy cards edged in black received when my grandparents’ eldest child, Evitt died of Diphtheria at the age of six. My mother never knew her older brother. My grandmother was pregnant with my mother when he died. Later when my sisters, Joan and Pat, developed Scarlet fever they were nursed in the lounge behind a disinfected sheet and I was not allowed near them. They were afterwards moved to the City Hospital for infectious diseases and when they came home had to leave all their toys behind at the hospital. Down the passage to the left was Grandma’s bedroom and workroom. There was her bed, wardrobe and dressing table as well as a chest of drawers, long table for cutting out on, her treadle machine with little drawers on each side (later an electric motor was added), a couple of chairs, ironing board, a long mirror on a stand and a big, old wireless. Grandma had a wooden box with tiers that opened out. It was filled with buttons of every description and a real treasure trove for a little girl.

15 All the windows in the house were sash windows and the high ceilings were of wood. The stairs ascended beyond the hallway and had two landings and a wooden balustrade down which we used to slide. There was a pantry under the staircase (good for hiding in) and then the passage led into the kitchen. An alcove contained the electric stove where the wood stove used to be. We ate meals in the kitchen. There was a bench behind the table for the children, while the adults sat on bentwood chairs. Grandma had some good English china dishes – white with gold and green. Next to the kitchen was the bathroom (wood geyser) and beyond that Grandpa’s bedroom. Upstairs, to the right of the landing was a bedroom with a view to the far away mountains (and the neighbours’ back yards with their fruit trees in the next road), ahead another bedroom (where we enacted our plays) that led onto the upstairs balcony and a view of Table Mountain. Leading off the second room, was the third bedroom. It was a wonderful house for children to play in and we used to have great times at family get togethers running up and down the stairs. There were always people coming and going. Although my parents were divorced, I had the security of a close, extended family (we were 21 grandchildren – I was the second eldest) and Grandma’s house. To get back to my mother’s story. When she left home at the age of fifteen, she first stayed with Aunty May in the city and worked at the United Tobacco factory (although she never smoked) and later had a job at the Monatic Shirt factory in Wynberg. This was after the family moved from Klipfontein on the Cape Flats to Wittebome in the southern suburbs. While still on the Flats her sisters met my father, who was attending a Catholic youth camp. After the move my mother got to know him through the Hercules Athletics Club. They were engaged when my mother was eighteen. They were married at Plumstead Methodist church in July 1937. My mother was twenty-one and my father nearly twenty-three. I was born a year later. We stayed in Parow for a while. My mother did not find living near her mother-in-law easy. We moved to Claremont and early in the Second World War my father joined the army. We went to stay with Grandma Lilley while he went up north to fight. Being separated as they were over long periods of time, the marriage broke down. My father and Grandma Lilley

16 shared a birthday. She was fond of him and he always phoned her on their joint day even though he seldom saw her after the divorce. They met again at my wedding and had a good chat. Being an only child, he had My first appreciated being part of my mother’s Birthday large family. My mother sent me to a nursery school, and I was not happy. They locked the front door like a prison. My grandmother’s front door was never locked except last thing at night. There always seemed to be a smell of cabbage cooking at the school and they made us take a nap in the afternoon! For the first and last time in my school career I played truant. I do not remember how it came about, but I spent the morning with my friend Elizabeth who lived 3 doors down. Unfortunately for me, we were playing on the upstairs balcony when my mother came home from the hospital for lunch. I popped my head over the balcony at the wrong time and was caught - and in trouble. My mother let me stay at home after that until I went to “big school”. Most children did not go to nursery or preschool at that time. I was not bored at home. Apart from playing with my cousin, I got satisfaction out of “writing” on the blackboard/slate that my mother bought. I liked the new chalk – white and different colours. I enjoyed dressing up in my mother’s dresses, shoes and other accessories. Mommy took me on a number of holidays while I was small, but I only remember the one at Saldanha Bay on the west coast. We stayed in a private house. There was no electricity and water came out of the well. We crossed the sand dunes and went to a boarding house near the sea for meals. There were thorn bushes, and others with poisonous fruit on them. I think they were called “gifappels”. There was only one shop and they did not sell ice cream because there was no freezer. I remember another holiday near Somerset West. Aunty Stella and Elva were also there, and we stayed in a rondavel near the hotel. Some other guests dressed Elva and me in long skirts with lace-up bodices and someone took a photo of the two of us. I can remember walking amongst the trees and flowers. There was also a swimming pool. Some of these early memories are tantalizing as they are so fragmented. Over the years my mother arranged parties for my birthday. I know that I was asked one year whether I wanted to go to town or have a party. I chose going to town. However, on the way home I asked for a party as well! Somehow a

17 cake and other edibles were produced, and I had a small party. My mother must have had a weak moment. My father returned from the war. A large photo appeared in the newspaper of my father holding me, on Cape Town station. This was because my father was a well- known sportsman. I was wearing a new coat and hat. Both were too big for me. As children we wore new clothes that were a bigger size so that they “would last”. For some time, I had prayed at night for my father’s safe return - “Please bring Daddy safely home”. Although my father was at the “Fall of Tobruk” and the “Battle of El-Alamein” in North Africa and later in the fighting in Italy – in the Ordinance Corps – God answered my simple prayers. I was taught to use the words of “Gentle Jesus” as a prayer each evening to which was added a list of “Please bless Grandpa and Grandma, etc. etc.” Another prayer we learnt later was “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” It never troubled me that I was praying about my possible death overnight! My mother remarried and for a while we lived next to my stepfather’s family’s smallholding in Hout Bay. The family were Afrikaans speaking although the surname was German, and I spoke only English. Tokkie (Joyce, my new “step-cousin”) was my age and she took me to see the pigs on our first visit. From then on, I learnt to speak her language and to this day we converse in Afrikaans. I came from a totally English background and becoming part of the Afrikaans culture was a great help to me in my schooling and in my future career and life. “Ouma”, my step-grandmother, grew beautiful dahlias and water was directed to the rows of plants through mud channels (called “slootjies”). One would be opened while the others were closed off with banks of mud. There was a water tank behind the house to catch the rainwater. Ouma also had pots of lovely fuchsias in different colours. There were a number of loquat trees and blue gums as well as other shrubs and plants. Squirrels played in the tall trees. A big pine tree dropped cones from which we obtained pine nuts, cracking them open with a stone and eating them as a special treat.

18 One blue gum had fallen over, and Joyce and I used it as a table pretending with bits of broken china as we played “house” together. Just beyond the farm boundary was a wood of pine trees and dams of water where we caught “paddavissetjies” – tadpoles. The dams were lined with clay and dangerous with broken glass and rusty tins. We normally walked around barefoot. There were toadstools, mushrooms and wildflowers under the trees. On the side of a path where soil erosion had taken its toll, I made “fairies’ houses” and put bits of mushroom and flowers into the “rooms” I had dug out of the side of the path. The farmhouse was built around a central family room. There were two rooms in front and another bedroom led off the family room. The front door opened onto a long stoep with pot plants, but it was seldom used. The back, “stable door” was the usual entrance. This opened into a large kitchen with a wood stove. Off the kitchen was a breakfast room with jars of bottled fruit and preserves on the shelves. In the bathroom a pair of tongs was kept. They were heated on the stove and my straight hair was turned into ringlets for special occasions. Approached by a ladder on the outside of the house, there was a “solder” (attic). Sweet potatoes and unwanted things were stored up there. The family belonged to the Dutch Reformed Church and Oupa had “boekevat” (family prayers) every evening. No one was allowed to go out until after that. There was a cow in the stable that had to be milked. One day Oupa (by then aged 80) died of a heart attack while milking. My stepfather’s sister and her husband lived with Ouma. Aunty Hester (Joyce’s mother) could bake and ice cakes beautifully. For any special occasion, a Muscovy duck or other poultry was slaughtered. A lot of people had to eat off the one duck or chicken, so I always had the neck allotted to me. The food was “boerekos” as cooked by Afrikaans people with sweet and sour dishes and sweet vegetables as well as savoury, some spiced. I did not care for it much (although I enjoy that kind of food now) and preferred plain cooking. When a pig was slaughtered, sausages were made and there were bowls of dripping. I was encouraged to eat it on my bread but could not bear it. They knew nothing about cholesterol in those days. Aunty Hester made the children tapioca or sago (“paddaeiertjies” – frog’s eggs) for supper or she boiled small Bantam eggs for us. Ouma baked “suurdeug” (sourdough) bread with yeast made from potatoes or flour. I did not like the fresh, warm milk from the cow that we were also offered. The cream from the milk was saved and turned into butter with a hand churn. Fishermen came to the backdoor with live crayfish that were sold for next to nothing and these would be plunged into boiling water to cook. We children were given the legs to eat and

19 tried to get the flesh out of the shell. We had no idea that these common shellfish would become an expensive luxury. I found my Afrikaans family much more inclined to kissing and affection than the Lilleys. When arriving at or leaving Ouma’s house everyone had to be kissed. We English-speaking Lilleys (and descendants) were not kissing people. Only if a family member went away for some time on holiday would we kiss each other. Although the Lilleys had fun and laughter and humour and were a close family, they were not affectionate. The Afrikaans side of the family might have lacked our sense of humour. When Ouma and Grandma met, my grandmother could not speak Afrikaans as she had learnt High Dutch at school. Afrikaans (“Kitchen Dutch”) was apparently not yet recognized as a language in its own right in her day. I was staying at my Grandmother Lilley’s when Joyce and I started school. She went to the Afrikaans school in Hout Bay and later Voortrekker Hoërskool in Wynberg, travelling on the railway bus. I went to the English Wynberg Girls’ Junior and High Schools. Before the start of the school year, I was taken to Duncan Taylor’s store to be fitted out. We had to have brown summer and winter gyms, short and long-sleeved, biscuit-coloured shirts, gold and brown striped tie, brown blazer with the school badge on it (a lion with a flag and the motto “Honour before honours”), brown cardigan, brown raincoat, brown lace- up shoes with white cotton socks for summer and brown woollen socks for winter, brown bloomers (knickers), cream panama hat with ribbon on it in the school colours for summer and a brown felt hat with school colours for winter and brown ribbons for the hair. The shop was an expensive one and the money was sent in little shuttles across the store on wires to the cashier upstairs. The day I started “big school”, I disappeared from home. My mother was ready to take me to school, but I was nowhere to be found. It was a long walk uphill to school, but she rushed up there only to find me happily occupied in the Sub A (Grade One) classroom. I had escaped with Emma, an older girl who lived next door, because I was afraid that my mother would hold my hand and the other children would laugh at me! However, I was crying by first break – not as self-confident as I appeared to be. My friend Praxia (her father was Greek) who lived next door - on the other side to Emma - and I had long hair (her’s dark and mine fair) done in plaits and we started school together. I have a photo to prove it! Many years later, after we retired, Praxia and I visited our Grade One teacher in a retirement home, and I saw our Grade Two teacher as well. My Grade four teacher was principal of Wynberg Girls’ Junior school. They were obviously much younger than we thought when they taught us. The things I remember about that first year are learning to read, stringing glass beads of different colours, the singing lessons, lovely

20 posters on the wall and the screened-off playhouse in the corner with a doll in the cot. The second year at school (Sub B or Grade Two) I learnt to knit, rather slowly. My third year of schooling (Std 1 or Grade 3) – after rather mediocre reports the first two years – saw me come into my own academically and from then on until the end of my school career I received more than satisfactory school reports. I got no praise and no reward. Others were promised a bike or some attractive gift as an incentive if they passed or did well. I only knew my mother was pleased because she told others about my results. She helped me with my learning subjects, but I had to motivate myself as well. Reading became a life-long passion. It is still my favourite hobby and way of spending leisure time. As a child I got into trouble for reading so much. One day my mother sent me into the bathroom to wash because we were going out. However, I put my book on the side of the washbasin so I could get on with the story and did not do enough washing. As I climbed into the car with my mother behind me, I got a good smack for the dirty streaks on the back of my half-washed legs. My mother bought a set of Waverley encyclopaedias and I spent many hours with those books plus a special nature one. In Grade Four (Std 2) I got 98% aggregate in the third quarter. This was the highest average I got in my school career as our educational system was modelled on the British and they were “stingy” with high marks. On principle they were not prepared to give us full marks for certain subjects – or so it seemed. I spent most of the fourth term of that year away from school. One day I could not walk home. I felt too weak. The minister’s house was nearby, and they took me home. I developed Infective Hepatitis and felt pretty sick. When I was getting better, I arranged for the House Captain of Kirsten (that was the house I belonged to at school; our colour was green) to visit me. I had a “crush” on her because of her exalted position! I gave her Pepsi and Apricotine biscuits while she probably wondered why I had asked her. It was all rather awkward and ended my awe of her. On “Guy Fawkes” night I was still sick and could only watch the neighbour’s fireworks through the bedroom window. “Guy Fawkes” was a big event in Cape Town in those days. We had sparklers to hold and many fathers let off the family fireworks. A “Guy” might be burnt on a bonfire. The poorer children would come round to the houses pulling a stuffed sack with a “head’, in a wooden box on wheels. As they walked, they sang, “Guy het nie hare nie”. (“Guy does not have any hair” – presumably blown off by the “fireworks”.) They would beg for a “penny for the Guy”. People gave them money, so they were able to buy their own fireworks. It may seem strange that an incident where a Roman Catholic (Guy Fawkes) tried to blow up the Parliament in London (but was prevented), should still be

21 celebrated in South Africa many years later and not only by Protestants, I suspect, because not everyone knew the history behind the “celebration”. South Africa was part of the British Commonwealth and we had all shown our loyalty to the Crown (except some dyed-in-the wool “bitter-einders” – unable to forget their fight against the British in the Boer war), when the Royal Family visited in 1945. We were taken from school to line the Wynberg Main Road and wave Union Jacks as King George VI, Queen Elizabeth and the two princesses – Elizabeth and Margaret - drove by. Our family went to see them at Youngsfield Aerodrome, near Grandma’s house, but stood at the wrong entrance. However General Smuts, the then Prime Minister, waved at us as he drove by. We also went into town and saw the Royals again. My friends at school were making scrapbooks of the visit but our family did not get the magazines they had. I was a bit envious of their lovely, coloured pictures. We were particularly interested in the princesses and their beautiful ball gowns. On the White train, used during the royal visit, was an Italian chef, Mr Z. Years later, having been born again through contacts on Fish Hoek beach I believe, he was in Central Assembly where Neville worshipped (and I later joined him). He told of an incident where there were no flowers available for the royal family’s meal. He had to sculpt flowers out of vegetables to decorate the dining saloon. I was given a bicycle and learnt to ride in Gibson Road. I think I managed to plough into the milkman (on his bike with his basket of glass bottles) on my first attempt. Somehow in trying to keep my balance, I couldn’t steer right. However, I mastered the art and did a great deal of cycling over the years. In high school, I was visiting Ann whose family were old friends of my mother’s. We decided to take a ride on our bikes. We rode and rode and ended up in Stellenbosch, an old town some distance away. We had not planned it, but it was an accomplishment for us. My father was still a long-distance walker (now a member of Celtic- Harriers) and once or twice I paced him on my bike. I had to give him special drinks with glucose and salt and generally support him in the long, gruelling race. Which reminds me…. When I was in Grade 11 (Std 9), my friend Brenda (she was in my class at Lansdowne and had become a committed Christian) and I decided to walk the Ladies’ long-distance race. Once a year there was The Big Walk, well-supported by people all along the route.

22 It was more popular then than nowadays, I think. The men walked fifty miles, the veterans walked about thirty miles and the ladies twenty-two and a half. We ladies started from Jubilee Square in Simonstown and walked along the Main Road of the southern suburbs as far as the Grand Parade in the city. The men walked both ways plus some. It was agony most of the way as I had not trained at all. I would love to have given up, but pride and encouragement kept me going. My father had finished his race and arrived at The Parade just before me. He was there to greet me. Everything is explained if I mention that I was taken home in an ambulance! My father sought to encourage me by presenting me with an engraved silver cup, but I never walked in a race again. Jubilee Square – above mentioned – has the statue of a dog whose name was “Just Nuisance”. “Just Nuisance” was famous during the Second World War. He travelled up and down on the trains between Cape Town and Simons Town seeing the sailors safely home, especially those who were not quite sober. Although we had a car it was kept for Sunday outings. During the week we used our feet or public transport. The train was the main connecting link between Wynberg and Cape Town, and Wynberg and the southern coastal suburbs. I enjoyed travelling into the city, passing Newlands with its famous cricket and rugby grounds and seeing the five-pointed, seventeenth century Castle as we neared Cape Town station. The Castle points had fascinating names indicating its Dutch origin – Oranje, Katzenellenbogen, Nassau and so forth. I could also see the beautiful and interesting, old City Hall, with palm trees in the foreground on the Grand Parade and Table Mountain in the background. Going the other way from Wynberg was a special treat as we passed the lakes and then the sea. The line went all along the sea for many miles. We passed Muizenberg, St James, Kalk Bay, Fish Hoek, Sunny Cove, Glencairn and ended at Simons Town, the naval base. When not using the train, there were double-decker trolley buses as well as motor ones. The trolley buses sometimes became disconnected from the overhead lines. The driver had a long stick with which to reposition the overhead arms before the journey could continue. We could even have taken a cab home, drawn by a well-groomed horse, in my earlier

23 childhood. They were drawn up on the cobblestones outside Wynberg station waiting for customers. I had to walk quite a distance to and from school but there were diversions on the way. We passed an old stone house covered with Boston Ivy. It had a thick wall supporting it – like a continuous buttress. We used to make our way rather gingerly along the top of the low, sloping wall having to traverse a corner as well – quite dangerous when it was wet. In Autumn, I picked red Boston Ivy leaves and tried to select the best colours. Under the tall oaks we found acorns that could be polished to a shine. Black and white pupae of the orange/red butterflies clung to the walls of houses near the school. We sometimes thoughtlessly removed them. I picked Passion flowers with their subtle colours and prominent cross. We put chameleons on our hands and watched the colour change. Before crossing the Main Road, I plodded up the hill and past our doctor’s house. Sometimes he would be improving his golf by putting on the lawn. He took out my tonsils at the hospital, acted as obstetrician when my half-sister was born, did my mother’s D&C. The General Practitioner at that time was a “specialist” in all sorts of fields. In later years I nursed him at the same hospital in Wynberg where he had removed my tonsils. He was recovering from a heart attack. At times we went to school along a path next to the graveyard behind the Methodist Church. Blue periwinkles grew on each side. On this route we passed the Weet-Bix factory where the roasting cereal gave a distinctive smell to the air. Sometimes I took a different way home and walked on a low brick wall past attractive apartments with leaded windows and ivy climbing up the building. I imagined I was a princess or some other romantic person as I went “gliding” along. Some days it was pouring with rain and I walked to school in my raincoat and hood, wearing rubber Wellington boots. It was lovely coming home to Grandma’s house on a wet day. If we were lucky there would be a fire in the lounge and the couch would be pulled up close. It was so safe and cosy. We used presto logs made of pressed sawdust as well as coal to keep the fire going. Elva’s aunt (on her father’s side) was to be married and Elva and I were the flower girls. I was disappointed that Elva had the pink dress and I had to wear the blue one. My dress was long with a skirt of layered frills and very pretty in spite of being pale blue! We had to travel some distance to Montagu for the wedding and dressed at the farmhouse. The service was probably in the Dutch Reformed Church as the bride’s maiden name was van Jaarsveld. The two bridesmaids were also dressed in pastel colours. I think they wore mauve and lemon (or pale green). The reception was in a hotel and Elva and I enjoyed our role as flower girls.

24 I started going to Wynberg Methodist Sunday school at a young age. My mother’s youngest sister Olive was ten years older than me and took me to the Infants’ Sunday School in the small hall. I later went to Christian Endeavour meetings in the same place. Guild meetings at a later stage were in a bigger hall and there was also the big hall. That is where, I think the Sunday school may have come together for Decision Sunday. (We also had square dances there and church bazaars.) Every year the Sunday school held “Decision Sunday” and I “decided” for Jesus a couple of times, but nothing changed in my life. In Standard Three (Fifth Grade) we had a missionary meeting, and I went as a Japanese lady in my mother’s kimono dressing gown. One of the church members was a missionary doctor in the Ciskei (his photo hung in the big hall) and that probably helped maintain an interest in missions in the church. (We had a shop in the village called Bennet and Baker. One of the two Miss Bakers led the Christian Endeavour meetings and I suspect Dr Bennet was from the Bennet side of the equation.) When I was older, I went in for the Scripture Knowledge exams and we had to go to extra classes. As a treat, the class hiked to Kirstenbosch singing as we went. Later at Lansdowne Methodist (when in High School) I got good results in the National Scripture Knowledge exams of the Methodist Church and my Sunday School Superintendent was happy. I joined the Junior Choir at Wynberg Methodist and we had unofficial fun at practices. I had an interest in a red-headed boy who pulled my pigtails. The minister’s wife, whose daughter Rosemary was in my school class, trained us to sing a different introit each week as well as an anthem. We sang in the morning services while the Senior Choir sang at night. The church bells rang about five or ten minutes before the service calling people to worship. The boarders from Wynberg Girls’, wearing white Sunday dresses and hats, always sat in the front on the right of the church. My mind was not always on the services as I read the names on the rolls of honour from the Boer and First and Second World wars. I would also inspect the stained-glass windows installed in honour of persons long since dead. There were big organ pipes of different lengths and Mr McDonald from McDonald’s store (similar to Duncan Taylor’s and an old family business) played the organ beautifully. Each year we had a Sunday school picnic at the Marsh Memorial Children’s Homes. We had egg and spoon races, sack races and three-legged races. Sandwiches and soft drinks were provided. I doubt I won many prizes. At the school sports I did not shine either. I had not inherited my father’s athletic ability. Once a year before school broke up for the Christmas holidays, we had the Sunday school anniversary. We sat above the congregation on specially erected stands and some received book prizes for attendance. The girls all wore white. I got two new dresses at the end

25 of each year – a white one for the school prize giving (where I received my fair share of books over the years) and for the Sunday school anniversary. The second dress was more colourful – sometimes smocked - to be worn for the first time on Christmas day when we went to the early morning service. I was usually clutching my new doll. I also had new shoes for Christmas. One year I had to choose between a black patent leather pair and a white pair that buckled round the ankle and had rosettes on the top. I set my heart on the white ones. Unfortunately, they were too tight but I insisted that they fitted. I remember a very uncomfortable Christmas with my feet squeezed into the white shoes. Christmas was a magical time for me as a child. There was always a large, fresh, decorated pine tree in Grandma’s lounge. On the tea trolley were nuts in their shells, with the nutcracker handy, and raisins still on the stalk. On Christmas Eve we went to bed early filled with anticipation. What would Father Christmas bring? All I ever wanted was a doll. I was happy with other presents such as a tea set as long as there was a doll in my pillowcase when I awoke early on Christmas morning. While it was still dark, I was awake and rummaging through the pillowslip that had been hung at the foot of my bed with such anticipation the night before. Uncle Kenny and Aunty Muriel had no children, and they were very generous to us at Christmas, giving us lovely presents. One year they gave me a tennis racquet. Well content with my doll, I got dressed in my new dress and shoes to get to church by 7:30 am for the Christmas service. There were beautiful flowers in the church such as pink and blue hydrangeas and blue and white agapanthus, and at this service we received our church attendance book prizes. Lunch was at Grandma’s house until we moved away when I was in high school. Then the whole family met on Christmas afternoon while we ate lunch in our own homes. Once when I was quite small, the children were put into Grandpa’s room (near the kitchen) to have their Christmas lunch. The adults usually ate in the kitchen even though there was also a table in the lounge. On normal days the children sat on the bench behind the kitchen table, in front of the window, but on this day, we ate lunch on our own - and the devil got into us. We scooped up vegetables with our spoons and flicked dollops onto Grandpa´s bedroom walls. It was great fun but there were consequences! We usually had stuffed chicken for Christmas, and this was a great treat as it was not something that we ate during the year. In the afternoon the remaining family members joined us and we children really enjoyed ourselves. Uncle Kenny was a source of excitement as he chased us up the stairs when we got a bit aggravating. My cousins Basil, Elva, Marion and Evitt were near to me in age.

26 On Boxing Day (the day after Christmas) the family (including aunts and uncles, cousins) left for camp. I don’t remember how many years this happened. Tents, food, utensils, stove, watermelons were all loaded onto a big lorry and conveyed to Strandfontein. It was a deserted area with only one farmhouse in the distance. The tents were pitched on the low, white sand dunes, surrounded by indigenous, coastal “fynbos”. There were bushes with devil’s thorns and I regularly got them stuck in my feet. Poisonous snakes like cobras also lived there but I never saw one. There was a pump tap with “brak” (hard) water – most unpalatable. My grandfather had a big marquee tent and that was the communal living area. The stove and long table lived there. Our domestic worker was also with us to help with the cooking. We went “swimming” in the sea, and I got terribly burnt, developing blisters at times. I was too fair for that heat and freckled easily. One day the tide was very low, and we could see the exposed rocks with their creatures as they formed a semicircle on the seaward side. I got home from camp to find a tragedy. I had unthinkingly left my pet chameleon in an open shoebox on the upstairs balcony and it had burnt to death in the hot sun. The Christmas tree was faded and dropping its needles and Christmas was over for another year. My father and Grandparents Keenan also tried to make Christmas special. My grandmother took me to the shops to see Father Christmas and buy me a girl’s Lucky Dip – a box with a variety of cheap toys in it. She got me presents such as the “Five” books by Enid Blyton. My father worked for the Municipality, first in the City Hall and then in the Traffic Department. So, each year I went to the Traffic Department Christmas party and Father Christmas arrived on a traffic cop’s motorbike. My father also belonged to the MOTHS (Memorable Order of Tin Hats) as an ex- serviceman and so I duly got a present there as well. The third party I went to with Daddy was that of the Masonic Lodge he belonged to. The party was in a Newlands hotel. I was disappointed one year when I did not receive a toy but a scarf from that group! After my Keenan grandparents returned from their boat trip to England, they stayed in a hotel near town and I had Christmas lunch with them there. It was a different experience. A memorable Christmas was the year I went with Grandma and Grandpa Lilley to Grahamstown in the Eastern Cape. We travelled by steam train, changing trains at Port Elizabeth. We went to be with my Aunty Isabelle who was having her first and only child, my cousin Coral. We were not used to black people, but she had a black domestic worker who lived in a rondavel type house in her grounds and ate samp (white maize). I had never seen or tasted samp before. I did not know it, but my aunt’s husband was ill and he later spent the rest of his life in a chronic hospital. His mother was blind but knitted me a beautiful, pink doll’s set of bonnet,

27 cardigan and, I think, leggings. On Christmas morning I had my heart’s desire once more – a doll dressed in yellow and white with lace on the dress. We went to the lovely, old Methodist church. I was told that people went into the partly built building for protection when the early British colonists were attacked by some of the African tribes. That was in the 19th century. Opposite my aunt’s house was an old cemetery - probably dated back to the 1820 settlers. I wandered round the cemetery and I was touched by the fact that there were so many babies’ and children’s graves uncared for. To show my sympathy (I was about ten years old) I collected containers and picked Lucerne growing nearby to decorate the little graves. Someone remembered them! To return to Cape Town, before Christmas we sometimes made the trip to the Newlands rugby ground for the Carols by Candlelight service. We took our supper and blankets with us and got there early. Toys were donated for the underprivileged and many shared in the service. On December 24th the Christmas bands used to pass our house. Members of our Coloured (“mixed race”) community worked hard preparing for these occasions. They were immaculately dressed wearing blazers, grey flannel trousers, ties, hats and gave much pleasure. At New Year, the singing “coon” troupes (now called Cape Minstrels) dressed in coloured satins, dancing with their parasols, also paraded around the streets. Each troupe had their own colour scheme, and again much time, work and money went into these public displays. In Standard Three (Grade Five) I had a red-headed teacher who was very strict and devastated me with one sentence. One of the girls made a remark thought to be a bit crude and some of us sniggered. This teacher looked at me and said, “I never expected it of you”. It was so traumatic for me that I have remembered it for more than 60 years. We went on picnics to Wynberg Park, uphill all the way and quite a distance to walk – past the shops in lower Church Street, the undertakers - Human and Pitt, the Methodist church, the Magistrates’ Court, the Dutch Reformed mission church (for the Coloured people), old Dutch Reformed church on the hill with its tall spire (for the White people), past St John’s Anglican church built of stone and looking like a place transplanted from an English village, the Roman Catholic convent school and church. By this time, we were on the level and passing part of the military camp until we reached the park with its lawns and trees, hydrangeas, small lake and island, home to ducks and birds. We played on the swings, slides and see- saws. Creeping through and hiding in the long grass was a favourite game. We had our picnic and trekked home. We walked most places or took the train or bus to more distant destinations.

28 The family joked about my mother when we went to St James for the day. She filled the baby’s pram with food, utensils and “everything but the kitchen sink”. Of course, we travelled by train. I loved the journey along the sea. On the other side of the road that ran parallel to the railway line, I looked out for Princess Labia’s house. She had the most beautiful, blue, gathered curtains in her windows. We spent the whole day at the large tidal pool, trying to get some shade between or under the brightly coloured bathing boxes during the heat of the day. People rented the bathing boxes so they would have a place to change or store their beach equipment. I suffered as a result of the day in the sun. At night, my mother smeared on Calamine lotion to cool my burning skin. No protective lotion was used, and we did not know how dangerous the sun’s rays could be. I was very fond of one of my mother’s older sisters, Aunty Laura, and would walk quite a distance from Wynberg to Plumstead to visit her, as well as play with my cousin, Marion. Aunty Laura was so kind and good – a committed Christian lady. I enjoyed their spotless home with the ornaments and fine china. Uncle Percy was a building contractor and erected a number of churches around the Cape. They belonged to the Baptist church, but he also started a Mission Hall on the Flats at Lotus River. Sometimes they took me with them to church or to hear a visiting evangelist. One night Ivor Powell from Wales was preaching in the Wynberg Town Hall. We children were sitting on the stage when the hall was plunged into darkness. I don’t remember the message. Aunty Laura and Uncle Percy had a holiday home up the coast at Kleinmond and they would add me to their 4 children on some holidays. My cousins were amused because I was afraid of the long-horned cattle that used to walk down the road. Basil and Marion swam like fish in the lagoon but when I plucked up courage to go out of my depth, one of them pushed me down under the water. For them it was just play. They didn’t understand. I was a rather timid child. We had great fun travelling to and from Kleinmond. We sat on the back of the pick-up truck – sometimes with a blanket to keep us warm, singing choruses. Both Basil and Marion had good voices. We played games and had chores to complete. Uncle Percy was a very hard-working man, and we were expected to work as well. We had family Bible reading and prayer. I hoped I would not meet one of the “boomslangs¨ (poisonous tree snakes) that frequented the area. There was a stream in the garden with a rustic wooden bridge. Those were great holidays in spite of the cattle! In Standard Five (Grade Seven) I won the school General Knowledge prize (maybe those encyclopaedias?) as well as the usual class prize. I should have liked to win the Bible Knowledge one as well. My mother

29 bought me a large, illustrated Children’s Bible when I was quite young, and I knew many of the Old and New Testament stories. In Standard Six (Grade Eight) I moved over to Wynberg Girls’ High and one of our subjects, just for that year, was Domestic Science – housewifery, cooking and sewing. We were introduced to a proper gym with bars, horse and ropes. And we started Latin. We were strictly forbidden to go near the fence between the Boys’ and Girls’ schools. Sharing my life at 79 Gibson Road, and later when we moved, were my three half-sisters. Joan was born when I was 7 years old. My mother stayed as a patient at a lady’s house where the midwife delivered my sister. I was allowed to go and see my mother there. The house was near Wynberg Station. At home the baby had a basket crib lined with dainty, blue, floral satin and covered with blue-spotted white net. I was allowed to take Joan for walks in the pram. Pat, two years younger than Joan, was born in Grandma’s bedroom and I could hear my mother making quite a commotion. I know it was in the afternoon. Margaret, the youngest, was born at Kingsbury Nursing Home in Kenilworth and we were allowed to visit. The Kingsbury has now become a large, well known hospital but then it was housed in a big old house next to the railway line. There was too big a difference in age for my sisters and myself to be close friends when we were young. Then I moved away when I was older. I was not able to be at any of their weddings nor did they get to ours. Joan and Pat also went into nursing and Margaret into business. My stepfather and I mostly got on. He wanted people to think that I was his daughter. I spent part of my holidays with my father and stepmother. They had a daughter when I was nearly nine years old. Sandra and I did not have much opportunity to get to know each other well but when we were older, we had the most important thing in common. We both belonged to Christ. My stepmother was always kind to me. She worked as a sales lady in a dress shop and was well dressed and “modern”. I loved her mother whom I called “Ma”. As a child I much admired Ma’s green lounge suite, green piano and green telephone. I enjoyed my time with her as I could play with her shoes and bags. Ma was a keen member of the Anglican Church Women’s Guild. My stepmother worked full-time. Sandra spent more time with her grandmother and was close to her. Later on, my father and stepmother were living in a flat in Green Point – part of the home of an Italian family. The Italian grandmother (Nonna) and I went to see “Gone with the Wind” in town one evening. I was about 12 years old. We had no idea the film would be so long. When we wanted to get a bus home, they had ceased to run for the night. We had to walk home through a dicey part of town. Truly God kept us safe that night.

30 One story needs to be told here. We had gone down from Ma’s flat to her mother’s house where some of Sandra’s aunts and cousins also lived. Sitting at the kitchen table I fiddled with some chillies. Later I rubbed my eyes and they started to burn and water and I could not focus. I was in some fear that I might go blind! I did not often go to the cinema but the same cousins took me to a matinee where they were showing “Murder in the Blue Room”. It was traumatic for me, never having imagined such things. A body even fell out of a clock as I remember it. However, some years later, I took Sandra to see Walt Disney’s “Snow White”. That really scared her – the witch and all! I knew nothing about menstruation. It was not talked about. Sandra’s cousin took it upon herself to enlighten me. Not that we knew the word menstruation. It was called a period. So, when I started, I was not too shocked. My mother gave no explanation except practical instructions, and I was not to wash my hair or swim at “that time of the month”. My mother taught me many other things although she failed in her sex education. She taught me about honesty (so did my grandmother - with the flat of her hand) and other moral values. Cheating at school or in games was unheard of. She taught me not to tell tales (“fight your own battles”), to be kind to the poor, to respect other people’s property. I was in trouble once more when I did not respect my mother’s property! Left to rest in her bedroom, I got hold of a pair of scissors and started cutting pieces out of her bedspread. I think my hair got in the way too. In my defence I may mention that I was quite young. Another time I failed in kindness and that was a necessary virtue. My cousin Elva got me into trouble quite often but one day she was playing with Grandma’s machine and put her finger under the “foot”. I turned the handle with the predictable result. The needle entered my cousin’s finger and pinned her to the machine. Whether I did it on purpose or not, I no longer remember. Certainly, she kicked up a big fuss and I got into trouble. We were taught to respect others and to be kind but there was unthinking prejudice at times. This same cousin once called a rather difficult Jewish customer of my grandmother’s an old “guzza” to her face. She picked that word up from someone. Somehow the lady was pacified. Coloured people were to be treated kindly, but they had to “know their place”. No one knew they were being racist. It was just how life was. My mother also emphasized hard work. She worked hard and I was expected to do a lot of housework on Saturdays in my high school years, i.e. when I did not have a hockey match. We did not have a domestic worker like many other families had. Above all, she taught me that character is much more important than looks. I was a thin, short child with freckles and blonde hair (that has got progressively darker as I have grown older) and not particularly beautiful.

31 Praise was a missing commodity as the great fear was that I (or any child) would develop a swollen head! Pride and showing off was abhorred. Children “knew their place”; grownups always knew best. We stood up and offered our seats to adults especially older ones whether on the bus, train or at home. Children did not sit and listen to grownups talking - “counting their teeth”. They had to “go and play”. We obeyed the rules (on the whole). There were boundaries and consequences if we overstepped them. We were respectful to those in authority (defiance would not be tolerated nor would we think of it). We had the utmost respect for our schoolteachers, and we had better have good conduct remarks on our school reports. “Please” and “thank you”, “excuse me” and “I beg your pardon” were important phrases in our vocabulary. We did not ask to go to the lavatory but to “relieve” ourselves – an excellent choice of word. Cleanliness was next to godliness. Boys knew they were boys and girls knew what was expected of them. Homosexuality (although undoubtedly existing) was not mentioned nor did we know anything about it. There were a few known “moffies”, in the Coloured community, who were tolerated with their leaning to feminine ways and dress. Ladies went first, men walked on the outside of the pavement to protect them. A man stood up when a lady came into the room. Boys and men lifted their caps or hats to ladies. The great aim for a girl was to be a lady and not just a woman. Ladies don’t smoke was one of the maxims. Ladies sit modestly, dress modestly, don’t raise their voices, do certain things and don’t do others. We did not want to keep up with the Jones’s, but we were very conscious that our behaviour needed to be above their reproach. We cared about what the Jones’s said or thought about us. Well, I didn’t know much about sex but I liked the boys I knew in my junior school years. One had a lovely complexion and sang beautiful solos. At one anniversary he sang “Out of the ivory palaces” most exquisitely. Another boy gave me a white rose picked in the old graveyard next to the Methodist church. There were real tombs, some of the doors rusting off. We lingered in that cemetery, and I also played amongst the gravestones in another cemetery belonging to the Lutheran church. This was near Grandma’s house. In Standard Five (Grade Seven - last year of junior school), I had my first official boyfriend. His twin sister was in my class and we wrote notes to each other via the sister. He was a friend of my cousin, Basil and was in the same class at Wynberg Boys’. On Friday evenings we all went to the Young People’s meeting at Wynberg Baptist church while Basil’s and Marion’s parents, Aunty Laura and Uncle Percy, visited Grandma. Afterwards we joined them and got up to mischief. The YP didn’t seem to do much for us! Sometimes we played “Tok-tokkie”. Nearby lived a

32 respectable, unsuspecting spinster. She would hear a sound at her door or on her roof and come to investigate while we hid. Shame on us! We found it highly amusing. At other times we played Postman’s Knock. Well, I soon got tired of the romance and wrote him a letter breaking it off. The relationship had consisted of the written notes and a chaste peck when we played Postman’s Knock! Really over those years my heart belonged to the Junior Choir redhead. It was enough for me to watch him cycling past the corner of the girls’ school playground on his return from lunch and my day was made. I just needed to see him to be happy. Nothing ever came of it but if he was not at any church function, it felt flat to me. We had a fancy dress at Wynberg Methodist and I was thrilled to go as a fairy in a pink net dress. It was hardly original, and I never won a prize but I enjoyed it. The Women’s Auxiliary held a Christmas fair each year. The redhead’s presence made my evening. His mother helped at one of the stalls. I never had much to spend but tried to buy some fudge and clothing for my dolls if I could afford it. It was the same at the yearly school fete where I hoped to get something worthwhile at the Tombola. I once bought a ticket for the treasure hunt. I had to place a flag in a dish of sand. To my surprise I won the prize. There was horse racing at Kenilworth Race Course, near Gibson Road. Our family was not into gambling nor were games of cards ever played in Grandma’s house. However, once a year the Metropolitan Derby was run. The Met was the biggest race of the year. A horse named “Noreen’s Idol” ran in the race for quite a few years. Some family members had a little “flutter” in honour of the horse’s namesake! There was also a “Noreen’s Pride” that ran in lesser races. My Keenan grandparents on the other hand regularly filled in the English football pools. Sometimes they got me to fill in some columns. Of course, I was only young and had not the foggiest idea about English football. However, they must have thought that I might strike it lucky! Uncle Percy took us to the circus in Wynberg and I especially loved Tickey the clown who was called a “dwarf”. The circus train was in the goods yard and we walked past the coaches on the way home. We probably saw the animals as well. Occasionally we went to town and walked through the Gardens, (hundreds of years old from the early days of the Dutch East India Company) feeding the squirrels with peanuts. They were exceptionally tame. The doves also tried to get in on the act. As we walked down the avenue with its oak trees the Houses of Parliament were on our left. During high school we were taken to a sitting so we would know how the laws were made. It was amazing - the Members of Parliament acted like a lot of immature schoolboys, jeering, reading their newspapers while a debate

33 was on. I was not impressed by our lawmakers! Also in the Gardens are the Museum and the Art gallery. Nearby is St George’s Anglican Cathedral. From school we went on annual or bi-annual visits to the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens, situated on the back, lower slopes of Table Mountain. We were taken from school by double-decker bus (“Bags me an upstairs seat”) and instructed about our indigenous flora by Miss Johns who taught all the Cape Town schools. We learnt about different kinds of Protea and Heath, about Silver trees and many others, the Cape being very rich in indigenous vegetation. I really took to the Blushing Bride Protea and we tried to grow it years later. It did not take to us. The surroundings were idyllic at Kirstenbosch with running streams and shady trees. We were especially fascinated by “Lady Anne Barnard’s Bath” in its tranquil setting. I was disillusioned to discover that it was not her bath after all but someone else’s who is nameless, as far as I am concerned. It was a beautiful, deep pool surrounded by ferns and shaded by trees. People threw coins into the pool and made a wish. Hopefully, the money was given to charity. We had break-time sitting on benches near the stream and under the trees. Some of my friends had special treats packed by their mothers. There were quite a few Jewish children in our class, and they had such interesting food with rye bread and pickles etc. I especially felt the plainness of my sandwiches on such outings. I disliked having tomato on my bread. Freshly cut it is great but on sandwiches after a few hours, it is totally different. I did not enjoy cheese (which I love to-day) and my mother insisted on giving me cheese because she had longed to have it when she was a child! Her sandwiches at school had golden syrup on them and were wrapped in newspaper. One year instead of going to Kirstenbosch we were taken to St James beach and taught amongst the rock pools about sea urchins, sea anemones, crabs, etc. Once a year we got some time off school to visit the Cape Agricultural Show. This was held at the Rosebank Show Grounds and so it was called the Rosebank Show. I watched the magnificent spans of mules perform in the arena, wandered around looking at the cattle, horses, sheep and pigs. There were cakes on display and other farm products. I enjoyed the little boxes of puffed wheat they had for sale. We had an elocution teacher, who did not give me very good marks for her subject. She deplored my South African accent for she wanted me to speak the “Queen’s English”. She was a character – very addicted to mauve and purple although she sometimes made concessions to green and brown. This teacher arranged a number of Shakespearian plays on the stage of the open-air theatre at Wynberg Girls’ High (where we also had our high school prize-givings), as she taught in both the junior and high school. One of her exercises to improve our diction was to roll up the tongue from the sides.

34 It took a bit of practice, but I managed it. Eventually she moved on (probably retired) and we got a new teacher from England. She had a pronounced accent – “non-Queen’s English”! Well, she had more modern ideas and liked my accent. I got good marks in elocution from then on as I could recite, speak and read with some expression. She taught us fun poems like “Milk-o my love”. They put up a long, wooden hut at the junior school, where we had classes in Eurythmics wearing special tunics. We even performed on the stage in the Wynberg Town Hall. On rainy days, the girls were allowed to provide their own music and dance in the hut at break times. Someone would play the piano and away they would go. It was not my scene. They also tried to teach us thrift. We could open a Post Office savings account at school and put money in on a regular basis. So, we were encouraged to save but my book never amounted to much, I’m sad to say. I did not get pocket money. I seldom had money to spend unless I had visited my Grandpa Keenan who was ever generous. My sisters liked to go with me so that they would also share in his generosity. When I did have the wherewithal, I bought sweets. Near Wynberg station were three fruit shops owned by Muslim families. One was known as the “Girls’ shop” because most of the assistants were ladies. From the Patels, we bought our sweets (candy): hard, black balls (guaranteed to break your teeth) – 4 for a penny; large, square toffees - 2 for a penny; “mottoes” in various shapes with sentiments such as “I love you” engraved on them. No wonder my mother paid out a small fortune in dentist bills. From the age of twelve I visited our dentist regularly for fillings. I did not care for the smell of the dentist’s rooms or the injections he gave into my gums! I hated waiting, apprehensively and on my own, in his antiseptic-smelling waiting room. Two small gold fillings he put in have lasted for about seventy years. During my junior school years, I joined the Squirrel Club in the Cape Times newspaper and became a published poetess! I had a poem or two put in the Saturday morning magazine section to my gratification. In about Standard Three (Grade Five), I became a Girl Guide and learnt Morse and Semaphore (never very good) and how to tie different knots; be loyal to Queen and country. I earned my Cook’s badge without knowing a thing about cooking. I didn’t even know which vegetables to start in cold or hot water. Somehow, I passed. I did my Child Care badge by going to help at a boarding school for younger children. I also remember repairing a puncture, so maybe I did the Cyclist’s Badge. I was rather a sporadic Guide and did not pursue it with full enthusiasm. I went on one memorable Guide camp at a farm in Stellenbosch. We got rained out and landed up in an unoccupied cottage for part of the time. However, we spent most of the

35 time under canvas, using branches and twigs to hang shoes and other things on. We learnt camp songs and how to do various things which I now forget – probably tracking etc. I disgraced myself while trying to get out of the tent to relieve myself. Someone cracked a joke, and the relief came too soon! The other adventure we had concerned a snake. The details are a bit hazy now, but I think I was the one who lifted my uniform (why wasn’t it hanging up on one of those twigs?) and a snake slithered out. It was killed and identified as a “skaapsteker” (literally “one who pierces a sheep”) – a moderately poisonous snake, not in the same league as cobras. A nearby tent group informed us that the mate would come back to look for it the next night. That evening I got out my Bible and read and prayed to ward off such an evil! I had to curry some favour with the only One Who could protect me. And Bible reading was the obvious way. Or did I really do it to comfort myself with little faith in God’s ability? In 1952, we had the Jan Van Riebeek Festival to commemorate the establishment of the first European settlement at the Cape in 1652. I was nearly at the end of my guiding career but I took part as a Guide. After that Guiding faded out of my life. I was also chosen to be in the festival as a gymnast!! Groups were sent from the various schools and we all performed together at the festival – quite impressive. When they chose me, they were really scraping the barrel as I was not very good at gym, didn’t care for the horse or the ropes although we had to practise on them. I could barely do the cartwheels required for the display, but I went, performed, and did not come home with egg on my face. We had no swimming pool at the school, so we went by train to the tidal pool at Kalk Bay. The lessons were voluntary (and you had to pay) but it was decided that I should learn to swim. It was an overcast day; the pool was very full and slopping with tsunami-type tidal waves as far as I was concerned. I was cold and scared. We had to hang on to the edge of this pool and kick, also try some doggy paddle. I did not enjoy swimming, so gave it up after a few lessons. Pity, as I still cannot swim properly and will not go into the deep side of a pool. In later years my father tried to teach me at a municipal pool, but I was not there long enough to benefit. When we went to the beach we played in the waves and didn’t need to swim properly although I got dumped by a wave once and was close to drowning – so I thought. At school we had various interests apart from lessons. Some dressed their dolls as brides, put them in a shoebox and charged “penny-a-peep.” I don’t know what happened to the money. Was it for charity or their own pockets? At break times we played “bok-bok”. A row of us stood bent over while others ran and jumped as far as they could on top of us. Fearing broken necks, the teachers put a stop to that when they found out. At the

36 side of the tennis courts were a few trees, sand and some stones. It was here that a group of us played “Nancy Drew” as we re-enacted the mystery stories that we read. We usually played the same characters. Another seasonal amusement was hopscotch. We kicked and clicked and jumped. Rope skipping also had its turn. One day on our way to school, my next-door neighbour friend, Praxia and I saw an empty milk bottle with the money stuck in the top, waiting for the milkman to call. We decided to remove the money. Praxia went home and told her mother who made her give it to charity. I went to OK Bazaars and spent my share. I bought paper dolls and other things. When my mother found out, I was well punished for my delinquency. Praxia and I had a fall out. Our mothers got involved and they had a fall out. Praxia and I made up, but our mothers were not speaking, so we had to meet around the corner where they could not see us. Down the road lived a music teacher, and I started to learn the piano. Praxia had already started. She was musical, more disciplined in practising and went further in her musical career. We both changed teachers to a lady who lived on the next road. After a few School of Music exams (theory and practical) I gave up the instrument. Apart from not being particularly musical, I did not like practising. I had short stubby fingers that could not easily span an octave. Later in high school we had musical appreciation lessons that were really worthwhile. Not only did we learn to appreciate classical music (she introduced us to Debussy amongst others), but the teacher played us some fun things like “My grandfather’s clock” and another one about a duck from a Danny Kaye film. We were shocked on returning from a school vacation to hear that she had died of cancer. We had no idea she was ill. Another sign of original sin came out with the matter of my eyes. The school nurse visited from time to time, weighed and measured us and tested our eyes. I never had anything wrong with me. One friend had Rheumatic fever and had to wear thick stockings; others needed glasses but I never got any special attention. So, when I next visited my Keenan grandparents, I informed them that I needed glasses, but my mother wouldn’t get them for me. What on earth possessed me? My grandmother was very indignant (just what she could expect from my mother!) and I forget how the story ends – probably me in trouble again. Or maybe I was not found out! One night there was a terrible storm and a great palm tree fell on a house nearby crushing the roof but not killing anyone. Another time someone left the immersion kettle on and set fire to Grandma’s curtains. The flames were up to the ceiling. I suppose the fire engine came as the fire station was just down the road, but I don’t remember that part.

37 I mentioned Great-Aunt Ellen who nursed the lepers. She retired and came to live nearby at the Country Club. She was mad about cats. When she died my mother inherited. There was not much but she had a mattress with pictures of cat’s heads on it and a teapot in the form of a cat. There were also some old hats. They were Great-Aunt Ellen’s – enough said. And thereby hangs a tale. On Mother’s Day, I insisted on my mother staying in bed while I gave her breakfast. I went off to Sunday school and my sisters were to follow later. They dressed themselves but did not go into my mother’s bedroom, only calling out that they were leaving. As they made their way down the front path, she sat up to see them go. On top of each head was one of Aunty Ellen’s hats. Imagine my humiliation when my three sisters marched into Sunday School late and, as I remember it, went right to the front - sporting Great-Aunt Ellen’s terrible, old hats. Why did my mother keep them? Although quite strictly brought up, we were given a lot of freedom to do things. One activity we tried a couple of times was to produce a play, stories like Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty. I am not sure whether we ever got the grown-ups to watch us. We were hampered by a lack of curtains and props. However, we had a few old dance dresses and I enjoyed wearing a green one with a halter-top. My friend, displaying her original sin bent, told her mother that I did a handstand in the road (in my green dress) with no pants on! Apart from anything else I could not do a handstand at that stage in my life. I played at my friend Norma’s (they lived one door down and opposite) and together with her brother we played cowboys and crooks or Indians quite a bit. Norma’s parents were old family friends. Her grandfather had been the policeman down on the Flats when my mother’s family lived at Klipfontein. We used to hide in an old hedge, and I worried about getting bitten by a button spider that would speedily end my life. My mother’s youngest sister, Aunty Olive and I lived together at Grandma’s house until she married at the age of eighteen. We had some arguments. She called me a brat and “Nokkie Holtands” because I had lost some of my baby teeth. I threatened her that one day I would call her children brats. I never did. The day Uncle Kenny got married, she gave birth to her first daughter my cousin Juliana - and I sent her a poem I had written for the baby. She returned it to me some years ago. She was

38 married to Uncle Louis of Dutch parentage. They spent some time in Malawi (then Nyasaland) before settling in Cape Town. The fact that my parents were divorced caused me a problem at school. I do not think any other friends had divorced parents, as it was rare in those far-off days. So, I had my own explanation. My father was taken prisoner (after the fall of Tobruk?). My mother thought he was dead and so remarried, only finding out later that he was still alive! I was never ever given an explanation about the divorce. Maybe I believed my own story? Amongst our hobbies in junior school was the keeping of silkworms. We obtained some worms and fed them on Mulberry or beetroot leaves. Each worm spun a cocoon that lay dormant for some time, the moths hatched, mated, laid eggs and died. Later the egg hatched into worms and the cycle began again. We had to find mulberry leaves. We also had to find flowers for the teacher’s birthday. Near Grandma’s house a family had a smallholding. They kept a cow or two and grew a few things. We used to get milk from their dairy. However, the unmarried sister looked rather sinister. She had a bird’s nest of hair under a pointed felt cap. She wore a long dress (unusual in those days) and boots. She also allowed the hens to walk around in the kitchen. But we could always get a little bunch of flowers from her – at a reasonable price. Sundays were special days. We wore our best clothes, went to Sunday school and church and had a delicious lunch. There was usually a leg of lamb or a beef roast with roast potatoes and vegetables as well as pudding. For supper we had sandwiches of cold lamb or beef with beetroot. A friend of the family, who was there the day I was born, commented that the Lilleys were always very interested in food. In the afternoon we might go out to Hout Bay to see Ouma. I was nervous in the car, as there was a steep drop down into the valleys. We passed by vineyards and went through an avenue of oak trees. It was like being in a cathedral with the branches forming arches overhead.

A Teenager Turns I had started high school when we moved to a brand-new house in a development in Lansdowne. It had a fair piece of ground, a red tiled roof and good-sized lounge but only two bedrooms. So we four girls slept in bunk beds. Once when we had no cow, I expressed the desire for my own room. The stable in the backyard was whitewashed and I moved in. I decorated the walls with magazine pictures of film stars. There was too much natural air conditioning, as there was a gap between the top of the wall and there were cement floors. This made my “bedroom” rather cool although I had an Aladdin heater to warm the place. The thought of the

39 big baboon spiders could also make life unpleasant. So, I gave up my independent sleeping quarters. We lived at the end of the road and beyond us there was bush and a lovely, big, grass-covered field where we ran races. Lower down there was a dam with dainty, white “watereendjies” (literally “small water ducks” - white flowers that grow in water) floating on it. Wild arum lilies grew in the fields and the alien Port Jackson willow that abounded was beautiful with yellow blossoms in the spring. Later on, in high school I used to walk towards the dam and sit on a fallen pine tree trunk. There alone in the fields I read poetry aloud. I was idealistic and romantic in my thinking and seldom thought about the danger of going off alone as I did. On the big field we found little mounds of sand pushed up by the earthworms. We amused ourselves by putting a stick into the hole, turning it, intoning “hamdamdollie” (don’t know why) and watching for the worms to pop up. Our immediate neighbours were Afrikaans but loyal United Party supporters and pro-England. There was consternation when another Afrikaans family moved in and they belonged to the Nationalist Party (not pro-British Commonwealth, wanting a republic and the developers of Apartheid). Due to Apartheid all the families in this area had eventually to move out of their homes as it had been zoned for the Coloured people and Whites could not stay there. My stepfather worked as a bus driver but also grew flowers for sale. He rented the ground next door to our house. We had a whole field of daffodils and then dahlias. The side of the house was given over to the growing of cucumbers that were fresh and delicious. We also had the cow and chickens. Dogs completed the menagerie. We kept kittens and a Pekinese dog in Gibson Road but now we had big dogs: one a ridgeback, the other an Alsatian cross breed. Once I tried to milk the cow. It was very hard on the fingers. Our neighbours had a goat, and some others had a flock of geese that were rather aggressive. At one time I had a baby duck called Donald. I wheeled it round in my sister’s doll’s pram. Donald was really intelligent according to me and I was quite attached to this duckling. However, our jealous dog killed her with his paw. In Grade Eight - that was the year we moved to Lansdowne - I went mountain climbing with three friends from Lansdowne Methodist church. There were two girls and two guys. I only mention it because one of the boys was Johnny Gainsford who later became a well-known South African rugby player - one of the best centres South Africa has produced. I climbed (or rather slogged up the easier routes of) Table Mountain a number of times over the years with church youth groups. We climbed from the back up Skeleton Gorge starting at Kirstenbosch and reached the top where the pine trees next to the reservoir were welcome for their shade, then

40 descended to Camps Bay or Kloofnek. Or we started from Camps Bay or Kloofnek and ended at Kirstenbosch. We climbed in the heat of the day and once we climbed by night (must have been a full moon). We even slept on the mountain, as our youth leader belonged to the mountain club and we used their hut. The mountain is deceptive, and mists suddenly come up. A number of people have lost their lives climbing Table Mountain. But for Capetonian young people who belonged to church youth groups it was a part of life. When you were halfway up you wondered why you got yourself into this. On the top, the doubts were forgotten and there was a wonderful sense of achievement. I have never gone up the mountain on the cableway. That is the way most tourists see Table Mountain. I hear they have removed the alien pines from the mountain top. Where do the climbers now find shade? In Grade Nine I went on a holiday to East London with Grandma Lilley and one of my aunts, Aunty May. We went by train and stayed at the Windsor Hotel. This was reported in the local newspaper. At last, we had made it onto the society page!! It was a winter holiday, and I had a number of new outfits. I particularly enjoyed wearing my green corduroy skirt and matching jersey. A bit of a holiday friendship started with a boy from the Transvaal. We used to meet on the beachfront and talk. He was on a school rugby tour and came to visit me in Cape Town at a later stage of his tour. Our United Party neighbours had a “Boeremusiek” (farmers’ music) band and had weekend parties in their home. I enjoyed joining in the dancing. Some of them drank too much. One of the young men and I were friendly. He had striking blue eyes. This friendship came to an end in Grade Ten. I was going to school at Wynberg Girls’ (Grade Ten), living in Lansdowne and involved at Lansdowne Methodist church. My own father lost his job at the Traffic Department due to excessive drinking. He was now a confirmed alcoholic. He and my stepmother were separated. One day he went to see his old friend Billy Young. They had started work together at the City Hall in their teens. He admitted to Billy that his life was in a mess and quite simply, after explanation, Billy led my father to commit his life to the Lord Jesus Christ. Billy came down to Lansdowne to see me and tell me of my father’s conversion. I was going to Confirmation classes at the time. I knew I needed the Lord Jesus in my life. This was Thursday. The following Monday evening we had a Guild Rally at Lansdowne Methodist. I was taking part. I recited in the Sunday school anniversary every year and so was asked to participate in the rally. I chose “There were ninety and nine that safely lay in the shelter of the fold.” There was a solo “He died of a broken heart for you”. I believe the singer was a converted alcoholic. The verse across the room, left over from Christmas, was “Unto you is born a Saviour”. The

41 Rev. Jack Cook preached, and I responded by putting up my hand. That evening I invited Jesus Christ the Son of God to take over control of my life and forgive my sins through His death for me. I did not have a great emotional experience, but that night changed my whole life and my eternal destiny. It was the 12th April, 1954. I told my family of the decision I had made to follow Christ. Next day I told my friend, Praxia and she made a commitment to Him. The following Sunday, my step cousin, Joyce, and her parents visited us. I told her what had happened, and she surrendered her life to Christ a short time later. My Sunday school teacher, Mrs Lindenberg knew about the change and spoke to me, thus encouraging me to press on in the Christian life. I found myself surrounded by a group of like-minded young people at the church. We met together to pray, held open-air meetings, taught Sunday school, went to camps and conferences together, got involved in cottage meetings. We also had fun, climbed the mountain taking other young people with us, joined with another guild on Camps Bay beach, had a watermelon feast at another beach. Of this group of young people from Lansdowne Methodist, two went into full-time work in the Salvation army, one joined the Africa Evangelistic Band, one became a church of the Nazarene pastor after serving with A.E.B., another (slightly younger) was a missionary nurse in Swaziland while I went as a missionary to the Middle East. Others in secular work have remained keen for the Lord. How faithful God has been. I still look back after more than sixty years and marvel at the change God made in my life. From a teenager whose main concerns were self and boys, the Lord changed me into a person who loved Him (however imperfectly) and was concerned for others. It was what my husband likes to call “the silent miracle”. I was truly born again. Even my quiet personality changed, and I became more “outgoing”. Not that I was perfect by any means. The Lord is still busy changing me. I am a “work in progress”. I had turned from my way to His way. I received the gift of eternal life and the Holy Spirit came to live in me. But there was and is a daily life of obedience to Him to be lived. Two wayside Sunday schools were started with God’s help. Some of the small children turned up wearing no pants while parents were often drunk. When their homes were flooded, I was concerned, and Uncle Percy provided me with new blankets to keep them warm. Near Grandma’s house was a butcher shop where Grandma bought her meat. I had previously had words with the butcher’s wife, and I avoided her. After the change in my life, I was given grace to apologise to her. I was duly confirmed at Lansdowne Methodist. It meant something now that Christ was my Saviour. The verse I was given at that

42 time has been special to me. “Be thou faithful unto death and I will give thee a crown of life”- (Revelation chapter 2) At Wynberg Girls’ High there were a number of other students in my class who professed faith in Christ around this time. I was encouraged to give my testimony at various church meetings, and we were taught to reach out to others. So, a group of us at school with possibly more zeal than wisdom used to meet at lunch times and decide on the person (or was it victim?) we would evangelize. One or two of us approached the person while the others prayed. In January 1955 I felt God’s call to be a missionary through an Africa Evangelistic Band meeting. Because the speaker was telling us about the work in the Belgian Congo, I thought I was to go to Africa. When I later read books such as C.T. Studd’s biography, I decided that I should go with W.E.C. as I appreciated their “faith basis”. The same month I changed schools. I had heard that there was no Christian Union at Lansdowne High. I discussed it with Rev. Jack Cook and my mother agreed with my changing schools for the last two years of high school. My motivation was to start a Christian Union at the school, but I also liked the idea of going to a co-ed school after 10 years at a Girls’ school. It was very different to Wynberg Girls’. As many of the students came from poorer homes, most left at the end of Grade Ten. The Grade Eleven and Twelve classes were very small, and the two classes were joined for certain subjects. We had some very good teachers. However, we suffered in Maths from the lack of an experienced teacher. The Afrikaans master smelt strongly of tobacco, but he made our set-work book unforgettable. I can still hear him saying “droogte” and “ou Datie”. Although I have forgotten details, I will never forget C.M. van der Heever’s “Droogte” which is about a South African drought. We had a good English teacher too. She introduced us to “The Return of the Native” by Thomas Hardy and Shakespeare’s “Anthony and Cleopatra”. She entered my essay into the South African Eisteddfod with good results. It was also in Grade Eleven that I was baptized in Medway Chapel (an Open Brethren Assembly). After my father’s conversion, through Billy sharing the gospel with him, he worshipped at Medway Chapel while staying in the home of Billy’s parents. Then he and my stepmother were reconciled, and she said to me, “It’s like living with a new man.” She hit the nail on the head. I sometimes went with my father to Medway and thoroughly enjoyed the Breaking of Bread (communion service) and the simple way the Bible was explained. Although a Methodist, I came to believe that baptism should follow a personal commitment to Christ. No one spoke to me about it, but I came to my own conclusion through reading the Bible. So, in 1955 Donald Steele baptized me at Medway. I think we

43 were the first group to be baptized at Medway as the building had only been opened the previous year and we wore brand new baptismal gowns. Mr and Mrs Mansefield took us to their home for tea afterwards. One of the blessings that came to us through our association with Open Brethren Assemblies has been their loving hospitality and open homes. In Grade Twelve I was made a prefect. This was not strange as there were only four girls in Matric at Lansdowne that year. The Christian Union was started with the help of an A.E.B. worker who had just come to teach at the school. I enjoyed the interaction with the boys as well as girls in the school and was able to give a Christian witness through oral assignments and in other ways. In all government schools there were regular Christian assemblies and Bible education although the teachers were not necessarily believers. I won a prize for an article in the school magazine. The prize was a book by a Chinese philosopher and an atheistic, mischievous book it was. Was it a deliberate act, that such a book was given to me? I was known as a professing Christian. Which of the staff chose it? When I realized something of its content, I threw it away. I did not have the training, maturity or knowledge to deal with it, so I did what I still think was the best thing under the circumstances. I started playing hockey in Grade Eleven and I really enjoyed it. I never liked netball in junior school as I found it most frustrating to stand still the moment you got the ball. With hockey you could go with the ball. I was not a natural as far as sport was concerned but I played right inner position, was captain of the second team and had a good time. I was not aggressive enough to do much scoring. We had a male coach and practised at the Y.M.C.A. ground. We were invited to enter a fudge competition at the Y.M.C.A. fete. I knew little about making fudge, managed to burn mine, was late with my entry (probably because it took time to fish out the burnt bits) and won! I went to Stuttaford’s store and spent my prize voucher with much pleasure. One of the things I bought was a pink, pearlized bag for the Matric party. The year before, we Grade Elevens organized the party and attended – without partners. Now it was our turn in Grade Twelve. I invited a young man from the Pinelands Mission Band - a keen group of young people who ministered at our church. By this time, we had moved to Diep River, still in the southern suburbs of Cape Town, so he fetched me there and we picked up my friend Brenda and her partner. I was happy in my pretty pink dress, pink shoes and pearlized bag. It was a memorable evening. In Grade Eleven, I went to a Schools and Varsity camp. We canoed in the vlei, played rounders and puddox and had a great time. The officers were mainly university students or teachers. We had a tent leader with a beautiful voice and she sang “Velia, O Velia, the witch of the woods” at

44 the camp concert. In the mornings we had a Quiet Time as a tent group and, in the evenings, there was singing of choruses and a message from the Bible. The usual music was a piano-accordion as guitars had not yet come into their own on the Christian music scene. We were all interested in getting together with the distant boy’s camp at some time during the holiday. An important item of camp gear was the knitted, striped jelly bag the girls wore on their heads. Near the end of my school career, I also helped at a Cape Times Fresh Air camp during one holiday period. Funds were provided by the newspaper readers for poor children to have a holiday by the sea. The camps were staffed by young volunteers, through Scripture Union. It was quite an experience to be partly responsible for a dormitory of children, some of them from rather dysfunctional homes. We had one bungalow set aside for those who required head treatment after inspection by the camp nurse. We were able to share with the children something about God as well as give them a carefree time and plenty of food and fresh air. At the end of Grade Eleven or Twelve, I went to help at a seaside mission run by Scripture Union. This was in the Christmas Holidays. My mother’s cousin was one of the leaders. Known as CSSM - Children’s Special Service Mission – (or “Come Single, Soon Married” was the humorous name given by the workers), it was run by voluntary workers mainly students. This one was at St James. The workers lived in “Aunt Agatha’s house” (she no longer lived there) that was up a long flight of steps known as Jacob’s ladder. We had quite a lot of fun although my friend and I got into hot water for making another worker’s camp bed “disappear”. We let it down over the balcony onto the lower roof where it was quite well hidden! We did have some more serious fellowship as well and prepared for the meetings. In the mornings there was a children’s service on the beach and the children flocked to the sand pulpit with the CSSM banner overhead. They learnt Bible verses, sang choruses and had a serial story with the aim of leading the children to make a commitment to the Lord Jesus Christ. We shared lots of games and other activities with them too. One day we planned a game in which they had to find the disguised workers and get their signatures. I decided to dress up as a black lady and went to sit on a bench. I would not advise anyone else to cover her skin with brown shoe polish and then sit in the sun! In the evenings, the teenagers came to “Aunt Agatha’s” for their part of the programme. I particularly remember one skit that was rather macabre and was a “song” about the local undertakers – just the kind of thing teenagers relish. The fun and skits were part of our strategy to reach out to these young people. The Senior Certificate (Matriculation) results were released by the government and I did reasonably well – a first class pass with two A’s. One

45 of those “A’s” was a minor miracle. It was for Biology and our class had not studied some of the material that appeared in the examination. I had prayed about my exams and the Lord helped me to draw on things I had read or learnt in previous years to answer those questions. We were living in Diep River and had two Persian-looking kittens. Pansy was killed when the ironing board fell on her. The one who survived had the name of Lucky. This was a very intelligent cat and acted more like a dog than a cat, following us around and meeting us at the front gate when we came home. Later we moved to a second house also in Diep River and had a barrel-like, crossbreed dog named Captain. He was a lovely yellowish colour with some Ridgeback breed in him. He was a handsome mutt. My stepfather put insecticide powder on him for fleas and the dog sadly died after licking it off. We also had a baboon that lived on the empty plot next to the house. I think he once got into the house and swung around the pictures and picture rail in the lounge. Grandpa Lilley visited the baboon every day, feeding it bananas and the baboon would sit on his shoulder. At this stage, my mother and stepfather were running the canteen at the Tramways building opposite our home, providing cooked meals for the bus drivers and conductors who could also play billiards while waiting for their shifts. As Christian young people we attended meetings organized by Youth for Christ. Some were in the Cape Town City Hall. Others were held at the Koffiehuis restaurant in Adderley Street. We also enjoyed other meetings such as the one in the home of George Young, Shipping Correspondent of the Cape Times newspaper. There was also a Guild camp in Glencairn where we slept on the bare floorboards. We attended Easter camps arranged by the United Evangelical Fellowship and Kewick meetings as well.

A Nursing Career In January 1957, I started at Carinus School of Nursing. The school was housed in a lovely old building in Queen Victoria Street, next to the Gardens in Cape Town. Nursing seemed to be the best training for a future missionary. It took three and a half years to train as a General Medical and Surgical nurse. We spent two months in Preliminary Training School and were then sent out to the hospitals. I asked to do my practical training at Victoria Hospital, Wynberg. I started in the Coloured Children’s ward. We were in the apartheid era and “whites” were in one wing and “non-whites” in another. All the nurses and doctors were white at our hospital as well as the other health professionals. Only the domestic staff were non-white. 46 To us it was normal life and we never thought much about it although we should have. My concern as a Christian was to show the same love, respect and compassion to all. At Carinus in our Preliminary Training school study block, we had been warned that we must maintain the standards taught there when working in the hospital. What they did not teach was that there are priorities, and you cannot do certain things perfectly with inadequate staff. And there was always a shortage of nurses. My first afternoon in the children’s ward, I was given a bed to carbolize. Determined to do it properly, I took a good bit of the afternoon cleaning the bed, regardless of the fact that there were many babies waiting to be changed and fed. I expect the senior nurses were tearing their hair out! The nursing sisters were regarded with some awe and there was definite seniority amongst the students. We were not to be friendly with trained staff or senior students. The pecking order was strictly maintained so that we obeyed those in authority. The doctors were the lords of creation and over us nurses. Although some of the sisters made our lives unpleasant, they had to train us and taught us to always put the patient first. We were not to run except for fire and haemorrhage. Strikes had no meaning for nurses. We were professionals and all that counted was the patient. We were taught economy and “woe betide” if ward lights were left on when there was daylight. We were not allowed to eat in the wards but some hid behind the ward kitchen door and snacked. When on night duty in the children’s ward we tasted the various brands of baby milk before discarding them. We then mixed fresh milk mixtures for the next twenty- four hours in the milk kitchen. Poor Victor - he had to drink ghastly-tasting soya milk due to a milk allergy. He was a newborn found abandoned and half buried in a field. He stayed with us for quite a while. We had to keep a sample of each baby’s stool in the sluice room and present it to Sister in the morning, while she taught us about colour, consistency, curds, mucous etc. There were sometimes round worms in the napkins as well. Many of the children were malnourished and had kwashiorkor or gastro-enteritis. The kwashiorkor babies had sparse, reddish hair and potbellies due to lack of Protein. It was possible for such a child to just keel over and die because the heart was affected. There were glassed-in cubicles for infectious and other serious cases. We had to put on special gowns and masks and observe strict precautions. There was

47 also a glassed-in premature baby unit and we had to tube-feed these little ones in their incubators. We learnt to lay out the bodies of small children and infants who died and take them down to the mortuary. At night this could be a frightening experience. We had to go outside the hospital building and down a ramp to the basement. The cubicles had a great view over the beautiful Constantia Valley. From the hospital we could also look down across part of the Peninsula as we were on a hill. Through the sluice room window, I watched the dawn break when on night duty in the children’s ward. There was a little black baby called Joseph. He had a heart condition and stayed in hospital for quite a long time. He was thoroughly spoilt by one of the doctors so I learnt the only Xhosa I knew: “Yacobeta wena” – “I will beat you!” Of course, it was an empty threat, but he was so naughty - and cute - that we felt the need of a threat! I loved Coloured Children’s ward and took many photos of the children. Cecil and Cecile were twins. Elizabeth was a toddler with a creative urge. She made use of her nappy contents to paint her cot. The children were so adorable but often they returned neglected and sick after being sent home well. I was specially attached to one baby and she went home. I arranged to take her to my family on Christmas day. I fetched her and the parents were drunk. She was drinking black tea from her bottle. Maybe it was red bush tea, that might not be bad for babies, but I thought it was ordinary tea at the time. I dressed her in new clothes and took her to my family for the afternoon. One other story needs to be told about the children’s ward. I was back there as a senior student and was sent to do the dressings of a child with bad burns. To prevent contractures, the child’s leg had been put in Plaster of Paris. This being removed I placed the child in a sitz bath and started removing the dressings. The maggots started crawling out. Sister peeped in and got out quickly. There were maggots and maggots. Obviously, a fly had got under the P.O.P. But I have never seen a more beautiful burn wound. It was as clean as a whistle, the maggots having eaten all the dead and unhealthy flesh. This was a treatment for wounds in past centuries. Maybe we need to re-introduce it!! One of the less pleasant things about this ward was that some of the children were infested with lice and we had to put sassafras (horrible smelling) compresses on their heads to deal with the parasites. I normally lived at the hospital but went home to my family on my days off. One day having returned home to Diep River I washed my hair. As I sat at the table, combing it while reading the newspaper, something dropped off! My mother grabbed me and inspected my hair. Apart from the one louse there were (only) two nits (eggs) so I was very fortunate to escape so lightly and

48 for it to be detected so early. This was one of the hazards of working in the children’s ward. After this, our family moved to Plumstead, above the railway line, where my mother and stepfather had first a fish and chips shop and then a grocery store with fresh fruit and vegetables as well as confectionery. They lived in a two bed-roomed flat above the shop and I slept on the couch in the lounge on my days off. To get back to the Coloured Children’s ward, we did a frequent procedure probably not performed nowadays. This was to put needles into the subcutaneous tissue of a child’s abdomen. The needles were connected to rubber tubes that were attached to bottles with a sterile solution. (We also had to inject a drug to prevent complications from the procedure.) This was a way of replacing fluid without an intravenous infusion needing to be put into little veins. It also did not require a doctor’s help. Nurses were not allowed to do any intravenous procedures. Afterwards the needles and tubes were cleaned and boiled for re-use. Our uniforms were white and starched. The part over our bosoms was like armour plating and double breasted. Students wore caps and staff nurses (newly trained and registered) wore theirs with a strap under the chin and a fetching bow decorated with lace (also lace on the cap itself) while the sisters (trained and registered nurses with some experience, not nuns) wore starched veils. We had brown lace-up shoes and a cape for cold weather – navy on the outside and lined with red. Navy straps crossed over the chest. We were proud of the fact that Victoria Hospital nurses made their caps differently to the other hospitals. Ours were pleated and theirs were gathered. We sewed them ourselves and pulled out the stitching when they went to the wash where they were also starched - and then we sewed them again. There were nurses from six or seven hospitals when we went into study blocks at the nursing school. The biggest hospital represented was Groote Schuur, famous for the first heart transplant by Dr Chris Barnard – some years after our training time. At Victoria Hospital I lived in the Nurses’ Home. We each had our own room and there was a communal lounge and dining room. For recreation there was table tennis, and an outside tennis court for the more energetic. We had quite a bit of fun but were strictly supervised. If we went out, we had to be in by a certain time and sign the book. The food was plentiful and reasonable in quality. We were usually in a hurry to get back to the wards often coming late to meals. So many of us learnt to eat quickly – a bad habit I still have today. The European Male ward was one that I worked in quite frequently. The Sister-in-charge had trained at a famous hospital in London. One of her

49 “special things” was the way the china was placed on the patient’s tray. She would dish up the food from the hot food wagon in a very exact manner and we had to ensure that the hospital badge on the plate was in the correct alignment as taught by her! She brought her dog to work (unofficially) and he lay under the desk in her office. When I put on a bit of weight, she said I looked like a pouter pigeon. So, I did some dieting. We had a young man with a broken neck, and I had to feed him. I could never pour enough pepper on his food. He always wanted more. He must have been a pepper addict. A young cricketer had skin cancer and was brought into the hospital to die. I think he had multiple melanomas. Another man drank Jeye’s fluid in a suicide attempt. The smell of Jeye’s fluid lingered and lingered. I also learnt to cope with patients who Delirium Tremens – not only in this ward. Some “saw” spiders or snakes on their beds. We had a very nice patient who came in following a heart attack. He was getting on well when he suddenly had another attack and died. One of our duties was to shave the patients’ faces - and other places in emergencies when the male orderly was off. The young males were possibly embarrassed (I remember one in particular) but for us it was just part of the job. One evening two of us were busy washing bedpans in the sluice room when the rinsing-machine pipe got blocked. The machine overflowed and dirty water and bedpan contents flowed out of the sluice room and down the passage that went down an incline into the main passage. It was the end of a busy day. We had to cry or laugh. I think we laughed and got cleaning after switching off the water. Next to this sluice room was a private room called “The Padded Cell”. It seems that in earlier days they must have put psychiatric patients in this room so they would not injure themselves. All the padding (if it ever existed) had gone by my time. A number of our patients were in for Prostatectomy and a very messy business it was in those days when the surgeons did many bladder washouts with water and mess. Things that later became so simple were a big deal such as the soap enema given before many operations. There were also bowel washouts before bowel surgery. Injection needles and glass syringes were washed and boiled – no disposables. Penicillin (often mixed with Streptomycin) injections had to be given frequently and some of the syringes leaked. I can still remember the sticky feeling. Before going off duty at night we had to count the ward instruments and the teaspoons (in case they had been stolen) and sign for them in the book. We had to cut and fold dressings, roll up cotton wool swabs, pack the drums for the autoclave. The nurses did all the dusting - low and high – while the ward housekeeper saw to the food and the cleaners did the floors. We worked long hours for little pay but we were fulfilled and happy in what we did.

50 Some of the patients gave us small gifts such as chocolates or stockings when they left the hospital. Others gave a box of chocolates or cake to be shared by the staff. We had a millionaire’s son in a private ward, and he gave me a bottle of expensive perfume when he left – much appreciated. On the whole, the men were very good patients (probably not as good when they went home) and I enjoyed nursing them. I never worked in Coloured Male ward where they had many stabbings and patients with head injuries. They had a trained male nurse in charge. The first and only time I worked in that ward was when I did my final practical exams for the Nursing Council of South Africa. I was given a very difficult and awkward situation and patient to deal with. Although I passed, I did not do as well as I had hoped. My other procedures were all right, as they don’t stand out in my mind but the one in Coloured Male… better if I had stayed away permanently! The Coloured Female ward was a very busy one. Some of the patients came in as a result of incomplete, illegal, back street abortions. There were no contraceptive pills at that time. They came in for emergency D&C and the stretchers filled up the middle of the long ward, when we ran out of beds. One of these patients sadly contracted tetanus. Sometimes the baby was aborted in the hospital. Two of our nurses were lay nuns. The one I worked with would baptize these little ones before they drew their last and, often, only breath. One tragic situation was when a young, unmarried woman of good family died following an operation for an ectopic pregnancy. Other patients came in for “cold” surgery or with bone fractures. We nursed many ladies with various medical conditions as well. After I was qualified, I worked as the staff nurse on this ward. As the sister- in-charge had other duties in the hospital, I ran the ward much of the time. The problem with being trained staff was that there was a lot of administrative work to be done, reports to be written, matron’s and doctor’s rounds to be attended so there was little time for patient care. The students did that under my supervision, and I was the poorer for not being in more direct contact with the patients. The European Female ward was run by a strict Afrikaans sister and she and I never quite “clicked”. However, she was a good teacher and we learnt to give competent patient care. Some of the women patients were very nice but others were extremely difficult. Maybe the reason was that they did not get much attention when ill at home (my theory!). One patient asked me why I was so happy, and I told her about the difference the Lord Jesus had made in my life. There were other opportunities to share my faith. Another patient who had cancer was the principal of a well-known girls’ school. A woman with broken jaws came from one of the most affluent areas. Her jaws were wired, and we helped give her liquid

51 food through a tube. We visited her home, at her invitation, after she was discharged. A lady who was a committed Christian had a mastectomy. Again, it was much more complicated than nowadays - with pumps and drains and bottles etc. She had three little daughters and seemed to recover well. However, sometime later she returned to the hospital and eventually died. We were continually confronted with life and death. We were accustomed to laying out the dead and yet we were very young and came from reasonably sheltered backgrounds. How did we cope? For me as a Christian there was an inner well of strength in the fellowship of the Holy Spirit although I was not consciously thinking of His presence. I think another factor was that we were active and doing all we could to help those in pain and need. We were too busy for much introspection on-duty and too tired off-duty. I remember one lady who died in anguish of spirit and in great fear. Others died peacefully. We had one patient with Porphyria, an illness that I never saw again. It was more commonly found in certain Afrikaans families. Once while in this ward, we had a Staphylococcal outbreak in the hospital and the whole section was closed down. All patients were discharged and nurses with pimples or boils were sent off to the beach to lie in the sun! The rest of us counted stock until we longed for boils. Stocktaking happened every year at any rate and what a nightmare tracking down every last basin, bedpan, instrument, plate, blanket and towel, etc. I also landed up in this ward myself after a scooter accident. I had acquired a Vespa scooter from a young man who married one of my school friends. Having just learnt to ride, my first trip was a very long one all along the Main Road to town and quite a nightmare because it was at night. Some weeks or months afterwards a dog ran out from a dark field as I went home from Guild at Southfield Methodist. My family had moved to Southfield near Plumstead by this time. Predictably I came off the scooter after hitting the dog that disappeared into the night. I was wearing a helmet but was taken to the hospital and put in the nurses’ ward. The following day I was due to return to Carinus for the next study block but was not yet discharged. In her opening address Miss Loopuyt, the principal of the nursing school, warned the students about the dangers of scooters. With the subsequent roll call it was reported that I was in hospital due to a scooter accident and another student was also absent following a mishap with her scooter! I had one other experience of being a patient in the European Female ward. On return from my time at the City Hospital for Infectious Diseases, I had a septic finger. In changing a baby’s nappy (diaper) I had managed to stick the safety pin into my index finger. We tried home remedies while I suffered severe pain. My stepfather made bread and onion poultice but

52 to no avail. So, I needed antibiotics and removal of my fingernail under general anaesthetic. The nail grew back but it was always harder than my other nails. I worked in the European children’s ward as well. It was not as big or busy as the other children’s ward and I spent less time there. The parents were also more hands-on. The one patient whom I do remember was flown in from Upington in the Northern Cape with a puff-adder snakebite. The leg was very swollen, and the child must have suffered. However, the bite was not fatal in this case. After some months at the hospital we returned to Carinus but this time we were in the Annandale Street annexe, another old building that was later pulled down. This was the study block when we concentrated on Anatomy and Physiology for two months and learnt more advanced practical procedures. A group of us who were committed Christians, met together for fellowship. We sang together, studied the Bible and prayed together. Six of us called ourselves “The Separated Six” (separation from the world was a strong emphasis at that time) and were friends for the rest of our training although Marie was at Woodstock Hospital, Paula at Rondebosch Cottage, Louise and Phoebe at Groote Schuur and Beryl and myself at Victoria. We were a mixed bag. Phoebe was Baptist, Paula was Open Brethren, Marie was Apostolic Faith Mission, Beryl was Presbyterian, I was Methodist, and I have forgotten where Louise worshipped. We went on holidays together after our different study blocks at Carinus. We travelled to Carmel Christian guest farm, near George where I rode a horse for the one and only time in my life. Louise who rode after me had a mount that ran away with her after being frightened by a furniture van. I also rode on a giant tortoise. We were taken by Shirley (an Afrikaans friend from Carinus) and her brother to Oudtshoorn. That was their hometown. We visited the famous and fabulously beautiful Cango Caves. I refused to go up “The Chimney” in case I got stuck. “Lumbago Alley” was bad enough for me. We travelled to and from George by steam train, sleeping on the train. My cousin Marion who had also started nursing, was with us and could not fit in our six-bunk compartment. She was sleeping next door and sharing with a nun. We were most intrigued and asked her to find out what the nun had under her veil, hair or otherwise. To our dismay, we found out from Marion the next day that she could clearly hear our subsequent conversation in her compartment. Another holiday we travelled up the coast together on the Edinburgh Castle calling in at ports on the way and spending a few days in Durban. All my money was stolen in front of the City Hall by a pickpocket on our first day there. I had no money for the rest of the trip. A third holiday together was at “The Island” in Ceres although Marie was not with us. We

53 went caravanning in the winter in an area known for its snow and skiing, called in Afrikaans “Die Koue Bokkeveld”. “Koue” means cold! My stepfather towed our caravan to the site. There was a second caravan as well as a small chalet for cooking. How crazy can you get? We managed to have a happy holiday although Paula was not impressed when we tipped her into the ice-cold swimming pool in her pyjamas. There was a broad river with bare trees on the banks. We were friendly with the family responsible for the resort as we were the only visitors. One thing stands out and that was the communion service we held sitting on the rustic wooden benches at the similarly rustic table. We used vinegar and bread for the symbols that Sunday. To get back to Carinus, when we got our pay we visited the Waldorf Restaurant in Cape Town and bought such luxuries as a banana split or a sundae. I think it was at this time that we went to St George’s Cathedral and asked if there were any lonely people who needed visiting. So we were given some names and visited the old ladies concerned. I think I remember the one having a parrot. They lived in rooms near the city centre. During this time the Asian ‘flu’ broke out and many of the students were quarantined and confined to bed. They were put in a communal room together. I was one of the last to succumb so stayed in my room alone. I had lots of muscle pains and in my ignorance thought I had cancer! Eventually I was taken to Groote Schuur Hospital and they were concerned because of my high white cell count. I was to stay in bed, not even wash myself, as they suspected I had Rheumatic Fever. Fortunately, it turned out to be only the after-effects of the ‘flu’. I was due to help at a Schools and Varsities camp in my holiday, but I was unable to go. While in hospital a sick nurse in another ward had a record that she played endlessly - “Green door”. It got monotonous. There were private wards next to the nurses’ wards in C2 and I got to know a lady who was dying of cancer. Her name was Mrs Salisbury and she and her husband were Brethren missionaries in the Congo. She was a lovely witness to the power and reality of God even in such circumstances. I got to know her daughter Marion and son-in-law Doug and we became friends. Some of us nurses later visited their home and played board games. Years later we met in the Johannesburg hospital where my daughter was having an operation and the son-in-law was seriously ill with a stroke. It was lovely to see Marion’s trust in God and Dougie did recover quite well, against the odds. At some time during our training, we had to work at the City Hospital. This was the infectious diseases hospital. One good thing about it was that the food was excellent. I think the theory was that good food would keep the nurses well and we should be less likely to succumb to some deadly

54 disease. Of course, they had immunized us as much as they could. The Typhoid Fever injections were pretty sore, and my BCG (anti-TB) never took although I had a negative Mantoux test. So, I stayed negative and susceptible. I worked in the Meningitis ward. There were two separate sections, Meningococcal Meningitis and TB Meningitis. The children with the Meningococcal type were acutely ill. Those with the TB sometimes had long lasting brain damage. We were never afraid that we would get ill. We just got on with the work. Later I was in the Diphtheria ward with very sick children. Some of them had tracheotomies. One such child was fine when I went to supper but dead when I returned. Something went wrong with the tracheotomy tube. Some of my colleagues worked in the Polio ward before there was anti-polio immunization and patients were nursed in iron lungs. We returned for our Medical and Surgical block at Carinus and were housed in yet another interesting old building and walked a distance to lectures. The lecture block was in the same grounds as probably the oldest house in Cape Town. It has beautiful windows and a lovely front door. We took photos of our group on the stoep of this historic building. Apart from other medical and surgical subjects, we studied Materia Medica (now called Pharmacology) although I think that course should have been more comprehensive. We were taught Theatre Technique by a sister from Groote Schuur. Her favourite maxim seemed to be, “Never trust anyone but yourself!” Again, we enjoyed being together as “The Separated Six”. After our holiday, it was back to Victoria hospital. I had my turn in the operating theatres. The Sister-in-charge was difficult. We students were given a hard time and were not supposed to be friendly with the doctors. I had diarrhoea due to nerves for days after I started in theatre. It had nothing to do with the operations! When in trouble we were punished by being banished to the hopper to rinse swabs. What a relief to get out from under Sister’s feet. It was no punishment but only a pleasure! One day I really disgraced myself. There were three theatres in all, but one was for minor operations. The other two led off a corridor and the instrument and autoclave room was between the two. I was the runner, having to fetch things from the instrument room. We were wearing theatre gear and the gowns tied at the back. As I whisked through the door the loose bottom end of my gown caught in the door as it swung back. Someone pushed the door, and I was free with a look from Sister who was assisting the surgeon. This happened a second time. I imagine there was a glare from Sister, but her face was behind the mask. When it happened the third time, I was so stuck that a staff member had to leave the theatre, go through the passage into the instrument room and push me from the other side. If only I could have disappeared or fallen through the floor.

55 We were on duty during the day and on call at night. It was hectic. Once a leg was amputated from a Diabetic patient and a theatre helper was stopped from handing over the leg at the front door. This had to be done down in the mortuary. The family were Muslim and needed to bury the dismembered body part. On a particular day, life in the theatre block was fairly relaxed (probably Sister was day off) and a senior nurse prepared a little surprise for the doctor. When he opened the trolley to commence a D&C, he found a number of horrific looking orthopaedic instruments instead of the gynaecological instruments he was expecting. The correct trolley was quickly brought forward but there was some laughter. I was glad when my time in the operating theatre ended although things had improved with time, as I got more competent. At the hospital, a small group of the Nurses’ Christian Fellowship met in the Staff Nurses’ lounge on a regular basis. Also, on Monday nights someone fetched us to attend Ken’s Bible study group in Plumstead. We had other opportunities for fellowship, going to a Scripture Union leadership camp and another Bible study was started at a home near the hospital. When we could, we got to our home churches. In our relationship with God, a lot depended on personal devotions. I was sometimes up and down with my daily Bible reading and prayer. I really admired my friend Beryl who was very disciplined in having a regular Quiet Time with God. At different times during our training, we had to do night duty. It was strange to be going to bed in the morning when others were working. The night block was very pleasant as it was newer than the rest of the Nurses’ Home, but it was often difficult to get to sleep. On duty we were very busy early in the night and extremely busy in the morning but the early hours after our midnight dinner could really drag and it was very hard to stay awake. I longed to be a normal person, asleep at 2 a.m. After coming on duty and taking the report from the day staff just before 8pm, we made the patients comfortable with pans and backrubs, medication, injections and whatever other care was needed. During the night we answered bells, went on rounds with a torch, watched drips, checked wounds and blood pressures, and dealt with emergency cases. One of the most difficult decisions at night was whether to call the doctor, or wait, if there was a change in a patient’s condition. We had housemen on call. They worked extremely hard and got little sleep some nights. Was the patient’s condition bad enough to wake the doctor or could I wait a little longer? It was agonizing at times trying to decide. We also prepared for the morning. Everything was organized to the last kidney basin and thermometer. When we opened the doors at 5 a.m. or later, depending on what needed to be done before the day staff arrived,

56 we had one mad rush to get everything completed. Unless we were highly organized, we could not get through the allotted chores. It was crazy to expect two nurses (a senior assisted by a junior) to do so much in such a short time. But we did it – more or less. I found this need to work so fast to get things done very stressful. Some people find rushing around stimulating but I find it paralysing. I am happier working at a slower pace. I also like to do things properly, which is impossible when there is too much work. This need for excessive organization in nursing affected me in later years. I did not want my home to be too regimented or my family to be over-organized. I liked to feel there was room to do things in my own time and in my own way. Christmas gave a different atmosphere to the hospital. We discharged as many patients as possible, but some had to stay. Empty beds were soon filled with casualties and other emergencies. There was a Christmas tree in each ward. Seasonal motifs were painted on windows. There were mounds of flowers that we had to arrange in buckets and vases. Neighbouring estates sent us blue and pink hydrangeas as well as agapanthus. We practised carols and on Christmas Eve the nurses turned their capes inside out with the red side showing and went through the darkened wards carrying candles and singing carols. It was quite emotional. On Christmas day, only essential work was done. Father Christmas visited the wards bringing gifts in his sack. What excitement for the children who were not too ill. Some of them were not used to presents. There was morning tea in the garden with nurses mingling with the matron, medical superintendent, doctors and their families. A special lunch was served to the patients. The staff had their special Christmas party prior to Christmas day. We all had a half-day – either morning or afternoon off, as we also had on Sundays and public holidays. Apart from working on the wards, we took our turn in the Outpatients’ Department where people came to consult the doctor or specialist. Some had to have their plaster casts or stitches removed. There is one patient who stands out. She was very nicely dressed with a neat figure. Her claim to fame was that she had produced twenty-four children. She was in the same league as John and Charles Wesley’s mother. Then there was Casualty! Friday and Saturday nights were particularly busy. We had many assault cases, stabbings, head injuries, as well as car accident victims. Attempted suicides would be sent to the wards for further treatment once they had been given a stomach washout or had their wrists attended to. Casualty could be like a battlefield with blood and gore. There was lots of cleaning and stitching to be done.

57 Some casualties were less than sober and others were less than clean. We had to give anti-tetanus serum (after testing for sensitivity) to most of these patients. It kept the adrenaline rushing, working in Casualty. We were getting to the end of our training and returned to Carinus for our final block of study. After this came the government exams, set by the Nursing Council – practical, oral and written. All the Separated Six passed and we were happy to get our diplomas at the graduation ceremony where the Florence Nightingale lamp was lit and we repeated the Florence Nightingale pledge. I suppose I was a little disappointed as I had good marks during my study blocks and would have preferred more than just a pass. We were now trained medical and surgical nurses and registered with the South African Nursing Council, a statutory body, as well as with the South African Nurses’ Association. The Council members were responsible for the interests of the public and had to ensure we were competent nurses while the Association looked after the interests of the nurses. We received our maroon epaulettes with the silver Nursing Council badges and our Victoria Hospital badge and the Carinus Nursing School badge. We could write R.N. after our names. Most of us planned to qualify as midwives next. I stayed on as a staff nurse (at that time a newly registered nurse) at Victoria until I left for the Peninsula Maternity Hospital towards the end of the year. I could wear a strap under my chin with a fetching lace trimmed bow on my cheek, not to mention the lace on the cap. Did I do three and a half years for that? But we were glad of our new status. In 1959 I turned twenty-one and officially received a mock silver “key to the door”. We were living in Southfield and my mother and I planned an outdoor party for the middle of winter. Fortunately, it did not rain. My sisters made tissue paper flowers and decorated the dining room wall. There were all kinds of good things to eat and we had a square dance in the yard. Rev Jack Cook did the calling while his wife Ruth played the piano accordion. I had first learnt to square dance in the big hall at Wynberg Methodist. It was great fun. My Lilley grandparents were there as well as family and friends. My mother had a beautiful cake made and iced for me. It was in the form of an open Bible, howbeit light green in colour, and written on it was the Levitical blessing – “The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make His face shine upon thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace.” (Numbers 6). I got some great presents and my mother gave me a pair of unbreakable candlesticks and a small painting done on wood, to take to the mission field one day. During that last year at Victoria, I fell in love for the first time. The object of my affection was my friend’s twin brother. We all went to Southfield Methodist and he had made a commitment to Christ at a special meeting. This friendship lasted some months but I was not at ease. When

58 he mentioned getting married, I replied that I would if God didn’t want me to be a missionary. He must really have wondered at my answer. Why was I going out with him? He was a very nice young man and a real gentleman. I prayed earnestly (and I know some others were too) that God would end the relationship if it were not His will. At this time the young man changed completely (I think he had met the girl he was to marry) and we were no longer an item. God had answered but I was very unhappy and went off to do my midwifery in this state. I was lonely and used to pray and cry on my knees and read the Bible, particularly verses like those in Isaiah 43, “When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee.” I now did a foolish thing. I answered some adds in a magazine – sort of lonely-hearts column. I went on a date with two or three young men. I realized in retrospect that it was very foolish and dangerous. Fortunately for me they acted decently and no harm came of it. Except that I was trying to arrange my own life without allowing the Lord to be the Master. During my time at PMH, I also attended a few evening classes of the Bible Institute. At Easter I went to a Christian camp and struggled about my future. In the end I submitted to the Lord. For me, the next step was the Bible Institute of South Africa at Kalk Bay on the False Bay coast of the Cape Peninsula. To get back to midwifery, I trained and studied at the Peninsula Maternity Hospital in District Six, Cape Town. This hospital took in the complicated and difficult pregnancies from around the Cape Peninsula. So, we saw many abnormalities and difficult births. District Six was an area, not far from the city centre, with families, gangsters, slums, council flats - and better homes as well. It was certainly an interesting and vibrant place to live. One book on Cape Town expressed it this way, “District Six, where policemen walk in pairs and only the district nurse goes alone”. It was later depopulated under apartheid laws and most of the buildings demolished. I loved my time at PMH in spite of my personal unhappiness. I was a competent nurse so could easily do many of the procedures required but I did not have the responsibility of a trained nurse as I was a student again. There were student midwives and medical students living at the hospital and we all wanted our quota of deliveries. Each one of us

59 had to have delivered a certain number of babies personally. We attended lectures in the lecture block and learnt about elderly primips. (You were elderly in obstetrical terms if you delivered your first baby in your thirties, if I remember correctly.) We learnt about different positions of the baby’s head in birth, about labour, ante-natal care, postnatal care, face presentation, breech presentation, pre-eclamptic toxaemia and a hundred other things. We stuffed our heads with knowledge in the classroom and tried to make sense of it on the wards. There were the ante-natal wards with mothers who were at risk (as were the babies of those mothers) - ladies with Diabetes and heart conditions, with placenta praevia, pre-eclampsia and others. At that time statistically speaking Cape Town had one of the highest percentages of Pre-eclamptic Toxaemia (P.E.T. for short) in the world. There were the labour wards where women struggled for hour after hour to bring the next generation into the world. We tried to help them all we could. One lady was admitted and was due to deliver. Her age (as I remember it) – was said to be 56 years. Her comment to the doctor in broad Cape dialect was, “It was all a mistake, doctor. All a mistake”! Another lady asked me to choose a name for her son. I chose “Cameron”. I kept contact with her in later years and visited her in her home in Kalk Bay. Her husband was a fisherman. They were Roman Catholics descended from people who had come to the Cape many years before from the Philippines. One lady delivered in the entrance to the hospital. On admittance to the labour ward the mothers were given an enema, warm bath and castor oil to help things along unless the labour was already well advanced as sometimes happened. They were allowed to walk around for a while. We monitored them, taking temperature, pulse, respiration, blood pressure, and listened frequently to the foetal heart with our metal stethoscopes on the mother’s swollen stomach. The waters would break and we made the mother comfortable on the bed. I am measuring the frequency of the contractions, the strength of the contractions. We are supervised by trained midwives. The hours pass. Maybe morphine is given but not too near the time of birth. The morphine is written up in the special drug book and signed by two nurses, one a trained midwife. Also written on the patient’s chart. I do a rectal examination. Later I do a vaginal examination (we had to do a certain number of each for the midwifery certificate) and estimate how far the cervix has dilated. This is a first baby so labour is longer and an episiotomy must be performed so the perineum does not tear and later the cut must be stitched up. The contractions get stronger and the period between each less and less. Maybe gas is given by a trained midwife towards the end. Push. Don’t push. Breathe. There is mostly no husband present. It’s the

60 patient, the midwives and possibly the doctor. We have to support the patient through the long hours. Last push and out comes the head and then the shoulder and then the whole baby attached to his cord. No, it’s a girl. Clamps on the cord, tie and cut. Receive the baby into a towel and resuscitate. Note the Apgar score – the baby’s condition at birth estimated out of ten. Suction. A cry. She draws her first breath and lets the world know she’s here. Colour now improving. Place her on her mother’s chest and let her hold her daughter. Then take her away and later wash off the fatty layer that protected her in the womb. Put a dressing round her cord, dress her, brush her dark hair and put her in the crib to rest. She’s had a long, hard journey to get this far. Her face is red and crumpled but she will improve in looks soon. Someone stays with the mother who has to deliver the placenta. We need to know if it’s intact. It will land up in the incinerator unless the mother is a Muslim. Then we keep it for the family to bury. At other times, the baby in the womb shows signs of distress so off to O.T. for an emergency Caesarean Section. The baby is beautiful – not at all red or wrinkled. Mother is not awake to see the lovely baby until later. There are times when the baby is delivered by instruments. The result of the difficult labour might be an elongated looking head or what looks like a bump on one or other side of the head. Sometimes sadly a dead baby is delivered. He cannot be resuscitated as hard as we try. Tragedy for the family and we feel it too. The baby may be abnormal and not live long. The saddest child I ever saw was an anencephalic baby – part of the brain and skull was missing. The little one could only live a few hours. Strangely enough the baby dinosaur in a cartoon series reminded me of that infant. After the birth, mother is taken to the postnatal ward. The baby may stay in the nursery or the crib can hang on hooks at the end of the mother’s bed. The nursery has basins down the centre and is warm and safe. But at night the small cockroaches come out to play around the taps and warm pipes. It’s an old hospital in an older part of the city. However you try to get rid of them, they’ll be back. There is another large nursery and many of the mothers have left the hospital but their babies are still here. A number of them are premature and others are suffering from various complaints. This one wrapped in cotton wool has severe brittle bone disease. This one has jaundice. Here is a child with a cleft palate and all the feeding difficulties that brings until the palate can be repaired. Many of these babies will eventually go home but there are no guarantees. We have to feed some of these little ones with stomach tubes or special bottles. They take a lot of time. And there are never sufficient nurses. In the postnatal ward we watch the mothers for any post-partum bleeding, we clean them, we monitor them. We help them put the baby

61 to the breast and advise them when the milk comes in. Our hearts go out to the mother who has lost her baby. Hopefully, she will be able to leave soon. It is heart-breaking for her to watch the others. After a few days most of the mothers go home with their babies and we will visit them every day at home until the tenth day. After that the public health nurse will take over, visit the home and invite them to the Well Baby Clinic. If they still have feeding problems, she will help them with those. One day I went in to see a post-natal woman. She was a black lady and the baby was not in the crib nor was it anywhere to be seen. I eventually located the infant way down under the mother’s blankets. It could have been smothered but all was well. Was it a cultural thing? I don’t know. We had another patient - isolated because she was an open TB case. I nursed her even though my BCG had not taken. There was a sequel to this later. We attend antenatal clinics to monitor the mothers during pregnancy. They are given iron and vitamin tablets. Blood tests are done, blood pressure monitored, urine is tested. Some of these women will be delivered in their homes on the district. We go out in the hospital car to their homes and sit through the labour with the family around. As students, a midwife supervises us. I am at one home in Salt River but I have to be careful. There are no floorboards – only a hole - just under the side of the bed and possibly bedbugs are marching up the wall in a row. Some of the men look quite rough characters but we are perfectly safe. They respect the nurses. We had a Flying Squad based at the hospital and I went out three times with them. The jeep is well equipped with everything for an obstetrical emergency. It has the painting of a large stork on the front. The Flying Squad covers hundreds of miles as far as Worcester. We go out with doctors and midwives; students are there on sufferance. It is all very exciting and dramatic as we speed along siren blaring. My first trip was to fetch a pregnant woman who was having eclamptic fits. This was very serious and we got her back to hospital as quickly as possible. Another time a post-natal patient’s wound (she must have had a Caesarean) had burst open. But when we got there it was not too serious. The third time could have been for a haemorrhage. The one trip I know we traipsed over sand dunes to a house (or was it a shack?) right off the beaten track. I was given a bunch of blue indigenous flowers with a most wonderful scent. I think they were called “Pypies”. I have never seen them again but a local dairy has adopted the flower as its symbol. Christmas at PMH was very special. We eagerly waited for the Christmas baby – the first one born after midnight. The mother was feted and photographed. She also received gifts for the baby. It was wonderful to be

62 part of this hospital where new lives began at the time of remembrance of God’s gift of His Son. We also had a New Year’s baby. Many of the Cape Coon Carnival participants came from District Six and we had a grandstand view from the hospital as the different troupes paraded down the road (in all their wonderful, bright colours and amazing costumes made of satin) on “Tweede Nuwejaar” i.e. the second of January which was a public holiday only in the Cape Province. Well, my midwifery training came to a close and we graduated. I passed my Nursing Council examinations and became a registered midwife with the letters RM after my name. There was one surprise for me before I left PMH. I was presented with a certificate and gift of money by the hospital board for getting the highest marks in my ward assessment tests. I did not even know there was such an award. I only delivered one baby after I left PMH. In the Christmas holidays of 1962 I spent a month working at a Methodist Mission hospital in the Ciskei. The trained staff and doctors were all in the theatre for an emergency operation. I was the only trained person available and I had to deliver the baby. It was not her first but she could not push this baby out. I think I must have really prayed. Eventually I delivered the child. Reason for the delay? The baby was very big. All was well in the end. At this stage I returned to Victoria Hospital and worked as the staff- nurse in the European Male ward. I had a persistent cough and went off to get x-rayed. To everyone’s consternation a spot showed up on my lung. I was rushed off to the laboratories in town to give them a specimen of sputum. Well, there really was nothing to cough up. Whatever I did produce was negative and all relaxed. They seem to have concluded that I started a mild infection (remember the open TB case at PMH?) but my own body had overcome the attack and the spot had spontaneously healed. But I was sent on sick leave for some weeks to rest and recover completely. Uncle Percy paid for me to go to Carmel and I spent a week there. I was still rather attached to my mother and was home sick – at the age of twenty-three! I returned to Victoria and after some months resigned to start a new chapter. My family did not have any objections to my going on to study further but they could not help me financially.

A Bible School Student The New Year at BI began towards the end of January 1962. The campus of the Bible Institute of South Africa is wonderfully situated. In the suburb of Kalk Bay on the southern coast of the Cape Peninsula, we looked out over the sea in front and the back gate of the college opened onto the

63 Kalk Bay Mountain. Across False Bay, in the distance, are the Hottentots Holland Mountains. Some nights a huge full moon hangs suspended over the bay. Kalk Bay has a picturesque harbour with a pier. The fishermen set out in their small boats to make a living from the sea and some have been lost to the treacherous ocean. Many of them lived in the “Fishermen’s flats” near the College. BI is an interdenominational college, training Christians for a missionary or pastoral calling, or for serving at home and witnessing in “secular” work. The emphasis is on the Bible as God’s Word and the final authority in faith and practice. In my first year all the students “lived in” and were single, except for one married student who stayed in nearby Fish Hoek. Only one or two students had cars. We were not an affluent group. We had to have worked in secular work for some years before we were accepted. I was there to train as a missionary but where I was to serve was no longer so clear. It was here at BI that I met Neville. He was a second-year student. I remember the first time I saw him. He was standing in the doorway to Marsh house and I was struck by how tall he was - six foot four and a half inches. I was five foot and half an inch. Lectures started and the girls sat on one side of the lecture room and the guys on the other. We went to meals and the men sat at their tables and we sat at ours. A group of fellows or ladies was on orderly duty at meals. So, we served each other. We also took it in turns to keep our bathrooms and corridors clean and of course we were responsible for our own rooms. There were generally two students to a room and our roommates changed each term. The idea was that we had to learn to get on with people who were different to ourselves because many problems in Christian work arise through interpersonal relationships. Most of the lectures were in the mornings. In the afternoons we had to be on garden duty a couple of times a week, the other days we were to be on active recreation i.e. play tennis, take a long walk or go swimming at the beach. The girls also had to help with things like mending sheets and some of us served in our capacity as nurses. Apart from gardening, the men had to roll the tennis court and paint or assist in other maintenance jobs. Saturday mornings we could (voluntarily) help with the baking of cakes and biscuits – for High Tea on Sundays. This was the one meal where we were allowed to sit amongst members of the opposite sex and was greatly enjoyed by some. We had a Student Council and a set of rules. The Council members were responsible for our keeping the rules including Rule 5b that decreed “You are not to speak to a member of the opposite sex on campus for longer

64 than three minutes on your own”. We were also not allowed to walk in the street with a student of the opposite sex nor were we to travel in the same compartment on the train. No dating was allowed but if a couple believed God was leading them and the faculty were in agreement, it was possible to become “an official couple”. This conferred on the fortunate couple the right to see each other in Aunty Jo’s (the matron’s) lounge for half an hour after chapel at night. The rest of the time you were to spend with your own group! All this separation of the sexes only made the opposite group a more interesting one, as we saw them at a distance! Any infringement of the rules was dealt with by the Student Council. Each student was given a practical assignment, usually on Sundays. So, we were sent to different churches to teach Sunday school, to preach, to help. I taught at Southfield Methodist Sunday School (my home church at that time) and later at Simonstown Methodist Sunday School. I also preached in the local Methodist churches because I was an “on trial” local preacher. (My Keenan grandparents came to a Methodist church to hear me preach. This was the second time they went to church, as far as I knew.) Some of the students held a wayside Sunday school (on Friday afternoons) for the children of local fishermen who lived in the Municipal Council flats nearby. Many of the fisher folk seemed to be either Muslim or Roman Catholic. Because they were taught choruses about joy, these children called any BI student they met by the name of “Joy” – male or female. Apart from official assignments, students made their own contacts with individuals and tried to share the good news with them. I visited our neighbours including some Muslim families and Lorna, the lady whose baby Cameron I had delivered at PMH. I also went to see a Christian Science lady sometimes but found we were on totally different wavelengths. My first roommate was a second-year student, Maire. One day she said to me, “We must pray for Neville. He’s always getting into trouble.” Apparently, he had dumped nearly half a bottle of tomato sauce onto his plate – by accident. Aunty Jo who was very conscious of the need to economize reprimanded him. So, of the young men at BI my attention was concentrated on Neville as we prayed for this “troublemaker”. Justin Neville Albert Holmes was tall, thin, wore thick glasses (although he had lovely, big blue eyes behind the glasses) and I did not care for his hairstyle. He was in his second year at BI and was “different”. He may have shocked more sedate students by rocking and rolling down the passage at BI. He also enjoyed worldly songs like Elvis Presley’s! Furthermore, when he travelled on the long-distance train between Cape Town and Johannesburg with other students, he had port with his meals. (Teetotalism was almost an article of faith amongst most Evangelicals at that time.) Definitely a bit of a maverick in BI circles! He was lacking in

65 social graces and did not know how to relate to girls. But he was very kind. By this time, I was definitely interested in him. He sent me a get-well card and his radio when I was ill. My spirits rose but Cynthia who was then my roommate said that he did that for others who were ill. My hopes were dashed. I had an awful cough. In the cold, wet and windy weather we had to move between the buildings on campus. Neville saw that I got Cinnamon essence and hot milk at night to help my cough. (He still gets up at night to make me bush tea with lemon and honey if I cough - due to a postnasal drip.) We chatted alone in the student lounge (probably unconsciously breaking rule 5b) and I found in Neville an earnest desire for God’s will and an assurance that in all the details of our lives, God is at work. Even though we were a group of Bible School students, he stood out for me in his desire to follow Christ. We were both doing the Methodist local preachers’ exams and I had no books. Neville shared his with me, even reading to me as I was painting the fence of the tennis court on gardening duty. Amazing that I should be attracted to Neville who is an individualist in some ways and not absolutely committed to the conventions of polite society. He has been dubbed as eccentric more than once. I was very “proper”, a stickler for rules and my family called me “Miss Prim”. I came to BI with sufficient money for one and a half terms. I had not saved because I was helping my family. During vacations I planned to earn money as a private nurse but I only worked during those first Easter holidays. I nursed a lady in a large, old house with big iron gates. Her son was a doctor and she was recovering from an eye operation. I learnt about finger bowls and fruit knives and special fruit napkins for the first time. There was also a lift in this house. I then looked after a Jewish baby who was circumcised so that the family could entertain all the visitors. I think I was the only woman in the room when the circumcision took place. I also cared for two patients in private hospitals, one was recovering from a prostatectomy. The nursing agency I worked for belonged to Aunty Olive’s husband’s family. Towards the end of my second year at BI, Uncle Louis made me a tempting offer. He wanted me to take over as the matron in Johannesburg and run the agency there. I was offered a good salary and a free flat. I would have been near Neville and we could get married sooner rather than later. But I should have to go immediately and not graduate from BI. I knew this was not from the Lord and turned it down. God has His own ways and His own timing. Back to 1962 - as I read the Scriptures certain verses came to have meaning for me in connection with Neville. “Ye are My witnesses” in Isaiah 43 spoke to me of God’s plan to join our lives together as His witnesses. But I had no idea that Neville was interested in me. We went to the Easter weekend camp together and I was quite friendly with

66 someone else. Neville was far too friendly with another girl for my liking. At this camp I told the Lord I was still willing to go to the Congo if that was His will. But there was no encouragement to pursue that direction. We returned to BI and lectures. We studied the different doctrines of the Christian faith with Rev Murdo Gordon, our principal, who impressed us with his godly, caring life. We studied the Old Testament books like Hosea, Joshua and Isaiah with Mr Green, our vice-principal who was a most gifted lecturer. And we did Background to the Bible with his wife. We drank in New Testament books such as the Gospel of John and Paul’s letters to the Galatians, later Romans and others. We also did New Testament Greek and Church History, Ethics, and other practical subjects. We had some outside lecturers as well. And we had Homiletics. In the first year, we started with a simple message that was assigned to us e.g. speak to a ladies’ group. Then later each of us chose a text and preached a sermon from that. The rest of the students listened and then gave their criticisms. It could be a very humbling experience. Mr Green tried to modify any criticism that was too harsh and you might find the tables turned on yourself if your criticism was unfair. The second year in Homiletics we were each given a text from which to preach. My second-year text was, “You are Peter and on this rock I will build My church”. Once a week we had “Principal’s hour” on a Friday. Visiting missionaries and other workers had the opportunity to address the students as well. Every Monday morning there was the weekly service in the chapel usually with an outside speaker. Morning and evening (Mondays to Fridays) we had chapel devotions and students and staff were assigned to lead those. They were often a real blessing. We also took it in turns to play the piano for the services. Neville informed on me, and I had to take my turn. Not being a good pianist, I practised the hymns in advance. There were scheduled study periods and lights were to be out by a certain time at night. We had to be up early in the morning to have our personal devotions before chapel. It was wonderful for students to be able to sit on the rocks by the sea or up on the mountain early in the morning and think about all that the Lord has done in creation, and re-creation in our own lives. We may seem to have been rather regimented in our schedules but they were trying to instil a discipline into our spiritual lives that would stand us in good stead in the years ahead. We could study in our rooms or in the library and I enjoyed being in the library with other students even though we were not to talk. Sometimes Neville was one of them. My special love was Church history and I did quite a bit of reading in that subject. As we studied the book of Romans, I was again challenged about trusting God concerning Neville. I read in Romans chapter four about Abraham who

67 “against hope believed in hope” and “being not weak in faith … he staggered not at the promise of God through unbelief but was strong in faith giving glory to God and being fully persuaded that what He had promised He was able also to perform”. Another verse that seemed significant was “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” from Genesis. It was hard as there was no indication from Neville that he had any special regard for me. One day I stood on the stairs in the Girls’ Residence and Neville came into the downstairs hall, where the post was collected. He had a bunch of flowers in his hand. He waved them around, asked, “Who would like these? Would you like them, Noreen?” and handed them to me. What was I to make of that? He later told me that he bought them with me in mind but did not know how to present them to me! Every Friday evening the girls got together for a meeting and the men met on their own. This was a very special time and we got to know and understand each other better as a result. Each week one of the girls shared her story. It was most interesting to hear about our friends’ lives and in particular the difference the Lord Jesus Christ had made to them. At the end of the term there was a party/concert and we were placed in groups (mixed!) to practise and perform. Neville’s group won the one term although I thought our presentation was pretty good too. We did a supposedly Shakespearian production with Cassius and Brutus speaking Chicago gangster slang. Once the guys took a recording of Bobby snoring and played it at the party. Another time we were playing a game called “Sad and solemn occasion”, the point being not to laugh. Neville and I were the last two left. Aunty Jo later told us that this game opened her eyes. She realized that there was something between us. Only we didn’t know it yet! We also got together with another Bible college once a year. They had a strong emphasis on holiness and were even stricter in their rules than BI. We had good fun together but my friend Edna made a perceptive comment. What she appreciated in the other college students was their devotion to the Lord and what she appreciated in the BI students was their freedom in the Lord. One Saturday another girl and I decided to go to Newlands to watch the South African team in an international rugby game. When we got there, the tickets cost more than expected. Neville and other guys from BI were near us in the queue. Neville paid for our tickets. To be true to rule 5b the girls sat in a different row to the men. On the way home, Neville and I were alone, the others having gone elsewhere. I fear we broke rule 5b on the train.

68 One Sunday we both landed up in Bergvliet Methodist church. One of us was preaching, the other in the congregation. There was a long walk to the station. We walked down together. No doubt my conscience was feebly protesting until near the station I reminded him that we were in contravention of Rule 5b, but it was a bit late in the day. Another outing we enjoyed together was when a group of the students climbed (slogged) up Table Mountain. Neville helped me part of the way. Well, I planned to work in the three-week June holidays but I felt the Lord leading me to help at a CSSM winter holiday club in Bergvliet. The verse that spoke to me was Psalm 37:3, “Trust in the Lord and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land and verily thou shalt be fed.” It was God’s responsibility to feed me so I went to CSSM as a worker – we were volunteers and unpaid. The one thing that stands out from that CSSM is the “Big Game Hunt” (the hunt for the workers game). Not having learnt my lesson at the St James CSSM, I decided to disguise myself as a black lady once more. Again, the shoe polish did nothing for my skin except make it burn. Polished and dressed, I went to sit in a bus shelter. A lady came and sat in the shelter with me, waiting for the bus. You should have seen the looks I got! She must have had some questions in her mind but was too polite to ask them. One of the male volunteers dressed up as a lady wheeling a pram with a supposed baby in it. He did not look too unconvincing. My family were living in the flat in Plumstead and I invited some of the men students home for meals. They were rather lost with their families up country. One evening in the course of conversation I said, “My love is not here.” I was talking about Neville because he had gone to Durban with his family for the holidays. One of the young men later took it upon himself to inform Neville that I had someone else who was not in Cape Town! The Lord had promised to feed me but no one knew of my situation. However, my mother returned from visiting Aunty Laura and Uncle Percy with a cheque for me. It covered my fees to the end of the year. Apart from the fees, I had no other money. I was flat broke. In desperation rather than faith I wrote down a list of all I needed and presented it to the Lord. I learnt a valuable lesson. More important than our faith - or lack of it - is the faithfulness of God. He provided in detail for my needs without anybody being told except Him. Someone left a pile of notepaper on my desk - I was able to continue writing study notes in class. My cousin came to visit and brought me a box of things that I needed including toothpaste etc. Somehow money was provided for fares. I even got what I did not ask for – a new petticoat was put into my room. So, I discovered first-hand that although I was weak and doubting, He cannot deny Himself. I was also experiencing more of the reality of God in my own experience.

69 Neville and I had got no further in our friendship. Except that he invited me to go with him to a mission evening at Rondebosch. It was being held in the home of one of the local committee members for the Lebanon Evangelical mission. Neville had come to BI believing God had called him to Lebanon and had applied to this mission. I was at Grandma Lilley’s house for the weekend and Neville came through on the train from Kalk Bay. I got on at Wynberg. Neville had a gift for me – a cowboy book. I must have told him that I enjoyed them. Incidentally, Grandma Lilley liked cowboy films. That was a strange choice for a gentle lady. During the meeting something was said that made Neville cringe with embarrassment. I didn’t register that they were talking about me. They referred to the possibility that I would go to Lebanon with Neville but I did not understand the allusion. Later I was dropped off at Grandma’s house by one of the LEM committee. Neville saw me to the gate. Was it a date? I’m not sure. When we were told about a fully paid conference for theological students in the September holidays, I decided I should go. Neville too put up his hand. Eventually two girls and two men travelled from BI to Genadendal near Caledon in the Western Cape for the conference. It was a celebration of the 225th anniversary of the oldest Protestant mission station in Africa. Genadendal means the Valley of Grace. What a romantic place with its lovely, white-washed Moravian church, quaint thatched cottages, old cemetery, big oak trees and stone water furrows. There was also an historic printing press. When we got there, Edna and I were the only girls booked into the conference. Theological students from different denominations and population groups had come from all over the country but they were all males. Edna talked of leaving. I was not having any of that! We were in tents and they had to set up a special ablutions tent for Edna and myself. It was an interesting time because we mixed freely with people who were not white and yet on an equal footing. This was not normal in our apartheid society. One black Anglican minister gave us a new idea. Have many children and fill your church – maybe said tongue- in-cheek? We met him forty years later at Carmel, in the new South Africa. We never asked him how many children he had! We were just so glad to see him. It was great to resume fellowship. The conference was an enriching time for us and we had some good speakers expounding God’s word. The discussion groups were worthwhile too. One night at the campfire, Neville bravely sang a solo “His name, His blessed name shall be called wonderful” to the tune Finlandia. I later discovered that he could pitch any song and lead the singing well. Saturday afternoon Neville asked me to go for a walk. It was drizzling slightly and he spoke of the peace in my face but nothing more pertinent to our

70 friendship. Sunday was the culmination of the celebrations and people were expected from Cape Town and elsewhere. We students had been practising to sing at this service. However, when the time came, Edna and I found ourselves on the other side of the partition that divided men and women in the old Moravian church.

A Romance Begins After the service Neville marched up to me in a very determined way and said that he had to talk to me. We went for a short walk, stopped by one of the water furrows and later by the pear tree (it was spring) that was an offshoot of the original planted by George Schmidt in about 1737. Neville started to tell me of how he felt the Lord had been leading him with regard to our relationship. He told me that he loved me. When he stopped talking, I said, “Now let me tell you my side of the story.” He was so overwhelmed that the Lord had been working in my life as well that he broke down and cried. I was a bit taken aback as I was not used to men who cried. He then asked me what he should do next. I suggested that he should kiss me. It was the 30th September, 1962. We later walked to the old missionary cemetery where their remains await, under shady trees, the resurrection day. The entrance was made up of two white pillars with an archway. Written on the archway as we entered were the words “Gezaaid in swaktheid” (“Sown in weakness”) and as we left, we read “Opgewekt in krag” (“Raised in power”). The next day before we left, Neville got into a theological argument and I think I pulled on his coat to encourage him to take it calmly! I have, metaphorically speaking, pulled on his coat quite a few times over the years! That last night Edna and I slept in the bishop’s house. The next day we were going home. Neville and I travelled together to Caledon where we sat quietly in the Anglican thatched-roofed church with a bird flying around. My family were temporarily staying with my grandmother in Wynberg before moving to the farm they had bought in the Franschhoek valley. So I brought Neville home for the first time - to Grandma’s house in Gibson Road where I was born. I was twenty-four years old. Neville would be twenty-four in November. Neville has never forgotten the meal that my mother gave him that evening. It was stew – his favourite. He now returned to BI for an interview with the vice-principal, Mr Green, as Rev Gordon was away. He asked permission for us to be an “official couple”. Howard Green felt there was nothing that made him doubt that it was of the Lord and gave us his blessing. Later we travelled in his car and he informed us that he needed to put his Bible on the front

71 seat next to him and we should therefore both sit in the back seat. We were happy to accommodate him! Neville was alone at BI for some days while I went to the smallholding of Uncle Percy’s in Somerset West. I was always happy to be with Aunty Laura who was a gracious, loving and gentle Christian lady. While there I needed to spend time with God as I was in a bit of turmoil of mind. After telling Neville of the Lord’s leading, I no longer felt that I loved him. What to do? How could I hurt him by telling him that I did not feel that I loved him? In fact, I cared about him too much to cause him pain. I read Isaiah 41:17-20. This was to me a promise from God that whereas there was a drought in my feelings, He would break that drought and there would be an abundance of love. The purpose? “That they may see and know and consider and understand together that the hand of the Lord hath done this and the Holy One of Israel hath created it.” In place of my love, God would give His own love that would endure. And that is what He did. This experience and verse were of great help in the times of doubt ahead. We were back at BI for the fourth term of 1962. People were surprised about this “official couple”. Some knew that Neville was interested in me but none of the students knew that it was reciprocal. As usual, I had kept my own counsel. It was a criticism made by one of the lecturers that I did not share but kept things to myself. It was hard to change when I had learnt to keep my deepest thoughts to myself from a young age. Although I spoke freely to my mother about outward things that happened in my life, I could not verbalize some of my more personal thoughts and feelings. We had permission to meet in Aunty Jo’s lounge but Neville being rather pragmatic suggested that we meet there at lunch times! He needed his sleep at night! We saw each other at weekends as well and could now walk together and travel together in the train. When we could, we spent long times together talking and sharing about our lives. On my advice Neville changed his hairstyle too. One thing sometimes troubled me and that was Neville’s call to Lebanon. The Lord had led us but was I called to Lebanon? I expected something rather dramatic – a CALL. But apart from the Lord leading in both our lives and bringing us to a shared relationship at Genadendal, three things happened that were significant to me and were a confirmation of God’s leading. While reading Joshua 1:4 I read the words “and this Lebanon”, I experienced a special feeling of peace as I read those words. Then I had an increasing interest in outreach to Muslims. One evening as I was praying about the matter, I felt that the Lord was saying, “I want you to marry Neville and go to Lebanon.” But I wanted to be sure it was the Lord and not my thoughts. So, I asked the Lord for objective confirmation that evening. There was only chapel and drinks

72 before bedtime. As I walked along before chapel, the librarian gave me a gift. It was a thin book that she had found in the library. It was entitled “A History of the British Syrian Mission”. I still have the book. Neville was intending to go with that mission to Lebanon except that the name had been changed from British Syrian Mission to Lebanon Evangelical Mission. I had my objective confirmation. It was not surprising that I was given the book as people knew of Neville’s interest in Lebanon. It is the timing of the gift that was so amazing. We had times of fun at BI. One day the principal announced, “No lectures today. We’re going to the beach.” We enjoyed the day in the sun and sea at Seaforth. Another time we got up to mischief. The principal’s wife was a good sport and egged us on. I was staying in Marsh House and the principal’s flat was on the same floor. We “apple-pied” some of the girls’ rooms and labelled various articles e.g. the photo of a male in one room had the caption “the missing link”. It was a bit silly but it relieved the tension of living in a “hot-house” atmosphere. We once made someone’s bed “disappear” but we chose the wrong victim. She was older and had been in the British army. She demanded her bed back in stentorian tones. I think I was the only one to confess and sheepishly produced the bed that had been shut up in a closet. Another time the girls had a midnight feast in The Cottage - no one was occupying it at that time. The theme was something like “A night in Palestine” based on “Background to the Bible” lectures. I was responsible for some poems and labels that were used. Each girl got her feet washed as she arrived. I forget other details but it was enjoyable at the time. Neville bought me a wooden brooch in the shape of a “G” – there was no “N” available. He wrote a poem to go with it. “G” stood for God, grace and Genadendal. Later on, he bought me a watch and once again wrote a poem to go with it. During the term Neville’s father came down on business. He invited us for a meal at the Waldorf Restaurant in the city. I got on well with him and it seemed he approved of me. Neville also met my extended family. We went to my cousin Athol’s twenty-first birthday party in the Bergvliet Scout Hall. There was a big gathering and most were probably family members! It was a bit of a shock for Neville because his nuclear family did not get together with the extended families. I went on a golf course for the first time in my life. Neville had played golf since his teens and did not realize that novices need some instruction - even though I was not playing and only walking around with him. He lost his ball and I helped him look for it in the rough. Our relationship nearly ended prematurely when I found the ball, picked it up and said something like, “Here it is”. I was to walk round the golf course

73 many times after this but that was probably the closest I came to being hit by a club. Neville was shocked by my ignorance. My cousin Joyce from Hout Bay had trained as a teacher at the College of Education in Wellington, Western Cape. Wellington was where the Rev. Andrew Murray from Scotland served as the Dutch Reformed minister, and a statue of him stands outside the old church. The revival in which he was involved and his books on the Christian life are well-known in Evangelical circles in South Africa. Joyce met Thys while studying there. He was a “donkie” (Afrikaans for donkey). This was the nickname given to those studying to be ministers in the Mission Church of the Dutch Reformed denomination. Joyce and Thys got married while I was at BI and I was their bridesmaid. I wore a royal blue satin dress with yellow roses in my hair. Joyce had a classic gown in a simple style. She liked simplicity. However, the morning of the wedding it was “panic stations”. We arrived to prepare the venue at Bishopsford for the reception, only to find it in a terrible state. So, we had to clean and tidy before we could set the tables. Don’t know how we found time to go to the hairdresser and get dressed for the service in the afternoon. Neville and his class graduated and my class and I were to return the next year. I think it was this year that I received the Bible Reading prize at the BI graduation. It was the second last day of term. Neville was returning to the Transvaal the next day. He was to stay with his parents in Parkhurst, Johannesburg and study for a teaching degree. I was going to work in a mission hospital at Mt Coke in the Eastern Cape for a month and afterwards finish my holidays with my family. December/January are the summer holiday months in South Africa. Neville came to me in some distress. He felt “disturbed” about another girl. I was devastated. I spent most of that night awake and in prayer. I reminded God of His leading, His promises, the love HE had given me for Neville. I saw no solution and the morning could be the last time we saw each other. God only could help us. He has His servants. I spoke to Aunty Jo. She sent for Neville and it was all sorted out! God, Who is faithful, delivered us at the eleventh hour. The truth is we were very ignorant and innocent in a certain sense. We did not know that feelings fluctuate, that you can be temporarily attracted to someone else but you are committed to the one God has brought into your life. He delivers so that you remain faithful to His choice for you. We did not then have insight into these things and were very idealistic. If we had known in our younger days many of the things we now understand, we could have saved ourselves a lot of grief. The upside was that with all our ignorance we were driven to dependence on the Lord that deepened our relationship with Him.

74 I travelled by train to the Eastern Cape and enjoyed my month’s nursing at the hospital. I missed Neville and no letters arrived. What had happened now? I let him know that I had not received any communication from him. He sent me a telegram stating that he had sent a number of letters. Slowly they began to arrive. Over the next year while we were mostly separated by 1500 kilometres, Neville’s letters always stood out – often a yellow envelope with green writing, a Bible verse stuck on the envelope and inside mauve writing paper. It was at this hospital that I delivered the big baby. I saw something of what being a missionary entails. In fact, “the mission field” is much the same in many ways as being at home. Only you serve God in a different culture that you do not always understand or appreciate, nor do they understand or appreciate you or your motivation. You struggle with a language not your own, feel like an idiot and may sometimes be treated like one because you speak worse than a small child. The witness of the hospital is practical and the spiritual outreach goes on quietly probably often without spectacular results. You work as a team. Some may sow, others reap but God gives the increase. I returned to my family’s farm “Moreson, La Motte” in the Franschhoek Valley. (There were two farms with the same name. Ours was the smaller one.) This area was where some of the Huguenots settled when they fled from persecution in France. Many of the names of the farms and train stations are French. Our small farm was near La Motte station. The steam train wound its way through the valley collecting fruit from the farms as it went. Sometimes my cousins came from Cape Town and my sisters met them at the station. There was no platform, just a board with La Motte written on it. It is a spectacular valley, green in spring and summer, red and gold in autumn; trees and vines bare in winter. Most farmers grew grapes for wine or as table grapes for export or fruit for the local market. Lovely mountains surround the valley and not far from us was a high hill. Because of the mountains it was hot in summer and cold in winter. Our farm had an old oak tree near the house and a river with more trees on the banks. There was a lovely rose garden. Outside the old wine cellar (now the fruit packing room) were two tanks where the slaves or labourers used to press out the grapes by treading up and down with their feet. The wall between the two had been removed and we used it as a swimming pool to cool off on a hot day. The wine cellar still had the walled-in wine vats and little doors set into them. The old farmhouse had very thick walls and wooden shutters and a long, front veranda. At night it was pitch dark in the house and we could not see a thing. There were outbuildings where two Africans from Malawi lived with their wives. They worked at a reservoir near the sawmills, also helping on the farm, as did their wives.

75 And there was Jakob. He came with the farm. My family “inherited” him from the previous owner. (When they eventually sold the farm, they took him to their new home and looked after him until he was old and dying. They found some of his family elsewhere and took him there to die amongst them.) He was a good labourer but addicted to the “tot system”. Many workers on the wine and fruit farms would not work unless given regular “tots” of cheap wine. It was not a good system but was practised on many wine farms. Quite amiable normally, he was once rather aggressive when “under the influence”. My family were out and I asked him to bring the cow home to the cowshed. He refused. So I had to do it. It was drizzling as well, to add insult to injury. That cow must have known that cattle and I don’t get on. She was grazing near the station and gave me a hard time - trying to turn into the vineyard - before one of the Malawians came to my aid. Table grapes for export were grown on our farm and it was labour- intensive work. The workers (usually Coloured ladies) went round the vines continually, cutting out any grape that was not perfect. By the time the grapes were ripe we had perfect bunches of grapes that were wrapped individually in tissue paper and packed ready for export to the UK or other destinations. When I was later in Johannesburg my family sent me a box of these export grapes. We also grew peaches for the local market and canning factory. The first peaches were called “Early Dawn”. Single layers of peaches were packed with special shavings in wooden boxes and sent by steam train to the big market, after the lid had been hammered down. It was holiday time and my sisters and cousins helped in the packing shed. They turned the radio on so that they could work to a musical accompaniment. The sad thing was that everyone’s peaches ripened more or less at the same time so the market would be flooded and our agent could not get good prices for the big, beautiful, sweet peaches. The canning factory took the yellow cling peaches. Strawberries were also grown for the canning factory. I offered to help pick one row. Mind you it was a l-o-o-o-n-g row. I never offered again. The back pain! We had other types of fruit but these were for our own use only. The extended Lilley family loved the farm and numbers came out at weekends and slept over. To accommodate everyone some even slept on the floor of the big kitchen. Things were tough on the farm as prices received for the fruit were not always good. So, my mother started to take in children as holiday boarders. Some of these children lacked love and attention and could be difficult. Others were very young. My sisters and cousins helped and they bathed them starting with the youngest. They had concerts in the evenings and the children loved it. But my mother ended up with a nervous breakdown.

76 I decided to make some South African ginger beer while at the farm. This is normally non-alcoholic. Only I put in raisins and yeast and left it in the sun. When my sisters drank it, they went weak in their legs! In January Neville spent time with us. We had 13 Boerboel puppies born on Christmas day – under our “bakkie” (truck). Neville had his photo taken with the puppies. We spent hours on the banks of the river with plenty of time to share and be together. Then it was back to BI for me while Neville returned to his family in Johannesburg. He was to start studying for a B.A. degree at the University of the Witwatersrand, usually called “Wits” university.

A Difficult Year The second year at BI was a very difficult one for me. Neville was far away and I did not know when we would see each other. Our main contact was letters. I had to get on with my studies, so did he. I still had to trust the Lord concerning my finances. Out of his savings, Neville paid part of my fees in the second year but I do not even remember being aware of that until later. There was a new intake of students. A number of these first-year students went on to be involved with ministries that have made a real impact in South Africa. Without my knowing about it, Neville arranged for one of my friends to buy a posy of violets for me each week. He had also provided different cards in his own handwriting to accompany the flowers. I have always loved violets, partly for their scent. Who would have thought he could be so romantic? That term we were studying the book of Jonah. While looking at the first chapter, I felt accused that I was running away from God, like Jonah. Although I had occasionally thought about my previous idea of going to the Congo after Neville and I started going out, it did not really trouble me as the Lord had led Neville and myself. And He had kept us. Now I entered into a period of inward doubt, fear of going out of God’s will, guilt and confusion. I tried to apply every text and message to my situation. If it was about trusting, I was OK. If it was about giving up, I was in turmoil e.g. when the Lord said of the donkey, “Loose him and let him go”, I applied that to Neville and myself. Abraham and Isaac is another obvious one. However, a verse like “Shall I bring to birth and not bring forth?” (Isaiah) encouraged me to believe that what God had started He would complete. Of course, Bible School is a hothouse atmosphere and there is time to think and stew. The criticism had been made of me that I did not share but kept things to myself. I was now forced to seek counsel. I sought advice from Rev Gordon and Howard Green.

77 Mr Green in particular was absolutely convinced that Neville’s and my relationship was of God. He believed I was under satanic attack. I could not see this, for I was afraid of grieving the Holy Spirit or even of blaspheming against the Holy Spirit. Dulcie, who had taken over as matron, advised me to read “Winnie the Pooh”. It may not sound very spiritual but it was sound advice. I needed to clear my mind of all these conflicting thoughts. I went again and again to Mr Green. In retrospect I wonder what his wife thought of this young woman who kept turning up on their doorstep. I wrote to Neville sharing what was going on in my life. I was rather self- absorbed with my problem and did not give enough thought as to how I was affecting Neville and his studies. Eventually with the prayer backing of Neville and Mr Green it was decided to “put out a fleece”. I needed something outside of myself. Before going to BI I had met with a missionary representative of WEC after a meeting. He was coming to speak at BI. If he knew me, recognized me, then I should further pursue the idea of the Congo. After the meeting I went up to him. He did not know me but he also did not recognize someone whom he knew well. Had the Lord closed his eyes? It seemed God had done something that evening. I rejoiced and was at peace for a while. Then I allowed doubts to creep in again. In the Easter holidays I was able to get a lift and go up to Johannesburg to be with Neville. It was my first visit to the Transvaal. The wild cosmos flowers in shades of white and pink were open alongside the roads and it was a lovely introduction. I met Neville’s mother for the first time, also his sister and brother-in-law. Neville’s mother was as short as he was tall and it was gracious of her to receive this stranger into their family circle for a week or so. I enjoyed their home at 24, Third Street, Parkhurst. The garden was beautiful with flowering trees and shrubs, roses, annuals and perennials as well as fruit trees and lawn, also a fishpond and bird bath. The largish house was made attractive by antiques, period furniture, paintings and ornaments. The only pets were a yellow canary and a blue budgie in separate cages. Of course, there was a piano as Neville’s mother, Nellie Holmes, was a music teacher at a convent, as well as teaching pupils at home. Neither of her children learnt to play the piano although both had an ear for music. Petronella Aletta Catherina Holmes (nee Markgraaf) had her Performers’ Licentiate in organ. She was very active at Parktown Methodist Church for many years, playing the organ for services, weddings and funerals. She also played the piano for Sunday school and evening and morning Women’s Auxiliary. This was all done voluntarily. Her parents had immigrated to South Africa from Gronigen in The Netherlands and settled in the Orange

78 Free State. There she was born and grew up in Clocolan and Ficksburg. Her father was a farmer but lost out in the Depression years. In a corner of the lawn in their Parkhurst garden was a hole in the ground. This was where Neville’s father, Pelham Maxwell Holmes did his putting. He was a keen member of the nearby Parkview Golf Club. However, he was often away from home as he was a Senior Official on the South African Railways. He was Deputy Chairman of the Disciplinary Appeal board of the SAR and had to travel all over the country to hear cases concerning not only the railways but also South African Airways. His mother was a descendent of the 1820 British Settlers while his father had immigrated to South Africa from Stowbridge in England. Pelham Holmes grew up in the Orange Free State and attended Grey Boys’ High School in Bloemfontein. I returned to BI. The second term started and confusion returned to my mind. It is one thing to ask God for a sign but quite another thing to trust Him about the outcome. Ultimately you have to trust God and not the sign. At this time, I read three times in the Bible about asking for a sign. I know one was from Isaiah and I think one from Job. I don’t remember the third. So, I felt I should ask for corroboration of the previous sign! Neville was coming down to Cape Town for the June holidays. We were to stay at Grandma’s house as my family were in La Motte. I asked for two signs. One was that Neville would be used to lead someone to the Lord. The second that God would take away his love if this was not His will. Neville did not know about the signs although I shared it with Mr Green. We were helping at CSSM in Bergvliet and Neville was having an informal discussion with some of the teenagers. One fellow who was listening in committed his life to Christ as a result. Neville also found himself more in love with me than ever. He could not understand why he felt so filled with love until I told him about my prayer. Neville went back to Johannesburg happy that the Lord had resolved my doubts. But neither of us knew that it would not be so easy. We did not know the source of the doubts. In August I was in turmoil once more. I read in Hebrews 12 about casting off sin and every weight. Had Neville become a weight? I tried prayer and fasting but felt this pressure to give up my relationship with Neville. In the end I wrote to him, breaking off our understanding. I had now an easing of pressure and got on with my studies. However, Neville was still in my life. I was making something for him (was it knitting socks? I’ve forgotten) and thinking of him when I bought an Andrew Murray book for him later on. Three students were chosen to go, in the September holidays, on the first BI deputation tour that became an annual feature. Apart from myself

79 there was Edna (my tent-mate from Genadendal), another male student and Mr Green. We went by car and had a hair-raising time when Edna was driving us down a steep pass. In fact, they stopped the car and one of the men took over. We travelled to the Eastern Cape and then to Natal. We spoke in churches and youth meetings, giving our testimonies and particularly what BI had meant in our lives. Mr Green would sometimes preach. He was an excellent expositor of God’s word. We took part in a Missions Convention at East London Baptist Church. There was a couple present by the name of Green. They served with one of the missions represented at the Convention. Mrs Green came up to me and mistakenly asked, “Are you the other Mrs Green?” In relating this to the group later, I commented, “They must think I look very old” (In fact Howard Green was not that much older). His quick retort was, “They must think I have very poor taste”. I took no offence! While in Natal we stayed with a couple who worked with Scripture Union. Peggy offered us fresh mulberries off their tree for breakfast - only they had worms in them. I refused to eat mine. Edna, being Afrikaans speaking and very well brought up, refused to embarrass her hostess and ate the mulberries – worms and all. In Durban, I spent a few days with Great-Aunt Nellie’s son Roy. He and Pat had also been to BI. They were missionaries in Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) but had to move to the Natal coast because of their one child’s asthma. I learnt from them that breakfast on the beach is a fun thing to do. Roy’s brother, Malcolm was a Methodist minister. To go back to the Missions Convention in East London, I stood in the hall ready to speak to the WEC representative about the Congo, if that was what the Lord wanted. There was no sense that I should do so. In fact, most of the pressure I felt had been about breaking off with Neville rather than about going to the Congo. Towards the end of the tour, term started at BI. Mr Green sent a telegram from the four of us, “Durban beaches lovely. Not coming back!” We were back at college for the last of our eight terms. During this time Neville and I resumed correspondence and with much prayer our relationship was on again. I must mention here that one book was a great help to me during that year. It was “The God of all comfort” by Hannah Whitehall. It focused my attention on God and Who and what He is rather than on myself. Edna was a believer who lived close to the Lord. Her parents were farmers in the Graaff Reinet district (probably sheep farmers). She was a social worker before coming to BI and was engaged to a Dutch Reformed minister. He once said when driving some of the students on an outing, “It

80 gives me such pleasure to give the Lord’s people pleasure.” Later she broke off their engagement and was tragically killed in a motorcar accident soon after finishing at BI. We met up with him and his family in later years while travelling on deputation. He was one of the Lord’s choice children, as was Edna. On 24th November it was Neville’s birthday. My friend encouraged me to phone him. We normally only wrote letters. I had to telephone early in the morning because it was cheaper. Neville was surprised and I could hardly get a word out of him. The phone was in his parents’ room. They were in bed listening to the conversation. The call was a disappointment. Later that day I received a telegram from Neville. It read, “Dead tired. Tongue-tied. Love, Neville”. I was once again financially in difficult circumstances. I had no graduation dress for the end of term. I had been visiting two Muslim families and one of the ladies gave me a length of material as a gift. She did not know that I needed a graduation dress. A friend at BI helped me with the sewing. I had a dress for that special night. As far as I remember, Neville and I spent Christmas at La Motte and in January he returned to Johannesburg. Before he left, he learnt what it meant to be involved with a nursing sister – plenty of waiting as I often came off duty late. I felt keenly the responsibility of my patients. I had gone back to Victoria Hospital, Wynberg on temporary staff because I did not know what the next step would be. I never imagined how wonderfully the Lord was planning. By Easter I was in Johannesburg, near Neville!

A Move to Johannesburg One of the ladies from Neville’s year at BI told me that I should apply for a vacant post at the School Clinic in Johannesburg. I needed to get there quickly. Everything was against my getting this post. I was not senior enough or experienced for it. I did not have a Public Health Diploma that was required for such a job. I needed to drive a provincial government car. I had no licence to drive and had never even tried to drive a car. I could not get there quickly as the trains were full due to the Easter holidays. However, I could leave the hospital without much notice, as I was not on the permanent staff. I had no place to stay

81 in Johannesburg. The YWCA was in temporary accommodation while their new premises were being built and they were full up. This is how God overcame the difficulties. I got a place on the train. The YWCA found an alcove to put a bed up for me. I was accepted for the post despite my lack of seniority. I was asked to do my Public Health Diploma while in service. For that one time they had a course running part-time over eighteen months at the Technical College. It was normally one-year, full-time - study and practice. In fact, it was hectic and they did not repeat the experiment of having a part-time course, as far as I know. However, I enjoyed it and found it stimulating. (I realized in later years, when I was lecturing at the Nursing School in Lebanon, how valuable a course it was. It re-orientated my thinking from curative to preventive medicine that was the increasing emphasis in medicine and nursing. I should never have thought of doing Public Health but God organized it.) I was given a little time to get my driver’s licence. I went to a driving school. They put me behind the wheel and made me cross over Jan Smuts Avenue in peak hour. I got my licence in a matter of about two weeks with prayer backing from others. Getting a licence in Johannesburg was no cinch but the Lord ... of course, having had a bicycle and a scooter I did have some road sense. Having my licence and provincial government car, I immediately had to drive in the centre of the city as the clinic was in Jeppe Street. Finding parking near the clinic was a nightmare. I also had to learn by experience about driving on the freeways as I visited the different schools and did home visiting. Just to complete the story of the government car. It was a blue Opel Record (three gears plus reverse on the wheel) and I kept it for nearly four years. I was allowed to do private miles but paid for them. The government serviced and repaired the car, paid insurance, licence etc. I had to look after it, get it regularly cleaned and keep it in a lock-up garage. While at the temporary YW, I kept it in a garage at the home of a rabbi who lived nearby. During the four years I had three accidents. I was waiting for the robots (traffic lights) to change when an old man ploughed into the back of my car (and he was insured with an insurance company that had just folded). Was I to blame? The second accident, I was in a house doing a visit when a truck backed over the car bonnet. Was I to blame? The third accident was my fault but very minor damage. I was not amused when I received a letter from the provincial government warning me about what they would do if I had any more accidents!! Each time I had to go to about three panel beaters and get quotes plus all the red tape involved. One other thing I discovered. I am not a good night driver unless there is street lighting. We had to go to Pretoria for a School Health Service conference. When we drove back it was on a dark, country road. I found I could not see well. I was the only

82 one authorized to drive the car but, in the interests of Public Safety, I handed over the wheel to Neville. I don’t remember why he was with me but I was glad he was there. The Public Health course was interesting and included subjects like sociology, psychology, epidemiology, statistics, baby and child development as well as other health related subjects. We had lectures on the three specialities - Health Visiting, Industrial Nursing and School Nursing. One amusing thing we were told in lectures on Sanitation was that refuse should be removed quietly and discreetly (or something to that effect). This was so far from the reality when the refuse collecting lorries came by the houses in Johannesburg. Firstly, the machines themselves were noisy. Then the refuse collectors shouted and whistled as they ran down the road. Add to that the barking of dogs and refuse collection was definitely NOT quiet. The reality and the theory were worlds apart. We visited a sweet (candy) factory as part of the course. This had to do with industrial nursing but I should find it hard to work in such a sickly smelling environment. The factory workers could eat as many sweets as they liked. It’s doubtful that they wanted to eat many in that atmosphere. We visited clinics in Soweto. The Health Visitors did good work there. Soweto (South-Western Township) was an area where only black people lived under apartheid and was a huge sprawling metropolis in its own right, although part of Johannesburg. We also saw the Premature Baby Unit at Baragwanath Hospital. This was the largest hospital in Africa. Instead of putting the babies in individual incubators, the whole unit was set up as an incubator with regulated temperature. The mothers in protective gowns looked after their babies in this giant incubator. I spent a week or so with a Health Visitor in the southern suburbs of Johannesburg. The midwife was responsible for a baby until the child was ten days old, then the Health Visitor took over until the child went to school. There the School Nurse took over responsibility for the health of children in government schools. The Health Visitor did a home visit to all the babies in her area. They had to be registered with the Municipality on the tenth day of life. (Health Visitors were employed by the municipality. School Nurses fell under the provincial government, as did schools. Industrial Nurses were paid by private companies.) The Health Visitor provided a free service and helped mothers with feeding and other problems. She ran well-baby clinics in community halls and supervised health matters in local nursery schools and crèches. She did regular home visits where required. I particularly enjoyed the home visits. There was more to the Public Health studies but I have forgotten much of it.

83 It was good spending weekends with Neville’s family and getting to know them. His older sister and I got on well. She had been a boarder at Rustenberg Girls’ High in the Cape. It was a similar and “rival” school to Wynberg Girls’. She was quite a glamorous lady and had been a secretary to one of the bigwigs in the Anglo-American mining company. She and her family lived in an interesting house in Northcliff. It was of a Spanish type with a tower and was previously owned by a well-known South African film producer. Glenda’s husband, Des, had to go to Australia on business so I stayed with her and her two young sons, Mark and Andrew. To ensure our safety, a security guard was employed by the mining house where Des worked. I found Christmas with Neville’s family strange. They were so few and I was used to my large, extended family. I missed the big gathering on Christmas day. Neville had no car but he was lent his father’s car to come and visit me at the YWCA. We bought German sausages and sauerkraut and ate it in the Y. garden. At other times we went to Jordan’s restaurant in the city where we could get a good, cheap meal. I always had liver, chips and salad. Neville preferred sausages. Neville also bought chips and Vienna sausages at takeaways and we walked down the road eating them. Neville was always himself and I had to learn to be less conventional in my ways. We also went picnicking at Zoo Lake or visited the zoo. Once only Neville took me to a show. This was a stage version of “My Fair lady” which I thoroughly enjoyed. We watched international cricket at Wanderers and provincial rugby at Ellis Park. We nearly got into trouble at Ellis Park. The Transvaal fans did not approve of our supporting, and shouting for Western Province. Some evenings Neville and I walked to the Church of England “Christ church” in Hillbrow as this was the closest church and we had no transport. We enjoyed the prayer book services. After BI, Neville who was a Methodist had started worshipping with the Open Christian Brethren. I still went to the Methodist church and taught Sunday school. Neville’s mother did not approve of her son’s move and hoped that I would lure him back to the fold. When I decided to go to Central Assembly as well, my future mother-in-law was not happy. The Breaking of Bread service was not new to me as I had been at Medway chapel with my father in the past. It is the service above all others that I really enjoy and appreciate. It is a communion service but one that is free and we trust the Holy Spirit to lead. The focus is on the Lord Jesus Christ and His death on the cross for each one individually. Although I still had doubts and fears at times, I was always at peace in the Breaking of Bread. The church met in the new YWCA building, just as they had previously met in the old building. I had also moved to live in the new Y. and it was a lovely, modern, pleasant place in which to live. I no longer had an alcove

84 but my own room with underfloor heating. We had full board, three course meals and waiters. Our rooms were cleaned for us and there was an open lounge leading onto a small patio. Downstairs there was the chapel with a stained-glass window and the hall that led into the courtyard, as well as a table tennis room. The overhang from the ceiling as you go down to the chapel and hall is rather low and Neville knocked his head on it. Every Monday evening there was a meeting in the chapel for all the residents. It was compulsory and we had some good, outside speakers. The administrative staff were committed Christians and waited up for us at night. We were expected to be in by a certain time. On Sundays Neville joined me for lunch at the YWCA or we went to his parents. In the afternoon Central Assembly held a Sunday school on a housing estate provided for poorer people who were on government grants. Two things stand out in my memory. One poor family, the father unable to work due to ill health, seemed to keep having children. Once we took clothes to distribute and nearly had a fight on our hands as people tried to grab for their own families. Our church had no evening service but an open-air meeting during the warmer months. We set up near a park and outside an apartment store. There was a portable organ and a couple of chairs for some of the ladies. We sang hymns and the men preached. We gave out literature or got talking to passers-by. All year round on Sunday afternoons (after the Sunday school) Neville and I also joined with men from other assemblies in holding an open-air meeting outside the Johannesburg City Hall. We met for prayer beforehand at the Scripture Gift mission office and I also prayed. One gentleman stopped coming. It seemed I had unconsciously given offence by praying aloud in the prayer meetings. He felt strongly about the women being silent. I was the only woman with this group. There was no singing, only preaching and speaking to individuals as well as passing on literature. I gathered a group of street children for a while and had Sunday school with them on the steps of the Johannesburg City Hall. Our Sundays were not exactly days of rest! In the summer we went to a nearby café for tea between the two open-air services. In winter Mr Knocker – one of the elders, from Central Assembly, who was a converted Jew - usually invited us to his sister-in-law’s flat at the Johannesburg College of Education. Winnie was Dean of Women there and also an art lecturer. She and Ethel (Mrs Knocker) always had a lovely supper ready for us. There would be some of Ethel’s homemade bread that she also baked for the Breaking of Bread each week. The Knockers really “mentored” us although the word was not in vogue at that time. We often

85 went to their home for meals as well. They were much older than us and had a considerable influence on our lives. I enjoyed my job as a School Nurse. The uniform was provided by the Province and consisted of a smartly tailored grey skirt and jacket and a matching coat and hat. A white blouse was also worn. Of course, I had to wear my maroon epaulettes as a registered medical and surgical nurse with a green bar for the midwifery. Navy court shoes with a matching handbag completed the outfit. I was responsible for all the government schools in North-eastern Johannesburg. In practice that meant the preparatory and junior (primary) schools. The high schools only called me in for specific problems. At the beginning of each school year we had to test all the Grade One children as soon as possible. We tested their sight and hearing so that any problem would be picked up as soon as possible. Each nurse had a small audiometer and a Snellen’s eye chart. Early in the year some children still had difficulties with co-ordination. That was a problem with the eye tests. Also, we could not pick up the long-sighted children with the test. We depended on alert teachers as well. We assisted the doctor with Medical Examinations. We had to send the forms to the parents, collect them, fill in each child’s card, test their eyes, weigh them, measure their heights, collect them from the class at the appropriate time, assist the doctor, clear up her mess, visit the families where needed and do the follow-up visit some time afterwards. The doctor examined the child’s throat, ears, skin, heart, lungs, palpated the abdomen, checked for things like genu valgum, flat feet, spinal problems and undescended testes in boys. We also had to deal with behavioural problems, home visiting if possible, and once I had to go after-hours to see the father. Where there were psychological problems, it appeared to be more difficult for fathers to accept that their children needed help. We attended special courses at Tara Psychiatric Hospital to help us in understanding when a child might need psychological or psychiatric help. The teachers were often the ones who advised us that a certain child had behavioural problems. One of my aims was to build and maintain good relationships with the administrative and teaching staff in the schools. I had to work with them and some saw us as a nuisance, adding to their workload and disrupting their classes. So, I worked really hard and good working relationships formed over the years that made my work easier. It was very rewarding in one particular case. The School Nurse before me had some problem with one school. It was difficult to go there. However, it was encouraging to

86 see the attitude change and I had no problem at that school, in fact a very positive relationship developed. Home visits to the parents were not always easy and I had to be very sensitive. They were sometimes on the defensive and wealthier parents were not used to visits from a person employed by the provincial government. I always referred them to their private doctor if it was a medical problem. The poorer families were afraid of the social worker but welcomed me when they realized I did not come with the threat of the law. I was able to refer them to the School Clinic and had to take my turn on duty at the clinic. The school doctors visited the schools in the mornings but spent their afternoons at the clinic. They could order medicines that were dispensed there too. We also had specialists – ENT, ophthalmologists and a psychiatrist. Once a week the ENT specialist worked in the clinic theatre and tonsillectomies were done. We took it in turns to stay on duty to care for these children until the night nurse arrived. Apart from school visits, home visits and clinic duty we had to spend time at the clinic doing administrative work – reports on home visits, filling in health cards, etc. The School Clinic eventually closed in Jeppe Street and re-opened in the new part of the Transvaal Memorial Hospital for children. It was convenient being in the children’s hospital especially when referring pupils to other specialists. No more parking problems either. At the clinic, I was more or less known as the “Nit queen”. I seemed to discover more than my fair share of children with infested heads. After finding the problem at school, we visited the families, gave them literature about dealing with it (imagine the difficulty with the non-English speaking immigrant mothers). They were not allowed to return to school unless they were first cleared at the School Clinic. I had a steady stream of children coming in to be checked. As part of my work, I was also responsible for the health of a Coloured school and an Indian school. I found the home visits to the Indian community very interesting and the people were most hospitable. In the White community there were many immigrants and home visits could be difficult when Mother spoke only Portuguese. Which reminds me. One of these families was so kind as to give me a dried Portuguese sausage. I took it home to the Y. It smelt so strongly and I didn’t know what to do with it so I buried it in a bucket under my dirty washing and locked it in the cupboard. Can’t remember what happened after that. One day I was phoned by a mother – this was over the weekend - to come and help her as her husband was threatening her. I went, which was probably not too wise. One of the unusual places I visited was a brothel.

87 The mother worked and lived there and her child was in one of my schools and required some attention. There were families I visited again and again and built up a good relationship with, usually, the mother. The visits took me to poor, slummy parts of the city and to large, affluent homes. It was very interesting to see some of the old houses that had fallen on hard times, particularly in one area previously inhabited by the early mining magnates. There were such gems in these places – stained-glass windows, woodwork, etc. I really loved my work. It was so interesting. As a Christian I was also able to share my faith with those in need. It was fortunate that the Matron of the School Clinic was a believer in our Lord Jesus Christ. The School Health (lady) doctor who worked in my area and I worked well together. Amongst the other sisters at the clinic was my friend Felicity from BI and Marie of the Separated Six. Neville and I had an understanding but were not engaged. Whatever year it was to be, we wanted to get engaged on the 30th September because of Genadendal. My Great-Aunt Mary lived in an elegant apartment in Parktown. She was a semi-invalid and had buried two husbands. She had no children and was not close to her sisters. She was known to be “different”. I felt sorry for her and visited her from time to time. She had a full-time maid and never dressed in day clothes, wearing attractive negligées instead. She had a most beautiful skin, considering her age. Maybe this was because she did not expose it to the sun. My great-aunt was usually reclining on the couch in the glassed-in veranda or in bed. Her best and only friend seemed to be her doctor who saw her regularly. When on a visit, I sat in solitary state in the lounge having my tea. Her maid made excellent cheese scones. After tea I visited with her. She was an intelligent woman and often had new books on subjects such as history or archaeology from the Reader’s Digest. I did not really have a “bottom drawer”. I had not collected things for a trousseau as so many other young women did. For one thing there was a shortage of money and also up to a certain stage, I thought I would not get married. I expected to be a single missionary. Even though earning quite a good salary by now, I could not save as my family in the Cape needed help. God made His own provision for me. Great-Aunt Mary was one of the means. Over a period of time, she gave me a number of gifts such as cut-glass candle sticks, four silver-plated bowls, a stamped silver sugar bowl and my great-grandmother’s silver-plated fruit bowl with inset pewter design. I also received her husband’s office clock. Her second husband had been a Buchanan so she gave me two blankets in that clan’s tartan. She also passed on some linen, lovely nightdresses and a pale pink

88 negligee set. I was grateful for her kindness but could not get near her, especially on spiritual matters. One Sunday in August or September 1965 she gave to me my Great- Grandmother Bolton’s engagement ring. She told me that she meant to leave it to me in her will but felt she should give it to me now. Her idea was that the spirit of my great-grandmother wanted her to give it to me. I phoned Neville to tell him about it. I did not know that he had prayed a day or two before that the Lord should provide us with a ring if we were to get engaged that year. He being a student was also without means! He was shocked at God’s quick answer. So, we got engaged on 30th September 1965. We went to an Indian restaurant to celebrate and enjoyed the curry. Great-Grandmother’s ring was quite modest but we were happy with it. It was a gold band with rubies and seed pearls set into it. Neville afterwards had small diamonds put in the place of the pearls. Inside was engraved my great-grandmother’s maiden name – Ann Ingham. We had the words “He only” from Psalm 62 engraved in it. We were conscious of the fact that “He only” had done everything for us – in salvation and in our relationship. We owed everything good to Him. We had no idea when we would get married. It was not easy waiting but the Lord helped us to wait for His timing as He unfolded His plans. Christmas of 1965 was spent with my family in the Cape. They had sold the farm at La Motte. They loved it but it was not a paying proposition. They were temporarily living on another farm in Klipheuwel. Before Christmas my next eldest sister, Joan and her husband Johnny had their first child. Sharon was the first grandchild and we visited mother and baby in the Bredasdorp hospital. Pat brought home her fiancé. He seemed very shy and we exerted ourselves trying to get him to talk. On Christmas morning I rigged up a makeshift manger and put Sharon in it. I then sat down at the piano and played “Away in a manger”. When the family came into the lounge, they saw the baby in the manger. Probably Joan was not impressed as she was particular about her baby. Being a committed Christian, it seemed important to me to stress the real meaning of Christmas. Years before when we lived in Southfield, I set up a manger scene in the fireplace at Christmas time. I used dolls and an ornamental horse to try and emphasize the meaning behind the celebration. 1966 was Neville’s final year of study. We still had no plans about our wedding. I think Neville’s mother wanted him to build up some capital by working before we got married. Towards the end of 1965, we thought of Neville completing his studies without going to Teacher Training College. We would then have got married that year. Neville tried for a job at a private school but nothing worked out. So, he graduated with his BA degree, getting a first class in his main three-year subject of Biblical

89 studies – the only one in his class although he had constantly opposed his liberal professor. He went on the next year to the Johannesburg College of Education to do his Higher Diploma in Education. That was now nearly complete and he had a job at Sir John Adamson High School to teach Geography from January 1967.

A Wedding is Arranged At this stage Neville’s friend, who had advised him to go BI, spoke to him. Neil was also to be our best man. He told Neville it was time he got married. We had been going out for over four years and were both twenty- eight years old. At one of my schools, I heard that a family on a smallholding at Kyalami outside Johannesburg were looking for a couple to stay in their home while they went away. It was a lovely modern home in a country setting and near a golf course. We had no money but a honeymoon at this house would cost us nothing except our food. Then the Lord spoke to Neville and the wedding was on! Neither Neville nor I had money saved. My family was in Cape Town and not able to contribute to the cost of the wedding. I bought material and trimmings and sent them to Grandma. She made the wedding dress and sent it to me. She had not understood exactly what I wanted so a friend helped me change it so that I was satisfied. The material was of an organdie type but softer. The bodice and skirt had embroidered roses and pearls. I made my own coronet of satin and pearls. The dress had a train and I wore a long tulle veil. Neville bought a wedding ring but it was too modern to go with my old engagement ring. So, he bought a second-hand ring that matched perfectly. I bought him a ring as well. We were to be married in the YWCA chapel and the reception was to be in the hall. Rev Jack Cook who led me to the Lord was minister of the Methodist Church next to the Y. He agreed to marry us even though we were now worshipping with the Brethren. The ladies of Central Assembly were to provide the eats free of charge. One of the ladies was a judge at the Rand Agricultural Show. She made me a beautifully iced, two-tier fruit cake. The YWCA provided flowers for the chapel and the hall, tablecloths, waiters, china and fruit punch and tea. The organist was an ex-BI student who became a Methodist minister and a friend of Neville’s. My bridesmaid was Elise, a nurse and one of my roommates from BI. On the evening before the wedding Ruth Cook (the minister’s wife) discovered that I planned to do the tables myself and would have none of it. She took over and arranged the tables on the morning of the wedding.

90 So, I had nothing to do on the day apart from caring for myself. In every way God had provided. We had no way of getting to our honeymoon hideaway. Neville’s mother bought a car that she lent to us not only for the honeymoon but the whole of the next year as well. My bridesmaid had arranged a surprise Kitchen Tea at the Y. Humorous verses accompanied the useful presents given. The clinic staff gave me a Linen Tea and also presented me with a beautiful mohair blanket. One of my schools not only gave me a present (I think some others did as well) but I got lots of letters from the children wishing me well. I was thoroughly spoilt. Of course, I went on a bit of a diet to lose those extra few pounds. Mommy and Grandma Lilley arrived by “holiday train”. My father and Keenan grandparents drove up from Cape Town. I visited them in their hotel the night before the wedding and my Grandma Keenan gave me her opal ring, set in gold. I gave it to my daughter the night before her wedding and trust she will hand it on to her daughter. I don’t think my parents had seen each other since the divorce when I was five years old. As far as I know they did not even greet each other at my wedding and my mother refused to be part of any official group photo. However, I was grateful to have my own two parents at my wedding, as well as my grandparents. On the morning of our wedding (17th December 1966) I felt terrible. I had not felt well for some days. I had a pain in the appendix area and had visions of being in hospital instead of “at the altar”. Neville came and I was in tears. He took me to the doctor. The diagnosis was Gastro-Enteritis and it was affecting the appendix but no need for surgery. That is why I only sucked an almond sweet at the reception and ate nothing most of that day. Contrary to all custom, Neville took me to the hairdresser and back to the YWCA. We parted company until the wedding. It was raining a little but that did not disturb me as I came down in the lift to the ground floor where my father met me. We walked down the steps to the chapel where Neville was waiting.

A Marriage Begins 17th December 1966. It was a traditional wedding service and I promised to love, honour and obey. We sang the three hymns on the wedding sheet with the verse “He Only” at the top – “O Jesus, King most wonderful”, “Be Thou my vision O Lord of my heart” and “This, this is the God we adore”. We had photos in the

91 Y. lounge with the Christmas tree in the background. The speeches were awkward in that my parents were divorced but they were “managed”. We cut the cake and did the usual things. I did not have a garter. My bouquet was a small spray of flowers on a white New Testament. I did not throw it. Simon, my cousin’s husband, did well with the photos, snapping people all over the place. There is one priceless photo in which our friend Barbara, looking very pregnant, appears to be lecturing me. I changed into my pale green, crepe-de-chine, going-away outfit. The coat was lined with pink and wearing my pretty pink hat, I felt that I looked nice. We left for Kyalami and three weeks of honeymoon. We had very little money, no furniture and no place to stay at the end of the three weeks but we looked to the Lord to lead us. We did have some lovely presents. We had no wedding list but trusted the Lord to lead those who gave. It was wonderful to see how everything dovetailed. We got a lot of stainless-steel dishes but no duplicates. There was a butter dish, a cheese dish, a sugar basin, an entrée dish, etc. It all fitted together as though planned. It was – by Him. It may seem that we were a bit naïve but we wanted it to be “He only”. The same goes for having children. We did not think of taking birth control precautions when we got married. We left it to the Lord - and He had it all planned. Getting married and living together was in a sense easy, for we knew each other well. Only now we did not have to part in the evenings. Although we enjoyed our honeymoon, we missed other company. So, we invited some of the Y. people round for a games evening. We also went to Neville’s family for Christmas. It was near the end of the three weeks and God had not yet shown us where to live. We asked ourselves, “How will He show us?” So, we got a newspaper and saw a flat (apartment) advertised in Berea – near my work, and not too difficult to get onto the freeway to Neville’s school. We went to see it and liked it. It was a furnished place on the first floor of a building with a courtyard full of plants. Opposite was a bowling green. The rent was reasonable but the landlady wanted a deposit. We didn’t have the money. We couldn’t have the flat. The next day we phoned and the landlady said, “I’m keeping it for you.” Within a day or two we moved in! This was our first home. We put up pale green curtains and paintings and ornaments and made it ours. There was one large room – the sideboard served as a divider into a bedroom and lounge/dining room. There were windows and a glass door which opened onto the veranda and overlooked a tree and the bowling green on the opposite side of the road. At the other end of the room there were more windows looking out onto the courtyard that was planted with shrubs and ferns. The front door also opened from the courtyard. Leading off the large room was a bathroom and a small kitchen. When the doors were

92 closed the kitchen looked like a built-in cupboard. The lounge furniture was carved, a bit old fashioned but we liked it. The problem was the bed! We slept in a three-quarter bed for the first year of our marriage. It was a bit of a squeeze. Neville felt trapped there, I think, as he twice attacked me in my sleep. He hammered me in my back with his elbow and another time he hit my breast. We were happy to be able to offer hospitality to friends. However, when it came to Neville’s birthday, I made a big mistake. My family enjoyed surprises. So, I arranged a surprise party for Neville. He was totally put out. We had planned to go out for supper and he could not adjust to the change of plan when our friends turned up. I never gave him another surprise party. One thing I found was that my husband was determined that I should not be a golf widow. He seldom played on a Saturday but spent the weekend with me. I only later, came to appreciate how unselfish he was in this matter. During the year I had an operation on my bunions. In those days we did not have to pay for any medical aid. Free medical and surgical treatment was one of the perks for nursing staff working with government institutions. Incidentally we got reduced fares on long distance trains. Private doctors and dentists also gave us reductions on their fees. The operation was a new procedure and necessitated my being in plaster casts for some weeks. We stayed with Neville’s parents during this time. Dad Holmes had broken his ankle and that also required a plaster of Paris cast. So, the two of us sat on the stoep, convalescing, while Mom Holmes prepared the meals. She did not mind as she seldom allowed me to help in the kitchen. She was very independent and liked to do her own work. It was not surprising when the one big toe went septic and I had to have a second operation. It was a “known fact” that things often went wrong in treatment involving medical or nursing staff!! I was happy that I had the operation as the result was two straight big toes. On the minus side I also had one big toe that did not take my weight as it pointed up rather than down as a result of the second procedure. Eric Hutchings, a British evangelist, held a campaign in Johannesburg and we got involved. We attended training classes for counselling before the meetings and follow-up ones afterwards. During the campaign I asked Neville to sell the candle sticks and silver bowls Great-Aunt Mary had given me. I wanted to give the money to the Lord for the campaign. So, Neville took them, as I thought, to sell them at a second-hand shop. He brought me the money and returned the articles to me. I was to remember that they now belonged to him as he had bought them! I could not sell them again. One night we went to a follow-up meeting. Our flat was on the first floor. There were no burglar bars and we left a window open. When we

93 returned our flat had been burgled and a number of our wedding presents as well as my jewellery stolen. The jewellery included the first “modern” wedding ring Neville bought as well as a signet ring with my initials and a small diamond given to me by my Keenan grandparents. The police came but we heard no more about it. Neville had another signet ring made with my married initials and a small diamond. This I later gave to my daughter. On our first wedding anniversary Neville gave me a string of small pearls as well as a platinum ring. It was a band inset with sapphires and diamonds. This ring eventually went to my daughter on the birth of her daughter. Neville got the pearls and ring from an industrial jeweller at a good price! His thinking was that as we were hoping to go as missionaries, he would not be able to buy me such things in the future. There was an Italian family in our assembly. They invited us to lunch. They ran a catering business and provided the meals for the Alitalia Airline. The meal began. They brought in the most delectable food and we ate our fill. Imagine our horror when we found out that those were the hors d’oeuvres and the main dish was still to come! When we got married this family gave us a set of blue enamel pots with heavy bottoms that lasted us many years. During 1967 we applied to the Lebanon Evangelical Mission (previously British Syrian mission and later to be part of Middle East Christian Outreach). I told the Council of the Lord’s leading with regard to Lebanon but said I still had doubts. We were accepted to join the mission. We were to start our membership in January 1968. Through a colleague at the school clinic, I got to know a Lebanese lady. I started going to her for Arabic lessons. I did not learn a lot of Arabic but the time spent with her gave me a “feel” for the language that really helped in later language study. Having wrapped up our nursing and teaching work, we had our goods packed by Stuttafords ready to be sent down to Cape Town. We were to travel to Lebanon by ship and our goods would accompany us. There were seven wooden crates. We took everything we had as we planned to be in Lebanon for life. Our assembly invited other Brethren groups to join them for a farewell service as they commended us to God’s work in Lebanon. Actually, we did not understand then how amazing that was. The fact is that at that time many in the Assemblies did not agree with Bible schools or missions. They felt that the teaching should take place in the local church and missionaries should be sent out by the assembly only - missions were irrelevant. We are grateful that the elders at Central Assembly had a broader view. We set off from Johannesburg in January 1968 having said, “Good-bye” to friends and some of Neville’s family.

94 Our first stop was Durban where we spoke at deputation meetings arranged by the local LEM committee. We stayed at McCord’s missionary home. I was plagued by fears and doubts about God’s will while there. We then set off for Port Elizabeth by plane. It was my first aeroplane trip and the plane kept dropping due to air pockets. Only no one told me that. I expected my last hour at any minute as I thought the plane was dropping to ditch in the sea! Neville was not a good traveller and made use of the paper bag provided. After meetings in PE, we flew to Cape Town. I don’t remember but I suppose we stayed at Grandma’s house. The South African LEM council had a farewell tea for us. Miss Luckhurst was the secretary. Some of my family were present including my father and Grandma Lilley, Aunty Laura and Uncle Percy. A valedictory service was held in the Cape Town YWCA and Rev Murdo Gordon from BI preached from the Song of Solomon - “Come north wind and blow upon my garden.” We were given the usual “passport” – a roll of sweets – from old Mr Roland who presented all missionaries leaving our shores with this little gift. The departure day came and a number of my family members gathered on the Italian ship, Europa, to say, “Good-bye”. There was my mother, Grandma Lilley, Aunty Laura and Uncle Percy, my grandparents Keenan and others, including friends. Amazingly my mother, my father’s mother and Grandma Lilley had a photo taken together on-board ship. People gave us last minute presents. I remember that someone gave us a hard-covered Christian book. There were flowers in our cabin and then it was all ashore - except us. Streamers were thrown from the ship and the music played as the Europa slowly pulled away from the quayside. Leaving by ship was much more emotional than later departures by plane. As we moved out to sea, Table Mountain made a wonderful backdrop to the city of Cape Town – city of our birth and symbol of all that was known and familiar to us.

95 Would we ever see our country again? Would we ever see our families and friends again? The only certainty was that our future was in God’s hands.

A New Land We left Table Bay and set out on a choppy sea. Neville was not well and suffered from seasickness for some days. On the whole I have been a better traveller than Neville – by ship, air and bus. Neville and I never hunkered to travel. We were content to stay at home but God called us and sent us to face new challenges and adventures. As we travelled from Cape Town to Italy and then to Lebanon, we saw some intriguing places. We stopped at Luanda for a day and visited the old fort. Angola was still a Portuguese colony. We docked in Las Palmas and saw something of the island although I don’t remember too much about it. Travelling with us was another missionary, Heather, from Durban Assembly and she was returning to Christian work amongst prostitutes in France. We made friends with a Rhodesian Muslim named Yusif. He was very unhappy about the breakdown of his marriage and Neville had an opportunity to share with him the difference the Lord Jesus could make in his life. On board the ship the four of us stayed together as there was much going on that was really distressing. Some people seemed to leave morality behind in their homeport. We took part in the games on board and Neville was in the final of the men’s table tennis, while Heather and I fought it out in the finals of the women’s game. She won. Our next port of call was Barcelona in Spain where Heather left us to take the train to Paris. It was Palm Sunday and we came upon people folk dancing in front of the cathedral. They were waving palm branches. We were also reminded that Christopher Columbus set off from Barcelona for the New World. There was a statue of him near the docks and we went aboard his ship (or was it a replica? – probably). We ate lunch at a restaurant and I really enjoyed what I now think was Lasagne – a new dish to us at the time. Later we sailed through the Straits of Messina between the foot of Italy and Sicily. Eventually we docked in Venice where we were to change ships. Yusif parted from us there and caught a train to elsewhere in Europe. Booked into an hotel near St Mark’s Square, we travelled there in a speedboat – quicker and cheaper and more practical than a gondola. We saw plenty of the latter, romantic, more expensive and especially catering for tourists. There was the Grand Canal, spanned by a bridge from our side to the opposite bank, and lots of smaller canals. Our impression of Venice

96 may be summed up in the words “canals, hotels and smells”. The few days we spent in the city were overcast and raining at times. The place seemed damp and rotting at the foundations. We walked and walked and travelled around by waterbus. For all the negative impressions we had, Venice is still a romantic city to be seen and appreciated. St Mark’s Cathedral was near our hotel and we admired the magnificent bronze horses outside and the fading Byzantine glories inside. However, we preferred a church on the other side of the Grand Canal with the most wonderful wood carving on the inside. We visited the Doge’s Palace and saw the Bridge of Sighs across which condemned prisoners were taken in days past. After a few days, we left for Beirut on board the Ausonia. We stopped at Brindisi on the east coast of Italy. This city is very vague in my memory except for some tower. After crossing the Adriatic Sea, we spent a day at Dubrovnic in Yugoslavia. As South Africans from the land of apartheid and anti-communism, we did not think we would be allowed into this Communist country. To our surprise we were permitted to go ashore and see the lovely old city. We travelled there and back in small trams, each seating maybe ten people. Near the docks before setting out on our excursion we passed a church. It was so full that people were standing outside the doors. Interesting in a Communist country where God was supposed not to exist! We enjoyed the red-tiled roofs of the “modern” houses as we made our way up to the old city. We were ignorant of Dubrovnic and its history but I am so glad we saw it. We bought ice cream and it was the richest, creamiest ice cream we ever had, in fact too rich for our taste. One other thing about Dubrovnic - Neville took a photo of a naval vessel in the docks. It was not a wise thing to do in such a place. We could have been suspected of being spies! Coming from South Africa where people take an interest in the army, air force and navy and would happily snap the country’s ships in harbour, we were babes in the wood and did not understand how careful you have to be in other countries. In the Middle East we learnt not to show any particular interest in anything military as some people were suspicious of foreigners. We sailed on past Cyprus and saw a beautiful rainbow stretched across the island in the distance. On board the Ausonia we met a Lebanese lady who had lived in South Africa for about forty years and was returning to her homeland. We were puzzled about things she told us and she seemed confused about her surname. We now understand, having lived in Lebanon for many years, e.g. her name – in SA she was known by her husband’s surname but in Lebanon the woman keeps her maiden name. We kept up a friendship with her over a number of years. Sometimes her behaviour was most eccentric but we were fond of her.

97 At last our destination drew near and we could see the Lebanon Mountains set back from the coastline and the proud city of Beirut standing on her promontory. As the ship docked the arched customs house stood below us and in front of it a group of South Africans, come to welcome us to Lebanon. They were Les and Agnes de Smidt and Stephanie Green. It had taken us three weeks to get to Beirut from Cape Town with our seven crates. We were soon whisked off to the Lebanon Evangelical School for Girls where a conference was taking place. It was March 1968. The Girls’ School was an interesting group of buildings with arches and pillars, high ceilings and even marble floors. The compound was surrounded by a high wall. There were tall trees and a garden with a large, raised fishpond (probably also used as a water storage tank for the garden). A visiting supporter was outraged by the marble floors and wished to terminate her support of the mission. In Lebanon marble was commonly used and we had a marble sink in the kitchen of our flat later on and marble floors in the bathrooms. What may be extravagance in one culture could be economy (or at least not luxury) in another. We were allotted one of the high-ceilinged bedrooms in the boarding department and I was put to bed as I was not well – probably a tummy bug. They gave me plain yoghurt (laban) to eat. I had never tasted it in my life before and did not care for it. Laban and labneh (yoghurt cheese that looks like smooth cottage cheese) are important in the basic diet of the Lebanese, so we learnt to enjoy it – in time. For stomach upsets the usual treatment was fizzy Seven Up for the nausea and laban and flat Coca Cola for the diarrhoea. Not that you could buy Coca Cola in Lebanon. The company operated in Israel so that name was not wanted in Lebanon. We bought K-Cola instead. It was suspected that it was the same thing under another name. Soon after we arrived, Neville was told to shave off his beard. He would be mistaken for a Greek orthodox priest or an Israeli spy if he did not. We had been in Lebanon but a day or two when we were informed that we were being sent to Jordan to learn Arabic. It was difficult to learn the language in Beirut as so many people spoke English. We needed to be in an environment where many spoke only Arabic. As junior missionaries we did as we were told. We were not consulted! Nor did we expect to be asked if we had any ideas on the subject. Someone was sent to get us visas from the Jordanian embassy. They stamped in the visas, then crossed them out and told us to get them at the airport in Amman. It may be that the person responsible at the embassy only looked at Neville’s photo after stamping the passports. Seeing Neville’s beard, he was not going to take the responsibility for giving the visas - in case he was a spy. We found that some of the thinking in the Middle East was not logical to us as Westerners and that people had

98 very complicated thought processes about things that seemed straight forward to us. We were learning about another culture and it was a steep learning curve. Of course, many Jordanians and Palestinians were suspicious of Westerners at this time. It was less than a year since the 1967 June war with Israel. The Arabs felt the West supported Israel and by implication any Westerner might be an Israeli spy. Although we were South Africans, we were thought of as English because that is where our forebears came from. Our South African citizenship was irrelevant to them. At any rate it was not to our advantage that we came from Cape Town. We were later informed that Abba Eban (Israeli foreign minister at the time) came from Cape Town and that the city was a centre of Zionism – first time we knew that! In the Middle East what counts is “Min wayn aslak?” Where do your roots/origins come from? In Lebanon, a man may have lived for fifty years in Beirut but his roots were in his mountain village and that is where he voted at election time. So, we were English whether we liked it or not (we had never seen England) and the English were responsible for the betrayal of the Palestinian people.

A Year in Jordan In total innocence and ignorance of the politics and intrigues of the Middle East we flew into Amman on Royal Jordanian Airlines. Of course, when we presented our crossed-out visas, we immediately became suspicious characters. We were kept back but eventually allowed to leave the airport with instructions to report to the police (or did they come to us?). In our dealings with the police, we had difficulty with language. Unfortunately, the language school director was away on furlough and we had a fellow student as interpreter who had little more Arabic than us! We got the message though – “Report to the Intelligence Headquarters for questioning”. Well, we were truly on our own with only God to help us. As South Africans we had no embassy or consulate in the city and our mission had no other missionaries there. As we went into the building, I think I wondered about when we would leave again. Our interrogator turned out to be a Greek Orthodox Christian although Jordan is a mainly Muslim country. We got into a discussion about why we were there and about baptism – infant versus believer’s baptism. In retrospect it was very cleverly done. Had we been Jewish spies we would not have known about the different points of view on Christian baptism. The gentleman was very nice but he informed us that we were wasting our time in the Middle East, as “everybody here knows God”! We were given permission to stay. God was stretching us and teaching us to trust Him in all kinds of situations.

99 While in Jordan, Neville and I decided not to take the mission allowance but trust God for our needs. He provided for us although it was not easy. We learnt to be frugal. However after some time the Mission insisted that we had to receive the monthly allowance. This too was God’s provision. We stayed in the downstairs flat of a Palestinian family. Like so many others they had to unwillingly move from their homeland because of the conflict between Jew and Arab. (Although the Arabs insisted that it was between the Zionists and Arabs as not all Jews were Zionists.) I think the father was an engineer so they were able to re-establish themselves and not live in a refugee camp. They were nominal Christians and kind neighbours. Our flat opened onto the garden that had a number of fruit trees planted in it. Later we were to experience extremes of weather and we photographed the garden under snow. We also photographed the windows looking like army camouflage after rain came down during a sandstorm. It seemed to rain mud, hence the interesting windows. We used some furniture left by another mission’s workers, who evacuated during the June war, but there was not a lot of it. Our bedroom consisted of a bed and a filing cabinet that served as our chest of drawers. We bought a Noritake Melamine dinner service and we still use some of it after all these years. We got a Palestinian lady to help. We had no washing machine. She was a simple village lady, apparently used to doing her washing in a stream, for she sat in the bath on her haunches and rubbed the clothes clean. She had an interesting idea about washing windows – spit (after all water is in short supply in the Middle East), then shine it up. We made friends with a number of families and individuals. There was the Jordanian young man, Abou Raieed (father of Raieed) who visited us quite a bit. He was a nominal Christian. I seem to remember we met him in a communal taxi (service – pronounced servees) while stuck in an unbelievable traffic jam. We visited his family too. His grandmother wore her traditional dress, with a turban-like headdress and had tattoos on her face. His mother and wife wore Western clothes, as did he. The baby was wrapped in swaddling bands and was like a little papoose. One of the ideas was apparently to keep the legs straight. Babies usually had a blue bead - and in this case being nominal Christians probably a saint’s medal - to protect from the Evil Eye. They were particularly worried about people with blue eyes casting “The Eye” on the baby. Although my eyes are green, they are near enough to blue to be somewhat dangerous it seems. So when I looked at the child I said “Smallah” (Short for bi ism Allah i.e. in the name of God). This apparently allayed their fears as the mother reported to the daughter (or the other way round), “She said, ‘smallah’”. As long

100 as I did not admire the baby (thus drawing the attention of the Evil Eye), hopefully she/he would be safe. Another acquaintance was Mohammed – a young Jordanian, who came to our house quite a few times. He was in the air force. He had a wife elsewhere in the country and boasted of the high bride price he had to pay for her. He probably didn’t think much of me when Neville said that he got me for nothing! We were invited to a meal at a Jordanian home. Only when we got there did they start the preparations for the meal. So there was plenty of time to chat in our very limited Arabic. They treated us to their national dish i.e. Mansef. This consists of rice with boiled chicken or mutton pieces placed on top. Over everything they pour hot, goat’s “yoghurt”. It has a strong smell and Neville did not find it easy to eat. I enjoyed it. I was interested to see how they made the hot “yoghurt”. They had lumps of what looked like dried milk and this they worked on until it was dissolved in liquid. There were a few bits of extraneous material that they removed, and then boiled the mixture up. We all washed our hands and ate out of a common dish. Actually it was a large, round tray and the food was piled on this. We formed the rice into small balls with our hands and popped it into our mouths. In a very literal way we were “sharing life together”. That is the symbolic significance of a meal shared. The host kept encouraging us to eat. We were offered especially delicious parts, some of which we would not normally enjoy e.g. the eye. The Jordanians are hospitable people. However, we discovered that some people visited us out of curiosity and others because they thought we could help them get to America. It was amazing that there was often condemnation of America and yet it was the dream of many to go there. We were told more than once that they hate the American government but not the American people. Unfortunately for them, not only were we not American but even if we were, we should not have had any influence to help them. People were curious about many things that we would not normally ask about in our culture. One family walked into our home and enquired – before sitting down – “ ‘Adaysh?” They wanted to know how much rent we paid. People constantly asked how much we paid for things in a way that would offend in the West but we soon learned to do the same! They could always have got it cheaper than we did! One young man told us that his family wanted him to go down to Jerusalem to kill someone – but he did not want to go. We thought he was talking nonsense but we later understood that he was probably in earnest. Honour was one of the most important virtues in the Middle East. If

101 someone – even in the family – had caused dishonour, they might need to be killed to retrieve the family honour. As the honour often depended on the behaviour of the women, the killing sometimes involved a member of the fair sex. This also apparently happened in Lebanon. A Palestinian family we got to know was that of Moosa. They were refugees living in a town some distance from Amman. He visited us and we visited them. Although they were poor, they treated us to a meal and we thus honoured them with our presence to their way of thinking. It is more honouring to be visited than to visit. They may even have gone into debt but they had to give us a good meal for the sake of their family name. Im Moosa (the mother of Moosa) wore traditional Palestinian dress with a white muslin headdress. They were Muslims. Her dresses were beautifully embroidered in traditional cross-stitch patterns. She kindly made me a lovely, long, black, embroidered dress like hers. There are flowers on the bodice and birds on the skirt panels. She made it in two weeks although she was ill part of the time. It is a work of art and I still have it. Standing next to our home in Marka, Amman, we had our picture taken together wearing our Palestinian dresses. What amazed me was how she did the cross-stitch. She tacked pieces of muslin onto the material and counted the crosses on the fine cloth. When the panel was complete, she pulled out the muslin from below the embroidery, thread by thread. That seemed to me to be the most difficult part of the work. When we visited them in their humble home, we met a cousin who had been a teacher in Palestine. He had a beautiful, fair wife. We were startled when this lady with her long sleeves, high neck, long skirt, covered head began feeding her baby in front of us and thought nothing of it! How cultures differ. In the Arab world of the time you would not see a man and a woman holding hands in public. Even a husband and wife made no public show of affection. But it was normal to see men walking hand in hand and it did not mean what Westerners might think. It was simply a sign of friendship. As I walked down the road with Im Moosa, Neville and Moosa were walking ahead of us. I saw Moosa take Neville’s hand and wondered about Neville’s reaction. He controlled himself well! Also in greeting people in the Middle East the women kissed other women and men kissed men. The kisses were on the cheeks and sometimes were a mere touching of cheeks. The number of kisses was also significant. It may be a formal kiss on each cheek. Most commonly it was three kisses, alternate cheeks! However if someone was very pleased to see you – say after a long absence – there might be four or even five kisses. I prefer the Arab way of greeting and do not like people to kiss me on my mouth – very unhealthy! Moosa’s family fled from near the Pool of Siloam in Jerusalem and his cousin from Bethany.

102 There were many refugees in Jordan. Some had been there since 1948 and many more had come in 1967. We were driving some distance from Amman when we came across a huge camp of these poor, dispossessed persons. As far as the eye could see there were tents in this barren place. It was a terrible tragedy that people who had lived in their villages and on their lands for centuries should be thus driven out and displaced. Many were subsistence farmers with their own olive groves, vines and fruit trees. Now they had nothing. They had time to brood over the injustice of it all and to hate the Western governments who were partly responsible - they felt - as well as the Zionists. They had time to think about the Jewish foreigners from other countries who now occupied their homes and lands – and that without compensation. It was inevitable that a people, dispossessed as they were, would be a source of trouble to the area and the world sooner or later. The refugees received rations from UNRWA. Food was provided for them by various countries and some was quite unsuitable. So they sold it in the marketplace to get money to buy their own type of food. There was steak in tins from Ireland but most were Muslims and the steak was probably not halaal. There were boxes of oats from the USA. The people were not familiar with oats nor did they know what to do with it. They also preferred fresh food. The refugees who were largely village people were very conservative and this extended to their food and their way of preparing it. Mennonite missionaries and other Evangelicals worked amongst the Palestinians. They sold some of their embroidery to give them an income. We bought a cream cushion cover finely embroidered in pale green cross-stitch. While we were still in Jordan there was fighting between the Jordanian army and Palestinian militias. It was an unusual thing for us – then – to see the tanks trundling down the road near our home. There were also Israeli air attacks from time to time. Once we were walking down the road when the sirens went off and we hurried home and sat under the stairs in our neighbour’s home. It was a tense time for foreigners in other ways. Because of the suspicion about the possibility of every Westerner being a spy, some foreigners had an unpleasant time. Travelling in a communal taxi, one of our friends from language school and her companion were handed over to the police as suspects. A visiting Australian (whom we did not know) was gunned down in the market and nearly died. I think King Hussein paid for his medical costs. Was the young man shot because he had a beard and was therefore suspect? Shoot first, ask questions afterwards! Neville had an unpleasant experience when he tried to help someone with his parcels. Having helped to carry the parcels to the tent, the father started interrogating Neville. He sent the son home with my

103 husband to check on his passport! Occasionally the little boys in the neighbourhood of the school threw stones at us. One day, while visiting in another area, the neighbourhood children became troublesome as they followed the foreigners. The Arab gentleman with us picked up stones and threw them to scatter the kids! We were really out of our “comfort zone” in a big way. We had no security except in our God. We had to put our trust in Him. “They that know Thy name will put their trust in Thee.” We were in Jordan to study Arabic. So we went to language school on the outskirts of Amman most days. The head of the school was from America and a trained linguist. He returned from home leave and we found he spoke excellent Arabic. We had two Jordanian teachers and one Palestinian. These ladies were all committed Christians. They found Neville and myself embarrassing, as Neville sometimes put his arm around me. This was certainly not culturally appropriate! We later learnt not to show any affection in public. This is so even today. People in South Africa must think we are a most unaffectionate couple! At the end of language school – a year later - the students and teachers had an evening picnic on Mt Nebo. It was a special experience. Like Moses we looked down on the “promised land” and saw the lights (I think it was Jericho) in the distance. The teachers “took off” each of the students. To imitate Neville and myself, one of them pretended to put her arm around someone – great hilarity. These uncouth South Africans! To get back to Arabic – we started with the spoken language using charts of cartoon figures. We repeated pattern sentences and learnt them off by heart. I have never forgotten those patterns – we were well taught. We also substituted words (nouns, verbs, adjectives) in the sentences. We memorised Bible verses and Arabic hymns. Later we started on Arabic grammar and the classical language; learnt to read - especially the Bible. When we started writing the language, I found my muscles were not accustomed to write that way so it took some practice. The problem with Arabic is that it is written and read from right to left and is read from the back of the book (from an English point of view) to the front. Also the script is totally unlike Western European languages. The other problem for us was that there are at least three levels of language. The colloquial was spoken in different ways – both pronunciation and words used – in different Arab countries. The colloquial was not written down so we used phonetics.

104 Then there was middle level Arabic - used in the ordinary books, newspapers, radio and TV. The full-blown, classical Arabic was found in books such as the Koran and Bible. Arabic is a fascinating language and very logical – unlike English! We enjoyed looking up the (usually) three- letter root word – made up of consonants - in our big, thick Hans Wehr dictionary and seeing all the verbs and nouns that derived from that root. Another difficulty for foreigners (and sometimes for Arabs) is that the vowel pointings are often not written in. So you have a book with mostly consonants and you have to decide by the grammar and meaning what the vowel should be when you read. At times you need to decide on the correct vowel to get the meaning! There are also sounds in Arabic not found in English. Having Afrikaans as well as English was a help to us with some of the sounds. Add to all this that there are two T’s, two S’s, two K’s, two D’s, two H’s, each pronounced differently and you have a language that is not too easy to learn. But learn we did with prayer backing from home and by the Lord’s grace we made progress – slow but getting there. Not that you have ever arrived in Arabic. It has a huge vocabulary for one thing. Even the Arabic native speakers find their formal language difficult. We had to practise the language as much as possible and the Jordanians were very encouraging. If you managed something of a sentence or phrase you were “shaater” or “shaatra” (clever). (Later in Lebanon we found the people much more critical and less encouraging.) We went shopping and visited people and “practised our language” – which is not saying much!! We had a mandatory number of services to attend at the church each week. We were supposed to write down every word we did not know. However we couldn’t distinguish one word from the next in the beginning, let alone write it down. Eventually we would recognize some frequently used words and make an attempt to ask the teachers about their meaning. With the little language we acquired we started trying to communicate the Good News that was our reason for being in the Middle East. The church we went to consisted of a small group of believers. Someone nearby used to start up a loudspeaker during the service. It seemed it might have been meant to disrupt our worship. People were not always punctual and there were a few old ladies in traditional dress with tattoos on their faces who used to arrive towards the end of the service. Maybe they had no clock. One day Neville walked into a NO PARKING sign near the church and hurt his head. The sign must have been put up by a rather short person! On the road from the church there was a butcher shop. The owner’s name was Kamaal. Neville bought our meat there – hopefully before too many flies sat on the meat as it hung outside and inside the shop. Later Kamaal came to Neville for English lessons but could not say “pencil” but

105 always pronounced it as “bencil”. There is no “p” in Arabic. We stopped at the shop and drank the tea that is commonly consumed in Jordan – strong, hot, boiled, black tea served in little glasses - very sweet tea, flavoured with mint. It tastes better than it sounds. The thick, black Arabic coffee also frequently offered was usually flavoured with cardamom. It was normal in the Middle East to drink tea or coffee when conducting business, even at the bank. The point is that everything is based on relationships. To drink and eat together helps to build the relationship and hopefully the trust between you. Spending time on relationships is more important than getting the job done. We had to learn how to bargain. Neville was much better than me in acquiring this skill. As the customer you should know how much you are willing to pay and offer a lower (but reasonable) price. The shop owner knows how much he has to sell the article for to make a profit and asks a higher price. You go up and he goes down until your offers meet and hopefully both are happy. The shopkeeper will give the impression that he has been generous and lost out while the buyer may insist that he has paid too much. Later he will boast to his family about the bargain he got! It is like an intricate game but you need to know the rules. Generosity is a very important virtue in the Arab world. To be “bachiil” (stingy) is the worst of traits. If you admire anything in a person’s home it will be offered to you, but don’t accept. Better not admire it lest you be thought to be hinting! However with very traditional people you will offend them if you refuse something they offer. Hospitality goes with generosity and it is important to be very generous with the amount and quality of food when guests come. There must be plenty left over after the meal to demonstrate your generosity. Once we invited a family to a meal. We prepared the amount we normally would in South Africa. The guests ate very little. Either they were conservative and did not care for the food or they were considering our honour. If there was little food left over, we should have seemed lacking in generosity and been put to shame. So maybe they ate sparingly to ensure there was plenty over. I wonder what they said about us when they went home? Men were very conscious of their dignity and would not run – or even hurry - lest they compromise their standing as respectable gentlemen. They walked slowly and deliberately. The local shopkeeper was shocked when Neville started playing football with the local boys. He told Neville that it was “aib” – a shameful thing. Child rearing in the Middle East was not according to our ideas. Discipline seemed inconsistent. Children were openly criticised in their presence and said to be beautiful or otherwise. Boys were often favoured and they could get away with a lot while girls were treated more strictly.

106 The girls had to be kept in line as the honour of the family was tied up with the behaviour of the women. Virginity was highly prized and loss of it outside of marriage could lead to death. In order to keep the girl above reproach, the brother sometimes slept in her room so that she was guarded at all times. The chief way of keeping children in line seemed to be the use of the word “aib” (shame). You behaved so as not to shame your parents and wider family. If something would cause shame, it was to be avoided at all costs. Our fellow students at language school were an interesting group from different parts of the world and later served God all over the Arabic speaking world. We got to know some Americans for the first time – mainly Southern Baptists, Conservative Baptists and a few from the Assemblies of God. One gentleman at a meeting they held gave out the notices in such a broad Southern accent that we could not fully understand him. We found our American missionary friends very hospitable and generous. However we found that we were different. During the winter we had a big heater in the classroom. When we went into the class, we turned down the heat and opened the windows. We were warmly dressed but liked our faces cool. The Americans who came into the next class closed the windows and turned up the heat! They were less warmly dressed. We found that their English was different too. Sometimes the same words meant different things e.g. we were confused by the words “cookies” and “biscuits”. We call their cookies biscuits and their biscuits are our scones. Neville shocked someone by calling him a silly ass. Apparently, the word we use for donkey means something more impolite to them. So we were learning that Americans are similar but different to South Africans. We also had a Dutch lady studying with us. She was a companion to one of the ladies of the Jordanian royal family. King Hussein was loved by many of the Jordanian people and he waved to us when his car passed us on the road one day. We visited some of the interesting places in Jordan. On our first Sunday there, we went with a group to see the wonderful ruins at Jerash. The acoustics in the open-air theatre were amazing. From up in the spectator seats we could easily hear someone speaking on the stage. Neville disappeared and I could not find him. Then suddenly he popped up like a rabbit from his warren. He had been underground where they were excavating the old Roman barracks. He got good photos of the arched underground barracks. The remains of the city of Jerash (Gerasa) were extensive with old temples and streets and a forum surrounded by pillars. We travelled to the towns of Irbid and Zarqa as well as Madeba that is mentioned in the Bible. Madeba has a very old Orthodox church with a mosaic map of Palestine set in the floor. One of the most interesting

107 places we visited was Makerios. It was out in the desert high above the eastern side of the Dead Sea. This was one of Herod’s palaces and could possibly be the place where John the Baptist was imprisoned and beheaded. They discovered an underground cistern and found a tablet with the name of John on it. The archaeological dig was still in progress and included foreign archaeologists. It was frightfully hot. Down below we could see the Dead Sea shimmering in the heat. We also saw a rampart of stones that had been built up in order to capture the fortification at some time or other. There were two kinds of walls exposed by the dig - presumably different dates. On one of these we saw a round stone ball – outdated ammunition now. My one regret about visiting places in Jordan is that we never got to Petra – the rose red city of the Nabateans. We planned to go on our last weekend in Jordan. Unfortunately, I got ‘flu’ so we never made it. Amman itself is another Biblical site and has an old amphitheatre in the city. It was one of the cities of the Decapolis mentioned in the New Testament, so was Jerash (Gerasa). We also looked down on the Mountains of Moab – beautiful colours at certain times of the day – and the Jabbok River where Jacob wrestled with God. At Ajlun – where the sun stood still according to the book of Joshua – the Baptists had a mission hospital. I had some health problems when I arrived in Lebanon and these persisted in Jordan. As the symptoms did not add up, I was put in the hospital at Ajlun for a while – apparently a psychological case! The fact of the matter was that I had two things wrong with me hence the confusion of symptoms. The one condition I have learnt to live with. The other God dealt with in a wonderful way. My mother-in-law in far off Johannesburg was speaking to the Matron of the School Clinic where I had previously worked. She told the matron about my symptoms. The matron said that they were similar to hers and I should see her specialist when we returned to South Africa. This I eventually did and the condition was correctly diagnosed. I had a small operation and my symptoms were relieved. While in our first term at language school we had a visit from a gracious South African couple, Dawie and Louise. They spent six weeks with us, sleeping on mattresses on the floor in our second bedroom. He was a Dutch Reformed missionary and minister, as well as a member of our South African mission council. They had travelled in a camper through India and Iraq to Jordan. They came to study some Arabic and learn something of the culture to assist them in their service in South Africa. They had one or two unpleasant experiences with some Middle Eastern men on the way. This was partly because she was blonde. There were men in these areas who thought that Western women were loose (especially blondes it seems). The men judged by the films from the West and the way some

108 tourists dressed, also their friendliness towards men. This was misconstrued. One could understand that the men jumped to the wrong conclusion, considering that their own women were mostly covered from head to toe. Western women did not dress appropriately according to Middle Eastern culture. Tourists often wore shorts and sleeveless tops that sent out a wrong message. Sleeveless dresses were highly improper because the top of a woman’s arm was considered “sexy”. I knew this so had dresses with sleeves but they were not sufficiently modest for church. I had a jacket made with long sleeves that I always wore over my dress to fully cover my arms in church. After the South Africans left, we had one of our LEM missionaries to stay with us for the rest of our time in Jordan. Kathy was from England and a little younger than us. By God’s grace we lived amicably together. One experience we had in that flat was “the spiders”. Hundreds of tiny spiders started to descend on us from our bedroom ceiling. It was not pleasant. How they got there we do not know. Some O.M. young people visited us for meals and used to shower at our home. They had no ablution facilities where they lived. We got to know our teachers quite well and visited their homes. Nadia asked us, “How do you know what the will of God is?” before the summer holidays. We had a discussion on the subject. She went to a Christian conference in Lebanon. By the end of the week she was engaged. She had found God’s will for her life i.e. the big picture. Of course there is the daily living according to God’s will, revealed in His word. She became the mother of a number of sons and one daughter. Another couple were married and off to Africa within a short time as a result of the same conference. This happened quite frequently in the Christian community. The young people did not go on dates. If a young man showed an interest in a girl, it was because he wanted to marry her. If the families were known to each other, there was usually no problem about getting married within a short time. Many Lebanese young men worked outside the country in places like West Africa and other parts of the Arab world. They would return to their homeland looking for a bride. The Girls’ School in Lebanon lost young teachers in the middle of the term, as some man whisked his new bride off to a distant place. The men looking for wives were not always young although the brides mostly were! Many men first made their money so they could provide well for a wife and family. The man would often have a fully furnished house with everything in it before he took a wife. In some communities the bridegroom provided the whole trousseau for his bride, as well. He looked for a younger wife to bear his children. The result was that women were widowed at a relatively young age when their older husbands died. The idea was that you got married without really

109 knowing each other and then you learnt to love each other. The family as well as the church could get involved in arranging a suitable match. We were invited to Nadia’s wedding. The ribbon tied across the aisle was cut as she walked to the front. She was not a happy looking bride. We found out that an unhappy face was a requirement to show that she was sad to leave her family. She smiled later. There was no reception but each guest was given a small gift of sweets. We had a very special lunch with a Jordanian family. They went to the same church as we did and were probably the only Evangelical Christians in their village. He wore the traditional Arab headdress with western clothes. They were a lovely family and, as always in the Middle East, gave us their best. Of course the main dish was Mansef. We also visited a Bedouin encampment. The tents were made of woven, black goat’s hair. The Bedou gentleman was winnowing some wheat. He threw it up in the air with his fork and the wind blew the chaff away. He and his family wore traditional clothes. There were a couple of women - possibly his wives - as Muslims are allowed four wives at one time. There were a number of children, the little girls also dressed in long dresses. The interior of the tent was divided and there was a hammock for the baby. Little seems to have changed in true (some have moved into villages) Bedou lifestyle since Abraham’s time. It was our impression that the Bedouin are a proud group but that some other Arabs look down on them. In many ways we enjoyed being in Jordan but our time there was spoilt by the suspicion and almost paranoia of some of the people. However we liked the Jordanian and Palestinian people we got to know, especially the believing Christians. There was also mail censorship in Jordan so Christians had to be careful how they expressed themselves. One worker received a letter heavily marked by the censor as a person had written to him from abroad in terms – although innocuous when understood properly – that sounded quite militant. Many missionaries went from Jordan to Lebanon and there was a joke concerning a certain dairy in Lebanon. It was called “Foremost” and those moving from Jordan to Lebanon were said to receive the “Foremost call”. Before leaving Amman to go to Beirut for Christmas, we learnt to sing “O Holy Night” – a carol that I came to love. We were also given a gift of “fisto halabi” i.e. Aleppo nuts. On Christmas Eve we visited Byblos (Gbeil) – an Old Testament town on the northern Lebanese coast. On our way back we walked through Beirut. Dusk was descending, there was a bit of a drizzle as I remember it, Christmas trees and lights decorated the little stalls and shops. It seemed right that it was cold and wintry and we were not far from the place where the first Christmas happened.

110 One last word about Jordan – it found a place in our hearts in spite of difficulties experienced there. The capital city, Amman, is built on several hills – seven, like Rome, if my memory serves me correctly. Many of the houses consist of dressed stone with flat roofs and wooden shutters at the windows. They are attractive although plain in design. Other homes have arches that add to their beauty. The city was near the edge of the desert and more “Arab” than Beirut. We met lovely Christian believers and experienced their encouragement and hospitality. We also bought some interesting mementos in Jordan - like Jerusalem pottery and mother-of- pearl jewellery from Bethlehem. I acquired an olive wood candlestick that has given me much pleasure over the years because of its graceful design. We left Jordan with some regret for we had become attached to people and places.

A Village Interlude Back in Lebanon more permanently, we stayed in the village of Shemlan. We were to continue our language study part-time in Beirut. Shemlan is on a ridge in the mountains above Beirut. The people of the village were mainly Maronite Catholics and there were also a few Druze families. We lived alone in part of a big, old house that had been a school and then a Bible school. The Lebanon Bible Institute had moved to Beirut. The house was over a hundred years old and there were no foundations! It had survived an earthquake. The building did have thick walls and buttresses. We just loved the old place. Although a bit neglected, it had so much character and atmosphere with sandstone walls and arches, flagged floors, large rooms and balconies. It stood on the edge of the village with an unimpeded view over the foothills down to the sea in the distance. The garden consisted of terraces and a couple of small cottages occupied a part of the garden, until they were later demolished. There was a crab apple tree, a quince tree, fig trees, pomegranate tree and grape vines on decrepit wooden supports. A Judas tree bloomed, pinky mauve while wild red anemones, white daisies and pinkish cyclamen joined in, announcing the spring. Yellow crocuses and red Virginia creeper came with autumn. A rose bush provided interest and clusters of small yellow roses hung on the branches climbing up the wall. Red geraniums also brightened up the garden, with its long grasses before summer and dry stubble at the end of the hot weather. A large, spreading bay tree took up space, and the occasional small, purple violet bloomed in the middle of its heart shaped leaves. Small donkeys, with heavy boxes of goods for sale slung on each side, struggled down the cement and stone

111 steps next to the house. The large school bell clanged when pulled by a rope at the back door. We travelled down to Beirut, to the language school at the Beirut College for Women, on the village bus. It was a good place to practise our Arabic and get some feel for village life. The bus stopped anywhere there were passengers waiting and people knew the driver and each other. We were dropped near the Borj (Martyrs’ Square) and had to catch a municipal bus to the language school. Or we could take the more expensive service (communal taxi). We had to learn about taking the municipal bus. The one to language school was not too bad but later I regularly travelled on the bus to and from our permanent village of Hadeth. That was an eye-opener. I discovered that some Lebanese knew little about how to queue. Everybody seemed to charge and try to get on the bus at once. It just didn’t work and you might need to get in there and push and shove – or be left behind. Not being a very aggressive person this was not my cup of tea. A service was the alternative to the bus. It might be going anywhere so we had to be clear that we got the right one. The other pitfall was that it could be a real taxi with exorbitant fare (from our point of view). Taxis and services looked the same and were mainly older Mercedes Benz cars. We also had to learn how to hail a service and refuse a taxi. Shaking the head was not the way to refuse but a lift of the head or even the eyebrows was taken as a “no”. The religious affiliation of the driver was often clear from the way he decorated the inside of the car. The Maronite driver might have a picture or small statue of the Virgin or a picture of St George and the dragon, while the Muslim driver could have the name of God - “Allah”- in some form or a brass hand of Fatima (preferably with a blue bead) to protect him. The very occasional Evangelical driver would probably have a verse or two from the Bible to decorate his car interior. Some service drivers were good and careful drivers but others, especially on the longer runs outside the city, were very much in the Insha’allah category i.e. If God wills, we’ll get there in one piece and if God wills, we won’t!! I have had some exciting service rides. I lived to tell the tale. When we needed to return to Shemlan, we went to a special garage and sat in the bus until it filled up. Then away up to the mountains, horn blaring, stopping to pick up bread at the “furun” (oven) for this customer and maybe to get meat from the butcher for another at villages on the way. It was all very personal and fun. The number of passengers was restricted but little stools were sometimes placed in the aisle to accommodate the extra unofficial passengers. How could you leave someone behind just to oblige the government’s love of rules when he comes from your village or even your own extended family?

112 Relationships, sympathy with someone’s difficulty or problem sometimes overrode rules in Lebanon. One long-time ex-pat explained it this way. For Westerners, law was objective but for some Lebanese it was subjective. Depends on who was administering the law, what the relationship was, what the circumstances were e.g. a person was stopped by a traffic policeman for some offence. The offender then argued his case, tried to find common ground with the policeman (“Don’t you come from my cousin’s village?” etc). You would then be surprised to see the guilty party put his arm around the policeman explaining the extenuating circumstances. If sufficient grounds of relationship (or importance - such as belonging to a well-known family) and special circumstances were established, the offender was let off. There were handshakes and smiles all round. Westerners may have deplored this subjective application of the law but there was something very human about it. The policeman had shown mercy and magnanimity and felt good. The offender got off free! If you could establish a relationship with someone, the person was obliged to help you in his/her official capacity. At least the person had to be seen to be trying to assist you even if that official position did not carry sufficient clout to permit any actual help. Here is a simple example. We returned to Lebanon to visit my daughter and family and were met inside the restricted area by a lady calling our surname. Her child was at the school where my daughter taught. She was an official in the airport. Because of her connection with the school (and with my daughter’s friend), she was expected to meet us. The lady waved us through the customs (not that we had anything to declare at any rate) and delivered us to our family outside. She had done her duty and discharged her obligation to the family. She felt obliged to use her position to help us. However there is a catch. One day we (or our family) may be expected to help her in some other way! What the West might consider nepotism was seen as an obligation, even a duty by some Lebanese. Of course you used your official position or influence in a certain sphere to help your family and friends and village. Even when a new President of the country was elected, people in his area hoped and expected that he would do something special for his home village. An important concept in Lebanon was the idea of a “wasta” or “wasiit” (a mediator). You needed someone to speak on your behalf. If you wished to get into an official position or a company, you had to consider if you had a relative or someone from your family, village or religious group (or someone who was under obligation to you) who could help you get the position you wanted. The more important your “wasta” was, the greater your chance of getting your desire. It was helpful if a member of the family held a good official post. If there was trouble you too needed a “wasiit”

113 e.g. two men have had a collision with their cars. For the sake of honour, neither would admit to being in the wrong and they may have acted as though they were squaring up for a fight. They were waiting for someone to come between them and beg them not to do this. Honour was thus satisfied without actually coming to blows. The action of the mediator restored peace so that the insurance assessor who lived in the area could be called. He assessed on the spot the percentage of damages due to each party and the insurance companies were informed. Or there was a family quarrel. Someone was required to act as mediator to bring the parties together. The mother of a young man in our church was opposed to him marrying a certain girl. The opposition prevented them from marrying for some years. They decided to marry without the mother’s presence or permission. The mother refused to have anything to do with her daughter-in-law. Eventually a friend of the family (a doctor who lived in the mother’s building) got mother and son to meet. The way was thus opened for her to meet her daughter-in-law, due to the intervention of this “wasiit”. The story ended happily because she found what a lovely, caring, kind person her daughter-in-law was and came to love and accept her. Two incidents on the bus bear repeating. One day a Palestinian lady questioned me on the bus. She asked me in Arabic, “Do you know Haifa?” I answered in Arabic, “Yes, I know Haifa”. She got rather worked up and informed others around her of what I had said. It was a case of a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. The question she asked meant, “Do you know Haifa by experience? i.e. Have you been there?” I meant to say that I knew about Haifa but my answer conveyed that I had been there! This caused a stir because for some it could indicate that I might be a spy! You had to be so careful and we knew so little. Another time I was alone (without my husband) on a bus and a young man was rather obnoxious. My fellow passengers were indignant and called him a “son of a dog”. I found most Lebanese men polite and respectful to women. Not all, however, and some would let a woman stand while they sat in the municipal bus. In the Christian community of Lebanon at that time there was hardly any divorce in any of the churches. However we heard of one unusual case. A nominal Christian couple were unable to have children. So he divorced her and married a woman of another faith who bore him children. He then divorced his second wife and remarried the first. The question of children was very important. We also had a neighbour in later years who divorced his wife apparently because there were no children. How they managed it in a church that did not believe in divorce, I am not sure. A doctor once told us that when dealing with an infertile couple, and the man wanted to know “whose

114 fault it was”, his stock answer was “nus u nus” - half and half. This was to save the woman from being divorced, if the problem was on her side. Neville and I had been married for some time but I had not fallen pregnant. One day while visiting our workers in the south of the country, Neville went for a walk. He got talking to some Druze gentlemen. They asked him the usual personal questions. “Are you married? Do you have any children? No! Why don’t you get another wife?” Neville explained that he loved his wife. They agreed that was a good thing. I have been questioned by strangers about myself. They may ask you: “Do you have any children? Why not? Have you seen a doctor? Whose fault is it? Let me give you the name of a good doctor!” When a girl got married, she was expected to fall pregnant straight away. In our early days in the Middle East some older women would poke the stomach of the recently wed bride and enquire, “Fi shii?” “Is there anything?” Talk about pressure. Adoption as we understand it did not usually exist although there has been a change since then. If a couple did not have children, they would adopt within the family. If a brother or sister had a number of children, one of them would be given to the childless couple to bring up as their own child. They would then have someone to look after them in their old age. By the way, a couple were considered on honeymoon until pregnancy followed. So we had an extended honeymoon! We were blissfully unaware of the political situation in Lebanon and of the tensions that existed. Compared with Jordan we found Lebanon relaxed and free of the problems we had encountered in Jordan. Little did we know! One day making our way through the city to the Shemlan bus, we passed many people and saw shops closed. We thought nothing of it and walked through the crowds. Only later did we find that we had walked through a demonstration in which people had been killed! Truly the Lord had His hand of protection on us and we were not even aware of it. We were learning more of the culture during this time and we certainly needed to do so. One day we walked past the postmaster’s house and they said, “Tfaddelu.” “Do us a favour (and come in)”. This however was only a politeness but being ignorant we took it at face value. They were probably most surprised. They soon brought the coffee – the hint that we should leave. Had they really invited us they would first have brought out a bowl of fruit or nuts and, only after some time, coffee to end off the visit. We had to realize that if people really wanted you to come in, they would insist most vigorously after you had politely declined the invitation several times. Hence the Bible’s words, “Compel them to come in”. During this time in Shemlan, we worshipped at the Presbyterian Church in Aley. It was the nearest Arabic, Evangelical church. It was part of our mission policy that we should be members of an Arabic-speaking

115 congregation. We visited with the pastor and his wife in a lovely, high- ceilinged, old house. As the summer approached, my father-in-law paid for us to return to South Africa on holiday. We were happy to do so as we would only go on furlough after five years. It was good to see family and friends again. My mother and stepfather had moved to Pearly Beach where they helped run a holiday camp and a shop. We stayed in one of the wooden bungalows. There was a beautiful, long, white beach but it was not the time for swimming. Summer in Lebanon was winter in South Africa. While in Johannesburg we were given a large, personal gift. It was used to buy a car when we returned to Lebanon. This cream Austin 1100, bought from an elderly missionary lady, proved to be a great help in getting around the country and was invaluable later on when public transport became more erratic.

A Home and Ministry in Lebanon Back in Lebanon we had to move closer to the school where Neville was to teach. We were given the choice of two flats. We had seen neither but felt led by God to take the one in the village of Hadeth. It was closer to the school and by far the nicer of the two apartments we later discovered. This became our home (in spite of often having to move elsewhere in the war years) for fifteen years. The building was set in a cul-de-sac, built on a slope - the beginning of the mountain foothills. Small apartment blocks were interspersed with older houses and gardens. The Mayor and local Member of Parliament were near neighbours. Our building consisted of a basement flat and three other floors plus a smaller penthouse apartment on top. The building belonged to the family who lived there. In the basement flat were Siham (sister to Ibrahim and George), her husband Yusif and their two children. On the ground floor, lived Ibrahim, Lor and their four children with the old father and mother – Abu and Im Saami. Abu Sami had been in the police in Palestine under the British Mandate. Ibrahim was a carpenter. The family were Orthodox Christians by religion and came from Nazareth (except Lor and Dalal who were Lebanese Maronite Catholics). Saami, the eldest son was still in Galilee. They could not visit each other because there were no relations between Lebanon and Israel. The older brother George and his wife Dalal lived on the first floor. George was a businessman. They had no children. The second floor was rented to us and the penthouse occupied by another family who afterwards had two children. There was a garden around the building and it had a number of fruit trees, including a large, shady mulberry tree. The mulberries were white, unlike the usual black ones.

116 We found that we were part of the extended family because we lived in their building. When any special food was made, we got our share. Sometimes Lor’s mother came to make mountain bread. She sat on the floor of the stairwell and mixed the dough. The balls of dough were turned into large, round, flat loaves - working on a cushion. She then transferred the loaves from the cushion onto the spherical-topped oven with a wood fire burning inside it. We got our share of the delicious homemade bread. If we needed to use the phone we were not allowed to pay – embarrassing and certainly limited our calls! Members of the family may not pay. It would be a shame. We greatly appreciated our kind neighbours over the years we stayed in their building, especially during the war years that were to follow. Our apartment took up the whole third floor. There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a large, combined entrance/lounge/dining room in the shape of an “L”. There was a kitchen of modest size, a glassed- in veranda that served as an extra room and four other balconies. There were also storage areas above the bathrooms and part of the kitchen. The front of the lounge and dining room had huge windows overlooking Beirut, the sea in the distance and the airport. We also had city and mountain views in other directions. We never imagined having such a lovely apartment at such a good rent. I had been reluctant to give up our bachelor flat in Johannesburg but the Lord had given us a far better home. The furniture provided by the mission was rather old. The field leader (Les) apologized to us. With creative ideas from the Lord, we were able to paint the black, lounge furniture white and cover the backs and seats with material (in a pretty white, green and brown design) bought in the market and make it quite presentable. In fact we were very happy with the result. We put up pale green curtaining given by Great-Aunt Mary. It looked as though there were full curtains but it was an illusion. They could not cover the windows when closed. However there were Venetian blinds at the large windows and wooden shutters at the others, so it was fine. We bought two room dividers from the previous tenants - missionaries from Germany - and this added to the décor with the green and white, ivy-type plants climbing up the poles set into bookshelves. We put up our paintings (given by Neville’s mother and sister) and the clock Neville had won at golf. We were at home. We also had the pictures Neville painted in Jordan. He had never painted before but Arabic, Arabic, Arabic and no sport nearly drove him crazy. So he bought some watercolours and started painting on cardboard obtained from the grocery shop. He went to the British Council in Amman for lessons but gave up after a few sessions. He had his own ideas and Mr Kemp (a British missionary teaching art there) could not get him to use the watercolours

117 with plenty of water! Neville was using watercolours like oils for a strong effect. So he switched to oils and taught himself with the help of books and observation. Mr Kemp came to Lebanon and taught art at the school where Neville was teaching in Hadeth. We invited him to our home for Christmas. He gave us a watercolour he had done of the Garden Tomb. He was not uncomplimentary about Neville’s “self-help art”, when he saw what Neville had painted since last he saw him. Sometime later we invited him to a meal at Shemlan during the summer. He painted a watercolour of the lovely old house on the spot and gave it to us. In later years Neville did his own oil paintings of Shemlan but Mr Kemp’s served as a guide. Mr Kemp also painted a very good portrait of me. He really got life and light in my eyes. Seeing mine, some of our neighbours asked him to paint their portraits but they were not as successful. We shared the Good News with them but they felt no need to change at that stage. We bought some oriental design carpets (one of them was big and beautiful but cheap because of a flaw in it) for our tiled floors (necessary for the cold winters) and set out our ornaments. We arranged the Jerusalem pottery, green and brown Lebanese glassware and English china. We packed our books into the shelves. This was important to us for we did not own the flat or the furniture i.e. except for one cheap display cabinet, a small cupboard, a washing machine and the refrigerator. However the paintings, the ornaments, the books, the carpets were our own. They made up home for us. We also bought an Arabic table with copper top and fold up legs. We got it from the coppersmith near Riyad al Solh in downtown Beirut. He was busy with other articles as we watched him work out designs in the copper. Near the coppersmith we saw the coffee seller. He had a brass urn on his back and carried cups without handles for his customers to drink from. He attracted their attention with a brass clapper. Another interesting sight was the burden bearer. He might have a large basket on his back and carry your fruit and vegetables home for you. Or he could have a strap around his forehead supporting a wardrobe on his back. This was a rather disturbing sight as they carried very heavy weights. In the nearby Martyrs’ Square (Borj) were (amongst other things) a statue, a floral clock, the shwerma shop and patisseries with rich, sweet pastries

118 containing nuts. People stood around the newspaper vendor, reading without buying. One day we were at the Girls’ School and they were planning to pay the dustman to take away two old corner sofas (ma’ads). We asked to have them. We covered them – one with the same material as the lounge suite and the other in a matching plain colour. Then we put cushions at the back to lean against. The cushions had colourful covers, woven in the homes of the Beskinta villagers high in the mountains of Lebanon. The ma’ads made two cosy corners behind the room dividers. However for years I had to clean up pine needles which fell out of the bottom of the couches! In the kitchen we used one of our packing cases with a pretty curtain in front as a cupboard. All our crates had arrived safely with us on the ship. They remained at the docks until we returned from language study in Jordan. While we stayed at Shemlan they were stored at the Girls’ School. Only one plastic lid was broken on the trip and our best, silver dish (Neville had won at golf) disappeared on the journey from the Girls’ School to Hadeth. Our village had quite a few hills and one day we were walking down a hill near our home. It was rather steep and slippery. Neville took my arm to steady me. I nevertheless slipped and fell. I dragged Neville with me and he sat on top of me. Our apartment overlooked the airport. When we first went to live there, I used to see the planes coming in as I watched through the kitchen window. I then went into the lounge to ensure they landed safely. I obviously had little faith in the aircraft industry at that stage! In September 1969, Neville started teaching at the Lebanon Evangelical School for Boys in lower Hadeth. Another of our missionaries, Mr Colin White from England, had just become the principal following the resignation of the previous Egyptian head. One of my concerns was what my role would be in Lebanon. But God had it sorted! I attended a Christian Medical Conference in Beirut and was asked by the matron of a Christian hospital to consider teaching in their nursing school. So certain days of the week I started making the long journey up into the Lebanon Mountains to Hamlin Hospital. I took a service into the city

119 and then another up the mountain. Some of those drivers were cowboys! From Bhamdoun we travelled down to the hospital. It was situated in a valley surrounded by beautiful mountains. This place was considered by the famous Lamartine to be the most beautiful valley in the world. What a pleasure to make such a trip to work. On the left as we travelled there were the remains of a large, stone silk mill – a reminder of the days when a silk industry was thriving in Lebanon. There were a few of these old mills scattered around the mountains. I took the opportunity on some of these journeys to give Gospel literature to my fellow-passengers. I learnt by experience that the old Mercedes cars were uncomfortable to travel any distance in, if you sat next to one of the back doors. Because the back of the seat seemed to curve slightly at the ends you could not sit straight and it was difficult to keep your distance from the person in the middle seat. If there had only been two people in the back it would have been easier. The hospital, (started by American Presbyterian missionaries many years before but now under the control of the national Synod Church), was situated between the villages of Chbaniyya and Hamaana. Turning off the main road, opposite the army base, there was a long road lined by firs, leading to the big, wrought-iron hospital gates. The gateman on duty (one of them was a Druze from Ain Zhalta) sat or slept in the little gatehouse and checked on those entering or leaving the compound. The hospital consisted of a number of old buildings mainly of hewn sandstone with red tiled roofs, surrounded by pine trees. It is difficult to explain what it was like. There was so much age, so much beauty, so much “atmosphere” that satisfied my aesthetic sense. Virginia creepers climbed up the walls. The main dining room had wooden rafters and flagged floors. At the end of each long journey up the mountains it was good to relax in Miek’s lounge with a cup of coffee. She was the matron and a Lutheran deaconess from Holland. She was full of fun when relaxed and I enjoyed her little flat with its plants and nick-knacks. She became our friend of many years’ standing. We also got to know the Medical Superintendent and his wife. They too became our good friends. Charlie was Lebanese and a Thoracic Specialist. He was a member of the Evangelical church and his father had been Superintendent of the hospital before him. In the main courtyard there was a bust of his father who had been murdered by a deranged patient. During the same shooting incident Charlie was wounded and unable to use his hands for thoracic surgery after that. His wife Winnie was an American and a nurse. We worked happily together in the nursing school for years. The hospital at that time was mainly for patients with Tuberculosis, and there was a Geriatric Section. A General Outpatients and Emergency department catered for the surrounding villages. Our doctors also attended to the soldiers from the nearby Lebanese army camp.

120 Amongst the resident doctors who stayed at the hospital at different times were: a Lebanese doctor who had recovered from TB, a White Russian lady doctor and a believing couple from Egypt. The hospital was near a number of attractive old villages. Some of the houses were flat roofed, others red tiled, surrounded by vines and fruit trees. A number were built of the hewn sandstone. It was particularly a cherry growing area being cold and, at times, snowbound in the winter. Grapes and other fruit were also cultivated as summers were sufficiently warm. In the nursing school we had our own programme to suit the needs of the hospital. Most of the nurses were males - due to the culture many families did not want their girls living away from home or nursing male patients - and were mainly Muslims from the Palestinian refugee camps in Sidon and Tyre. Their prospects were limited as refugees and the training at the hospital gave them the possibility of a career. Many later served in responsible positions in other Arab countries and some did really well in their profession. One young man went on to become a doctor in Germany. In the hospital a number of the older nurses were ex-TB patients. We lectured in English in the Nursing School and went on the wards to do the practical demonstrations with the students. Fortunately the Palestinians were taught English in the UNRWA schools in the camps although there were degrees of proficiency. There was a hospital chapel and patients and staff who wished to do so, attended the daily Arabic services. Our patients came from all over the Arab world and the ladies wore different types of traditional dress. For me as a relative beginner in Arabic, I found some dialects difficult. There were, amongst others, ladies from Abu Dhabi with masks on their faces and a different way of speaking Arabic. There was a weekly Bible study for staff and students as well as Sunday services. Usually an outside speaker preached on Sundays. The hospital had a full-time lady evangelist as well as a male evangelist. Sometimes the matron took her flannel-graph board to the Ladies’ ward and told the simple desert ladies – and others - the Bible stories. Being Middle Easterners, they could certainly relate to some of these Middle Eastern stories in a special way. I also had the opportunity of visiting and talking to patients. One Druze lady I visited made a personal commitment and came to services until her son stopped her. Once a year something like a Daily Vacation Bible school was held in the school holidays. Children of staff and others from the surrounding villages attended. At Christmas time many of the students and staff (Muslim and Christian) took part in the nativity play. They worked hard at practices. The patients attended the first performance. The play was put on again for the schools from the nearby villages. A performance

121 was also given for the people from Beirut. A bazaar for hospital funds was held at the same time. The old, raftered dining room was decorated with candles and fir branches. It was cold and there might be threatening skies outside but tea in the dining room was cosy and warm. It was after one of these occasions that I was given the wooden stable and manger that we have used at Christmas time for many years. It was made by the hospital carpenter. At Easter there was a sunrise service at the hospital with breakfast in the dining room afterwards. This was also a special time as we remembered the first resurrection Sunday. An egg hunt was held in the Medical Superintendent’s garden for the children. He and his wife owned a small farm with fruit trees next to the hospital and we spent many happy times in their home. They even had an open fireplace in the lounge with wood fires in the winter – not too common in Lebanon. They had just about the only lawn I knew of in the country. They also had an apartment in Beirut. During the Civil war they lost their city home and their lives may not always have been safe in their mountain one. However they continued faithful through good and ill. In the Geriatric ward was a blind lady of Druze background. Saada had been unofficially adopted by some of the lady missionaries when she was young. I used to visit and write letters to her “mothers” who were retired in England. I was a connection for her with the Mission family. Skineh was a Muslim lady who lived permanently at the hospital. She was in a wheelchair and suffered from Rheumatoid Arthritis. With her crippled fingers she made cloth mats done in triangles with small scraps of material. Another patient was the wife of a male nurse. She had loved her garden but was now confined to bed. I got joy out of embroidering a small poem about a garden for her. She did not have long to live. The matron, Miek, invited us to join her and other Dutch friends for New Year. We played games and ate “oliebollen” and “appelflappen”. It was one of the enriching aspects of living overseas that not only did we learn about the national culture but the cultures of other ex-pats as well. One thing that was different in the Nurses’ Home was the bathroom. They had small cubicles, each one having a drain, a hook behind the door for hanging a gown, a stool, a plastic bucket and a jug. You have to put warm water in the bucket, collect your olive oil soap, towel, shampoo, plastic sandals etc. Having arranged everything you sit naked on the stool, dip the jug in the water and pour it over yourself. Then put shampoo on your head (if it is head-washing day), and soap yourself from head to toe. Pour more water over your head, body etc. And some more. Now you are as good as new with the minimum of water and fuss. One of the administrative staff had his mother in the Geriatric ward. Her mind was no longer clear but her spirit was alive in Christ as she

122 reacted positively to the name of her Lord, also possibly if she heard a hymn. I found this most enlightening and encouraging. She could no longer speak for her Lord, nor think clearly but she still loved Him and was a witness to His grace. I used to eat lunch at the hospital on the days I was teaching there. I was introduced to different Lebanese food in this way. The hospital was self-sufficient in many ways. They harvested their own olives and “pickled” them. I found the new, green, very bitter olives hard to take. However in time I came to love olives including the bitter ones. They also harvested the pine trees and so got pine nuts that are used in many savoury dishes. They made their own tomato paste in a big pot on an open fire. It was called “rib banadoura”. Puddings were flavoured with rose water or orange blossom water. The latter I enjoyed particularly. It was a joy to share in the seasons up in the mountains. Down in Beirut and in Tripoli, Sidon and Tyre the seasons were less distinct. Summer was cooler in the mountains than down on the narrow coastal strip where it was hot and humid. The summer resorts were mainly situated at a fairly high altitude. Families moved up - lock, stock and barrel - to the mountains for the summer. The trucks laboured up the hills carrying furniture and other household goods for the time to be spent in the village. Some of the men commuted to their jobs in Beirut, often worked half days and then joined the flying traffic up the mountain again. The schools were on holiday for about three months (too hot and humid to study at the coast) although some held Summer School for the children who wanted or needed to attend. Many of the Lebanese had a family home in one of the mountain villages. While they lived in an apartment in Beirut during the year, they returned to their roots each summer. Even Lebanese who lived abroad came home to be with family. There were also some hot days in the mountains but less humidity than at the coast. The cicadas could be heard making plenty of noise in the pine trees when it was particularly warm. The umbrella pines are indigenous to Lebanon and found all over the mountains. The summer was spent visiting family and friends in the village, drinking endless cups of thick, black Arabic coffee or cool glasses of home-made lemon or mulberry drinks. It was a time for harvesting any fruit, olives or other crops grown by the family. The women would make various preserves when there was plenty of fruit. They made the thick, chewy Lebanese fig jam. They also bottled olives, vine leaves, eggplant, cucumbers and turnips for the year ahead. They got their own olive oil pressed. They made vinegar from the less desirable grapes. They picked and shelled the walnuts and almonds. They dried herbs and raisins. It was a relaxing time. It was a busy time.

123 The young girls went for walks in groups, promenading around the village square to see and be seen. Maybe someone was looking for a bride. The girls needed to look their best. The young men stood around and talked about politics or football or hunting. Hunting of birds was a popular sport and the small birds were eaten. They were offered for sale alongside the road – pathetic bunches of little birds. The bird population of Lebanon seemed to be sadly eroded by this sport. We didn’t hear many birds singing in the trees. At the same time the Lebanese were fond of birds and live ones could be bought in cages in the marketplaces. Many a Lebanese home was enriched by the sounds of these caged birds. For myself I can no longer bear a caged bird. It might be better to be shot and dead. In the summer roses bloomed around many houses, particularly the deep red ones and also the old-fashioned pink ones used in making rose water. The cherries came into season – black and red and white. The strawberries came on the market. The figs ripened, as did the apricots, peaches and plums. The grapes hung from the vines that shaded the verandas and patios. The people visited resorts and restaurants where there was running water to give a feeling of coolness. So the long, warm, lazy (for some) summer passed. I loved the autumn in the mountains. The leaves of the vines turned gold and red and other trees and plants changed into their Autumn colours. On the hospital stone walls the green Virginia creeper changed to pink and scarlet. In Shemlan big, yellow crocuses pushed their way through the hard baked earth, surprising in their sudden golden beauty. Only later would the leaves appear. By the time people moved down to Beirut or Tripoli or Tyre or Sidon again, it was starting to get quite nippy especially at night. The people staying in the mountains for the winter began to prepare. There had to be wood cut, “mazuut” (kerosene) for heating stored for the cold weather, the winter heating stove put up (complete with pipe leading out through a hole cut in the window or wall to remove poisonous gases) and the carpets (taken up for the summer) put down again, the “lahafs” (Lebanese eiderdowns) brought out of their storage places. During the summer the cotton stuffing may have been removed, washed, dried, teased out and the lahaf re-stuffed and sewn up again. In some double- storeyed homes, everything required for winter was moved to the lower floor. It would be easier to keep only a part of the house warm and there the family would live through the cold weather. The men might get the chains for the tyres ready for the snow. So autumn was a busy time of preparation for the coming cold. Winter in the mountains could be harsh but it also produced a fairy wonderland. I came from South Africa where I had not seen snow until I was in my twenties. While working as a school nurse in Johannesburg we

124 did have snow some years, but nothing like the Lebanon Mountains. I remember my first experience of walking in gently falling snow. The service dropped me on the main road, as the drive leading to the hospital had not had the snowplough over it. I walked silently and alone through a silent, magical world. The snow fell silently. There was nothing to be heard, no one to be seen. The fir trees swept down to the ground in long curves covered in snow. It was absolutely beautiful. Another special scene was when we drove through Sofar on the Damascus road above the valley. Again all was snow covered and there was a big house with a pointed, roofed tower. It looked like a fairy-tale palace covered in snow – or icing sugar. At times, the main road was blocked and we were snowed in or out at the hospital. Some days I had to leave early to get out of the valley before I was stuck there for days. I would not have minded but I did not like being separated from Neville. However we still had to learn respect for winter in the mountains. We were very ignorant of the conditions. One day we travelled off the beaten path and our car got stuck in the snow. It was rather frightening until we managed to get a mat under the wheels and somehow get away. Another time we travelled up to the northern cedars. The snow was falling but instead of turning back we merrily made our way to the top. We should not have done it in later years when we had more sense of the possible danger. In the shadow of a high cliff on the right as the road descended into the Hamaana valley there was a particularly treacherous piece of road. No sun ever got there and a small waterfall splashed water onto the tarred surface. It used to ice over – especially in the early morning or late afternoon and evening. We had two nasty incidents on that section of road. Once we got nearly to the edge of the small precipice on the left- hand side as our car slid out of control. Another time our car also slid as did a number of others and we were stuck for some time. No one could move without further sliding and possibly damaging another vehicle. I cannot remember how we got out of that dilemma. The Damascus Road that ran above the valley had its share of casualties to the winter weather. A number of people succumbed to the cold over the years but one year was particularly dreadful and a large number of people died in their cars - stuck in the snow on the main road to Syria, as they tried to go over the top and down into the Beqaa Valley. Two European missionaries were marooned in the snow on a side road – I think one died, the other survived. As beautiful as the winter was it was also cruel and fierce. Some people benefited from the snow and business was brisk at the ski resorts. After the winter, the melting snow provided much water for Lebanon’s rivers and streams and was essential for the water needs of the country.

125 I have left spring until last. It is my favourite season. The mountains were something very special at this time of the year. Carpets of white daisies replaced the snow on the terraced landscape. The blossoms of the cherry trees appeared. The blue and red wild anemones sprang up followed by the red poppies. In some high areas violets and yellow primroses grew. The cyclamen came peeping out of the rocks below the hospital chapel – from pale to deep pink with heart-shaped, dark, green leaves. There were white irises blooming and later little blue day irises. In the Hamaana area were the beautiful red and black wild tulips. On the mountain sides of Lebanon grew bushes of purple lavender and pale pink dog roses. Rockroses – the small white ones as well as the bigger mauve ones – grew plentifully on some slopes. Little pink and mauve crocuses sprang up at Ain Zhalta. The golden gorse bloomed followed by the yellow broom - each with its own distinctive scent. The Judas trees came into bloom with their pink/mauve flowers. Different kinds of small, wild orchids sprang up and many other flowers appeared - to cheer the hearts of people after the cold of the winter. There were oak trees but not noticeably producing new leaves. They were evergreen, scrub oak and grew plentifully on the sides of the hills. Later they would produce acorns that look just like those on the deciduous oaks. I used small branches of oak for decorations at Christmas time. The small, tough, serrated leaves were like holly in appearance. Sometimes we travelled to the hospital on a lower road along the side of the valley. We picked mauve rhododendrons along this road. They looked so pretty in a copper container (from the Riyadh-al-Solh coppersmith) placed on our gate-legged, copper-topped table. There was also a stone monastery in the middle of nowhere and a few picturesque villages. Some Sundays we went along this road and had a picnic. We bought a spit-roasted chicken wrapped in mountain bread and had a wonderful Sunday lunch. While in the mountains it’s a good time to write of our summer holidays in Shemlan. Each summer the mission families who were not going on furlough made their way to this mountain village. We divided the old Bible School into four flats – two down and two up. Being a young, fit couple, Neville and I were responsible for clearing the garden of long grasses and weeds for a number of summers. One year we got our Operation Mobilization friends – (remember Jordan?) – to help us with the hard work. During the summer we made contact with the village people and held a Bible study for some of the village ladies – Maronite Catholics and Druze. One of these ladies (she also had two sisters who attended) had been in our Ain Zhalta School many years before. She was a committed Christian and taught the Sunday school in the local Maronite church. It was encouraging to have someone like her in the group and she helped to gather the others for the meetings.

126 Conversing with the village ladies was good practice for my Arabic. We also relaxed and got to know our fellow missionaries better. There were times of fellowship, listening to tapes on a Sunday evening, especially Sidlow Baxter’s. There were hard-fought games of table tennis and barbecues in the garden. We all picked figs and ate them with our cereal or on their own, while the industrious made jam. For some years, our mission doctor rented a place in the village for the summer. We were able to make use of his tennis court. Neville and I played together – as we had done at BI - but as then so now, it was not a happy combination. Neville was very competitive and had to win while I considered it only a game - if you won, great; if you lost, no big deal. The wrong attitude to have with Neville! We played board games with the other families in the evenings, including a new one – Railroader. Again Neville wanted to win. For me it did not matter, although I liked to win at Scrabble. That was probably a matter of wrongful pride, as I had a “reputation” for “being bright” to maintain, in my own mind at least. Since those long ago days, I have had quite a few lessons in humility - or is it humiliation? Our son has consistently beaten me in more recent years! The single missionaries spent the summer at Ain Zhalta in the old mission school but we enjoyed going there for a week or two as well. They had someone to cook the meals. So the time at Ain Zhalta was a complete break for me. It also gave us the opportunity to visit people connected with the mission who came from this village. Speaking of Ain Zhalta reminds me of two of our single workers who lived in that area for some years. Iris was very fond of Scrabble. Soon after we got back to Lebanon from language school, she handed over a trunk full of flannel-graph material to me. She wanted me to continue the work she had started - sorting it and putting it into packets with labels, etc. I did work on it but never finished the job. Someone else must have taken it over from me. I made use of some of the material when teaching Scripture at the school in Louaiseh many years later. Loris, an Australian, made us some delicious apple and blackberry jam. A young, short-term missionary came to live with us in Hadeth for two years. It seems he was a bit disappointed in our home. We had tried to make it as nice as possible but he wanted to “rough it” in true pioneer missionary style! Except that we were living in Beirut and not in the jungles of Borneo. He was teaching physics at the Boys’ School and caused some amusement when he labelled the cupboards in the lab. WC 1, WC 2, WC 3 and so forth. At the end of Ray’s two years, he somewhat deflated the missionary families gathered at Shemlan, when he declared, “I don’t believe in missionaries.” I said to Neville, “Won’t it be funny if the Lord calls him to be a missionary (long term)?” That is exactly what happened.

127 He married Marion, another short termer who taught at the Girls’ School, and they returned to Lebanon with a mission involved in Christian radio ministry. He later joined another mission group and they served in the Middle East until their retirement! Not a bad track record for someone who didn’t believe in missionaries. Near our flat in Hadeth, Neville saw a boy ill-treating a puppy. (Sometime later the same boys shot another dog and we had to pay the vet to have it put down.) There were people who did not treat animals well. (Of course other dogs were thoroughly pampered and well looked after by their owners.) Neville offered to buy the puppy and paid two lira (“lirtayn” in Arabic) and that became the dog’s name. This happened on a Sunday morning and we were on our way to the service at the hospital in the mountains. So we put Lirtayn in a basket and took him with us. As we travelled, with the basket on my lap, I became aware that this dear little puppy was swarming with fleas and lice. As soon as we got home, I started cleaning him up. He was a lovely little pet but he was a dog of little brain. As hard as we tried, we could not train him in social habits suitable to living in an apartment. He did not seem to be able to absorb rules like, “Thou shalt not widdle on the carpets.” After trying to socialise him for some time, we decided that he needed to be an outdoor dog. We arranged to travel to the north of Lebanon where our friend lived in the village of Ehdin. That is the lady we met on the ship. In the winter, there were very few people in the village but our friend stayed there all year round. We visited her more than once, even when there was snow on the ground. It was very cold. The village is in the mountains near the Northern Cedars. Most of the people live in Zghorta near Tripoli and move to Ehdin in the summer. They have a reputation in Lebanon for being rather “strong”. While we were in Lebanon one of the Presidents came from these two villages. There were a number of churches in Ehdin, each one connected with one of the major families. There was a statue outside the largest church that commemorated one of the heroes of the liberation struggle – as I understood it. There was reputedly also a saint’s body in the church. As we went for a walk, our friend asked us to “light a candle” for her in the village church. We tried to share the gospel with her, but she did not seem to understand. We slept in Ehdin that night with Lirtayn, but he would not let us out of his sight. He sensed that we were going to leave him. He was as good as gold. It was sad leaving him there. He eventually became an “army dog” in one of the local militias of the area. It must have been springtime. Neville and I were having a picnic in the garden at Shemlan. We found a baby sparrow on the veranda. It had fallen out of its nest. We took the bird home and put it in an open shoebox. I don’t remember all that we fed it but I know the yolk of a boiled egg was

128 included in the diet. Against all expectations the little bird survived and thrived. The ants attacked it once but we were able to rescue it. We were amazed to find that the little one never soiled the side of the box where it lay but used the other end only, as its toilet. As the sparrow grew older, we gave it the one room to fly around in. This wild bird was completely tame. I have a slide of myself sitting on the open veranda with the little sparrow on my shoulder. When the bird grew bigger, we returned to Shemlan so that it could go back to the wild. It refused to leave us and we have another slide taken at Shemlan. The bird is on my shoulder once again, out in the open. As much as we encouraged it to fly away, the bird kept returning to us. So home we went again. Sometime later we decided to try once more. This time we went down to the Boys’ School where there were tall trees. The bird flew away and returned to my shoulder. The school caretaker was amazed. Flew away and came back to say, “Good- bye”. Then it flew up into the trees where we could hear the other birds - and stayed. Our lives had been enriched by this little, wild, feathered creature - the work of our great Creator. Years later we were staying at the hospital during the civil war. There was an owl in the tree. Someone was disturbed about it. To superstitious Lebanese an owl is an omen of death. Therefore a death was imminent. However we were at a hospital and death is no stranger. So it seemed rather irrational to worry about the owl. I have no more bird stories in Lebanon. Actually I remember one more. When we stayed at Shemlan we acquired two fluffy, yellow chickens. I emphasize yellow (their natural colour) as it became popular to dye these poor chicks all kinds of colours. like pink and green. They could be bought in the market and elsewhere at Easter time. We kept the chickens in a box and then in a room as they grew. Eventually they had to move outside. We were concerned about their safety but they were fine in the outside coop. When let out of the coop they ran to us and were extremely tame. We were going to South Africa in the summer. What to do about our “hens” one of which tried to crow? We could not eat them so we gave them away. A number of interesting people used to pass by our home in Hadeth. At the end of summer the carpet seller carrying folded carpets over his shoulder came by calling out his wares. A young man pushed his barrow of fruit and/or vegetables along the lane; hard work uphill. Another gentleman edged his car into the cul-de-sac, opened the boot and hey presto! Fresh fish. Yet another person pushed a coop on wheels with live chickens. Lebanese liked food to be fresh and these chickens were certainly fresh. You could also get fresh chicken in the market – killed and de-feathered by a special machine before your eyes. At the end of winter,

129 the carpet beater came to beat the carpets as people hung them out over the balconies. The man who re-stuffed the lahafs made his rounds. It is interesting to know how hard Lebanese women worked to keep their homes up to scratch. I have never known anyone else spring clean like they did. The curtains were taken down and washed if possible, often put away for the summer, the walls were washed down after the carpets have been taken up, beaten and rolled up in paper, plastic and string with moth balls until the next winter. As a regular thing the tiled floors were washed and the outside steps as well – plenty of water unless there was a shortage. White laundry was boiled on a little outside fire and the linen hanging there was whiter than any I hung up after a machine wash. Of course they used washing machines as well for the rest of the washing. Many of the women got up very early and after the children had gone to school, could be seen popping into a neighbour’s house (her work would also be done) for a “subhiyya” (morning coffee and chat). They drank coffee together, knitted and discussed the latest news - about the neighbours, their families. I avoided displaying my knitting if possible. Their work was done with fine wool on fine needles and was perfect. They did not use written or printed patterns but copied them from completed garments. How they worked out what to do, I have no idea. They also sewed lovely dresses from the Burda pattern book. Some could crochet and some could tat. Poorer women came round to our door selling crocheted shawls and other articles they had made. Neighbours all knew each other and about each other. When certain dishes were prepared that required a lot of work, women of the family or neighbourhood helped in the preparation. Of course with such communal living, family feuds and bad feelings might also arise. Some Lebanese could be very intransigent if they felt their honour to be impugned. Shopping in Lebanon deserves a mention. Like in the west there were the supermarkets and department stores. It was the smaller shops and stalls that were often cheaper and more interesting. In Beirut and its environs, most people lived in apartment blocks. In many of these buildings there was a little grocery shop on the ground floor. You could buy most dry goods such as lentils, crushed wheat, rice and dried beans required for food preparation in a Lebanese home, as well as tinned goods, fruit and vegetables, bread and rusks. In the refrigerator there would be Laban (yoghurt), Labneh (yoghurt cheese), butter, “Mortadella” polony and ham (in Christian areas), as well as soft drinks. Packets of dates, raisins, Arabic coffee beans, pine nuts and walnuts plus tinned ghee and many other commodities were available. It was surprising how much could be packed into such a small shop.

130 Nearby in another building might be the butcher. We could see the beef- to-be or the sheep standing outside, waiting to be killed. It was a mess afterwards until the pavement and road were washed down. Flies were attracted to the entrails that were dumped in a nearby bin. It was enough to make us vegetarians, but we hardened our hearts and continued to eat meat. Actually we hardly ever bought from the local butcher. They were more expensive, especially mutton or lamb, and we did not understand their cuts of meat which were different to those we knew. So we bought frozen beef from Argentina and Denmark and occasionally lamb from New Zealand. These we got cheaper from the supermarkets where everything was clean and neatly laid out. We were on a missionary allowance so the cost of food was carefully considered. As far as meat was concerned it was mainly mince and we had many different ways of preparing it. We also found tinned bully beef from Argentina to be very reasonable. Most Lebanese housewives would have scorned to offer their families tinned meat. They got their meat and vegetables fresh from the shop or market each day. Often the men did the shopping and I was thankful when Neville took over that job. We actually ate better than before! Some women let down a basket from their upstairs balcony with shouted instructions to the shopkeeper or a note detailing the goods to be sent up. Household goods/kitchenware could be bought from a barrow that did the rounds or you might have a local shop. Some goods were similar to those in our home country. What was different was the number of “briiqs” available for drinking water. There were plain, and decorated pottery ones from the Beqaa Valley, plain and gold-embellished glass briiqs. These are used for drinking water, and water in the Middle East needs a section on its own! When we first arrived in Beirut, they used pottery briiqs with pointed bottoms, set in a pottery container, to keep drinking water cool. It was lovely as the water really was quite cold – it worked through condensation from the damp outside of the briiq, I assume. Nowadays most people have refrigerators. You can still find briiqs in homes, shops, at the garage, in restaurants. The beauty of the briiq is that you don’t need glasses (saves on washing up). It is very hygienic as no one puts his/her mouth to the spout and water is available everywhere on a hot day. It just needs a little practice so that the liquid goes down your throat - and not your chest - without choking you! Other articles for the home were the mandatory coffee cups. Some cups came without handles or saucers, others had both. There were also wooden bowls with a wooden pestle for crushing garlic. You might not have found a long-handled broom. Instead there were two types of grass and reed brooms without handles. The soft one was for sweeping up the dust, the harder one for swishing out the water after

131 washing the floors. I found using these brooms hard on the back – too much bending. Another article for the home was a metal box on legs that was used as a barbecue (with charcoal pieces for the fire) and for roasting the coffee beans. Lebanese women preferred to roast their own beans - and ground their own coffee so that it was FRESH. Also bought at these shops were the makings of an arghile (hubbly-bubbly pipe). The Beirut marketplace (destroyed in the civil war) was an interesting place as shops selling similar goods were grouped together. All the goldsmiths were in an area, then all the silversmiths. The fruit and vegetable stalls vied with each other, as did the fish, meat or chicken traders. There were those who sold birds and cages, hardware, kitchenware, carpets, furniture. Material and haberdashery could be bought in another market nearby – Al-souq-al-tawil (the tall or long market). We found the markets most interesting because it was different to South Africa. However some Lebanese did not like foreigners taking photos of the souq. They felt it gave a wrong impression as though Lebanon was “backward”. They wanted us to take photos of the modern buildings. To us the modern things held little interest as we could see the same things in our home country. For the sake of those people let me say that Lebanon had (and has) many buildings and amenities that were (and are) very up-to-date and in some cases better that we had at home. Many of the people were and are well educated. There was (is) no shortage of professional and skilled people in the country. There were and are many good schools – academically speaking – and a number of universities. Lebanese can often speak several languages – at least Arabic, French and English. Many of them travel, are wealthy and live a cosmopolitan lifestyle. However we lived amongst ordinary people (some of them were poor, others more comfortably off) in a village, and enjoyed that. We appreciated some of the things that were different to our own. We did not like everything and some attitudes distressed us. We did not look at Lebanon with rose-tinted lenses but we loved the country and the people – warts and all. After all, our own country and people were and are far from perfect. The God who called us to Lebanon gave us a love for our adopted land and a concern for her people. One thing we really appreciated was that the people were interested in others. Sometimes it could be difficult, as a Westerner, to have all your movements scrutinized and discussed, but you would not be lonely if you joined in the Lebanese community life. If you were ill, your neighbours and church friends would visit – even if you had ‘flu’ and gave it to others through the visits! We, Westerners, would rather be alone in our misery

132 but many people in Lebanon believed that you should definitely not be left alone! If you were in hospital, visitors would come at any time of the day. Many Lebanese would not dream of leaving their relative alone at the mercy of nurses and doctors. Often someone from the family would attend the patient day and night and “dayyif” (offer a chocolate or biscuit) to the visitors who sometimes arrived in a steady stream. If a baby were born, family and friends would visit. If someone died, everyone known to the family would visit. If there were a wedding, the couple would be visited after the honeymoon (if there was one). If one were travelling – coming or going - a visit was in order to welcome you or bid you adieu. So visiting backwards and forwards on the formal level formed a considerable part of the social life of a village or community. Besides that, there were the everyday informal visits and contacts. When on a formal visit it was usual to shake hands with or kiss on the cheeks (depending on the relationship) every person in the room, on arriving and leaving. In some families or communities, the men and women were in separate rooms. Maybe this is a good time to talk about Lebanese food. Both preparation and consumption can be social occasions. The basic diet is quite a healthy one so it is surprising to hear of many Lebanese men succumbing to heart attacks. Breakfast may be flat bread, yoghurt cheese and olives. A boiled egg might be added. Or it can consist of our favourite – mana’iish (plural) or mana’ushi (singular). I used to mix oil and “zaater” (this contains ground thyme and sesame seeds plus a sour herb and a little salt, as far as I know). Neville took the dish to the “furun” (local oven, bakery), where he bought round, flat loaves of dough. After pressing his fingers all over the loaves to prevent them rising, he would then spread the oil and zaater over the dough. The baker would put it in his hot, hot oven and soon our mana’ish would be baked and Neville would rush home before they got cool. The most delicious of all breakfasts! You can buy it ready baked as well. It is also nice when fresh salad is added e.g. cut-up tomato, cucumber, sprigs of mint and olives. Another breakfast dish is made of a type of dried broad bean that is cooked with salt and water. It is served in its own sauce and lemon juice, olive oil and garlic can be added. You may have to acquire a taste for this but it grows on you. The women often made their own yoghurt (laban). Sometimes the yoghurt was put into a muslin bag and left hanging for the whey to drip down. The remaining curds (labneh) were like smooth cottage cheese. I tried making my own “laban” as well - with reasonable success. The Lebanese were very fussy about their coffee. I found it so difficult to keep up that I ended up serving black, sweet cocoa instead. (Not being connoisseurs of cocoa they would hopefully be less critical.) Not only did

133 the coffee have to be freshly ground but made to their specifications – strong, thick, black. The water in the long-handled coffee “pot” was boiled, the coffee added, then the brew brought back just to the boil. Sugar was sometimes added to the pot but if there were different “orders” it was added to the cups. Coffee could be “murr” (bitter), “mutawassit” (medium sweetness) or “helu” (sweet). For informal drinking, cups without handles - held round the brim – were used. On formal visits the cups with handles and saucers were brought out. There were set phrases when coffee was served. You said things like “I have troubled you”; “peace be on your hands”; “may we always have coffee if God wills” (“with joy” – if appropriate). There were also set responses. “No, it is no trouble”; “and on your hands”; “may God bless you”. The arrival of the coffee was usually the hint that the visit was near its end. It was accompanied by the offer of a chocolate. When leaving the host/hostess would insist that it was still early – only a politeness, not to be taken literally. In these first years in Lebanon we met some foreign women who were married to Lebanese husbands. Amongst them were two South Africans whom we visited from time to time and we became friends. One of them attended a Bible study led by Hazel (a MECO missionary). Suzette was a believer and later her son became a full-time Christian worker involved in foreign missions. As South Africans we were invited to the Consul- General’s home each year for the Republic day celebrations. Most of the guests were people from other embassies. Neville enjoyed the prawns and shrimps, not part of our daily fare! We also had dinner with the Consul and his wife in their flat. Later we invited the next Consul to our home and he visited more than once. He brought us a bottle of South African wine but we are teetotallers. Neville took the opportunity to speak to him about the Lord. One member of the diplomatic staff told us that it was impossible for a diplomat to become a committed Christian! He felt that it was not possible to always be truthful. Later during the civil war the South African Consulate was closed. That made life more difficult for those of us in Lebanon when we required help with official matters. The nearest embassy was Athens in Greece. A missionary couple from the Christian Brethren in the UK ran a Christian bookshop and possessed a large number of the English classics. I was re- introduced to the classics through them and derived a great deal of enjoyment out of them. During my school years I struggled to “get into” such books but now I really came to appreciate some of our good English literature. I have since built up my own collection. Trollope is one of my favourites. Dickens I can appreciate but I feel he overdraws his characters. Jane Austin, Emily and Charlotte Bronte, George Elliott, Mrs Gaskell,

134 Sir Walter Scott, Thomas Hardy, J. Fenimore Cooper, Kipling and others I can read and reread with appreciation. We visited friends who were helping at a Boys’ orphanage. The husband was a lecturer at a college in Beirut. Once a week we joined them at the orphanage and Neville spoke at the Boys’ Meeting. This couple adopted four boys, but one was tragically killed falling from a friend’s balcony while they were visiting. Sometime later the wife thought she had ‘flu’ but she was pregnant. So they had four boys once more but the youngest had some narrow escapes. He seemed to be “accident-prone”. During this time, apart from my work at the hospital, I was helping Dora, one of the national workers, at the Evangelistic Centre. This was in a rented flat near our Girls’ School. (I write about “our” Girls’ School because the school was started by the mission as were a number of others, including the School for the Blind. Our mission work started in Lebanon and Syria in 1860. In actual fact the properties and ministries were handed over to a national, inter-denominational, Evangelical council in 1968 and we were sharing in their work.) This lady evangelist came from Ain Zhalta and I helped her with an embroidery class for Muslim, Kurdish girls. She also ran literacy classes and gave instruction in dressmaking to the older girls. They received a certificate at the end of their course and could make a living as dressmakers. We taught the younger girls embroidery, choruses, Bible stories and Bible verses. We also went to visit them in their homes. They were fairly poor and a number had not had any schooling.

A Syrian Experience One summer we went on a trip to Syria with some of our fellow missionaries – the Andersons from Australia. We travelled in two cars. When we got to Damascus we booked in at the hotel where our workers have stayed over the years and still do. It is old but run by Evangelical Christians and cheap. The ladies all slept in one room and the men in another. Our car was parked outside in the street. When Neville opened the car bonnet in the morning, there were the remains of what appeared to be some rat’s dinner in the engine. Why it decided to eat the food (that we did not supply) in our car remained an unsolved mystery. We visited the covered market and saw some beautiful work done by the skilled workers in glass, metalwork, embroidery, inlaid work and other crafts. We visited the big mosque that was once a Christian church. We ladies were given long black gowns to cover our western dresses and we all had to remove our shoes. If I remember correctly, men in shorts required a sarong to cover their nakedness. The interior floor was covered with carpets and the smell of feet was rather strong. That’s the problem

135 with people removing their shoes in a hot climate. There was a glassed-in area that was said to hold the head of John the Baptist. Was this a “relic” from the old church? I don’t know. I think I heard that there is another head somewhere else – a bit awkward. We had the privilege of standing in the “Street called Straight” and visiting an old, underground house dating back to the time of Paul. It is called “Ananias’s Chapel”. That it is indeed the house of Ananias is a real possibility. We looked through the gates of our old mission school – St Paul’s – taken over by the Syrian government and used to house refugees. We visited one of the retired, mission Bible women in her home. We sat together in a garden with a fountain, trees and shrubs and surrounded by two storeys of rooms opening out onto the courtyard – totally private from the outside world. It was a typical old Damascus house. We later visited another lovely such house where artisans were busy working. The Bible lady went with us to the tourist shop and harangued the attendant into giving us the best possible prices for the tablecloth and kaftans we wished to buy. She was known to the owner and was our “wasta” to get better prices. As foreigners we might have paid too much. We were used to Beirut prices and Syria was considerably cheaper. We saw the old Damascus wall and there was a house on the wall with a window. How easy it would have been to let Paul down from the wall! There was also a commemorative church. After a few days in the capital we set out for Palmyra (Tadmor) in the Syrian Desert. We went through Homs and travelled a long way into the desert in the baking sun. We had no air conditioning in the cars. We passed a shepherd with his flock and some bee-hive shaped houses, with minimum windows and doors, in an effort to defeat the frightful heat. Why did we visit Syria in the middle of summer? We needed our heads read! Although we were crazy to go at that time of the year, Palmyra is a place not to be missed. There are extensive ruins of a city that once sat on the caravan route from east to west as far back as the times of the patriarchs. The ancient city, Tadmor, is mentioned in the Old Testament. The present Roman ruins are from New Testament times and later. The city was very wealthy and the name was changed to Palmyra (city of palms). Queen Zenobia was the most famous of its rulers and rebelled against Rome. Amongst many other remains of interest there are Corinthian pillars and a temple to the sun, as well as a beautiful relief of women being led into exile. There is a museum, the valley of the tombs of the kings and a later Arab castle on the hill. These ruins are situated next to a walled oasis that showed up very well when we stood on a height. There is also the modest, present-day village, called Tadmor. When we arrived, we booked in at the Zenobia hotel and stayed in our rooms until the evening. It was too hot to

136 go out. Only Neville went out to survey the scene during the heat of the day. What did Kipling say about mad dogs and Englishmen? When it was a bit cooler, but still light, the rest of us investigated. It is a magnificent ruined city. The next morning we went to see the tombs. The air was cool and misty. It was really eerie but a great way to see them as far as “atmosphere” went. It was interesting to see one of the Bedouin leading his flock of black goats between the oasis and the ruins. His tent was pitched near the ancient city. We did not eat meals at the hotel as we took food with us – cheaper. We were operating on a shoestring. We bought delicious watermelons from the village. We were not very lucrative guests. The hotel management suddenly discovered that we could not stay as they were expecting a tour party. So we left on the second day. We next travelled to Hama on the Orontes River. Hama is also a city mentioned in the Old Testament, as is the river. We ate a meal of fish beside the water and stayed in a cheap hotel that was more basic than the one in Damascus. We were interested to see the huge water wheels on the Orontes, raising the water onto aqueducts for irrigation. Boys swimming in the river would cling to the waterwheel that lifted them up before they dived into the water from the top. It was enough to make your heart stop. We saw another interesting sight. A shepherd was taking his sheep into the water – one by one – and giving them a good wash. The trip was useful in that some of the group were able to distribute literature during our journey – probably to people who had never heard the Good News. We visited the Souq in Hama and Neville bought the grey galabiyya that he often wore when speaking and preaching later on in South Africa. We drove on to Krak de Chevaliers (known in Arabic as Qaliat-al-Hosn). This is the most magnificent of the Crusader castles we saw in the Middle East. It is an extensive place with a lovely Gothic-arched chapel. There were Arabs living in part of the ruins. Foreigners seldom visited this place as it was rather off the beaten track. It was not a safe place for tourists for there were hidden pitfalls. I came near to stepping off a high, unguarded section and we heard that the mother of a missionary (not from our mission) fell to her death down an uncovered well in a dark passage. Nevertheless, it is a very worthwhile place to be able to visit. The history of the Crusades and its lasting effect on the Middle East is not a happy one. However, they left some interesting architectural remains. From there we returned to Lebanon through the northern border. We wanted to try and spend our last night at Byblos. When we heard the cost of the hotel in Byblos, we decided to go straight back to Shemlan. Although the standard of the Byblos hotel would have been higher than the ones we stayed at in Syria, we had got used to Syrian prices!

137 A Unique, Historic Land As far as our work in Lebanon was concerned, we found it quite easy to talk to people about the Lord. Religion is a normal part of life and the word “Allah” (the only word for God in Arabic and owned by both Christians and Muslims) is used constantly in the language. There was no awkwardness in talking about God as there sometimes is in the company of Westerners. However people were very set in their own religious background because to change your religious affiliation is a shame to the family and a rejection of your forebears. We were not looking to change people’s religion but wanted them to have a personal relationship with God. This, we believed, could only come through the Lord Jesus Christ Who took our sin on the cross, the sin of going our own way. Only when the barrier of guilt and sin is removed can there be a right relationship between God and an individual. This gives life meaning and purpose, brings joy and a freedom to love God and our neighbour. There is also a daily spiritual battle to be fought and difficulties to meet on the way. There are many facets and aspects, depths and heights of the daily Christian life that follows. We wanted to share the Good News of the reality of a relationship with God through Christ with the people we met in Lebanon. There were many opportunities but the short-term results were not always encouraging. Lebanon was unique in the Middle East for they had freedom of religion, as we understand it in the West. It was legally possible – although not necessarily easy - to change your religious affiliation from Christianity to Islam or from Islam to Christianity. In some other Arab countries, Christians were allowed to worship but only conversions to Islam were legally acceptable. Apart from our service as missionaries we had time for relaxation. So we made visits to Lebanon’s tourist sites. We went to Tyre a number of times and visited the two main archaeological sites. Tyre is mentioned in the Old and New Testaments in the Bible. The one site near the sea was not far from our old school that was taken over by the Department of Antiquities. Other land was obtained and a new school built to accommodate close to a thousand children. Neville’s sister, Glenda, visited us and we took her down to Tyre. She had a severe headache. One of our missionaries who taught in Tyre was named Jeanette. She put Glenda to rest in a darkened room at the staff house. Glenda, who was not then a committed Christian, was much impressed by her kindness. Jeanette who came from California was a truly gracious lady and a lovely Christian. Our daughter later bore her name.

138 Our other good and courageous friend was Audrey. During the civil war, she was eventually the only foreigner left teaching in the Tyre Lebanon Evangelical School. She endured bombing and difficulty until she was forced to move to Beirut. The teachers’ boarding house in Tyre was hit but Audrey was kept safe. She then stayed at the flat in Mansourieh that later became our home. She was from Australia. The ruins near the sea had quite a sophisticated water heating system dating back to Roman times. The second lot of ruins boasted a Roman hippodrome, arched shop fronts for the market, a triumphal arch and the necropolis with some very interesting tombs, from the Roman and Byzantine ages. We found an ancient tooth on the ground and took it home. We kept this ancient relic for years in a little box - some ancient Tyrian? Talking about ancient things in the Middle East, you had to be careful lest you were sold some “old” artefact, that was in fact a well- camouflaged, modern fake, such as little pottery lamps. We went to Sidon – also known in the Bible - a number of times to see the Crusader Castle by the sea. We visited the souq on different occasions and bought vegetables there, as well as a lovely, purple, velvet gown for myself in later years. I made good use of it at deputation meetings for our mission in South Africa. The most impressive Roman ruins are at Baalbek in the Beqaa Valley. This valley is more a plain than a valley and is situated between the Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon Mountains. It runs nearly the length of the country from north to south. At the southern end of the Anti-Lebanon (these mountains divide Lebanon and Syria) is Mount Hermon known in Arabic as Jebel-al-Sheikh, i.e. the mountain of the old man because of its white head – there being snow on the summit pretty well all year round. The foot of Mt Hermon rests in three countries: Lebanon, Syria and Israel. In the south of the Beqaa there is also the large Litani Dam. The Beqaa was intensively farmed. Amongst the crops were sugar beet, grapes, other fruit and vegetables. You could still see camels there, flocks of sheep and a more rural way of life at that time. Bedouin also camped there. Looking down on the Beqaa as we travelled over the top of the Lebanon Mountains on the Damascus Road, it looked like a lovely patchwork quilt with the different coloured fields. Back to Baalbek - we drove northwards up the valley until we arrived at the remains of these huge heathen temples beside the more modern town. The six remaining pillars of the temple of Jupiter are immensely tall (22 metres) and a person standing at the foot of one looks very insignificant by comparison. Of course I was photographed next to the

139 pillars. Neville had his photo taken with his head in an open, carved lion’s mouth. Most other people were too short to have a similar photo taken. The well-preserved temple of Bacchus, although dated from the time of the Romans, is said to incorporate Phoenician influence. The Baalbek festival was held annually amongst the ruins. We received tickets to attend a ballet that was truly special. I think we also went to an orchestral concert there. At other times they staged folk dancing in that amazing setting. The other places we visited were the President’s summer palace at Beit-al-Din and the Crusader Castle and ruins at Byblos. In fact we have been to Byblos more frequently than any other historical site in Lebanon. It was our favourite place. Neville and I had been married a number of years but I had not fallen pregnant. After different investigations and some treatment our mission doctor, Dr Manugian, told us, “It is not impossible for you to fall pregnant but it is improbable. I suggest you think of adoption”. Neville was not very interested in the idea. So I committed it to God. Sometime afterwards, as we were walking down the road near the Girls’ School, Neville said to me, “I think we should put our names down at the American University Hospital (i.e. to adopt)”. So God intervened without my saying anything. AUH was a good choice as they had a good social service department and everything would be done correctly. After filling in application forms, I contacted the social worker after some months, but they never once made contact with us for the next four years. God had His time. We continued with our work and learnt more of the culture. Living in a village situation, we were conscious of life and death. Someone died. Most of the people of Hadeth were Maronite Catholics or Greek Orthodox (although there were Protestants, Muslims and Druze as well). The church bells would toll out the number of years of the person’s life. Black-edged notices went up on walls around the village. Stacks of chairs were delivered to the house for the visitors. Usually the person died at home and lay in state in the lounge or salon. Members of the family sat around and might address the corpse reproaching him or her for leaving them. The funeral would take place the same day (unless it was too late in the day) as undertakers were not involved and the weather could be hot. There was a coffin-making business in the village. The body was carried or driven to the church and the funeral service held. A band preceded the procession. A large photo of the deceased might be displayed. In the case of an unmarried young man some would dance with the photo (or with the coffin) as the deceased would never dance at his own wedding. The coffin would be taken to the local cemetery of their church and placed in the family tomb. These tombs contain the remains of the family and the door is unlocked and the latest body is laid to rest. Passing by one of these

140 places in the summer, there was sometimes an unpleasant odour. The women did not necessarily go to the cemetery. I never heard that there was a crematorium in Lebanon. I don’t believe there is one. It is not the Middle Eastern way. Each religious group had their own cemetery, including the Protestants. After the interment, everyone returned to the home. They sat quietly and spoke in muted tones as they shared the sorrow. Bitter, black coffee was served (although you could have sugar) and after offering further condolences, people left. Family and neighbours continued to visit in the days following so that the immediate family were not alone in their grief. At times, the whole history of the person (and presumably the family) was apparently chanted or sung at the house. For Evangelical believers who died there was the added opportunity at this sad time for the bereaved, believing family to give witness to the difference Jesus makes in our time of sorrow. There was no wailing and all was conducted with quiet dignity. Sometimes the “guests” were received in the church hall. Coffee, soft drinks and biscuits could be offered before the funeral service. The service would be one of triumph in the victory of our Lord over death. The body was then buried or placed in the family tomb at the local Protestant cemetery. When a person lived in Beirut, he would usually be taken back to his village church and buried in his home village. If a Muslim corpse had to be conveyed to a distant village it was taken in a white hearse and readings from the Quran were broadcast over a loudspeaker as they travelled along. In many villages the older women wore perpetual black. This was because they were in perpetual mourning. There was always some member of the family who had died recently. The period of mourning depended on the nearness of the deceased. Some women mourned their husbands for the rest of their lives. If a parent had died, the daughters and daughters-in-law might wear mourning for a year or more. The brother of one of the teachers died. He was abroad and his mother was old. They did not want to tell her. It frequently happened that bad news was kept back from people. So the teacher left home in the mornings in ordinary clothes, stopped at someone’s home, changed and came to school wearing black for her brother. In the afternoon the procedure was reversed. The Lebanese were very averse to breaking bad news and went about it in a more subtle way than we do. Maybe two or more people would visit the family. The conversation would eventually get on to sad or bad things that had happened to various people. Once the ground had been well prepared with these stories, the bad news would be gently broken. If someone was away from home, they did not send telegrams to inform them of a death or other disaster as we do. Nothing might be conveyed of what had happened until the person returned home once more. If I were

141 Lebanese, I should have been uneasy when away from home as you could never be sure of what was happening in your absence. One of the South African missionaries who met us when we first arrived in Lebanon became very ill with cancer. She had married a Lebanese teacher from the School for the Blind where she was the matron in the boarding department. He lost his sight due to a shooting accident when he was young. At the school he became a committed believer and later studied at the Lebanon Bible Institute. He became the first blind Lebanese to graduate from the American University of Beirut with a degree. Following the B.A. degree, he later received his M.A. and taught history at the Boys’ School. As Stephanie’s condition deteriorated, her sister travelled from South Africa to visit her. We spent some time with them at Shemlan due to our being responsible for the old house. After this, I was able to nurse Stephanie during her last week on earth. She was buried in the Protestant cemetery in Beirut. She and Nadeem had a son, Andrew. Nadeem later married a Canadian missionary and they had a son. They served as missionaries in another Arab country. He did not need to do language study! Neville used to play Braille dominoes with him and found it most frustrating, for Nadeem always knew what numbers Neville had. How could you beat someone like that? We continued to get to know Lebanon. In the mountains, travelling up from Sidon, we drove to the town of Jezzine. Another President of the republic came from this area. Jezzine is famous for its cutlery. The handles were made from buffalo horn, as well as ivory and later plastic. They were cream or black or a transparent type of horn (not sure what it was). The end of each handle was a carved bird’s head, with a red comb and white eyes. The folded wings were covered in gold and there were inlaid dots of blue and red. Each piece was a work of art executed in Jezzine. We were interested to visit the shops where this lovely craft was plied. We are fortunate to possess quite a few pieces of Jezzine cutlery. We drove to the south of the country, another lovely part of Lebanon. Two of our faithful, lady missionaries, Joan and Pauline, served with the Synod Church in Hasbeiya. The mission school there had been transferred to the Synod. In this area the son of an important man was converted to Christ. He did not have an easy time. After completing his university degree in difficult circumstances, he became a teacher at the Boys’ School with Neville. Later, wishing to marry a committed Christian wife, he was able to change his official papers – with difficulty - to “Evangelical”. Because of the educational needs of the missionary children, a GCE school was started, using part of a building at the School for the Blind. Students were to be prepared for the British GCE. The parents of one of our missionaries from the UK – retired school teachers - came to head up

142 the school. Neville was a full-time schoolmaster, teaching English, Bible and Geography to Lebanese high school students at the Boys’ School. He now also got involved in teaching Geography to the foreign learners (missionary kids and others) at the new school. I was lecturing in the Nursing School at the hospital and probably helping at the Evangelistic Centre (I say “probably” because I am not sure of the time sequence) but was asked to consider teaching History at the GCE School. I was not a qualified teacher but I loved history and was fairly well informed on the subject. So I added “history teacher” to my other work - in the absence of a better-qualified person. I just hope the students were not too detrimentally affected. I think I enjoyed the experience. Our ex-vice principal from BI, Mr Green – by now moved to Australia - eventually became the International Chairman of the mission. He paid a couple of visits to Lebanon and we enjoyed helping to show him around. He spoke to our workers in the long, old, arched dining room (refectory is the word that comes to mind) at Shemlan. We took him up to the northern cedars and found primroses and violets growing alongside the last bit of road near the cedar grove. Apart from these occasions, we went on annual picnics with the Boys’ School staff. We also picnicked with the hospital personnel under the pine trees near Jounieh, overlooking the bay. One of the school picnics was to a restaurant by a river (might have been Zahle in the Beqaa where there are a number of eating places along the length of the watercourse). I took a photo of Neville having his shoes cleaned at the restaurant - like one of the idle rich. The shoeshine men also operated in Beirut. They often had beautiful brass boxes as part of their stock-in- trade. Many Lebanese are very fashion conscious and meticulous in their dress. The gentlemen made good use of the shoeshine men to ensure that their shoes were highly polished. In order to make contact with the families of Neville’s students from the Boys’ School we started doing home visits together to both Muslim and Christian families. We met some interesting people and had good chats about the most important things in life. One father was quite an inventor and he showed us the clock he had made. It worked off light. Another grandmother was the widow of an Anglican minister from Jerusalem. She was a good age. She told us that she had prayed for the Lord to preserve her eyesight and she did not require spectacles, in spite of her age. As always, Christmas was special. I appreciated the fact that we were in the Middle East where it all began and the cold weather made the season seem “right” after our hot South African celebrations. Not all the Evangelical Christians celebrated the nativity of our Lord. To some it was part of their old life as nominal Christians, while others felt free to enjoy the season as they remembered the great humility of our God in coming

143 to live amongst us - as one of us, “yet without sin” - for the purpose of dealing with our sin. I was often thrilled and praised God as I thought about the Incarnation. We acquired a white, artificial Christmas tree and built up a store of homemade and other decorations over the years. We bought pieces of pinewood (and bark) with candles and fir branch from the hospital bazaar and decorated our home. I inscribed, in decorative writing on large, scroll-like pieces of cardboard, verses from the 1st Epistle of John and hung them on our large lounge windows. When our neighbours came on their official Christmas visit, they would get the true meaning of the season from the Bible verses. We also offered our visitors special Christmas booklets in Arabic obtained from the Bible Society. During the week before Christmas, we held an English carol service at Elsie’s and Aubrey’s home. They lived on a mountain ridge overlooking Beirut. In later years the Christmas service was at the Baptist College. The Southern Baptists had the Lottie Moon offering for their worldwide mission work. It seemed a good way to give to the Lord Who was sent to earth from heaven and still sends His people out to share the Good News. Christmas lunch was at our own home and we usually invited some of the single missionaries to join us. On Christmas night or the day after, we got together as a mission family. The first Christmas we spent in our own Lebanese home, we invited two of the Bible School students to join us. One was a Moroccan, the other an Egyptian. Apart from enjoying their company, we were impressed! They washed up for us after lunch! Most Arab men did not wash up but our two friends had been well trained at Bible School where all shared in the chores. One year we invited the Lebanese housekeeper from the Girls’ School to have dinner with us on Christmas day, but she expected to go to her family. On Christmas day we passed by the school (for reasons that now escape me) only to find that her family had let her down. We were so happy that she was not left alone that Christmas as she was able to enhance our enjoyment by sharing with us. People in our village celebrated “Eid-al-milad” (Feast of the birth) as well. They put up Christmas trees with a manger scene underneath. The village shops were lit up and full of toys and clothes for the season. The municipality strung special lights and the church bells were rung on Christmas Eve. Also on Christmas Eve Father Christmas appeared at some of the homes in an open motorcar to hand out presents. I assume the families paid for this privilege. Neighbours made formal visits as well. There were two Christmases as the Orthodox churches celebrated a week or two later. We had two of our mission families living in the same village with us. Colin (and Joan) was principal at the school and came from England. Peter

144 (and Lois) was a teacher and originated from New Zealand. Both families had children. I had fun making soft educational toys for some of them. It was good to be able to visit them, when we felt the need of company. They were nearer to our own culture and we spoke the same language fluently! Of course we frequently got together to have fellowship with all of our mission workers. We socialized, had picnics and meals together. We met at the Girls’ school (Hazel was the headmistress) on a regular basis with our national colleagues and prayed together. Once a year we all (missionaries and nationals) met for some days in the Field Assembly and General Assembly. Here the work was discussed, reports given and plans made for the future. We shared the work with our national workers but they now owned the schools and properties. So we worked in a harmonious partnership on the whole. At the time of these business meetings, we had spiritual input too. Dr Bailey lectured to us sometimes on the parables of Jesus from a Middle Eastern point of view. He helped us see how what we knew of the culture was relevant to our understanding of the Scripture and encouraged us to share the insights in our home countries. One of the features of the Assemblies was that some of the ladies used the time to catch up on their knitting and embroidery as they listened. During this time in Lebanon, I still battled sometimes with the old problem of doubts about God’s will. With my mind I knew God had led me and I was where He wanted me to be, but I felt guilty as I did not feel it. In 1972 this whole matter came to a head. I went once more to a godly Christian to ask for advice. He gave me the best counsel anyone had done so far. He said, “I cannot help you”. I was cast totally on God. No one could help except Him. I went right down into a pit of near despair. Then God intervened. He helped at every turn as my thoughts went this way and that way. No one but Neville knew the state I was in. I tried to carry on with my normal life even though I was in turmoil of mind. Someone wrote me a letter that helped. Then we were given a gift of money. Neville bought a book in three volumes – The Spiritual Man by Watchman Nee. Neville started reading it aloud to me. Through the book the Lord helped me to understand what Mr Green had said years before – that I was under attack from Satan. When put under pressure, feeling accused or pressured to do something, Watchman Nee advised “Go back to the beginning. See how it all started.” I thought of the lecture on Jonah when I had felt accused at BI that I was running away from God’s will. That was what started the turmoil in my mind. I clearly saw that it was a lie. God had led Neville and myself together and I was NOT running away from God’s will. In all the following years I had not been completely free of the accusation because I did not recognize its source. I thought it might be the Holy Spirit and I was afraid

145 of resisting Him. (The Holy Spirit does bring conviction of sin. The believer’s conscience may also bring an accusation. However so may the Evil One but it is a lie or distorted in some way.) So the Lord over a period of some days - in His own gracious way and through His word - drew me out of the morass I had got into and wonderfully delivered me after years of struggling with this problem. Satan’s attack is on the mind. Each time the Evil One presented another thought to my mind the Lord gave the answer from His word. It was amazing. I was free. However some months down the line, I had what I can only call “a relapse”. I doubted the Lord’s deliverance and lay on the ma’ad in our lounge curled up in the foetal position. I didn’t want to respond to people although I was fully conscious. We used to worship in the Arabic congregation on Sunday mornings but went to an English service in the evenings. Neville brought home from the service two Assembly of God missionaries whom we knew. They were concerned about me. I don’t know what they did but they stood in a corner of the room some distance away from me and prayed - and probably rebuked the Evil One - although I did not ask them what they were doing. This time, over a period of a week or so, I was completely and permanently delivered from this oppression. Praise to God for His power, love and grace, for all that He is and for all He has done. Praise for the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ where the Enemy was defeated. This whole, drawn out experience was meant by Satan to do me harm but the Lord wonderfully made it work for good. I learnt so much through those years. I learnt to know God in a deeper way. He became real in a way I had not experienced before. My life became more centred on God Himself. I learnt about Satan’s devices and subtleties and his hatred of God’s children. I learnt to know my husband better. He stood firm in God through all the ups and downs I went through. I learnt that life and our experience as believers are not always cut and dried and as simple as I once thought. I learnt the preciousness of God’s word even though the Devil tried to make me afraid of it. I cannot praise our Triune God – Father, Son and Holy Spirit – enough for the deliverance that was granted me although I understood so little of Satanic attack and of the battle in the spiritual world. One thing I have asked myself and that is whether I opened myself up to this attack by something I did. It is possible and I have confessed certain matters to the Lord that may have had a bearing on the matter. He is ever gracious and forgiving and I praise Him forever and ever. All this happened before the end of our first term in the Middle East. After five years on the field we returned to South Africa for a year’s furlough in mid-1973. This time we went by Olympic Air via Athens. We got the opportunity to stay over in a hotel and see something of the Greek

146 capital. This may have been the trip (or it could have been the previous holiday time) when we visited the Parthenon and other temples as well as Mars Hill (The Areopagus) where the apostle Paul preached. Unfortunately, we did our sightseeing around midday – bad move. It was very hot and the light off the ruins was blinding. The result was that it was too bright to take good photos. Our slides did not come out very well. We spent most of the next year in South Africa reporting back to our Home Council, Home Church and speaking at meetings in many different churches. We had time with family and friends and travelled thousands of kilometres. We stayed with Neville’s parents in Johannesburg and visited my mother at Saldanha Bay where they were now living in the Naval Base on the West Cape Coast. We were there in the spring and saw carpets of wild flowers for which the West Coast is renowned. Grandma Keenan died in 1973 before we arrived in Cape Town, and I was just in time to say, “Good-bye” to my Grandpa Keenan, although he did not know me. Grandma Lilley died in 1974 and we were not there. So all four grandparents had passed away and it was sad that we saw so little of them in their last years. During the deputation tour we were given quite a number of gifts of money for our personal use. I was quite concerned and wondered why we were given this number of gifts but God knew why we would need them. He often made provision for us ahead of time. We flew back to Athens and were not given a hotel. This never happened to us again. We were not seasoned travellers as in later years when we insisted on being accommodated properly. We were absolutely exhausted from lack of sleep, so we went to an outdoor café and put our heads down on the table and napped. We arrived back in Beirut unaware of the great surprise the Lord had in store for us.

A Perfect Plan For four years we had heard nothing from the American University Hospital in Beirut. During those years the possibility of adopting a child in some other way came up at different times but each time God said, “No.” We went to see a little Jordanian baby who needed a family but as we left, we both felt, “This child is not for us.” One day we were at another hospital where a baby boy was awaiting adoption. One of the nurses told us that the child was to be for us. But nothing came of it. Our neighbours in the next-door building in Hadeth were Swiss missionaries. They spoke to us about a baby who needed parents but again nothing happened. We went to see a social worker about an Armenian baby that was expected. Both of us felt so uneasy that we phoned her as soon as we arrived home

147 and cancelled our application. As we returned to Lebanon from furlough, I began to feel we had made a mistake in thinking God wanted us to adopt a child. I thought we should remove our name from the list at the AUH and get on with the work God had called us to do. Hamlin hospital where I had previously taught asked me to head up the Nursing School and start the new government programmes there. The Lebanese government had at last organized two formal nursing courses with a set curriculum. There was the Brevet in nursing for practical nurses and the Baccalaureate in Nursing for the professional nurses. I was asked to implement these at Hamlin Hospital. So I started preparations to take over responsibility. At the beginning of each school year a series of spiritual meetings was held at the Girls’ School for all the Lebanese teachers and the missionaries of our different schools. During this time a phone call came to the Blind School for Neville and myself, but we were not there. We were told about the call when we arrived for the evening meeting. It was the American University Hospital. We did not know why they had called and could not phone them until the next morning. My mind was in some turmoil. Was there a baby for us at last? Or did they just want to check that we still wanted our name on the list? As we went into the evening meeting, I asked the Lord to speak to me. And He did. The Bible reading that evening was from Acts 17. As verse twenty-six was read I knew the Lord was saying that we were not to take a Lebanese baby (i.e. one whose origins and roots were in Lebanon). “He … hath … determined the bounds of their habitations”, meant that an “original” Lebanese child was to stay in the country. So I thought, “If there is a baby (which I didn’t know) we would not be able to take the infant for what else would the child be but an original Lebanese? The next morning I went down to the Boys’ School to phone the hospital. Neville was busy with entrance exams. On the phone the social worker told me that she had two baby girls needing families and that we should come and choose one. The first was one month old and an “original” Lebanese. I knew she was not our baby. The second was one week old and was Armenian – not Lebanese by origin although she had Lebanese citizenship. The Armenians in Lebanon had fled there from Turkey around the time of the First World War. I knew this was our daughter. “But”, said the social worker, “her hands and feet are not normal”. The same day we went to the hospital to see the babies. The girl of one month only stared at the light. Neville simply said, “Not that one,” confirming what I had felt from the Lord. Then they brought our daughter. She was just over a week old but bright and alert. I held her and she yawned (bored with the company?) and smiled (supposed to be due to a wind at that age) - but she smiled. Neville said,

148 “I need to pray about this baby. We will tell you to-morrow”. I knew she was our daughter. The next morning Neville told the Head of the Social Service department that we wanted the one-week-old baby. We named her Jeanette Nadia – “Jeanette” meaning “Gift of God” and “Nadia” being a name frequently used in the Middle East. We knew some really lovely people with the name of “Nadia”. Our mission worker from Tyre (and California) was “Jeanette”. Then Neville “went into labour” for his daughter – as he himself put it. He had to get 14 different papers for the adoption to go through the courts e.g. our wedding certificate had to be authenticated by the South African Consul. Then the Consul’s signature had to be authenticated by the Lebanese Foreign Affairs department. There was red tape and red tape ad nauseam. In the meantime we were not allowed to see our daughter and I became quite discouraged as the documents saga dragged on and on. While I was ironing, I saw the name “Jeanette” inscribed on the metal part of my ironing board. I had never noticed it before, but the Lord used it to encourage me. I had to trust Him and she would come home soon. As the weeks passed, the social worker told us to take the baby home and finish the adoption process afterwards. She felt it would be fine because I was a nurse. Unfortunately Jeanette’s time in the hospital nursery was further prolonged. She became ill and had to have an intravenous drip in her head. That is why the hair on the front of her head had been shaved off when she eventually came home. She was just over one month old when – at last – we fetched her home from the hospital. Those weeks had seemed like an eternity. We were ready to receive our daughter. I had prepared the basket crib some time before. The bottom half of my wedding gown was used as the frill round the crib and to cover the hood and line the basket. The crib was also decorated with lemon-coloured ribbons and small bows. There was a beautiful, lemon blanket - knitted in a leaf pattern - and two baby jackets of the same colour. Stephanie had prepared all three, for the baby we hoped for, before she died. We had the napkins, the bottles and baby clothing ready. Other missionaries had handed on some of their baby goods. We were well prepared. The private gifts received on furlough also helped. Then I understood about the extra gifts. The great day came and we drove to the A.U.H. They brought our daughter from the nursery. We changed her into her own clothes and carried her down to the car in the carrycot. We drove first to the School for the Blind to show the baby to Agnes and Les (our field leader and fellow South Africans). Then Jeanette arrived at her own home and was put to sleep in her crib. The very same day visitors started to arrive.

149 The first were a mission family, Joan and Colin (headmaster of the Boys’ School) and their boys – Steve, John and Nigel. The neighbours came to visit as well. Some were puzzled. Why would we adopt someone who was not from our family? Why would we adopt a girl with hands that were different to other children? One of them decided we had done it to do a good work and thus merit favour in heaven! We were so happy to have our dear, little daughter. We let our families in South Africa know about Jeanette. Neville’s father and my family were supportive but Neville’s mother had reservations. Our fellow missionaries rejoiced with us. At last all documents were ready and we appeared before the Evangelical Court. (Lebanon’s legal and political system was partly confessional. Each religious grouping had a set number of members of parliament - Protestants had one M.P. - and its own courts in family matters.) To our disappointment they did not grant the adoption. They still wanted a further paper with a second consent from the biological family as Jeanette had legal parents. Any physical difference in a child – especially a girl - was hard for more traditional Middle Easterners to deal with. It was felt that such a girl would not be able to get a husband – an important consideration for conservative families. We had been told that the family were Armenian, had other children and were planning to immigrate to Canada. We were happy to know that Jeanette was Armenian as there are many bright and talented people in that nation. So the lawyer who helped us with the fourteen documents, made contact with the family and got the second consent form signed. Once more we went before the court and to our relief the adoption order was granted. At last Jeanette was legally our daughter. Neville got her registered in our name. He obtained her Lebanese I.D. with our name on it. Some of the officials (such as the muchtar of our village) had to sign documents for us and had never dealt with such a matter before – a child with Lebanese citizenship and foreign parents! We were not yet finished with the red tape. We now had to re-adopt Jeanette in the government court. Most foreigners who adopted did not follow this procedure as they got papers from their embassies to travel with the baby. We wanted Jeanette to be able to keep her Lebanese citizenship (in case she wanted it one day) and she needed to travel on a

150 Lebanese passport. South Africa did not accept foreign adoptions. When we returned to South Africa, we would need to adopt her for the third time! The hospital social worker arranged for the biological parents to be at the “Adliyya” (court) just before us. She took them in, they signed the papers and left by another door. We did not meet them. We then came in and signed in our turn and so the second legal adoption was completed! The mention of the “Adliyya” reminds me of the previous time I visited that Place of Justice. In our first years in Lebanon the staff of the mission office – then situated at the School for the Blind - renewed our residence permits for us each year. The procedure was changed and we had to get our own permits done. Neville and I were unaware of this and did not realize that our permission to stay in the country had expired. One day a summons was issued for me to appear in court. Neville’s permit was also overdue but they must have overlooked it. I had to go to the “Adliyya” with a lawyer. A few days before I was to appear, there was an article in the Daily Star about the penalty for not having a valid residence permit. It seemed that I might spend two months or so in prison. Without telling Neville, I packed my bag for prison and hid it behind a door. If required Neville could then bring it to me. I put in a Bible and two volumes of Newman’s Church History. I reckoned there was plenty of reading in Newman’s two books. We entered the courtroom, our case was called and the lawyer spoke to the judge privately. I had to stand before the judge for sentencing and fortunately had only to pay a fine. I was thankful not to go to prison although I was willing (I think) to go if the Lord wanted me to be His witness in the gaol. The social worker came to visit and I was pacing the floor with a yelling baby. Jeanette had the “three-month colic”. (Of course we had missed the first month.) She was having S26 that was the nearest to breast milk we could buy. I always held her for her feeds and burped her but the colic continued. She gave us much joy in spite of her periodic distress. To give Neville some sleep (he had to go to school and teach), I moved to another bedroom with Jeanette. I was thankful to be Jeanette’s mother – colic and all. I was glad to have Neville’s help in washing her daily dozen - no disposable napkins then. We were abundantly provided with clothes and toys for the baby. The lady teachers from the Boys’ School came on an official visit and brought our daughter a lemon-coloured (we seemed to specialize in that colour) sleeping bag with hood. The hospital gave us a brightly coloured – white, orange and yellow - pushchair that doubled as a potty seat. We visited Dr Manugian (our Armenian mission doctor) and Jeanette started getting her shots against various diseases. As Jeanette’s mother, I discovered that being a nurse isn’t enough. You need the experience of being a Mom! So I spent a lot of time with

151 Dr Spock’s book. It was very helpful and apparently written after he changed some of his ideas. He certainly advocated discipline especially as the child grew. At a later stage we followed advice about letting the baby cry - for a limited time - in the evening so that she would know she needed to go to sleep. We found it so hard to hear her crying and not go to her. Neville and I were in the passage, hanging on to each other for strength. After a few evenings of allowing her to cry, we had no further problem. She went down at night like a lamb. She had learnt it was time to sleep. But some people who lived nearby wanted to know from our neighbours who these people were who let their baby cry? They would never have done that. From the beginning she became a much-photographed baby. Neville was always taking photos or slides. She was so adorable. She had a dimple in her cheek when she smiled. As for her hands, the left one had shortened fingers joined together so we called it her mitten hand. It was really a sweet little hand and had a very strong grasp. The right-hand thumb and index finger were normal. The other three fingers were short and partly joined. That hand we called her glove hand. Her toes were less affected. Jeanette’s hands are precious to us. Humanly speaking, because of them she became our daughter. Once over the colic, she was a happy baby and quite a plump one. It was so wonderful having Christmas with this little one in the home. I dressed her for Christmas day in a white dress with red and navy trimming and red knitted booties. Having been married for so many years without children (and we were happy on our own) we now felt how empty our home had been before Jeanette arrived. What a marvellous plan of our Heavenly Father’s to bring Jeanette, Neville and myself together as a family. We did not feel that adoption was second best because we could not have biological children. God planned this for the three of us (and later the four of us) and for us the adopting of our children was God’s perfect plan and His very best will for us. In the meantime life went on. I withdrew from helping at the Evangelistic Centre after Jeanette came. We were going to teach the girls to crochet and I had been practising how to crochet myself but had to stop – no time. I continued at the Nursing School, however. Once or twice a week the doctor manoeuvred his large American car into our little road and we loaded up – carrycot, goods and chattels to keep a baby cleaned, fed and happy, plus baby – and travelled up the mountains to the hospital. When it was time for classes, I would put the baby down to sleep in our room at the Nurses’ Home and go to the Nursing School to teach the new courses. Amin the gateman listened for the baby. When he heard her cry, he phoned the Nursing School and I rushed down to care for her.

152 Sometimes I lectured with the baby on my hip. In the afternoon Neville travelled up from the Boys’ School. We slept at the hospital and may have taken some classes the next morning. Neville was teaching Sociology (having done one year of it at university!) and English to the nurses. We then travelled down to Hadeth and Neville started a late school day at the Boys’ School. After a while I was unable to continue as Head of the Nursing School although I still lectured. Jeanette no longer slept for most of the day and needed my attention. Winnie, the wife of the Medical Superintendent, took over as Head of the Nursing School. She was well qualified and competent – better than me. I took Jeanette up to Shemlan and introduced her to our Lebanese friends. The ladies organized a little party and prepared “mughli” – a pudding always served to visitors after a baby is born. Our daughter passed the normal milestones at the normal times – she smiled, she sat, she crawled, she stood - and walked soon after she was a year old. However long before that she had started to say sounds and words. She was an early talker and I made a list of the words she could say by one year of age. She graduated from the crib to an attractive wooden cot with sloping sides for safety. From an early age she spent a lot of time in her bouncinette. As she got older and could sit well, she had a highchair that also folded down to a low chair with a table. We were given two playpens. She enjoyed sitting (and later standing) in them and playing with her toys. The round playpen was on wheels so that I could take her to the kitchen when I was busy there. The square wooden playpen was stationary but gave her more room to move around in safety. After the colic, Jeanette enjoyed good health apart from an odd cold. How blessed and content we were. She happily sucked her dummy (pacifier) and used to say “goya, goya, goya” to herself while sucking it. She had a delightful chuckle and big, brown eyes and curly brown hair with a cream-coloured skin. In the summer she sweated on her head and the curls got curlier. She was not a great feeder. Jeanette always left a bit of milk in her bottle and did not care for cereal when she went on to solids. Talking about solids - a number of foreigners left Lebanon because of the situation and sold their belongings. We were able to buy various things such as curtains and toys. One family sold us boxes and boxes of baby food. So we were well stocked up with pureed vegetables, fruit and meat in little bottles. I started Jeanette on books at a young age. While still in her crib I put up books with bright pictures for her to look at. We read the same books again and again as she got older and so she developed her vocabulary. She became an early and avid reader. Later on, our families in South Africa sent clothes for the baby. They were brought to us by Thomas and Yvonne.

153 Thomas was the General Secretary of our mission in South Africa and they both worked very hard after hours (he was a full-time dentist) keeping the mission wheels ticking over in South Africa. We owed much to them. Their visit to Lebanon was possibly a little too exciting. We watched a battle below our home. We were not afraid for we knew it did not involve our area at that time. For visitors, not used to this way of life, it may have been a bit unnerving. With the new clothes from South Africa and others from Lebanon, I got great fun out of dressing Jeanette - after deciding on suitable clothes for the weather and occasion. We were a happy, normal family but around us life was far from normal.

A War Begins Jeanette was six to seven months old when we were visiting a Brethren missionary family one Sunday afternoon. They had a number of children, some in our GCE School. While sitting on their veranda we heard shots. We were not at all disturbed as sometimes shots were fired to celebrate a wedding. On the way home we saw groups of men standing in the street. Entering our village, we passed the headquarters of a political party. Men were milling around. We stopped and asked what was going on. The answer – “Something has happened”. It was the start of the Lebanese Civil War (although the Lebanese do not like to call it that). For a long time the conflict was called “The Events”. We now entered nine years of our own personal experience of this sporadic war until we left Lebanon in early 1984. Quite early on our village got involved in the shooting for we were not far from the southern suburb of Beirut where it all began. This is not a history of the Lebanese war and I do not want to go into an explanation (if that were possible) of the extremely complex situation in Lebanon – before, during and after the conflict. What we experienced was life amongst ordinary people – mostly not involved in the fighting – but whose lives were deeply affected. Nearly every family had members killed, wounded, maimed, kidnapped or missing. Many lost their homes and were internal refugees. Others lost their jobs, their savings, their belongings, even their sanity. Communities lost their villages, the trust they had in their neighbours. There was a huge displacement and movement of people. Many Christians moved out of Druze and Muslim areas, while some of the Muslims and Druze living in Christian areas retreated to their own enclaves. Palestinians living outside the refugee camps sometimes had to move to other areas as well. “Normal” people took to looting and killing. Young men were “drafted” into the local militias - sometimes against the will of their families, but there was a strong psychological pressure that was hard to resist. Although

154 some of the militiamen may have committed “crimes against humanity”, they were often the only defenders of an area. Teenagers got involved in drugs so as to cope with the situation. In our area the fighters wore a cross round their necks, a piece of wood from “the true cross” sewn into a band round their arms and carried a gun, possibly an AK47. To some they were heroes, to others they were anything but. In the beginning it was not supposed to be a confessional war and there were various religious groups represented on both sides. However with the passage of time, the confessional differences came more to the fore. In certain areas all the different religious groups managed to endure the war together; only those in the minority felt insecure due to unpleasant incidents that occurred from time to time. Some families who could afford to do so, sent their young men overseas away from the trouble. In fact as the war progressed (not the right word!), more and more families left their homeland and immigrated to the West, especially to the USA and Australia. Particularly the Christian population was depleted in this way. When the shooting started involving our village it was rather frightening. I hoped that our mission would evacuate us to England. (I had never seen England and this would be a good opportunity!) That is what happened after the 1967 June war against Israel. However many of our workers were in areas that were still peaceful. I had to learn to live with uncertainty every minute of every day; that God was great enough and compassionate enough to see me through. There was sporadic shooting some days – and nights. Sometimes there was heavy and sustained fighting. Often all would be quiet but we never knew when the next round of shooting would start. It was mainly small arms fire (including machine guns), rocket propelled grenades and mortars that were used. At times the fighting lasted for hours, at other times it was short-lived. It was quite “amusing” when they seemed to stop by mutual consent, it seemed to us, to have a break for breakfast or lunch or supper. There were numerous cease-fires. A cease-fire might not happen or last for a few hours or days or months. We just never knew. A “Lebanese cease- fire” became notorious. The first bullet came into our home, through the glass window and ricocheted around the lounge. This was the first of about two hundred bullets (estimated, as we never counted them at the time) that entered our apartment over the next nine years. The RPG’s were going past our building. Neville stood at the kitchen window watching them. One of them hit our building level with Neville’s head but fortunately entered the stairwell on the other side of our kitchen wall. This was the first of the larger missiles that entered our floor. We had four more plus a partial one in the following years – two through the dining room wall, one in our

155 bedroom, part of one in the bathroom and the final shell in the kitchen and stairwell. Apart from bullets, grenades and shells we had numbers of pieces of shrapnel in our home as well. God wonderfully organized our movements. We were not at home when some of the bullets and heavier missiles entered our flat. The building was on an incline and very exposed. Many other bullets and shells hit the rest of the building as well. I suffered from certain illusions in the beginning. One of them was that bullets would not penetrate our wooden shutters. So I religiously closed the shutters in Jeanette’s bedroom while she slept. One morning we awoke to find our daughter sleeping peacefully while a bullet rested on her mosquito net. It had come through the shutters and the glass window and ricocheted around the room landing above her cot. Illusion shattered. There was no hiding from bullets. Only God was our refuge. I was still able to get to the hospital for lectures and Neville continued to teach. However school was often interrupted. Children’s education suffered. They could not have classes for days and found it impossible to study in the uncertain climate. Our Boys’ School was in a difficult area not far from the border between the sides. When there was school, the school day was shortened so that people could get home before the next round of fighting started. Sport and extra-murals were affected. After the summer holidays, the fighting spread and our Field Leader gathered us all at Shemlan. There we stayed peacefully for a while. But we had to return to our village and the new school year – such as it was to be. Some young men from our area were kidnapped. People from the village stopped a municipal bus on the main road and kidnapped over twenty of the other side to exchange for the missing men. Different sides set up flying roadblocks and kidnapped those from other groups. Huge ramparts of sand were built up on the main approach roads into our village to protect people from snipers. We were not far from “the front line”. Snipers were a huge problem. Damaged building, Neville was sniped at while hanging damaged lives washing on the veranda. I heard a bullet whistle past as I put out the washing on another day. So we hung the washing on a different balcony from then on. One day as I walked along our lane past the mayor’s rose garden someone took a pot-shot at me. Fortunately the

156 gunman was not a good shot. Later on we were trying to get to the airport. We were turned back on one route so tried another. Our car was sniped at but we got away. Our neighbour downstairs was not as fortunate. A sniper shot her in her leg and she was incapacitated for some time. One of the problems throughout the war, while in our flat, was where to sleep. If we slept in our front bedroom, we were in danger from RPG’s. If we slept in the back bedroom there was the possibility of mortars coming through the roof. This was because the apartment above us was smaller and their place did not extend as far back as our back bedroom. Instead there was an open veranda above the room. We decided to sleep in the back bedroom one night. We must have heard the sound of the mortar as it passed overhead for it exploded in the lane behind us. Shrapnel came into the back bedroom but the only damage it did was to pop a balloon hanging on the wardrobe. So we returned to our own front bedroom and risked the RPG’s. In fact there was no safe place in our home apart from the protection of God. Where Jeanette should sleep was also a problem. Her bedroom was safer than the other two but none was without its danger. When fighting broke out suddenly I did not always know what to do. Should I leave her sleeping soundly or should I move her to the passage? (At any rate it was not that safe!) Even when we were not consciously led, I believe the Lord gave us wisdom in many situations during these years. Early in the fighting two of our MECO workers – both teachers – were married. The bride was Kathy who had lived with us in Jordan. We managed to get to the wedding in West Beirut and back to our village before the next round of shooting. Keith and Kathy just got out of Beirut – on their way to a quieter part of the country for their honeymoon – before fighting erupted in the capital once more. When Jeanette was about ten or eleven months – and the situation peaceful for a while - we went for a picnic with our fellow missionaries. We journeyed down a valley where many wildflowers and umbrella pines were to be found. At the bottom of the valley there was a river and an arched bridge. It was known as Jisr-al-qadi (the Bridge of the Judge). It was a favourite place of ours that we have often visited. Near the river was a potter. We have watched him working at his wheel making dishes and basins. The workrooms, built of stone, were old and interesting, with four cornered arches. After that the dishes were fired in an outside kiln. The heat was maintained by a roaring wood fire. Down-river – amongst big smooth rocks – were places that were good for swimming. Maidenhair fern grew out of the overhanging banks. We had our picnic beside the water and let Jeanette paddle in the river. That night she was ill for the first time with a high fever and tonsillitis.

157 Jeanette turned one year old. We arranged a birthday party for her. There were a number of our neighbours with their children and some expatriate mothers plus their offspring. I made Jeanette a birthday cake in the shape of a lamb – pink icing with white coconut for wool. There was shooting not far away and this served as the background music to the party. There was fear in our village when another area was overrun. The people were afraid the same would happen to us. They were especially concerned about their daughters. Rumours abounded. The Scripture was clear. We were not to fear what they feared but trust the Lord. The villagers could often not get to work but sat around drinking coffee that set their nerves more on edge. Stories were passed on that made them fearful, even though many of the predictions never came to pass. Christmas of 1975 our missionaries spent together at Ain Zhalta. We all slept over in the old school. It was cold but the fellowship and friendship were warm. David and Margaret (came to Lebanon a short while before us) made up a ten-verse jingle about the various missionaries. Quite a few had left since the fighting started but their names were included as well. I quote from the chorus: “Ready for anything, that’s what they say, Who’d be a missionary, especially today? Yet out of the darkness, grief and despair We can praise God and be glad that we’re here.” Twenty-one of our workers were still there. This number was to be reduced to two. In January 1976, the Lebanon Evangelical Mission of which we were a part, combined with two other missions to become “Middle East Christian Outreach.” We were now part of a larger fellowship and service was extended to other parts of the Middle East. On 4th February our Field Leader was tragically killed due to war circumstances. It was a shock and the memorial service was held at the School for the Blind. David, the Lebanese Director of the work, offered his family tomb as a resting place for Les. The tomb was in the Protestant Cemetery in Hadeth and there our South African brother was laid to rest. It was a great honour. David and Les had worked so closely together and were true Christian brothers in every sense of the word. The decision was then taken to evacuate all the MECO workers in Lebanon to Cyprus. In Cyprus we were driven to a rather derelict hotel in the mountains. We had iron beds with army-issue blankets. The weather was rather cool. We lived out of our suitcases. Over the war years in Lebanon, we had suitcases permanently packed, waiting in the passage should we have to leave in a hurry. There was some clothing, toys, photographs, slides, paintings and special china and ornaments. The clock Neville won at golf – before we were married – made a number of trips backwards and forwards

158 between Lebanon and South Africa during those years. I remember that we did not fare badly as “refugees” and had mutton or lamb for (probably) Sunday dinner. They used the rosemary from the numerous bushes growing there as a suitable herb to go with it. We went for walks in the countryside. At Saitas, that was not too far away, we bought Jeanette her first teddy bear. It was a big brown one called “Pooh”. Later on “Pooh” was handed on to her brother. A Christian Brethren missionary friend brought her a yellow bear called “Winnie” from England. We moved down to Limassol where a few of our workers were living. Some of them also had young children. We got complaints that Jeanette was pinching the boys (Timothy and Stuart) with her mitten hand – and she really could pinch. Jeanette and I agreed that she was a “sometimes child” – sometimes good and sometimes naughty. Around this time we received a letter of condolence concerning my stepfather. Apparently, a telegram was sent to Beirut but because of the war we never got it. Later the same week we received a telegram to say that Neville’s father had died. Both our mothers had been widowed through heart attacks during the same month. We decided we needed to return to South Africa for a while to comfort our mothers. The problem was that the Orthodox Easter weekend was upon us and all the flights out of Cyprus were booked. It “just so happened” that Neville had been to Nicosia before we knew about his father. He overheard someone speaking about an extra flight. We were able to get to Athens on that aircraft and were put up in a hotel for the day. Jeanette had no visa to enter South Africa and the Embassy was closed for the holiday. The flight for Johannesburg left that night. The Lord led Neville to a building near our hotel. A diplomat lived there. He was able to phone the home of one of the South African embassy staff. When contacted, he arranged for someone to meet us at the Embassy and Jeanette received a visa. So we returned to South Africa. Grandma Holmes was greatly comforted by her little granddaughter. She now had no reservations about the adoption. She really enjoyed our happy, outgoing, talkative daughter. In fact she was so happy with Jeanette that she said, “If you adopt another baby, see that it’s an Armenian”. During our time at home we were able to complete the South African adoption procedure and our daughter became a South African citizen. She was well and truly our own child x3! Thank you, Lord. We went down to the Cape and spent time at Pearly Beach with my mother. They had built a comfortable home there for their retirement but now she did not want to stay on her own so far from Cape Town and her other daughters. So she planned to sell the relatively new house.

159 After some time we returned to Cyprus and were stuck there. Jeanette had her second birthday in Cyprus. Neville made a trip to Beirut with Fuad, a Lebanese pastor, to see to the distribution of TEAR fund money, meant to help people in need. This was being channelled through our mission. They travelled via Damascus. Once again Neville rejoined us in Limassol. We asked to go back to Lebanon but were refused. We kept asking until Douglas must have been tired of it. However there was still fighting in our village. At last he gave permission for us to return, via Damascus, to the hospital where I lectured. We were to be under the doctor’s supervision. At that time the Syrian army was there and the area was relatively peaceful. So we were back in our adopted land. Soon after arriving, Neville went down to Beirut to get our car going. He taught for a while in the section of the Boys’ School that was at the Girls’ School. Due to the troubles the city was more or less divided in half. The parents – especially of the older boys - were not keen for their sons to move from one side to the other because of the danger of being kidnapped. The Girls’ School was in the so-called Muslim western half of the city. A section of the Boys’ School was opened on their premises for our students who lived in West Beirut. In the eastern part they eventually started two co-ed schools (one building was rented, the other bought) to cater for those from East Beirut – the so-called “Christian sector”. The Boys’ School had been badly hit in the fighting. It was fixed, with the help of TEAR fund volunteers, but subsequently suffered more damage. It was repaired a second time later in “the Events” but was shelled and part of it collapsed. Afterwards refugees occupied the “usable” parts of the school. The fighting round our village stopped for a while and Neville was able to repair the flat once again, fill in the holes and fix the windows with whatever material came to hand. He also had to replace the front and back car windscreens and the battery that had been stolen. He was still teaching in the “Boys’ School at the Girls School”. Jeanette and I left the hospital in the mountains, where we had stayed, and moved back to our Hadeth home in November. I continued to teach two days a week in the Nursing School.

A Family is Complete Soon Christmas approached. On Christmas Eve we decided to cross the Green Line to West Beirut in order to buy something special from a particular supermarket. The shop was near the American University Hospital. While in the area, the idea came to us that we should go and see the head of the Social Service Department. We wished to tell her that we were still in the country (many foreigners had left) and to remind her that we hoped to adopt a second child. She had also not been antagonistic when we shared with her about our faith and it was good to renew contact.

160 We did not know that our son was waiting in the nursery! He had been born during the fighting. Neither did we know that the social worker had been away in Egypt for some time due to the fighting. She had come back that week, knew there was a baby waiting for a family but had not yet had time to deal with the matter. Then we arrived with Jeanette. She was happy and outgoing. This was God’s timing. The lady later told us that she decided there and then that the baby in the nursery should be Jeanette’s brother. There was a big problem so she never told us about the baby. The problem was a Syrian militiaman who was around the hospital (might have had a relative or comrade injured in one of the battles) and had been visiting the infant in the nursery. He intended to take the baby! Maybe his wife was barren. Who knows? There was little law and order at that time. The man with the gun was the law. The Syrian fighter had a gun. But God had His hand on our son’s life. Somehow the social worker persuaded him that he should not take the baby. On 3rd January 1977 she phoned us to tell us she had a baby boy for us. We had decided that if we had a son, we would call him Paul. (We had changed the name from the one we chose in Jordan. They asked us there – “If you had a son what would you call him?” We answered Andrew - Andraos in Arabic - so our names were Abu and Um Andraos i.e. Father and Mother of Andrew. We now planned to be Abu and Um Bulos – Father and Mother of Paul.) As I prayed about this baby and asked God if this was the child, He had chosen for us, the words came to my mind – “Yes, for he is a chosen vessel to Me to bear My name before the Gentiles”. These were the words from Acts 9:15 – and were written about another Paul! I knew this baby was our son and God had a special purpose for him. We went the same day to meet him. We waited in the office with Jeanette and the social worker brought him to us. He was a dear little boy with brown hair, big brown eyes and the longest eyelashes imaginable (the latter we only realized later). He had waited for us in the nursery for three and a half months. How wonderful that God kept him while we were in Cyprus and trying hard to get back to Lebanon, not knowing who was waiting for us!! Paul is not Armenian but an “original” Lebanese. This time the Lord had nothing to say about “the bounds of their habitation”. Neville still had to discern God’s will. He asked the social worker to give us until the next day so that he could pray about it. After we got home the thought came to him, “Why was he kept all these months?” He phoned the lady the same afternoon and told her that we wanted this baby boy. She said, “Fetch him tomorrow. He has spent too long in hospital. Do the adoption papers afterwards.” So we hastily organized the baby equipment that had been put into storage above the bathroom – got down the crib and the carrycot, baby blankets (we were in the middle of winter), napkins. We already had

161 boy’s clothes passed on to us by other workers – “in case”. Neville had to buy S26 and I cleaned and soaked the bottles. It was a mad rush. The next morning the three of us arrived at the hospital to fetch our son and brother. We named him Paul Mounier. Mounier is an Arabic name meaning “radiant, enlightened”. We took him home in the clothes the militiaman had brought to take him away in. How easily we could have lost our son even before we knew him but God… Our family was complete and we were happy to have Paul home. He had a bad case of cradle cap and a very sore bottom with nappy rash. He was also as stiff as a board. I could not easily hold him like a normal baby. He had probably spent most of his short life without mothering, lying in his cot. None of this could be blamed on the hospital. They were short-staffed, dealing with the wounded and dying from the troubles. They obviously could not have had much time for this little one, but he was well-nourished. At least they had fed him. As we loved him and held him, he started to relax and I was able to hold him like any other child. He became an affectionate and loving little baby boy. We bought expensive ointments for the cradle cap and nappy rash but nothing helped. Then we tried Vaseline petroleum jelly at Dad’s suggestion. Within no time both the bottom and cradle cap were clear. Spare a thought for Jeanette in all this. She was an only child getting all our attention. Within a day she had a brother and he was taking up a lot of her mother’s attention. I had spent a lot of time with Jeanette. She is a gregarious person and always likes company. She needed someone to play with her, read to her, be with her. Her whole life was turned upside down. I tried to give her as much attention as possible and often Neville held Paul for me so that I could help her. She had been potty-trained; dry day and night. However she now had a relapse for a while. Later Jeanette was really happy to have a brother, especially as she could boss him around and tell him what to do! We have the evidence of her bossiness on an audio tape. At Christmas Neville had gone out to buy Jeanette’s presents. The previous year he bought her a Spanish baby girl doll. This time he got her the twin doll, only it was a boy – in detail! I was somewhat upset. I did not mind her having a boy doll but I was thinking of the neighbours. Their children came to play. What would they think? It turned out to be a good thing. Jeanette had her own baby boy while I cared for mine! Paul did not

162 spend too long in the basket crib as he was quite a big baby and soon moved into his cot. He was a happy infant with a lovely laugh. Unlike Jeanette, he finished every bottle and ate all his food. He enjoyed his cereal. We started on the immunizations he needed. In the meantime Neville was arranging for the legal adoption. We decided to go through the Armenian Evangelical Court this time. They were very helpful and sympathetic. On the day the adoption was legalized we were given a message from the Bible by the judge. He spoke from Exodus 2:9 – “Take this child and nurse him for me and I will give you your wages.” So our son was now legally ours. We then had to follow the same procedure as with Jeanette and get him re-adopted through the government court. He thus had Lebanese citizenship but with foreign parents. The Lord had made provision financially ahead of time for Paul. The mission also helped. As with Jeanette, we had to pay for the delivery and the time the child spent in hospital. Paul had spent three and a half months. It was a sizable account but the mission backdated his child allowance to the time of his birth and paid for the delivery. We had to pay for the documentation. The court reduced the fees and this time we did not have to engage a lawyer. Neville now knew what to do without help. Again Paul reached all his milestones like other normal babies but he was early in standing and walking. He refused to take a pacifier. He was an active child with sturdy legs and went into a walker at an early age. He did not speak as early as Jeanette and had a deep, gruff little voice - unusual in so young a child. Good thing he was a boy with that voice. For a long time he struggled to pronounce his “r’s” but eventually he got it right. Paul could amuse himself and play on his own although he was happy to have company as well. He loved pulling the books out of the bookcase. First using his walker, and then when he crawled and learnt to walk on his own, he made a beeline for the books. He did not have as many photographs taken as Jeanette. It was further into the unsettled times and not easy to get films developed. With Jeanette we had tried to do things “by the book”. I think we were not as strict with Paul. It was wartime. We had two children and they kept me very busy. He was a more tractable child and his sister helped to amuse him. It was not a conscious decision to be more relaxed with him. It just happened. Neville took the children for a walk. He was stopped by a magazine photographer. A foreigner in our village was a bit of a novelty as so many had

163 left. A foreigner carrying a baby boy on his back in a special seat and pushing a little girl in a pushchair was even more interesting. So the gentleman took the photograph for the magazine and later sent us a copy. We went to Shemlan for the summer holidays. It was to be our last holiday there, although we did not know it. The old building that we loved was demolished later in the war. Paul got sick with tonsillitis and had to have an antibiotic. He appeared to be allergic to Penicillin as he developed a rash. He had tonsillitis quite frequently after that and (because he could not have Penicillin) received an antibiotic that affected the enamel of his teeth. Although they were discoloured by the medicine, he had extremely strong teeth and never had to have fillings as a child - unlike Jeanette whose teeth needed quite a bit of attention. During his first year of life – before he could have the MMR injection - Paul also had measles. But on the whole he was a happy, healthy baby. After the summer I took him to the doctor who said he had mild rickets. I was very upset. I was a nurse. How was it possible that my child developed something like that? On thinking it over it seemed there was a combination of factors. He never saw the light of day before he was three and a half months old. When he did come home it was mid-winter. He should have had more sun in the summer at Shemlan but it was a very strange summer with misty or cloudy weather day after day in the mountains. He had been given quite a lot of oats cereal (which he enjoyed) that may have inhibited the absorption of certain nutrients. I gave him extra vitamins (although sometimes I forgot due to busyness) but they were not necessarily fresh or trustworthy in the war situation. I now did what I could to remedy the situation. I was very conscious of the need for a safe environment in the home. All our medicines were kept in a basket on a high shelf in the wardrobe where small children could not reach. One day Neville had a bad headache and took the basket down. He forgot it on the bed in the back room (an indication of how severe the headache was) while he went to lie down in our bedroom. I was busy in the kitchen but realized after a while that Jeanette was very quiet. I went to see where she was. She was sitting on the bed with the contents of the basket strewn around her. I think I just prayed to the Lord for wisdom. What had she taken? I had no idea. I questioned and cross-questioned her. Eventually I worked out that she had tasted an antacid and possibly a Strepsil lozenge. At any rate she was fine. I am thankful. It could have been so much worse. One day I was visiting my friend Rhoda. She was from Syria and had become a committed Christian. She shared in the weekly Bible study groups in the village and attended the same church. Paul was small but walking on his own. He was running around her – apparently safe -

164 veranda. He put on some speed and ran into the wall. Unfortunately it had a rough-cast plaster surface and Paul managed to acquire a fairly deep hole in his forehead. He suffered no permanent damage but it was temporarily distressing for both of us! The children’s birthdays were one day apart and we had a combined birthday party. Jeanette had a birthday cake like a Hansel and Gretel house with Smarties on the roof. Paul had his cake in the shape of a bear. He was one year old while his sister turned three. She was old enough to be in the Nursery class at the school where Neville taught and she was learning Arabic. We made no attempt to teach her, as we did not want her to have our foreign accents. She learnt from her neighbourhood friends and from school. She developed a perfect Arabic accent. Paul was at home with me. Having the two children, I now taught at the Nursing School only on Saturdays. The whole family went up the mountain to the hospital. Neville looked after the children while I taught the students. One of the kitchen staff must have decided that our children were not very well brought up. One of our two – probably Jeanette – had a sweet. The worker asked her for it but she refused to hand it over. What a badly trained child! She had not been taught to be generous. If his child had been asked for anything by a visitor, he would immediately have handed it over. He would have been taught to do so from a young age, although an adult would normally return the sweet to the child – probably with words of praise. Of course we may not have approved of his children’s behaviour in other areas, especially the boys. Some of them were not well-disciplined from our point of view.

A Family in War Time We decorated our home in time for Christmas, 1977 and shared the meaning of the season with the children. During these troubled years it was sometimes declared by the “powers-that-be” that there would be no Christmas celebration due to all the sorrow and tragedy. Whatever the circumstances, Christmas for us was always relevant. The Lord’s coming to earth brought hope in the worst of times. We never knew our neighbours not to have trees and nativity scenes in spite of these pronouncements. On Christmas Eve we prepared the children’s pillowslips.

165 Suitable toys bought from local shops were placed in them. I was often up late the night before Christmas, finishing the baking of biscuits and preparations for the next day. It may have been this year (although probably later) that Paul was given Mbenya – a big, white chimpanzee, made in East Germany. Mbenya still lives in our house and the grandchildren enjoyed him too. Before “the Events” started, we worshipped with a Christian Brethren group in a nearby suburb. Once the fighting started, we began going to a Bible Baptist church in our village for a while. There we met an Assyrian friend, Yola. She was one of the Lord’s choice children, totally committed to Him. She worked for a Christian Radio mission as a national worker and was able to answer the enquiries that came from Arabic speaking listeners. Yola spent a number of Christmas lunches with us over the war years. After some time we moved to Hadeth Baptist church. They were part of the Baptist Union of Lebanon and we spent many happy years in fellowship as associate members. The pastor, Ghassan, was a godly man, chosen to be the first national President of the Baptist Seminary. His wife Hanni became a dear friend while their daughter grew up with our children. They went to Sunday school together. We also tried to get to an English service when it did not clash with the Arabic church service that was our first priority. We started out at University Baptist English service, later in the war years we joined with others – mainly missionaries – at the Baptist College. When the fighting was at its worst, we had English services in our village – either in our home or at Margaret’s and David’s flat. We sometimes met in our back bedroom for relative safety. (Once when we went to the other home, their children Elizabeth and Stephen had cried out, “Quick put everything away. Here is Jeanette.” They considered her a wrecker of their Lego models.) It was a real encouragement to meet with other English-speaking believers and sing, pray and share God’s word together. One Christmas, David spoke on the incarnation and what it meant for the Lord Jesus to share in our humanity. In a lesser way we tried to share the sufferings of the Lebanese people by staying with them - and particularly with the believers. We had one or more Christmas dinners – with guests – in our back bedroom. In fact for a long time we did not use our lounge and dining room. The large windows had all been shot out and Neville replaced them with Corrugated iron corrugated iron sheets and wire. The “spotters” on the “windows” other side could no longer tell if there was anyone

166 there. We hung the washing in the lounge and dining room. The problem with corrugated iron and wire is that it is very noisy when the wind blows. Bang, bang, bang as iron sheets connect with each other and iron window frames. At one stage we had asbestos sheets instead of glass in the big windows. The smaller windows in the bedrooms were filled in with clear plastic or hardboard. Hardboard is good because it can be a decorative feature if you put up Christmas cards or other pictures. The negative is that it does not let in light. Clear plastic sheeting is good for admitting light but tends to come loose and let in draughts instead. So take your pick. Up to a certain stage in the fighting people replaced their glass but then gave it up as a bad job. In the early stages of the conflict, after a bout of shooting and shelling, you could hear people all over the neighbourhood sweeping up glass. We swept up glass quite frequently too until we got wise. Mind you I did not have to do any window cleaning for a long time. One other story about glass and windows - after some years of fighting we thought there was an end to the war. We actually replaced the big glass windows and organized our lounge once more. There was one high, thick, glass window that was cracked (don’t remember why, maybe shrapnel). We had not replaced it. We sat under it on the couch. Then one night when no one was sitting there, a strong wind blew the large pane out and it descended onto the couch in two heavy, jagged pieces. It does not bear thinking about what would have happened if we had been on the couch at that time. We constantly experienced God’s protection. Another day I walked along our lane. A piece of shrapnel descended out of the sky and fell into the sand at my feet. I was untouched. A neighbour’s sister and her family had moved to West Beirut. Her husband was a Palestinian. I think they no longer felt safe in our village. Our friend asked Neville to take him to visit her. Neville returned to fetch him after school but was kidnapped by some militiamen instead. They took him into the basement of a building. A member of the multinational force, standing nearby, ignored Neville’s appeal for help. Out of sight of the world the men “worked Neville over” – kicked him and hit him in the face with the gun barrel. He later told me that he experienced no fear, only pity for these men. This attitude was the work of the Holy Spirit in Neville. Afterwards they left to find his papers that they had dropped outside. They threatened him with the gun when he followed them but he said, “If you want to kill me, you can do it in full sight of others”. As they got outside, Neville looked up and saw the sister standing on her balcony. He called her to come and help him. What wonderful timing - in God’s goodness. Neville told the men that the woman’s husband had important connections. When she got downstairs, they asked her if this was correct.

167 She answered in the affirmative. The militiamen then got really concerned for they had assaulted the friend of “a man with connections”. They tried to pacify Neville with boxes of cigarettes and were probably more worried when he refused them. Their explanation was that they thought Neville was an Israeli spy!! That night they visited our friends to apologise again. However, it could have ended very differently. I knew nothing until Neville arrived home with his face marked by the gun barrel. How thankful we were for his deliverance. Another missionary was held captive for a year. Before the civil war there was relatively little crime experienced by ordinary people in Lebanon. This all changed in the fighting but there was no one to punish the criminals. We had our car stolen during “the Events” and had to use our savings to buy another from a neighbour. Due to the fighting and the fact that the school could not function normally, we went home to South Africa more frequently than usual during the nine years of the civil war that we experienced. So in 1978 we spent some time in South Africa. We stayed with Neville’s mother and were able to complete Paul’s third adoption! He became a South African citizen. We also went to visit my mother in Cape Town. She was staying in Plumstead in the southern suburbs. It was good to take the children to parks and live a more normal life. We also saw my father and other family members. Near my mother’s apartment was an Anglican church – All Saints. We went to a service there and experienced God’s blessing in a special way. This church was part of the Charismatic Movement. A man said that he had a dream and saw Lebanon as a festering sore. They prayed for us that we might be filled with the Holy Spirit. Nothing spectacular happened but from that time I found myself able to pray and praise God in a new way such as I had not known before. Neville also experienced blessing in the area of personal evangelism and saw more people than previously committing their lives to Christ in Lebanon. We flew back to Cyprus and stayed in Limassol. We had a number of flights over the years but some stand out because of what happened. There was the time we flew from Johannesburg on an airline whose plane could not leave due to mechanical problems. As we had already booked in for the flight, we were put up in a hotel near the airport. The children were thrilled to have their own bedroom and colour TV. We only had black and white in Lebanon and most of the programmes were in Arabic. The dinner at the hotel and the relatively luxurious surroundings were different to our usual mode of living. Another time we were to land at Johannesburg but because of mist had to keep circling the area for what seemed forever and in what felt like a vacuum. It was an unpleasant experience. On another flight we had roast duck. That was memorable. On South African Airways we had beautiful menu cards as well. Although

168 booked on economy class our family was once put into Gold Class. We were the only passengers in that section and the children thought it was great. They were not so happy on another occasion when Neville and I were conducted to business class and they had to stay in Economy. They were older then. Stuck in Limassol, we could not return to Lebanon due to the fighting. Neville asked an Armenian believer whether he might work in his auto repair business. He wanted no remuneration but wished to learn how to fix cars. This would help us in Lebanon when we had car troubles. So for six weeks he worked with our friend Bedros (Peter). Neville never lets the grass grow under his feet and in no time, they had cleared the garage of the cars that were waiting for repair. During this time Jeanette became friends with a little girl across the way. The mother had been influenced by a group who denied the deity of the Lord Jesus. Neville refused to argue with her but offered to show her the way to come to a personal knowledge of Christ. After two contacts with the lady he wrote out a prayer she could use if she wanted to be changed by Him. Later in Lebanon we got news of this lady’s conversion to Christ and that she was taking her children to Sunday school. While in Cyprus we received news that our flat had been looted. As the fighting had lessened it was decided that Neville should return to Lebanon while I stayed in Cyprus with the children. Although Neville had refused payment from Bedros for the work in the auto shop, he and his wife now gave us a personal gift to help with the loss due to the looting. So Neville arrived at our home. None of our neighbours were in the area. They were refugees elsewhere. The militiamen had occupied the basement and built a sandbagged dugout with trenches in the garden. The men were surprised to find Neville there. They had helped themselves to boxes of tinned food and stolen our projector and attachments. We greatly regretted this. It was irreplaceable. We never found another as compact and as good. Neville’s arrival probably prevented further looting in the building. One of those gunmen later blew himself up with a hand grenade - by mistake. Neville was alone with the fighters but he had no fear. We never felt personally threatened by the militia in our village. Neville cleaned up the broken glass and tied the corrugated iron onto the large picture window frames with wire. He also put plastic in the smaller ones and worked flat out for some days. Eventually we made the boat trip over from Cyprus and joined him. Things were quiet for a while. It could not last as the groups of militiamen were still armed and nothing had been resolved. Over the years, our area was bombarded by different groups – the Palestinians and their allies, the Syrian army, the Lebanese army, the

169 Israeli army (supposedly by mistake) and even the “friendly” forces in our village had a scrap amongst themselves. The reason the Lebanese army fought around our area was presumably that they were trying to get the village militia to submit to their authority. In that particular battle, we had bullets or shrapnel or both in every room in our home – on all four sides. Only the one bathroom escaped. We later found a hole in its outside wall but the bullet did not penetrate. There were no militiamen in our building at that time. Incendiary bullets went through the walls (made of hollow cement blocks and plaster) and burst inside our bedroom. We were on the floor in the passage and could see them bursting through the glass panel in the door. One penetrated into our wardrobe and started a fire but it went out on its own. Our camera flash was destroyed and some clothing burnt. The Syrian army forces were stationed below our area and this particular fight had nothing to do with them. However it seems that one of their guys got trigger-happy. He apparently took a machine gun and plastered our building with bullets from top to bottom. That is how some extra bullets got into our lounge and dining room, made holes in the walls and messed up the wooden door frames and pelmets. Neville later stuck some of the wood together with glue. Jeanette was now in Lower Kindergarten. She developed a fever a couple of times. Due to the unsettled conditions, we could not easily get to our own doctor. So we consulted one in the village. I was a bit dubious when he ordered Chloromycetin as the suitable antibiotic. The second fever was short-lived and I did not consult the local doctor again. A while after this she became really ill and her urine was nearly black. She had acute, glomerulonephritis (inflammation of the tiny filters in kidneys). Once again, I felt really bad about it. How had she managed to develop this when I always tried to be careful? We took her to Dr Manugian and he gave us the diagnosis. So she was on antibiotics and out of school for many weeks. We are thankful that there were no long-term after-effects. Jeanette’s Lebanese class teacher, Marion, who had trained with the Child Evangelism Fellowship in Switzerland, gave me a flannelgraph story on the life of Amy Carmichael. This I shared with Jeanette. Our daughter was four years old when she prayed and asked the Lord Jesus into her life. Whether there was a connection with the flannelgraph story I am not quite sure. I normally prayed with the children each day and read them Bible stories. Our deepest desire was that they should know and love the One we served. We put no pressure on them to respond to Christ but we taught them the word of God. Once again Christmas came round and we celebrated with friends. The children received presents. We went to Eastwood College and performed

170 as a family at a Christmas “do”. Paul wore a dressing gown and towel headdress as Joseph. As Mary, Jeanette was dressed in blue and white and carried her baby doll. We probably sang “Away in a manger”. This was one of the songs I sang regularly to Jeanette and Paul. For some years I held each one and sang a lullaby to them before they slept at night – until they got too big for lullabies. Eastwood College was a new Evangelical school and the principal was Hazel. She had been headmistress of the Girls’ School until a Lebanese principal - our dear friend Katy – was ready to take over. Hazel’s sister, Patricia, was a well-known writer of children’s stories and had been a nurse in Morocco. She came to visit Hazel during the war years and wrote a story about Lebanon. Patricia gave Paul a clockwork mouse and Jeanette a special Christmas card to colour in. It was one Christmas during these years that I wrote a Christmas song for my children. I wanted something that would teach them about the meaning of Christmas but be simple enough for them. Here is their Christmas song, sung to the tune of “Jesus loves me; this I know”: Jesus in a stable born on this happy Christmas morn. Once He lived in heaven above but came down to show God’s love. There’s joy at Christmas (x3) because this God loves us. God the Father sent His Son, Jesus, His beloved One; Sent Him as Mary’s dear boy to bring us life, hope and joy. There’s joy at Christmas (x3). The Father planned for us. God the Spirit, through a maid – As the prophets once had said – Carried out the lovely plan for God to be made a man. There’s joy at Christmas (x3). The Spirit worked for us. God the Son Who reigned as King became just a little thing, Held close in His mother’s arms – nice and snug and safe and warm There’s joy at Christmas (x3). Jesus was born like us. We’re so happy at His birth; Glad the Saviour came to earth; Lived from the cradle to the cross, where He suffered death and loss. There’s joy at Christmas (x3). Christ came, died, rose for us. There are others in this land who don’t even understand, Jesus came for them as well. Christmas is the time to tell. There’s joy at Christmas (x3) for others and for us. In 1979 we went home to South Africa on furlough. There had been a change in mission policy and we had to raise our own personal support. Neville travelled to different parts of the country, speaking in schools, church meetings, preaching on Sundays – sharing about the work in Lebanon. I also spoke at ladies’ groups and helped him where I could. When Neville gave up on self-effort in the matter of raising support and

171 left it to God, He stepped in and we had more than 100% pledged when we returned to the field in 1980. During the time in South Africa we stayed with Neville’s mother in Johannesburg. Jeanette attended the Parkhurst Baptist Nursery School. Her friend at school was Shirley. She came home with Jeanette on certain days until her mother could fetch her. Shirley’s mother was studying at Rosebank Bible College and with her husband Arthur became our long-time friends and supporters. We also got to know some young couples at Rosebank Assembly where we worshipped. Don and his wife, John and his wife too became friends and supporters over many years. Jeanette had the first operations on her hands. These were done by Professor Walker at the Johannesburg Hospital. She was very brave and tried to help the other children in the ward. One day Neville came to see her. A parent asked him, “Is this your little girl? She is a star.” Jeanette had been comforting the other children. I spent each day with her in the hospital. Later Paul was in the same ward and I stayed with him. He had his tonsils out after years of suffering from tonsillitis. His throat was very painful but Neville got him to taste some ice cream. After that he managed to eat it and feel better. Of course they received gifts when they were hospitalised. It was our family tradition that anyone who was really ill and had to stay in bed at home received a special present – how much more when in hospital! Not to be outdone I had a hysterectomy. Our church friends prayed for me and God answered. I recovered very well and needed the minimum of post-op medication. In fact I enjoyed my time in hospital. I was able to spend times of prayer with an Afrikaans lady - suffering from inoperable cancer. She was a lovely believer. A Jewish lady nearby was affected by our praying. We were able to touch the lives of the two other patients in the ward as well. So it was a blessed stay. Grandma Holmes had two old dogs. The small white one was rather grumpy and named William. The larger black mongrel was a good-natured bitch called Jemima. She knocked Paul over by accident. He was going down the steps next to the rose garden. Blood poured from his head and he had to be taken to casualty for a number of stitches. He was left with a scar on his head. It was during this time at home that Neville’s sister, Glenda was found to have breast cancer. Neville went to see her and she committed her life to Christ in her garden. We got on well and she was good to our children. Three years later, after considerable suffering, Glenda went to be with the Lord in heaven. We also visited my family in Cape Town. I think we stayed in Rondebosch with Elgin and his wife, Rosemary. We travelled down to Cape Town by

172 car. This meant keeping the children occupied on the long journey. We sometimes sang choruses and songs as we drove in the car – whether in Lebanon or South Africa. At the beginning of 1980, Jeanette started school at Parkhurst Primary and Paul went to the Parkhurst Baptist Nursery School. They treated us with kindness and generosity. The children enjoyed their schooling in South Africa but they were only there for half a year. We left for the Middle East, once more. Before jetting off again I want to mention two holidays the children enjoyed in South Africa, but I have forgotten when they took place. The one was a few days spent in Prince Albert, a most interesting and attractive little town, off the beaten track. My cousin Joyce and her husband Thys stayed there. They lived in “Die Pastorie”, a large old house, for Thys was the minister of the Dutch Reformed Church in the area. Once before – in the days when there were just the two of us – we had visited them at Vosburg, an even more out of the way place. In Prince Albert the children enjoyed being with Aunty Joyce and family and Neville spoke at one or two meetings. Elgin was an old friend of Neville’s family, and his wife was one of our supporters. Elgin arranged for us to go to their holiday house in Skip-Skop. The area was a nature reserve known as De Hoop and was soon to be taken over by the Defence Force. The house was practically on the beach and we had a good time seeing something of the nature reserve and spending time in the sea and on the beach. Because of the abnormal conditions, life in Lebanon was rather restricted. So we are glad that Jeanette and Paul had the opportunity to do different things in South Africa. That reminds me about another occasion in Johannesburg. We went to watch Lydia having her riding lesson. Her parents, Don and his wife, had been in the same church as us before we left for the Middle East and also supported our work. The riding instructress offered our children a ride on the horse. Jeanette bravely agreed and was lifted into the saddle. The horse was led around with Jeanette on its back. Paul was quite young and obviously felt the horse to be rather high and big. He turned to me and said, “Let’s pretend I rode on the horse”!

A New Term of Service We returned to Lebanon in 1980, glad to be back in our home despite the unsettled state of the country. Having missed a year of Arabic, Jeanette needed special Arabic lessons given by a young Christian lady from our church – Latife. She was also Paul’s teacher in the nursery class at school. Our children were attending one of the Evangelical schools

173 started in East Beirut in place of the Boys’ School. Neville was a teacher in the high school on the same property. We still lived in Hadeth. Our kind neighbours, Ibrahim and Lor, were a great help to us in these years of shortages. They made sure we got news of any supplies that arrived. Be it petrol, paraffin, flour or other commodities they ensured we knew about it or provided us with it. Ibrahim put sandbags across his doors and windows. Eventually he erected a thick steel sheet, halfway across his lounge to protect the family. We shared the need for personal faith. Neville had previously encouraged Ibrahim to use his burnt pokerwork skills in doing Bible verses on pieces of pinewood and they sold quite well in the Christian bookshop and elsewhere. He made many wooden ornaments and did silk screen work of tourist sites on wooden plates. His brother-in-law, Yusif, had made carved camel heads, camel lamps and other ornaments out of olive wood downstairs in our building. All their work had been for the tourist trade but now there were no tourists. They had little tourist income but the older brother who was a businessman was still working. Another neighbour who lived nearby could not do his job as a factory inspector (factories had been destroyed or were out of business) but still got paid. Others had no jobs. One family was involved in the looting of the government cigarette factory. Don’t know what they did with all those rolls of paper they acquired. The Lebanese were incredibly resilient. The main markets were burnt out but the shopkeepers moved elsewhere. They set up stalls by the roadside or opened small shops in areas that swelled with the refugee population. Towns that were only busy in summer became more populated all year round as people tried to escape from danger. However fighting moved from area to area. Sooner or later even the smaller villages in many districts were involved in the conflict. People who fled to the mountains for safety suddenly found themselves on the frontlines and even more vulnerable than in the city. Villages were easily overrun. Atrocities occurred. Life was very unsettled and uncertain. People needed a relationship with God as never before. I visited the ladies of our village. Some were not sympathetic to Evangelicals and my Lebanese church friends found life difficult. They experienced some verbal (and other) persecution. As a foreigner I was accepted - even though an Evangelical. I wanted to reach these village women. They needed to know Christ in a personal way. I also hoped to break down barriers for my sisters-in-Christ. A new translation of the Arabic New Testament came out. It had been endorsed by the Maronite Church and we tried to distribute it amongst the people we knew. When receiving her copy one neighbour accused me, “You don’t love Mary”. Another woman said to me, “I don’t like you Evangelicals but at least you are honest”.

174 The daughter of a neighbour who lived in the lane behind us was to be married. We bought the young couple a nicely bound Bible - suitable for a present. The girl’s mother did not want it. She informed us that she wanted us to give something in silver or gold! The young couple lived in an area that became increasingly unsafe and had to flee to our village. Chances are that they forfeited their wedding presents. How valuable that Bible could have been to them when they lost material possessions. Some of the village women were committed Christians and we met weekly in each other’s homes to pray and study the Bible, as well as share our concerns and drink coffee. This was a very special time for me as I got closer to my Lebanese sisters and shared their griefs and anxieties. (Of course the war years were very good for my Arabic as the ladies spoke little English. Many could speak French but I was unable to do more than greet and thank in that language.) One lady’s son was seriously injured but miraculously survived. His grandfather, a lovely believer, was almost considered a “saint” in his mountain village (although he probably also experienced some persecution in his earlier days as a believer). The grandfather asked God to spare his grandson and take him instead. That is exactly what happened. Another of the ladies had a brother who was a service driver. He disappeared while driving his taxi and was never heard of again. A third lady’s son was in the army (conscription) far from home in an area unfriendly to ours. He eventually got home but was affected by his experiences. We found that very few of the believers died in the war. They experienced many miraculous deliverances and each one had a story to tell. However, one man whom we knew died as a martyr for his Lord. He was tortured and killed. He was a very straightforward witness to all and sundry, no matter their religious or political affiliation. The weekend before he died, he was in our home. Our children were a bit older then and we took them to his funeral service. It seemed right they should know there is a cost involved in being a faithful witness to Christ. War can be a noisy business and we had many disturbed nights, as well as days. For a time they had a recoilless gun on a flat roof near our home. We could hear them calling, “Wahid, etnayn, tlaati”(one, two, three) before they fired but we still jumped! It was so loud. Later on the American ship, “The New Jersey” was firing up into the mountains behind us. The shells were going over our heads. What a racket. Like a train travelling over us. It was best not to think of the havoc they might create when they landed. Then there were the “normal” machine guns, mortars being shot off – going out or coming in - glass breaking, buildings hit, neighbours crying out in pain or fear or for reassurance that no one was hit in the nearby

175 homes, jeeps roaring around, tanks trundling along the old Sidon Road below us. At other times there was an eerie stillness - no normal traffic or sounds of life. Talking about noise - someone gave us some rather powerful firecrackers. I was worried that they could cause a problem if sparked by an incendiary bullet or something else. Neville decided to let them off one night. There was no fighting at the time. He lit three and they went off with a pause between each. Then a little devil got to Neville. He lit three more in quick succession. The lights around the area went out. Our neighbours started going down into the shelter, the local militia came roaring around in their jeep. Ibrahim was not amused when he found out about the crackers. Neville protested that they always let off crackers for certain feasts, so why shouldn’t he? They thought the fighting was starting again and crackers were only for feast-times came the reply. Actually we did not want to use the crackers on those occasions as we did not identify with some of the feasts. Fortunately our relationship with our neighbours was close enough to survive this incident. In fact we were paid a compliment by the mayor’s brother. He said to Neville, “You are not a foreigner. You are one of us.” However you could easily have found our home by asking in the area, “Wayn Alfranjie al(t) Toweel?” “Where is the tall foreigner?” Each Christmas there were nativity plays at the school. One year Neville was called upon to do the artwork with little time to spare. Others who were asked, turned the project down. He experienced the Lord’s help as he put the picture together. Each scene saw another piece of the jigsaw being placed on the large board on an easel, until with the final piece of the resurrection scene the outline of the figure of Christ could be seen. Our children also took part in the plays. I think Jeanette sang with her class while Paul made his acting debut in the Christmas scene as a lowly sheep. Jeanette also sang at one of our mission Christmas get-togethers. Brenda played the guitar and she and Jeanette sang the Calypso carol together. They made a good combination. In spite of unsettled times, Easter was still “the big feast” (eid likbeer) in our village. Palm Sunday was the children’s day. Each child was dressed in new clothes. The Orthodox and Western Easters did not coincide so we had extra holidays from school. At shops in the area, elaborately decorated candles (some with moulded wax lilies on the side, others with artificial flowers, ribbon, wheat stalks etc) could be bought and these the children of the traditional churches carried in lieu of palm branches. Jeanette and Paul had special clothes and carried olive branches. In later years, seeing a photo, Paul complained, “You dressed me funny”. He was wearing green velvet trousers and a matching waist coat for Palm Sunday!

176 One year the children and I made a special frieze with the caption “Your King is coming” and attached it to the inside of the corrugated iron windows in the lounge. For a couple of years we also made an Easter model. Using sand and stones, pieces of wood, string, branches and flowers we created the hill of Golgotha with three crosses and a garden with a tomb - on a large, round aluminium tray. On Easter Sunday the children found the stone rolled away and the tomb empty. There was fun and learning in spite of grave and dangerous times. We could even buy Easter eggs. There was a family sweet-making business in our village. The family were Muslim but they stayed through all the troubles. They made small chocolate eggs to offer to guests making their formal Easter visits, bigger ones for the children to enjoy. People tried to maintain as normal a life as possible under the circumstances. But... e.g. electricity was a real problem. Lines were damaged, meters were destroyed and there was no one to fix them. We had two different lines coming into our area. If the one was down, the other might still work. So people helped themselves and hooked on to the line that was working at any given time. This would overload the line and there might be no electricity for anybody. Neville risked his life trying to fix a line for our building. He climbed a pylon and transferred the hooked wire to a live one. Shops and the wealthy invested in generators – providing there was petrol to run them, they made a difference. In later years local district generators were set up and many people would pay to get some electricity. For a long time the electricity man could not come round to read the meters – if they were still there. We decided to try and pay for our power consumption, at any rate. Neville spoke to a village man who worked for the Electricity Company. He could not understand why we wanted to pay. He wasn’t paying! Eventually we found a believer who worked in the company and we paid through him because we knew he was trustworthy. Later on the company caught up with the neighbours and fined them for not paying. Water was also a problem. We never drank the tap water. It may have been safe in parts of Beirut but there was still Typhoid and Infective Hepatitis in our district. We did not trust the water. So we either used water-purifying tablets (not easily available) or we boiled water for drinking. With the war and broken pipes, water not only was more likely to be contaminated but water supplies could be totally disrupted. In our building water came in at certain times and was stored in a downstairs tank. We pumped it to another tank on the roof that then flowed down into the taps in our flat. The problem was that without electricity we could not get the water onto the roof. Once an unstable visitor left our home in the middle of the night. She left the tap open and the tank drained dry.

177 Green slime came through the tap. Neville found our tank was very dirty and large cockroaches were attracted to it. We had happily cooked with this water as well as drunk it (boiled)! We had not known that we should clean the tank from time to time. Now with snipers and what have you, being on the flat roof to clean a water tank was an even less inviting prospect. Once we had some very weird tasting water. It seems our landlord sprayed the downstairs tank area to get rid of undesirable creatures but did not tell us about it. We obviously survived the insecticide! Friends told us that there was very good water from a spring in a village near us. It did not need to be boiled. So we broke our rule about boiling and fetched water in large plastic containers from this spring. Sometime later we returned there to find a notice pinned to the entrance. Someone had the water tested. It was anything but pure! We stopped visiting the spring but we never got ill either. As a matter of fact we had very few stomach upsets over the years in the Middle East. This in spite of eating and drinking in all sorts of homes. I do think the boiled water helped keep us healthy as well. We also had to be careful about salad greens such as lettuce and parsley. Our doctor advised us to wash them in washing-up liquid and water (after washing under the tap) and then rinse them with clean (boiled) water. This seemed to be quite effective. However we did eat tabbouli (delicious Lebanese salad made with parsley, tomato, onion, cucumber and “burghul”) when out. Whatever the reason I developed a rash and temperature. The doctor diagnosed “allergy to round worms”. Neville was also treated for worms. He had tapeworm and another kind that I’ve forgotten. We were very careful about what the children ate and cannot remember them getting any internal parasites. One thing that puzzled us was that people were building in the middle of the fighting. What was the point of building when people’s homes were being damaged and even destroyed? I think we solved this mystery. It seems some people may have wanted to get their buildings up while there were no regulations or inspectors or fees to be paid. If they waited until the fighting stopped, they might be prevented or have to pay extra. They could present the authorities with a fait accompli. On the other hand some may just have needed the extra space and could not wait. Accommodation was a problem as more and more people crowded into different areas. Families simply occupied other people’s homes, especially if they belonged to another group and had fled the village or suburb. We had a Lebanese friend in West Beirut who was to be alone on Christmas day. We wanted her to join us for Christmas lunch. She refused because she was afraid to leave her flat in case it was taken over by refugees while she was out.

178 Shopping was an experience in wartime. We really needed God to guide us in this. There was danger of shooting breaking out while away from home, of the car being hit on the roads. We could not get everything from our little local shop so we ventured further afield. In the next village was a supermarket. It was like going through a maze to get inside. There were cement blocks forming a passage to get to the door. They were protecting the windows and front of the shop. Lebanon has wonderful fruit and vegetables and people risked their lives to get supplies for our village. In fact one or two people died getting fresh produce for the area. Some enterprising people grew fruit and vegetables within the area. Further north in our enclave people began growing vegetables in plastic greenhouses for the local market. When there was no fighting we tried to go out with the children. Sometimes we went to a beach in Jounieh. We turned our backs on the rubbish, washed up by the tide, that lay behind us - and looked out to sea. Immediately in front of us was a wrecked ship. The children played in the water and I hoped and prayed they would come to no harm considering that rubbish was being disposed of in the sea. They so enjoyed cooling down in the water on hot summer days. We went home by noon because of the heat. As time went on, we stopped going to many areas of Lebanon. We more or less stuck to the “canton” in which we were living. There were two historic spots we freely visited when the situation was quiet; the one was the Dog River, the other was Byblos (Gbeil). Next to the Dog River are many monuments set up by the various armies that have conquered or passed through Lebanon. The monuments go back to the Assyrians, Pharaoh, the Greeks, the Romans, etc and up to the French and the allies of the Second World War. It is a fascinating microcosm of the history of this small nation that has stood at the crossroads of historical events for so many centuries. Lebanon is now independent but still affected by neighbouring countries. One Arabic proverb puts it this way – “It rains in China and they put up the umbrellas in Lebanon”. On the way to Byblos, next to the sea, was a glass blower. It was a very hot occupation in the summer heat and humidity. We watched him make his glassware, heating it in the hot, open oven and shaping the piece with speed and skill. We bought some green and brown pieces. Early in the war he disappeared and we missed the glassmaker by the sea. However, we were usually bound for Byblos – my very favourite, ancient place in Lebanon. There is the old part of the town - much of it built of hewn sandstone - with churches and a mosque, a quaint souq with arched doorways and cobble stones underfoot, tourist shops in old buildings, a

179 Crusader castle, ruins dating to Greek and Roman times, and even older – Phoenician graves. Further down there is also the ancient harbour. I always enjoy Byblos. Reputed to be the home of the alphabet and mentioned as Gebal in the Bible, it is a very old city indeed. The children found the Crusader castle quite scary (in an exciting and delicious way, I think) and almost expected to see a giant around some corner. These outings were special in an abnormal world of intermittent warfare. I had a friend who shared something of her life with me. One thing that horrified me was that her mother-in-law had shared their bedroom from the day she got married! Her husband was in hospital and she could not leave him alone – at the mercy of medical and nursing staff! (I think the mother-in-law had died.) So I offered to stay with him while she conducted her urgent business. It was quite an interesting morning. The hospital was run by nuns. The patient opposite was making a lot of noise. He was a young man who had been hit in the leg by a bullet – apparently while fighting - and did not quietly endure the subsequent pain. He belonged to another religion but there was an alliance at that time with the right-wing party of the area. Later on, the groups were on opposite sides again. Would he then have been safe in this hospital? I heard of a man who was removed from another hospital by the opposing side. One day in April 1981, my friend Selwa and I were at our temporary rented church building. We had gone there to clean, as the ladies were taking it in turns. (The church had bought a building but could not use it as it was occupied by one of the local militias. As Evangelicals we had no “clout” in that situation and no way of getting it back – humanly speaking. Afterwards the church had to buy another property that turned out to be in a more suitable location. God overruled. In later years the church was able to sell the first building.) We heard heavy shelling start and realized it was in the area where her children and mine were at school (as well as Neville). We sat down and prayed for their safety. We later heard that the children had been taken down to the shelter before a large shell entered Paul’s classroom through the roof. It was a frightening time for children to be separated from their parents. Neville, of course, had to stay with his own class. They made it home safely. Many people died in their cars during the war, as they were hit by shells or bullets. So I was thankful to see them safe and sound.

180 At various times, fighting erupted but for some days we had a particularly bad round of shooting and shelling. It was really intense on Sunday morning. We were all on the passage floor. The children thought it was fun being on mattresses on the floor. The Lord always helped us to be calm for them. They seemed to come through it all without too much effect on their nerves! It brought us close as a family to be together so much. It was dangerous to go to the toilet or the kitchen. That was the only time in the fighting that we got hungry because I could not reach the kitchen to get the food for supper. The building shook with shells landing around it and I experienced incredible peace. This was not always the case under fire. Sometimes I felt afraid and as I prayed and read God’s word, His peace would come. I found that certain Bible verses were helpful. In the Psalms the verses that meant a lot were: “Power belongeth unto God”; “Unto God the Lord belong the issues from death”; “Unto Thee belongeth mercy”. “I will trust and not be afraid” (Isaiah 12). But for the times that statement was not true, “What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee” (Psalm 56) was real. This Sunday that I experienced such supernatural peace, I felt that people in our home churches were praying for us and God answered effectively in our situation. Before those days of intense fighting I was at the hospital. Winnie said to me, “If things get bad, come here.” On Monday there was a temporary cease-fire and we could not get to our own mission people. So we withdrew with a couple of suitcases to the hospital in the mountains. We stayed in the Nurses’ Home attic in a row of iron beds for three months. The situation had become increasingly difficult there too. I don’t want to go into detail of all the danger and unpleasantness they went through. One thing they did experience was the faithfulness of God as He provided for their needs. Amongst the subjects I had been teaching to the student nurses was Pharmacology. Most of the students were now Lebanese – Druze or Christian girls from the district. Because people could not get to Beirut, (and some of the local doctors who were specialists had moved up to the mountains for safety), the hospital had become a general medical and surgical hospital with a maternity section as well. It was a more suitable place for all round nursing training than previously. However I realized that I was out of touch with what was happening on the wards and in the district. I felt my time at the hospital was nearly over – after fourteen years. I told them I would no longer teach after the end of the semester. When we left the hospital after the three months, I returned regularly to complete the Pharmacology course. I had one more lecture to give when the road was cut by the Israeli invasion. I could not have taught in the future at any rate. God had given the right guidance once more.

181 Following the time at the hospital, we moved to another mountain and stayed for a year in Brummana. One of our mission families had gone on furlough and we lived in their home. It was a house with a flat roof and stood on stilts. This was great in summer; lovely and cool. Our pastor’s wife and daughter came to stay for a few days while he was abroad. But winter in this house was very cold. It was like being in a refrigerator with cold air all around. The snow lay on the roof and I have probably never been as cold in my whole life. The shoes became mouldy in the wardrobes. We had one bedroom heated and also entertained there. We even had two of our missionaries from Jordan come for Christmas. Eventually we moved more and more things into the one bedroom and slept, ate and lived there – all four of us! I still cooked in the kitchen – wearing a scarf on my head to keep warm. I was feeling very down one evening. Life seemed so difficult – and so cold and lonely. Then a couple of Baptist missionaries – David and his wife - arrived on our doorstep. It was quite late because he had been at a meeting but they came up the mountain to bring me a turkey hotpot dish. That act of kindness spoke to me loudly of the Lord’s love and care. He knew my circumstances and expressed His love through those dear friends. They can never know how much it meant to me. As far as the fighting went, Brummana was relatively safer than Hadeth. We could hear sounds of shelling but little came our way. There was some danger later when a number of midair dogfights between the Syrians and Israelis took place overhead and planes dropped nearby – a little frightening. In East Beirut a number of car bombs went off. Neville and the children had to go to school in that part of the city. They travelled down and up the mountain, to and from school. Once the snow blocked the road and prevented them from getting there. Colin and Joan were also living in Brummana. He was Headmaster of the Evangelical School where Neville taught in East Beirut. The children were practising for the Christmas pageant one day when the shelling intensified. Jeanette was tearful presumably remembering the last time the school was shelled in April. Paul reassured her that Daddy would come and fetch them soon. Which he did, as soon as he could leave his class. For the umpteenth time, school was dismissed early. We got to know our neighbours and enjoyed visiting them – except for one, who turned out not to be a nice man. I was also able to share in a Ladies’ Bible study group in the village. This had been arranged by Colin’s wife, Joan. For a number of years we also had mission gatherings at Joan’s and Colin’s home in Brummana, including at Christmas time. They were Field Leaders for quite a long time. Neville acquired a number of books that he kept in the car. He used to give lifts to people waiting by the side of the road, speak to them about

182 the Lord (he had a captive audience as they travelled up the mountain) and then offer them a book. “Peace with God” by Billy Graham had been translated into Arabic and was one of the books he gave to these people. There was one nun he gave a lift to who was most appreciative of the book, and the chat they had on the way. The Christmas in Brummana was a memorable one. As usual we bought the children presents. On Christmas morning they found them in their pillowslips. Then Neville asked them, “Is that all?” He encouraged them to look around. They found a number of other exciting gifts. These were not new but a family we knew had given us some very good toys that their children had outgrown. Our two were thrilled with their extra toys. For a while I was able to return to our old village of Hadeth once a week. I visited our neighbours, and took part in the ladies’ group. The main road below our flat was desolate, empty, lined by damaged and largely deserted buildings. We knew there were men with guns behind sandbags in those windows facing our flat. The corrugated iron in the windows was “holey” due to shrapnel. Wind and dust blew freely through the glassless openings while shattered glass and dust covered the furniture. Neighbours who had left were returning and refugees from the other side of the line occupied the flat below ours. We were able to take many of our personal belongings up to Brummana. We had God’s protection on the roads. While Neville and I were still teaching at Hamlin Nursing School, He had delivered us when armed men tried to flag us down. There were roadblocks all over the place – some “official” and some not. Even the “official” ones - Lebanese army, Syrian army, Israeli army – could be dangerous if you misunderstood what they said. One person did not stop, thinking probably that they had been waved on. A burst of bullets put an end to that life. The unofficial, militia roadblocks were even more “dicey” depending on what their intentions were. Sometimes the militiamen wore ski masks to hide their identity. When the Israeli invasion of Lebanon took place, we were thankful to be up in Brummana, further away from the attack on Beirut. We could hear the sound of heavy explosions - and see clouds of smoke when we travelled down the mountain to church. People from our old village of Hadeth were warned that they should leave. We found the large Israeli tanks that swept past our front door in Brummana an aggravation as they stirred up dust and leaves and left our

183 entrance looking very messy. Some people in our “canton” welcomed the invaders but that changed as the Israelis made themselves unpopular through their arrogance at the roadblocks. During these months Neville was not at all well. He felt weak and spent time on the bed resting. He continued teaching but was not coping well. He easily got impatient with the children too. We had to consider going home for medical tests but Neville was reluctant to leave. In spite of his physical weakness there were opportunities for sharing the good news. The lease on the house in Brummana was coming to an end. We moved to another apartment in the same village. The landlord was the brother of the lady who owned the house. The “new” flat was the ground floor of a lovely, old stone building with arches. There was a central hall/reception room (“daar” in Arabic) that served as the lounge. The tops of the windows ended in pointed arches. There were also arched windows over the doors. Three bedrooms, dining room and kitchen plus an old-fashioned bathroom and extra toilet completed the house. We loved it but the plumbing was not up to scratch. The mission family who followed us in the house did not appreciate that part. There was one other matter that concerned us in that house. Like most people in the village the neighbour, across the steps that led from the main road, had a septic tank. It needed emptying but for some reason they had not got it done. Their tank was overflowing and the sewage ran down the steps next to our house and garden for as long as we stayed there, I think. It was enough to upset any mother with young children. Subsequently new sewers were put in, in this village. To get the medical attention Neville needed, we went to South Africa for the summer of 1982. We saw our families and spoke at some church meetings. Around about this time we discovered that Paul was short sighted. Neville’s mother had a Bible College student, Ian, boarding with her. He pointed out that Paul was sitting very close to the T.V. We just thought our son had got into a bad habit and told him to move further away from the set each time. We had his eyes tested. He was six when he got his first thick-lens spectacles. Neville had also been six when he was found to have fairly severe myopia. Like father, like son. Neville was diagnosed as suffering from reactive depression. Later he was found to have hypoglycaemia. Considering his other symptoms it seemed to us that he was most likely suffering from something like M.E. He was affected for years but later slowly improved. It could have been on this trip home that we arranged for our friends Graham and Glenda (then childless) from our church in Johannesburg to be the guardians of our children in case we were killed. We also had medals engraved with the name and phone number of the Blind School in Lebanon, in case something happened to us. Children got “lost” in the fighting and we

184 wanted our two to get back to South Africa if we died. Jeanette and Paul wore these around their necks in Lebanon. We had no guidance to stay in South Africa so we returned to Lebanon, via Cyprus. I might mention that we had about 24 moves between different places in Lebanon, Cyprus and South Africa during the nine “war years”. I had a little china jug in the shape of a house. Eventually I said, “Wherever we put the jug down, that is home”. Talk about nomads! We were back in our home in Hadeth. There was a lull in the fighting. The Lebanon Evangelical Boys’ School was repaired for the second time but events prevented its use and it was again damaged. Neville was teaching in the senior section of the co-ed school as before. He also ran the book room and students came early to talk to him about spiritual matters or for Bible study. Jeanette was in Junior four and Paul was in Junior two. Their schooling was basically in Arabic and English was a second language. I got upset about the amount of homework these young children were given. Surely a small child should play in the afternoons? However some of the Lebanese parents who mostly lived in apartments wanted their children to have homework. In this way they were kept out of mischief at home. I struggled to assist Jeanette with her work. I was fluent in everyday Arabic and conversant with classical Arabic in the church context. I had also studied the Arabic used in the media. But I did not have the vocabulary for Maths and Science, History and Geography. The last three were learnt off by heart in simple classical Arabic. I shed more than one tear of frustration and despair as I tried to help. Somehow, we survived but when Jeanette had to do Maths in South Africa she only knew the Arabic words for “add”, “subtract”, “divide” etc. Another thing I did not like was that my daughter was speaking English with an Arabic accent. Instead of speaking like us she was copying her Lebanese teacher. Paul’s English was not as affected. The way opened for me to start a pilot School Health programme in the East Beirut School. If this went well it could be extended to other Evangelical schools. I saw the children at school and then tried to do home visits where required. It was quite difficult getting to the homes using public transport – services, private buses (no more cheap municipal buses; some had been used as barricades in the fighting and were damaged or unusable) or walking. Finding the homes was equally difficult as there were no addresses, as we understand them. There were no numbers on the buildings but they were known by the name of the owner. If I got to the correct district, the local shopkeeper or neighbours might help me. Some homes were in damaged areas. However the visits I did do, although time-consuming, were worthwhile. With certain parents, not only did we discuss their children’s health but also the most important issues of life

185 and death. I prayed and asked the Lord to give me a car for the work. Neville needed the other car but my own transport would really help. However there was no response from God. The multinational force was then in Lebanon and the British contingent was stationed near the end of our village. On a visit to Byblos we met one of their men and invited him home for a meal. We had also had a New Zealander in the United Nations to our home on another occasion. Talk turned to God and we gave our British friend a Bible. Others in the group also wanted Bibles so Mike took in about ten more to their camp. There did not appear to be any known believers amongst them. (Some of our workers were involved in ministering spiritually to the Americans and there were committed Christians in their ranks. Yet other missionaries and nationals ensured that Scriptures were offered to French, Italian and Syrian soldiers as well.) Neville visited Mike with Paul and our little boy was thrilled to climb on their armoured cars and have his photo taken.

Living in a war situation meant no pets as a general rule. However our children had a pet snail, called Sally Snail. This intrigued our neighbours who were feeding other snails bran so they could eat them as a delicacy. (They also bred quails for food.) When we were back in Cape Town at one stage, my Aunty Isabelle was highly amused by our children’s concern for her snails. She was trying to eradicate them. To Jeanette and Paul they were pets. We also acquired a hamster known as Houdini the Great Escape Artist. He disappeared down the drainpipe into the garden. I thought we had seen the last of Houdini. Later in the evening we were visiting the neighbours on the ground floor when our rodent friend slipped into their kitchen from outside. Looking for a snack maybe? He was cornered and the children were happy to have their pet back. Later in the year (1983) the situation in our area deteriorated once more. Long range shelling took place and suddenly death and destruction came to some. Again we went back to South Africa. Glenda had died of cancer and Neville’s mother was not well with shingles (I think it was at this time). Hopefully, we were a comfort to her. Once the circumstances

186 in the Middle East improved, we returned to our home in Hadeth, travelling via Cyprus to Lebanon.

A Chapter Ends The shooting was sporadic. Christmas once more approached. We prepared with presents and food. On Christmas eve there were again the sounds of war. Christmas day was not good – fighting on and off. We only had one guest, Yola, who lived at the other end of the village and barely made it to our area. In spite of the danger and disrupted lives, Lebanon was still home. Up to this time we felt no liberty from God to leave our post. We were there as a witness – and hopefully comfort - to our suffering neighbours and friends. The Lord cared about them in all they were enduring. Some might have called us foolhardy and irresponsible parents, but we believed that God had a plan. The safest way to live was to follow His plan and purpose for us. Early in the New Year there was a respite and we were able to go to West Beirut and meet with some of our mission colleagues. They encouraged us to move over to the Blind School on the west side of the city where there was less shooting. However we felt we should stay in the East. We were thankful we had done so when we heard that the Blind School had been invaded by armed men only a few days later. They made life very unpleasant for the staff living and working there. In our area the situation also got worse. We had no electricity. Telephone lines were cut. We were cut off from our colleagues. We slept in the passage. Below us buildings were burnt out or collapsed. Tanks were being used. Our neighbours were in the basement with sandbags to protect them. We decided not to join them. The basement flat was crowded, ill lit, full of cigarette smoke and it was more frightening to hear missiles landing without being able to see what was happening. We wanted to keep life as normal as possible for our children. We stayed in our apartment although the village was being shelled from the areas below us and from the mountains above us. We had glass windows once more (hope springs eternal…) in the lounge so it was light and pleasant, also dangerous! The children played with their toys and read their books. They were used to not being able to go outside when there was fighting. In Paul’s bedroom, Neville had built a train layout on stilts. Father and son had enjoyed watching the trains go round. Even if the layout had still been up, they could no longer play “railways” now, as there was no electricity. Under the layout Jeanette had a “house” where she played with her dolls and pram. The little grocery shop near us was hit by a shell. At the beginning of that week I said to the Lord, “I’ve had it. I feel I have

187 nothing more inside me to cope with this situation anymore.” God graciously spoke to me and reassured me. Our car was now the only one in the road next to the house of the parliamentary Deputy. His building was hit and debris fell on the car. Behind our building was an empty parking space. Neville thought he would move the car to a safer place. The Lord challenged him. “It is not where you put your car but whether you trust Me.” So our car remained exposed in its solitary state. Friday morning there was a lull in the shooting and we saw our neighbours for a while. Neville sensed a release in his spirit and told me, “Start packing.” So during Friday I packed, not knowing when we would leave. There was a house behind us and to one side. They were hidden from the firing. Around lunch time the unmarried daughter of the house sat on the veranda drying her hair. A mortar came over unexpectedly and in less than a second her life was over. Our children saw her lying there. The family rushed her to hospital but it was too late. This family lost two sons and a daughter in the war. The mother was the lady who wanted silver and gold for the wedding present. Her mind was affected by the loss of her children. We visited in later years but she was not able to hold a normal conversation. So the war piled tragedy upon tragedy. Previously another neighbour down the lane had suffered a serious head injury due to a shell hitting their home. Other friends connected with the hospital lived nearby. Wadia’s wife had been paralysed after being hit by a piece of shrapnel. Her daughter and daughters-in-law nursed her until she died some years later. The young, the old, the children – no one knew who would be the next victim. Later that afternoon I was still packing, sorting, organizing. Neville had gone to see a friend about our car. I sent the children into the kitchen to make their own sandwiches. They wanted to argue but I insisted that they obey. They walked out of the kitchen with their bread and onto the glassed-in veranda. At that moment a large shell came through the kitchen wall, exploded and went through a second wall onto the stairs. The smell and taste of cordite was around us. The kitchen was partly destroyed, the pressure turned the taps on. But our whole family, though shocked, was safe. Neighbours came running to help and took the children to another house directly behind our building. They were holed up in their kitchen with sandbags. We knew we had to leave. Further shells might come our way. Neville took our remaining fish in its bowl to Haleem’s and Jill’s house, two minutes walk away. They were friends of many years standing. She was British and had come to a personal relationship with God through Hazel’s Bible study group. They had two daughters and we had all shared much through the troubles. We asked them to deal with some of our belongings and offered them the dinner service that had been a wedding present from Neville’s Great-Aunt Hester

188 Markgraaf. Later we marvelled at the way we had been delivered. On any other evening we might have been together in the kitchen having supper before it got dark. It was February and night came early. I could have been standing in line with the shell as I often stood working in front of the sink. Because I was packing, our normal routine was disturbed and not one of us was in the kitchen. The other miracle was our car. Because Neville had not moved it in answer to God’s challenge to trust Him, it was still intact. Another car, in the parking lot where Neville had wanted to park, was damaged by the mortar that killed the girl earlier in the day. It lost all its glass, the petrol tank was hit and the fuel lost and the tyres were punctured. We still had a car to leave the area. We were ready to go but unable to find our official papers – passports and residence permits. We could not go anywhere without them. It was getting dark and we prayed. Eventually we found them under a chair. How they got there was a mystery. Having packed up the car, we left our apartment in Hadeth. In spite of living elsewhere at times, we had considered that our home for fifteen years. It was dusk, electric and telephone wires lay across the roads. There was probably shooting in the background as we made our way up to the Baptist College in a safer area. There we stayed for some days before we left for Cyprus by boat, possibly never to return. This was another uncomfortable boat trip. We have travelled back and forth to Lebanon via Cyprus a number of times. Earlier in “the Events” we could still use the airport but it became increasingly dangerous. The first boat trip we had was probably the worst. At that time the harbour at Jounieh was not deep enough to take big ships. The ship was anchored out in the bay and we were ferried to it in little wooden boats. It was a frightening experience as some of the boatmen were jostling each other to get there first. Remember none of us could swim properly. Jeanette and Paul were taken from the small boat as the ship rolled towards us. They were lifted on board by the militiamen. Our children were distressed until their parents were safely on board. (Some other children were apparently lost from these small boats at another time, also luggage, we were told.) The ship was crowded, the toilets unusable, we sat on deck on a hard bench. I had an arm around each child and we were a short distance from the open rails on the edge of the deck. Neville was no help. As usual he was not travelling well and was feeling very nauseous. He sat alone near the rail in his misery. Some distance out to sea an Israeli gunboat stopped us and kept us rocking on the swells for nearly an hour. They were apparently checking the passenger list. As a result we were going to be too late to get into Larnaca harbour that night. I viewed this prospect with dismay. But God

189 saw our need and the people of Cyprus will always have my grateful thanks for their kindness. Instead of going home at 10pm as they were entitled to do, the harbour officials stayed late and saw our ship in. They could have left us out in the bay until the next morning. When the officials came aboard, they said, “Families with children first.” In no time we were out, met by our mission family in Larnaca. Praise God. But that was in the past and now we faced another boat trip. The Jounieh harbour had been deepened and ships arrived and left from the dock. This time we travelled in a car ferry boat. The passengers occupied the area where cars should have been. Deck chairs were roped to the floor. Mine fell over in the middle of the night and I hurt my hip. Our children slept on the suitcases. We occupied the hold of the ship with many Lebanese fleeing their homeland. It was a sad sight. Once again, the toilets were miles away. We were on the sea overnight for many hours. In 1968 our family consisted of two and we arrived with seven crates. Now we were four and left Lebanon with four suitcases. (Later another missionary brought another suitcase plus, of our belongings to South Africa.) Once more we arrived in Cyprus. It was February 1984. We stayed at our mission guest flat in Larnaca for six weeks. This was an uncertain time. We prayed that God would guide us concerning the future. While there, the South African Home Council of our mission sent us a fax. They invited us to return to Cape Town and do full time deputation work in South African churches. We were not sure of God’s leading but eventually decided to go home on an early furlough - that was due in August at any rate. We got back to Johannesburg in April 1984. The time in Larnaca had not been wasted. We had time to pray about the future. It gave us an opportunity to relax and share fellowship with our workers there. I was able to teach Jeanette all her multiplication tables as well. So ended this chapter in our lives. No wonder God did not answer my prayer for a car to use in the School Health programme visiting. He knew we would not be staying. The Lord, Who is faithful to His promises, had helped us all the way – through the nine years of “the Events” that we had experienced and the seven years in the Middle East before that. He had very clearly closed the door to Lebanon – with a bang - for the time being. Our new home was to be in our homeland, South Africa.

190 A New Chapter Begins We returned to Johannesburg and stayed with Neville’s mother in Parkhurst. Neville travelled around the country taking deputation meetings. The children both went to Parkhurst Primary School. As they were young for their classes, we decided to put them back a year in order to consolidate their education in English. Jeanette enjoyed singing in the school choir and they seemed happy as they adjusted to this next phase of their young lives. It was good for our children to live more normal and settled lives. Although our own experience taught us, that young children find the greatest security in being with their parents – regardless of outward conditions. Of course we had certain advantages in that the Lord enabled Neville and myself to be calm in the face of danger and we had many praying for us. We still did not know what the future held for us. However, as the year progressed it became clearer that we should stay in South Africa as home-based workers with our mission. We needed to move to Cape Town for this ministry but that was no hardship for us as there was no place that we would rather have lived. We faced the prospect of setting up a home, with virtually nothing. So I made a list and presented it to the Lord. The list went something like this: 1 house, 1 car, 1 lounge suite, 1 washing machine, etc. pots, pan, dishes, etc. rubbish bin, iron, kettle, etc. sheets, blankets, etc. In detail I wrote down everything I thought we needed to have, to furnish a home. I told no one – not even Neville. Then the one and only Triune God, Who is always faithful and so good, began to answer. One by one I crossed the items off my list. It was so exciting that I had to share it with Jeanette. Neville went down to Cape Town and bought a house which had been a Baptist manse at a very reasonable price – although we had to fix the house up. God led him concerning the house and the money to buy it in cash. He will have told about it in his story. We still enjoy this home. The things I particularly like about it are the lounge with its arches, fireplace and sunroom extension, our big bedroom, the good-sized kitchen as well as the garden and view of the mountain. It is a modest house in a

191 modest suburb but we are so grateful for God’s wonderful provision for us. A friend from Rosebank Assembly gave us a car - a red Datsun. Unfortunately, they had an over-eager, helpful gardener. He drove the car into the garage and managed to damage one of the doors on the very day we took possession of it. However it served us well for many years. Neville’s mother also gave us a yellow Datsun so we became a two-car family. Other church friends offered us a leather lounge suite as well as a mahogany bedroom suite. Someone else gave us a set of pots and so it went. Curtains, linen, dishes, cutlery – the list became shorter and shorter. Without making our needs known, they were met. We had to arrange transport of all the stuff to Cape Town to coincide with our arrival. In the meantime Uncle Percy, who had shares in Carmel Guest farm, arranged for us to go there for a holiday. So on the way to Cape Town we stopped off at George and enjoyed a good break in an outside rondavel with meals in the main house. It was great, for the children in particular, to share in fun with other young people. We took a train trip on the Outeniqua choo-choo (steam train). We got off in the middle of nowhere expecting another train to come through soon. We waited in the hot sun for a very long time before a train stopped to pick us up. We had somehow miscalculated. It was a good holiday. However we were eager to see our new house and early in December we arrived at our destination. We were home – December 1984.

A New Home, A New Life Our new house in Plumstead was about thirty-six years old. It had been solidly built by a Dutch owner/builder. The house was rectangular in shape with one half longer than the other. A patio with Grecian pillars completed the shorter side and a door led out from the sunroom onto the patio. The front door was situated halfway along the longer side and led into a fairly large hallway. To the left there was an archway and a long lounge ending in the sunroom. The quarry tile fireplace was set into a wall panelled in knotty pine wood. Between the lounge and sunroom was another wider arch. The sunroom had a very large picture window that gave the sense of almost living in the garden. To the left at the end of the hallway was our spacious bedroom with long built-in cupboards. Two windows looked out on the patio. A passage continued at right angles from the hall. On the left was the door to Jeanette’s bedroom and to the right was Paul’s room. This passage ended at the entrance to the kitchen. On the left was the scullery and to the right our kitchen/dining room. Beyond the scullery lay the laundry and the back door. At right angles to the first passage was a

192 second one leading to the bathroom and a separate toilet. Outside there were maid’s quarters and a small bathroom as well as the garage. The garden consisted of lawn, with a few shrubs and trees. Neville was not interested in gardening. In Lebanon we only had pot plants and I was the custodian of those. After sorting out the house, unpacking, arranging etc, I started working on the garden. Due to a back problem it was difficult for me to continue. So Neville took over and the garden became his project and hobby. Wherever he travelled in the country in later years, he collected bits and pieces – seeds, bulbs, cuttings, shrubs, small trees, annuals and perennials. They all made their way to our garden. Slowly the lawn area was cut back to make way for shrubs and plants. We played croquet on the lawn. Paul would play rugby with the dog. Later we had brick paths and flowerbeds with many species, also plenty of trees (inside our high wall and outside on the pavement) as well as creepers and shrubs. We put in a pump and well point for watering, using a gift from a friend who moved to the UK. There were plant pots in various shapes and sizes, extra pillars and beams, hanging plant containers, a birdbath and pond with the goldfish and water lilies. Once we found a big fish in the pond when Neville cleaned it. We can only speculate how it got there. Maybe the spawn was introduced on a piece of oxygenating plant from a lake. The garden gave us much pleasure over many years. There has also been some grief. From time to time we had to leave it in the care of others and were nearly always disappointed. We lost many plants in the times we were away – mostly due to inadequate watering during hot spells. We have tried not to use poisons and been rewarded with chameleons making their home in the shrubs and creepers. The birds visited us frequently – “Witogies” or “White eyes” (often in a small flock, flitting from tree to tree and eating insect pests although they may have helped themselves to loquats and grapes); starlings (spotted European and very black, red- winged ones with their high, sweet whistle); sparrows (the male more interestingly marked than the rather drab female); a solitary wagtail; olive thrushes with orange bellies (hopefully keeping down the snail population as they ferreted amongst the leaves on the ground); doves (Cape turtle doves; laughing doves with their distinctive cooing sounds and bigger red eyed doves); beautiful lesser collared sunbirds (the males with shimmering green heads and red scarf) a pleasure to see and hear. Other birds have visited us but the above have been the most common. We also had our own orange-breasted Cape robin for quite a time but he disappeared. But sooner or later another one would reappear. The fiscal shrike arrived occasionally, sitting high on a tree. It was not welcome and I sometimes shouted to scare it away. I hated the ravens coming to our garden. They preyed on the smaller birds. I found the doves

193 to be slow and foolish creatures; easy prey for cats and the ravens that lived in a very tall pine tree near our house. The doves’ nests are badly put together with the minimum of twigs. One dim dove built its nest in the cypress tree in full view of the raven that flew overhead and grabbed a bird from the nest. Doves were also eager consumers of our dog’s food pellets and quite tame. They sit on the pergola doing their courting and we can lie on our bed watching their antics. In fact the sunroom and bedroom were excellent places for bird watching. A baby dove fell out of a pine tree onto our pavement – probably due to strong wind. Neville rescued it and we tried to keep it alive in our kitchen for two days but it died. The apparent parent bird hung around our back door sitting on the fence nearby. It seemed to know that we had the little one. A friend, Nigel, from church did research on moles. He had a Ph.D. from Cape Town University. We had a problem with golden moles (they are actually black with a sheen on their coats) in our garden. They are very cute looking but they burrow under the plant roots, leaving them hanging loose in their tunnels and the plants die through lack of water. They do not eat bulbs like the rat-toothed mole but cause them to drop due to the tunnelling. The bulbs do not come up because they are then buried too deeply. The golden mole is good to have because it gets rid of insect pests in the soil. The good is unfortunately counteracted by the negative effects they produce. Neville caught these creatures by flooding their tunnels. He used to take them to the park and set them free. Then Nigel offered to pay us for any specimens we caught for him. Once he and Neville found a nest with young in our garden near the wall and our zoologist friend took it off to the university. Nigel was really pleased as he said that it was the first time such a nest of the golden mole had been found. He planned to write an article on it. Apparently, the young moles did not survive laboratory conditions. Seeing as I have gone off on a tangent about the garden I might as well finish it. At one time I asked the Lord to give me some roses. Neville did not want to get any more rose bushes, as the ones we had tried were not over-successful. I love roses. In answer to my prayer we received a number of lovely rose plants from a friend in my Bible study group. They were doing away with their rose bed and we benefited. Any time Neville did not agree with something, I would not try and insist on my own way. I talked to the Lord about it and let Him overrule if He thought it a good idea. Our soil was sandy, not ideal for roses, so Neville dug clay into the rose bed. At another time I made a list of the plants I should like to have in the garden and prayed about it. Most of the things I asked for were received. God is not just there to answer our “shopping lists” but He is a gracious and generous Heavenly Father. The knowledge that He cares about the

194 details of our lives is an incentive to praise and thank Him and appreciate His kindness. However if He says, “No” we should equally praise Him. His actions are never arbitrary but are for our good, the good of others, the extension of His Kingdom, for His glory. We are there to serve His purposes, not our own. We were so blessed with our garden that it was the source of inspiration of many poems I wrote. I mostly wrote for our own pleasure, and that of close family and friends, but Neville persuaded me to put them all together in a book, which we had printed, entitled “The Fingerprint of God”. There was plenty to be done in the new house. Neville painted inside and out and we had new carpets put down. In later years the carpets were pulled up and Neville laid ceramic floor tiles in all the rooms except two of the bedrooms. He worked very hard in laying the tiles as he had to chip off the tar that had originally held parquet floors in place. The house had metal window frames and afterwards we had them replaced by teak wood ones. Neville installed a number of the new windows himself after watching the experts do the first one. Just after we arrived in Plumstead we linked up at Medway Chapel (now called Medway Community Church) where I had been baptized in my teens. This has been our home church for over thirty-six years. We received much love and friendship through this fellowship of Christians. We were also able to be involved in different ways over the succeeding years – Neville in preaching, teaching and running a Boys’ club and myself in speaking at Ladies’ meetings, being responsible for a Girls’ club, as Sunday school teacher and Sunday school superintendent. In their late teens, our children also helped with Sunday school teaching, running the high school youth group, camps and holiday clubs. So Medway was an important part of our lives. There was much hospitality shared and Jeanette and Paul “grew up” in the homes of Medway members - as their friends also freely came in and out of our home. There was a close family bond in our church for which I am thankful. Soon after we moved in, Dennis arrived on our doorstep. He owned a garage and was one of the Medway family. He came to see what we still needed in our home and wanted to buy us a washing machine but we already had one. His wife sent us a luncheon set and he brought us a most useful extension cord – much used over the years. We were very touched by their loving concern. They were true friends giving us assistance through their garage and helping us buy two of our cars in later years. They also became faithful supporters of our work. Neville discovered the auction houses in Wynberg. What was still wanted in our home, we bought from them. We acquired various things over a period of time including a

195 number of paintings at very reasonable prices. So our home was “filled with beautiful things”. Having returned to South Africa with virtually nothing, God had provided abundantly through His people. Paul and Jeanette started school again in January 1985. Paul was at Plumstead Preparatory School and Jeanette at John Graham Primary. Both schools were near our home and John Graham was situated opposite Medway Chapel. Jeanette worked hard at school and did well. She was in Grade Five (Std 3). In Grade Six (Std 4) she became friendly with Mary-Ann who was to play a big part in her life and is still her best girl friend. Mary- Ann lived just around the corner from us and had one brother, two years her senior. The family went to the Roman Catholic Church. Jeanette was nominated as a prefect for Grade Seven. We were happy with her progress at school. She worked as a library monitor. Her class went on an environment camp to “School in the Wilds” and enjoyed the experience. The camp was run by Christians and so there was spiritual input as well as learning about the world of nature. Jeanette tried her hand at field hockey as well and continued to play in high school. Our daughter was a great reader. She could scan a page, reading extremely quickly. We did not believe that she could read so fast. We took the book from her and questioned her on the contents. She certainly had read it and digested the information. Our daughter read everything she could lay her hands on. She enjoyed the “Little House on the Prairie” series and Patricia St John’s books as well as other authors such as C.S. Lewis. At a relatively young age she even read “Les Miserables”. During these primary school years Jeanette had further operations on her hands at the Red Cross Children’s Hospital. Professor Bloch was the plastic surgeon who was responsible for her and was very kind. I stayed with Jeanette as much as possible and she got a present each time – as per tradition. She now had ten separate fingers of differing lengths. The doctor did not wish to do any further surgery for cosmetic purposes - that she could ask for when she was grown up. At that young age they were only concerned to improve the function of her hands. In fact Jeanette has done wonderfully well. She could do everything any other child did. She played tennis and hockey (although it was not as easy for her to grip the sports equipment as for others), did artistic calligraphy and got a merit in needlework. As a music teacher, Neville’s mother felt she would not be able to play the piano. I believe she could have done it. It just meant adjusting the fingering. We bought Jeanette an electric keyboard as she has a good ear for music and a lovely voice. Reluctant to sing solos in public, she was happy to sing in a choir. We have never made allowances for Jeanette’s hands but expected her to do everything – and she did. She found her own way of doing things like tying bows. At the

196 Johannesburg Hospital, Professor Walker undid the bow on her gown and asked her to retie it for the benefit of the medical students who were with him. He then asked them, “Do you think she will have any problem in getting married?” They answered, “No”, because she was such a bright, attractive and outgoing little person. To complete the subject of Jeanette’s hands, we never expected her to be different or not take part in anything. Only once did I ask her to abstain from an activity. The Medway young people were going up the mountain. They were to make use of the chains fixed on Lion’s Head. Because it was a matter of life and death and Jeanette could not grip as well as the others, I asked her not to go on the chains. In retrospect, I expect that she did use them. Otherwise how could she have got up – or down – the mountain with the rest of the group? I might have saved my breath. Jeanette never did have further cosmetic surgery as an adult. She is not at all self-conscious and accepts herself as she is. She did experience some initial rejection from other children when young but, when they got to know her, the hands were not an issue. As a teacher she would give a word of explanation to a new class - children are naturally curious - and that settled the matter. Because of her vivacious personality many people don’t even notice that her hands are different. We are so proud of our daughter and so thankful for all that God has done in her life. In Grade Seven Jeanette went through a traumatic time. One of her friends at school was a Portuguese boy, Renato. His parents had a grocery shop. One evening robbers entered the premises and shot father and son. The father survived but Renato died. Jeanette was devastated. I went with her to his funeral service at the Roman Catholic Church. He was only twelve years old and a really nice boy. From time to time, I took Jeanette to visit his grief- stricken mother in the shop. Our hearts went out to her in her sorrow. At the end of Grade 7 Jeanette’s class had their Junior Prom. Jeanette and Mary- Ann were excited and we took a photograph of them in their special dresses. They did not have partners as it was only for the Grade 7 students. At the end of the evening, Jeanette’s friends called out to her, “Here’s your Dad.” How humiliating to have your father fetching you wearing his Arab robe! He was returning from taking a mission meeting at some church.

197 Paul started in Grade Three (Std 1) when we came to live in Plumstead. He wore thick glasses but became very keen on sport from that year. Shaun was his friend, a friendship that lasted many years. Later he had two other special friends as well – Barry and Douglas. They socialized and played rugby together. (Paul got Barry and Shaun to join him at Medway for youth activities.) The following year Paul moved to John Graham and continued with his cricket and rugby, and later soccer and tennis as well. In Grade Seven he was in the first school teams for all four sports. In Grade Five he won the “Most Improved Cricketer” award and two years later he was awarded “Cricketer of the Year” for the school. He held the school record for the most fifties scored in a season, for many years and maybe still does. He went to the inter-school Van der Byl week and made 44 runs. Unfortunately his innings was interrupted when his glasses fell off and broke. He played cricket with his spectacles, and rugby without. Paul spent hours in our backyard practising his cricket – throwing the ball against the wall and hitting it as it bounced back. He played for “two different teams” as he hit and kept score! He was a specialist batsman but we also encouraged him to put his heart into fielding. In rugby, he played hooker in junior school (being short and well built) but in senior school he changed to playing fly half, centre and back. He was good at fly half as he had a “rugby brain”. Two episodes from John Graham have stayed in my memory. One occurred during a game against an Afrikaans school. Many South Africans take their rugby very seriously but few can match the passion of some Afrikaans people. This boy was running for the try line with his mother shouting, “Ek gee jou tien rand” (I will give you ten Rand)! Talk about “incentives” and/or “bribery”. Or was professionalism creeping into junior school sport? The other occurrence was when the John Graham team travelled a long distance to play against a school in Ceres. It is a very cold area as I mentioned once before. Our boys were used to playing in thick socks and rugby boots. Their feet were relatively soft. However the Ceres boys played barefoot and their feet were hardened and calloused. Our tenderfoot boys had to play barefoot that day. Guess who won? There was a family at the church who owned a business. They shared a special chalet at Newlands cricket ground with another company. Paul was delighted when one of the family invited him to sit in their chalet at a cricket game. However when Paul arrived none of the people present in the chalet knew him and he was denied entrance. Together with his friend he sat under the chalet instead of in it during the game! Another time our friends ensured that he was allowed into the chalet. This was a special experience for a primary school boy who normally sat on the grass or in the stands.

198 The youngsters who played rugby (including our son) were encouraged to watch the games at the famous Newlands rugby ground. A special section right in front was kept for the budding future Springboks. Many of the young schoolboys aspired to the dream of playing for their country but only the few had the talent and perseverance needed. Our family went for a picnic in the Tokai forest. Paul’s friend Shaun accompanied us. Paul had taken a golf club with him to practise his swing. As he swung the club back, Shaun moved behind him. Club and Shaun’s teeth connected. We had to rush him back to his family who had to get him to their dentist for emergency treatment. Academically Paul did not overexert himself although classed as potentially an “A” student i.e. according to the IQ tests. He got into a lot of trouble in Grade Five for neglecting his homework. With the minimum of effort he managed to pass each year. I would have helped him more with his learning subjects if I had known that he had them for homework! He regularly informed us that he had no homework. He was very quick in subjects like maths but also careless at times. He was one of his school’s representatives in a “Maths Olympiad”. His school reports complained about talking in class and distracting others. He received the Art merit certificate one year. He could also write good and interesting essays. He wrote a story of his life illustrated by photographs. Unlike his sister he was not a great reader – too busy with other interests. Matthew, the son of a missionary (Brian who was born in Lebanon) joined his class. Through this friend Paul developed an interest in philately for a while and started his own collection of stamps but the interest did not last. In Grade Seven Paul was chosen as one of the school prefects. He too had the opportunity to go to “School in the Wild. One of the children needed money to pay for “School in the Wild”. The amount required was R68. Our friend, Wally arrived at our home and gave us a gift of R70. He said that he intended to spend the money on a new exhaust pipe but the Lord told him to give it to us. This was the only time we received a personal gift from this friend. The timing and amount were the miracles. So the money for “School in the Wild” was provided. In Grade Seven, when he was twelve years old, Paul went to a Scripture Union camp at “Camp Faraway” in Noordhoek. It was there that Paul committed his life to Christ. That was the beginning of his new life in spite of ups and downs in the succeeding years. “He Who has begun a good work in you, will complete it till the day of Jesus Christ.¨ For one of our birthdays the four of us went to Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens as a treat. We could afford fish and chips at the restaurant but no drinks and no dessert. When we had finished our meal the waiter asked us whether we would like anything else. We refused. He said, “But a

199 gentleman who was sitting over there (at an outside table) has paid for you”. He handed Neville the slip and on it were written the words, “Baytna baytkum” (our house is your house). We did not know who it was but he must have heard Neville speaking on the Middle East. Because all had been paid for, we ordered fruit drinks and dessert – and there was enough over for a good tip for the waiter. We tried to be part of life at the children’s schools. So I did Tuck shop duty for many years. In this way I got to know other mothers including the mothers of our children’s friends. Once a year there was a school fete to get extra funds and I also involved myself in this. Neville would buy plants or vegetables but I helped at the second-hand bookstall. I found interesting old books with the covers beautifully illustrated, sometimes partly in gold. I built up a small collection of these books that sold for very little at the bazaars. We attended special events that involved the children and were present at their sports matches. We also gave lifts to friends when they played away, at other schools. Our children were fortunate to live close to their own schools so they walked to most events held there. Eventually they each got a bicycle and could ride to their friends. I prayed they would be safe. It is scary to know your child is out there riding on busy roads. At the same time we knew that we could not keep them at home for the rest of their lives. Bit by bit they had to learn independence and we had to let them go – after being sure they were competent e.g. to ride a bicycle safely, and various pieces of advice, teaching and admonition were given on the subject in question! During these years, the children got to know their grandmothers better. Neville’s mother (Grandma Holmes) came on regular holidays from Johannesburg and was very generous to us. She did not approve of everything we did with regard to the children but she and I got along well. Jeanette and Paul had much more freedom than she had given Glenda and Neville – and more friends. My mother (Grandma Furter) lived nearer and she was very interested in their sport. A couple of times she looked after them when we were away and they probably found her fairly strict - with her own standards in certain areas that were not as important to us. The children learnt to help in the home. They took it in turns to wash up and had to look after their own rooms. Because of the erratic way we had lived for so many years, it had been difficult to establish a routine of tidiness and order. Jeanette’s room did not always look tidy. I closed the door. She had to sort it out. Paul’s room often seemed more orderly. However you had better not look under the bed. The way he dealt with the clutter, was to push it all under his bed! I had been brought up with occasional spankings and later appreciated that they had done me good. Our method of discipline and training also

200 included spankings but not very often. I had a small wooden spoon that was the instrument of justice. I did not believe in hitting a child with my hand. To me, use of the hand seemed too much like a personal attack on the child. I seldom used the wooden spoon but the presence and threat of the implement was an effective deterrent. Because of our bias towards sin as a fallen human race, I think that most children need a little wholesome fear of consequences to help keep them in line. The Bible agrees with “the rod”. Children are not afraid of being sent to their rooms although that is appropriate for some offences. They are not afraid of being given some chore or even of being deprived of something (unless it is something major, in which case it might be cruel and unusual punishment!) although that can also be a useful training tool. But children are afraid of even a mild spanking. Having said that, such a punishment should be well deserved, infrequent and unusual. It should be short (a few smacks) and not harsh. A spanking is meant to hurt – mildly - without cruelty or damage to the child. A child should not be punished because we are out of sorts and never if we are out of control with anger. It is not fair to smack or spank a child because something got damaged or broken and we are annoyed. It is not fair to punish if the child has not previously been positively instructed about the matter in hand. A child should not ever be smacked on the head. I believed only in spanking on the bottom. A certain age is appropriate for corporal punishment. Very young children should not be included and teenagers are beyond the age when it is suitable. My views are not popular nowadays. I believe “the no spanking rule” is to the detriment of our children and society. I know that some children have been abused in the matter of punishment. I deplore that. However I believe we have abused the majority of children more by refraining from a method of discipline that leaves them with a healthy respect for parents and authority in general. This is hardly a treatise on my philosophy of discipline but I do want to add one very important principle – never verbally attack the child as a person. It is the behaviour you dislike and won’t tolerate as a parent. But the child should be reassured that you love him or her. Before Paul was smacked by his father, Neville asked him, “Why am I doing this?” Paul’s answer was, “Because you love me”. From methods of discipline to creativity seems a bit of a jump but this is the best place I can find to write about it. Neville painted, wrote a book, planted a garden as his creative outlets. I too, as the creation of the Creator God, had this desire to make and beautify. In my family, my sister Joan was “the creative one” – very good with her hands and has embroidered, knitted, baked, decorated with great skill. I was “the academic one” but I still wanted to do things that were creative, although

201 the end product was not always as good as the one I imagined. Poetry and prose writing I attempted in my younger years, and I wrote a few poems in Lebanon. I started composing poetry again when I sent a short poem for my grandson’s babyshower in Ohio, then for family birthdays and other occasions. So after 2005, I regularly added to my poetry scrapbooks as God gave me ideas. Easter and Christmas poems grew in number as well as others about the garden, life, the Bible and social issues. I tried candle making for Christmas and produced a snowman that gave me real pleasure. I enjoyed baking and decorating biscuits, especially for the festive season. I also made chutney and fudge and baked cakes. Each birthday I made the children a special cake, such as the house from Alice in Wonderland with Alice’s arm sticking out and a steam locomotive for Paul. Toys, sewn and knitted for other children and our own, were satisfying and rewarding. I did some appliqué work – in particular a wall hanging for our children with little rabbits that fitted into pockets and a house and a swing for them to sit on, a carrot for the rabbits to eat and clothes to hang on the wash line. I knitted various garments over the years, including jerseys and socks. While still at BI, I knitted a blue jersey for Neville. Running behind schedule, I got two friends to each knit a sleeve. Their tension was different and one sleeve was longer than the other. In the early years of our marriage, I knitted Neville a dark brown sweater in pure wool. He was upset when I washed it in hot water and shrunk it! The one I remember with much satisfaction as being a work of art was the fair isle pullover I knitted for Neville. The whole pullover – back and front – consisted of various patterns in a number of colours (brown, yellow, green, beige and tan I think). It took some time as I am not the fastest of knitters. Of course I did upholstery in Lebanon and South Africa. Probably not the most professional of jobs but it served its purpose. I also sewed curtains and simple skirts for myself. I had an old Singer sewing machine in Lebanon but that was lost to us in 1984. In the absence of a machine, I sewed by hand. I enjoyed embroidery of different kinds including cross-stitch. When Jeanette and David, and Paul and Betsy got married in later years, I gave to each couple a tablecloth I had embroidered. I was not an expert at any of the things I tried and most things took me quite a while, but I enjoyed creating something - even though it was not perfect. In Lebanon I wanted to give our neighbour’s wife a gift – maybe for her birthday or Christmas – I don’t remember. I didn’t have money to buy a gift but I had a biscuit tin and some pink and white checked material. I covered the biscuit tin, inside and out with the material and made a lid with a rose on it in cross-stitch. I made a needle book, a pouch for scissors and a hat for the thimble. There were special loops to hold the cotton. I forget the other parts of the sewing box but Lor used it for years and I got pleasure out of its creation.

202 The area of creativity that I have most indulged in over the years is what might or might not be called “Home décor”. I loved arranging and rearranging furniture, paintings, ornaments; also doing flower arrangements. Once I had done it, I was happy for a while. Then I found a better way and changed things round again. I liked to reorganize cupboards and find more room and a more convenient way of storing our goods and chattels. For me this was creativity, in making a pleasant, useful and attractive home. Both Neville and I have a strong aesthetic sense and we like interesting and beautiful things – not to make a statement but for the enjoyment they give us.

A Saga of Pets Because the children had been somewhat deprived of pets in Lebanon, we set about rectifying that. We went somewhat overboard and acquired a rabbit, multicoloured guinea pigs, tortoises (had to have a special permit for them), fish, a cockatiel, cocker spaniel dog, chickens, ducks, hamsters and later a cat. The white rabbit had a psychological problem, consorting with the ducks and apparently imagining it was one of them. The guinea pigs are prolific breeders so we did not keep them too long. The tortoises ate Neville’s Gazania flowers and eventually we passed them on to another family in the church. They also had to get a permit from the provincial authorities. What can I say about the fish? They swim around, hopefully eat the mosquito larvae and look beautiful. The only response you get from them is to the food you sprinkle on the water. It is rewarding when they breed and you find little black fish that eventually become lovely, red-coloured goldfish. The adults tend to disappear from time to time. A bird? A cat? Cannibalism? The mystery was unsolved. The cockatiel had its own story. We did not know much about birds so named it Justin (after Neville’s first name of course). When it started laying eggs, we renamed her Justina. She laid and she laid. We felt sorry for this frustrated would-be mother. No father cockatiel and no baby cockatiels. At Wellwood Missionary Home (a guest house in Fish Hoek) there was an aviary. Living there was a male cockatiel named Fred. Having lived in the Middle East, we decided that an arranged marriage would be in order. So we gave Justina to Wellwood as a bride for Fred. They did not take to each other and Justina laid no more eggs. (But it may have been the wrong season) Ah! the one pitfall of an arranged marriage. We had a number of white, female Muscovy ducks and one outsize shiny dark male. He was an impressive and overbearing bird. His wives laid plenty of eggs. One mother duck sat on a cluster and hatched fifteen ducklings. They were yellow, fluffy and cute. We had a bath set in the

203 ground for the use of the little ones. One day we went out. When we returned home, we found most of the ducklings drowned in the bath. It appears that Father Duck decided to take a dip. He managed to make such a splash that a good bit of water was spilt. The ducklings slid into the bath easily enough but could not get out due to the low water level. They must have got too tired to swim any more. A friend told us that we might have revived them if we had put them into a slightly warmed oven. Maybe or maybe not but as far as we were concerned, they were dead. So ends the sad tale of the ducklings. We got tired of the big male and his antics. He needed more room to spread his wings. So we donated him to “Camp Faraway”. He had a wonderful life there. His wings were not clipped so he flew and soared over the area – a huge, magnificent bird. One day some cruel human shot the Muscovy. He returned home injured. He had soared for the last time and so ended the story of his fruitful life. The chickens made little impression on our lives and I have forgotten what happened to them. Nor do I remember much of the hamsters - except the wood shavings and endless treadmill wheel. I think they had baby hamsters too. We wanted to get a dog so answered a newspaper advert for a Golden Cocker Spaniel. We had not owned such a dog before. So again it was a learning experience. Paddy was a lovely looking, auburn-haired dog but he was a fully-grown male, and had not been neutered. We found he had a nasty habit of spraying a very unpleasant and persistent scent in our lounge. The other problem was that he was not a family dog. He adopted me and did not want other members of the family near me, growling at them when they approached. That was a bit difficult, but we had a dog. He was a good watchdog and you can’t just get rid of dogs like you can ducks and tortoises. As humans we seem to have a special bond with the canine species. Sadly, someone left the gate open. We discovered that Paddy was missing and found him dead in the gutter in front of the house. A car had knocked him over and gone on. We did not hear anything such as squealing tyres or a yelp from the dog. So Paddy left the scene. Shortly after this we were offered a thoroughbred, six-month-old, female Border Collie by someone in our church. Lassie came into our lives. She was a slightly curly, longhaired, black and white bitch with a white tip to her tail and the most wonderful dog that any family could have. The first dog, Paddy, we organized. Lassie we believe God arranged for us. What a gift. She was with us until she reached fourteen years of age - so faithful, so gentle, so protective and so loyal. She was safe with any child, had boundless energy, was obedient and thought we were the most wonderful people in the world. She was a family dog. Even Grandma Holmes enjoyed her. We took her for walks, got her immunized and

204 spayed, fed her and played with her. Paul found her to be a good rugby player. She had a big kennel in the backyard where she slept at night. She did not like water and would keep away from it if she could. We took her to Muizenberg beach. Lassie would not go near the sea. However when Jeanette and Paul went into the water, she followed them out of concern for their safety. Her anxiety for them overcame her dislike and fear of water. “What a gift. What a dog.” “Thank you, Lord, for Lassie¨. Sometime later, we were walking home from a school rugby match. We passed the Prospur shopping centre. A girl stood outside the shop holding a puppy. There was a notice. “Please take me home”. Neville and I had no intention of getting a second dog. We walked on, looked at each other and went back. It was a mongrel pup with curly, golden hair and floppy ears (obviously some kind of Spaniel was in the mixture). We found out more about the little animal and in a weak moment took her home! Lassie was very happy. All her maternal instincts came to the fore. She loved Smooch – as we named the new pup. Smooch continually took advantage of Lassie but our Border Collie did not mind and let the little rascal ride roughshod over her for years. Of course Smooch now needed immunizations, food, spaying, walks, anti-flea dips etc. She shared Lassie’s kennel but as she grew, she took over more than her share of sleeping room. Sometimes she plonked herself on top of Lassie and slept there. Unlike Lassie, she went mad at the sight of water and used to yap continually when Neville was watering the plants. We found that her emotions and her bladder were interconnected. If she was happy the bladder told you so. If she was upset the bladder declared the fact. So we could not let Smooch be an inside dog. Lassie had been allowed into the house providing she stayed on the hallway carpet when we were in the lounge. She was very obedient. Because Smooch could not be trained for inside, poor Lassie stayed out with her most of the time. However sometimes in the winter they slept in the laundry, especially if there was thunder and lightning that frightened them. They were great companions until years later Smooch disappeared. She was always an appealing looking dog. Was she “dognapped” or did she get out of the gate and lose her way? Paul and Jeanette hunted all over for Smooch but she never came home again. Some years after this Lassie collapsed in the garden. Paul took her to the vet but the advice was that she had kidney trouble and was best put out of her misery. We were not in South Africa and Paul had to make the decision alone. So ended the life of Lassie, the best and most faithful of dogs. We eventually got a cat and she was killed by a car in our road. At peak hours the road is busy although quiet at other times. Neville said, “No more cats.” Jeanette really liked cats so some years later she prayed and

205 asked the Lord to give her a cat. Soon afterwards a grey and black tabby cat appeared in our garden asking piteously for food. Someone may have dumped it on our wide, grassy pavement and driven off. There was a good reason we soon discovered. The cat was pregnant. What could Neville say? Jeanette had prayed and God had sent her a cat. So the cat stayed. She had her six kittens in the bottom of Jeanette’s wardrobe. One of them was abnormal from the start and seemed to have a seizure soon after birth. The kittens got busy suckling but this runt of the litter could not fight for a place. When the mother cat took the little creature and placed it in a drawer higher in the cupboard, all on its own, I thought that she had rejected the weak one. But not a bit of it! This clever feline was intending to feed the weak kitten on its own so that he would not have to compete with the others to get his milk. It was most impressive that the cat should care about one who didn’t seem to have a chance. The kittens opened their eyes and grew. We had to find homes for them. There were two tabbies, two ginger ones, a pure black one and the runt. One by one the kittens were taken. We did not offer the weak one to anyone. He seemed to be a bit uncoordinated in his movements and we decided we had to keep him. We named him Forrest Gump - Forrest for short. He could only be described as “lomp” (an Afrikaans word meaning awkward and more). He was a tabby like the mother (judging by the variety of kittens, wonder what the father/s was or were?) but with rather large, white paws. The mother-cat was unhappily killed by a car. Forrest remained, as he was too awkward to easily go hopping over fences into the road. He turned out to be an adorable, affectionate, less than graceful cat. He could not jump, and land softly, like a normal cat. On the other hand he could not easily catch birds, a fact that pleased us. Forrest became so much part of the family - until we returned to Lebanon. We had to take him to live with another family who had a number of animals. I felt such a traitor when we left him with people who were strangers to him. Viola and Keith kindly kept in touch with us and sent us photos. When we returned to South Africa on holiday, we visited Forrest but he had had a “catanality” change and was not the cat we had known. He had also become more adventurous and was eventually killed by a car. Here ends the Holmes’s saga of pets.

A New Ministry We had moved to Cape Town but the ministry of Deputation Secretary for our mission meant that Neville had to travel all over South Africa. He spent long periods of time away from home, travelling thousands of kilometres, shared with many people in different denominations, spoke in

206 English and Afrikaans, preached, shared our experiences and tried to make the work more widely known through slides and videos. We also shared “Arab evenings” with church groups and thereby hangs a tale. We had arranged such an evening at a church in Mitchell’s Plain – a huge area outside Cape Town that we did not know very well. I spent the afternoon cooking Mjeddera (a lentil dish) for the meal at the church. We arranged to follow the pastor’s car, as we did not know the way. We were trailing a vehicle that turned towards an African township. We realized that, somehow, we had lost the pastor and were following the wrong driver. It was dark and we did not know the road, although we had been to the church before. Our boot had the pots of food in it for the people at the church. We prayed and by some miracle God got us to the right place; to this day we don’t know how we found the way. Not only did we get there, but we arrived before the pastor. Our work also involved administration – booking deputation tours for other missionaries, acknowledging gifts given, ensuring people were put on the prayer and magazine lists. Letters had to be written, phone calls made. We had been taught to look at the parables of our Lord, in the Middle East context that we knew by experience, through the lectures of Dr Bailey in Beirut. He also encouraged us to share these insights with people in our home countries. So Neville often preached on the parables in Luke’s and Matthew’s gospels and also lectured at a Bible School. We tried to promote Dr Bailey’s books but they were too expensive and too scholarly (although excellent books) for many South Africans. Encouraged by others, Neville wrote a simple book on the parables, including his personal insights and experiences. The book proved to be much appreciated. A Dutch Reformed church man was blessed and asked to translate it into Afrikaans. Like many other couples, our marriage came under satanic attack. Sooner or later the Evil One may seek to destroy God’s joining of two lives for His purposes and glory. I am grateful that in spite of the Enemy’s malevolence and schemes, our lack of wisdom and readiness for the battle, God has the last word - if we depend on Him. Our story is personal but we need to heed Jesus’ words, “Watch and pray”. Neville had to arrange a deputation tour for the deputy director of the mission and his wife who were normally based in Cyprus. They travelled around the country, speaking at meetings, and landed up near the Kruger National Park. Neville had only a few hours to take them a short way into the park. Paul and Vera were from the UK although they had served with the mission in Eritrea. Neville prayed that they would see an example of each of the important types of animals. In that short time they saw a pride of lions walking along the road, two elephants, a pack of wild dogs, zebra,

207 two giraffes standing right in front of the car, a herd of deer and on leaving, a wild turkey. In the meantime I stayed at home with the children, was involved in our church and led an interdenominational ladies’ Bible Study group in a home. I also spoke at meetings on behalf of our mission. One story deserves a place here. On the eve of Neville’s leaving on the trip with Paul and Vera, we had a catastrophe. Neville was leading the Junior Boys’ Club and I took the Junior Girls’ Club at Medway on a Friday afternoon. We left Jeanette and Mary-Ann at home together. They decided to make chips (French fries). When they were cooked, the two girls took their plates through to the lounge. They were watching something on TV. Each one thought that the other had put off the stove. The oil caught alight and a fire ensued. Smoke poured out of the windows. The neighbours came running and helped put out the fire using a carpet. When we got home from club, we had a black kitchen. Jeanette was afraid that her father would be angry but Neville took it calmly. He immediately started cleaning up the soot and washed down the walls. He stayed up cleaning and painting, so that when he left on the trip, the kitchen was nearly as good as new. We had rather foolishly placed our fridge next to the stove. The fridge started giving us shocks after the fire. It seemed some internal wires might have melted due to the heat. Eric and his wife kindly bought us a new fridge. They shared in our work for many years. Thomas retired as “General Secretary” (now called “Director”) of the mission in South Africa and Neville was appointed in his place with me helping him. We set up the office in our home and had to learn how to work with a computer. We were totally illiterate in the realm of Personal Computers. I started a typing course at a nearby college. However there was too much to be done for me to become a proficient typist. Practising their way made me work too slowly so I kept typing my old way and gave up the course. There was much to be learnt about the new job. Apart from the other administrative work, we had to oversee the production and mailing of the bi-monthly magazine, as well as the prayer letter. We also continued with deputation work. We met regularly with the Council members who were all volunteers from various church backgrounds. Neville worked closely with our honorary treasurer, Lewis. Then there were the contacts with prospective new candidates as well. We got involved with teaching some basic colloquial Arabic to three different people planning to go to the Middle East – but not with MECO. We were not gifted administrators although we did the work that needed to be done. What we did enjoy was meeting people and talking to them at various mission expositions where we had a stall. We developed friendly relationships with the representatives of other mission groups on these

208 occasions at churches, universities and some bigger venues. We felt at home speaking at meetings and sharing about the work of the mission and life in the Middle East. Neville loved most of all to share God’s word bringing in the Middle Eastern context where appropriate. He was often unconventional but unforgettable in his approach. The principal of a Bible School commented on Neville’s two previous visits to speak at their weekly service. He said that Neville had lain on their table, stood on a chair and would probably swing from the chandelier the third time! Neville lectured at another Bible School as well. He knew the principal through previous deputation meetings in another part of the country. My husband found fulfilment in sharing God’s word with young people, mostly Afrikaans speaking. We also kept contact with MECO and personal supporters when possible.

A Daughter and a Son Grow Up Jeanette entered Plumstead High School in Grade Eight (Std 6) and two years later Paul followed. Two of my sisters, Joan and Pat, had attended the same school, as well as my cousin, Harold. The school motto was taken from the Psalms and is “Non nobis” (“Not unto us” – but to Thy name be glory.) The school colours were green and red. Ties were red, white and green; blazers green with the school badge; girls’ summer dresses green and so forth. The children each spent five years in this school and completed their secondary education (Matriculation, properly known as Senior Certificate) there. At the end of the five years both graduated with Matriculation exemptions i.e. they were qualified to go on to university to do a degree if they so wished. In the meantime our young people enjoyed their high school. Jeanette worked hard at her studies with good results. She played hockey and ended up in the school’s second team. We went to watch her games. They tended to be rather early and it was cold on winter mornings. She also developed a love of drama and took part in a number of school plays. Later she received half colours for drama. We attended the school music evenings where Jeanette sang in the choral group. She had a special group of school

209 friends who enjoyed doing things together. However a lot of her social life revolved around her church friends at Medway Chapel. Jeanette’s best friend, Mary-Ann had also committed her life to the Lord Jesus Christ. They now had a closer bond through their shared faith. The two of them spent quite a bit of time in each other’s homes, as Mary-Ann’s family lived just around the corner in the next road. Mary-Ann’s older brother, David became interested in Jeanette and wanted to take her out. Jeanette rather unkindly replied, “When pigs grow wings and can fly, I will go out with you”. For a time Jeanette was friendly with an Afrikaans boy. Paul was angry with this young man because he felt he had not treated Jeanette kindly. So when Plumstead played rugby against the Afrikaans school team, Paul forgot sportsmanship for a short while during the game. We could not approve of our son taking revenge on his sister’s behalf. We did appreciate his loyalty to his sister although the way of expressing it was not commendable. Jeanette and Paul were very close. Both at school and later at college people commented on their relationship and how well they got on. Not all brothers were so protective nor all sisters so caring. Paul continued in low gear academically although always passing. He was passionate about his sport, however. (When he left school in 1994, he received a letter from his Head of Standard who wrote that he had never known a student as committed to his sport as Paul was – constantly practising and trying to improve his skills.) He played for the top team in rugby and cricket in each standard as he went up the school. He had to give up soccer and tennis as he could only do one winter and one summer sport due to the number of practices. By Grade Ten, he made the first school cricket team and by Grade Eleven the first rugby team. He received his sports colours. Paul went on different up-country sports tours (cricket and rugby) arranged by the school. At one time he needed the money by Monday and we waited for God’s provision. No money, no tour was the agreement. We never borrowed or owed or went into debt – that was our policy. On Sunday night Neville was given a gift that covered the tour. We were rather hard pressed financially at this time. Neville felt led by God not to use any of our mission allowance for eighteen months. We trusted Him to provide our need in other ways and He did, although it was not easy at times. Partly with the money we saved in that year and a half, we were later led by the Lord to buy a second house - for our daughter, Jeanette. This was strange as she was unmarried. We did not know that God was going to call her and her husband to serve Him in Lebanon for fourteen years. After their return to South Africa they and their two children were able to move into the house the Lord provided. During the fourteen years they were away the rent provided us with extra income that was used, among other things, to pay for Paul’s degree

210 studies later on, to pay for airfares and to save. As head of our family, Neville has always dealt with our financial affairs, and it is he who has been led by the Holy Spirit in these matters. Our teenagers belonged to the Medway Youth and went on various outings. One Friday night they all drove to the skating rink. Someone put a foot out and, it seems, deliberately tripped Paul as he was on the ice. He was brought home with a gash in his chin. We rushed him up to the casualty at my old training hospital, Victoria. Being a Friday night there was plenty of blood (other people’s), even on the floor. Paul’s chin was stitched up and this left a scar. We did not realize that our own doctor could have done it and saved Paul the trauma of being in hospital casualty on a Friday night. Our doctor in South Africa was Charles and he treated us free of charge. He was a faithful supporter and a gracious Christian. He never hurried us and always had time for his patients, although a busy man. Strangely enough I had worked with his father, an eye specialist, in the School Clinic years before. At the school we normally went to the teacher/parent meetings. Speaking to one of the teachers at such a gathering, he asked us, “What is your secret?” and intimated that he would love to have a son like Paul. We were thankful to God. Paul was likeable, passionate about sport and had a certain integrity. Approached in Grade Eleven about being a school prefect in Grade Twelve, he turned it down. If he were a prefect, he would have to keep his commitment to uphold the rules of the school. He was not prepared to “split” on his friends nor to break his commitment as a prefect if he were one. The friendship of his peers was more important than the honour of being a prefect! While on a rugby tour in Grade Twelve, the coach asked Paul what he thought of him. Paul asked him if he wanted the truth. Our son then gave him the truth as he saw it. It was possibly not kind nor a diplomatic move. For one or other reason Paul was dropped to the second team although recognized as a good player. However the second team coach was very good and Paul learnt from him. Paul was a competent cricketer and in the first team but he was not performing well. I had previously seen him play a game against Rondebosch Boys where I realized the potential he had as a cricketer. It was a joy to see him batting so well. In Grade Twelve he was left out of the players chosen by the coach to go to the nets for Nuffield week trials. However he was later sent. Of the Plumstead players only he and Paul Adams (who became a South African international cricketer) were chosen for the final trial teams, judging by their performances in the nets. Unfortunately our Paul, who was an opening batsman, was wrongly given out lbw by a schoolboy umpire before he had scored many runs. So his

211 chance of Nuffield week fell away. However this was one of a number of closed doors where we could see God’s hand at work. Although disappointing at the time, He had other purposes for our son. Politically, the winds of change were blowing in South Africa. We were part of the parent body at Plumstead who voted to open the school to all races. It was a watershed and Plumstead made history as the first government “white” school to open its doors to all. As in primary school, I took my turn doing tuck shop duty in high school. We also supported the hockey, cricket and rugby games as well as the House sports days. The cricket games lasted all Saturday once Paul was in the first team. Mothers provided lunch for the two teams when Plumstead played at home. First team rugby games were very well attended by parents, students, past pupils, teachers and local people with an interest in the game. Neville used to get carried away (as did some other fathers) shouting instructions to the team - whether rugby or cricket. He once received a letter from the school asking him to restrain himself! Later Paul expressed his appreciation of his father’s involvement – even though he embarrassed him. One day someone was down on the far side of the field. The first-aid helpers placed a boy on a stretcher with a neck brace. In such a situation each mother looks for her son. Paul was nowhere to be seen. I moved hurriedly to the side of the stretcher as it was carried off. It was Paul – a rugby mother’s worst nightmare! He was not badly injured. We knew that there was a risk in rugby, as there is in many other activities. He loved the game and it teaches young men courage, discipline, teamwork, unselfishness and self-control. It also gives a legal outlet for some of the latent aggression caused by those male hormones. Paul’s Afrikaans language needed improvement. Every student had to pass both English and Afrikaans at school. We arranged for him to go on holiday a couple of times with my Afrikaans speaking cousin, Coreen, and her family. Her husband, Sias, came from Napier, a small “dorp” in the Overberg region and they had an old house there. Unfortunately, Paul’s third language did not improve that much. Sias and his old aunts spoke to him in Afrikaans but Pieter and Paul conversed in English most of the time. I think Pieter’s English must have progressed. At any rate the two boys enjoyed their fiercely contested games of tennis. Although back in South Africa we were still Middle Easterners culturally in some ways. One day Neville asked an older man about the price he wanted for his house and then told him it was too much. You did not talk to South Africans like that! Another time he went into a rather conservative, fairly up-market shop and asked the price of a shirt. When told, Neville declared that it was too much and offered them a lower price! They were somewhat shocked and surprised.

212 It took Neville some time to get used to driving the South African way again. Driving in Lebanon was quite exciting and people were very adaptable. A visiting friend said of Lebanese driving, “I would not call them good drivers but they are certainly skilful”. In South Africa the Lebanese way was not acceptable. No wonder a lady driver shouted at Neville one day, “Where did you learn to drive?” For years I had not driven. The driving in Lebanon “freaked me out”. When we returned to South Africa, I got behind the wheel of a car again for the first time in fifteen years. (Early on I had tried to drive once in Lebanon and damaged the underneath of the car on an uneven road.) I found that you don’t forget how to drive. I went round the block once on my own and I was driving again. However I did panic one day. Paul was standing between the garage door and the front of the car. I started the engine not realizing the car was in gear. The car leapt forward, pinning Paul’s legs against the door. I could not think what to do in order to extricate him. He did not believe that his mother could do this to him. Eventually I recovered from my frozen state and reversed the car. His legs were hurt but not broken. As parents with teenage children, we needed wisdom. I am sure God helped us many times to make the right decisions. There were other situations where we probably failed. We had to give the children an increasing amount of independence but we wanted to protect them too. Jeanette felt that we were stricter with her than with Paul. She was right although it was not intentional. As she was the first child, we did not allow her to do certain things until she was older. When we found that she survived, we were probably less anxious about Paul going the same route. So he sometimes got to do those things at an earlier age. There was also the factor of our being more protective of Jeanette as a girl. They both knew that certain things were wrong and others right. However it was those in-between matters that caused some problem. From time to time the school had a disco supervised by the staff. We were not keen on our young people attending and they knew we were less than enthusiastic. However we gave them the freedom to go. Being the parents of teenagers can be quite a difficult balancing act. Too much freedom brings problems. Too many restrictions can also cause difficulties with rebellion and going behind the parents’ backs. Even though our children were Christians, peer pressure was still an issue in those teenage years. The main problem I had with Jeanette as a teenager was cheekiness. We insisted on respect and would not accept answering back in a cheeky way but it was hard to check. Paul’s escapades as a teenager that remain in my mind mainly concerned the car. We did not always know what he was up to. We got through those years relatively easily judging by the experience of others. I was nearly always at home when the

213 children came in and we chatted as they had something to eat. I let them talk and kept my ear to the ground. I could pick up “vibes” in this way. I was able to put in a word here and there and continue teaching and training them in Biblical values in an informal way. We had a TV and we did not allow them to watch certain soap operas but I sometimes sat in on other programmes with them. I used it as a teaching/learning opportunity. If there was something I did not approve of, I would make my objection known. Afterwards when such a situation arose in another programme, they would say, “We know, Mom”, before I could open my mouth. They had got the message and were not just accepting anything that was put before them. They had to learn to make critical judgements based on Christian principles. Sometimes we had to switch the programme off. Sex was not a taboo subject in our family and our children knew the “facts of life” from us. They also knew that sex is good but a sexual relationship is meant for a married couple. This teaching was reinforced through Youth camps they went on and in our church. Fortunately, Biblical values were still upheld by our government education system at that time as well. They did not have to contend with teaching about “alternative lifestyles”, in an amoral context, that presently confronts children and teenagers. From time to time, Neville and I went overseas for mission conferences. I was the South African representative on the International Council and we also shared in the MECO General Conferences with the other missionaries. My mother stayed in our home with the children. These meetings were held in Cyprus but we managed to always include a visit to Lebanon. So we maintained our ties with that country. It was Neville’s suggestion that I should represent the South African Council on the I.C. although he should have been the representative. He did not enjoy long “business” meetings. Years before when we were in our early days in Lebanon, I had a “gripe”. Men and single ladies only sat on the Field Executive. No married women were appointed. I could not see why this was so. I felt that we were just as competent as the single women and could make a contribution. How things had changed since those days although there were only two women on the I.C. – a single lady who was their “ex officio” and myself. On one of the short trips back to Lebanon we were returning to Cyprus and decided to take a sleeping berth on the ship. This was the only time we did not sit up on the overnight journey. In the middle of the night I heard the fire bell go off. I managed to wake Neville and we gathered on deck with a few other passengers. The engine was on fire and smoke was pouring out. We were not very confident of having sufficient life jackets, or lifeboats, should the situation worsen. I didn’t know if our last hour had come – once more! Obviously not! They managed to put out the fire and

214 we arrived safely. On that boat we found two crewmembers who were South Africans – a rather unusual occurrence in that context. When Jeanette was in Grade Eleven and Paul in Grade Nine, they accompanied us to the General Conference. This one was held in a hotel on a tip of the island of Cyprus, near a lighthouse. The young people had a good time mixing with the other M.K.’s and renewing contact with our workers whom they knew from Lebanon. Paul enjoyed the games of tennis with his father, especially when there were spectators! After the conference we moved on to Lebanon, again making the crossing by boat. They now had the “Sun boats”, and we sat in seats like a bus or aeroplane. This was Jeanette’s and Paul’s first time back to Hadeth in 7 years since we were “bombed out” of our home. We visited old friends and neighbours. They saw young people who had been in Sunday school with them years before. Unfortunately, our children had lost their Arabic. When we returned to South Africa in 1984, we had not kept it up. The children had been through years of war and unsettled living and we wanted them to have a minimum of stress when we got back home. They had at any rate to learn Afrikaans, so we let the Arabic go. However they managed to communicate with their old friends one way or another. It was an important visit for them and hopefully there was some sort of closure on their early life in Lebanon. When we left in 1984, they had not been able to say, “Good bye”. Each Easter from Grade Eight and up Jeanette and Paul went to Easter camp. A number of church youth groups got together for this and they had a great time of fun and teaching with a sunrise service on Easter Sunday. Jeanette helped with the catering when she was older and appreciated the friendships developed in the kitchen. Every year we all went on the church camp and enjoyed that as well. When they got towards the end of their school careers (and afterwards) they had the opportunity to be voluntary helpers at Scripture Union camps for primary school children. They also got involved in the annual holiday club at the church. There were activities for primary school children in the mornings and a club for high school students in the evenings. The helpers lived together in the home of church members for the duration. They had their own daily preparatory meetings and worked very hard preparing arts and crafts, posters, games, etc. for each day’s clubs. Good, healthy friendships were

215 formed as they served together. Nobody was paid. They gave freely of their time and talents. Each year they had a theme. The one that remains in my memory (because we have a video of it) is the circus one. Paul was the ringmaster. Jeanette acted the part of a pop or film star at one of the evening clubs. The great thing about the holiday clubs was that the whole church got involved. Neville formed part of the clean-up team and I helped with registration and crafts, and meals for the volunteers. Valerie was a rather large lady who visited us regularly wanting clothes and food for her family. She was quite open about asking for extra things after we had provided her with what we thought was sufficient. She then expected Neville to transport her and the goods to Retreat where she lived. She had many complaints but we grew quite fond of her. Valerie was a part of our lives. Some years later when we were in Lebanon, her daughter sent word to us that her mother had passed away. Seventeen is the age at which you can get your learner’s licence in South Africa. Jeanette passed her theory and I took her to the parking lot of the Hypermarket and she started learning – a nerve-racking experience for me. Grandma Holmes later paid for her to go to a driving school and they prepared her for the very strict test (the K53) the Traffic Department had developed. She had to be eighteen to take the test and with the prayers of her family and friends she passed the first time – not a foregone conclusion with the difficult test. Jeanette borrowed one of our cars, a Honda, and when she was twenty-one we gave her a second-hand beige Mazda of her own. We bought it from a friend and I had to drive it about 1500km down from Johannesburg. An inland car was a bonus, as it would have little rust compared with cars from the coastal areas. Two years later, Paul got his learner’s licence and I took him to the Hypermarket. Being a young man he already knew something about cars. He always had to have a qualified driver with him while driving on the learner’s licence. One day we made a big mistake and allowed him to drive “just up the road” to a party on his own. Because it was so close, we thought it would be all right. We should have known better. In order to help a friend, he drove further with the car and landed himself in trouble. We got a late-night call to rescue him. A charge was laid by someone who did not appreciate Paul’s driving but the police later threw the case out. Grandma Holmes also paid for lessons to prepare Paul for his driver’s test. With prayer he too passed the first time. We were thankful to God. We got Paul an old VW Beetle and later replaced it with a green Beach Buggy from the auction. Don’t know who enjoyed the Beach Buggy more – Paul or his father who found reasons to drive it as well. We thought our young people were reasonably responsible in their driving and only later found out about Paul. He and his friends had been having races down a road not

216 far from our home. This came out when his friend damaged his father’s car. Parents of teenagers need to spend plenty of time in prayer! Jeanette was in her last year at school. It was a big year with preparation for the government exams and decisions to be made about tertiary study and a career. We obviously prayed about her future and she decided to go into teaching. There was only one conditional bursary available to their school for the Cape Town College of Education. It was awarded to Jeanette. Another event of the last year was the Valedictory service at the school – the young men in school uniform and the girls in white dresses with school blazers. It was quite moving. The highlight of the final year was the Matric Dance. The girls traditionally wore beautiful dresses. Some parents paid a great deal of money for them. We were able to buy a lovely, shot taffeta, plum- coloured dress with a matching bolero on a sale. Grade Eleven students did the décor and prepared everything for the Grade Twelve’s party. The theme was Cinderella and the artwork was beautifully done. There was a painted clock, a castle on the hill, pillars, a suit of armour, pumpkin, mice etc. The round tables were covered with pink tablecloths for the sit-down dinner. Jeanette invited her friend, Alister, as her partner. They were in the church youth together and good friends. Alister also had his Matric party at Rondebosch Boys soon after and Jeanette was his partner for that in return. Mary-Ann (wearing a draped, pink dress) and her escort came to our house before they left for the evening. Mary-Ann’s parents videoed the couples in our lounge. After the official school party, there was an after-party at Mary-Ann’s home. The Matric party was the most important social event of their school careers and eagerly anticipated. Each student had to introduce his or her partner to the Headmaster. Some of them felt this to be a bit of an ordeal. Paul also attended sports dinners at school because of his participation in school teams. Later in Standard Ten (now Grade Twelve) he too had his valedictory service and his Matric dance. We hired a tuxedo for him to wear and he took Cindy (also from our church) as his partner. We had to see that he had a corsage for her to wear. I think he borrowed Neville’s car. His vehicle was not smart enough for the occasion. In the last year or two of school the students each took part in a “work shadow” project. They spent about three days learning about the job they thought they would like to do. Paul arranged to work at the “South African Rugby Football Union” offices at Newlands. He wanted to learn about sports administration. The first day he came home to say he had been up to Port Elizabeth that day. They had taken the SARFU jet to fly up to PE on some rugby business. He enjoyed his three days, including meeting well-known rugby personalities.

217 Jeanette commenced her studies as a teacher and from the first did really well. She seemed to be a born teacher. Soon after the year commenced the students went on their first teaching practice. The lecturer who observed her was full of praise for the way she conducted herself. She seemed to have chosen the right career with the Lord’s help. The years of Sunday school teaching, camp leadership, holiday club and youth leadership had also helped prepare her. She was used to teaching, interacting with children and being “upfront”. Through serving others, she had developed confidence and was able to maintain discipline so that the young people could get the most out of the lesson. A number of the young people from the church were at college together – Mary-Ann, Alister, Brigitte and Jeanette. They made other friends and went for coffee at “The King’s Kitchen” (a Christian café behind the Methodist church) where Aunty Ethne, also from Medway, was responsible for the catering. During Jeanette’s matric year, Mary-Ann’s brother, David, was away in Pretoria doing his compulsory national service. He worked as a “medic” in the operating theatre. David was shocked when he saw the dead body of a fellow soldier, whom he knew from their basic training, on the operating table. He had been killed in an accident. As a result of this episode, David committed his life to Jesus. When he returned home in January 1993, he and Jeanette started going out. David studied accountancy for a while but then felt God’s call to go into teaching. He was also at College with the other Medway young people but in a lower year. Jeanette and Paul were both baptized - in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit - in their teens, on confession of their personal faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. David had his twenty-first birthday and was baptized at Medway Chapel soon afterwards. Mary-Ann had wanted to be baptized earlier on, but the elders would not do so without parental consent. She had to wait until she turned twenty-one, two years later. Then she too was baptized as an act of witness and obedience to the Lord. 1994 was the year of South Africa’s first fully democratic elections. We took part in the historic event. Neville and I voted for different parties. He voted with his head. I voted with my heart. I felt I could not vote for any party unless it was squarely based on Biblical principles even though there might be fewer of its members in parliament. Neville felt that it was better to strengthen the main opposition party. So we differed and voted accordingly. Paul finished school at the end of 1994. He did not know what he wanted to do next. We were praying about it but he was not clear about the direction in which he should go. In the end Jeanette put his name down at the Cape Town College of Education where she was. Paul trained to be

218 a teacher for only three semesters. He decided that he enjoyed coaching sport but did not want to teach English, maths etc. He enjoyed coaching rugby at Wynberg Boys’ Junior where he took a losing team and brought enjoyment back into their game. He was playing for the False Bay Rugby club under-21 team, but he wanted to play rugby overseas. The game was just starting to go professional. Because my father was born in England, we were able to arrange a Certificate of Ancestry for Paul. He arranged to stay with his friend Ross and his parents in Sussex. Ross’ uncle was one of the elders in our church and Ross had visited Cape Town and stayed with them. It is not easy to let you children go. Before Paul left for England, we celebrated Jeanette’s twenty-first birthday. Although you could drive a car and vote at eighteen, twenty-one was still considered the year you came of age and became more independent. You received the “key of the door”. We had two parties on a single day and I catered for both. I obviously did not realize what I was letting myself in for. Firstly we had a formal luncheon. Friends from our church, Ray and Rose, had a big, beautiful, thatch-roofed home in Tokai. Under the thatch they had a large room for young people’s get-togethers, games, etc. This is where we arranged to have lunch. Family and older friends attended this. We put up laminated pictures of Jeanette’s life and draped some of her baby clothes etc. on the stairs and elsewhere. There was a lovely cake made and iced by my sister, Joan; decorated with icing sugar flowers and writing which read, “I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me”. The meal was symbolic of Jeanette’s life; a Lebanese dish – chicken and rice with fried almonds and yoghurt; a South African dish originating in the Cape – Bobotie (flavoured with curry) and rice, with side dishes and salad. Different coloured, embroidered cloths from Damascus covered the tables. There were bowls of flowers on each table and a typed sheet explaining something of Jeanette’s life. There was plenty of fruit juice and sparkling grape juice. (Neville got a “special” at the auction!) It was a lovely time as we prayed and thanked God for Jeanette’s life and the way He had been at work in it all. After lunch I rushed home and prepared for the evening party. This was for all the young people, mainly from Medway, and they celebrated at our home. It was quite a squash but we had a good time together. The same dishes were served but it was more relaxed. Our little girl was now all grown up and we were two thankful parents. God had been so good to us. Paul had also had his nineteenth birthday and soon afterwards flew to the UK. He was kindly put up by Ross’ family and spent Christmas with them. Through a Christian mission involved with sportsmen in South Africa, Paul contacted a Christian Sports group in England. He was put in touch with a former England cricketer and given a post as a sports coach

219 and assistant sports master at a public (private) school in Sussex. He lived in one of the boarding houses and did duties there. So accommodation was provided for the rest of his time in England. The school, situated in the countryside, had very good sports facilities. Paul was sent on a number of courses at the school’s expense. He got the MCC umpire’s qualification in cricket and bronze, silver and gold medals in lifesaving. He also did advanced coach’s courses in rugby, as well as qualifying to coach other sports. This was a wonderful opportunity given to him through the school. He had a secondhand car to run around in. Outside school Paul played cricket for Brighton and Hove, and had a successful season. He played rugby for Beckenham and nearly got involved (actually playing in the U21 team for one of them) in two very well-known clubs but God closed both doors. He had other plans for our son. The fact that Paul went to the UK opened up for us the possibility of returning to Lebanon. Jeanette would be nearly finished college and we were no longer responsible for Paul’s education at that stage. However we had told the mission that we would not leave our post at home until there was someone to take our place. Colin and his wife returned from the Middle East and decided they needed to stay at home until their son completed school. They were willing to take our place in the home office. We needed to find suitable people to live in our home. The daughter and son-in-law of our previous principal from the Bible Institute wanted bigger premises and so stayed in our home for the first year. Our daughter was able to stay with them for some months until she finished her studies. The last barrier to be overcome was that of support. We had been living without a missionary allowance for seven years. Because the amount we received as home workers was low (people no longer considered us as missionaries and some withdrew support, other supporters died or their circumstances changed), we had withdrawn from the mission financial pooling arrangement. The Lord saw that we were more than adequately provided for during this time. We were required to have a higher support figure if we were to return to the “pool” and go overseas once more. We had to trust God to provide new supporters. We went on a deputation tour to different parts of South Africa to inform the churches about MECO and our desire to return to the Middle East, and trust God to provide support. Deputation can be a special time even though unsettling; sleeping in different beds; continually meeting new people and travelling long distances. It was quite tiring but a privilege to see the countryside from the car, as well as meeting supporters and other friends, also family members. We spoke in many churches and smaller groups. One of the blessings of belonging to an interdenominational mission was in sharing about our work with Christians in different denominations and

220 independent churches. We saw God at work in many places and in different ways and circumstances. He is so great and provides creative ways for His people to love and serve Him so that the Good News can be shared with all. At the end of the tour the Lord had added to our team other prayer and financial supporters. We were able to leave for the Middle East with full support. So in 1996 we returned to Lebanon in time for the start of the new school year – after twelve years in South Africa.

A New Term of Service When we arrived in Beirut, we were met by one of our missionaries but after that were left to our own devices. Most people were away for the summer because of the holidays, heat and humidity. We were taken to a “mission” flat in a village above Beirut. We knew neither the village nor the neighbours. It was very different to Hadeth that had been home for so many years. The furniture was inadequate. We were older. The heat was frightful and the mosquitoes worse. It was not as exciting nor as easy as when we were younger. In fact we felt alone, abandoned and not at all sure of ourselves. The water pump was broken and we could not pump water up to the roof and then to our apartment. Neville prayed, took the pump apart and fixed it. That was an encouragement. God was the same God Who helped him fix so many things in the past. The worst of our difficulties was that we heard nothing from our children. The postal service following on the war years (17 years eventually) was very slow and it took up to six weeks for a letter to arrive from South Africa where Jeanette was. Letters from Paul in England were not as slow but not fast enough for us. We also had to depend on someone else to get the mail at the Post Office, as we had no key to the box. Paul surprised us by writing two or three times a week – unusual in young men. Later we had access to e-mail. This made a big difference in contact with Jeanette and Paul. People thought that we would be fine, as we had lived in Lebanon for so long. But this was a new Lebanon and we knew no one nearby, lacked our own transport, and people in Mansourieh did not seem as friendly as in Hadeth. There was no telephone, erratic electricity and worst of all, no books! One bright light was the friendship of Sharon (South African) and Edmund (Lebanese) who lived higher up in the same village. They came to see how we were getting on. For years Neville had dreamed of returning to Lebanon but the beginning of our new term was not encouraging.

221 However the Lord had sent us back and He had not changed although we felt the country and people to be different. Everyone was busy. Many mothers were no longer staying at home but had other jobs. People did not visit or have time for others as before. The traffic was worse than ever and there were traffic jams at all times of the day. I suffered from claustrophobia as so many vehicles tried to squeeze on the roads abreast of each other - high trucks right on top of us made me feel this way. It was a difficult re-introduction to Lebanon but gradually we found our feet again. As in all our troubles, the Lord was “at hand” and had not forsaken us. I found a postcard in the flat with this verse on it: “The Lord will guide you always; He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame.” Isaiah 48:11. In the hot weather it was an encouragement. We set about making a home in the new village. Neville turned four derelict chairs into two couches and I covered them. We bought some old copperware for interest and beauty. We got a duvet and linen from a shop we discovered. We had to buy carpets and pots and pans. There was cutlery and crockery in the flat. Later we went to an area that we would have avoided in the troubled years and bought a cheap lounge suite. We were still quite wary of going into that district of Beirut but the cheapest furniture could be bought there, we were informed. One of our new neighbours told us that the furniture we got was not good. We bought a couple of terracotta bricks and acquired some old shelving from the school, thus making a second bookcase. But we had no books. I prayed and asked the Lord for some, as they are important to me. Someone not likely to return to the field, had left books in the attic. So we acquired those. The school had thrown out several old classics in another attic. They looked rather disreputable. I covered them in different coloured wrapping paper and they became part of our collection. Slowly the “mission” flat was turned into our home. Neville bought oil paints in the village. He found discarded, framed and faded prints at the school. He started painting on the back of them. Eventually we had a series of his artwork hanging on the walls. There were empty plant pots on the veranda and we gradually filled them with some geranium slips and other plants. The hot summer days passed in this way. Sundays we returned to our church in Hadeth and renewed friendships. We visited our friend Jill and she gave us back our dinner service and a painting or two she had rescued from the flat in Hadeth. In appreciation we bought her a luncheon set. We were able to use the mission VW Beetle for a while and then bought an old Volvo from a Lebanese who was off to Bible School in Belgium. It was helpful having our own transport again.

222 Soon school would recommence. But before this happened, we had sad news from South Africa about the death of my father. During the years we remained in South Africa my father had a serious stroke. He was paralysed on one side and although he tried to walk and exercise, he was mostly confined to an armchair for the remaining years of his life. This was most frustrating for a man who had been so active. My stepmother was a slight woman and struggled to help him. After he was discharged from hospital, they had assistant nurses at home for a while. But medical aids are not bottomless pits and so they tried to manage on their own. Fortunately, my Dad’s speech was clear. My half-sister Sandra and her family lived not far away and helped as much as they could. I had to drive quite a distance but tried to get there regularly to offer what support I could. My father made a recommitment to the Lord at this stage but was unable to get to church. He spent a lot of time doing crossword puzzles and was clear mentally but disappointed in his friends. He was life president of an athletics and rugby club and he had been working in the Navy stores as a retirement job (he worked in an insurance company prior to retirement), but hardly anyone ever visited him. This hurt him deeply. With the passage of time it became obvious that they could not manage on their own. Sandra and Clem built a cottage for them in their garden and my father and stepmother sold their house. They were living in the cottage on the day I said, “Good bye” to them - before our return to Lebanon – and my father looked very sad. Soon afterwards he had another stroke and had to go into a frail care home. This belonged to the Dutch Reformed church and they cared for him lovingly. Now came the news of his death. This was one of the difficult things about being so far from home. We were absent when our family members died. It was hard to mourn. It was unreal that the person had gone and there was a lack of closure. Although my father previously struggled with alcoholism, I was thankful for him. To me he was a good, gentle and decent man. He always loved me and I am sorry that we did not spend more time together due to the divorce. I am thankful to the Lord for working in his life. Not long after, my stepmother died. They had been married for over fifty years. Whatever happened in South Africa, our life was now in Lebanon and connected to the school. Before the civil war the national Evangelical Society bought land above Beirut. During the later years of “the troubles” a new school had been built there incorporating the old Boys’ and Girls’ Schools. It became the Lebanon Evangelical School for Boys and Girls (LESB&G). (The Boys’ School had been damaged and occupied. The Girls’ School building had been sold. The rented school in East Beirut went back to the church and they had started a Bible School. The other school in East Beirut was used for the work amongst the Visually Challenged.)

223 Neville now taught in the new school with Colin as the principal. Junior and senior schools were housed in the one building and it was quite a squash. It was built on the side of the hillside where a large olive orchard had been and was situated just off the Damascus road. There were spectacular views of the mountains and valleys around. Apart from the school itself, there was a volleyball court, as well as a basketball court-cum-soccer field-cum-tennis court with changing rooms and tiered spectator seats. A small garden contained roses, wisteria, shrubs and trees. Opposite the school was an area of wildflowers, trees and indigenous shrubs - and a Syrian army camp. The school catered for all religious groups. There was an Evangelical ethos and the Bible was taught to all classes. Each day there were five assemblies for different age groups. Neville was teaching English, Bible, History and Geography. I spent part of the week at the school and started a School Health programme. One or two days a week I travelled to the Centre for the Visually Impaired where I helped in different ways and got to know staff and students. This school had also changed. Previously the Lebanon Evangelical School for the Blind was a boarding school for children and teenagers who completed their education there. Due to the situation following the war, it changed to a centre for helping adults - some blinded during the fighting. It gave them a place to live and they were taught various skills with the hope that they might earn their own living. Brenda (from South Africa) was responsible for a knitting project using machines. I helped with this for a time. Some did cane-work. Others had been trained by one of our short-term workers to be piano tuners. A computer project to print books was started but there were hitches with the machine. There were those who helped in a shop where the work from the centre was exhibited for sale. A few students were taking Braille lessons and others studying further. One of my jobs was reading set-work books onto tape. One student also helped the lady cook at times. She was a caring lady and made them

224 wholesome meals on a low budget. She cooked lunch for them during the week, while the residents saw to their other meals themselves. Each morning staff and students/residents met for prayers. They were from various religious backgrounds but all joined in the chapel time. We then had tea together. They enjoyed hot Aniseed tea in the cold weather. We all sat round the big kitchen table and chatted. The difficulties and frustrations of their lives were legion. Some Lebanese did not think highly of people with such challenges. They did not expect the visually impaired to be capable of holding down a job and were reluctant to give them a chance. They might pity them but did not think that they could contribute to society. Apart from earning a living, it was difficult to find a life partner. Most families would not agree to a member marrying a person who was blind. One of the girls suffered from claustrophobia. Depression was also a feature in some of their lives. A young man had been deeply traumatized by the massacre of most of his family as well as loss of his sight during “the Events”. We stood helpless in the face of such needs. Only God’s Spirit could minister to them and give them the inward strength to cope. One day when I was there, a lady who was involved with the knitting project spilt very hot coffee on her thigh. I rushed her into the shower and kept the cold shower on her for quite some time. She suffered no ill effects except for a little redness. I am glad that I was there. They might not have known what to do. Accidents more easily happen when you cannot see. However the residents were really amazing in many ways and their mobility was very good. They got around the city on their own, using services and walking, finding their own way. Some used a white stick. They were given special mobility training. There was one young man whose face had been burnt and seriously disfigured. He had been blinded but always seemed bright. He went out to work each day as did others but most of the residents were busy on the premises. A young Irish worker came to the Centre at a later date and taught some of the people how to bake. A small bakery was started on the premises and they made bread and scones and sold them to the schools. Once a week I set aside a day for visiting in our old village of Hadeth. I tried to encourage the believers and re-establish contact with others like our neighbours. One day I fell on the main road. There were potholes and uneven edges to the roads. The infrastructure was still recovering from the years of conflict although some of the roads had never been that good. I had three falls within a short time and damaged my shoulder but I did not go to the doctor. I prayed that the Lord would keep me on my feet.

225 Towards the end of the year our daughter Jeanette came to Lebanon. She was in her final year of studies and was permitted to complete her teaching practice overseas. So she came to our school, planning to join her brother in the UK after Christmas. We had also got her a Certificate of Ancestry because of my father’s British birth. Before she and David (who also came for the holidays) left South Africa, they got engaged. Soon after they arrived in Beirut, we had an engagement party for them at the school. The wife of one of our dear Lebanese friends gave Jeanette a pair of baby booties as an engagement present. This says quite a bit about traditional Lebanese culture. For the Christians (nominal or otherwise), an engagement was practically unbreakable. There was usually a “blessing” of the engagement by the pastor or priest. The marriage often took place fairly soon and was expected to produce children. Many did not use any birth control in the first year of marriage and hoped to have a baby as soon as possible. Once a child had been born there was less pressure from cultural expectations and the mother might return to work (post-civil war) leaving the child with a grandmother or in a crèche. So the baby booties were an appropriate engagement present. David went off to help at another Evangelical School for a few weeks and they offered him a teaching post if he returned to Lebanon. Neville encouraged Jeanette to continue teaching in Lebanon rather than going on to England. She decided to follow her father’s advice. This was a wonderful bonus for me – to have our precious daughter stay with us for an extra six months until the end of the school year. Paul came home for Christmas. He went straight to Heathrow Airport from the Twickenham rugby ground where the under-16 rugby team he had coached won the “All England” final. This was the tournament between the public (actually private) schools. It was unusual for a southern England team to win this. We bought a Christmas tree and decorations, place mats with “Home for Christmas” written on some of them. We had no Christmas tablecloth so I sewed one by hand with twelve matching serviettes and serviette rings of red and green felt. As always, I enjoyed putting together bits and pieces to create Christmas décor. Because this has been an important part of our family tradition, I really was so thankful when we could all be together to celebrate the birth of our Saviour. One thing I forgot to mention about the apartment we stayed in was that it had central heating. We never had it before or since but only in the flat in Mansourieh. What a bonus in the cold weather. We even had snow outside our flat some years as the village was in the beginning of the mountains. Neville had to fix the rather primitive outside pipe - for the smoke and gases from the oil heater in the basement of the building - but we enjoyed having a warm apartment. In our previous years in Lebanon

226 we mainly used paraffin heaters. They sometimes smelt or smoked but generally worked well enough, but seemed to increase humidity in the room. We also had a gas heater at times but I never liked them. Sometimes there was a smell of gas that made me nervous and we had to be careful about ventilation as well. Up in Brummana, we had a kerosene heater with an outlet pipe for the gases and that certainly warmed the room. In South Africa we used electric heaters and had an open fireplace with wood and coal fires to warm the house. But the central heating was by far the best – if there was electricity to start it. Paul had to return to the College where he was teaching in the UK. Reluctantly we parted from him. We left him at the airport. Soon after returning home, the doorbell rang. It was Paul. The soldiers refused to let him board the aircraft, as he had no permission from the Lebanese army to leave the country! What happened was this. Paul always travelled on his South African passport. He had been unable to get a Lebanese visa. He was too late at the embassy although he travelled up to London to get it. Rather than miss Christmas with us, we advised him to come into Lebanon on his Lebanese ID from when he was a small child. The Security people were amused at his toddler picture but let him into the country. He was thus marked as a Lebanese and liable for military service! While at the airport, trying to leave, a soldier asked Paul, “Are you lonely?” Rather indignantly Paul answered, “No!” In retrospect we realized that he was probably trying to ask Paul – in limited English – whether he was an only son. An only son did not do military service in Lebanon, as he would be responsible for his parents when they were old and would carry on the family line. The next day Neville went to army headquarters about the matter. Ours was a very unusual case. How could we prove that Paul was our only son? In Lebanon, every family has a Family ID that would immediately show if there were only one son. As foreigners we had no family ID in Lebanon and South Africa does not have family ID’s. During that week Neville was helped by the husband of a friend from the school. We believe God gave him wisdom to help us. In the end a family ID was issued to Paul (with details about the adoption and his foreign parents) and Paul was counted the first of the line of his family! With this the army issued temporary clearance for him to leave the country. Paul was late for school in England. When he returned to teach in Lebanon at a later stage, he was given permanent clearance as an only son. Before Paul was eligible for call up in South Africa, conscription had been done away with there. So this was the second time he escaped army service – for good or ill. What we did not know was that Paul was struggling in England – as a Christian and from a financial point of view. During the summer of 1996

227 he went to Spain with a tour group. Later in the holidays he found it difficult even to have enough for food because he had to pay off credit card debt. During the school year he was fine as far as food was concerned because he was living in the boarding department. I am sure that he learnt lessons from those difficult times. He wanted to share some of his struggles with us when he was home for Christmas but found it difficult to do so. I think he felt we might be disappointed in him. At a later stage he told us about it. David returned to South Africa for further study and Jeanette missed him. For us it was great having our daughter living with us and she did well in her teaching at the school. She did not get her Arabic back, except for a few phrases, as most of the teaching was done in English. We organized a car for Jeanette. The months flew and in June, Jeanette left us to return to South Africa. She stayed in our house in Plumstead and got a temporary teaching job at Kenwyn Primary. All permanent posts had been frozen by the government. In the meantime she and David prepared for their marriage. Counselling sessions, wedding invitations, various arrangements had to be made. Paul also returned to South Africa by July after eighteen months in England. He had been back in Cape Town in April as well and met with the Lord afresh at the young people’s Easter camp. He now did some coaching during the second half of the year but still had no definite direction for his life. In September 1997 Paul turned twenty-one. We were far away and sad to miss his special birthday. I had prepared photos of his life, to be mounted and put up at his party. We provided the money and Jeanette organized everything else. They hired the Wynberg Bowling Club hall (where Grandpa Lilley had been a member for many years). The invitations were to a “black and white evening” and the tables were decorated accordingly. Jeanette got various Medway friends to help. Aunty Lilian did the cake with figures of cricketers playing a game on top of the icing. The adults our children knew well at church were all called “aunty” or “uncle”. In South Africa it is polite to call even an unknown adult “tante” or “oom” in our Afrikaans speaking community. Older folk are called “ouma” or “oupa” (grandma or grandpa). In Lebanon it is similar and adults are politely called “tant” or “aimmo” (his uncle) as opposed to “aimmi” (my uncle). Apart from putting out sports memorabilia, photos and a book of Paul’s life, the hall was decorated with black and white balloons. I had prepared a short history of Paul’s life and one was placed on each table. The food provided was lasagne, salad and dessert. They had a man with a special music centre, as they had dancing afterwards. There were guests mainly from Medway and my large family. David was Master of Ceremonies. Paul

228 got a shock when they started to play a tape from Neville and myself that we had sent for the occasion. When Paul got up to speak, he was somewhat thrown by hearing our voices. He spoke well and we have it all on video. So our son too had the key of the door. We had given him money towards a car for his birthday. He got another beach buggy. It was red this time. David’s mother, Jenny videoed the party and we later shared in the party, on the screen. Back in Lebanon, by the end of the summer the new junior school building had been completed and the senior school had the original building to themselves at last. I was now needed full time as the junior school nurse. Before the term started Neville and I helped get furniture, appliances and utensils for the new boarding department. Five apartments were set up for missionaries who came to serve in the school. The junior school was a lovely building, able to accommodate 500 children, and mainly catering for Lebanese students. There were foreign children from missionary and embassy families as well. The school also had English-speaking Lebanese children who had lived abroad due to the troubles and had now returned home with their families. Some of them really struggled with the transition to a different way of life. Lebanese youngsters were very protected. No children rode or walked to school on their own. They were brought by school bus or their parents dropped them at the school. Considering the terrible traffic, this was just as well. I enjoyed my new full-time ministry as the school nurse. I had liberty to set up the Health Room (I would not allow the name “sick room”) as I saw best. It had a number of built-in cupboards with counter tops that were most useful, a washbasin and tap, a notice board, a small table, chairs and a bed. We hung pictures of children with verses from the Bible on the walls. I acquired health charts about teeth and cleanliness, food, etc. and put them up as well. A stock of necessary medication was locked away in a cupboard. My policy was to use natural means wherever possible. I found that headaches (in the absence of fever) could be successfully treated with wet tissues, a rest, a chat, sometimes a sandwich when the child had not eaten breakfast. Stomach pains similarly respond to relaxation with a book, food and a warm drink (unless there are reasons to suspect some medical or surgical problem). I feel it is important to get the message across to young people that pills and medication are not the answer to their ills. I considered medication the last resort, not the first – in my own family and in the health room (i.e. except in certain situations such as high fever). I hope that such an approach helped the children to realize (by extension) that drugs are not the answer to life’s problems. There were children grappling with difficulties at home or in school. Sometimes they would feel free to talk. One little boy had come from

229 America where his mother still lived. He had a stepmother and a new baby in the home. His older sister was also struggling with the new culture. For a while I would see him regularly in the Health Room as he grappled with things at home or school. I gathered things were better when I did not see him for a long time. Then he reappeared regularly as there was probably tension once more. My heart went out to this child and others. The advantage I had was that I did not judge them by whether they were good or naughty in class, whether they did their work well or struggled. Even if I did know what happened in class, I just accepted them and loved them. One day I experienced a strong sense of God’s love as He reached out to these children through me. They knew they could come to me. I was not the fool some of the older ones took me to be! I had a good idea when some of them were malingering. I did not inform them that I was onto their game but treated them accordingly. I tried to make the Health Room as homely as possible and did not wear a uniform. There was a duvet (and pillow covers) decorated with bears on the bed. Soft toys, a doll, Bible stories and Ladybird books, as well as puzzles decorated the cupboard tops. There were colouring-in books and papers as well as crayons in the cupboard. I was more like a grandmother in the school than a nurse. I refused to have any injections given in the Health Room. When I cooperated with a government immunization programme, I ensured that it was done in the science laboratory and I refused to give any injection. I organized everything and supported the staff and children through it but did not want the children ever to be afraid to come to me. Many children fear the needle, especially when some parents - very unwisely - threaten them with the doctor or nurse. When a child had a high fever, I phoned the parents and got consent to give the child Paracetamol while they were getting to the school. With the traffic jams it could take them quite a while. Often the children were overdressed and in such cases I took off as much outer clothing as possible. Some parents used to send children to school with a fever, having dosed them with one or other anti-pyretic. The temperature would inevitably rise later in the day. I tried by circular letter and personal contact to advise the families about keeping sick children at home. They were afraid their child might miss new work or a test or the mother worked and there was no one to take care of the child, so they sent them to school. They took schooling very seriously and did not want their children to miss one day of school or – heaven forbid - a test. I fought against this insistence on sending youngsters who were feeling unwell to mix with others and spread the germs around. At the beginning of each school year I tried to inspect the hair of all the children. Only a small number had a problem, but there was much

230 consternation amongst the parents that I had to contact. They felt it a reflection on themselves and family that their child should have such an infestation. They often defended themselves by telling me how often the child’s head was washed. I reassured them that it was not a matter of cleanliness but simply something that got passed on – like Measles! Of course, I never gave the children any sign that anything was amiss. Some families struggled to clear the heads of the unwanted visitors. All my experience in South Africa was helpful but I could not exclude the children from school, by law, as I had been able to do there. One difficulty I did encounter was my own vision. I could no longer easily see the little eggs that gave the clue. So I had to wear special glasses when inspecting the children’s heads. Some of the teachers certainly appreciated this help, as they had previously to do it themselves. I slowly came to know the children and also a number of the parents. Those whose children had medical problems and were on medication were thankful to know that there was a trained nurse at the school. A few suffered from Diabetes and another had a heart problem with a possible operation ahead. We “trained” the parents to send any medication a child was on (such as antibiotics) to the Health Room so that I could supervise the child. Before this some children were medicating themselves in the classroom and keeping the medicine in their school bags. So relationships were built up between the home and Health Room. The teachers too came to me with medical and other problems and asked for advice. I took the blood pressure of some. Friendship with staff members grew in this way as well. They knew I would not betray their trust if they shared problems with me. I was a neutral person in the inevitable school “politics¨. I prayed with one teacher who was a believer with family difficulties. Later on another staff member committed her life to Christ in the Health Room. Most of the teachers were Lebanese although there were some missionaries and other ex-pats. The headmaster was Colin. His wife Joan was head of the junior department. Apart from seeing sick children, there were the casualties. It is amazing how many ways there are for children to get hurt in a school. Classroom incidents were usually minor but there were the many stairs (the school was built at different levels on the side of a hill) and hard, cement playgrounds (no grass); circumstances that contributed their share of injuries. I had quite a few Adrenaline rushes! I never knew what the next minute might bring (especially during break times) and I constantly needed wisdom in assessing the seriousness of the injuries. Fairly often I had to accompany children to the local hospital to be seen by a doctor. Was it a sprain or was the bone broken? In some cases even

231 the doctor could not tell without an x-ray. Sometimes stitches were required. On other occasions the first glimpse with plenty of blood, belied the extent of the wound; as in the case of mouth injuries where blood could flow freely from a small cut caused by a tooth. The head injuries were the most difficult as we could not send every such child to the hospital. The occasional child might need a scan ordered by the doctor. I tried to get as accurate a history as I could of the injury. Sometimes I kept the child in the health room for observation. I had drawn up a special letter for the parents explaining that I did not think the head was seriously hurt but… I explained what symptoms to watch for in case the child needed to see a doctor later. This was merely a precaution. So as not to alarm the parents it was stated that every child who hurt his or her head at school would be given this letter. And I don’t remember any such follow-up to the doctor being required. Many were the prayers I sent up for insight and wisdom. I believe the Lord answered them. There was a file for the class and a card for each child that I saw for a health check-up. I sent out forms to find out the status of the children regarding immunization but it was quite difficult to assess the replies. Later on when I went into things more thoroughly, I found some answers and it seemed the children were better immunized than at first appeared. The parents did not know how to answer my forms. A few did not even speak English. Each year a government team came round to give anti-Polio drops to some of the KG children. Again papers had to be sent out and permission obtained from the parents. The anti-Polio drops were administered in the Health Room as there were no needles involved. One word about these Lebanese parents – they were on the whole very conscientious and careful about the children and their health. If I recommended to the school parents that they take their child to a doctor, most of them would do so. On the other hand not all the people in Lebanon were conscious of the need for safety and prevention of accidents. We saw children sitting in front car seats, unbuckled, or babies being held in the front passenger seat. The chances of a severe head injury were obvious to me but others did not seem to realize the danger. Because I wanted the Health Room to be accessible to all the children, lots of them arrived at break times with various reasons for being there. I was happy to receive them but it tired me out. I had to check each child’s complaint, and quite a few were bogus. Plus there were the casualties. In later years I drew up a little form that had to be signed by the teacher if the children needed to see me during school time. I was really weary by the end of the school day, as I did not have break times off.

232 Neville and I were beginning to feel our age. We left home very early in the morning to avoid the traffic – about 6am or soon after and did not get home until nearly 4pm. Then I had to start making our main meal of the day. Sometimes I collapsed on the bed and Neville prepared the meal. Actually it was nice working in the same school (the senior school was just across the basketball court) and having Neville pop into the Health Room from time to time. Because of contacts in the Health Room, I started a Bible study for a few of the mothers. We met upstairs in the boarding department. Later this was discontinued as mothers left or started new jobs. It was worthwhile for the short time we had it. Two of these mothers helped in the Health Room when we travelled to South Africa for Jeanette’s wedding. The day before we left one of the women asked me about being born again and it was an opportunity to share the good news with her personally. There is no greater joy and responsibility than to be able to share the good news with an interested enquirer, unless it is the joy of seeing that person truly born again.

A Daughter is Married We were in South Africa for most of December until the middle of January. It was an exciting and busy time getting ready for the wedding. Jeanette and David had done quite a bit of the organizing before we came but there was still plenty to do. The invitations had gone out in their burgundy envelopes with raffia ties and “gold” seals. The colours for the wedding were white, burgundy and cream. We had brought two long, white, moulded candles from Lebanon, as well as cream and burgundy sugar-covered almonds. The sweets were put into net squares and tied with a dainty ribbon. They were put next to each guest’s place setting. Jeanette had booked the dining room at the historic, old Timour Hall Manor in upper Plumstead. It was a beautiful venue with round tables, graceful chairs and a fireplace. It had what we call “atmosphere”. The colour of the walls and draped curtains fitted in with our colour scheme. The Manor was set in lovely grounds with a bridge over the river next to weeping willow trees and ideal for photographs. Because the dining room had old wooden floors, we were only allowed a certain number of guests in the room but we would be able to put more people on the patio outside. My mother had been born in a cottage on the Manor grounds so there was an historical, family connection as well. Neville’s mother flew down from Johannesburg. The whole family was able to be together for Christmas once more. I was grateful whenever this was possible. A week or so before the wedding, the bridesmaids – Mary-Ann (David’s sister and Jeanette’s best friend) and Julie (a close friend from Medway) -

233 arranged a Kitchen Tea. According to tradition it was a secret, kept from Jeanette. The family went off to supper at the Spur Steak Ranch while friends and family (females only) gathered at our house. The guests also brought the eats. We arrived home to a darkened and quiet house. Of course when we unlocked the front door and Jeanette entered, everyone shouted “Surprise”! The lounge and sunroom were packed with people. Jeanette was hurriedly dressed up by the bridesmaids and then started opening presents. These were not wedding gifts but things for the kitchen such as baking pans, a rolling pin, grater, wooden spoons, etc. Each present was accompanied by a poem with clues. The bride-to-be had to suggest what the parcel contained before she opened it. If Jeanette could not guess, she had to pay a forfeit such as singing the song from “Babe” or picking up Smarties with her mouth from a bowl of flour. There was much laughter and hilarity. It was a fun-filled evening. David’s mother videoed the party. Jenny was a real blessing to us in catching on video important events in our family life. On another evening the young men (especially Paul and Nicholas) arranged David’s bachelor party. It started off quite mildly with a braai (barbecue) on our patio. Then they got David into the kitchen and dressed him in old slippers, put bunny ears on his head, wrapped his hairy legs (he was wearing shorts) in plastic wrap with peanut butter (one of his favourite foods). That was only the beginning of things. They blindfolded him and took him off in the car - accompanied by other friends’ vehicles. After an adventure on the freeway (details withheld), eventually they arrived at the Waterfront in Cape Town. There, friend Nicholas (dressed in a slightly unusual way) acted as town crier declaring to all who would listen that David was getting married. David was given a guitar and ordered to play for passers-by. Meanwhile Jeanette and other girl friends from Medway had decided to spend the evening at The Waterfront, thinking that the guys had gone to Tyger Valley Centre. She was somewhat amused and slightly humiliated to come across her bridegroom-to-be dressed in rabbit ears, slippers etc, playing the guitar for all and sundry. I can vouch for all this as we have it on video. There was a lot of laughter and clean fun. Even David seemed to enjoy it in spite of being made to look ridiculous. The evening proved that he had a group of close and sharing friends! When Paul later married in a foreign country, I think he missed having friends like this to give him a send-off. The wedding was set for an unusual time – Thursday late afternoon on 15th January. The reason for this was that Jeanette and David had their marriage counselling from Uncle Gavin, one of the Medway elders. He had gone to America over Christmas to be with his daughter and family. Because they wanted Uncle Gavin to marry them, the wedding was

234 arranged for a few days after he got back; two days before we were to fly back to Beirut. The day of Jeanette’s wedding dawned hot and clear. With the help of my friend Lilian and others, the flowers were done at the church. The beautiful Lebanese candles stood on a Lebanese, copper-topped table in the front of the church – and drooped in the heat. As a result we had two crooked candles. To have brought them so many thousands of miles and cared for them so tenderly in my hand luggage, only to have them spoilt by the mid-summer heat. I suppose that’s life. We set the tables at the Manor and arranged a bowl of flowers with a candle on each. The main table was adorned with brass candlesticks from Lebanon, and part of the church arrangement was rushed there after the service to provide flowers for the bridal table. A lady who attended services at Medway was doing the catering, together with a friend. A light buffet supper was to be provided and they did an excellent job later that day. The food was very tastefully and attractively set out in a side room. There was plenty of sparkling grape juice for the toast as well as other fruit juices. In the meantime Jeanette had her hair done and prepared for her wedding. In the afternoon, the bridesmaids helped her dress while I hovered and tried to help. She wore a romantic-looking, long, white gown with appliquéd roses and a decorative hem and train. Her medium length veil was held in position by fresh roses. Neville with his usual foresight had bought the dress for her some time before. A wedding shop was closing down and he took Jeanette there to see if she liked any of the dresses. We got it “for a good price”! Gold sandals on her feet, pearls round her neck and pearl earrings completed her ensemble. Zena was Alister’s girlfriend and her mother came to “make up” Jeanette’s face. Photos were taken in the bedroom, lounge and garden. The two pageboys, Kenric and Jacques, whose parents were church friends, arrived in their burgundy coloured waistcoats and bow ties to join the party. Outside waited a vintage, burgundy-coloured car sporting white ribbons for the bride. Jeanette and her father left in this, travelling by a circuitous route so as not to arrive at the church too early. The bridesmaids followed in a Mercedes. Neville’s mother and I scrambled to get to the church. David and Paul were waiting in the front row wearing their black and gold, velvet and brocade waistcoats with rose buttonholes. Jenny (looking very chic in a pink and floral outfit) and I (in a soft shade of green) wore corsages. The bridesmaids in full-length, sleeveless, shimmering, burgundy dresses and pearl necklaces each carried a long-stemmed cream rose with ribbons. Jeanette had a sheaf of white and burgundy roses, and white star lilies with burgundy stamens. The special gold and white ribbons

235 around the stems came from Lebanon. Grant (Mary-Ann’s fiancé) and Neil acted as ushers and wore – wait for it – burgundy ties. The song “Daddy’s little girl” was played. Then the wedding music started and Neville entered with his daughter on his arm – a very proud father. He was wearing a suit with burgundy markings in the material. There was a matching waistcoat, with burgundy tie of course. Neville never normally wore a suit (when speaking or preaching he usually wore his Arab gown) and when this suit was given to us years before – after someone passed away - I put it away in the kist (wooden chest). It was resurrected for the wedding and fitted like a glove – right length and width in every direction. Neville looked very distinguished - tall and white haired. He went white at an early age like his mother. Neville drew back the veil from his daughter’s face and kissed her as he handed her over to the protection and love of David. When Gavin asked, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” Neville answered, “Noreen and I do”. It was good of him to include me as many fathers only say, “I do”. It was an emotional service for me. How graciously God had worked in my daughter’s life. At two and a half years of age, I think I should not have been surprised if she turned into a juvenile delinquent. She was stubborn, demanding and difficult, not inclined to obedience although very cute and bright. Yet the Lord had turned her into a beautiful, caring young lady – committed to His purposes for her life. We could not have asked for a better daughter. It was a special service, Jeanette and David having written their own vows. They suffered from a bit of stage fright and had to be prompted once or twice. They promised each other lifelong faithfulness in all circumstances. Adrian and Bonnie (friends from the church, soon to be married themselves) sang a duet, Gavin married them and the bride’s father preached the message. The register was signed in the church and bridal music accompanied us out into the sunshine. Zena and Kim waited with baskets of dried rose petals for the guests to shower on the newlyweds. After arriving at Timour Hall, Grace (a friend who is a teacher but also a good photographer) continued taking photos of the bridal party in the lovely grounds. The Manor has a sweeping, outside staircase that was used in the photos, as well as the bridge, an old-fashioned lamppost and the

236 garden with lawns and trees. To add to the interest some wild guinea fowl got into the photos. Then when all were seated in the dining room and on the patio, the bride and groom sat down in the places of honour with their parents and attendants. The young people who were sitting outside stood in the doors to hear the speeches. Neville and Paul both spoke well and both mentioned the pigs that could now fly – South Africa’s new breed. Neville being his inimitable self, took public credit for the twelve nappies a day he washed when Jeanette was a baby. I don’t think Jeanette batted an eyelid about that. Our two young people were used to their father by now and probably beyond embarrassment. Jeanette did seem to blush about the pigs though. Paul warned David that his sister could be a difficult girl. We had a lovely evening with family and Medway friends. My sister, Joan, had made the two-tier wedding cake - a work of art. A fruitcake, it was covered with decorated, white icing. There were touches of burgundy in the icing sugar flowers – roses, orchids, lilies, little daisies beautifully fashioned. Later the bridal couple cut the cake together. It was dark when the young people gathered outside and Jeanette’s blue garter was removed by David and thrown to the unmarried men. Then the bride threw a flower from her bouquet to the young ladies. Jeanette disappeared and changed into her “going away” outfit. David appeared carrying a box of “padkos” (food for the road). They probably did not eat much at the reception as they spent their time going from table to table, talking to the guests and having their photo taken with each group. Then we all accompanied them to the car that was waiting to take them on their honeymoon. The young men had been busy and the car was a mess. It was decorated with toilet paper, leafy branches and old tins, messages in toothpaste were written all over it – “Just Married”, hearts, kisses, their names. Inside, the pedals were tied with toilet paper and leaves and branches covered the seats. They took it in good spirit and David tried to get rid of the foliage and toilet paper inside the car. They left quite happily with old tin cans trailing behind, making a racket. David was not too concerned because he thought he had outwitted his friends. Expecting the car to be messed up, he had a second car waiting in the garage at his parents’ home with the luggage. The second car was to be the honeymoon car. What David did not know was that the young men knew about his plan, and had “prepared” the second car for him as well. Alister jumped into his automobile and tried to follow the first car, possibly wanting to see what happened when David saw the one in the garage. Two days later we flew back to Lebanon. After the honeymoon, Jeanette would start the new school year as a temporary teacher at Sun Valley Primary and David was to return to College. They planned to live in our house. Paul was to start at Kenwyn as a temporary teacher where he also

237 coached cricket during the summer. In winter he coached rugby at Wynberg Boys’ while still teaching at Kenwyn. He enjoyed the interaction with the children. Neville had turned our outside building into an apartment for Paul known as “The Hole in the Wall”. One of the wedding guests was Debbie. During December and January this young lady from England and her friend came to our house. They spent Christmas day with us. Gap year students, they were staying at a nearby girls’ school. After speaking to Neville and Paul at different times, Debbie became a committed Christian. There is a postscript to the story of the wedding. A couple who have supported us for many years, John and his wife, sent in a generous personal gift to our fellowship for us – to help pay for the wedding. In June we completed the school year in Lebanon and broke up for the three month long summer vacation. Again we returned to South Africa, this time on Home Assignment. We hoped during our stay to persuade Neville’s mother to move into a retirement home. In her late eighties she had eventually sold the family home and moved to a two-bedroomed “cottage” in a retirement village. It was a very pleasant unit with garden back and front but people on the spot felt she was not coping on her own. Neville was her only living child. When we approached her, Mom refused to consider moving. She had a carer to help her. So we managed to get her to put her finances into a bank trust. This relieved us of some anxiety about her ability to manage her own affairs. While staying with her, my wedding ring broke in a freak accident. Mom gave me a ring with small diamonds and rubies that became my new wedding/engagement ring. Apart from meetings in different areas of the country, we were able to spend time with our family and my mother. While all of us were together in Cape Town we received an e-mail letter from a reporter on the Daily Star in Lebanon. Through a message she picked up on the Internet, she had made contact with Jeanette’s birthmother. She helped Mrs M trace Jeanette through our neighbours in Hadeth and the school. The adoptions in Lebanon were closed and no one was permitted access to the closed files except through the order of a judge but they had by-passed the legal process. Previously when Jeanette came to Lebanon and taught for the six months, I had said to her that she could go and enquire about her birth family at the hospital but she decided she did not want to do that. I did not know about the legalities involved. When Mrs M made contact, I was very disturbed. Although she wrote a nice letter to me, I did not feel happy about the one she wrote to Jeanette asking for forgiveness for allowing her to be adopted. The letter disturbed me because it showed that she still considered herself as Jeanette’s mother. If she had signed and

238 regarded herself as Jeanette’s birth mother, I should have had less of a problem. If she was Jeanette’s mother, who was I? For a short while I felt like a fake; as though I had been “playing dolls” all these years even though I had been Jeanette’s mother for twenty-four years. I was afraid of my own feelings. I did not want to feel that Paul was totally our son but Jeanette only partly our daughter, because another family was claiming her. I felt as though someone had stuck a dagger into the heart of our family and was trying to pull one of our family members away and attach her to another family. They wrote about the sisters and brother she had, completely ignoring the fact that she had a closely bonded, legal brother called Paul. If she had all these siblings, where did that leave him? I had been part of a divided family. I had belonged to two families but never fully belonged to either. I did not want my daughter to be in that situation. We were a close and united family but this contact from the M’s seemed to threaten our very existence as a family unit. I was not keen on further contact with this other family who seemed to have no idea of the turmoil they had caused. Jeanette could not understand my problems as she saw me as her mother and nothing was going to change that. Today with open adoptions, I don’t think people would necessarily feel as I did. On the other hand maybe they cannot be as close as we were, because there is another mother in the picture. Although we were quite open with our children and others about the fact that we adopted them, we always saw Jeanette and Paul as our own children. Jeanette is not our adopted daughter. She is our daughter whom we adopted. Paul is not our adopted son, but our son whom we adopted. To me there is a big difference. Although we acknowledged our children’s genetic heritage and were proud of Jeanette being Armenian and Paul, Lebanese, they were our children and therefore South Africans. They had, through adoption, new parents, a new name, a new family, new extended family (with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins), a new destiny, new language, new home, new nationality, new country, new culture, new values, new spiritual heritage, new inheritance. The application to our adoption into God’s family is obvious. Legally Jeanette and Paul were our children, as well as emotionally, culturally, physically (we fed them so that they grew!), financially, educationally and “religiously”. They did not have our genes. Although they do not look like us (some people have even seen some likeness!), they are like us in so many ways – and unlike in other ways, as with any other children and their parents. They can never cease to be our children. However much they may give us joy or grief, they will always be our daughter and our son. We are committed to them for the rest of our earthly lives.

239 Although I initially struggled with the entry of Jeanette’s birth family into our lives, I afterwards advised her to try and see Mrs M at some time when it could be arranged. So over a period while they were in Lebanon, Jeanette and David met some of the family, including her birth mother and birth father, who were visiting from Canada. Sporadic contact was maintained by Jeanette through e-mail with one or other of the daughters. The family was in Canada and Jeanette in South Africa and Lebanon.

A Family in Lebanon In August 1998, before we returned to Beirut, Paul travelled and arrived in Lebanon. He was going to head up the sport at an evangelical school near Beirut and not far from where we lived. So for the next school year, we had the pleasure of our son’s company at home. Neville bought him the old mission Beetle for getting around. Paul joined the Beirut Phoenician rugby club and we supported their games by our presence. This was the only rugby club in Lebanon so they played against other countries such as Jordan and the Fijians with the United Nations, against a French navy team whose ship called in at Beirut, etc. They went to the Dubai Sevens and played in the Arab section of the tournament. Paul got some of the senior boys at his school to join the rugby club. He coached rugby at the school and arranged games against other schools with an interest in the game. Paul’s rugby friends were JP (son of a British diplomat) and Nabiil (son of a wealthy businessman). As a result of the friendship, Paul was quite often driving a Cherokee Jeep instead of his lowly Beetle. For some reason Paul had neither car available one day. So he took a service at the bottom of our road to get him down town. He had a very unpleasant ride, had a gun stuck in his ribs, lost his wallet and managed by force to get out of the taxi and escape. The other three or four passengers were apparently all in cahoots. Because we had left our clock in South Africa, Neville bought a chiming clock that played a different tune each hour but a double tune at 6am. It did not chime from 9pm to 6am. The clock hung in the lounge just outside Paul’s bedroom. He did not appreciate the 6am double tune each morning. Because his school was very near our home, he preferred to wake up later than 6am. He expressed some negative feelings about it. In November of 1998, Jeanette and David joined us in Lebanon. They were committed as short-term missionaries for two years. What a gracious Father we have.

240 Once again, the family was in one country together. When we returned to Lebanon in 1996, we were scattered on three continents with no prospect of being close to each other. David was to teach at the same school as Paul, just around the corner from our home. Jeanette would be teaching with us in the LESB&G. I was a happy mother! My children were grown up but I enjoyed having them nearby. Prior to leaving South Africa, Jeanette had been matron-of-honour at Mary-Ann’s and Grant’s wedding at Medway Chapel. They had their reception at Groot Constantia. Mary-Ann was thrilled when her parents arranged for them to have a horse and cart to travel to and from the church and to drive to the reception. We shared in the wedding via a video. The newly-weds now lived in our house in Plumstead. It gave us peace of mind to know that people we could trust were in our home. Jeanette and David were settled in an apartment provided by David’s school and in the same village as our flat. They could at last use our wedding present to them – an oriental-style carpet bought and kept in Lebanon until they came to stay there. Apart from seeing Jeanette each weekday, they had lunch with us frequently on Sundays. We usually bought chicken roasted on the spit and sometimes had chicken and rice with yoghurt – Lebanese style. David enjoyed the challenge of being a full-time teacher after the years of study. They were both learning more about Lebanese culture as they interacted with colleagues, parents and children at school. They worshipped in English with the international, interdenominational congregation at All Saints church near the Phoenicia hotel in Beirut. The rector was a C.M.S. missionary and both Jeanette and David were on the church council at different times. David helped lead the worship and Jeanette served in various ways over the years. When we left Beirut in 1984 and for years afterwards, the city - particularly the centre, near All Saints - was a mess. No wonder I identified with the book of Lamentations, “How doth the city sit solitary that was full of people! How is she become as a widow, she that was great among the nations! …. She hath none to comfort her.” Deserted, burnt out, broken-down buildings – a result of years of fighting. A number of times we had stood at our kitchen window in Hadeth and seen the smoke rising from the tall Holiday Inn building – practically new at the beginning of the troubles. Mounds of rubbish stood out to sea and All Saints that had stood next to the rocks on the seafront was considerably inland. However the restoration of Beirut was well in hand. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, the new Beirut was taking shape. Badly damaged buildings were restored to look better than before the war. And the lovely old architecture was preserved. Newly discovered archaeological remains

241 were uncovered as well. Slowly we saw a wonderful transformation in the look of the centre of the city. The sandstone building of the Anglican church as well as the Presbyterian-type national church not far away were amongst those that were repaired and restored. Did I mention before that the Lebanese are amazingly resilient? During these last few years in Beirut we had two earthquakes. I forget the date. I was in the bathroom stark naked when the building started shaking. Neville was outside and it felt like the “woosh” of a strong wind. By the time I could figure out what to do about covering my nakedness, the quake was over. It had been predicted for some time. The centre was apparently the same village that had been affected about forty years previously. In Beirut little damage was done except that loose masonry from the war years fell on a car and such minor incidents. The same afternoon, I was in the car while Neville was in a shop. It felt like someone was rocking our car up and down. Neville felt it more in the building – the second quake. In our early years in Lebanon we woke up one night with the things on the wardrobe moving. That was our first experience of a small earthquake. Some years later in Cyprus there was another one. It was about suppertime and people rushed out into the street. So did we. I prefer my feet on solid ground. It always troubled me that so many people in Lebanon live in high- rise buildings and on the edge of cliffs. There is more than one fault running through the country apparently. Christmas arrived again and we had the usual nativity plays and Christmas programme at the school. The parents came to watch their children and had the opportunity to hear the Gospel story. I decorated the Health Room window and put up a Bible verse to share the message once more. As the parents came up the stairs from the hall, they saw the Health Room window with the text on it. We never can know how God will use His word to speak to some person. Paul went to England to be with his girlfriend and family. Jeanette and David celebrated with us. I borrowed the doll from the Health Room and set up a “manger” in the middle of our lounge as part of the Christmas décor. I was always keen that the central message and meaning of Christmas should be emphasized in our decorating.

A Further Challenge At the end of the school year we said, “Good-bye” to our friends, Joan and Colin.

242 They were there when we arrived in 1968 and we were there to bid them farewell after about forty years of faithful service. Colin was principal for most of that time and field leader for many years as well. Neville had already been chosen to take over as field leader. So we organized a farewell for them, giving them gifts from the Lebanon missionaries and from the wider mission fellowship. Various farewells were arranged by the school and others in appreciation of their years of work. Their son, Stephen, born in Lebanon was to take over as headmaster from his father. Neville and I felt our inadequacy to head up the MECO work in Lebanon but did the best we could. We were the old school – used to roughing it and making the best of things (comparatively speaking), used to getting on without much pastoral care, used to being without a phone and other “luxuries” that were essentials to the younger generation. We had to learn to change our views on some issues and did not have an easy time in our first year of leading. In fact it was quite traumatic at times. We had no special training or experience in dealing with the younger missionaries apart from having been on the Field Executive. However we “got it in the neck” for not fulfilling certain expectations. One of our Home Council Directors was quite hard on us – I felt. We tried to learn from our mistakes, moderate our attitudes and change with the times where possible. Although we were sixty years old, we were still learning. For the first time in our years in the Middle East, as Field leader, we had a telephone. Once a year we organized a Field retreat up in the mountains at Dhour al Shweir. The Synod church had a conference centre there. The stone buildings had been restored after war damage and it was a wonderful place for our workers to get together for a weekend away. Excellent food was prepared by permanent staff on the premises. We had time to pray and share and receive input from God’s word. The children were catered for and we were able to have our annual field council with elections. Amongst other responsibilities, we arranged regular prayer and fellowship times for the missionaries. Sometimes we got together on a Sunday at Ain Zhalta for a meal together. Nicola and Don headed up the school there. At other times we met in homes near Beirut. When we went to Ain Zhalta, we skipped church at Hadeth Baptist and worshipped in the Synod church with our mission associates and local Lebanese. The latter were few in number. Christian families had left this mainly Druze area during the civil war but were slowly returning and repairing their homes. However most lived in Beirut during the school year. We also at times met in a village above Sidon where one of our missionaries had married a Lebanese Baptist minister. She remained an associate of the mission. Much damage had been done to this village in the troubles and the people had fled. A number had returned and a lot of reconstruction had already taken

243 place. When new workers arrived in Lebanon, we had to ensure that they had accommodation and furniture. Neville did some furniture moving as Field Leader - among his other tasks. There was still a full week to be fitted in at the school, as well. We had charge of the Summer Teams during three hot, humid summers. These were groups of young people, mainly from western countries, finding out about Lebanon; getting involved in outreach and practical work for some weeks. I used to set up the programme, make arrangements for accommodation and cook the food. Neville drove the young people all over the country and was responsible for their practical work. We all stayed in the boarding department at our school. The time started with orientation, one of the keen, national teachers helping us. There were morning prayers together each day and, hopefully, good times of discussion and fellowship. We took the young people sightseeing to Byblos, Tyre and Sidon as well as the cedars and Baalbek. There were a number of cedar groves in the Lebanon Mountains but the oldest was in the north near Bsharre (the hometown of the famous writer Khalil Gibran). It was a wonderful scenic drive up there then a walk through the grove with its large and ancient trees. We once found little forget-me-nots growing at the foot of these tall trees. The Lebanese called the trees “Arz arRabb” (Cedars of the Lord). Lunch could be at a nearby restaurant – owned by relatives of a teacher from the school. This was followed by a trip over the top of the mountains and down to Baalbek in the Beqaa Valley – usually very hot at this time of the year. It was a long day’s journey. Another outing on which we took some of them, was through the Chouf (passing by Ain Zhalta) to the President’s summer palace at Beit Eddine. This is an oriental complex built in the 19th Century, standing on a rocky outcrop of the mountains and surrounded by gardens. Tiled courtyards and fountains, reception rooms with beautiful mosaics, the harem and Turkish baths make it an interesting place to visit. Like Baalbek, cultural performances are held in the courtyard on summer evenings. On the outreach side, they joined with other teams and gave out literature in villages, helped with a street children’s project, went to a church camp, attended Arabic services, were entertained by Lebanese believers, assisted with a summer school, took part in a service for the geriatric patients at Hamlin hospital. From a practical standpoint they repaired desks, whitewashed walls and painted a KG playground with roads, waterfall, flowers etc.

244 We also had a group of three South African girls who came out during the southern hemisphere summer. It was term time so two of them helped at our school and the third made a contribution at another Evangelical school where Colin’s youngest son, Nigel, taught. They were able to help with the Christmas programmes. One of these young ladies was later on the South African Council of the mission.

A Serious Romance In June, Paul completed his year as head of sport in Lebanon and felt he should move on. He went on an overland trip through part of Africa with a friend. He travelled in Kenya and Tanzania, saw the Serengeti, and made his way back to South Africa. He visited Grandma Holmes in Johannesburg on his way to Cape Town where he saw family members including his other grandmother. This was not the first journey into different parts of the continent. He had previously been on an overland trip with the same friend on a safari truck. They visited Namibia, Zimbabwe, Zambia and went white water rafting, amongst other things. After a time in South Africa, Paul wanted to follow his rugby dream once more. He had been encouraged to do this by a Scot in Beirut. So he linked up with Linlithgow Rugby Club near Edinburgh. J.P., from the rugby scene in Beirut, also joined him. Paul’s girlfriend was at Edinburgh University. After some time in Scotland, their friendship ended. These were difficult months when Paul had to dig ditches on a golf course in pouring rain and cold to put food on the table. Then when everything seemed to be coming together (he had applied for a rugby development job and was apparently the chosen candidate, and the club was appointing him as a professional player and coach at last), he was told that he would have to leave the UK and apply for settlement from overseas. His four years’ ancestry visa had run out. Although the British Embassy in South Africa had told him he could get an extension in Scotland, the law had recently been changed. In November Paul joined us in Beirut once more. Around this time - October/November 1999 - Neville had to return to South Africa to sort out his mother’s affairs. I stayed in Lebanon. Mom moved to a frail care unit run by the Methodist church. Neville had to sort and clear out her cottage, selling or giving away most of her belongings. Some things he took down to our home in Cape Town. The cottage had to be sold as well. He worked very hard, as he normally does. The family spent Christmas together in Beirut. How glad I was that we were all together to celebrate. Every time it seemed our family would be living apart, the Lord brought us together again. Paul played rugby and helped with the coaching. He did some work for his friend’s father who

245 was the main sponsor of the rugby club. Later he did a tennis-coaching course. He was helping at our school as well, coaching tennis in the afternoons. But in a sense, he was marking time – it seemed. God had a plan. All the closed doors were past and God began to open doors for Paul. A young lady came as a short-term worker to help in the school. She was from Lancaster, Ohio in the USA and had been on short-term missions to a number of countries, including a previous one to Lebanon. I introduced Betsy to Paul in the junior school office. She already knew about him from Neville who enjoyed talking about his son to anyone who would listen. A few days later she walked into the Health Room where Paul was chatting to me and so their friendship started. They spent much time sharing with each other over the following number of weeks. They found – despite their different backgrounds – that they had common interests and experiences as well as a shared faith. They also found how hard it is to develop a relationship in a place like Lebanon. They stopped to chat on the stairs and a simple matter like that was enough to start people talking in the school. There were various problems in their courtship that would not have been an issue in their home countries. After some time they felt God was leading them into a long-term relationship. Betsy was returning to America to be bridesmaid to her friend. After rather miraculously getting a visa in Cyprus, Paul accompanied her. Having met Betsy’s family, they got engaged in Ohio and returned to Lebanon together. Things were slightly easier now that they were engaged. I had been able to give Paul a diamond ring that I inherited from my step-grandmother, Ma. This is what they used as an engagement ring. Ma would have been happy to know it. We celebrated the engagement on their return. What Paul and Betsy did not know was that I had been disturbed by the speedy development of their friendship. They wanted to get engaged after knowing each other for a relatively short time. Neville and I went out for over four years before getting married. Jeanette and David went out for five years. I did not like the fast pace of Paul’s and Betsy’s courtship. When Jeanette and David started going out, I spoke to the Lord about it. “Is David the right person for her?” I wanted to know. God gave me a sense of peace in my spirit and I believed David was the man chosen for Jeanette. Now again I spoke to the Lord. He answered me by a Scripture verse that came to my mind, “I the Lord will hasten it in its time” (Isaiah 60:22). I had my answer. God does not always work according to our preconceived ideas. At the end of the school year in June, all six of us travelled to South Africa via Cairo - while the Lebanese schools were closed for their summer holidays. It was mid-winter in South Africa of course. Our particular concern was to see how Neville’s mother was getting on in her new

246 environment at Garden Village in Johannesburg while the other four went on to Cape Town. We stayed with our friends, Cynthia and Arthur. When we visited Mom, we found her rather vague and thought she was rambling but discovered that she actually knew what was going on. However, she was not inclined to talk much. The home and residents were very well cared for and Mom seemed happy. We visited her each day to spend time with her. The matron was a lovely Christian and was kind enough to receive regular letters, from us to Mom, via the e-mail when we were in Lebanon. We had done a similar thing when she was in the retirement village. It was a comfort to know that we could be in touch with Neville’s mother in this way. On her side, Joan used to write to tell us how Mom was doing. Neville’s former brother-in-law, Des and his wife kindly kept an eye on her too and bought toiletries and other things for her. Glenda’s two sons, Mark and Andrew and families also visited their grandmother. Before we left Lebanon, I started having severe pain in my mouth. I went to see Lola. She was our dentist and the daughter of our next-door neighbours when we lived in Hadeth. She could find nothing wrong but ordered painkillers. The terrible pain continued in Johannesburg so I went to see a doctor. He guessed at the cause and ordered medication with no relief. We went on to Cape Town and I suffered. I have never had such pain before or since and began to understand why people wish to die when suffering intensely. We were visiting people, and I endured pain in my gum where there was a kind of lesion like three abscesses at once, in my teeth, in my tongue, in my face. We tried different remedies – all were a waste of money. Then I went to see our friend, Charles. He suggested it might be an unusual form of shingles. A friend told us that he had had shingles and it lasted six weeks. Towards the end of our stay in Cape Town our friends, Lillian and Neville, invited us to spend a few days with them in her brother’s holiday home at Betty’s Bay. I was reluctant to go because of the pain but was persuaded. On the way out to Betty’s Bay, we stopped to watch the whales. I had discovered the most effective way of dealing with the pain in my mouth. I sipped water every few minutes. I remember seeing the whales and taking time to sip. It was nearly six weeks since this agony started. We had a pleasant time together. The house was situated between sand dunes with the sea in one direction and a small lake backed by mountains in the other. There were otters in the lake and wild “fynbos” bushes on the dunes. By the end of our short vacation there, the pain and sensitivity were going from my mouth. I was certainly thankful. One lesson I learnt from this is that you cannot imagine what severe pain is like until you have gone through it yourself. Although I do not agree with euthanasia, I have more sympathy with those who see it as a way out.

247 Jeanette, David, Neville and myself returned to Lebanon. They were into their second two-year, short-term service. Betsy travelled back to the United States to her home in Lancaster to continue her studies. Paul stayed with Neville and Lilian and later with Mary-Ann and Grant, in “The Hole in the Wall” at our house. The new school year started at the end of September in Lebanon and we had great news. Jeanette and David were expecting a baby. Jeanette did not find it so great when she suffered from “morning sickness” and not necessarily only in the morning. The baby was due in June and she visited an obstetrician who had specialized in South Africa. We knew he would have had good training, as the medical standards were high in our country. Paul had applied, and was waiting, for a fiancé visa to get into the United States. The other four of us had managed to get visitor’s visas to go to the States for the wedding – whenever that was to be. It took Paul eight months before he received the visa. Betsy got her congressman to help and her father agreed to stand surety for Paul. The young couple felt the eight months to be forever. In fact, hearing of other people’s experiences later, we realized that Paul got the fiancé visa in a relatively short space of time. In the meantime he asked us for help in studying at the Sports Science Centre at Newlands for a Sports Diploma. He did very well and they suggested he complete the BSc Sports degree with Stellenbosch University as a distance learner. All his previous experience, courses, qualifications were taken into account and brought together under this one degree. It was a miracle. We could not have sent him to Stellenbosch for four years to study for this degree but God enabled him to complete most of it – with very good marks – in a relatively short time. By the time he went to America he only had to hand in a few papers and do his year’s internship before he was awarded the degree. The closed doors, the loose ends – it all began to make sense in the light of what the Lord did then. We still marvel. Our son has a BSc Sports degree awarded by one of the best universities from a sports point of view. Paul worked hard but God organized it.

A Son is Married Paul travelled to Ohio and spent some six weeks with Betsy’s family before their wedding. He was not able to work but found a job, to start after the marriage was registered. David was supposed to be Paul’s best man but Jeanette’s doctor would not allow her to travel. So they had to miss the wedding. It was sad for everyone but there was nothing to be done about it. They were to be married on 28th April. We travelled to the USA a few weeks before the wedding. We wanted to spend time with Paul

248 and Betsy as well as get to know her family. We were royally treated by Dave and Kelly and enjoyed our time in Lancaster. Their home was an attractive, double storey, with a large basement. Upstairs there were dormer windows in the girls’ rooms. Lawn and a few shrubs surrounded the house. The backyard was fenced in but the rest of the garden was open to the street. In the guest room there was lovely new furniture, made by Amish people, I believe. The first night we found the central heating very hot for us and tried to open the window but could not do so. The next morning it was snowing outside and we woke to a beautiful, white world. We did not expect snow in April. The town was interesting from a historical point of view and some older parts looked a bit like a set for a movie. Neville spent time chatting to Dave in his furniture shop. They also played golf together. We met Betsy’s older sister Brook (who had been a beauty queen) and her husband Coy. They were studying at a Bible School. Betsy’s brother Matt was keen on sport and still at school, as was her younger sister Courtney. We visited the shopping mall and I was delighted to find a suitable outfit for the wedding. I could not get anything in Lebanon and had brought the suit I wore for Jeanette’s wedding with me. I was able to buy a dress and coat also in a pretty shade of green on a sale. The coat had long sleeves – more suitable for that time of the year in Ohio than the short-sleeved jacket of the other one. We enjoyed the special buck–eyed steaks that Dave provided and were interested to eat doughnuts for breakfast. We found that Americans eat out a lot – even breakfast – and the restaurants are not expensive. We were amazed to see the many dead wild animals (including deer) on the road between Lancaster and Columbus. We have dead animals on our roads too but not in such concentrated numbers. A girls-only party was held for Betsy – in some ways like our kitchen tea. As the groom’s parents, we were not as involved in the wedding preparations as Betsy’s family. In fact Betsy had done much of the organizing herself as her mother worked full time. The groom’s parents were responsible for the Rehearsal Dinner. I wanted to cook the food myself but it was not thought to be a good idea. After the rehearsal at the church everyone went to a Chinese restaurant - good, plentiful food and not too expensive. What surprised me was that everyone ate and left almost immediately. In South Africa and Lebanon we should most certainly have spent more time being sociable. We went with Paul and Betsy to look for an apartment for them to stay in after the honeymoon. We looked at a number of places before they found a suitable new home to rent. The complex was on the edge of the woods. The apartment had a cathedral ceiling and open fireplace in the lounge. They took it. Dave would help them with the matter of furniture.

249 We had given them a painting of Cape Town as a wedding present. Paul took us to the country club where he was to work as a fitness trainer. It was on a golfing estate with rather large, brick, Georgian-style houses. There were a number of tennis courts and other sports facilities as well as the gym. Paul worked there for a year after his marriage, before moving on to another gym. Their great day arrived 28th April 2001, and we helped get the tables ready at the reception venue. Betsy had chosen a beautiful setting. The large reception hall had elegant wood panelling and arches with an open, stone fireplace. It was situated next to a small lake surrounded by trees. The leaves were pale green with the freshness of spring and there were blossoms on some trees. A traditional, covered bridge stood near the hall and a photo of all the males in the wedding party was to be taken looking out from the side of the bridge. Other photos were later taken near the lake. The table cloths were white and the table napkins mauve. On each second table there was a topiary of cream silk roses with violet-coloured irises and lilies. The other tables had a square mirror with a candle in a glass lamp mantle and fresh mauve rose petals scattered on the mirror. The draped chairs were finished off with a large mauve bow. The catering was done by Betsy’s friend’s husband. It was all that could have been desired. The cake was covered in soft cream icing and decorated with a cascade of fresh mauve rose petals – simple but tasteful. Also placed on the tables were rolled up scrolls tied with mauve ribbon. They contained a short history of Paul and Betsy’s lives. This was important, as many people did not know Paul. In fact he only had his best man, Jason, our mission representatives, James and Debbie (who drove over from Indiana) and us who knew him – apart from Betsy and her family. Jason was a short-termer with our mission and Paul and Betsy got to know him in the Middle East. He had been travelling around the States and only arrived a day or two before the wedding. Being a stranger, he was not able to arrange a bachelor party for Paul. At any rate Paul’s friends were all in other parts of the world. We drove to the Church of the Nazarene to change for the wedding. This was also an unusual custom for us. In South Africa everyone dressed at home. In Ohio the church had special changing rooms, one for the women, another for the men. Messages and even gifts could be sent backwards and forwards between the two rooms. Once dressed, Neville and I had our photos taken with the bride and groom – separately - and Betsy’s parents. The bride had also put on her gown and had photos taken of herself the day before the wedding – so as to save time on the Saturday. A friend was the photographer.

250 The wedding was due to start and Kelly and I were conducted to the front of the church. She wore a lovely bluish dress and coat. We both had corsages of greenery, with violet and white flowers. Two brass candelabra with seven candles each stood on both sides of the platform. Two single candlesticks stood on each side of a larger candle on the table. Kelly and I lit the single candles and the couple would light the central one. It was a symbol of bringing Paul and Betsy together from our two families. Paul and the minister stood waiting as Betsy and her father made their way up the aisle to the accompaniment of the wedding music. The bridal party was quite big by South African standards. Courtney was the maid of honour and Brook was matron of honour, while two friends, Stephanie and Sara were bridesmaids. They were dressed in long, iridescent green dresses and carried small bouquets of violet and white flowers. Sydney in pale mauve was the flower girl while her brother Keenan carried the cushion as the ring bearer. Jason was best man and Matt and Coy were the groomsmen. Betsy looked lovely in a simple, long, white gown and a long veil attached to her hair at the back. Her long, blond hair was worn in an elegant chignon. Her bouquet was comprised of white roses. The men were all dressed in special suits hired for the occasion. Paul refused to allow his father to wear his own suit. Neville wanted to save money. This time Dad had to toe the line. The men wore mauve ties and violet-coloured flowers as buttonholes while Paul had a cream rosebud that matched his cream-coloured waistcoat and cream tie. We were proud of our smart-looking son. He had even let his hair grow a bit. It was normally very short (cut on no. 1, I believe) or even shaved off completely. The service was conducted by the youth pastor who knew Betsy. Paul and Betsy committed themselves to each other for life, in the sight of God and man. And so our son was now a married man with responsibility for another life as well as his own. We moved on to the celebration of this new marriage at the hall by the lake and had an enjoyable time together at the reception. Everything looked lovely and the food was really good.

251 Paul persuaded his mother to have one dance with him, but Neville declined any idea of going on a dance floor. We spent quite a bit of time chatting to our mission representatives who were amongst the few people we knew there. The couple left on their honeymoon – no car messed up and no tin cans. Paul’s friends who would have done this “service” for him were far away in South Africa. Paul and Betsy spent the first two nights at a nearby hotel, then travelled to Cincinnati to register their marriage before flying off to San Diego for the rest of the honeymoon. We would not see them again before we left for Beirut via Amsterdam. One thing we could not believe when we left Detroit was that they did not stamp our passports on leaving the country. We felt their security measures were lax compared with South Africa and Lebanon. On the flight back we had another “adventure”. The plane from Columbus was cancelled and we were put up for a night at a hotel. We missed our flight in Detroit and had to fly via Paris instead of Amsterdam.

A Very Special Event Our excitement for that year was not yet over. Our first grandchild was expected in June. While in Ohio we bought toys and clothes for him. Paul and Betsy sent gifts with us as well. Jeanette was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and the weather could be hot and sticky even in June. She wanted a natural delivery. David’s parents, John and Jenny, travelled to Lebanon from South Africa for the event. It was also their first grandchild. They brought gifts of clothing and baby necessities from Medway Chapel and other friends and family including Mary-Ann and Grant. The cot and other equipment were ready to welcome the new baby. We had a baby shower for Jeanette with friends from church and school. This baby would lack for nothing! We bought him a bouncinette at a Mother Care shop sale. The school gave them a lovely combined pram and pushchair. Jeanette taught at school until a few days before going into hospital. The baby was overdue and the obstetrician wanted to induce labour, starting at 6am. I sat in the corner of her room to offer moral support but it was Jeanette’s, David’s and the baby’s day. Jeanette was very brave. Then the baby showed signs of distress and the doctor decided that a Caesarean section was the only answer. Joshua Keenan Correia was born around 2pm on 28th June 2001. Jeanette had been in labour for eight hours. He was a big boy and had suffered trying to get through the birth canal. His face was swollen and his forehead looked dented. This soon improved in the following days. We

252 watched the new addition to the family through the glass while the nurse washed him. We were surprised when she held him under the tap and rinsed him off under the running water. David was the first to hold him and immediately the nursery staff gave him a bottle of milk to feed the very newly born infant! We made sure that Josh had his photo taken with the small rubber rugby ball that Uncle Paul had sent for him. Jenny was videoing of course and photos were taken. Sharon (South African friend from church) and Sara (English friend from David’s school and church) with her husband Charles were there, as well as the four grandparents. Jeanette was recovering from the general anaesthetic and they took the baby through for her to hold. After a few days she was sent home, the milk came in and the baby did well. Jeanette became more experienced in holding, feeding, changing and bathing. David, Jenny and John helped her and we visited as often as we could. Before John and Jenny left for South Africa there was a Dedication service for Joshua at All Saints church. Josh was six weeks old when he became quite ill with a bladder infection. He was admitted to hospital and kept on an intravenous drip. It was a trying time and we could only commit this little boy – their son, our grandchild - to the Lord. Jeanette’s milk dried up during this time and Joshua became a bottle-fed baby with no ill consequences, although Jeanette did not appreciate the way the nurse forced the bottle on him. Jeanette stayed at the hospital day and night and I spent much of each day with her, encouraging and helping. David still had his parents with him and also spent all the time he could at the hospital. It was the summer holiday so none of us needed to be at school. We were thankful when the paediatrician told us that there was nothing anatomically wrong, as they had suspected this might be the cause of the infection. At last Joshua was discharged. We were thankful to God for a healthy baby once more, in answer to prayer. During this anxious time David had to prepare to move house. Fortunately John and Jenny were there to help as well. David believed the Lord had called him to move on and teach at the same school as Jeanette. They were being provided with a two bed- roomed flat in an apartment building just outside the school’s back gates. So they moved to their new home. Soon afterwards David’s parents returned to South Africa. The new school year was to be our last serving in Lebanon. Jeanette planned to teach part time – two full days a week. I was to look after Joshua on those two days so the school had to manage without me for that time. The following year I would not be there at all. They needed to think about a replacement. The previous year I had already reduced my days at

253 school to three a week. This was because I needed extra time for the mission work. Although Neville was Field Leader, I did the email correspondence, organizing of events and visits, and offered hospitality to visiting international and Home Councils’ representatives. That year we had a medical doctor and a nurse practitioner who were teaching at the school as a change from their medical work in England. They were able to take over from me for two days each week. Jeanette was needed in the school, as she was still co-ordinating and heading up the English department. I had the pleasure and privilege of spending extra time with Joshua. It was great to see him growing and developing. We rejoiced over every stage – the first smile, the teeth, the sitting up, standing, walking, talking. In his earlier months he looked so much like Jeanette as a baby, it was uncanny. However as he got towards his first birthday, he grew more like David in his looks. Before that time we had a precious Christmas with our chubby little boy. We missed Paul and Betsy, far across the ocean. Another sad yet expected event during 2001 was the death of Neville’s mother aged nearly ninety-four. We had originally planned to go home for the funeral if she died. However it was costly and there was no one we needed to go and comfort at home. So we sent a message from both of us to be read at the memorial service in South Africa and arranged a second memorial service in Lebanon. We invited our friends and asked Nigel (Joan’s and Colin’s youngest son) to give the message. We set up a board with photos and a history of Mom’s life for our friends to see and held the service at the same time as the one in Johannesburg. We were thankful for Kit’s and Des’s help. She also wrote to us, as did another friend, and told us about the service at Parktown North Methodist church in South Africa. There were only her two grandsons – Mark and Andrew – of the immediate family but quite a number of people attended – unusual for someone of ninety-four. We thankfully handed over our responsibilities as Field Leader to Peter and Libby. In a sense we had filled the gap for three years but they still had plenty of time to serve. We realized that our time in Lebanon was drawing to a close. By the end of the school year we were glad to be going. We felt tired and unable to cope with the hassles of living in Lebanon any more. The things that caused us problems over these last six years were traffic, water, electricity, a leaking wall and tension caused by Israeli air raids and frequent sonic booms as they trespassed in Lebanese air space. Water was an ongoing problem. It was supplied to our area about twice a week. Unfortunately the way our block of flats was set up for water distribution was unfair, to say the least. The first apartment’s tanks filled up and then the second apartment’s and so on. We were about fifth in

254 line. If sufficient water did not come from the waterworks in the valley, we got none. Furthermore the neighbours below who got theirs before us, would use water freely washing their cars etc and their tanks would keep filling while we had to wait. We could have bought a tanker of water but Neville refused on principle. There was a flat rate for water, not according to consumption. We always had to be conserving this precious commodity and trying to encourage visitors not to use too much. We might have enough now but who knew when we would get more? Drinking water we bought in big plastic bottles. Electricity was cut off every day for hours. The Israelis hit the electricity supplies a number of times - also near our school where windows were broken and there was no school while repairs were done. That was a terrible raid. Having hit the electricity supply station, the jets returned and bombed the emergency workers who had rushed there to aid in the situation. Some emergency personnel were killed. Another time we woke in the night to the sound of aerial bombing not far away. I felt defenceless sleeping close to the outside wall of the building. Only God was our shield and defence. The lack of electricity meant that we had dark, cold, cheerless evenings or dark, hot evenings with mosquitoes. So we got used to going to bed pretty early or using candles. Sometimes one could get stuck in a lift or find it difficult to get up dark stairs to visit a friend. Those living in the city did not lose electricity as often as those of us in villages on the outskirts. Because it was erratic, we could not be sure when the electricity would be on or off. At times the cuts assumed more of a regular pattern but there were no guarantees. There were large private generators in many areas and it was possible to link up to these when the government electricity failed – at a cost. We did not join up. Jeanette and David were connected because in both their apartments the schools provided for them to be linked to generators when needed. The leaking wall caused me months of stress and concern. Much prayer went up to God before this issue was resolved. Water started running down the wall in the kitchen and onto our open electricity board. It was also affecting the wall in the passage and the bathroom. No one knew where the water was coming from. We could not get help from anyone. I was desperate and very concerned about the water on the electricity board. After months, and with no response from our upstairs neighbours, the national society who owned the flat sent an engineer to look at it. On Christmas Eve our kitchen stank of raw chicken as the lady upstairs washed her Christmas poultry and the water ran down into our kitchen. By this time it was also affecting the neighbours below us. The mission eventually had to pay to have the pipe of the upstairs neighbour repaired. The tiles had to be dug up in their kitchen and the pipe replaced – at our expense,

255 although it was their responsibility. They said that they would share the cost but never paid. I was so thankful to get to the end of what had been a long, drawn-out trial for me. The Lord did not leave me without His intervention, although I would have chosen that He should have done something earlier! It is one of the mysteries of faith – at times God works with lightning speed; at other times He seems in no hurry to help us. His word encourages us to trust Him, whatever. During these last years in Lebanon, we became involved with a congregation of African believers. They were mainly from Ghana although there were also a few Nigerians amongst them. They met at the Bible Baptist church in Hadeth and we attended their English language service before going on to the Arabic meeting in our own church. The Lebanese pastor of the Bible Baptist church, Nicholas, was a man of vision. (His children came to our school and his wife was a past student.) He served both the Arabic and English-speaking congregations and the two groups joined together for combined worship on a regular basis. Later an Iraqi believer became the pastor of the African congregation. Neville sometimes preached, and a group of the African leaders asked him to teach them the Bible. So on Friday evenings Neville met with them and did a survey of the whole Bible. They got together in derelict buildings (where some lived); without electricity at times; pestered by mosquitoes. But God blessed these studies. Later on one of the men, Peter, became a Baptist pastor in Ghana and another, Charles, headed up a Bible school in his home country. We were drawn into social events as well and attended their weddings. They introduced us to palm oil that Ghanaians like to use in their dishes. The elders visited us and we appreciated their loving concern for us. They accepted us as Africans and we were grateful. In our own country we knew few black people and felt there was still some animosity towards us as white South Africans. There was no “baggage”, no history to prevent us being accepted by our Ghanaian friends. Through these contacts Neville was also invited to preach to other African groups outside Beirut. Some of these people had a hard time in their jobs and were disappointed and exploited. The church through the elders helped the needy in their community. We were able to employ a group of the Ghanaian ladies at the

256 school. They worked well, although one of them was a bit slow. They considered me to be their “Mama” and there was a good relationship between us. They expected me to speak to the administration on their behalf when there was a problem. We had to teach the children to treat them with respect, as there was some racism obvious in the attitude of certain boys and girls. Jeanette arranged for the ladies to get food parcels as an extra at Christmas time and the children contributed. We were also happy to be involved in our Arabic speaking Hadeth Baptist church once more. The pastor, Ghassan, was a good Bible teacher. Neville found that concentrating on the Arabic was quite taxing and I nudged him to keep awake when he started dropping off. Occasionally Neville preached. I was glad to be involved with the ladies’ meetings. A larger church building was needed so they applied to build. With much prayer and delay and difficulty in getting permission, this was at last granted and the building commenced. The church meetings moved to our school for some months. When the semi-basement hall and the shell of the rest of the building of four or five floors were complete, we moved back to Hadeth. The hall served as the main meeting place for years, but then the actual sanctuary was completed after we retired. The church was renamed Resurrection church, and their service is broadcast on Sat7 each Sunday to reach the Arab world. Ghassan retired and he and Hanni have since both transferred to their heavenly home. Hikmet, who was a young man when we knew him, is now the leading pastor. While we were part of the fellowship, the congregation was quite large but not affluent. Most were struggling in the post-war situation, some certainly without jobs. In fact before the long years of “the Events”, there were few people in Lebanon who were hungry. Some were poor but not starving. There was a large middle to lower middle-class group. Families helped each other and lived fairly well. After the war, we saw a person looking for food in a dustbin for the first time. Others were trying to keep up appearances but were bordering on being poor rather than middle class. The huge slump in the value of the Lebanese pound had affected those who saved money in their own currency. In spite of the difficulty in getting jobs and general lack of financial resources, there were a number of keen young people in the church who got involved in outreach or studied at the Baptist College. It was encouraging to see God working through our national brothers and sisters. We were thankful for Ghassan’s and Hanni’s hospitality and acceptance. Often we were the only foreigners in the congregation. When national Christians have been under the authority of foreign missionaries or mission boards, they sometimes guard their independence and may fear interference from foreigners once more. So we appreciated the fact that

257 we were welcome. There was a stage in mission history when the emphasis was on handing everything over to the nationals. The foreign workers had been in charge and the nationals were under their authority. This changed to the nationals being in charge and we served under them. That is fine as far as it goes and our mission encouraged us in an attitude of servanthood, that is right in Christian service. I think there has been yet another change and the emphasis is possibly now more on partnership. We are workers together – with God - for the extension of His kingdom. The Israelis withdrew from southern Lebanon after many years of occupation. People who had not been able to visit their home villages for years went south with much joy. A senior school student from our school was travelling in a relative’s car while her parents were in another vehicle. Because of the traffic, Lama’s car moved over onto the gravel at the side of the road. A landmine did the rest. The students at school were devastated by the death of their colleague. The school staff went as a group to the nearby village to offer our condolences to her parents. The women sat with the mother and female relatives, while the men commiserated with her father. They were a Muslim family. Prior to this a mother, who had three children in the school, was killed on a dangerous stretch of the Damascus Road after dropping one of them at school on a Saturday morning. We had all gone to express our sympathy in the mosque, the women in one section and the men in another part. The father had influential friends and the Prime Minister came to sympathize while we were there. The two daughters were older and students in the senior school. The son was a pupil in the junior school and for a long time did not know of his mother’s death. He apparently thought his mother had gone overseas for medical treatment. Only later did he find out that his mother was dead. As a staff we quite frequently went on official visits as a body. If someone on the staff had a baby or got married or lost a close family member or had an operation or an extended illness, it was necessary to make an official visit. Sometimes we had to visit students’ families as well, especially in the case of the death of a parent or sibling. People also visited to welcome someone home or to say farewell to a person travelling abroad. Moving to a new home could also be a visiting occasion. Money was collected from the staff each month to cover presents and flowers required by special occasions. There was much more community life in a Lebanese school than in the western equivalent. Nadine who was secretary in the junior school and whom I had got to know well was to marry Eli – both of them were past students of the school. We were invited to the wedding in Deir al Qamar. It is a lovely

258 village with interesting old buildings. They were married in the large traditional church and Nadine was beautifully dressed. They had some people in cultural dress assisting with the proceedings and it was an interesting experience. There was such a big crowd, that I did not try to get into the reception but enjoyed being outside in the church courtyard up there in the mountains. I was happy to look after Joshua so Jeanette and David could be free to enjoy the proceedings. A few years later Nadine and Eli had twins. I was able to visit Nadine with Jeanette before the twins were born, when we returned to Lebanon for the birth of our second grandchild. The previous junior school secretary, Dora, also had twins. Speaking of marriage and Lebanon made me think of one of my friends in Shemlan. She and her husband had eloped. “Raahat chatife” is the Arabic expression for “she eloped”. Elopement apparently sometimes took place with the knowledge of the families. It saved the expense of a wedding. At other times the couple eloped because one of the families (or both) did not approve of the match. Having gone against the family, they then needed a mediator to reconcile the parties. Teachers’ Day was an annual holiday from school and was celebrated throughout the country. The children gave gifts to their class teachers, and the Parents’ Association and Evangelical Society treated us to a Lebanese meal in a restaurant each year. We went to some lovely places and there was always an over-abundance of food. One of the dishes was raw steak cut up into small pieces. We did not eat raw meat. One year we had the meal in a restaurant by the sea. Neville decided not to waste this raw meat so he got hold of an empty Coca Cola tin. He then stuffed the pieces into it, with our French language mistress egging him on. He took it home and I had to cook it. Our headmaster was humiliated and offered Neville a “bribe” not to do it the next year. Neville is still waiting for Steve to fulfil his end of the bargain. In our last year at the school, I asked to be allowed to teach Bible. I was given two junior and two senior school classes to teach. I enjoyed sharing God’s word with the children but had some problems maintaining discipline especially in the senior classes. The children all knew me as “soft” Mrs Holmes from the Health Room and thought they could get away with misbehaving in my classes. Our twenty-two years, in which the Middle East and Lebanon was home, were coming to an end. We arranged to have some of our belongings shipped to Cape Town. The school held a farewell for us. The hall was beautifully decorated in swathes of yellow and violet material with matching balloons. A Lebanese meal was served and gifts given. We

259 received a magnificent canteen of Jezzine cutlery as well as a plaque to commemorate the years with the school (of course Neville had spent many more years there than I had), also a Damascus tablecloth. Speeches were made and Steve nearly broke down. He appreciated the help and support that Neville had given him as a relatively new headmaster, sharing with him from God’s word before school in the mornings. He also mentioned the disco effect that Neville produced when working the lights for the chapels each day. It was special to us that Joan and Colin were visiting from England. As we had said “Good-bye” to them a few years before, so they were able to bid us farewell. We had known each other for thirty- four years. We had known their sons Stephen, John and Nigel since they were little boys. They had known our children since they were babies. The mission arranged two farewell parties. One was a gathering of all the associates and members at Ain Zhalta where we shared lunch together outside on the upstairs patio, with the village and mountains below and around us. They had an enormous cake (there had been a similar one at the school) that we all shared. Then our fellow missionaries organized a surprise dinner in a Chinese restaurant. My daughter and son-in-law invited us to go out with them but when we arrived the members of the mission family were there. We were given lovely gifts once more, this time from the worldwide fellowship. These were a gold cedar and chain and traditional dress for me, and a Swatch watch for Neville. There was also some money. We were thankful for the love showered on us although we were not worthy. Our Arabic church too had a special service to say “Good-bye” and Neville was asked to give a final message from the Bible. Colin also got up to speak and we were touched when he publicly put right something that had happened a few years before. We had put it behind us but, if there was any scar from the episode, Colin’s gracious and humble attitude erased it forever. Ghassan spoke and we were again given gifts – a necklace with a pearl setting for me (a precious gesture and a strange irony after all my inward battles in this very church on the question of wearing jewellery years before) and a special Bible for Neville. Maybe this is a good time to mention that I had struggled with the legalism in our Arabic church years before. “Spiritual” believers did not wear necklaces, earrings or brooches. They wore calf length skirts when the “mini” was in vogue. I did not want to wear a mini but neither did I want to look like my great-grandmother! I struggled with what I should do. I felt that to look too old fashioned would put off certain people that we wanted to reach. However it was also important for foreigners not to

260 override the sensibilities of our national brothers and sisters in the church. I tried to compromise (in a good sense, I hope) and not wear my dresses too short or too long. I wore a brooch and not a necklace. But it was an inward struggle when I thought, “Why should I be controlled by their narrow thinking?” I had to learn where the national believers were coming from and appreciate their point of view although I might not agree with it. However many things changed with time and the emphasis on outward conformity was diminished as good Biblical teaching was given. Joshua had his first birthday and we celebrated with friends in our apartment. Jeanette and I had prepared a special cake – a mommy and baby hedgehog. It was quite cute and fun making it. We sold some things like our car, dining room table and chairs and appliances, and completed our packing. With final farewells to friends and neighbours, we left Lebanon – by air not by sea this time - with Jeanette, David and Joshua. The airport was looking as smart as paint, all newly built since the war stopped; nothing like the makeshift buildings at the end of hostilities. The three would return in a few months as they had committed for their third, two-year, short-term period, but we would live in our home country of South Africa from now on. Jeanette made a special scrapbook for us. She contacted various people we knew in Lebanon and the mission and asked them to write their memories of us. She also put photos in the book and we added others later. It was a lovely thought and we much appreciated Jeanette’s efforts as well as our friends’ input. The last six years had been difficult at times but as a family we were blessed. Jeanette and David had joined us in Lebanon. Paul had met Betsy and she had become his wife. Our first grandchild, Joshua had been born and was an adorable toddler of one year old with a growing vocabulary. He seemed to have his mother’s early verbal skills. Our gratitude is to the God who planned it all.

A Return to Plumstead Mary-Ann and Grant had graciously lived in our home with extra furniture and goods belonging to our family. They had a son, Jared, born later in the same year as Joshua. The two cousins could play together and enjoy each other’s company – which they did when they could agree to share the toys. Joshua being older rather dominated Jared who was the one whose toys were being shared. But on the whole they got on together. Mary-Ann and Grant moved to the Evremonde Road house that is to go to Jeanette.

261 Paul and Betsy had bought a condo in about January so they too had their own home. They now joined us in Cape Town for a week or two, bringing Betsy’s brother, Matt, with them. We organized mattresses and Matt slept on the floor in the sunroom while Paul and Betsy slept on the lounge floor. Joshua needed a bedroom to himself, hence the shortage of rooms. Betsy found Cape Town in the winter very cold indeed. In fact our winter temperatures are much higher than Ohio but our houses are not heated. We are used to this but for an American just arrived from summer in Columbus, it was freezing. It was great that the whole family could be together for a while. A Medway friend, Arthur, took formal photos for us of the family, together and in groups in front of the long, front curtains at Medway. We had to make use of the times we could get together so we would have pictures to look at when we were apart. In the meantime we acquired two vehicles – a red Toyota (only a few years old) and a beige Mercedes (an older car but well cared for). Public transport is very difficult and a car is a necessity. We needed two so that we could each get around, having different programmes. While we were still in Lebanon, our children booked a holiday for us at Carmel Guest farm near George in the Southern Cape. There was a special offer and they insisted we needed a holiday. Only snag was that we had to pay! Jeanette and Mary-Ann decided to join us there for part of the time with the two little ones. Grandma had no objection. Jared nearly choked at breakfast one morning and Mary-Ann was really distressed but he was fine afterwards. It was good to have a break in such lovely surroundings. We had one of the newer suites with a view down to Victoria Bay between the hills. This time gave us the opportunity to look up an old lady who had made a commitment to Christ when we stayed at Carmel before returning to Lebanon in 1996. Although her memory was now going, she made it clear that Christ was the centre of her life. It was an encouraging visit. Some years earlier in Athens airport, Neville had met a young man from George. He told Neville that this lady was being used as an example in the church that it was never too late to put your trust in Jesus. We had another lovely time at Carmel some years prior to 1996. Neville and I were the speakers at a “Life after work” conference. Neville spoke at most of the meetings but I took a few. We met some dear people there and have remained friends. Speaking of being joint speakers - one year Neville and I shared the speaking at a Medway Camp. I realized afterwards that some people were not happy about a woman speaker, although the elders had sanctioned it.

262 I decided that I would never again speak to a mixed group from God’s word at our church. I have no desire to cause unnecessary offence to other Christians when it can be avoided. After the Holmes (junior) group had returned to the USA and the Correias had gone back to the Middle East, Neville and I reorganized the house while getting on with deputation meetings. It was agreed that we would travel around and take meetings for our mission in different parts of the country for a year or so after we returned from Lebanon. The first months were to be spent in our own area of the Western Cape. I was not looking forward to Christmas – the first one without any of our children near us. I prayed about inviting guests. Another couple in our church, whose children were all overseas, joined us as well as my mother. First, we attended the Christmas service at Medway. For lunch we ate hot roast turkey, roast potatoes, and plenty of salads (hot weather), followed by dessert. A visit from Mary-Ann, Grant and Jared was enjoyed after lunch. We also had a phone call from Paul and Betsy in the States. It was not as easy to connect with Lebanon. As always, I had decorated the house. The tree was lit up. The stable made by the hospital carpenter in Lebanon was out in the lounge. Mary and Joseph started their journey from Bethlehem some days before Christmas and travelled around the lounge, moving each day until they arrived in the stable on Christmas Eve - as we had done for years while the children were at home. The next morning the baby was in the manger, although there was no one to see it except Neville and myself. I kept up our traditions hoping that some Christmas the grandchildren would share them with us. Early in the next year, we travelled a long distance for deputation meetings to Mpumalanga in the north east of South Africa. We stayed with our old friends and supporters, Don and his wife. They lived on a golfing estate that was very pleasant. The bird life was interesting too. They had arranged various meetings for us. We particularly enjoyed sharing at a Bible school where we stayed for a few days. It was good to get to know staff and students. Some staff members were from the States; others were South Africans. There was also special medical training for those reaching out to the Aids victims in the area. There were many ill and dying of this disease. Much help and Christian compassion was needed. The weather was unusually hot. That Saturday a couple, involved in a literature ministry, took us on a trip to Sabie and we had lunch on the veranda next to an old train carriage. Russel is getting on in age but his driving was that of a young man. We felt a bit nervous. On Sunday we were to go to someone’s holiday home on the banks of the river bordering on

263 the Kruger National Park, for lunch. I elected to stay at home as I cannot bear such heat. I did not enjoy the heat and humidity in Lebanon either. I often said that I was made to live in England – preferably the cooler parts in the north. From Mpumalanga we drove to Gauteng and took meetings in the Johannesburg area. Wherever we went, we also visited our missionary partners and other friends. This time it would be a farewell visit. We stayed with Arthur and his wife in their new home in the country - not far from the Hartebeespoort Dam. They owned land that extended into the distance right up to the top of a hill. They and the surrounding farmers had taken down their fences so that the wild game that came over the hill could move freely. It was a lovely place and we watched the countryside from our upstairs bedroom window. It was quite a distance to get to the meetings but it was worth it to be in such restful, rural surroundings. We spoke at a meeting in Kimberley on our way home. The faithful and hospitable mission representative, also one of our supporters, Claudine (with her husband), arranged a gathering in their home where we shared about the work in the Middle East. She had invited people from different churches. As usual, she provided a lovely meal as well. I have asked her for some of her recipes at different times and have used them quite a bit. Back home once more, we arranged the next tour - this time to the Southern and Eastern Cape. It sounds simple but it took prayer, planning, writing, phoning and organizing. In May we left the Cape Peninsula and travelled over Sir Lowry’s Pass in the Hottentots Holland Mountains. We passed the Steenbras River near the entrance to the big Steenbras Dam that supplies some of Cape Town’s water. On the flat top of the mountain are plantations of pine trees. We travelled through the apple growing district of Elgin. Later on we passed Albertinia with its aloe factories. Eventually we drove down to the Great Brak River and turned off to the small seaside town where my cousin Joyce and her husband Thys had retired. He was involved in the nearby prison ministry although no longer a full time minister. We stayed with them for a few days and took a meeting at their local Dutch Reformed church. We spoke in Afrikaans. It was lovely seeing Joyce and catching up with her news. Neville helped Thys in the garden and they got on really well, joking about the payment Neville expected – “kos en klere” (food and clothing). In the end Thys only offered him the “kos” without the “klere” for his hard work. Thys died of a sudden heart attack some years after this. He went to fullness of joy but there was grief for Joyce. She sold the house and moved to a retirement centre. We used to email, but nowadays we keep in touch on WhatsApp. After this we went on to the town of George where we enjoyed the hospitality of the Church of England minister and his wife. He had arranged

264 some meetings at his church for us. On Friday, Neville visited the minister of the Dutch Reformed “moeder gemeente” (mother church) in George. He knew Neville from a previous visit to the area and immediately invited him to preach on Sunday evening. We paid a visit to Carmel guest farm and saw our friends there. We also had a look at the new chapel. It replaced the one that had burnt down. After visiting the railway museum, Neville decided to go on a steam trip on the Saturday. He enjoyed his outing along part of the Garden Route to Knysna and back. He has always been interested in steam. We have books and videos and audio tapes (that get played in the car, instead of music) on the subject. He has had a couple of train lay-outs over the years. Neville used to watch and follow steam trains (then still being widely used as working locomotives) as well as photographing them when on deputation tours. He had a number of opportunities to share about Christ on these excursions. This time, on his way home from George station to where we were staying, he tripped and badly hurt his ribs. They were cracked and he had pain for a long time afterwards. He also got a cinder in his eye that necessitated a visit to the doctor, who treated him with great kindness and generosity. The doctor hoped to be at the Dutch Reformed Church on Sunday evening. The cinder in the eye reminds me of a time many years before when Neville got steel splinters in his eye through looking out of the train window on our way from Johannesburg to Cape Town. He might have been trying to photograph the steam engine that was pulling our train. He went to the emergency department at Victoria hospital to have the eye anaesthetised and the splinters removed. The Jewish doctor on call was someone I knew from my training days. His daughter had also been at school with me. Following our George visit, we travelled through the spectacular lake district of the Garden Route between George and Knysna, and then on to Plettenberg Bay– holiday resort of the wealthy from Johannesburg and elsewhere. We stayed with Graeme and Glenda and their two children in the beautiful home Graeme had built. He did well in organizing meetings for us. We spoke at three High Schools as well as church meetings. One night we slept over at Kareedouw, a small village where our host had a factory making outstanding furniture from the indigenous wood of the Knysna Forest. Our hosts’ daughter, Jaline, had been one of the three girls who came to Lebanon from South Africa on a short-term outreach. We went on to Port Elizabeth where we stayed with our mission’s previous representative, Bobby. His church in Gelvandale had been supporters of our work. Apart from meetings, Neville spoke at a Bible

265 School and was asked if we would consider moving to Port Elizabeth to share in the ministry of the school. God gave us no leading on this matter. Neville spoke on the local Christian radio station. We had both spoken on different radio stations in the past and Neville had once been on national TV but this was the first time we ever had a problem as a result. They strongly objected to Neville mentioning his book. He had no idea he had done anything wrong, nor did the person who did the interview. Years before while in Bloemfontein I had done a radio interview for a local station. This was then sent to the national SABC for the Women’s Hour. As a result I was contacted by a group of Lebanese in Johannesburg, where I was staying with my mother-in-law. Neville was away on deputation. A gathering of Lebanese was arranged and we met in a rather imposing home. I found some of the Lebanese were born again believers. The Maronite Catholic priest was also there. He came from a monastery in Jounieh on the coast of Lebanon. Most of these second and third (or more) generation Lebanese could not speak Arabic but the priest and I conversed in his home language. After Port Elizabeth we travelled back to Cape Town. As we came over Sir Lowry’s Pass, before us lay a magnificent panorama of sea and mountains. We were nearly home. There was one more, long journey to arrange before we finally retired from the mission. Before that took place, Neville and I drove about two hours up the west coast to Vredenburg and St Helena Bay. Every year the Dutch Reformed churches have special services at the time of Pentecost. They are called “Pinkster dienste”. Neville was to speak at the mother church (moedergemeente) in Vredenburg as well as to the newer congregation in St Helenabaai where there was quite a community of retirees from up country. Eric was the minister and we stayed with him and his wife in Vredenburg. When Eric was the minister in Parow, he was keen that the congregation should be involved in missions. For some years a mission week was arranged. Our mission was one of those invited to put up a stall and man it, so the church members could find out more about our work in the Middle East. The church provided a meal on the Sunday and we had the children with us. Jeanette fell on her head through an open trapdoor on the hall platform. We had to rush her to the nearby Tygerberg hospital to have the head injury checked. Another year, Eric asked Neville to speak at their Old Year’s Eve Watch Night service. Neville preached and got the congregation involved. He asked questions and if the answer was correct, he threw a marshmallow to the person concerned – even to the very proper deacons and elders, all formally dressed in suits and special ties. Neville never was a respecter of

266 persons. Afterwards one of them complained that he had not received his marshmallow! When Eric moved on to Vredenburg, he got Neville to speak to a Sunday morning congregation, wearing his Arab robes. It was now years later and he had again called on Neville. We greatly enjoyed our time with them and the congregation. At St Helenabaai I also spoke at a women’s meeting telling of the work in Lebanon. While there we stayed in the minister’s holiday home at Stompneusbaai (Stumpnose Bay – presumably after a fish of that name.) They had built their bed up on stilts so that one could lie in bed and see the sea through the window. We were quite tempted to buy a house for sale, right on the beach, and leave Plumstead. We prayed about it but God did not open the way. He had other things in mind. We did so want to be useful as we grew older and wondered what God wanted us to do after we retired from MECO. We were praying and asking Him to show us His will in the matter. As often before, we had to wait for Him to unfold His plans.

A Family Reunion Jeanette and Joshua returned to South Africa in June and David followed later. We celebrated Joshua’s second birthday with a party on the patio. He was wearing a Middle Eastern outfit with baggy trousers, waistcoat and hat that Jamile had given him. Both sets of grandparents could share in their grandson’s birthday that year. He and Jared enjoyed the presents. This was Josh’s second party, as he had also celebrated in Lebanon with his friends and a Barney cake. Paul and Betsy arrived from the USA in July. Once again, the family was together. We planned a short holiday away from home. Diane and her husband supported our work. They had a holiday house not far from my cousin Joyce and Thys. So the whole family travelled in two cars to Groot Brak River. On the way we stopped outside Somerset West to visit Monkey World. The visitors walk in a cage while the monkeys are free although they can’t escape. Joshua hopefully enjoyed it. Then we travelled on to a high bridge over the Gouritz River where Paul and David did a combined bungy jump. It seemed they just had to do it although their wives were not that keen. They fortunately survived although they did not realize that it would frighten Joshua. He was quite upset when his father and uncle jumped over the edge. We spent some days together in the holiday home that was a minute or two from the sea. It was not the time of the year for swimming though. Five of us visited Joyce and Thys one afternoon for tea. We also enjoyed

267 the outside barbecues that the men organized, and played games in the evenings. Paul was determined that we should all go together to a nearby game park. We thought it was too expensive – geared to tourists. In the end we all went and it was a good experience. Towards sunset they took us on a high, open lorry with seats to see the game. The zebras had a foal that interested Joshua. One type of buck gave us a dancing display as they cavorted in front of the truck, jumping from side to side. The lions were in a temporary enclosure but we saw them. One of the giraffes looked very amusing, eating grass with the legs in a rather ungainly position. The elephants were not too happy with our presence and trumpeted to warn us. I was glad we were not in the jeep but high up on the lorry. We saw other types of buck as well as a Secretary bird. The rhinoceros and mate took no notice of us as I recall. The wildebeest, although relatively small, represented the buffalo of the Big Five that the Game lodge had advertised. The sun had gone down over the veld and night was coming on, so they did not stop at the cheetah’s enclosure. We just rode past their encampment. That sunset ride was a special experience shared as a family. Fortunately our dollar-toting members helped with the cost. The holiday house had two separate flats - upstairs and downstairs. We could have used both but decided that we would all stay upstairs. One couple had to sleep on the lounge floor but we were together. After a few days we cleaned up the house, took the key back to Henry’s parents and drove back to Cape Town through Albertinia. We stopped at one of the factories to buy aloe products. I bought a special preparation for psoriasis – my lower legs were particularly affected. I regretfully report that it did not seem to help the condition. Paul and Betsy left, as the demands of their work in the USA did not allow them to stay longer. Jeanette and David with Josh stayed on, speaking at some meetings about their service in Lebanon. Then they too flew away and we were alone once more. When would we see them again? Each time we parted we had little idea of when we would be together once more. We could only commit each other into God’s keeping.

A Missionary Couple “Retire” In October we left for the last, long deputation trip for the mission, this time to Natal and the Free State. Our friends and supporters, Hylton and his wife, whom we first met in Durban in 1968, had arranged meetings for us. It was great to stay with them and catch up on news. We spoke at churches in Durban and Pietermaritzburg as well as in a couple of senior schools. We visited the crocodile farm where Ann worked. It was quite frightening to see encampment after encampment, each with a pool,

268 beside which lay these huge monsters – mostly sunning themselves and apparently sleeping. They seemed harmless although grotesque, but they have caused many a death in South African rivers and elsewhere. Indoors they had a number of very poisonous South African snakes in separate display boxes. They were behind glass windows so that visitors could observe them. To me the crocodile farm is a place where nightmares are made. Yet Ann seemed happy working there. During this time we drove to southern Natal for a few days and stayed with Michael and his wife. He was a doctor at a mission hospital. They too had an interest in our work in Lebanon. (Michael and Neville were contemporaries from Parktown Boys’ High school and the University of the Witwatersrand.) We spoke at gatherings in Port Shepstone, Margate and Port Edward before travelling back to Durban for further meetings. From Natal we went on to the Free State. In Bloemfontein we stayed with our mission representative, Celeste and her husband Neville (of Lebanese origin). They worked hard in their business but always received us with friendly hospitality in their comfortable home. We often used it as a stopover on our way to and from Johannesburg. (Another oasis - in the Karoo semi- desert - where we slept over on those long trips was the restful home of supporters Joan and Alwyn in Beaufort West but they had now moved to a retirement centre in Cape Town to be near their children.) We visited our supporters, Frans and his wife. He had translated Neville’s book into Afrikaans. After a ladies’ meeting where I spoke and a Lebanese evening on the Saturday plus meetings in churches on the Sunday, we arrived back in Cape Town on Monday afternoon at the end of much travelling - as St Paul put it “in journeyings oft”. November was our last month before we retired from the mission. Our Director arranged with Medway Chapel to have a Farewell service – as far as the mission was concerned. We retired one month short of thirty-five years, since joining the fellowship. We were still involved after retirement - being members of the South African Council, taking the odd meeting and arranging deputation meetings for Jeanette and David, on behalf of the fellowship. We also hosted a monthly mission prayer meeting for some years – so the ties were still there. It has been a great privilege to be part of the MECO fellowship and family but it has not always been easy to be a missionary as far as our home constituency is concerned. One thing I have struggled with is that we were not financially independent. Because people were involved in our support, I sometimes felt that we were considered as charity cases and therefore expected to live at the lowest possible standard. Because of comments and implied

269 attitudes, we thought we needed to defend ourselves at times. We felt we had to explain anything that might be considered as extravagant or a luxury. This kept me on the defensive as far as finances were concerned. I found this a real struggle and source of tension in my life. The Lord has been good and generous to us through His people and we have lived carefully to husband the resources He has made available to us. However I resented the fact that other Christians could live and spend without fear of raised eyebrows or criticism. Surely each one of us is responsible to the Lord for our stewardship? In November, my mother came to live with us. She had stayed with Margaret for three years. Then Pat had taken responsibility for her for the next three years. It was my turn. Pat had a big, beautiful, Cape Dutch style house and my mother had her own separate quarters. Now my sister wanted to buy a smaller house in Tokai and my mother needed a new home. I was happy to have her with us and she fitted in well. Although she was a Methodist, she was happy to join in the services and ladies’ meetings at Medway. She was nearly eighty-eight but loved cleaning and pottering around in the house. The light-coloured tiles on the kitchen floor had never been so consistently clean before. Our friends, Poppie and Lakis, who were also without their family, once more joined us for Christmas. Neville met a family with a number of children. The father had been out of work for a year. We were able to help them celebrate the birth of our Saviour and invited them to tea on Christmas afternoon. It gave us joy to give toys to the children. This visit made it a special Christmas for us. Although a big family by today’s standards, the children were a pleasure to have because of their exemplary behaviour. Their mother home-schooled them. A lady in our church lost her father, who had died overseas. He had only left South Africa a short time before. We were able to arrange a memorial service in our lounge to which his MOTH friends and Sally’s family could be invited. There were photos on a board and an order of service pamphlet. I think Sally was helped by the service, as we had been when Neville’s mother died. The concept of “closure” is important.

A Second Grandchild In March we returned to Lebanon for three months to be there for the birth of Joshua’s sister. We went early to assist Jeanette in the last month of her pregnancy and to be there for the birth. We stayed in the senior school boarding department.

270 Neville was able to go into school and get involved with chapels, speaking to students and staff about their need of a relationship with God. He also worked on Jeanette’s and David’s car, as well as another missionary’s vehicle. I was busy washing and ironing the baby’s new clothes (we had brought gifts from Medway and family), helping Jeanette with meals or fetching Joshua from school, (he had gone to nursery class earlier than the allowed age of three and loved it – a gregarious child, like his mother), playing with him, reading to him – whatever would help my daughter. Joshua was a very active little boy although he was frequently ill with a high fever – about once a month. Although Jeanette saw the doctor in Lebanon and a paediatrician in South Africa, they didn’t seem to know what caused the high temperature. The other concern was that he was not keen on food. He did not eat very much. At the same time he was active and happy, when he was not ill. Later on Jeanette consulted another paediatrician in Lebanon. Tests revealed that he had a type of Streptococcal throat infection but not the worst kind of haemolytic B Strep. He had courses of antibiotics for ten days each time but the five-day fevers continued. Special prayer was offered and the fevers were reduced to one day instead of five. They trusted God to heal him and he eventually ceased having these regular bouts of illness. Joshua kept Grandma on the hop even when she wanted to rest. So I thought up a game. It is called “Shhh”. All his stuffed animals were placed in a row on the bed. Grandma lay down on the bed (that’s the good part), as did Josh. We then pretended that one or other of the animals was giving us a problem. The turtle or bear or giraffe or lion, etc. was addressed by name, scolded and told to, “Shhh”. Whenever I arrived at the flat, it was quite likely that Joshua would suggest, “Let’s play, Shhh.”, whether I felt like it or not. Jeanette had a new obstetrician and was to have the baby at the “German hospital” run by nuns. It was the nearest hospital to the school and the one that attended to our injured children. I had quite frequently seen the inside of the casualty department. It was also the hospital where Joshua was cared for when he was ill as a baby. A Caesarean operation was planned. Joshua had been well prepared concerning his expected sister. On 23rd April, David took Jeanette into the hospital and Joshua went to school. Neville and I then joined David. Jeanette was already in the theatre, Around 10am our granddaughter was wheeled out in a crib and taken to the nursery. Her name had been kept a secret. Although I knew, having overheard Joshua spill the beans to his friend, I did not tell them that I

271 was privy to the secret. Her name was Abigail Sara Correia. She was a good size but not as big as Joshua at birth. Abby (as she soon became) was a bonny little girl. The nurse washed and dressed her (in the same clothes Joshua had worn after birth) but left some of the vernix on her until the next day. Was she leaving it on for warmth? David was in the nursery videoing his daughter, while Neville, Sharon (our South African friend) and myself watched through the window. We had the baby shower at Sharon’s home before Abby’s birth and Jeanette got some lovely gifts for the baby. That morning Sharon arrived at the hospital with coffee in a flask and things for us to eat. She brought food for us again later in the day. Sharon is a thoughtful, kind person with a pastoral heart. She and Jeanette were involved in a group who helped needy mothers. Soon Neville and I were allowed into the nursery to have our photo taken with Abigail Sara. Joshua was brought from school and allowed into the nursery. The nurse sat him on a chair and placed his sister in his arms. He was the first of the family to hold the baby. Jeanette came round from the anaesthetic. She still had an intravenous drip but held her daughter while Joshua sat on the bed. We have a video of this and it is impossible to put into writing the adorable and gentle way he treated his sister. He was proud of being the big brother. Being Lebanon, visitors started arriving. There was visiting all day. Jamile and her children came to see Jeanette and the baby. She had committed herself to God and was a special person in our lives. Sara came, and others – that day and the next. As Jeanette’s mother I had to “dayyif” the guests and offer them chocolates, including the nursing staff. As with Joshua, we had been to the confectionery shop in Hadeth before the birth and Jeanette ordered the chocolates and almond sweets she wanted. She had chosen cream paper to cover each chocolate and a little ladybird on a small green leaf to go on the outside of the paper – no ribbons. It was a very plain covering for the chocolate - by Lebanese standards - but she liked it. In the hospital we offered other chocolates. The ladybird ones were saved for the official visits later on at home. Jeanette was in a two-bedded ward with its own bathroom. The matron (a nun) came in to reassure us that they would not put another patient in there and that I could sleep on the second bed. Usually they bring in a trundle bed for relatives sleeping overnight and charge them. I had a new surgical bed and they did not ask us to pay for it. Furthermore Jeanette’s obstetrician did not charge her for the birth because he knew of the work that she was involved in with Sharon. After Jeanette returned home, an official visit was arranged from the school. Forty-four members of staff arrived that afternoon. We gave them

272 fruit juice, mughli (special pudding to celebrate a birth – each helping sprinkled with raisins, nuts and coconut), the ladybird chocolates and almond sweets. The school gave a present on behalf of the staff although some individual gifts were received as well. When Abby was a few weeks old, Paul and Betsy arrived from the States to meet their new niece. They also stayed at the school. It was good just to be together and chat and enjoy each other’s company – a complete family once more. I am thankful to the Lord that every year we have been able to see our children. It might not seem possible but somehow God arranged it time after time. There was a very special outing one day when we all went down to Jisr al Qadi - to the potter and the bridge and the river. It was a lovely day and we had cold drinks at the café next to the flowing water. Abby slept in her special chair that also served to keep her secure in the car. Jeanette was breast-feeding and the baby was doing well. Only Abigail had to get her days and nights sorted out. We decided to go on to Cliff House, quite a smart traditional restaurant in Shemlan. Neville and I had only been there once, before “the Events” started. Our friend treated us that time. We seldom went out to restaurants in our years in Lebanon. We had no idea what it would cost to go to Cliff House for lunch. So I marched in and made a fool of myself, asking about prices. I doubt any Lebanese would do that. They were somewhat astounded I think but brought me a menu. It was difficult to work out as every little dish of the Lebanese mezza is charged for separately. In the end we decided to risk it and enjoyed the meal. In spite of the glamorous eastern décor, it was not that expensive. Paul and Betsy had to leave. They had jobs to get on with in the USA. Although Betsy had qualified in therapeutic massage, she was working for SouthWest Airlines (which helped with getting them cheaper flights). Paul and a fellow South African, also married to an American, had started a company. They ran rugby camps, started an indoor touch rugby league, dealt in rugby apparel and Paul ran a fitness centre on a golfing estate as part of the company. So once again we all said “Good bye”. We visited our friends in Hadeth – Ibrahim and Lor, Jill and Haleem, David and Layla. We went up to the hospital and had lunch with Charlie and Winnie who had retired from the hospital. They were involved in organic farming and shared some of their produce. They even had school groups visiting them to learn about the organic way of doing things. All their children and grandchildren were in the States but some returned to Lebanon each summer. We also saw some Mansourieh neighbours. Machel and Loris had been very kind and helpful. We had shared the good news

273 with them. Their only son and his family were in Australia and Loris had had a stroke. I’m not sure if we saw our downstairs neighbours. They had not been friendly but in later years we had developed a good relationship. They saw Neville clearing the land in front of the building of weeds, planting a garden of different coloured geraniums that brightened up their view and generally being helpful. This changed their attitude. We heard that the original owner of the building who lived on the top floor had died. He lost his wife, went practically blind and we visited him in the years we lived there, speaking of the Lord. He was related to the Lebanese Consul in South Africa, at the time we returned to Lebanon in 1996. In the summer, we had met the Consul in his apartment. Stephen/Steve (the headmaster at the school) suggested we come back to Lebanon as volunteers – one year at a time. He wanted Neville to be involved at the school – as he had been during the three months – and me to look after Abigail so that Jeanette could teach. We were tempted but it was not possible as we had my mother to consider. However if God opened the door, we were willing. My mother had spent one month in Saldanha Bay with Joan while we were away but could not stay permanently. Sandy from Medway had been a missionary nurse in Zambia but had recently moved to Cape Town to work with Aids orphans. She stayed with my mother for most of the other two months we were away, but moved to her own home when we returned. We prayed about it but no other door opened for the care of my mother. We were committed to caring for her for the foreseeable future. One great pleasure was to meet the new school nurse. A Lebanese, she is an empathetic person and a keen Christian. She is truly serving in the Health Room and I was so pleased. One amusing aspect of life in the Health Room was that the children were still calling the new nurse “Mrs Holmes”. When children were asked where they were going, the answer was, “To Mrs Holmes”. So it seems the official name of the school nurse was Mrs Holmes, regardless of who she might be! Our three months drew to a close. We had been able to see friends at the school and church and in Hadeth and Mansourieh. Once more we said “Good bye” – to our children and grandchildren, to Lebanon and Beirut. Egypt Air (our usual airline) to Cairo, Johannesburg the end of the international flight, internal flight to Cape Town and our African home.

An Ongoing Story What now? We were on pension but we still wanted to be involved in God’s work.

274 We had prayed about going into prison work but there was no leading from the Lord. I had felt for some time that I wanted to be involved with the widows and other older people in our church. I prayed about it and found one of the elders’ wives had a similar desire. So each week we visited different ladies in their homes hoping to be an encouragement to them (as they are to us) and praying with them about their difficulties or joys. Before we returned to Lebanon for those last six years, Neville’s cousin Pam asked me to help her start a Bible study group in the retirement complex where she lived. Pam had become a committed Christian and later developed motor neurone disease. Although weakening, she continued the group in her frail-care flat when I left for Lebanon. Pam went to be with the Lord after being a bright witness in her weakness. Daphne took over but being nearly 90 passed the baton on to me once more. We met in the Committee room and cheered each other on in the race. Two ladies were over 90 and three others nearly there including my mother. Some had aches and pains, while one having been very ill, had a permanent nurse who was a bright, young spark in the group. Another lady had a stroke and drove herself around on a special scooter that was parked in the Committee Room. But we had a great time together. Quite a few had hearing problems and the top of the table threatened to become rather congested as more ladies wanted to be near me so that they could hear. One dear lady was rather forgetful. She and her husband were missionaries with the Anglican Church in the Transkei. She did not say much but when she did speak it was worth listening to. I was not sure where everyone was spiritually but I had to trust God to speak through His word to each one’s need. Apart from the above my school friend Praxia, who worshiped at the Catholic church, came to our home once a fortnight for a one-to-one Bible study. This started after she attended a special ladies’ tea at our church. It is so good to meet up with old friends again after all the years overseas. Later I had other one-to-one Bible studies in our home. For years, a nursing sister used to come off night duty to our home for Bible study each week. I also led two other small groups in our home at different times using the Stonecroft Bible study notes and study books. Neville led a Bible study for years that eventually met in our home until Covid 19 came on the scene and disrupted so many things. We were grateful that the Lord chose to use us and the home He had given us. I realize something of the importance of corporate intercession so I got together with a small group of ladies on a Monday morning to pray for the activities and members of our church, including the missionaries. The Lord

275 gave opportunities for me to speak at ladies’ meetings from time to time - in our own church as well as at others - attend our own ladies’ meetings, provide eats for regular church teas and to do whatever else the Lord put before me. I regularly wrote to Jeanette and David, Paul and Betsy (and also to Joshua) – and prayed for them, sharing in their disappointments and successes, hurts and happiness. One year Neville and I were involved with two people dying of cancer. They are both with Christ. We also invited people to our home for meals and offered hospitality. Our house also provided a base for our children as they came and went, to and from South Africa. I am mentioning these simple things because much of our service for God is unspectacular and ordinary but each small act is meaningful when He gives us these opportunities. I am a wife and housewife. I pray for Neville and hope to encourage him. I cook, wash, clean and tidy. Someone once put up a notice over the kitchen sink, “Divine service conducted here three times daily”. We need the same attitude to our daily tasks, and all sense of monotony, all complaining will fade away. There is purpose in the ordinary when we walk with Jesus. I need to be more aware of this truth. Another humble task - I cared for our dog. Now there is a story. From the time we settled back in South Africa, I wanted a dog again. But Neville felt we were not settled enough with doing deputation, travelling, going to Lebanon for Abby’s birth. There always seemed to be a reason not to get a dog. I was praying about the matter. One day Neville said to me, “If the Lord gives us a dog, we’ll have one.” A few days later our neighbour spoke to me over the wall. “Would you like a puppy? We got one but we haven’t got the time for her.” The Lord gave us a dog. What could Neville say? So Balaash came into our lives. “Balaash” is an Arabic word meaning “for nothing” because we got her without payment. She was a white, somewhat curly-haired, somewhat Maltese poodle with small patches of black hair. She had a tail that spread itself out like a fan over her back. Balaash had energy plus and became ecstatic when she saw us – very flattering. She was bright, enthusiastic, dug up pathways (areas between bricks), never got tired of fetching the ball or small stuffed toys – elephant, duck and koala bear - and managed to chew a tennis ball to pieces. Apart from pellets, she ate raw tomato, carrot, paw-paw, apple, pineapple, pieces of leaves, branches, wood etc. Loved to eat tissues and toilet paper. She did not chew carpets, furniture or shoes; was very attracted to Neville’s insoles and used socks. Tolerant of thieving doves who ate her pellets, she was totally intolerant of anybody outside our wall

276 or near our gates. She was spayed and immunized and was a joy to have except when she acted irrationally. Why for example did she not stay in her kennel when it rained? She had a cloth dog basket with a soft cushion in there plus crochet blanket and could be warm and dry. Why did she choose to run around in the rain like a banshee and get soaking wet? And then she wanted to come inside to spread her wetness. Or why did she lie amongst the dry autumn leaves so that they stuck to her hair and then come inside dropping pieces of leaves and bits of twig as she went? She did not like bathing but put up with it. It was actually a waste of time and effort because she would soon look as though we hadn’t washed her in the last year. Sand and compost and rolling around wrought havoc with freshly shampooed, white-haired dogs. Not to mention that she had floppy ears that got into everything and they could not stay clean, as well as the fringe through which her one blue eye and one brown eye peered. I tried cutting it shorter but it grew fast. She hated to be brushed. I need to invent a device for securing dogs in place that need brushing and will not cooperate. Neville loved this dog and so did I. We had to spend time playing with her - in the mornings and especially in the evenings. That was her special time in the lounge with us. She was as good as gold about going to bed. It used to be nine o’clock in summer but eight o’clock in the winter. I told her it was bedtime. We followed a certain ritual and she went off to bed like a lamb. “Thank you, Lord, for all the memories of Balaash.” Later on she slept in the house at the foot of our bed. She grew older and stiffer and less active but always faithful – Neville’s shadow in the garden. Every now and again she acted like her old energetic self but only for a few minutes. When we returned from an outing, she barked and scolded us for leaving her. She developed a heart complaint. At the age of fourteen she died while we slept. We could see she was suffering the day before and I held her most of the afternoon and evening until I fell asleep from weariness. How kind is the Lord to have provided such a special companion in our old age. Neville was kept busy as well, teaching and preaching at our church or elsewhere. At Easter time he was the speaker at the United Evangelical Fellowship camp two years running. We slept in an old railway carriage the second time, when the venue was changed from Stellenbosch to near Robertson, and the mosquitoes had a great feast. It was a time of blessing, nevertheless. Then he fixed things in the house or worked on the cars. He built in new kitchen cupboards and gave me a lighter, more attractive kitchen. He was so conscious of God’s help that he called it the kitchen done by the

277 Carpenter from Nazareth. He had never attempted woodwork of this kind before. We intended to have it done by the experts but the cost put us off. Neville felt challenged by the Lord to do it himself. And so he did – with much prayer and His help. Neville spent time in the garden that needed a lot of care and worked hard on building brick paths against most of the walls. It is now easier to clean windows or get behind plants near the outside wall. Balaash loved running all along the paths and under the bushes, behind the trees, across the beds. It was a great garden for a small dog. A new, high, vibracrete wall was put in place with a pebbled exterior. Inside was a grey cement surface. So Neville painted large green cedar trees on the inside of the wall. I enjoy our garden. It is not very formal but interesting. I specially delighted in the perfumed trees, shrubs and other plants – the yellow jasmine, the white jasmine, two types of scented buddleia, two kinds of frangipani trees, the roses, honeysuckle, St Joseph lilies, lavender bushes, violets, freesias, lemon scented gum, the amaryllis lilies, Yesterday, today and to-morrow, Rosemary and other herbs. This was written some years ago: “It’s nearly mid-winter but a few plants are blooming. The snowdrops are up; one of the buddleias has been giving us whiffs of pure pleasure; the azaleas (inside and out); the poinsettias (red and yellow) are doing well; Hibiscus; Strelitzia (crane flower); a few geraniums; some blue ageratum and an odd iceberg rose. There are red seed boxes giving a splash of colour on the background of the dark green clivia leaves. The vines are all bare, the oak tree getting there. The almond, the plum, the mulberry have all shed their foliage. (The first almond blossom showed itself to-day. A bit early?) I saw an olive thrush, her orange abdomen hidden, on the ground just now - probably searching for snails. Long may these useful birds live on our property. There is one white daisy open with buds giving the promise of more. On the pavement one of the Brazilian peppers is full of little berries. I can see them peeping over the wall. The first Arum lily is ready to unfold its whiteness and reveal the yellow stamen. Our garden is always late. We seem to have a mini climate of our own. Next to the wild fig is a tall bush with the first clusters of exquisite pink flowers opening. It is an indigenous plant known as Pink Dombeya. We have at last some indigenous, Red-hot pokers (Kniphofia) in the garden. I have long wanted them and they create colour in the winter. So once again we found pleasure in all the wonderful plants our Father has created.” I do not want to give the impression that our garden was without problems. There is always a serpent in paradise. Our particular one consists of the pests that destroy and spoil. We have useful insects but there are others that keep us on our toes. Not using insecticides means

278 we (mostly Neville) have had to work hard to keep the spoilers under control. There are the usual aphids and tip-wilters, snails and slugs. But the bane of our lives has been a little hard-backed, grey beetle. The insect-eating birds have not helped us with this pesky creature – too indigestible I presume. They have no idea about birth control and are the most prolific breeders! They chomped their way through the new growth on the roses and only the hardy Icebergs produced many blooms. The others got little chance. However since we grew rambler roses, their flowers seem to survive all right. We find these grey beetles on nearly every bush and tree in the garden. But we still have a garden! We are thankful to God for the beauty He has created in our suburban landscape. Since settling back in Plumstead, I also had time to sort out the photos and bits and pieces I have collected over the years. They were kept in plastic bags for a long time. I prepared similar photo albums to go to Jeanette and Paul one day. I made up scrapbooks, and files for each of them with all the mementos of their younger lives - notes they sent me and cards they received when they were small children, school badges, a letter from the president of the country with his autograph in reply to one Jeanette sent, homemade mother’s day cards and other bits and pieces. I worked on our slide collection as well. Then I made up a file on “The Ancestors”. The idea of “ancestors” is very important in South Africa. The file contained our family trees and photos of my great-grandparents, grandparents and parents; Neville’s grandparents, parents etc. I included something of the family history. Jeanette and Paul have been grafted into our family tree therefore our ancestors belong to them as well - just as we were grafted into the family tree of the people of God and the Old Testament saints became our “ancestors”. In a way I was tying up loose ends and preparing for the day the Lord calls me home. Actually coming back to South Africa was not easy. I struggled with various issues and found the re-adjustment to a country still in a state of flux and change most difficult. I kept finding out about new laws that I did not know about and became quite anxious about getting into trouble for breaking the law. The new government seemed continually to be making laws and laws ad infinitum. I also felt that there was still a great deal of racism and not just from the whites. We had not got much past apartheid in continually being obsessed with the colour of someone’s skin. I had hoped for better in the new South Africa. The result of all this is that many young South Africans have gone overseas, believing they have no future here. Yet overseas, they often stick together with others from their home country. South Africans are a different breed. We are Africans whatever the colour of our skin. I did not like some of the “progressive” changes in

279 our community. They were retrogressive by any Biblical standard and can only lead to a downward spiral in our society. I was also concerned about the plight of people with AIDS. Officialdom seemed to drag its feet while people died for lack of treatment. There is now an improvement in the situation but it took too long. I was concerned by the education on AIDS and the talk of safe sex with condoms. The medical profession know very well that condoms are not necessarily safe. I think it’s an insult to our young people to implicitly insinuate that they cannot control themselves. Why did they not talk of abstinence until marriage? If most people in a past generation could manage that, why not today’s young adults and teenagers – especially with their lives at stake? We set low standards for our young people and legally kill the unborn. What kind of country will the new South Africa be with such standards? It was and is dismaying. But there were encouragements in our new society as well. We found good friends whom we never would have known in apartheid South Africa. We have lovely neighbours but we would not have lived next door to each other before. There is a freedom in the removal of past barriers. Nelson Mandela was another encouragement in the way he worked so hard to unite us as a nation. His apparent lack of bitterness was truly a blessing. Christians started a prayer movement which spread first to other parts of Africa and now to other countries of the world. Large numbers got together in sports stadiums and other venues in different cities to pray for their country. This is encouragement. God is still on the throne. So there is the positive side of our country and some of the people who left have returned to be part of the new dispensation. When we knew that Jeanette and David were coming for five months’ Home Assignment (having been conditionally accepted by the mission as long term missionaries after nearly eight years as short-termers), I asked Pat if she could have my mother for that time as we were short of accommodation. Pat then booked my mother in as a permanent resident at the Princess Christian Home. She was now living there in a brand new building and as happy as a lark. She had her own room and bathroom and access to lovely facilities. She has breakfast in bed each morning and there was always a trained nurse on duty. The food was good and she enjoyed the hot milk and little sandwiches last thing at night. She felt more secure and made new friends. They had a church service every Thursday morning. Pat ensured that she always has fresh flowers in her room. My niece, Tracey lived very nearby and saw Grandma most days. Pat lived just up the road and called in regularly. Other family members found it easier to

280 get to her as the home is near the highway. They linked up her DSTV so she could see all the sports that she followed with such interest. She told me that she did not actually want to go out as she was enjoying herself so much. I still fetched her for Bible study on a Tuesday as she was round the corner from the other retirement centre where we had the meeting. If all this had happened one year earlier, we should have felt free to return to Lebanon. In the meantime the Lord had opened up other avenues of service for us. In 2006, we were approaching our fortieth wedding anniversary. Like most marriages we have had ups and downs but it has been a good marriage and I am grateful to the Father. He brought us together and kept us together. He has given us love for each other and rekindled that flame from time to time. They say that the way to judge a person is by what they are behind closed doors. By that standard I have a great husband. Unconventional in some ways, not everyone appreciates my husband (although our long-time friends understand and love him) but on our own he has shown the person he really is – very special. The man I first loved was someone who put God first and saw Him at work in all the circumstances of his life. His desire was God and His will. In many ways Neville is still the same man. He spends time with God and His word and tries to be obedient to that which he believes is God’s will in things small and big. We don’t always see eye to eye but he is the head of the home and I always have a Higher Court of Appeal! He has always handled our finances and I have tried not to be extravagant. In fact we have lived very economically and thus been able to save money to pay for the bigger things. One small example is that I cut all our family’s hair for many years including my own. We have been able to give to God’s work but I would have given away more. Neville felt his responsibility, as husband and father, to be careful with the resources God made available so as to provide for us. Neville has given me freedom and space to use the gifts God has given me and is not threatened by me, if I do well in anything. He has not always been easy to

281 live with, especially when he suffered from M.E. but generally, we have had a happy home life. He has put up with me, as I am far from perfect – as you may have gathered from my story. We have both been able to say “Sorry” when required, although not always immediately. He is often thinking of things to make me happy and usually comes from the shops with some gift for me – a pot of flowers, an ornament, special tea that I enjoy, a bunch of Proteas, a brooch and so forth. If Neville knows I want something done, he often starts almost before I have finished talking. Nothing is too much trouble for him whether something the children need or I ask him for. He knows how to be a gentleman and will open the car door, seat me at the table in a restaurant, walk on the outside of the pavement, etc. – only he doesn’t always remember. Sometimes he marches ahead and I trot behind like a traditional African wife. In rural areas it is probably for the wife’s protection. With Neville it is either because he is in a hurry or because he has his mind on other matters. If he is thinking about something, don’t be offended if he doesn’t greet you. He is not a snob nor unfriendly. He simply did not see you. I have never met a more single-minded man who can give his attention to the project in hand to the exclusion of everything and everyone else. I am so grateful to the Lord for Neville and the man he is because of Christ in him. Neville has a kind and tender heart. He gets really distressed when he hears of people’s problems and will help when he senses the Lord’s direction. I cannot imagine life without him. I will not leave this subject without mentioning how useful it is to have a tall husband, especially if one is as short as I am. Some of my requests for help have the preface, “You are nice and tall, so…”. Our neighbour in Lebanon taught Neville two Arabic proverbs about being tall. The one is “Attaweel chaadim alasir” (the tall one is the servant of the short one). The other was “Attawil byaakl teen wal’asir bimuut hazeen” (the tall one eats the figs while the short one dies sad). (The phonetics I have used in this story are unofficial and strictly my own.)

Apart from Arabic proverbs, Neville learnt something else in Lebanon – to wear a balaclava. Our Swiss missionary neighbours gave him his first, a red, knitted one - washed out and shrunk by now but I am not allowed to dispose of it. He has a number of different coloured ones. When Neville

282 appears wearing his balaclava, winter has begun. He once said to a very proper, English gentleman at our church, “You would love to wear one of these but you haven’t the courage”! Neville goes to the bank in his balaclava; not encouraged because of robberies – but he is known. Jeanette once had difficulty in getting money from her father’s account, when we were away. But when she told them that her father was the man with the balaclava, they knew the gentleman she was referring to, and she was helped. Recently a couple of the African university students from Natal - who worship at Medway - asked Neville to get them some balaclavas. They feel the cold of the Cape winter. The red balaclava reminds me of the navy blue, woollen jersey Neville had. It had grown old and developed two large holes on the elbows. I refused to darn the elbows, as I wanted him to throw it away. One Sunday he was preaching and insisted on wearing his navy jersey. I warned him about the holes. He assured me that he would wear his jacket. Either forgetting, or not caring – he is the least vain of men - he preached without his jacket. What a humiliation to have my husband in the pulpit, waving his arms around with big holes at the elbows. What kind of wife was I? At least one lady – maybe more – after the service offered to darn his jersey! A woman in the congregation took it home and sewed parts of old socks on the elbows. Why does Neville hate to part with his old clothes? The only comforting part of the whole episode is that it took place at Medway where we are known and hopefully loved. One other thing about my husband – he got stronger as he got older. Severe asthma had weakened his physique when he was young. Being a father and husband and a hard worker he has developed his muscles over time. Maybe carrying all the heavy suitcases that he complained about, also helped. God called Neville and myself together to be His witnesses. There have been many opportunities over the years – in South Africa, in Jordan, Lebanon and Cyprus, in airports, hotels, in services, on aircraft, in trains, in our own home, amongst family and strangers, amongst many nationalities. It has been our privilege to bear witness to the grace and kindness of God shown to us through His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ. Individuals have come to faith in Him. Many have not responded but maybe there will be some surprises in heaven. It is our great joy to see our children seeking to follow God’s leading for their lives. I pray that our grandchildren too will serve God’s purposes in their own generation. I long for godly offspring down the generations. Part of my story all through the years from 1954 has been my secret life with God – Father, Son and Holy Spirit. I cannot go into all the details, as there have been so many aspects of our relationship. There have been ups

283 and downs. I can say that over my life I would write, “God is faithful”. I am conscious of many weaknesses and failures over the years, but the eternal God, Whose child I am, has never failed me. At times I felt He had, and I reproached Him. He is marvellously patient with me and I had to learn to trust Him. I seem to find that difficult and get anxious, but when His word encourages my heart, I have His peace once more. When we got married, we were given the gift of a Bible text – “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee” (Isaiah 26). It hung over our front door in Lebanon through the war years and later on our door in Plumstead. It is great advice. Keep your mind, thoughts, heart fixed on God and all He is, rather than on yourself and the circumstances. He has His own agenda, His own plans for my life. Day by day I need to fit into His plans. At times the way ahead has not been at all clear. One of our Bible school lecturers directed me to a most helpful verse in Isaiah 50, “Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of His Servant, that walketh in darkness, and hath no light? Let him trust in the name of the Lord and stay upon his God”. In times of spiritual conflict, the Lord and His word have been my defence. However the Enemy can also use the Bible (as we know from our Lord’s own temptations), so I needed insight and understanding from the Holy Spirit. In my experience, the Lord Jesus has many times shown the reality of His victory – through His death and resurrection - over the Evil One. I also found certain Christian books helpful. When I read John Bunyan’s “Grace abounding”, I could recognize some of my own experience. The Lord has led me over the years through His word, through His people, through circumstances and through the inner witness of the Holy Spirit. At certain crisis points in my life, He has spoken directly to me concerning personal matters – to encourage, direct, reassure. This is His prerogative and I have to wait for Him to touch me in this way in His sovereign will. Mostly, He has spoken through bringing a verse from the Bible to my remembrance but sometimes He has communicated brief words that fit the situation. Of course what He says will never be out of line with His written word. Humility is also needed. I can misunderstand. I believe the Lord speaks in our spirits and then we think the thoughts. He never takes over control of our minds. We should always be in control of our own minds, although every thought needs to be brought under the authority of Christ. A passive or empty mind is dangerous because Satan tries to dart thoughts into our minds and wants to take control of them. A few times I have not been sure whether it was the Lord speaking or my own thoughts, and God has clarified the issue for me. For example, one day I thought the Lord had spoken but I was not completely sure. So I asked Him to confirm it. Without

284 planning to do so, I started singing, “Praise the name of Jesus”. For me this was confirmation that the Holy Spirit, Who glorifies Jesus, had spoken. In wanting to go on in the Christian life, I twice followed teaching that was not helpful. The one had to do with Christian perfection. The other was the need to be open with other Christians. Every time I had an un- Christ-like thought, I had to confess to the person concerned and apologise. After a few “confessions” I realized that this was untenable, as I should have spent quite a bit of time writing, phoning, apologizing. My thoughts were not always loving and uncritical. I had to confess to the Lord, but I could not go round admitting all my thoughts to other people. There have been mountain-top experiences in my walk with God when I have sought to recommit myself to Him in a deeper way. There have also been the valleys when I have been a lukewarm Christian. I have been fearful of a fuller surrender in case He asked too much of me. A prayer I have needed to pray has been, “I am not willing, but I am willing to be made willing”. I need the Holy Spirit’s help in worshipping God, as only then can I “worship in spirit and in truth”. Sometimes that worship is charged with emotion, although I am not an emotional person by nature. At other times there is a deeper intellectual appreciation of God’s character and ways. I have prayed and read the Bible nearly every day of my Christian experience but I am conscious that my prayer life is often shallow and inadequate. However at other times the Holy Spirit has enabled me to pray in a deeper way. We have seen many answers to prayer in matters big and small – some quite miraculous in their timing and through unexpected people and circumstances. I wish I had kept a record for God’s glory. The Bible too is sometimes a dry book and then the Holy Spirit lights up God’s truth and I “see” it – sometimes to convict of sin or to comfort with the Father’s love or to stand in awe and be encouraged by His greatness and power or to give joy or to bring forth worship of our wonderful Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. As I get older, and realize afresh my own unworthiness, I am more and more thankful for the death of the Lord Jesus. The reality of my own death and eternity become clearer. I am everlastingly grateful that I do not have to appear before a holy God depending on the life I have lived, but only on the perfect life and death of “the Son of God Who loved me and gave Himself for me”. I look forward to an eternal home that God is preparing for me now, because Jesus promised, “I go to prepare a place for you”. I pray that you who have read my story, of an imperfect girl and woman who has been accepted by a perfect God through the death of His Son on her behalf, may have the same assurance of God’s acceptance, love and leading in your own life.

285 Addendum SUMMER IN SHEMLAN (written one summer – about 1972)

Red rose hips, The climbing pink Roses And the cream ones with the earwigs in, The thick, old Bay tree and the Judas tree With the leaves dropping in the Autumn, The heavy green gates that creak And the arch over them Where the children climb up In danger of falling and breaking their limbs, The Fig tree heavy with fruit That is red and sweet – yet tart – Where you stand and pick While the rotting figs on the ground Stick to your shoes, The Vines leaning over and half falling down, The grapes too small but sweet, The stone walls, the terraces, the wild grasses, The Cyclamen and red Anemones in the spring, The yellow Crocuses in the Autumn Creeping out of the hard and barren earth, The excitement of finding two slightly eaten Violets Amongst the green leaves that die off in the heat, The green, thick grass in winter, The dry stubble at the end of summer, The clusters of climbing, yellow Roses And later the red Virginia creeper Heralding the end of summer, The red-tiled roof, the Crab-apple tree, The Pomegranate trees and the Quince With one piece of solitary fruit, The wooden verandas and the iron railings, And the cement, block floors, The stone walls, the buttresses, the arches And those lovely, arched windows with the light shining through As we sat around the embers of the dying camp fire, The domed and arched dining room – and study, And the telephone booth lavatory, The little stone outhouses and cottages, The outside Arabic toilet with the black sewer flies

286 On the white-washed walls With the plaster falling down in cakes, And the weeds, The red Geraniums covered with spider webs, The old bell-pull – and that bell, The Azzabaal calling for the rubbish, The little donkeys struggling down the steps Next to the house – Their owners calling out their offerings And the sound of our neighbour, Violette’s voice raised high, The view over the mountains Down to the sea, The feeling of openness and freedom on the edge of the village, The church bell early and late, The crackers for Eid-assoliib, The thick walls, the old lecture room Turned into the table tennis room, The derelict state of the building And yet the security, steadfastness, The friendliness of its spooky passages, The dungeon-like one passing by the only bathroom, The rail-less stairs to the attic, The different floor levels, The quaint drawer-stairs, The dark room and raftered ceilings, And the cracked plaster ones In imminent danger of falling down But somehow staying up, The fun and fellowship, The sound of the children Laughing, shouting, quarrelling, Games – Cluedo, Railroader, Services in the garden, hymns, tapes, Sidlow Baxter. How can I express what I have found here? The desire to express what I feel is heavy on my stomach But the ability escapes me. I only know I love the old house And the tree-shaded, neglected garden And the village And the people And the little church up the steps I’m glad God brought me here.

287 Written many years ago one summer in Shemlan but now recorded in memory of a special house, pulled down in time of war, and in memory of days long since gone. Jeanette and Paul spent summers in the old house.

An Ongoing Adventure The original story which I wrote for our children some years ago (and updated, in a few places, for this book) was written in about 2004. I am now typing this in 2021. Although we retired God still had purposes for us - the good works He had planned for us, according to Ephesians 2:10. So the adventure has continued until today. I should like to fill in a few details as God continues to lead, bless and forgive us on a daily basis. In early 2005 Paul and Betsy travelled to South Africa. Betsy put a paper into my hands in our backyard. It was a prenatal scan and our first notification that Reece was on the way. On 4th November 2005, Reece Maxwell Holmes was born. We were in South Africa, sorry not to be there for his birth. Instead I wrote poems for them. I had been asked for a contribution to the Baby Shower that I could not attend, before the birth. I wrote a poem called “In Utero” and that is how I started writing “poetry” again after not composing any for many years. I had written about four in the years in Lebanon. September to December 2005, Jeanette, David, Joshua, Abigail, now accepted long term by MECO were on Home assignment trusting God to build their support team. They stayed with us, and had a holiday at Mykinos with David’s family. We celebrated Christmas together. Grandma Furter joined us – her last Christmas on earth. The next year, when Reece was 4 months old, I travelled to Columbus, Ohio to be with Betsy while Paul came to South Africa in connection with rugby development. I enjoyed getting to know my (at that time) youngest grandchild – a bright and serious young man from the start. It was February/March, cold and sometimes snowy. Grey skies made it easy to get cabin fever! I missed the sun. Even in winter we have sunny days in Cape Town. I missed Neville. Betsy looked after me well and it was a good time to get to know her better. I enjoyed going to the heated malls with Betsy and Reece, also to their Vineyard church. I was impressed by the breast-feeding facilities provided in different places. The hospitality shown to us by some of Paul’s clients and the lovely meals, were appreciated. I found it strange to have to take off my shoes on entering some homes. We then sat visiting in our socks! It was also good to see Betsy’s family again.

288 About a week before I was due to travel back to Cape Town, we got news of my mother’s sudden death – a week after her ninetieth birthday celebrations. We were able to change my flight – at an extra cost that was borne by my sister Pat. We nearly had a hitch at L-R Margaret, Mom, Joan, me and Pat Columbus airport where we had to pay the extra for the ticket. They would not accept Betsy’s credit card. They needed the original credit card with which the ticket was bought. So they phoned Neville in South Africa from the airport and he authorised them to use his credit card. I arrived on Friday, back in time for the funeral on Saturday. I was sad not to see my mother for five weeks before she died. I was even more upset that the regular emails I sent her while away, had not got to her. My sister had changed her email address without my knowledge. It distressed me that she might have felt that I had not thought of her in those five weeks. I had bought her a birthday present and hoped to celebrate with her after I returned home. Mom’s body was cremated and we received her ashes. I arranged with my sisters to go to Plumstead cemetery and place them in Evitt’s grave. It was covered with cement although it looked like soil and grass and the ashes could not be buried there. Although we initially buried them next to the grave, Pat later removed them. At a later date we scattered her ashes in the indigenous garden at Bergvliet Methodist Church where her funeral was held, and put up a plaque on the Wall of Remembrance. I wrote a poem for the occasion. Jeanette, David, Joshua and Abigail went to the USA in the summer holidays and spent time with Paul, Betsy and Reece. It was a difficult time for all – partly because of the war that erupted in Lebanon, preventing the Correias’ return to the ministry at Tyre Evangelical School, where they had been serving. Eventually they were able to return to Lebanon. In December 2006, Neville and I celebrated our ruby wedding anniversary at our home with some family and friends - 40 years of God’s faithfulness. Our children were overseas and could not join us. Six months later on 15th June 2007, Nora Kelly Holmes was born in Columbus Ohio. Again we were absent and I had to comfort myself with writing a poem for the unseen granddaughter. We appreciated the photos of this bonny granddaughter that her parents shared with us. That

289 was our family complete and we were thankful for each one. We now had four grandchildren. How gracious is our God. The following May, my half-sister Sandra Georgina Priest (nee Keenan) died of Pancreatic cancer. We had the same father but did not grow up together. She was nine years younger than me and we were not close. I was her only sister. She was a lovely lady and the blessing that came out of her illness - for me - was that we were closer than we had ever been, during her last year on earth. I tried to go as regularly as I could to visit her in Parow. Neville was a member of the Parow Golf club which was nearby so we went together. She did not complain although in much pain. We shared many things and spoke of heaven. She was looking forward to it but concerned about her sons. She was a committed Christian and had been active in the Alpha courses at her church. Her husband Clem was amazing – the way he nursed her to the end. They had known each other since she was in high school. Clem did not recover from the loss of Sandra as he too died within a relatively short time after her death. A word about Neville’s time playing at the Parow Golf Course. Over the period of a few years there, he had the joy of leading three people (that he knew of) to faith in Christ – one an 84-year-old, a young professional golfer and a medical doctor from Namibia. Neville won lamb packs which he sometimes passed on to students at the Bible institute and others at Medway. He also won a set of iron pots and electric kitchen appliances. In 2007, Neville and I planned to travel to Ohio from Cape Town via Lebanon, where we could spend time with Jeanette and family. Neville felt uneasy about it and cancelled the plans for the trip to everyone’s dismay. Subsequently we discovered that the Lord was involved in this decision. In September we went to Ohio and met our granddaughter. Nora Kelly Holmes – cute with two dimples. (Jeanette and Paul each had one on opposite cheeks). We had a lovely visit getting to know Reece and Nora better. We went to the Amish area and Neville went with Betsy and Reece to the Airshow where they saw P51 Mustangs flying in formation, a F22 low level fly past. Betsy also took me to visit her mother’s and father’s families who lived in smaller towns. Father and son had some very competitive games of golf. Paul had to give him strokes and usually Neville won. We enjoyed the services at Vineyard Fellowship and visited Betsy’s parents, Kelly and Dave, in their new house. The beginning of the Fall saw the beautiful, changing colours of the leaves. We left before we could enjoy the full colour that was coming. On our return to South Africa, I discovered that I had been nominated to represent the SA MECO council at an International Conference to be

290 held in Jordan at the end of November. Neville would also go but he would travel straight to Lebanon. We obtained Lebanon visas. En route there was a death on the Emirates plane and they had to return to Nairobi to remove the body. We were late in arriving in Dubai. Neville flew on to Beirut and I missed my flight to Amman, so I was put up at an hotel. Neville was refused entry to Lebanon in spite of having a visa. He had been blacklisted. He returned to Dubai and stayed in the same hotel as me but neither of us knew about the other. The next day he flew back to South Africa to the surprise of Lorna and Darcy who were house sitting for us. After serving the people of Lebanon for more than twenty years at no cost to them, and adopting two Lebanese children, it was an aaib (shame) for them to treat him in that way. No reason was given for the blacklisting. Jeanette was waiting for her father and was greatly distressed when he was not allowed in. Amazingly, his suitcases full of gifts from family, friends and church in Cape Town had been unloaded and were collected by Jeanette. Now we could see what a disaster it would have been if Neville had not cancelled our previous plan of Lebanon en route to the USA. Once again God knew how to lead and protect us from our own plans! Meanwhile I arrived in Amman and was taken to the Conference Centre. Jeanette called me to inform me about Neville. It was ascertained that I was not blacklisted like Neville. I went on to Lebanon and spent Christmas with Jeanette, David, Joshua and Abigail. I saw the work in Tyre and was honoured and entertained by the national teachers as the mother of Jeanette, and shared Christmas with two of my grandchildren. What an eventful year! In 2008 Jeanette and her family came on home assignment and stayed with us for a few months. The children came to my bed in the mornings and I could share family stories with them. They were able to travel up the coast with David’s parents and his sister’s family for a holiday together. David went to Gauteng for deputation meetings. At the same time he represented our family, and together with Neville’s nephew, Mark and other friends, laid Neville’s mother’s ashes to rest at Parktown Methodist North church. David photographed the plaque we had arranged to have put up on the Wall of Remembrance - in memory of Neville’s father and mother. I felt a burden lifted from me as I had been concerned about the lack of memorial to his mother. His father had a stone at Braamfontein cemetery but it was unsafe to go there, so we added his name as well. Before the Correias returned to Lebanon, Jeanette arranged a lovely 70th birthday party for both Neville and me in our Medway Youth Centre.

291 I turned seventy in July and Neville was to reach the same milestone in November. Regrettably, Paul and his family were not able to be there. Family and friends joined us on a cold, rainy day in August. But the fellowship was warm. The lunch was lovely in looks and taste. We had two birthday cakes. One made by my friend, Lilian and another in the form of the number 70, was baked and iced by David’s sister, Mary-Ann. In the speeches we were able to share about God’s grace and goodness. Family clubbed together to buy us a TV as our birthday present. David organized a new computer for us with Skype and Facebook. We were also on ADSL - catching up with the times! That Christmas none of our children were home, neither did we have anyone to invite to dinner. So we had Christmas dinner at Mary-Ann’s and Grant’s, together with David’s parents. In 2009 we were missing our family and in God’s kindness an anonymous person paid for Jeanette and her family to travel to Cape Town for Christmas. The Christmas tree was up, the lights were on, Mary and Joseph moved around the room, approaching Bethlehem. There was joy in sharing the family traditions with our grandchildren. A highlight for me was the family outing to Newlands cricket ground, to sit under the oaks and watch an international cricket game - SA vs England. The children were given big South African flags and one was taken back to Lebanon. In 2010 the Soccer World Cup took place in South Africa. South Africans were feeling very patriotic and it drew the different communities together. Many were flying our colourful country’s flag on their cars or outside their homes. People were wearing their Bafana Bafana T-shirts. Cape Town had a beautiful new stadium and there was a buzz and a vibe in the city. We were drawn together as a nation. At Medway we had our annual holiday club and most of us were sporting our SA soccer tops. During the following year, I had earnestly been praying about seeing Paul, Betsy, Reece and Nora, whom we had not seen for three years, although we spoke on Skype. In the kindness of God, they were able to travel and spend three weeks with us and we were together for Christmas. It was the first time we had celebrated Christmas with our American grandchildren. I enjoyed introducing them to the old dolls and to Mbenya, their father’s toy chimp. We had tea on our patio using Abby’s pink, plastic tea set. They went up Table Mountain using the cable car and we went with them to Groot Constantia and Kirstenbosch Gardens. During their summer holidays, David, Jeanette, Joshua and Abigail had been to the MECO conference in Hungary then on to the UK. They had friends and supporters to visit, and really enjoyed seeing places of interest. They went to the Keswick Conference, which was free for them

292 as first-time missionaries. It was held in the beautiful Lake District. They were back in Lebanon for that Christmas with all the usual activities and outreach to the families of the school children. The school had nearly a thousand pupils, (Nursery to first year university), most of whom were from Muslim homes. Although an Evangelical school, children from all communities were welcome. That was also the year I developed PMR (Polymyalgia rheumatica). It was very painful with sleepless nights and tears until I got a diagnosis and went on to Cortisone. I tried to come off the medication after 5 months but had to start taking it again. I was grateful for our Christian doctor, Charles who treated us without charge. However I developed hypertension and later had a heart attack which may have partly resulted from the Cortisone. I did not know it was a heart attack at the time. I am not sure when this took place. It was picked up as an anterior myocardial infarction on an ECG at a later stage. I think it must have happened when I had “indigestion” which lasted for a couple of days. I thought it was due to my hiatus hernia and was doing exercises to try and rectify it! You may be a nurse, but you are not necessarily always wise. The Lausanne Conference for World Evangelization was held in Cape Town. We had pleasure in seeing John White and Stephen Judson. Both were children in our days in Lebanon. Their parents were our fellow workers. Neville took them around the Peninsula. Neville got stuck in a drain in the garden, head first. I could not pull him out but somehow he was able to extricate himself. We were getting older and needed to be more careful. He also left his plate of four false teeth on his bedside table. Balaash our little dog got hold of them and chewed them. The result was better fitting front false teeth. Mary-Ann, Grant and family were planning to visit David and Jeanette in Lebanon but were denied visas on the day they were due to leave. The suitcases were packed with presents from church and family. It was a great disappointment for all concerned. Why they were refused is unknown. My sister Joan’s husband, Johnny developed prostate cancer. Despite chemo, he eventually died after a difficult time. But he died in faith, having accepted the Lord a year previously. When he passed away in March 2011, I was asked to take the service in the church and at the graveside. I had never done this before and the Lord really helped me. We acquired two hens. Jemima and Rebecca were given to us by a neighbour. They were big, beautiful brownish red birds. We fed them well and they gave us large eggs with bright yolks, which we shared with others at Medway. Reece and Nora enjoyed collecting the eggs that December. The hens were a bit aggressive towards Balaash and they were turning the

293 garden into a dust bowl as they scratched and ferreted for snails and worms. Eventually, and reluctantly, we gave them away to a friend at church. But he found they destroyed his garden as well. He took them to the Barnyard which kept poultry and rabbits for the entertainment of children, while their parents had tea. In April 2011, Jeanette and Abigail arrived back in Cape Town. Abby went to John Wycliff private Christian school, free of charge due to their kindness. Grandpa took her to school. Despite her resistance to learning more Arabic, Grandpa taught her to sing an Arabic song. Arabic was not her favourite subject. Joshua and David came in June at the end of the school year in Lebanon. I helped organize their meetings in the Cape. David then motored to Gauteng and Mpumalanga for further deputation. Early December they left us once more, returning to a most demanding year - especially after the school principal left suddenly before the end of the first term. Much work and stress landed on David’s plate. All we could do was pray for them and ask others to do the same. Jeanette was also taking strain so I wrote a poem to encourage. They had extra responsibilities as Field Leaders too. Our church, Medway Chapel’s name was changed to Medway Community Church. I started to teach the Girl’s Bible study. I was asked to do this by the elders but I thought they needed a younger person. It was a learning time. I expected a maturity from them for which they were not ready. So I acquired a book to help me pitch the study at the right level. The girls ranged from grades seven to ten, so there was quite a difference in age. For a number of years I was part of the committee of the Southern Suburbs Christian Women’s Club as well as being involved with Stonecroft Bible Studies, which is a sister organization. The idea was to hold a tea in an attractive venue (we used the ballroom of a prestigious club) offering special, secular features that would interest people, a good tea and a gospel presentation after tea - mainly the testimony of a well-known personality. We also had an excellent singer each time. The idea was to reach women who did not normally attend church. They could also sign up for Bible studies which were held in local homes. There was a lot of work involved and I was asked to do an SBS presentation at each CWC tea. I usually wrote a poem along the lines of the theme for the morning. Time after time I was devoid of ideas but the Lord helped me each time. Neville produced his own booklet on “Knowing God” which people were willing to receive knowing that he had written it. He continued to meet people at the golf driving range, at the auction, in the car parks, in supermarkets and in the street. There have been some surprising results. In our weakness, God is at work.

294 Neville also became more domesticated and learned to vacuum the house. He became my chauffeur, (I no longer drove because I was unable to fasten my seatbelt when alone). I could also not hop onto chairs to reach things any more. So he is used to getting things down that are out of my reach. In Arabic the proverb is: Attawiil xaadim alassiir - The tall is the servant of the short. After fourteen years serving in Lebanon, David, Jeanette, Joshua and Abigail returned home to South Africa. They had gone through a very difficult year and needed time to recuperate. David got a job at John Wycliff Christian school. They later changed their name to the Vine and adopted the Ambleside approach to Christian education. It was quite a challenge to the staff as there was a lot of work involved. Of course having them home was lovely for us. They eventually moved into the house the Lord had provided for them even before they were married. What an amazing God we serve. He knew that they would need this home and showed once again the truth of His words: “Seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you.” In those years they were away, house prices had gone up considerably, but their Master had made provision. Josh and Abby attended Westcott Primary School where they were happy. Later Josh went on to Wynberg Boys’ and Abby to Wynberg Girls’ where I had spent ten years of my schooling. Jeanette started teaching at a private school for children with barriers to learning. David later joined her there and they are making a contribution in the senior school. Jeanette also completed her B.Ed. Honours, cum laude. We applauded enthusiastically at the graduation ceremony! Joshua has now started his sports degree, having taken a gap year last year after matriculating. He went to Uncle Paul in Florida to learn about rugby development and the sports industry but Covid 19 restrictions spoilt some of the plans. He was however able to do an online fitness trainer course provided by Uncle Paul. Getting him back to South Africa was a nightmare. Much prayer was offered and with relief we heard of his plane landing in Johannesburg. He had two weeks of quarantine in a nice hotel at the government’s expense before he could travel to Cape Town and his mother’s waiting arms. In 2016 we celebrated our Golden wedding anniversary - fifty years of God’s faithfulness. Our whole family was present plus some of my extended family, Medway friends, MECO colleagues and my childhood friend, Praxia and her husband Basil. He was a doctor but had more or less retired. Our own doctor, Charles and his wife were present too. It was also the day of their wedding anniversary but fewer years. We had the delicious luncheon in a private dining room at Alphen in Constantia. Our daughter and son organized it all, and my friend Lilian baked and iced the lovely

295 cake. Once again, we were able to witness to the goodness of our gracious Triune God. We were most thankful that for some years we regularly saw Paul, Betsy, Reece and Nora - at least once a year towards Christmas time. At first, they stayed with us but space was limited and Betsy had a lot of business to work on. So in later years they rented a house for their time in Cape Town, usually at Noordhoek. One year at their house, we met the US Sevens rugby team (in town for the Cape Town Sevens) where the players had been invited for a braai. Some of them had been through the Tiger Rugby academy Paul started in Ohio. One of these was Perry Baker - twice World Sevens Player of the year. Paul has been very involved in rugby development in the USA, having been joint owner of Tiger Rugby – an international travelling sevens team competing around the globe. He coached the US Falcons rugby team and also played and coached the US Classic Eagles team, playing in Bermuda annually. He coached the original Ohio Aviators fifteens team. At Paul’s invitation and expense, Josh and I travelled to Ohio in 2017. Neville did not want to do any more travelling. For the first and only time, I travelled Business class. This makes life easier for an older person as I could lie down and sleep. It was good to have my grandson with me as there was so much technology connected with the seats, etc. in the aircraft. I did not know how to work the controls but the teenager knew all about it! The children insisted that I have a wheelchair in the airports. At Heathrow there was a golf cart instead. They were late, waiting for other passengers. There was no room for Josh. He set off across the airport in a hurry. I did not know where he was. Somehow, he found his way to the right area and they were just closing the gate. He persuaded them to wait and we made the flight to New York, then Columbus. This was the fourth time I had arrived in the USA. Each time it was another city - Detroit, Chicago, Atlanta, New York, en route to Ohio. I enjoyed the time in Paul’s and Betsy’s new ranch-style home set in a semirural setting, where the deer sometimes roamed and I saw my first chipmunk. The boundary wall with the neighbours was a row of trees. There were lots of birds, many of them with the colour red in their feathers - cardinals and others. I enjoyed sitting on the back porch watching for birds. Some of the rugby fraternity visited and welcomed me. The young men were very respectful and polite. I was lent a pair of binoculars and a bird book, to assist in my bird watching. We ate out quite a bit but Paul also braai’d in his firepit. Nora and I shared her bedroom. She slept on a mattress on the floor. We saw Betsy’s family and went to watch rugby. Paul’s team reached the final of the first professional rugby league in the USA but unfortunately lost.

296 As well as seeing one or two of their matches in sweltering heat, I went to one of the practices and met a couple of South Africans and a Lebanese. I was speaking Afrikaans to the South Africans and Arabic to the Lebanese! I missed Neville. I feared dying without being able to say goodbye. I was not afraid of dying but I wanted him to be there! Paul is now involved with the World Tens rugby series. The first tournaments were in Bermuda in the middle of the Pandemic with strict protocols. Paul has the opportunity to impact the lives of young men from different corners of the globe. Betsy (in particular) and Paul, are also involved with their essential oils company, connected to do-Terra essential oils. One of Paul’s nicknames was The Oil Baron! They are very busy and have travelled extensively, sometimes with the children - for do- Terra or rugby. The children have done much of their schooling at home - with a tutor when they were younger. Reece is playing high school rugby and Nora doing gymnastics. My earnest prayer is that they will know and fulfil God’s purposes for them - and the same prayer for Josh and Abby. Back home Neville and I continued to have opportunities of speaking at services in retirement complexes, and leading Bible studies. I continued the visitation with my friend, on behalf of our fellowship, until the Corona virus turned our lives upside down. We also led Middle Eastern prayer meetings for students at the Bible Institute. We enjoyed going there once a month or every second month to share and pray about the Middle East. MECO was no longer an independent mission but had become part of SIM. They had their own prayer meeting for the students but we concentrated the attention on the national believers and church, as well as a few South African missionaries. I struggled to get up the steps at BI and had to go the long way round. At home I had a few falls. The physiotherapist visited, gave me exercises and suggested the use of a walker. I now have two (for different situations) and use a walking stick when out - just to keep my balance. I was getting older. Neville was still quite active but then he developed a problem with his Aortic valve. He could no longer walk to the shop. He works in the garden and gets breathless. He has learnt to pace himself so as to reduce the breathlessness. It is not easy for such an active man to slow down. However, God’s word comforts us both. Though the outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is (can be) renewed day by day. In December 2017, I discovered a small lump in my breast. I did not mention it as Christmas lay ahead. In January, I saw the doctor and it was diagnosed after a biopsy as an oestrogen dependent cancer. In March, I went to Groote Schuur hospital and the lump was removed with healthy edges. I have been on daily follow-up meds for three years, with two to

297 go. The doctor was surprised that I even discovered the lump. It seemed I found it by accident but my Father is in control of my life and death. Neville and I both turned eighty in 2018. Jeanette arranged a party for me at the church. Paul could not be there but came for his Dad’s birthday in November. I so enjoyed my eightieth with friends and family. One of our friends played the piano and I read one of my poems. I testified to the love and grace of my Saviour and Lord. The catering was excellent and it was just a lovely time together. And then came the Pandemic. As older people with comorbidities, we were particularly vulnerable. We knew we would die sometime - maybe soon at our age - but Covid 19 seemed a particularly unpleasant way to go, especially dying alone without loved ones nearby. We were shut up at home and only saw Jeanette and David. They and Josh shopped for us. This was hard for Neville. He loved shopping and finding bargains. That was now at an end. Day after day, week after week, month after month, we were stuck at home. The only outings we had were mainly forced ones - to the dentist and doctor. We also took short trips to Fish Hoek and along the sea front to Muizenberg. Actually, at home we were so busy there were not enough hours in the day! Neville found work to do in the garden and on the sidewalk where he could still speak to people - at a distance. He spent plenty of time on the computer writing letters or writing up messages. We could not have Bible study in our home but the Bible studies were put up on the Medway website. Neville became my domestic helper. Before this we had employed a Xhosa lady, Yandy to clean for us. She also worked for Jeanette and is an excellent worker. For years I did my own work but the time came that I needed help. Soon after coming to us, Yandy accepted the Lord as her Saviour from sin. We did Bible study at teatime each Tuesday, I got her Emmaus Bible courses which she completed. Due to the danger to herself with the taxi travelling and to ourselves, we asked her to stay away for some months. So I needed Neville’s help. Yandy is now back. I also started learning Xhosa from her. I need to do some revision. I stayed busy as well. I started baking our own bread and other goodies. There were meals to prepare, groceries to sanitize, messages and letters to send to family and friends, books to read, plenty of poems to write. The antics of the birds and squirrels as well as the vegetation and flowers, also God’s word inspired quite a number. These were the new poems of the Pandemic time. Previous to this, a book of my poems was published by JAM just before everything shut down, but we had not yet received any copies. A book of Neville’s, The Father Ran, was also published. Later in the year some

298 copies of both books were delivered. We were happy to see the good work that had been done. We kept the arrival of the books a secret until Christmas day when Jeanette’s family received a copy of each as well as other friends. Paul’s books are in a packet in my wardrobe. I worked on our family history, on my mother’s side. Her maiden name was Lilley. My cousin Michael’s son’s wife gave birth to twin boys just before the Lockdown. They would bear the Lilley name and he wanted them to have the family history one day. So he set up a Lilley website. Another cousin once removed, in Australia, also registered a website. I knew more about the family history than anyone else, with documents, photos, stories, family Bibles that had been passed on to me as the second eldest of twenty-one Lilley grandchildren. I also made a Family scrapbook with lists of the family connections. So during the Pandemic, I have spent quite a bit of time producing a more comprehensive family history and the Australian cousin did a lot of research which was very helpful. At the end I produced a forty-two page document covering the 12th to 21st Centuries. It is most interesting to see the family connections to the history we learnt at school! But as I pointed out in the document, it is only as we are part of God’s plans that our lives have eternal significance. The Corona virus situation led to a shutdown of worship services in our church building. They continued with online services and we joined in, sitting in the sunroom. At times there are actual Sunday services (as at present) but people have to book in advance because only a certain number are allowed, according to government regulations. We have not seen most of our church family for over a year. However our pastoral elder came wearing his mask. My friend and another lady who resumed visitation also came - wearing their masks. We are grateful for social media as we have kept in touch with people and received news about those needing prayer support. As some have challenges regarding employment, the fellowship is able to give assistance. It is so good to be part of a caring church family such as Medway. Neville and I also have times of worship on a Sunday and so enjoy singing the old Methodist hymns together - a bit croaky, struggling to remember some tunes but truly blessed. What have we done to “save the planet”? We are stewards of God’s world, although it was the need to economise that often motivated us, I fear! We installed a water tank in our backyard to collect rainwater from the roof gutters. We also watered with underground water from a well point. Neville planted shrubs and trees that use up carbon dioxide and give out oxygen, and we have many water-wise plants. We do not use poison or sprays in the garden or house. We try to save electricity with energy saving light bulbs and stay warm with extra clothing in winter rather than using heaters. The hot water is turned on about twice a week and I have

299 often showered with cold water in summer. We use wood cut from our trees for winter fires - so cheerful in wet and stormy weather. We probably could have done more but we tried. It is our Father’s world. What of our health? We usually ate plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables, fruit juice without sugar, little fat with our meat. We take only really necessary medication. We use essential oils and supplements provided by our children. We try to keep the little grey cells working too. I keep abreast of world news and cultural issues but less than I used to. The nervous system is wearing out! We both read every day and I enjoy reading William who causes me to laugh regularly. We both enjoy good DVDs although Neville often falls asleep. I compose poems and write to our grandchildren. I used to make things and knit for them but my fingers are less nimble than before. I could easily have slipped into depression but for the Lord’s help and wisdom - especially when both our children and their families were overseas. As we As we are were (taken in 2016)

Regarding our spiritual health the Lord continues His work in us. I am conscious of the grace of God. How amazing, great, patient, humble He is. How undeserved His faithful love. I have seen Him work miracles in the lives of our family and church family and am so grateful. My times are in His hands and I have to trust Him Who is the faithful One and has called me into the fellowship of His Son. My main ambition for my children and their children is that they fulfil God’s purposes for their lives. I also pray that we will have intact, godly, balanced and whole families down the generations until Jesus comes. One matter I want to share is about prayer. As older, less active people, God has given us a wonderful opportunity to serve Him in our families and church, community and country, to remember those in prison for the faith in other areas. Yet how difficult it can be to pray. I find my mind goes off at a tangent, it is hard to concentrate. Undoubtedly the Enemy tries to

300 distract us but I need to persevere and keep on praising and praying even when there are lapses in concentration. The Lord encourages us to pray, others need us to pray. The wonder of it is that God chooses to involve me in what He is doing, despite my imperfect prayer life.

So what of the future? We are at present contemplating and praying about a huge change. David and Jeanette have sold their house – that the Lord provided for them. We are planning to sell ours as well - the one that God gave us. There is a season for everything. Our children feel they need us closer, so that they can care for us. They have been thinking of this for some time but Neville was not ready. Neville has accepted that at eighty-two we need to downsize. They have bought a larger house with an attached apartment for us. They expect to move in first and we will join them later in the year.

This is the end of my autobiography. But it is not the end of the story. God knows how long we have left on earth. Neville and I are grateful to still be together, when many of our friends and family are widows and widowers. It is a privilege to share life together - even with our aches and pains and increasing bodily frailty.

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Psalm 92:14 - They shall still bear fruit in old age. That is our desire and God has promised. Psalm 48:14 - This God is our God forever and ever. He will guide us until death. For such is God, our God forever. Isaiah 46:4 - Even to your old age, I am He, and even to grey hairs (although Neville has white hair, I am not yet fully grey) I will carry you. I have made and I will bear; even I will carry and deliver you.

One day we will meet Jesus face to face but for now we walk by faith and not by sight. Whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s, wrote the apostle Paul. I am eternally grateful to be a child of the living God, through no merit of my own. I am an imperfect woman but I am complete in Christ. Are you?

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