The House-selling saga

Our house had been on the market for several weeks. Many came to look, but there were no takers except for one man who decided that our unused acre at the rear of the house would be very useful for a vegetable garden. Sadly, his wife did not want to live there. But, he came again and told us how much he wanted it, but that his wife was the stumbling block. Well, after the call from my friend, and after I had wept out my heart to the Lord, I suddenly thought of old Brother Will Short, a missionary working with the Hillside Church of Christ, in the community at the  other end of town, and I felt impelled to talk to him for advice. Well, after pouring my heart out to this wonderful and understanding old friend he said, "Lois, Mother (that is what he called his wife) and I have seen the struggle you have been going through, but we didn't want to interfere without being asked. Let me make a suggestion, why don't you leave Queens Park for a while and come and worship with us. When you look at them from a distance you may get things into better perspective and then you can make a final decision."

I thanked him for his patience with me, then called Mel. I gave him the whole story and after thinking for a moment he said. "That is what we are going to do." Now, hold it, the next part took my breath away, about three hours after that call to Mel , my uncle, who was our estate agent, called me to tell me the house was sold — to the man who wanted the vegetable garden. The Lord surely does move in mysterious ways. We never regretted our decision.

Our Surprise Package

When I was in my late 38th year I was fairly certain my childbearing days were over, and so when I began to suspect I was pregnant again I said to Mel, "Honey, I think we are going to have an addition to the family!"  He in his wonderful ability for understatement calmly said, "Oh dear, what are we going to call it?"  I was delighted with the idea and after a couple of weeks it was time to have it confirmed by the doctor. Dr. Mc Nair's reaction, sadly, was the opposite of Mel's. "What?" he said aghast, "that is not a good idea at your age!" (I was at the age when babies with Down's Syndrome may be born). I was aware  of the danger but I really was not afraid and I retorted, very strongly, "Well, I am going to have this baby and there is NOTHING you can do about it!" He did not protest but said, "Well I am going to make very sure you have no more. I will deliver  him by C-section." I agreed and since my due date was a few days after Deb's 13th birthday we would schedule his birth for the 24th of January, Deb's birthday. And that is what happened. All this occurred a short time after Ma had moved in with us and it took place three years before our fostering experience.

Our fostering experience

I mentioned, recently, the children next door on the south of our property. Without going into details, which are not pleasant, I will say this: we fostered the two children for seven months, meanwhile their mother had remarried and now had a stable marriage. Things came to a head with the children and we knew we needed to give our entire attention to our own children when Deb, who was now working said, "Mom, I know the kids need you so let me move to the YWCA." This was after the little girl had found Deb's five years of artwork and defaced every one of her pieces. This was just the culminating event, I had just the night before been told by Mel that we would take them back to the Welfare people the very next day because he saw the devastating effect she was having on me. Fortunately when we took them back they told us that we were going to lose them soon because their mother wanted them back. However, my feelings of guilt about what we had to do kept bugging me for weeks after. As a result I eventually called Sister Shewmaker, a missionary who was working with her husband in the Hillside Church of Christ. I poured out my heart to her, and when I had finished she said, very sweetly, "Lois, you did the right thing. Remember this, God gave you your children; you voluntarily took on the responsibility of those other children of your own free will."  Thank you Sister Shewmaker!!

It was while we had the children that my mother decided, strictly on her own, to use the settlement of Dad's will to move into one of the old-age communities, Coronation Cottages, and live independently. This freed up her flatlet for our use.

Going Back a While

Let me go back to the times before the last post.  This will be about some incidents before Oupa, my Dad, died. Paul was still very little, but was outgrowing his cot, so I decided to buy some 3 by 4 inch planks to make another one myself. I very carefully measured the two side pieces, the top and bottom pieces, and four short legs. I bought 3 inch canvas webbing to weave across the top to make a firm base for his little mattress. I was having the time of my life putting it all together when my Dad walked in and saw what I was doing. He could see what I was trying to do and laughed. "Lois, it looks like a dog cocking his leg! Here, let me take it to my garage and finish it for you." Oupa was master craftsman when to came to any woodwork job, and I gladly handed it to him to finish for me. Paul used that bed for a couple of years, by which time Steve was on the scene and he also used it when Paul got a "big" single bed because now he was a "big boy."

Life with Ma

Getting back to where I left off in order to relate my teaching experiences. After my Dad died Ma (My Mom) moved in with us. Our house was tiny and she had to share Debbie's room. It very soon became obvious that we needed to extend our house and add more rooms. I took it on myself to draw up the plans — adding about 2 feet to the living room and kitchen, putting a huge picture window in the living room and another window in the kitchen. Then I added two more rooms for the boys, and a new master bedroom for Mel and me. I used a book with plans to help me to make the plans look professionally done, and off I went to Central Africa Building Society to ask for an extension to our loan — the Lord must have been behind me 100% because they granted the loan in a few days. We employed the same builder who had built the original house, and we tasted grit and dust for several months as the work progressed. Our home had only one bathroom and one separate toilet, but we were used to that so it didn't bother us. Then my father's will was eventually completed and Ma decided to pay, from the proceeds, to have a very large room built on to the back of the house. It was as wide as the original house and pretty long.  She had a small kitchen area and a shower also. She had no toilet so an intervening door was cut into the end wall of our house, and this door was only locked when Ma decided to lock it.

 Next door to us lived a poor family. The family, including a half-witted adult son, plus an older granny who had her son and wife and two small children living with her. The mother of the children got a divorce from her man and moved to South Africa, leaving the kids for Granny to raise. She was a member of the church and always took them with her to services. One night there was a knock at Ma's door. I was visiting Ma at the time and the granny brought the little girl in and asked if we could help her. She lifted the child's dress and exposed her bottom. I gasped with shock when I saw the one buttock was bright red, with a HUGE boil in the middle. Without thinking I blurted out, "Why haven't you taken her to the hospital?" She replied, "We have no transport and the closest bus stop is too far away for us to walk there." Because of their poverty they would have received free treatment. Unfortunately Mel was out doing personal work at the time and I had no transport, so we couldn't help. I told her I would drive Mel to work in the morning then come home and take the child to the hospital. Meanwhile I took Mandy (the child) down to our bedroom where I turned her over my knee and gently squeezed out as much infection as I could — a good three thimbles full — then cleansed the wound thoroughly and placed a dressing on it. We sent them home and told them to be ready in the morning, which they were, and I took her to the hospital where they dealt with what was left of the boil and gave her an antibiotic to clear up any infection. She recovered very well.

On another occasion the child's frantic aunt burst into our kitchen where I was cooking.  "Please come quickly, Mandy has sown her finger into the sewing machine!!" I rushed over to find the uncle trying to pull her hand through the needle hole in her finger, which was trapped under the needle  which had completely penetrated it. "Stop. " I ordered, "Bring me a screw-driver." When he brought it I put it under the needle-holder and forced it up so that we could safely slide her finger out. I took her home with me, put some antibiotic ointment on it and wound a band-aid around it. She went off as happy as a lark and was soon running around yelling at the top of her voice — a very annoying habit she had.

My High school Classes — continued

I will concentrate largely in my 1D class. I learned to love those kids. My job was to focus on their arithmetic and English. If they behaved themselves all week I would read to them from some appropriate books — but they had to be ones which were attention-holders. One morning the head of the English department brought me a book with which I was familiar, it was a play about a psychological murder, but it had several sexual  portions, howbeit, those passages were skillfully written, but nevertheless, I told the man I would not subject the children to it. His response was, "I wouldn't worry about the sexual references, they get it that sort of talk all the time at home." My immediate comeback was, "Yes, I know, but do we have to feed it to them at school also? I will not do that." So he went to the headmaster and told him and was told by headmaster to tell me to choose my own books. Some of the books I chose  were, Jock of The Bushveld, a book about a bull-terrier whose bravery soon became a legend. King Solomon's Mines, a book about an area in Africa dealing with some old ruins which were thought to date back to the Biblical King Solomon. Swiss Family Robinson, and others which I do not recall at this moment. They were books full of adventure and exciting stories. They loved the story-reading times and if they behaved badly — they were very normal kids — I would threaten them with having to do English on Friday. Actually, I used this method with all the classes I taught. It was surprisingly effective. When I was warned by my doctor that I was heading for a physical breakdown and must resign I did so very sadly. I told the children, and on my last day I came into the class-room and saw they had written with chalk all over the cupboards and black board. I immediately reprimanded them and they said, "Ah! Mrs. Sheasby, read what we have written!" I saw it was a message to me which led to the cupboard by the door, with an arrow pointing to the inside, I opened the door, and started to cry, there was a HUGE bunch of flowers. I still feel weepy when I think of it.  I said, above my emotion, "Thank you all so much. I must take them to the teachers' restroom to put them in water. As I was taking them the headmaster saw me and exclaimed, "Where did those come from?"   I explained it to him and he said, "Nothing like that has ever happened before!" I think the reason for my success with those kids was that they knew I cared about them.

Another class, Form 2D, consisted of boys only — they separated the boys and girls in this form because they found they were so busy with their hormones that they were likely to misbehave in order to get the girls' attention — but that is beside the point. I also learned to love each of them, but the mischief sometimes  got the better of them. As a general rule I was able to quell their bad behavior, but one morning they were all so hyped-up that I had to call in the deputy head. He came in asked me to step out of the room onto the surrounding veranda,  pretty soon I heard "whap-whap" as every single one of them got the cane treatment (corporal punishment was the way they handled naughty boys). When he came out and I went in they all grinned at me, even those with tears still on their cheeks, and all was forgiven because they knew they deserved what they got. That was the only time I had to call on the deputy head. This class also bought me a farewell gift — a box of beautiful lace handkerchiefs. Again, I was very touched.

The Form 3d was, of course, full of well developed boys and girls. One day the deputy head came to tell me that I was going to have a new student, but he warned me, "He has already been expelled twice, but his father brought him in and begged us to give him another chance. We agreed but told the father that one more misdemeanor and he would be out for good." I said it was okay with me. Well, the next morning he turned up in my class, and I could see that all the kids were scared of him. They had a rule in British schools that required the kids  to all stand until the teacher gave them permission to sit. I came into the class and my newcomer was standing as well. I said, "Good morning class," to which they responded, "Good morning, Mrs Sheasby." "You may be seated." All of them, except my new-comer, sat.

He stood at his desk and started rotating his hips, with the grin on his face. An audible gasp went out from the others as they stared in fear, yes, that is the word, and waited for me to respond. "I said you may be seated," Still no response. I closed my eyes and prayed a silent prayer, then is started walking slowly to the door — he sat down. There was an audible "Whoosh" from the class. I had no more trouble from him, but a few days later he was expelled again, but not because of my telling on him. When he was the gone class told me, "Mrs. Sheasby, he is a really bad boy."

After leaving Northlea I had a couple more very short periods of teaching at other schools.

More About Teaching

In addition to teaching I had to choose a class to be their form mistress. I had heard a lot of negative talk about how dim the "D" streamers were, Classes were divided into four streams, according to their intelligence scores. The A and B classes were for the more academic students, while the C and D classes were for those who would never be able to attend a university. When I heard all the negative comments about the C and D classes my sympathy was aroused and so I asked to teach in those classes and see what I could do to raise their sense of worth, so I chose to be the form 1D class teacher. There were about 20 kids in the class. My job would be to try and teach them some arithmetic and English skills.  The British School system divided the high schools into "forms" not "standards". I would also be responsible for teaching those two subjects to the forms 2 and 3.

It did not take me long to get to know the kids and to assess their abilities. There was one girl in my form  1 class who immediately caught my attention and I was aware that she was vastly more talented than the  other children, for three reasons —  1. She was a natural leader and sat in the back row and kept them in an uproar — but in a charming way,  2. Her English vocabulary was vastly superior to that of the others, and 3. She had a much more adult sense of humour.  I brought this to the notice of the head-master and asked that she be put up several streams. He protested at first and showed me her entrance exam results which were pathetically low. I was not taken in by those results and protested that they did not reflect her natural ability. He said, "I will ask the other teachers what they think." After they  thought about it they eventually agreed with me and moved her up. At the end of the year she came SECOND in her class!! After getting to know the kids I came to the conclusion that they did not come from stable families, and I was proved right  again. I learned to love those young people, and they recognized that I was an encourager and showed their appreciation by working very hard for me. It was obvious that they were of lower intelligence than the academic students, but they did their best.

The form 2 class consisted of boys only. The school had determined that at that age their behaviour in class was very disruptive when there were girls to impress. I made it a policy with all the English classes I taught I would read to them on Fridays — if they had behaved themselves during the week.The Head of the English Department had brought me a play to read to them. But I knew the play — it was a psychological murder with considerable sexual undertones and I was not happy with the choice. In a speech class I had taken in university the teacher had asked me to take part in the play — she assured me that they were going to change it considerably because it was not appropriate for a Christian College as it was. I declined, though, because I was about to graduate and still had to much to do before graduation.   More about my teaching experience in my next blog

More about events before my Dad's death

There are some other things I should have mentioned but which slipped my mind. After we built our house we found that our budget was very tight so we talked about it and I asked Mel if I could take all my college credentials to the Education Department to see if I could find a job in a school office. You see, our education system was under the auspices of the British government, which looked with scorn on American colleges. That way I would be home in the afternoons when the children were home from school and my Mom would watch them if I didn't get tome in time. Mel agreed, so off I went to see what I could do. The woman who interviewed me scanned my information then said, "I am sending you to Northlea High School — they desperately need someone." So, off I went, post-haste. When I got there I was interviewed by the Headmaster, who hired me on the spot, but told me that I would be considered temporary staff because of my American degree. Then, to my horror I was told they were hiring me to teach 6th Form Business Math. I gasped, and said, "I only had one course in American Business." "I think you will do just fine," he said. You see, he was impressed with the fact the the math courses I took in America had earned me straight "A"s, and I was also a member of Alpha Chi, a national Honor Society.

Well I decided to take the bull by the horns and do the best I could. For those who don't know the British education system, the sixth form is equal to a freshman course in America. Big GULP!! I made up my mind I was going to be very honest with the students and explain that this course was something with which I was unfamiliar, but that I felt that if we worked together on it we could make it. There were about 8 students in the class, one of whom was a Jewish girl who was extremely talented and VERY well aware of the fact. She obviously didn't like the sound of my information, and I made a fatal mistake with her of marking something wrong which she considered was right — and may very well have been right — and the other student was one who had already failed the exam twice. Anyway, I think he and the other six students appreciated my confession and decided I was worth working with.  And we did, in fact we had a great time. I used to sit up in bed at night trying to fathom things out. I worked very hard — EVERY student passed at the end of the year. I learned to love each one of them. Towards the end of the term the girls in the class said they had been asked to arrange a fund-raising event for the school and they said to me, "Mrs. Sheasby we want to have a Mrs. Northlea Competition and very much want you to be a participant."
"What would I have to do?" I asked.
"Just walk across the stage."
"Dressed how?"
"In a bathing costume. We will all vote for you."
"Absolutely, no way."
"Ah, come on Mrs. Sheasby!"
"If you think I will walk across the stage in a bathing costume in front of hundreds of teen-age boys you have to be out of your minds."  This interchange all went on in the nicest way, but they now knew it was out of the question, so we parted still friends.

There will be more about my teaching experience at Northlea in the next post because I have quite a lot to say and this is quite long enough for now.

My Parents' Retirement Plans

After Oupa retired he and Ma decided to sell their house and move to South Africa — it had long been my Dad's desire to spend his last days in his beloved Cape area in Oudtshoorn, his place of birth and childhood. All his remaining relatives lived there — so they sold the house to the Welenskys, who had a rather large family. They and we bonded to a small degree.

Then my folks got in touch with the Chandler family, who had moved to Pretoria, the capital of South Africa, asking permission to stay there a few days  before continuing their journey to his home-town. Mel and I had decided to take a vacation at Durban while they were moving. We hired a holiday flat in Durban and arrived there before  my Parents even left Pretoria. We had been there a few days when the phone rang. It was Ma calling to tell us that Dad had been struck by a car, and was in the hospital, very severely injured. When the accident occurred Ma was sitting in the car on the other side of the street, it was early evening when vision was at its worst,  someone tapped on the window and asked, "Was your husband just crossing the street?" She confirmed it saying, "He was trying to check to see if the street across the road was the one we were looking for." Then the man told her he was struck by a car and the ambulance was on the way. She managed to cross the street just as  they were loading him in and he groaned, but said no more. Ma followed them to the hospital. When she called us she told us it was pretty serious, and I, of course, burst into tears of sorrow. She asked to speak to Mel, and he told her we would leave as soon as it was daylight. Well, before we left the next morning she called again to say he had not survived the night.

We talked to the flat management and they said it was okay. We got to Pretoria later in the day and found the Chandler's house. They and Mel quickly made arrangements for the funeral and a burial spot in the cemetery. The young couple who ran into him were beside themselves with grief, and we actually ended up comforting them. The time of day made it very difficult to see and Dad obviously was not being very aware. The couple even attended the funeral. So this is the way Dad got his final desire to die in his home-country. The day after the funeral  Ma said, "I don't want to go back to Bulawayo yet — I'm not ready to face all our church friends."

We immediately invited her to come and spend the rest of our vacation with us. Mel called the apartment management to explain the situation, he was told the flat was still vacant and they would put in another bed for her. So we went back to Durban. Frikkie had come down for the funeral, by train, and drove Ma's car back to Bulawayo. We, with Ma, went back to our holiday flat and Ma found the time to get her emotions back in order. Ma was a woman who believed in the strongly-held British "Stiff upper lip" idea, but I caught her quietly crying when she thought no-one was around. Her 45+year marriage was tragically at an end. Of course,  she no longer had a home to go to, but the agreement we had with my parents was that if either one was left alone, a home with us was assured.

 One day, as we were going for a walk at the beach we had to cross a walkway over the water, to our destination. The walkway was made with wooden slats, about 3 cm apart. Paul, who was still under five years old, looked down and saw the sea-water swirling around under the slats, and became afraid that he would fall into the sea. My very practical Mom said, "Don't worry, the gaps are very small!" To which he very quickly responded, "Yes, but I am a very small boy!!" That delightful response was the very thing we needed to raise our feeling of well-being as we all laughed heartily.

Earlier happenings before the last blog

 There are some things I have remembered which happened while Oupa was still living which I remember with pleasure. When Paul got too big for his cot I decided to make him a bed myself, to save money. I bought the requirements in wood planks, and 3cm wide canvas strapping to weave across the opening at the top so there would be a secure base for his little mattress. I was working happily on it when my Dad walked in and asked, "What are you trying to do?" "Make Paul a bed." He laughed and said, "Looks more like a dog with his leg cocked." I got tickled and he said, "Here, let me take it to the garage and do it for you." I was very happy to let him because he was an expert cabinet maker — self taught — and I knew it would be very well made. Paul used it until he outgrew it, by which time Steve had appeared on the scene — more about that later.

Another event I recall with very little pleasure, but it was Dad to the rescue again. Mel had already gone to work when I felt an urgent call to the lavatory to wee. But no matter how hard I tried to release it, it just wouldn't come. The agony kept growing and I got on the couch, with my behind in the air and just groaned with the relentless pain. Dad walked in and saw me, and immediately knew I was in bad trouble. "I'm taking you straight to the hospital, wait here and I'll get the car."  He called Mel to tell him and off we went. When got to the emergency section they immediately called Dr. McNair who ordered to have me immediately admitted to the women's ward upstairs. He called the ward  and told them to get a specimen at once. He also ordered an extremely strong pain-killer. The nurse helped me to the toilet, but without any success. I suggested she turn on as many faucets as she could — sometimes that helps. But, nothing!! We got the  giggles, so there I was laughing and crying at same time. She called the doc and he ordered them to insert a catheter. Oh! the relief!! They siphoned out enough urine to have burst my bladder — thank the Lord, I had one that was able to withstand the pressure or I may  not have survived.

The nurses were "Kindness" personified. This happened a couple of days before Christmas and during the night a woman was brought in screaming and vomiting and thinking she was dying. The doctor who attended her was very harsh with her, and showed very little sympathy and I was bewildered at his AND the nurses' conduct. Later I asked the nurse why they were so unkind to her and so very kind to me and she said, "There was nothing wrong with her except overindulgence in liqor, but you, you were a very sick girl." I especially recall the one nurse. She was Indian and she came quietly to my bed, before they had inserted the catheter, and just held my arm very gently in her soft hands. It calmed me down considerably. It seems that I had picked up a rare germ which was only detected in the lab when they looked for the reason. I spent Xmas in hospital, but the relief from the pain was worth it.

Another thing that happened during the period when my parents were still living next door was a black baby being born on their garage floor. A black woman came to the house very pregnant to ask me mom to call for an ambulance. Mom had had quite a bit of experience at midwifery as she had helped deliver several natives on the mission where they were working at one time. She saw at once that the woman was actually in labor so she quickly lay many layers of newspaper on the garage floor. Debbie was little and she was there at the time while I was teaching. She told her to stay in the house. Well as time went on and the birthing process began, Deb's curiosity got the better of her and she climbed up a few of the stairs which were situated inside beside the back door. That way she could reach the handle, so she went out to see what all the fuss was about and watched just as the afterbirth came away, and Ma heard a little voice say, "Is that lady going to take that meat home to cook?" Ma was horrified and when I came to get Deb she apologized profusely that Deb had seen what she did. I assured her that it was Okay, and the least said the soonest forgotten.

The Bike Incident

This is another snake story. As I have said before Deb and Tim rode their bikes to school. During the night, even though thefts were not common in our area, I made it a rule that before they went to bed they were to bring their bikes into the kitchen so they would not be a temptation to passing natives. Well, one night I decided to do it for them. I was (as I often was) walking around barefoot and went out and stepped on a stick (I thought) and felt a sudden very sharp pain in my big toe. I brought the bikes in, then looked at my toe. Ma was living with us at the time and she asked what the problem was, I told her what happened and she sat me down, picked up my foot, and said, "I think you've got a snake-bite!" She stuck my toe in her mouth and sucked hard, spat and sucked again, then told Dad to take me to the emergency room. By this time my foot was throbbing quite severely. There were two very definite fang marks, but very close together. The hospital gave me an anti-venom injection and some medicine to take. It took care of the bite. When I showed it to Dr. McNair he said, "I don't think it is a snake bite, I think it is a scorpion bite, they often strike twice. The fang marks are too close for a snake." Be that as it may, I definitely felt only one strike. A night adder is a very small snake and so its fangs are very close. It was when I stepped on the "stick" that I felt the strike. Night adders are only very mildly venomous. but can make you quite sick. Since Ma had so much experience in dealing with snakes of all sorts, and since she was used to treating snake-bitten pets with her snake-bite outfits, I think she knew what she was saying. I think that is all I have to say about personal experiences with the critters.