MY PARENTS

As a child one so often sees what is before him. He has no way of putting day to day life into a broader context, observing how his life differs from that of another, his family from another.

We seemed to be as any other family in the church – the only wider life I knew. Mt parents were quietly-spoken and retiring, never raising their voices. I would hear from time to time that my father was a clever man but this was not conspicuous at home, where he would work in the garden or on the car. Life was very ordered.

Now as I look back I see my father in a different light. I am increasingly aware of his brilliance and yet simplicity. He was valued by his colleagues but was always self-effacing. He also valued good quality but not ostentation. Our home reflected this. Not much but the best.

He inherited , as both sons did, their father’s industriousness. His achievements are chronicled elsewhere. My father was best in an advisory role and was mentor to many in his profession. His father built churches and houses, my Dad built a house too, but also a communications tower and retirement centre – the fruit of his retirement. Yet again, a wendy house and a swimming pool.
He was decades ahead in transfer of information, speaking of video-conferencing in the 1960's and electronic transfer of money.

He always exhibited a kind, gentle spirit and was an honourable man. He gathered quotations of great thinkers and was ready to share this wisdom.

My mother was a quiet, gentle woman but with a lively curiosity and a listening ear, the ideal wife for my father. She deprecated herself academically but again looking back, this was due to circumstances in her home. She cared for the family when her mother was ill and was often called home to take over the reigns. She was 'mother' to her youngest sister, a role she played until her sister's death in her seventies.

For a woman of her era, she had an adventurous spirit and never kept me back from treading new paths. Her concern and empathy was for all in need, black or white. I well remember driving over bumpy tracks through the bushveld to the village of our black gardener and supporting our black maid as she suffered as a result of her son,a political agitator, being held on Robben Island. He many kindnesses were valued by church members - baking cakes and sending cards.

My mother was my best friend through whom I gained my own identity as I was encouraged to express myself on all issues of life. This gift has been passed on to my son who has a lively mind of his own.

Her gentleness masked a steely character and took her to the end of her days in a country other than her birth.