Final Dry Remark

Our quiet school days were immensely enriched
when we read Short Stories by Herman Charles
Bosman, Oom Schalk Lourens feeling inferior as
he lay in old clothes under Abjaterskop while being
sniffed by a curious old leopard

A young girl thinking it quite commonsense for a young
man to dive under the blanket every time a policeman
appears; a congregation singing Ps 119 all verses when
the pastor falls unconscious, church elders drinking
Communion wine to keep going

The anecdotes all end with a final dry remark, the irony
building on the innocuous beginning - when the pastor
wakes up he thinks the service started at night and
instructs the congregation to start singing, Ps 119
all verses, the congregation flummoxed

The effect is hilarious, intoxicated elders leading the
broken singers exhausted after eight hours of
incessant singing...

Thank You Anne-Marie

Dad’s Endearing Buoyancy

It was Anne-Marie who taught me love my dad, she
loved hers true although he drank; when I tried to
ride her brother’s bike it was he who saved my life,
jumped aboard, applied the brakes as I accelerated,
straight into a solid wall

Her dad was he who made me realise I could learn to
love mine too; Anne-Marie had heard his droning voice,
saw his impish smile, his wild reactions at my mother’s
concert where he made a raucous noise such as those
one hears at rallies of the ANC

In quiet days of stiff-upper-lip applause I lowered
my embarrassed head as he whistled and clapped in-
appropriately, Anne-Marie turned to me with shining
eyes, said my dad was the only one vibrantly alive
in that stuffy company

She saw he loved my mother - I discovered I’d been
taught pretentiously to ignore him; Anne-Marie loved
his mischievousness and I learnt to see him in her
eyes, he did not drink like hers, though he also sang
the same bawdy songs with outright glee

My dad was a joyous soul shunned in a cold world of
protocol forbidding me sing or eat on the street; though
loud noise and chaos scares me still, I know it is not evil,
simply different style today; grandma Alice never needed
fearing I would grow into an ogress

just because Conan the Barbarian was my dad - I love his
eccentricity though I need grandma’s muted tones and the
soft lines she insisted on, my dad’s buoyancy is endearing,
I do not have to guard against it… thank you Anne-Marie-
you taught me to love unconditionally…

Mists of Witrivier (Rev.)

A rainy day in mists of Witrivier – as I
remember them: Anne-Marie invited me
to visit her home, we arrived at dusk
soft mist enhancing lush green

wearing a long black skirt and silver top
I felt a fairy lost in a strange, magic land,
her home resembled mine, her dad sang
songs ‘It’s the whiskey. you villain!’ –

We laughed, enjoying joviality, her brother
stood outside the car, drove with his feet on
the steering wheel, it was a new experience
as a child I seldom visited except for family

Mist cast enchanting sheen over everything
we did while trying to come to terms with
our new status as first year students, first
time on my own, alone and far from home

Whenever mist shrouds the world, I recall
the thrill of that lovely time, long for the
delighted expectation of that first visit to
an enchanted, misty realm…

Les Anciens Souvenirs

It is the greatest thing to share memories
driving in a Casspir to Khayelitsha, visiting
a shebeen, eating fresh fish on the beach
listening to a speech in English made by a
an Afrikaans person whose accent sounds
Spanish and trying to render it all in French

Presentations of new military strategies, not
conversant with the terms yet trying to explain
to French dignitaries, a storm of emotions, a
delightful excursion to training facilities, talking
incessantly and enjoying a fresh sea breeze
while watching trained dogs giving impressive
demonstrations – those were the days

What fun that was, dumped at a Casino by Inspector
Mohamed and at a loss what to do, I cannot play a
game of chance and you cannot speak English, we
lost every cent and hated the smoky atmosphere
but our suffering was not at an end, indefatigable
Inspector Mohammed took us to a nightclub for a
treat and we were stuck, I cannot dance, you would
not being a good Christian, the Muslims emphatically
refused while all drinking spring water

We desired fresh air and important discussions about
requisite equipment, survival techniques and leadership
and remember the show by professional swimmers at
the training facility? I loved everything we did…

[Pour Général Baruku, Colonel Raus et le reste
de la délégation ; mes amis de la RDC]

Mysteries Never Solved

*
I remember how mystified I was on watching the Sound
Of Music when I was small, it puzzled me where those
lovely songs came from, the idea of composing them
for the movie especially seemed so foreign

On first discovering Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom
of the Opera, another mystery presented itself: Where
did the opera’s Hanniball and The Mute come from,
composing them with real operas to choose from

Seemed just as strange; as a child who only knew a
piano, I could not fathom the mystery of a violin’s
unending sighing - or understand how one note
could continue reverberating ad infinitum

In primary school there was the mystery of sacred
melody, why the hymns we sang in church differed
so much from modern songs; then the even more
titillating mystery of singing

Why did a coloratura soprano differ so much from
an ordinary pop star’s voice; I never asked anyone
pondering the mysteries in silence, enjoying their
magical power, adding them to

The mystery of Easter Island, the Pyramids in Egypt
- even then I knew a mystery should NEVER
be solved!
*

Bricks in Coal Stove

*
First my old standby, a lovely purple
hot water bottle, started leaking in my
bed, sadly I had to say goodbye to the
loveliest hot water bottle I have ever had,
purple being my favourite colour, maybe
it makes me feel spiritual, maybe it is
the association with lavender

I was so sad, I did not buy a new one
until the cold got too much and a plastic
cooldrink bottle, a temporary replacement
got unscrewed in bed, once again my leg
was wet, I was constrained to get the real
thing, brown this time, displaying it as
Nici was filling her hot water bottle

Suddenly her hot water bottle exploded
burning her skin, the rubber weakened by
years of scalding hot water instead of the
cooler water as prescribed, I KNOW we
should cool boiling water before pouring
it into rubber, but we always want it
warmer than we are allowed

I remember my dad once crying out in the
night as my mother’s hot water bottle burst,
we were still at school, I was surprised, us
kids warmed hot bricks in the coal stove and
broke our toes whenever they connected with
the brick in bed, the idea of hot water bottles
seemed so alluring

In the beginning I added cold water to boiling
to make a hot water bottle last, then I slipped
and used water straight from the kettle, repea-
ting mother’s mistake, killing bottle after bottle
making me remember those hot bricks with a
fondness I never thought possible
when I was young...


[My brother once installed an electric blanket in
my bed, but the heat was too overpowering, I
still prefer a small warm thing I can move
around at will]
*

Cherished The Compliment

I used to think that people I love would be
as interested in me as I was in them until
realizing my interest in him only concerned
mutual ideas, never intending to know
everything

He never cared whether I was swimming or
doing aerobics, his interest primitive, mine
esoteric, both self-centered in the extreme
the only factor that made it work was his
discernment

I could tell him so many things because he
opened up and explained those things I
suspected, preparing me to be wary of
so many things afterwards, reading
the signs

Knowing the meaning of specific gestures, I
loved his honesty and reciprocated by being
honest in return, he shared his soul with me
I cherished the compliment – I shared my
soul with him

And he knew it...

******************************************
I did not attend his funeral – I never attend
such events, it goes against my principles,
for my own I would prefer drunken revelry...

Elke Môre Met Sonnegoudtower

‘O ek het ‘n perd en ‘n blinkvosperd en ‘n
splinternuwe saal, en ek klim op my perd
my blinkvosperd en ek kom om jou te haal
want jy het gesê as ek jou wil hê dan moet
ek jou kom haal, op ‘n mooi ryperd en ‘n
blinkvosperd en ‘n splinternuwe saal’

‘As ek ver in die veld op ‘n kolperd ry dan voel
ek vry en ek sing so bly en ek sing van die veld
van my land so skoon, my land so skoon waarin
ek woon’, ‘Kent gij dat volk vol heldenmoed en
toch so lank geknecht, Piet Hein zij naam is klein,
zijn daden bennen groot Hij heeft gewonnen den

Zilvervloot’, ‘Kyk hoe maak die kêrel daar ‘n
Kaapse draai, die Kaapse nooiens sing tingeling-
e-ling, tingeling-e-ling hoera, hoe ry die boere sit-
sit-so, kyk die kar se wiele dit gaan om om om -
en die draaghout antwoord met ‘n klop klop klop
en die kêrel skree Pasop ek kom!’ ‘Daar kom die wa

Die vierperdewa, hy het nie naam nie, sy naam moet
hy nog kry’, ‘Die sweep het geklap en die wawiele draai
al agter die rooi span aan, ons harte is swaar want die
afskeid is daar van die plaas waar ons tuiste staan’, ‘Ek
groet vir laas my gryse berge, fraaiste op die ganse aard
want môre moet ek ver na lande, ver van hier

Van huis en haard’, uitspan vanaand, uitspan op Mooifontein
Hotagter, Haaragter vat nou die wa, geluk lê net om die draai
‘Waar die spruitjie kletter-klater en die son ons fel begroet
waar die helder frisse water vrolik wegvloei langs ons voet
Land van die eike en heldergroen lower, ruisende graanveld
en pêrelende wyn, waar elke môre met sonnegoudtower
skitt’rend die Suiderkruis nagt’liks verskyn’

‘Landman landman saai getrou, laat die grond die saad maar
hou, kyk hoe swaar die landman swoeg, hoe hy werk en saai
uit die vore diep geploeg, sal hy eenmaal maai, ‘Goue koring
goue hawer, goue gars, Piet is nog jonk maar hy boer ‘n bars
Piet is myne ek is syne as die oestyd eers verby is’ – ‘en as ek
net wis wie die mooiste een is, dan was een van hulle nou myne'

‘Een aand op ‘n dans in Oom Willem se skuur staan 'n meisie
alleen teen die oorkantste muur, sy glimlag vir my en voor ek
my kon kry, dis ‘n wals, Willemiena, dis ‘n wals is dit nie?'


FAK Potpourri Deel IV

Creating My Own Fairyland

Playground of our old school is a
wonderland of rising hillock with
steep sides abounding in small
holes turned into fairy dells

I swept them with a broom
exposed coloured stones
leaf decorated, artfully
arranged fir tree needles

I remember fresh smell, sunbeams
glistening in dust, beauty of my
fairy valley, joy and peace
played alone, by myself

The dream of creating fairyland
lingers on in glittering fairy
figurines next to
my bed

Pasting fairy pictures everywhere
changing every space into a
magical place

****************
The memory was triggered when I reread
Momo by Michael Ende:

Time Thieves took the time away
gave kids detailed robots and other
gizmos leaving no room for imagination
only Momo and her friends played with
ancient boxes and wooden sticks in the
honoured way, old debris became
anything they wished

Michael Ende “Momo” K. Thienemanns Verlag
Stuttgart 1973

A Memory Stark And Bleak

A memory as stark and bleak in black and
grey as if it was yesterday, my mother
and I went to the station to meet my
father returning from the office

I felt totally lost in an empty space with
ominous threats everywhere, a promise of
death and decay in the air, nowhere
safe, nowhere to go

My father carried an old tape-recorder; they
fought, she was angry, through all the years
the terrible darkness of that day remained
in my mind, ready to jump out

When an association unlocks the memory -
but that tape-recorder became a miracle in
our lives, we recorded Liewe Heksie stories
to savour again and again

Humorous shows like ‘Stadig Oor Die Klippertjies’
and ‘Bog met Blou Maandag’, with Jan Salie and
his Van Helsdingen wife, my father recorded our
three year old voices complaining

Mummy refuses to let us bathe my baby brother, he
recorded mother playing piano, we recorded our
own radio disc jockey shows, interrupting the
songs with frequent comments

It is so strange that this miracle toy appeared
in such a terrible atmosphere - when I feel
lonely on a dark day, I can still replay that
day’s feeling of hopeless abandon

It must have been a reflection of my mother’s
fatigue and depression, I hope nobody else
ever feels that way…

Ag Pleez Deddy, Jeremy Taylor

I remember a trip with a friend of my mother
she took us kids to see something or other
as we enjoyed the ride in a strange car, she
and her husband started to sing in unison
creating a wonderful bubble of warmth, en-
sconcing us in the safety of camaraderie as
happy and carefree, as beautiful and
reassuring as sunshine to me

They sang Jeremy Taylor’s humourous song
‘Ag Pleez Deddy’, her voice round and sweet
his deep and strong, the refrain like a trip to a
funfair: Popcorn, chewing gum, peanuts and
bubblegum, ice-cream, candyfloss and Eskimo
pie’ - the first time I realized what a fun song
it was, the memory of that happy feeling for-
ever embedded in the melody and words

When I got hold of the words later on, I tried
to memorize them to keep the memory of
those wonderful moments alive for ever
and ever to come

http://www.lyricstime.com/jeremy-taylor-ag-pleez-deddy-lyrics.html

Jeremy Taylor
Ag pleez Deddy won't you take us to the drive-in
All six, seven of us, eight, nine, ten, We wanna
see a flick about Tarzan an' the Ape-men, An'
when the show is over you can bring us back again

Chorus:
Popcorn, chewing gum, peanuts an' bubble gum
Ice cream, candy floss an' Eskimo Pie
Ag Deddy how we miss licorice and lollipops
Pepsi Cola, ginger beer and Canada Dry

Versadig met u Goedertierenheid

Herinneringe aan Hoër Meisieskool Stoffberg
aan die Oosrand - Juffou Malan en haar fyn
ideale - Juffrou Kok haar getroue adjudant -
Saalopening, ons sing die Onse Vader in drie
stemme: standard nege meisies sing alt, ma-
trieks sing deskant, ek gloei van vreugde en
trots om in ‘n Keurboslaanskool te wees

O Goedheid God’s Hier Nooit Volprese – die
deskant vleg en weef tussen die sopraannote
Prys Die Heer Met Blye Galme soos ‘n wa wat
wiegend voortbeweeg, die skool as spraakkoor
wat Daar het ‘n Doringboompie resiteer, Vlaktes
Gras en Drie Peperbome, Vlaktes Gras en Twee
Peperbome, Ek Sien Haar Wen

O Christus Diepst’ Verlange met orrelbegeleiding
toe ons ‘n plaat maak in die stadsaal - kerkkoor
Sondag met Loflied van Maria - Met Middernag
Keer Feest’lik Weer Die Stonde, Ave Verum in die
skoolkoor onder Meneer Wim Willem-Steyn, ons
sing O Donau so Blou met AL die herhalings
Engelse klas by Juffrou Rita Prinsloo

Come Into My Parlour, Said The Spider To The Fly
op band opgeneem, ook probeer om Psalm negentig
op band vas te lê omdat ons dit uit die kop moes
leer, vers vyf bewys hoe moeilik dit was om outydse
verse te onthou: Weggespoel Het U Hulle, Hulle
Word ‘n Slaap – maar Juffrou Malan het ons
vinnig uitgevang

Versadig ons met u goedertierenheid, Here, my
bergvesting - vandag klink die 1933-vertaling
so soet in my ore...

(Juffrou Malan op 96-jarige ouderdom, dankie aan
Anneliese Koch wat die foto verskaf het. Ons was
Altwee in Stoffberg Meisies, ek het haar geken as
Anneliese Kallmeyer.)

[School memories: I attended Stoffberg Girls High on
the East Rand and was thrilled by the fact that my school
resembled the fictitious school created by Theunis Krogh
in the Keurboslaan series so much, I adored Miss Malan,
our Headmistress and her adjudant, Miss Kok, loved the
traditions and singing and recitations, learning Psalms off
by heart, trying to use a tape-recorder to hide the fact
that we did not know Ps 90, school choir singing Ave
Verum and Blue Danube under Wim Willem-Steyn,
Church Choir on Sunday, English class with the
always delightful Spider and Fly...

Hereafter a list of the original songs and verses as far as I can
remember them, I will have to find the complete original sources
somewhere – in the original Afrikaans and broken Latin of Ave
Verum – I only remember the melody well, the words
I make up as I go.]

***********************************************

Ek sal die woorde van my bronne moet soek, al wat ek kan
onthou van my skooldae is die volgende:

**********
Die Onse Vader
O Vader wat woon in die hemel, geheilig sy U naam,
mag u ryk kom, u wil geskied, soos in die hemel so ook
op die aarde, gee ons vandag ons dagse brood en vergewe
ons onse sondes soos ons die vergewe wat teen ons sondig
lei ons nie in versoeking maar behoed ons van die bose....
want aan U behoort die rykdom en die goedheid en die ere...
vir ewig en ewig, amen!

**********
O goedheid God’s hier nooit volprese, wie word daardeur
nie diep getref, hoe snood ondankbaar is die wese wat nie sy
hart tot U verhef, aan U alleen sy dank en ere, laat dit my lus
my lied hier bly, Vergeet my siel dan nooit die Here,
want nooit vergeet die Here my!

**********
Prys die Heer met blye galme, o my siel daar’s ryke stof, sal so
lank ek leef my Psalme vrolik toewy aan sy lof, en Hom wat sy
guns my bied, altyd grootmaak in my lied!

**********
Daar het ‘n doringboompie vlak by die pad gestaan,
waar lange ossespanne met sware vragte gaan...
...druppel die salf van eie gom...

**********
Ek sien haar wen, want haar naam, is vrou en moeder!
**********
O Christus Diepst’ Verlange van elke sterweling,
U het weleer ons sange...

**********
Loflied van Maria
Want van nou af sal die geslagte, al die geslagte
my salig noem, omdat Hy die nederige toestand
van sy diensmaagd aangesien het, en my siel is
verheug, en my hart is verheug, my siel maak groot
die Here, my siel maak groot die Heer - Want Hy wat
magtig is – het groot dinge aan my gedoen en heilig,
heilig is sy naam, barmhartigheid vir die wat Hom vrees
van geslag tot geslag, vir die wat Hom vrees...

**********
Met middernag keer feest’lik weer die stonde, toe God
as mens neergedaal het op aard, om te bevry die mensdom
van die sonde, sy volk te red van die dood en die swaard,
en nuwe hoop vervul die hele aarde toe daardie nag gebore
is die Heer, Kom almal saam, verhef jul stem na bowe, dis
Kersfees, dis Kersfees die Heer daal tot ons neer, dis Kersfees,
dis Kersfees, die Heer daal tot ons neer!

**********
Ave Verum Corpus – Mozart

Ave, ave verum corpus
natum de Maria Virgine
Vere passum immolatum
in cruce pro homine.
Cujus latus perforatum
undda fluxit et sanguine.
Esto nobis praegustatum
In mortis examine
In mortis examine.

http://artists.letssingit.com

**********
(Op die wysie van Die Blou Donou)
O Donou so blou, wat gly, wat gly, deur veld en vallei, ...
In Wenen daar sal jy ook bly, sy wil jou, hulde bring
Nooit vind jy waar jy ook mag gaan, ‘n stad wat by haar
haal, dus word van alle tye, jou lied’re toegewye...

**********
Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly,
‘tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy
Oh no no, said the little fly...

**********
Psalm 90 – Verganklikheid van die mens
Here, U was vir ons ‘n toevlug van geslag tot geslag...
U laat die mens terugkeer tot stof en sê: Keer terug,
o mensekinders! ... Want al ons dae gaan verby deur
u grimmigheid, ons bring ons jare deur soos ‘n gedagte.
Versadig ons in die môre met u goedertierenheid, sodat
Ons kan jubel en bly wees in al ons dae.

**********
Psalm 91 – In die beskerming van die Allerhoogste
Ek sal tot die Here sê: My toevlug en my bergvesting,
my God op wie ek vertrou.

**********

Love You So Serenade

Beautiful music played on the radio, first
heard as a child I am filled with memories,
a musical story woven in repetitive themes
different characters in each melodic phrase

Waited to hear the composition’s name, never
bothered before, simply formed part of my life
‘Haydn’s Serenade’ - wrote down the notes of
the first line for reference in easy conversation

**************************************

Then memory stirred, I used to croon loving
words to my babies on this melody, a single
phrase in refrain ‘And I LOVE you so, kerchum’

- that is how we remember this piece...

*************************************

http://www.music-scores.com/midi.php?sheetmusic=

Haydn_Op3_No5_Serenade_obpno

Joseph Haydn: Sheet music for Serenade.
Andante Cantabile from Op.3 No.5, Quartet
No.17, for Oboe and Piano.

A Musical Memory Lane

Chanson du vent - Ek verlang na jou

Die tyd hardloop uit, ek staar na ‘Enfants
que vent empore’ of ‘Kinders van die wind’
in Frans, nog mooier is ‘Tonton avait une
ferme en afrique’ wat eintlik ‘Stuur groete
aan Mannetjies Roux’ verteenwoordig; ‘En
sëen my ma en seën my pa’

Ek wil graag luister na ‘Côte Atlantique’ of
soos ons dit ken, ‘Blouberg se strand’ gesing
deur Laurike Rauch, ‘Epis d’eau’ oftewel
die nimlike ‘Waterblommetjies’ – brrr, die
waterblommetjies wat ons in die Kasteel
aan die Kaap geëet het, was bitterrr

Maar die mooiste van almal is ‘Chanson du
vent’, ‘n vertaling van Sonja Herholdt se ‘Ek
verlang na jou’ – destyds in vervoering toe ons
dit die eerste keer gehoor het, Sonja se stroop-
soet stemmtjie wat ‘Waai wind, bring hom
terug na my’ so betowerend gesing het

‘O ek verlang na jou, na die winde wat sy arms
om my vou, so verlang ek as die son en die wind
en wolke oor my gaan’ – ek verlang na die stemme
van weleer, na die sonskynstem van Min Shaw,
nooit geleer om reguit op ‘n noot af te duik nie,
altyd met ‘n snik en ‘n draai

By die note uitgekom, maar haar ongerepte stem
in ‘Min Shaw Sing Minsaam’ – ‘Ek is Klompies-
Klomp en ek werskaf rond om die skoene klaar
te kry…’ en ‘Nie ‘n steek, hele week, vir my splin-
ternuwe trui…’ en ‘Die Heidelied’ saam met Gé
Korsten, ‘Jy is my Liefling’ met Danie Bosman

‘Aandlied - die rose se geur vul die nag…’ - al het
sy nooit sanglesse geneem nie, haar stem was die
ene sonskyn en goue stroop vir my, waar Carike
Keuzenkamp se hees, kontemporêre stem die stoere
korrektheid van die Nederlande verteenwoordig,
sonder dat ‘n glimlag ooit deurslaan

Het Min Shaw se stem geglinster en gedans met
‘n duisend sonstrale, die helderheid van fonteine
en die kabbeling van waterstroompies fonkelend
daarin, net soos die Doedies wat ghoemmaliedjies
‘Jy was steeds ‘n baie-bietjie-babie’ en 'Ek was
‘n lawwe meisiekind’ so soet

In my kinderoor gesing het…

*****************************************
Matthys Maree het Afrikaanse liedjies in Frans laat
vertaal deur Naomi Morgan en Maud Myra sing 13
daarvan, opgeneem deur Matthias Heimlicher.

[13 Afrikaans songs have been translated into French,
sung by Maud Myra and recorded by Matthias
Heimlicher, this information set me floating
down a musical Memory Lane…]

Sing Again To A Captive Audience

Last night I couldn’t sleep with
swollen eyes today, but I can’t
lie down and hide from life all
bubbling with excitement,
calling me

We went down to the library
to obtain a formal paper, I
asked for an operetta and
oh, beautiful delight, the
official did produce

My Princess Rosalinde, only thing
between it and me being copyright
protection, once obtained the text
is mine, every song therein, the
fairies dancing to the tune

Of Offenbach’s Barcarolle and Mozart’s
elfin song, the gypsies drinking in the
forest; threatening to steal the ancient
manuscript earned me a strict rebuke,
but singing the aria

“Think Of Me” from Phantom of the
Opera made amends with eyes
lighting up and kindness in the
disposition, I’ll be back with
the required authorization

To copy the whole play and
sing again to a captive
audience…