Condolences from the King, Queen, Kitchener, Viscount Buxton and Jan Smuts

Alexander Wedderburn died 27 January 1916.

In September 1914, the government of South Africa under the leadership of Prime Minister Louis Botha and Defence Minister Jan Smuts joined forces with Britain against Germany. Parliament supported this decision by 92 votes to 12.

Lex was in the B Company, 2nd South African Infantry. The Second Regiment was made up of men from Natal and the Orange Free State.

He died after the battle at Matruh, Egypt.

The letter below is from Jan Smuts, the Minister of Defence, dated 9 February 1916, writing on behalf of the Governor-General of South Africa, Viscount Buxton.

Letter signed by Jan Smuts, Minister of Defence

Background, this could be what Lex experienced in his last month of battle before dying of his wounds:

WFF moved back to Mersa Matruh, having lost 14 other ranks killed, and 3 officers and 47 other ranks wounded.
Torrential rain throughout January created a lull in activity.

An enlarged force breaks Senussi camp, in deep mud

On 19 January 1916, aerial reconnaissance revealed a large enemy camp - 100 Eurpean and 250 Bedouin tents - 25 miles from Mersa Matruh, at Hazalin (this was a mis-spelling on British maps of the actual place name of Halazin). This was a large enough force to make Wallace wait for reinforcements before striking out again. The South African Brigade arrived in Egypt from England, and their 2nd Regiment was immediately moved to join his column. For lack of railway transport, they moved from Alexandria by boat, landing at Mersa Matruh on 21 January. Two days later, Wallace once again split his force into two mobile columns for an attack. On his right, the column consisted of 2nd South African Regiment, 15th Sikhs, 1st New Zealand Rifle Brigade, and a squadron of the Duke of Lancaster's Own Yeomanry, with the 1/6th Royal Scots in reserve. The left column included squadrons of the Dorset and Hampshire Yeomanry, the Royal Buckinghamshire Hussars and the Australian Light Horse, A Battery HAC and the Mounted Brigade Machine gun section. The attack was again successful in breaking the enemy positions, going through deep mud to do so. It was not without problems: the Train was left at Bir Shola and blankets and supplies could not be brought up; all vehicles had to be dragged by hand through the mud; the armoured cars could not operate.

British casualties on this oaccasion were heavier: 1 officer and 30 other ranks killed, 13 officers and 278 other ranks wounded. A conservative estimate of the enemy's losses put the figure at 200 killed and 500 wounded. Prisoners revealed that Senussi morale was declining fast, as they saw the British force increasing in size and becoming properly equipped for the task.

'This is where I went to young Wedderburn, but he had died before I arrived."

Unknown writer, a post card in the Wedderburn Book

This extraordinary little post card seems innocuous at first, it is addressed to Dear Winnie on the 4th May 1916 and sent from Egypt. The photo is from the Egyptian Health Resort at Helouan, just south of Cairo. I am assuming these thermal baths were used as a hospital and convalesce home during the Great War.

It is the 'x' marks the spot on the photo as well as the last sentence just fitting in below the signature that takes my breathe away.

Young Wedderburn had died of his wounds. 

In Active Service and a Post Card

Mom typed up this list of the family members that have been involved in the different war efforts here in South Africa.

Starting with Christopher Wedderburn, the 1820 Settler who was involved in the Frontier Wars of 1835 and 1846.

Fred and I found George Wedderburn's name on a memorial in the grounds of St. John's Church in Bathurst when we visited a week ago. He died of his wounds in 1851.

Further down the list are what she calls:
Some of the Settler's Great-grandson's

On the list is Alexander Wedderburn, the second son of Alexander John Ennis and Alice and older brother of my Grandpa Percy.

Alexander, was born in 1888.
As a handsome young sergeant in London and in active service, he drops a post card to his mother Alice Wedderburn at 32 Monument Road in Bloemfontein on the 8 August 1915.

'I spent the day at London Tower, St Paul's and Westminster Abbey. It is colossal. '

He writes that it would have been more exciting to have spent the holiday in Bloemfontein.

A poignant post card, less than six months later he will have died of his wounds somewhere in Egypt.

Heartbreaking for Alice.

Documenting certificates - Ina Moodie Philips

The oldest certificate for Nanny Ina, 1908.

My grandmother.

I am looking at a Trinity College of Music, London certificate. Elementary Pianoforte Playing. Umtata. October 1908.

She is 10 years old and she is the pupil of Miss Tooke.

This is the oldest certificate among the documents Mom has in her Wedderburn Book.

I can track Nanny Ina's movements through this wonderful collection of old certificates.

She does a second year of music with Miss Tooke in Umtata and passes the Junior Division.

From 1911, Nanny Ina in is Leicester at the Stoneygate College, doing Music; English; French; Algebra; Freehand, Model and Memory Drawing.

And at age 16, in 1914, she has received her final certificate from the College.

She spends time at the Eastgate College in Northampton, which is not far from Leicester, refining her drawing skills through the Royal Drawing Society and has three certificates dated June 1915.

To round off her education she has Pitman's Shorthand too, there are certificates from 1914 and 1917.

A beautiful sepia photo that we have now makes sense to me.

It is Nanny Ina with her Aunt Flo Phillips, which would be her father, William Phillips relative, they are beautifully outfitted for winter, fur hats, coats, fur mitten, leather boots. Aunt Flo looks sternly to camera while the young demure Ina has a lovely smile.

The black and white photograph of Aunt Flo's Drawing Room in Leicester is a period piece classic. A late Victorian drawing room, it is quirky, eclectic, cluttered, but charming.

I assume Nanny Ina stayed with Aunt Flo during these years of learning in the United Kingdom, before heading back to South Africa and the looming First World War.

Nanny Ina with her Aunt Flo Phillips, in Leicester, Britain, early 1900's

Aunt Flo Phillips Drawing Room, Leicester

A Post Card to Nanny Ina

Front of the Postcard, Umtata Club

A Postcard from Nanny Ina's father William Phillips.

William Henry Boothby Phillips, Nanny Ina's father

What a little gem.

This faded photo turns out to be a Post Card sent on the 3 August 1910, from the Umtata Club by Nanny Ina's father, William Phillips.

He does not write much, just 'Dear Ina, Do you know this place? it is the Club. I am standing at the gate.' 

We do not know much about Nanny Ina's father beyond the page of photos Mom has in the Wedderburn Book.

No birth or death dates. His father was Major CR Phillips.

There is something wonderful about the photo of the card players at the Umtata Club with William in his formal striped smoking jacket.

Fred and I drove through Umtata just before Christmas and this is truly a bygone era.

Umtata is no longer genteel, it is a bustling, vibrant, noisy African retail centre and totally chaotic with traffic congestion, chickens, goats, cattle and the pavements overflowing with goods and people.

A photo from the Umtata Club in the Wedderburn Book that Mom put together

Seeing Mom's Wedderburn Book with new eyes

The Wedderburn Book made by Estelle Wedderburn, 1970-80's

At last I can appreciate the work Mom put into her mammoth Wedderburn Book.

It is physically huge, heavy, the pages are thick sheets of card, it is loaded with original photos and letters as well as her typed notes, photocopied pages, documents, reprints of old family photos and her handwritten family trees.

There is nothing quite like crawling around on the carpet, putting my nose into the letters, deciphering old handwriting and enjoying the wonderful old photos.

I need to buy a magnifying glass.

I was drawn to a letter with its envelop on Mom's page about our Grandfather, Percy Wedderburn.

The small grey envelop is addressed to Right Honorable WP Schreiner, the High Commissioner for South Africa in London and it says:
"To introduce Mr Percy Wedderburn".

( William Philip Schreiner (30 August 1857 – 28 June 1919) was a barrister, politician, statesman and Prime Minister of the Cape Colony during the Second Boer War. Schreiner was on holiday in England at the outbreak of the First World War and was asked by Gen. Botha to fill the post of High Commissioner for South Africa in London. He died in office on 28 June 1919, the day the Treaty of Versailles was signed.)

The letter is sent from Bloemfontein on the 21 September 1918 and Percy would have been 29 years old.

 I cannot make out who is sending the letter though, the signature is quite magnificent with its flourishes but not decipherable. 

Anyway, he writes that Percy is well known to him and leaving for Britain with the next draft for service overseas 'and is now anxious to join the Officer's Training Corps in order to qualify for a Commission in the Artillery.'

The writer mentions that Grandpa Percy served the Union as a Volunteer in the Kimberley Regiment during the Rebellion in 1914 and also through the German West African Campaign and is in possession of good bodily health. I love the turn of phrase too - 'I have no hesitation in commending him to your favourable notice and guidance'

Seeing that this original letter is in the Wedderburn Book, I wonder whether he left for London,  'like so many others of our South African young men prove himself competent and worthy of confidence in his service'?

It would seem not, he marries Nanny Ina and Alexander William Wedderburn (Uncle Bobby) is born on the 9 July 1922.

Ou est les carottes?

This postscript to my letter has me smiling.

I was ever so intimidated by the staff at the Halte Garderie and having such a poor grasp of the language I was always on the back foot with them.

Barry was four months old, on formula only, doing quite fine but each time I dropped him off, I would get scowled at with the question thrown at me 'Ou est les carottes?' 

It took me a few weeks to even understand what was being asked of me.

The French start their babies eating solids early and mostly in those days it was blended carrots. The staff would be riffling through the baby bag I brought looking for some food for Barry.

I acquiesced eventually, cooked carrots and he flourished.

And Clive is my first visitor

Clive was expected to visit and I can see from the excerpt of my letter that I am worried about the detail of when he was due to arrive. The years before cellphones and social media are difficult to recall - I had just popped out to the post office to check for mail!

I was so excited to have my first visitors at Marly le Roi.

Our Christmas plans for that year were also being finalised and we were due to join Henk and Janet in the UK, at Marlow-on-Thames. I was chatting to Shawni this morning, she and Craig are travelling around the Christchurch area of South Island in New Zealand for Christmas and then onto Australia to see Inel and family for their New Year summer beach holiday north of Sydney. I can see from this letter that I was just as driven as Shawni is, to experience both France as well as Europe and the two babies did not hold me back at all.

My Dad had a few good years in public office, Mom would send me photos and newspaper cuttings of all their invites and activities. He was proud of these times in his life. I was teasing her about one of these newspaper cuttings that failed to mention Clive and me.




My letters have changed in tone, they are freer, more relaxed, I am getting about, going to French lessons, dropping the kids at the Halte Garderie, planning, organising and just generally sounding happier. Also dieting. Still harvesting, I had made apple jam, 'next step is to do some pie-apple and deep freeze some apple tarts for when we have people. 'This domestication seems to be persisting - oh dear.'

In parallel to me settling into a rhythm, Fred is not settling at Telemecanique, his job is poorly defined, his mentor nowhere to be seen, he is planning a business trip to Dublin and America. In passing I mention that he had a 'small mishap on his bike this morning going to work. He apparently had to swerve quickly to avoid an oncoming car in the wrong lane.' I seem more concerned about the ripped sleeve of his lovely grey windbreaker.

Front entrance to our home in Les Ombrage, with mirabelle trees

I don't give the detail of Clive's visit as I am assuming in the letter that Mom got it first hand. We popped into Paris and 'showed them around' and also took a trip to the Loire Valley for some chateau viewing, these are the photos I popped in the envelop with the letter, so we had visited Chenonceaux.

This letter also mentions that Flora had phoned Fred and she and Hans were also coming to Europe for their December holiday.

Our 'busy' season at the house had started.

First visitors and travelling to the Loire Valley, September 1986

,

A father's grief

Dad's notebook that I opened this morning

 It's Christmas Eve, 2014, I am sitting at the table at the Loft with its wonderful view and I am surprised yet again by where this writing and blogging takes me.

Just when I thought I had done all the sorting of my Dad's possessions from the flat, I found his postcards, family photos and two notebooks in a suitcase this morning, so I got to look at them today.

The notebooks are not just phone numbers and addresses, but he has used them as journals too.

He has jotted down thoughts between phone numbers, lists, reminders and addresses.

The date 23 August 2001.

His entry is about Clive, his only son, who committed suicide on this date by shooting himself in the head, while parked in his car somewhere in Cape Town.

Dad has always been stoic, he does not express his feelings easily but, as I have come to realise through reading his letters and notes, he feels deeply, he is sensitive and he is able to show an honesty in his writing.

The trauma of the event for Dad is beyond imagining.

He asks the same question we all did, 'why did he not just walk away from it?' and also 'if only he had spoken to me or one of his sisters.'

In the April of 2002, Dad jots down a quick line; 'I have finally put the matter to rest in my mind!!'

There is another journal entry on the 11 February 2003, where he makes reference to Clive's 'deed' and he is clearly still frustrated with Standard Trust. Fred did eventually help him get the life insurance policy paid out.

Reading his thoughts on not just this event, but other family events, is challenging me and triggering me.

A part of me wants to edit, explain or even tear out an offending page.

I am even tempted to throw the book away.

But nobody promised that this 'life in the letters' writing would avoid the sufferings of life and seeing ourselves and the past through someone else's thoughts is not a simple thing and will never be easy.

I can only admire his strength. Letting go of Clive and his story for me has been a long time coming.

Perhaps I too can say as Dad has, I have firmly put the matter to rest in my mind.

Love you little brother.

Clive at the Loft window, visiting Dad.

Dad with Clive in Hout Bay, Cape Town, he wrote "Two proud fathers" next to the photo in his album

For my friend Nikki Twomey, an intersection in our lives which profoundly changed us both....

A day off...

Some days we never forget and for so many different reasons.

The 27 September 1986, a saturday, is one such day. I remember it was a day to myself, doing what I love, travelling, and more importantly it was leaving the responsibilities of moving to a new country and mothering behind for a day.

'John had planned to take his son down to the Loire Valley for the day to visit some chateaux and he invited me along. As you can imagine all heads turned to Fred. 'No problem, I'll look after the kids' - how about that!'

The day off was one of the first days after all the years of work, pregnancies, renting out 38 Arthur Road, the packing, the move, leaving behind family and friends, the temporary homes, the terrifying new world I faced each day, the isolation and the loneliness, that I felt energised and I felt like me again.

John must have seen how I was really feeling and recognised the need in me to escape. Thank you John for your intuition and friendship.

My 12 hours were spent along in the upper reaches of the Loire Valley near Orleans about 170km from Paris visiting chateaux. We went into Chambord, on the Loire River, Blois and Chateaudun, on the Loir River. This set a pattern for us, Fred and I would do trips most weekends, visiting a chateau and seeing the gardens was a favourite pastime.

Picking up French cooking habits

The sojourn in France turned me into a foodie, before I left cheese was cheddar and sweet milk. I came back having experienced the full range of glorious French cheeses; hard, firm, soft, runny, pungent, mild, marbled, matured, fresh soft, some with washed or bloomy rind, some without, with mold or without, made from sheeps milk, cows milk or goats milk.

And of course, with cheese was baguette. Bliss.

Once we had set up home at 2 ave Corneille my letters start to free up, I seem to be in a rhythm, managing the children and the home, starting my French lessons and getting about on my own.

Sally Denison played a key role during this time. They lived in Le Pecq not far from us and I was absorbing so much from her about how things were done in Paris in those years. I also noticed how she shopped for fresh food and how she put her meals together. Always fresh, always simple, always delicious, I was always a little in awe of her.

I mention in an earlier letter that that she cooks very well. I had cooked a chicken while we were unpacking and was going to have it cold, 'she decided that wasn't good enough so made a baby marrow soufflé to go with it. Even over the weekend she would pop in to help and kept on bringing food, a lovely turkey and veggie broth.' Thank you Sally.

My cooking years were starting.

My letter, in green ink, to the family on the 28 September, shares my first attempt at a dinner party in our new place. There were 6 of us, John and Sally and John's son Mark out from the UK with his girlfriend.

'I worked all day on the menu.'

• Salade de Chèvre: baguette with melted goats cheese on a bed of leaves and radish flowers
• Paella
• Crepe suzettes, flambéed at the table with Cointreau ..... 

Fred stole the evening, his crepes were delicious as always!

The light yellow leather boots

'Barry serious as usual'

The light yellow leather boots.

They were a soft leather ankle boot with a velcro strap. I was so taken with the baby clothes and shoes in France but mostly they felt a luxury, but I could not resist these baby boots.

I have made a promise to self that when I have my first grandchild, I am going shopping during the January winter sales in Paris to buy baby and children's clothing. Michelle and I had a sneak preview some years back when I went to INSEAD in Fountainbleau, I dragged her around the gorgeous stores and we window shopped.

I am so ready, credit card in hand, ticket waiting to be bought...

I kept the little boots safe after Barry outgrew them, brought them back with me from France and a few years ago I took them out of the drawer and had them bronzed. Barry has one which even has his tiny red and white stripped sock in it.

There is a lampshade in the background of the photo of me with Barry. Its copper, a gift from Fred's parents. So I had the second little boot done in copper for me, it stands with this lamp in the TV room at home and I see it daily.

Emmanegement, fitting in the lounge furniture

My letter of the 9 September is all about the container having arrived from Le Havre, the movers off loading the furniture and boxes into the correct rooms, unwrapping the furniture and placing it where we wanted them.

My furniture arrangement in the lounge.

Its a Tuesday, the children are at the Halte Garderie and I am having a cafe au lait in the 9th Arrondissement in Paris. Writing to Mom, sketching layouts for her and providing all the details about setting up the house.

Not only is the wallpaper getting coverage again, this time I mention that the house 'is unreal, not one cupboard or shelf anywhere, except a bathroom cupboard and 3 kitchen cupboards'. The French also move with all their light fittings, so we took a trip to La Defense on the SNCF to shop for new fittings.

'By midday they were done. We then gave them beers while we despaired of ever fitting in all our things into the house.' Somethings never change about ourselves, I still thank I am clever with layouts and interiors, 'missed my vocation should have been an interior decorator'. 

As I move around our different places I take pleasure in the feel of the spaces, I potter, I rearrange, put flowers in a vase, light candles and if I was writing a letter to Mom now, it would still include details about what I see around me.

Creating a child's paradise

There were two large bedrooms in our rented home in Les Ombrages, both tucked under the eaves of the roof.

Some of my best times were spent setting up the one room for Barry and Shawni, a combined nursery, play room and bedroom.

I sketch the postbox red bench, box and table we bought from IKEA and mention the black board that Fred hung for me. 'Also putting a pin board on the wall for learning alphabet etc (have to hide the wallpaper somehow).'

On a good day the wallpaper at 2 ave Corneille could give you a headache, I still want to laugh when I look at these old photos. The dining room was an embossed wallpaper in dark plum hues, which made for atmospheric candlelit dinners, but not much else.

Looking at this photo of Shawni at her desk, I still love the room.

Mom had made the Pinocchio mobile for her and just recently, when Shawni was packing all her things for New Zealand, Pinocchio was packed too.

My yellow wrought iron bookshelf hanging on the wall, was made by my Pa for me as a young girl and is about to get another reincarnation in my Morocco day room at Arthur Road.

I can just sit here all morning staring at the photo, each toy is familiar, each has its story, even the red lampshades came back with us and were reused in Barry's room.

I would recite the ABC and 123 for Barry as I changed him, that is his baby credenza peeping out left of photo. It was tucked under the only window in the room which looked out across the orchard.

During those long hot summer days, I would shutter the window to darken the room and leave the windows open for air. Even so, it was stuffy under the eaves. The room was a haven, a wonderful space during the cold times we experienced and the kids were happy.

Layout of the kids room, a sketch I sent to Mom in a later letter.

Mom's tree

Its a beautiful clear morning in Cape Town today, I am watering my garden and my 'mom tree' is looking spectacular.

I planted it from a cutting from home. I have two in my Johannesburg garden, also grown from cuttings which I took from my mothers garden many decades ago.

It is so interesting what pulls us back to the past and I take pleasure in watching these trees flourish.

I have a view of the tree as I read my letter below which is full of excitement and pride for my family, Dad had been elected Major of Howick and Clive had won a top achiever award from his company.

The 'I knew already' is curious to me, I describe myself as lacking prescience, so to read that 'at sometime just after 10pm I had a very strong feeling about Clive.' does not resonate, but I even offer proof to Mom.

What did delight me though is he got to come and visit us in Marly, we did some touring together and I felt less isolated from my family and from home.

My intuition about Clive and his family has since seriously let me down and the decades since our sojourn in France have been filled with shocks and have created much pain for me. So I will quietly water my 'mom tree' and breath deeply.

Happiness of domesticity

Barry is 3 months old, its late August 1986, looking at this photo I sent Mom I am overwhelmed by what Fred and I did in moving across the world into a foreign language country with such little people.

I write that Barry is full of smiles, has been so good and that he 'must be more of a Wedderburn than everyone thinks. Fred says he is looking more and more like me.'

Our little family has eventually moved into our home in Marly le Roi and it's a flurry of domesticity as we settle in.

Shopping at IKEA north of Paris was a treat and my letter to Mom on the 30 August is how we spent our first weekend in the house, Fred assembling kitchen cupboards, the kitchen table, cutting the wood for our walk-in bedroom cupboard and making shelves for the pantry in the basement.

Me, seems I harvested the mirabelle plums and made 7 litres of plum jam and in the world pre the internet, I am asking Mom for plum recipes. This batch of jam, fizzed and bubbled and was sickly sweet, I am sure the neighbours said thanks and dumped the jam.

Our TV keeps us company, I mention seeing Zola Budd run and all the wonderful summer sport we are watching; 'Dad would love all the sport on French TV. This last week we have had the European Athletics Championships and the US Open. I have just seen Connors knocked out of the Open by Wiksen.'

And my father, who is now 85, immobile and in frail care, loves his sport and it keeps him company each day! He and Fred still natter and complain about cricket commentators, especially the Australian commentators, and they both could manage team selection a lot better than the professionals.

And I am happily cleaning. Doors and frames got done. 'Just a few chores a day. Fred helps out quite often with his ironing which is a pleasure.'  As I recall he did more than a bit, I remember him mopping floors, ironing, gardening, in fact he worked non-stop.

Little Shawni is still adjusting, teething but I mention she seems happier and I get her to draw a message for Nan.