And Dad becomes Grumps

We did break with tradition, Dad is known as Grumps and not Pa.

He looks anything but a grump in this lovely photo of my parents with the grandchildren in 1986.

Frederic du Barry born 27 May 1986.

In my thank you letter to Mom and Dad on the 20 June, I am again deeply appreciative of their support and I seem to be just coping.

The comment 'the next step is to do all the above in French' is significant, our little family was in the middle of moving to Paris for a few years.

A month later we were living in France with two children under the age of 2, no support structure, me barely speaking French, I wrote letters to the folks during the time we lived in Marly le Roi. These letters will be the content for future blogs.

Circle of life, Mom becomes Nan

Mom's album for Shawni starts with a Thank You letter I wrote her.

The year was 1984, Mom came up to Johannesburg to help us with our new born.

Looking back I do have conflicting feelings about my relationship with my Mom but seeing the open emotion of this letter written by my younger self, I have no doubt this was a special time for both of us.

Her first grandchild.

She has a photo in the album of her holding Shawni and the caption says 'I see you Nan'. 

How apt Shawni was born wide eyed with a piercing gaze.

Mom with Shawni, November 1984

The Wedderburn Aunts - Dolly

Wedderburn's at Kalkwal, 1957. No one quite ready for the picture.
 Backrow from L; Dad walking into frame, Grandpa Percy, Estelle (Mom), Yvonne, Bobby, Lynn, Heather, Ralph, Dolly
Frontrow from L: David, Ann, Bruce, me, Heather's girls, Ian (kneeling) Shirley with Dolly

Letters for the new Wedderburn Grandchild.

Aunty Dolly captivated all of us during farm holidays.

Stories of her dancing; her thousands of kilometres of travelling to her dance studios around the Free State; her and her pupils successes; her love of the movies and movie stars; her story-telling; her recall for names, dates and events; her jokes; she was glamorous; she drove fancy cars and wrote letters to famous people.

She and Mom spent many hours in the garden at Kalkwal, under the shade of the pepper tree, knitting suits.

To this day her Christmas presents make me smile, utilitarian like a toothbrush or some trinket that never seemed to make it home with us.

I notice from these letters that the Bloem crowd initially thought I was a Cheryll.

Something else I notice is our address in Vanderbijlpark, Guillet Street, an address I know nothing about.

I wonder when we moved to Gillespie Street, the home I remember.

Dolly's letter to Mom and Dad congratulates them 'on attaining your P.A and M.A. degrees'

Oh boy, 'what weight did she tip the scales at?' that question still gets asked year after year, started early indeed.

Mom, Dad and Aunty Dolly, Kalkwal.

A favourite holiday pastime on the farm, was to walk down to the Modder River to go swimming off big rock.

 Aunty Dolly died in August 2014 in Bloemfontein at the age of 87.

Shinel Jacobs, Dolly's granddaughter and Shirley's daughter at Aunty Dolly's funeral.

The Wedderburn Aunts - Yvonne

Wedderburn brother at Kalkwal, 1956.
Standing from L: Yvonne, Bobby holding Bruce, Dolly, Ralph, Estelle (Mom), Chippie (Dad)
Sitting from L: Lynn, Nanny Ina holding me, Grandpa Percy, Ann

Dad, John Ennis Wedderburn, is the youngest of the 3 Wedderburn boys.

His brothers were Bobby, the eldest who married Yvonne, and Ralph, who married Dolly.

This black and white photo from my album shows my aunts and the growing Wedderburn clan in 1956.

I have this letter from Aunty Yvonne, she and Uncle Bobby were still living in Bloemfontein in 1956, to Mom and Dad the day after I was born. I love her comment 'it is the grandest adventure and the most worthwhile job on earth.'

Raising our two children has certainly been a grand adventure and continues to be so.

Their son Bruce was 10 months older than me, I am still in touch with him via Facebook, he lives between Malta and France. His mother called him 'a bundle of mischief'. I made contact with Ann in Cape Town a few years ago too, she looks and sounds so like a Wedderburn.

This is the only bit of writing I have from Aunty Yvonne. They moved to Johannesburg in the late 60's and eventually to Cape Town.

I do not remember much about family times together.

From one of Nanny Ina's letters it seems the farm house may not have been big enough for all 3 families for Christmas and perhaps we alternated?

Fathers and their baby girls

It's November, Shawni's birthday month and she is 30 this year.

So I went looking for letters from fathers celebrating the arrival of their first borns, their baby girls, me in 1956 and 28 years later, Shawni in 1984. 

I have this beautiful note from 'Father' written to Mother and me with 'a thousand welcomes to our family my little girl.' 

My home coming in 1956.

Proud fathers, Dad with me and Fred with Shawni.

Shawn's homecoming in 1984.

Another welcome and another homecoming, this time to Beagle, my nickname, and Shawni from her Dad.

The baby girls have grown up and how loved we have been.

Two wonderful fathers.

Generations revealed

Yesterday I was looking for all the photo albums I made for Shawni as she was growing up and I found my baby album.

A treasure trove of information. 

I have now been able to construct a 4-generation family tree, thanks to my mother.

At last I can say that I know the names of my Pa - William Hendry.

Jonny Steinberg is a South African author I admire and I am reading his latest book, 'A Man of Good Hope'. 
Asad, the main character, is talking of his mother;
'I still feel that what she was I am today. I did not lose her despite her death.'

I am appreciating this sentiment as I tackle this wonderful project.

Nanny Ina's parents, Caroline and William, my Great Grandparents

My paternal Grandparents, Ina and Percy.

Add caption

'Wedderburn Girls' family tree.

Pa's parents, Susara and Arend, my Great Grandparents

My maternal Grandparents, Nellie and William (Bill)

Nan's parents, William, her mother Kathleen and stepmother, Fanny, my Great Grandparents.

Exciting reading, good as any Alistair MacLean

Winter 1978. I am holding a letter on pale lilac paper written to my mother on Wednesday 28th June from Bulawayo. The 5 pages tell the story leading to our deportation from Botswana; 'Mom this was the strangest evening of my life'. Goodness knows how she responded to this letter!

The post card I had sent Inel from Francistown was 2 days before the letter. I never got to the swamps, in fact it was many decades before I had the courage to go back to Botswana. 

Fred and the gang had limped to Bulawayo with engine troubles. While the Jeep was being serviced, he invited me to join him, which I did, resigned, threw clothes in a huge suitcase and flew to Bulawayo.

The war was in full swing in the late 70's. We returned to Botswana via South Africa, by convoy to Beit Bridge then onto the Platjan border, through Selibe-Pikwe to Francistown.

In the garden at 4 Steward Avenue, Bulawayo, writing to my Mom.

The plan was to collect Fred's fathers boat in Francistown. I write about the paperwork frustration, banking challenges, Fred's mounting irritation, feeling intimidated and quite frightened all day. 

That evening we stayed with a woman called Iris, the shop-assistant to a businessman in Francistown that Fred's father had put us onto. The gang separated, Neil and Lee with the Hollander, the rest of us with Iris.

Iris the smuggler. She showed us a sealed Surf box full of currency. We were wide-eyed and terrified.

The following day was even worse. Taken into custody, made to wait without information.
Eventually a stamp in our passports - 'ordered to leave today- immediately'.
Deported.

'Ordered to leave today-immediately'

We have been dining out on this story for decades, it is still surreal, even rereading my letter I am taken aback by the events, it does end well though.
The gang braved the Plumtree road and made it back to Bulawayo - again. Fred and I stayed behind. We got to have a Rhodesian holiday instead, Zimbabwe Ruins, Lake Kyle and Kariba.
As my postcards home suggest, we were having a ball.

Postcards home from Rhodesia.