Wheildon

during our time in the village, we built a cottage in du toit street.

what we really wanted to do was build a home around a huge fireplace.  we did this so successfully that, on some evenings during winter, when we had a massive fire going, passers-by could see the flames leaping in the hearth and, thinking that the house was on fire, would race up to the front door to render assistance.

about this time our dear friend bobby decided to buy the cottage next door.  not long after she had moved in, her septic tank decided to take early retirement and test the limits of her patience, good humour and blood pressure.  all the right experts were consulted and, after lengthy and detailed discussions, the date was set to commence the replacement of her septic tank.  the usual village chaos ensued.  wrong dates, zero coordination, denials and accusations.  all par for the course.  bobby was then informed that it would take longer than expected to complete the installation of the new tank.

bobby was a master planner.  foreseeing continual disasters associated with any building alterations, she had already made arrangements with us to cover any eventuality.

during the day, from time to time as nature determined, our neighbour would enter through the front door and potter about where necessary.  the nocturnal arrangements, however, were slightly different.  the front door being locked, our bedroom window was the next most convenient point of entry.  so during the dead of night, a lone figure could frequently (or as nature determined) be seen climbing stealthily in and out of our bedroom window.  fortunately, the village was unaware of these arrangements, or several controversial conclusions would have been drawn, for sure.

finally, the septic tank was in and the job complete.  we trooped over to witness the first chain-pulling ceremony and, to mark the occasion, decided to roast a chicken and celebrate.  bobby was to make one of her unique salads, which often resembled the whole veggie garden piled into one bowl.  we remember these times with great affection and interest.  the minute the family was done with the chicken, bobby set about the carcass with relish.  never in the history of man could anyone leave such a neat pile of bones cleaned to perfection.  this could take a while and was always followed by giving the salad bowl the same love and attention.

james was a little fellow when we lived in du toit street.  he had his own room and used to go to bed about 7 pm.  one night, about 9 pm, bobby phoned to ask how james was doing.  i told her that he was asleep and had been for ages.  she thought that i might be wrong as the young man was in her lounge and had been for hours.  i went to fetch him and found him watching tv with our neighbour, drinking a cup of hot chocolate and munching a bun.

bobby had a labrador called gummy.  we had one called gus.  dawn often found us walking our dogs round the village.  gummy was devoted to bobby and totally obedient.  but there were exceptions.

these were called ducks.  one morning we were walking down the main road with our hounds when gummy spied a duck splashing about in the leiwater.  being well fed and slightly portly did not stop gummy from reaching top speed in a flash.  no amount of yelling had any effect whatsoever.  the duck's last memory was the lights being switched off.  gummy trotted back to deposit a large duck at her beloved mother's feet.

bobby was relieved that the owner did not want her arrested and thrown into prison.

later that weekend, in conversation about eateries in greyton, friends told us that they had gone to the greyton inn for dinner.  as they were about to order, the chef had come from the kitchen and offered an 'orange duck' special, as he had just received a plump bird for the pot.

investigation confirmed that gummy was the cause of their delicious dinner.

bobby bought a lead.