Wheildon

towards the end of our days in the village, and indeed since we left for the natal midlands, there have been some serious floods in greyton.

i remember one particular day in the village.  i was busy in my office one november afternoon when the heavens opened.  it was not long before the telephone rang and kate told me that mum wanted me home.  i said i would be home shortly.

again the phone rang and i was instructed to come home immediately.  i said i would come as soon as i could.

the phone rang again and, slightly annoyed, i listened to kate again, this time asking me whether i had seen the film ‘titanic’.  i asked what on earth that had to do with anything.  my daughter’s sarcastic reply was that, as in the movie the titanic had sunk, so had our house.

i was then informed that water was flowing in through the back door and out of the front.  i couldn’t believe it.  i closed the office and noticed that the main road had turned into the amazon.  my car was not too happy about going home.  water came up to floor level, and anyone crazy enough to be outside was wading about knee deep.

i left the car and literally waded home.  when i arrived there was garden furniture floating past our house.  water was everywhere, as far as the eye could see.

inside was chaos.  the two siamese cats were on top of the fridge, yowling their heads off.  the two labradors were splashing about, having a wonderful time.  kate and james were on the dining table, clutching their most precious possessions.  kate had a pile of books, and james had a large moth in a bottle for safe keeping.  ginny was worried about one of james’ friends, who was clinging to her like a limpet mine and screaming that he was going to die.  the sound was so horrific that the dogs began to howl.

enough.  i was instructed to take the young man home as the rain was letting up.  james insisted on coming with me and left his moth in ginny’s care.  james splashed about in the water while his friend sat on my shoulders.  the panicking friend was assuring the rest of the world, at the top of his voice, that we were all about to die.

james, on the other hand, had a different outlook on life.  where there was water, there must be frogs and other living things.  so he set about search and rescue while we progressed slowly down du toit street.  as we reached the corner, james disappeared from view.  although the water was but waist deep on the road, he had fallen into the leiwater sloot.  seconds later his head popped up and, looking a little ruffled, asked if he had drowned.  i reassured him that he was alive and we eventually managed to get his friend home.

my other recollection about the du toit street floods was when an italian friend of ours had planned a pasta evening with some near nieghbours.  the pasta and sauce were bubbling away when he decided to leave the village rather than risk his body being washed up on a river bank near swellendam.  on arrival for pasta, the neighbours found an empty house and a call was made to locate their hosts who were, by now, halfway to cape town.  they were invited, as they had a key, to “’elp” themselves to pasta in the kitchen.

the pasta makers still own their cottage in the village.  it is close to a small stream which now fairly regularly bursts its banks and visits them at their back door.

pasta or no pasta.