Wheildon

ginny and i had left cape town to live in the country, to bring our children up without city trappings.  how i thought we were going to survive financially by painting the odd picture hadn't crossed my mind.  anyway, one lovely greyton day, i was being shown where 'honey bush tea' could be found growing wild on the commonage surrounding the village.

the old gaffer who was my guide was not listening to a word i said about art and painting and how i was going to take the overberg by storm.  we were striding along a path when two elderly bikers wobbled towards us on equally elderly bicycles.  we had to stand aside to allow them past, but as they drew abreast of us the one hooted at the other, “there is the artist!”  both dumped their transport in the veld and explained that they wanted to commission me to paint for them.  my friend's face confirmed that he had finally registered that in fact i might be an artist.

i recognised the two cyclists as owners of a tiny little cottage in the main road.  not a tourist passed their door without stopping to photograph the quaint old cottage surrounded by grand old oaks.  a time was set for me to present myself at their cottage, after lunch that very day, to discuss the commission.  my companion was so impressed that he invited me to potjiekos for lunch at his house in oak street.  this was a treat, as his home was over 150 years old and filled with ancient furniture and fittings that were in daily use.  it was a real time warp.

after the best potjie ever, i raced home to tell ginny that money was on the horizon.  my first commission was about to be finalised.  thrilled at the prospect of food on the table, ginny told me not to be late and sent me packing.  i sauntered up the main raod, about seven feet tall and as cocky as they come, pride oozing from every pore.  the owners were waiting and waved from a distance.  i stopped in the middle of the road and did some sort of arty things like checking a few angles and viewing their cottage first from one side then the other.  they watched my every move.  when i thought that they should be suitably impressed, i walked up to the front gate like a true professional.  before they said a word, i suggested the painting of their cottage should be done from the southwest aspect, to include the oaks and mountain in the background.

they looked at each other with blank expressions for what seemed like ages, and then beckoned me to follow.  a little puzzled, i followed them to the front corner of the old cottage, where the large river stones upon which it was built were prominent.  here the lady of the house pointed at the corner stone and said that they would like me to paint the word 'bokkie' on it, in white enamel paint.

i assured them i would give the matter some serious thought and left with as much dignity as I could muster.

later i discovered that my honey bush tea guide and the owners were friends.  i was never invited for potjiekos again.

how are the mighty fallen!