Moving Moments Chapter 4 - Consorting with the Chingola- ites

Moving Moments

Chapter 4 – Consorting with the Chingola-ites

14 Consort Avenue 2014 - 58 years later
L. to R. - Nev, Current Owner, Rob, Al

In 1958 Dad was the Mine Engineer at Nchanga mine in Chingola. As such he merited a more upmarket house than most of the other lower ranking miner’s houses. We moved into 14 Consort Avenue, which was a nice four bedroomed house on a corner lot with about a half-acre garden. We were surrounded on three sides by houses, but in the back was a large park which went up behind us for the rest of the block and included the 9^th Street Rocks. On the one side of and behind our property were the storm water drains. These were deep and wide to move the massive flow of water when we had a regular mid-afternoon downpour. We were within earshot of the local African township and at night one could hear the African folk partying well into the night, especially on weekends, with their drums and singing.

L. to R. Dad, Alan, Mom, Rob,
Rosemary, Neville

Al and I shared a bedroom but the rest of the family could all claim their own room. Most importantly we now had indoor plumbing but we still hadn’t advanced to the point of having two washrooms, nor a two car garage. One had really made it big if one had two washrooms in those days. We had a large lounge (living room) and breezeway (family room) and a large open lawn which became mine and Al’s playgrounds. 

We all got settled into our new schools. Nev and Rose went to Chingola High School and Al and I went to Helen Waller Primary school – now called Chingola Primary School. School was a bit of a side issue at that stage for Al and I. 

Chingola High School in 2014
Still looking good. 

1958 - Hellen Waller Primary School.
2014 - Chingola Primary School

It didn’t take long for us to begin to make friends. Just over the road in one of the miner’s houses was Willie Dixon. He was our age and a real character and provided us with much fun and entertainment. One day Willie’s massive bull mastiff dog got into a fight over the road with another little dog and was all set to kill it. Dog fights were quite common as they were needed as general watchdogs and had to be able to move around and be fierce, so were not kept on a leash. Conventional wisdom was not to get into the middle of a dog fight as they could turn on you. My Dad though entered the fray. He grabbed Willie’s dog by the scruff of the neck, held him tight and then grabbed his paw and squeezed it hard eventually causing it to yelp and let go of his victim. My Dad gained heroic status in our sight for a while as a result of that.

Willie Dixon - one of
life's originals. 

Other friends we met were Richard Moskwa, whose Dad was the Mine Manager. He had a much better home, close to the golf course. Another was Mark Sturgeon whose Dad was also a big deal on the mine and of course had a nice house backing on to the golf course. Both of these guys later ended up at the same boarding school as us. Other friends were Gavin and Dennis Hartley. Gavin was about our age and Dennis a couple of years older. We all would have great and intense games of Cowboys and Indians or Cops and Robbers, which often ended in tears as inevitably someone cheated and never died when they should have and so on. Another friend was Butch Attersoll and then Paul Celliers who was to become my best friend. Al and I are still in touch with most of these guys who are now scattered across the globe.

L. to R. Al, Willie, Rob
Carefree living each day. 

The 9^th Street Rocks were a little piece of heaven for boys our age. The rocks were massive granite domes which one could clamber up on and play in all of the nooks and crannies. There was a lot of tropical bush in amongst the rocks and some very tall trees with “monkey vines” creeping up them. We would clamber up the monkey vines and make our way to the tree tops where there would be a nest of foliage that we could rest on and survey our imaginary kingdoms from our lofty perches. For a bunch of little boys, 9^th Street Rocks became an endless source of entertainment for us.

My Dad was not around much. He would go off to the shooting range after work and we wouldn’t see much of him. Mom was obviously very laid back as a parent and gave us pretty much free range. We would play for hours on end at 9^th Street Rocks or in the storm water drain tunnels in our neighborhood.  We would go into the underground  tunnels exploring them to see what treasures had been washed in there. We loved to practice throwing our knives and peg them into trees. We had large blue headed lizards about six to nine inches long which would sit on the sides of trees in our gardens. We would hurl our knives at them and see if we could peg them to the tree. Another game we played with our knives was “chicken”. We had to stand opposite each other with our feet together and throw the knife pegging it into the ground no more than 12 inches from one’s opponent’s feet. They would then have to move their foot to that point. The game was over when one’s opponent fell over as their legs were so wide they could not stand up. Another game which wouldn’t go down so well these days was when he had “fly catty” fights. A fly catty was a catapult made out of  a wire frame and strung with elastic bands. They fired sharp little metal staples. We would go into our bedroom, turn the beds on their sides and make two forts behind which the opposing teams would take shelter from the storm of metal staples that we fired at one another. It is a wonder that none of us lost an eye.

Rob and Al. School was a
distraction from the real
business of life. 

Jack’s Rock was another very special spot. It was two to three miles away in the bush. We’d have to ride our bikes there. They were similar to 9^th Street Rocks except much bigger and a bit spookier as they were very quiet stuck out in the bush the way they were. Here we were literally miles away from supervision of any kind and of course the sky was the limit. Once we played a live version of Cowboys and Indians with pellet guns. We would run around taking pot shots at one another. The good thing about this kind of Cowboys and Indians, was that there was no disputing when one had been “killed” or not. Once again, miraculously there were no real injuries to speak of.

L. to R. Fifi, Mitzi

We had two dogs. The one was Mitzi our little dachshund who was a sweet little thing. We also had Fifi who was my dog. She was the ugliest hound you could ever imagine. She was a small dog of no identifiable provenance. She was brindled in color, had large bulbous eyes, a flattened face and her bottom row of teeth jutted out further than the top one. She had a mean streak and would growl and snarl when things weren’t going her way. Mitzi and Fifi would love to jump up onto our beds in the morning and find their way under the bedsheets to the furthest reaches of the bed where they would settle down for a snooze. This didn’t seem to faze my Mom at all. Like many Dachshund’s Mitzi eventually developed a paralysis in her two back legs. No problem – we rigged up a little cart for her to rest her back legs on while she towed her back half behind her. She was able to get around quite well with this early version “stretch limo”. Fifi and I were great buddies and I loved her dearly. She eventually got pregnant and had a litter, some of which we kept. In those days because most dogs roamed free, there wasn’t much control over who became the father of the litter. Once the female came on heat, there would be a sad looking troop of eager males lined up in our yard, so it was necessary to keep the female indoors for a while. Clearly Fifi had managed to sneak out and find a fairly handsome male as her puppies definitely outshone her in the looks department.

Fifi was my
pinup girl. 

Mom had two household helpers working for her at that time, namely Ronald and his wife Luzina from Malawi. Ronald was in charge of the housework and kitchen and I seem to remember Luzina did laundry and ironing. Fred, also from Malawi, was our gardener. Malawians had a reputation for being hard working and good natured so they traditionally got to do this kind of work. I remember once that we kept a pet chameleon on the window sill of our kitchen. It would patrol the window sill and eliminate any flies within spitting distance. It’s amazing that Ronald tolerated this, because most Africans were very superstitious about chameleons. We would love to hold a chameleon behind our backs, and then approach any unsuspecting African and suddenly produce it, whereupon our poor victim would let out a yelp and take off at a rapid rate of knots. Boys will be boys I suppose.

Rose I guess was a typical teenage girl and we as her little brothers were dear to her, but she was not to be crossed lightly. One day Alan sneaked into her room, locked her door and went through her cupboards and drawers eventually finding a chocolate bar she had been keeping for a special occasion. The bedrooms in our houses in those days had a window above the door to allow air flow. When Rose realized she was locked out of her room she stood on a chair and peeked in through the window above the door to see Alan munching his way through her chocolate bar and grinning up at her. Well when Al finally opened the door, Rose was waiting. She slapped him around in no uncertain terms and I suspect around about then Al was regretting his little clandestine escapade.

Rose looking glamorous

Rose and Dad had a kind of a love hate relationship. They both had stubborn streaks so the battles could be epic. Dad would object to Rose’s taste in music and when she wasn’t around he would hide her records with dire warnings to us if we told her where they were hidden. If a boy turned up to visit Rose, my Dad would send him home if he wasn’t wearing a tie. One such boy was Billy Dale who was rather unceremonially sent on his way one evening with the advice “not to visit my daughter improperly dressed”. Things have certainly moved on since my Dad made this his “line in the sand” for the boys. A few years later Billy Dale, who had joined the police force, took his revenge on Al and I. He nabbed us riding our bikes without lights after hours. We were given a stern warning and sent packing. It wasn’t all friction with Rose and Dad. Rose used to delight in cutting Dad’s toenails which Dad enjoyed. There was also one memorable occasion when Dad had had a bit too much sun on his back and his skin was peeling off in big strips. He was lying face down on his bed while Rose peeled the dried skin off his back. She was then dropping the skin on the floor and Mitzi was eagerly snapping it up. Who needs TV when one has this kind of entertainment?

Speaking of entertainment, Dad would sit for hours at the piano playing all of his war time golden oldies. Mom from wherever she was in the house, would yodel away at the top of her voice accompanying him. Sometimes they would have a party and let their hair down and play some risqué games. These would be along the lines of pass the orange by holding it under one’s chin and having to nuzzle up to the next person in line to receive it. They would attach two pennies together on a length of string and the race would be on for each team to move the pennies to the end of the line by passing the string through each person’s clothes and so on down the line. Man it’s amazing they allowed us to stay up late to watch them play these adult games.

Dad was a talented pianist. Naturally he wanted Al and I to follow in his footsteps so we were signed up for weekly lessons. It didn’t take long for the shine to go off of this idea as we settled down into the routine of learning scales, starting to read music and a daily practice schedule. We would have much rather spent our afternoons after school playing than performing. Eventually our complaining wore Mom and Dad down and they agreed that we could stop piano lessons, but it would mean we had to give up TV. This was a serious concession on our part. TV had recently been introduced in Northern Rhodesia and although we didn’t have a TV ourselves we loved to visit friend’s houses to watch.

TV was newly introduced into Northern Rhodesia and a great novelty of course. We would go around to Butch Attersoll’s house as a family to watch TV for the evening. There was only one channel so no squabbling about who wanted to watch what. The favorite game of the evening while the ads were on was to see who could guess which product was being advertised first. This would keep us going all evening. It didn’t take much to keep us happy in those days. I can’t remember when we first got our own TV. I think Mom and Dad had to watch their pennies quite carefully in those days and Mom would often make clothes for Al and I. We’d have matching shorts and brightly colored shirts. As little boys we were quite happy with that. Mom wasn’t one to worry too much about making sure our clothing was colour coded correctly. In fact I think the first time I discovered this concept was many years later when I started dating Cheryl who helped bring me up to speed on such matters.

Art has never been
my forte

Writing was more my  style.
I used to win prizes for my handwriting.
Hard to believe these days. 

I was quite sickly as a child and was often down with a dose of tonsillitis. My Mom tried all manner of home remedies on me, but my complaint didn’t yield much improvement. Although I enjoyed school I definitely never liked going to school on a Monday morning, so it was quite often that tonsillitis would mysteriously strike me on a Monday morning, of course requiring a down day at home. These sick bed days perhaps lead me to my love of reading, as I would lie on my bed and devour books. Eventually the tonsils got the chop and my health did in fact have quite a dramatic improvement. Medicine in those days was a bit more rough and ready. I had my appendix out at one point and still sport a six inch scar across my stomach. Visits to the dentist would have been quite amusing if they weren’t so painful to be part of. Dr. Findlay hadn’t heard of anesthetic apparently and he had one of those new fancy drills which he pumped with his foot until it built up sufficient speed. If he got tired, well the drill just went slower.

Nev on left with his Scout Jamboree troupe
in UK, 1957

Nev - ready to take
on the world. 

One of my memories at 14 Consort Avenue was of saying goodbye to Nev when he was heading off to university. He showed me where he had stashed all of his money in a roll in a golf ball sleeve. He was driving his little yellow Anglia down to Johannesburg where he was signed up to do mining engineering at the University of the Witwatersrand. I remember being sad at seeing him go, but Nev was 11 years older than me and his life was so far removed from mine that it didn’t seem to impact me much at the time. It was only much later in life that I learnt that Nev had been a real superstar at school, excelling in sport, academics and boy scouts. Now if I’d known that I’m sure that I could have turned that information to my advantage on the playground. As it turned out, that wasn’t to be the last of Nev living at home

Dad continued to do well at his shooting and every now and then he would participate in a big “shoot”, sometimes in Southern Rhodesia or South Africa. In 1960 he was selected to be on the Northern Rhodesian team which was competing at Bisley, the mecca of target shooters, in Britain. He and Mom decided to make the most of it and also do some touring whilst over there. They were going to be away from home for months. They decided to take Rose with them as Rose had stalled out at school and they thought it would broaden her horizons. Nev was starting university at Wits (Universtiy of Witwatersrand) that year. But what to do with Alan and Rob? No problem. We’ll ship them off to a boarding school in the bush for a couple of terms.

And so it was that Al, aged nine and I aged seven, found ourselves one day being downheartedly dropped off by Mom and Dad at Eureka school in the bush near Kalomo a very small farming town, two or three hundred miles from home. Eureka was a mission school being run by the Brethren. It was the beginning of a school year and we found ourselves the new boys on the block. Most of the other kids had been at the school for a while. It didn’t take long before two older boys approached us and asked us if we were homesick. Well of course we were! “We are too and we are running away from school tomorrow. Would you like to come with us?” Well of course we would!. And so, it was that the next day whilst playing soccer on the field we accidentally kicked the ball into the bush. We went after it and never came back. The school was 3 – 5 miles out in the bush from the one horse stop of Kalomo. We knew the general direction and headed that way through the bush. Our plan was to make it into town unspotted and then wait for the daily train that came by at which point we would hop on and make our way home to our parents who would undoubtedly be delighted to see us. We spent most of the afternoon walking into town, keeping out of sight of the main road. Once there we went to the main park in the middle of town and hid out in a massive tree to wait for the train. It began to drizzle and we were getting cold and hungry. One of the other boys had the bright idea that he knew some people in the town who would give us a cup of tea while we waited for the train. We duly presented ourselves at their doorstep and of course were invited in. No sooner had we settled down for our tea than lo and behold the school principal, Mr. Shoemaker just turned up to collect us out of the blue. We’d been double crossed by our hosts. The principal took us back to his office. By then it was dark. He left Al and I outside while he took the other two older boys into his office. It wasn’t long before we heard the swishing of his cane and the two boys shot out of his office rubbing their behinds vigorously. They disappeared into the darkness and we were ushered inside, knees knocking. With his office in darkness, save one light on his desk, Mr Shoemaker gave us a stern talking to whilst idly swishing his cane in his hands. He asked if we would promise never to do such a thing again. Without hesitation we promised profusely. We weren’t going to beg for mercy, but we’d happily co-operate if he was showing signs of weakness. He put his cane down and shooed us out. He’d accomplished his mission of thoroughly terrifying us into future compliance and model behavior.

We spent two happy terms at Eureka school. The missionaries ruled the place with an iron rod, but life was good as we enjoyed simple life in the bush. There was no indoor plumbing in my dorm. At night we had a bucket which we could use as needed. In the morning someone had the job of carting the steaming bucket out and dumping it. For more serious washroom endeavors there was a four up, side by side long drop half way down the side of the soccer field. For some reason these long drops were like a ball magnet and we often found ourselves having to fish a soccer or tennis ball out of the contents of the long drop. Boys are not easily put off their ball games.

My Bible. It had a sweet incense aroma.
I would love to sniff it and enjoy God's presence. 

A few years back, Al, Nev and I visited Eureka, 55 years later for old times’ sake. Nev, who had never visited the place in the early days was incensed that Mom and Dad had so casually dropped us down there in the middle of the bush at such a tender age. Having said that, my memories of the place were happy ones. The missionaries did a good job on me. In those two terms I learnt the story of the bible from top to bottom. I loved to read all the biblical names. My bible, which of course was the King James Version with all the Thees and Thous, was very precious to me. It was gold trimmed on the outside and I am certain that the printers used to add a scent to them because I used to love smelling the pages of my bible. I am certain, that at that young age, at Eureka, God touched my life in a meaningful way for the first time. I knew what I was being told about Him was true and I remember the sweet feeling I used to experience when hearing about Him and His love for me.

Mom and Dad were still overseas when we had our first term break from Eureka. Al and I were put on the train from Kalomo down through Rhodesia, then Botswana and into South Africa. Auntie Florrie in Benoni, had been asked to take us in for the holidays. Auntie Florrie was a sister of Tickey, my Dad’s Mom who had passed away by then. We stayed in her one bedroomed apartment at 15 Melrye Court in Benoni. Each night one of us would take it in turns to sleep in the spare bed in her room and the other one would sleep on the hard as rock divan in her living room. The one sleeping in with her was treated each night to different stories from the family history as we were dozing off. This was such a treat. Auntie Florrie’s husband had died many years earlier and so had her son. We were her stand in grandchildren and we feasted off of each other’s love. Auntie Florrie had an awful, large, open abscess on her back which would never heal and she suffered a lot with it. 

L. to R. Florrie, Tickie, Gwen
looking glamorous in their
beach-ware. 

Life at 15 Melrose had a host of different characters who all made life interesting. Florrie’s older sister Gwen lived upstairs in a different apartment.  Then another sister Auntie Evie would turn up from time to time with Uncle Jack in tow. Uncle Jack had the largest ears I had ever seen but he was as deaf as a coot. Mrs. Vlok, a friend from upstairs was a daily visitor, always with a cheerful smile and a joke to share. Al and I would explore the inner workings of the apartment building and Jack was the African man who seemed to do most of the work around the place. He would huff and puff and grump at us, disturbing his peace, but tolerated us. There were four movie houses in Benoni, all within walking distance and Al and I would know which movies were on at all times as this was our main source of outside entertainment.

Eventually Mom and Dad returned from their travels and it was time to leave Eureka and return to daily life in Chingola. Things had changed forever though. Nev was at university. Rose, having struggled academically at school, had realized whilst in England that what she really wanted to do in life was to become a nurse. She had discovered her passion and Mom and Dad had decided to leave her in UK in the care of  Mom's cousin, Yvonne Bashham while she commenced her nursing training. Little did Rose know it, but this was the start of a much bigger lifelong adventure for her, but more about that later. So, suddenly two of the chicks had flown the coop and we were down to four from six. Never again would we all live under one roof again. It had all come up so quickly.

L. to R. Al, Mitzi, Rob 

As it happens, life carried on. When I was around nine or so, I was once again sick and came home from school with a nasty cough. We were due to have our school soccer practice that afternoon but Mom told me that I couldn’t play as I was too sick. I rebelled as I had been looking forward to playing. I said “well if I can’t go, then neither can Alan”, whereupon I stormed into my shared room with Al, slammed the door and locked it, thereby preventing Al from coming to get his soccer gear. This state of affairs went from bad to worse pretty quickly. My stubbornness was only exceeded by Mom’s determination to get me to open the door. Eventually my Dad was called from the office and he arrived with a great deal of dire threats, which did nothing other than dig me deeper into my intransigence. Eventually my Dad, who was not going to be defied indefinitely, broke the door down and grabbed me and gave me a good whack or two. In my memory this is the only time my Dad ever hit me and I have to admit that I deserved it. Alan was sent off to soccer and I was banished to my bedroom. Well by then I was in a rage and I decided I was really going to make Mom and Dad pay for their misdeeds to me. I was going to run away from home and then they would be sorry. So without any more fuss I climbed out of the bedroom window and headed for the big roundabout on the edge of town from where I planned to hitch a ride to the next big town, Kitwe. Once I was there I’d worry about what would happen next. When I got to the roundabout I was beginning to have some regrets. I decided to skip the hitch-hiking and hide in the nearby quarry, where we used to play occasionally and await developments. I noticed police cars going up and down but didn’t reveal my hideaway. Eventually at the end of the afternoon the sun was going down and I saw my Dad cruising in the car, close to the quarry. He was clearly looking for me. I finally decided the game was up and made my presence known and walked up to the car. My Dad looked at me sternly and said “Your Mother would like you to come home”. This was a masterful stroke on his part as it provided me with a face saving measure. I could climb down from my pride to help Mom feel better. When we got home, Mom gave me a big hug and that’s the last time I ever heard that little mischief mentioned.

14 Consort Avenue
I ran away from home out of the
window 2nd from the right 

Our family’s lives were moving on. Nev and Rose were spreading out across the globe as their lives moved on. Events in Southern Africa were picking up the pace too. Harold MacMillan, the British prime minister at the time spoke about the “Winds of Change” that were blowing in Africa. We still had a few idyllic years left, but their days were numbered.