Sights, sounds and smells of yesteryear

Some maintain that small children cannot recall too many memories from their early childhood days, but sometimes I beg to differ. I do remember when my father was farming just outside Villiersdorp in the Cape, and I was only 4 years old.

I have memories of Tjalie, the Xhosa worker who was assigned to be my keeper. I remember how my mother would put a pillow over Tjalie’s bicycle bar for me to sit on. I remember watching the front wheel running through small puddles on the dirt road and sending small showers of muddy water to the sides.


1950 - Tjalie was Nickey's companion on many fun bicycle trips during his early childhood.

Although I cannot recall their names or faces anymore, I do remember the children of the workers and how we rolled old tyres in the farmyard in the winter. It was cold and clammy. The tyre I had could not have been that large, but I do remember not being able to see over it. There was just this piece of black rubber in front of me and close to my face.

I remember sitting on the steps leading up to the high verandah and front door. Someone had given me fruit to eat. Even the colour thereof is etched in my mind: it was an orange yellowish colour and it tasted horribly! I spat it out! Years later I learned that that had been my first taste of sweet melon.

There were the visits to my granny’s home in Cape Town. The interior was mostly spooky, semi-dark and smelt of stale air. Her smoked fish was tasty, though.
In 1955 we were travelling in the south - on our way from Otjiwarongo to Cape Town for the celebration of my elder sister's 21st birthday (we were residing in Namibia at the time).

The road was long and dreary, most of it gravel and not always in the best of conditions, especially not for my father’s fawn-coloured 4-cylinder Hillman Minx.
It was getting late; Dad was trying to maintain a cruising speed of about 45-50 m.p.h. over the inevitable corrugation to reach Mariental before dusk.

But, alas, this was not to be. Too late, Dad saw the umpteenth gully running diagonally across the road and the Hillman hit it with a hard thud. Immediately there was a drop to the left and the Hillman came to an abrupt halt. Broken axle. We were going nowhere soon.

The next morning arrangements were made for repairs and for the Hillman to be sent to Cape Town by train. Dad bought an immaculate second-hand 1953 Ford 4-door sedan there and then and we were good to go. It was blue in colour and sported a sun visor across the whole windscreen.

I still recall the mesmerizing, deep throbbing sound of that 8-cylinder engine that sounded like soft rolling thunder in the distance. It signified reliability and strength.


Nickey van Zyl