Sweet Sixteen

Pictures:
My mom with her mother and stepfather, James Busch.
My mom with good friends, Louise Rhoode (left) and Daphne Poole(right).


My mom and her sisters moved back to town (from Sandvlei) when my granny had sorted things out after her divorce. My gran continued working as a cook for the Blochs, and for a little while my mother (16) worked as a maid, cleaning house for the same family.

A story I’ve heard my mom tell many times goes like this:
She bumped into a friend one day, and they started chatting about what they were doing. Her friend couldn’t believe that she was working as a maid, and encouraged her to try to find a better job, suggesting she simply walk into different companies and ask for work! Feeling inspired after the encounter, my mom, taking her (more reserved) older sister along, embarked on her employment search. She saw a sign outside The Cape Times (daily newspaper) building, went in and asked if there were any vacancies.

My mother still cringes when she recalls that, at the time, she’d mispronounced the word as “vackancies”!

She and her sister were hired immediately and she continued to work for The Cape Times (in the printing section) even when the company moved to Tiervlei, in the northern suburbs – she then commuted to work by train.

It was round about this time that my granny moved into a three-bedroomed house, on the corner of Bloem and Long Streets, in the city centre, with James Busch. My mother remembers finding out many years later that they’d not been married at the time they started living together. This man played a huge role in their lives: he brought happiness and stability back into their family, and they enjoyed a level of comfort they had not had before.

My mom went back to Billie Jones’s choir on Saturday mornings. She has happy memories of this time of her life.

While working at The Cape Times, my mom met an older man, Freddie Roussouw, a music lover who took a keen interest in her singing. He encouraged her to take advantage of an opportunity to study singing abroad, but she was not interested. To help her, he paid the deposit for her mother to buy her a piano. One of my mom’s regrets is that the piano, although hers, was never something she got to keep. Years later, her mother sold it to another part of the family (in Faure) and we’re not sure where it is today.

When we moved to Durban in 1968, my mother bought a brand new, dark wood, Bernhard Steiner piano. It cost R900, which was a lot of money at the time, and she paid it off in monthly instalments. She still has it, and she plays it almost every day. How do I know? She lives in the granny flat at my house, and I hear her tickling the ivories, singing or humming happily away. This piano has moved so many times, from Durban to Cape Town, to Bloemfontein and back to Cape Town, to many different areas in Cape Town – but that’s a topic for a separate blog post!

In 1946, Billie Jones prepared her junior choir for a concert, and my mom, aged 16, was part of this enthusiastic young group. On that night, both the junior and senior choirs performed. It was both an exciting and historic occasion for my mom, as she sang her first solo line in a song from the musical, “Briar Rose”. The line was, “Kiss her! Kiss her!” That night was also the first time she’d seen Dr Joseph Manca, who trained the seniors, another person who was to play a major role in her life. He pointed out to Billie Jones that three of her juniors were big enough to join the seniors, my mother and her friend Louise Rhoode being two of them. She moved to the senior choir, which began another new phase for her. Billie Jones, however, had spotted the potential in this young singer, and continued to help with her vocal training, giving my mom weekly singing lessons at her home in Sea Point, free of charge. My mom held her in high esteem, and kept in touch with her until her death.

Shall we try again?

Pictures:
My mom (right) and her older sister, Helena, as children.
My mom (left) and Helena with their parents, Esther and Henry.

Almost a year since I started this blog, I finally sit down to write the second article, my battle with that irritating habit of procrastination continuing.

So, here goes:

My mother, May Henrietta Abrahamse, was born on 6 May 1930, the second of four girls. Her parents, Esther Fredericka Abrahams and Henry Charles Abrahamse, lived at 7 Bruce Street, Cape Town, at the time.

Interesting surname story: my granny was an Abrahams, who married an Abrahamse. My mother’s maiden name was Abrahamse, and my sister married an Abrahams.

My grandpa, whom we called “Pops”, was a baker by trade, but worked at Solly Bernstein’s liquor store (in Caledon Street) for many years. My mom says it was at that time that he started drinking, something which was to contribute to the split of the marriage, eventually.

My granny, whom we called “Ma”, worked as a cook at the home of a Jewish family, the Blochs. They lived in a beautiful house with a magnificent garden, called “Park side”, in Gardens. I remember going there once or twice, when I was a little girl. It’s still there, next to a lovely park. For many years, my mother’s cousin, Freda Smith, worked as the travel companion to Sarah Bloch, having the good fortune to travel around the world on cruise ships. I loved looking at her photo albums, as well as her cabinet filled with exciting mementoes from the many countries she’d visited.

As a girl, my mom attended Zonnebloem Girls’ Practising School. They moved quite a few times during her childhood, living in St Leger Street, Eckard Street and Richmond Street, as well as Chatham Flats in Chatham Street. All of these were in the area known as District Six, from which thousands of families were forcibly removed, from the late 1960’s to the 1980’s. The block of flats was owned by an Indian family, who ran a shop on the ground floor.

My mom’s sister, Yvonne (now deceased), was born in St Leger Street, and her youngest sister, Gloria, in Chatham Street. In those days, most women gave birth at home. My mother tells a story about herself and some friends watching a midwife walk down the street with her medical bag. My mother commented that the midwife was probably bringing her mother’s new baby. One of her friends expressed shock at her ignorance, and proceeded to tell her exactly how babies were made and how they came into the world! She was 11 at the time.

In 1944, when my mom was 14 years old and in Standard 7 (now called Grade 9), she heard about a choir that was being started by a lady called Billie Jones, as part of the Eoan Group, a cultural organisation formed specifically for “Coloured” people. She and some friends went to try out for the choir. She also tried ballet lessons at the Eoan Group, but admits she was too impatient, and gave up after two lessons. She stayed with the choir, though, thoroughly enjoying and immersing herself in it, unaware of how life-altering that decision would turn out to be.

When she was 15 years old, her parents split up. Sadly, she had to leave school. Her older sister, Helen, had also had to leave school prematurely, in order to look after their baby sister. My mom and her three sisters went to live in Sandvlei, near Faure, with their maternal grandparents, Piet Abrahams and Philida Hamman. Away from the comfort of city life, they had to adapt to a rural setting: it was a farmhouse, complete with cowdung floors. There were no toilets, so they learnt the art of communing with nature, so to speak. On Saturdays, she would take a train into town, to attend choir practice. She recalls trips to and from the train station in her grandpa’s horse-drawn cart. Their route took them past the kramat, a Muslim burial place for religious leaders. They lived in Sandvlei for about four months, after which they moved back to town.

While the girls were living in Sandvlei, their mother continued working as a cook for the Bloch family. She would walk along De Waal Drive to get to her place of work in Gardens. One day, a lovely man with a gentle smile and a twinkle in his eye gave her a lift, having seen her walking that route many times. His name was James Busch, and he worked as a driver for the Royal Dairy. They enjoyed each other’s company and the friendship soon blossomed into love. They got married and lived happily together until her death in the 1970’s. We called him “Pa”, and he was everything a grandfather could be, to all my Ma’s grandchildren. All of us have very fond memories of him. He had a car called a Tornis, and he’d pile us all in and take us for drives. He was incredibly patient and had a great sense of humour. At some stage, in the 1960’s, circumstances forced us (and an aunt and five cousins!) to move in with my grandparents, and every morning he’d make a big pot of porridge for all of us, as well as his favourite, a pot of tea! He also loved peanuts, and because his false teeth weren’t that good, he’d cover the peanuts with wax paper and crush them with a rolling pin!

After living in Sandvlei for about four months, my mother and her sisters moved back to town, where the next phase of her life was to start.