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.