Joan

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 31, Verses 10-31, provides a full description of the perfect woman from God’s perspective. When I read that scripture, I can’t help but feel it was written about Joan. One of my fondest memories was the year we moved from Pretoria, where residents spoke Afrikaans, to Durban, where English was the dominant Language. It was my fourth year of school, and I knew very few English words, let alone how to speak the language. She made my challenge an easy one, sitting with me every evening to teach me English. The result of her labour of love was that by the end of that year, I was the top pupil in the class—a God-given miracle performed by my mother. My father also played his role in my transition. The school governing body wanted to drop me back a standard (grade), believing I could never cope with the language switch, but my father insisted they put me into the level I was promoted to. They both stepped up to the plate and played their shots, and I ended up a winner.

Joan was a quiet woman, always about her duties as a wife and mother, but never too busy to listen to or spend time with her children. She always gave good advice and marvellous words of encouragement, treating all four of her children with love and never making anyone feel better than the others. We all respectfully enjoyed her sunny disposition. She never undermined her husband, always affording him the respect a good wife gives her husband. Sadly, I’ve witnessed this godly principle in only a few homes. Most women have the modern “we’re equal and I call the shots” complex. I feel sorry for all the men I have seen who live under “petticoat rule,” subjected to the humiliation of living their lives according to their spouses’ beck and call. I’m sorry for digressing; I just wanted to emphasise what a wonderful, godly wife she was. In her quiet manner, she was also well-loved by the community as a woman of character.

Two of her most memorable sayings were:

1. “Evil associations (friendships) corrupt good manners.” This was a warning to us to avoid friends who would lead us down paths that end in disaster, or one that would result to developing bad traits.
2. “You never miss the water until the well runs dry.” We understood this to mean that we only truly appreciate someone or something when they are no longer there.

I realised and understood this on the day my paternal grandmother, Poppy Bhima (née Baynes), passed away. Her teaching methods were hard but fair and effective. More will be said about her when I discuss her influence on my physical, mental, and spiritual growth. Her greatest lesson was teaching me to respect and value all people, regardless of colour, creed, religion, or social standing, as human beings created by God in His image and all equal before Him.

I learned this from two of her actions. Growing up in the apartheid era was tough, especially for the black (Native) race group. Their social standing was reduced to one of servitude and a form of slavery—cheap labour to be exploited primarily by the white (European) populace but also by the Indian and Coloured (mixed-race) groups. To supplement their earnings, some Black women would come around to the areas reserved for the other three racial groups to trade or sell pottery and trinkets they made. They traded these items for old clothing (mostly cast-offs) and old and broken items. Their menfolk would fix the broken items to be sold in their communities, and the women would wash and repair the old clothes to sell within their communities. Often, a group of three or four women would work together, almost always accompanied by a number of small children they were looking after. Walking in these areas in the heat took its toll on them, and many times they would ask residents for cups of water, hopefully chilled.

My dear, wonderful mother would call them into our home, seat them in our lounge, and not only give them the water they asked for but also go into the kitchen to make them sandwiches and cups of tea. On days they came around and found her having just completed cooking a lunchtime meal for her family, she would dish up the food for her “visitors.” This was an object lesson all her children learned well, and we all applied that respect for all human beings in our own lives. We are all the richer for it. In the same vein, she never just exchanged our old clothing; on numerous occasions, she included our so-called “new” clothing and our best Sunday wear.

John

I now switch to the men who greatly influenced my life, starting with the greatest of the three, my father, John, a giant in every aspect of life. He stood a good six feet six inches tall, and when he stood in a doorway, his broad, well-muscled shoulders touched both posts at the same time. His personality was just as large. When he entered a room, it would be as if all activities would stop and all eyes would turn to him. He had the respect of his family and the community. Wherever we went, he was commonly greeted with warmth as “Uncle John” by both young and old. He loved helping people but hated bullies. The area we grew up in was known for gangsterism, but he never let any of his children join gangs; instead, he taught us to be independent and self-reliant. I walked and talked with him, never growing weary of his presence, and received the great benefit of this relationship. For reasons I cannot explain, my two brothers didn’t spend as much time with our father as I did, but he loved us all equally. He had two good eyes and an apple for each eye: my mother was the apple of his right eye, and my sister, Ruth, was the apple of his left eye. There was a third girl, the granddaughter he raised as his own, Celeste. He taught us the true value of family, not so much by words but through his actions—activities he and my mum arranged to teach, entertain, and bond us together as a family unit. In bullet points, I will declare his categories of input into our lives:

1. Family Unity: This was accomplished through the numerous outings he took us on. On Wednesday nights, the whole family—my father, my mother, my grandmother, and us children—would go on a walk around the Durban South area, a walk I later measured by the reading on my motor vehicle as being about five miles, give or take. Thursday nights were movie nights, and the Shah Johan movie theatre got to the point where the owner allocated row DD to us as a family. We loved these good seats in the house. On summertime Sundays, my father and mother would pack a picnic basket, and we would take the bus to the Sydenham swimming pool, where we spent the day. It was in this pool that the attending lifesaver taught me, my siblings, and my dear mother how to swim. My father was already a swimmer. I remember these and many such outings with fondness and appreciation.
2. Discipline and Responsibility: I will just relate one incident. There was a day I had been stubborn and misbehaved, and my mother wouldn’t reprimand me but felt it was better to let my dad handle it when he came home from work. As he stepped into the house, she informed him that I needed to be chastened, but didn’t inform him why. He went to get his leather strap from the room; I still remember it as a quarter-inch thick, two inches wide, and four feet long. After three shots on my behind, which left red welts, he asked me what I had done. I told him, and this resulted in a further three welts. I can’t remember what it was, but I can say I never did it again.
3. Fearless in Adversity: He taught his sons never to run home and complain but to fight their own battles as we encountered them. I once saw a giant of a man challenge him for no apparent reason but to show off. It was in a shop. As big as that man was, my dad spun him around, and catching him by the belt he had on and the top of his jacket, threw him right out of that shop, through the doorway, across the stairs, and landing, sliding across the pavement. He only used force when there were no other options.
4. To be Considerate and Helpful to Others: At this time, he had started his own business in the district: a general dealer’s shop. He and my mum worked there during the day, and I would join him after school and on weekends to assist. One day, I walked my mother home early as she planned to cook dinner that evening, since my grandmother, who usually cooked, was very sick. Later, when he arrived home, he was accompanied by a stranded family of eleven: a husband, wife, and nine children ranging from teenagers to a little child. They had come from the Western Cape at the invitation of a family of theirs in Durban, but on arrival, they were turned away. My dad, always a very sympathetic individual, found them on the side of the road, not far from the shop. They stopped him and asked if he could give them money for food. He heard their story and, without hesitation, invited them into his home. My mother and grandmother were of a similar makeup, always willing to help the less fortunate. They stayed with us for about six months before my father was able to arrange a home for them through his friend, a white gentleman, Mr. Gerhring, who was the government official overseeing our area. To accommodate the new family, my mom and dad came home to eat, shower, and collect clean clothing, and then returned to the shop, where they had set up part of the storeroom as sleeping quarters for themselves.
5. He was a Forgiving Person—He Never Held Grudges: A young, inexperienced driver who had just received his driver’s licence drove into the church yard, smack into the rear of my father’s car. People had witnessed it, and he couldn’t run away but had to come into the church and tell my dad about the accident. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind, not knowing what to expect. To everyone’s amazement, my dad said, “Don’t worry, son, it’s only a piece of metal.” This remark encapsulated his value system, which he constantly shared with us, his children: to value human beings above earthly treasures. Fame and fortune were never the desires of his heart; serving God wholeheartedly was his life’s ambition. I could spend hours more talking about how he taught me integrity, trust, faithfulness, leadership, and to be supportive when it was necessary. Yes, to me, he was a super special person. Not everyone gets a chance to have someone like him in their lives. I’m truly blessed.

Paul

Another man who played a big part in my life was a European man, Paul Turnbull. God placed me in his hands to be taught my trade as a boilermaker just as this field was being opened to the Coloured race group. Only Europeans and Coloureds were allowed to be trained and employed in this sought-after trade. He was rated as the best in the company and refused year in and year out to train any apprentice. Many a young European man was chased away as he had no interest in teaching anybody. That wonderful day, looking back, it was a wonderful day for me: the foreman took me to Paul’s workstation and asked him if he would teach me, expecting the normal reaction. Surprisingly, to everyone’s amazement, in a soft, clear voice, he declared, “Leave him here; I will teach him.” I became the one and only apprentice he ever taught.

He took me under his wing and taught me every aspect of my trade. He taught me a new language—how to interpret and read drawings (blueprints at that time). He taught me never to just jump in and start doing the fabrication, but to check and find the best way for the best results in doing the job. I learned to make a material list for the various components, to schedule the workload, to order the materials according to client specification and design codes, and to mark the steel for accurate cutting and forming for a good product. All in all, it was the basis for me becoming an engineer, which I later achieved at his encouragement. In my later years, working as an engineer, I would stop and reflect lovingly on my dear mentor, Mr. Paul Turnbull. The day I received the message that he had passed away, I shed tears for the loss I felt. Thank you, Paul; you were not only my journeyman but also my friend.

Maurice

I now come to the last person in this group of my influencers: one of my former teachers, Mr. Maurice King. A stately man of exceptional character, with a joyful smile on his face, constantly. Many teachers also influenced my life, but he was definitely the number one. What was it that made him stand out above the rest? Most of my teachers saw me as a class terror—disruptive and argumentative. Looking back, that was my behaviour because it was in alignment with what they thought of me, so I reacted as expected. Mr. King always treated me well, and I respected him almost to the point of hero worship.

There is one thing that took place during the year he was my teacher. I was in Standard Six, and that year, around March or April, a group of European university students was performing experimental tests to ascertain the mental capabilities of “non-white” children, and the school I attended was one chosen for testing. All the Standard Six children, including me, were given these tests, mostly English, Afrikaans, arithmetic, and general knowledge. It was done over a two-day period. They left, and that was it. Mr. King, who also happened to be a friend of my father’s, told me at the end of that year that those tests we had done were for the then European government to verify if there were “non-whites” with high intelligence. Mr. King asked if he could tell me something on the promise that I wouldn’t tell a soul. On promising that I would keep it a secret, he told me, “Your result shocked those people because it was an Intelligence Quotient Test (IQ Test) and your results were in the genius range.” I mentioned this to my sister, but sadly, my parents and two brothers went to their graves not knowing this. My sister always told me that when she met him, he would always make that one comment, “Ruth, your brother Samuel was the best pupil I have ever taught.” I would joyfully think, “Mr. King, you are the best teacher I have ever had during my school years.”