Winds of Destruction ( PDFDrive )

someone within the circle would be talking. These were noisy affairs with much
laughter. There is no such thing as silence during an African meal. Tony and I
loved every moment of those far-off but never forgotten delights.
A gravel road running behind our spacious gardens served the line of homes
built along the ridge on which we lived. Across this road lay various fruit and
cereal farms and a big dairy farm. Beyond these lay a large forested area, full of
colourful msasas and other lovely indigenous trees, through which ran two
rivers. The larger of these was the Makabusi in which Tony and I were forbidden
to swim because of bilharzia. Needless to say we swam with our mates whenever
our wanderings brought us to the inviting pools bounded by granite surfaces and
huge boulders. Being laid up in bed with bilharzia seemed a more attractive
option than attending school. But try as we did, we failed to pick up the disease.
Ox wagons were still in use on the farms. This gave ample opportunity to try
our hands at the three functions of leading the oxen, wielding the long whip and
manning the hand-crank that applied brakes on downhill runs. The black men
whose job it was to do these things were amazingly accommodating and never
seemed annoyed by our presence.
When old enough to do so, Tony and I rode bicycles to David Livingstone
School some four miles from home. I neither liked nor disliked school, but
dreaded the attention of bullies who cornered me on many occasions. Dad told
me one day that all bullies had one thing in common—they were very good at
meting out punishment but cowardly when receiving it. Dad also told me that to
accept one good hiding was better than receiving many lesser ones. I got the
message and waited until the biggest and meanest of the bullies cornered me in
an alley. I climbed into him with everything I had. He tried to break free but I
pursued him with vigour until I realised that he was crying like a baby. Not only
was I left alone from then on, I assumed the role of protector for other bullyboy
victims. The attention I received from the girls was very confusing but strangely
pleasing!
Tony and I were blessed with angelic singing voices and were often asked to
sing for our beloved grandparents. We took this all for granted until one day we
attended a wedding in the Salisbury Anglican Cathedral. After the service I got
to talk with one of the choirboys. From him I learned that he had just been paid
two shillings and sixpence, the going rate for singing at weddings. That added up
to a lot of ice-creams; so Tony and I joined the Anglican Cathedral choir that
very week. Dad was horrified when he learned his sons had joined the Anglican
choir, though he never said why. Mum thought it a good idea.