Richmond Reader May 2012

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Your Literary News from the Heart of the Karoo

THe New Richmond Reader

Issue 04 May 2012 1st Ed.

As the winds are ever cooler and the nights even coldenough to warrant an extra mohair blanket or quilt; theturning o the leaves heralds the onset o all and winterin the Karoo heartland, and with this the 2nd Annual

JM Coetzee and Nobel Laureates Festival which will betaking place on the 25th and 26th o May. A BooktownRichmond newsletter which accompanies this 4th Issueo the NRRwill include the latest programme and other inorma-tion or your interest.

Once again the New Richmond Reader has a couple overy good short stories including one rom Canadianpenman Fred Stenson, who has written on some in-sights into his visit to BoekBedonnerd III a ew yearsago. Fred got a real bang out o his visit to the Karooand South Arica in general and when I visited him inCalgary recently he said that he was pining or a re-turn. Tis may be sooner that he expected, as his novel,which was the reason or his invitation in 2010, TeGreat Karoo, is going to be made into a eature movieunded 50:50 by Canadian and South Arican backers.Freds story appears in the Canadian Literary MagazineEIGHEEN BRIDGES, with which we are in the pro-cess o engaging, in order to broaden our reader and

writer base.

As always we look orward to receiving your literary submissions and we hope that you enjoy this issue o TeNew Richmond Reader.

PC Baker


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2

We had just nished our supper when the storm hit. AFree State cloud burst. Te wind screamed at the build-ing, howling through the pine trees, while the rain hit

the building with a severity that threatened to destroy itand lightning ashed turning night into day. Tunderrounded o the cacophony.

We had moved in at the beginning o the month. It wasa relatively new block o ats at the oot o Signal Hillin Bloemontein and right next to the municipal swim-ming baths. A joy or us was being able to watch thebuck that grazed on the other side o the game ence.

I was standing at the window watching the storm grate-

ul that I wasnt out in it. Ten I heard it. A wail. Asound so intense that it rose above the storm and knot-ted my solar plexus. It was repeated again and again,there came a loud crash and then all went quiet. I stoodthere tense waiting or something to happen. I was surethe sound came rom next door. I went to the rontdoor, opened it, meaning to go and see i there wasanything I could help with. But in the ew seconds thedoor was open I was completely drenched and I quicklyshut the door. I decided to wait until the storm eased.It didnt and we went to bed the storm still raging.

Te next morning I woke to a clean, bright washed day.Yet the sound o the wail still lingered in my memoryand disturbed me. I stood in the kitchen waiting orthe kettle to boil when I heard the ront door open nextdoor. Paul walked past the window and waved to meand I nodded back. I took my coee out into the bal-cony corridor and waited or Paul to return. When hesaw me he hesitated and then walked towards me.

What happened? Are you all OK?

He nodded. I cant talk now, must help Uncle Herman but we will talk. Its a long story. You should know incase it happens again.

Paul shrugged his shoulders, turned and walked intotheir at.

A Cry In Te Night

By Keith Britz

When we moved in Uncle Herman a German immi-grant and his wie, Anna, a Prussian were very kind tous. Tey came over with a supper or us and in theirbroken English welcomed us. Later in the eveningPaul, their nephew, arrived with a strudel and intro-duced himsel. He also brought some resh lter coeeand asked i he could be o any assistance. As we wererelatively newlyweds there was not all that much to

unpack so we invited Paul to join us and we sat and atethe strudel and drank the coee. Paul told us that hewas working as a piano tuner even though he had beentrained as a concert pianist at the Berne ConservatoireHe was Swiss and spoke a good but accented English.He had immigrated to South Arica aer the war andat his prompting his Uncle and Step-aunt also came.He told us that even though this was the 60s things inEurope still were very tough. He had battled to earna living as a concert pianist and so he had nothing to

lose.

May I ask, what happened last night? I asked.

It is such a sad story, he said, When a storm like lastnight hits then ant Anna goes completely mad andwe have to lock her in the small bedroom or else shewill destroy the at. She goes completely crazy.

But why?

Tats a long story. Goes back to when she was a pris-oner o war in Siberia.

Tere was a knock on the door and Uncle Hermanapologised or interrupting but could Paul please comeand help him. Anna had to have her medication andshe would only accept it rom Paul.

During the months that ollowed we were told thestory bit by bit and when someone recently asked mei I had seen Schindlers List the events o that nightcame back as resh as i it had just happened. WhenJudgement at Nuremburg was released early in the 60sI went to see it. In the movie there were newsreel clipso what the allies ound when they went into the con-centration camps, and those clips gave me nightmares.So much so that or almost six weeks I couldnt sleep. Iwalked until I was too tired to stay awake then I wouldgo home or a ew hours o disturbed sleep.


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3Annas rst husband had been a general in the Weh-rmacht, but he was one o a group o generals whostrongly advised Hitler to use circumspection andcaution in his military planning. As a result he, andothers like him, were posted to the Eastern ront wherethere was very little military activity. Ten in a skir-mish with the Russians he was captured and not longaer she was taken prisoner and shipped to Moscow.

Somehow they discovered that she was the wie oa captured general and she was incarcerated in thedreaded Lubyanka. Te terrible conditions in the cattletruck, the stench o no sanitation, very little ood,people dying where they sat or lay and the ever pres-ent cold in no way prepared her or what lay ahead. Inthe bowels o reblinka she was put into isolation. Shespoke no Russian and her guards no German, so therewas no communication and her days were marked bythe switching on and turning o o the light in her cell.

How long this continued she didnt know. Ten onemorning when the lights came on, they came orher. And her interrogation began. She had in themeantime lost complete track o the passage o time.During her interrogation she seemed to be there orminutes beore being taken back to her cell then therewere times it elt like days. Te bright light in her ace,the interrogator in darkness, nothing to eat or drinkwhile she was there, the physical violence that seemedto come out o nowhere and the same questions

repeated over and over. All the while she wonderedwhat they wanted to know. What could she, a side-lined Generals wie know?

Te interrogation stopped and she almost missedit. At least during the interrogation there were liv-ing breathing beings in the room with her. Once itstopped there was no-one. Her guards she heardbehind her locked door but saw only when she wasallowed to empty her slops bucket which she judged tobe once a week. Ten or twenty our hours the smellin her cell was passable.

Ten they came or her again except this time they didnot take her to the regular interrogation room. Teywalked or what seemed like miles down corridorsand up stairs. Finally they came to a door, they waitedor it to be opened and when it was she was pushedthrough it. Hands grabbed her and placed her in ronto a table. She stood there trembling. Her legs werewobbling rom the exertion o walking such an

unaccustomed distance and she had a strong senseo unease. Tere was something about the room thatscared her. She stood there her eyes cast down. Tenthere was a riding crop under her chin orcing herhead up and there, behind a wall o glass sat her hus-band. Te sight o him came as such a shock that herlegs gave way. When she came round she was lyingnaked on the table. Her thin regulation cotton dress

was thrown to one side and as she had had no under-wear since her arrival she tried to cover hersel withher hands. Her arms were being pinned down. Tenshe screamed.

When it was over, her body and ace was covered insemen. Tey stood her up, acing the glass but shereused to look at her husband. Ten she was marchedback to her cell. When they brought her her ration oRussian tea she used the corner o her blanket to clean

hersel.

She was gang raped over and over again and at varyingtimes. Sometimes it would be the next day and thendays would pass when nothing happened and then itwould start all over again. She got to a point that whenthey came or her that her mind just switched o.Aer that rst time she didnt scream again insteadshe ocused on her husbands ace. At rst the horrorin his eyes was unbearable but he too became inuredagainst the scene being played out in ront o him.

Ten that nal day. Tis time they seated her behindthe table so that she aced her husband on the otherside o the glass. His eyes were blank and then or amoment they ocused on her, he recognised her andtried to smile. A high ranking ocer came in andstood behind him. An interrogating ocer sat to oneside o him talking uriously. She watched. Her hus-band kept shaking his head. Te senior ocer stoodimpassively behind him and then without warning hesaid something to the interrogating ocer who shookhis head. He then drew his pistol and shot her hus-band through the back o his head. She rememberedthe blood and gore hitting the glass and nothing more.

Te rst time she had an extended period o lucid-ity was when she ound hersel sitting among otherwomen on the back o a troop carrier. Te truckwas stationery, and the wind howled, the rain hit thecanvass covering like a demented dea drummer thenthe truck moved orwards only to slide to the one side


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thoughts o escape truly died. Tey watched him getweaker and weaker and then one morning they saw hisnaked body outside his barrack. Tey watched as hisbody was pulled behind a horse into the orest and leor the wolves.

During the height o winter when the supply truckscouldnt get through, it was the horse dung that saved

many rom starvation. While cleaning up the horsedung they became adept at siing through it to ndany grain that had not been digested. Tis they care-ully hid. It was washed and added it to the thin soupthey were given. Ten they cooked it until it was so.Even pieces o straw were saved and added. Te otherstrenuous work was mucking out the stables. Terethe women prisoners soon learnt how to steal oats anda careul network developed so that all the barracksbenetted. When there were oats they added it to

their soup and the resulting broth was wonderul. Butthe deaths continued. When there were too many onone night the prisoners had to make a uneral pyre andthe bodies were burnt on it. Tey hated those pyresbecause it meant they had to work so much harder. Itinvariably meant that the barracks would be short ouel which would mean more deaths. It was rom theLuwae pilot that they learnt that the rapes were notconned to the womens barracks but that the youngermen, and he was one, were subjected to the same treat-ment.

Te one thing they oen discussed was why they wereso suddenly moved out o Moscow in the dead onight. Tey had discovered soon aer arriving that allthose in that barrack had been inmates o Lubyanka.Some had been there or years while others just weeks.Tey heard later, on the gulag grapevine, that theInternational Red Cross had been concerned or theemale prisoners they maintained were in Lubyanka.Te Russian government denied that there were anyemale prisoners in Lubyanka. Ten the Red Crossinsisted on an inspection in terms o the Geneva Con-

vention and that was when they were moved.

Very little changed as one season slowly owed intothe next one. It went rom cold to reezing and backagain. Tey heard that the war had ended. For ashort while there was a hope o being released but theseasons changed and changed again. Te years passedthere were ewer deaths and barracks were closed asthey moved the inmates out o them to ll spaces in

4and she started screaming. She could not stop herseland then awareness aded. Tey later told her that herbrie periods o lucidity were invariably ollowed byextended periods o screaming and nally endless sob-bing. When she was in that condition she didnt speak,she obeyed orders given, but like a robot. She was alsotold that they were on their way to Siberia. It was inthat truck that the will to live nally won out. Her pe-

riods o lucidity became longer and longer and by thetime they arrived at the gulag the nightmares were ewand ar between. Except during those wind driven,rain or ice pelting storms you experience in the arcticregions. Ten the thread o rationality snapped and ashrieking madness overcame her. Her barrack mateslearnt to tie her to her bed until the storm abated andsanity returned to her.

Ten came the years in Siberia where survival became

all consuming. Te act that it was always cold didnot alter their prison dress. o keep warm they sleptaround the potbellied stove in the middle o the bar-racks. Tey changed places during the night so thateveryone had a chance to keep warm. Folded into oneanother it got them through the worst o nights. Evenso there were deaths especially among the youngerwomen they simply seemed to give up.

Te rapes continued but it no longer had the impact itoriginally had but it was aer an especially vicious ses-

sion that the woman would just give up and die duringthe night. Te horror o waking to nd the person inront or behind you had died never lessened. Eachtime a pall settled on the barrack as their numbersdecreased.

Te daily chores continued except in the worst oweathers. Picking up dung and chopping wood. De-spite it being backbreaking work it was the time theycould speak to other prisoners. Te men elled thetrees which were then dragged to the camp by horses.First and oremost the ocers had to have their woodpiles replenished, then the soldiers and nally thebarracks got their ration. It was while they did thisthat they could speak to women in some o the otherbarracks. Sometimes when a man became too weakto chop trees in the orest he was assigned to carrythe chopped wood to its various destinations. It wasrom one such man that they learnt that they were wellwithin the Arctic Circle almost on the Bering Sea. Hehad been a pilot in the Luwae and that was when all


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other barracks which were le by the dead.

One day at inspection they were told that the gulagwas to be closed down completely and that they wereall to be moved. Fear ripped through the camp. Teyhad heard o the death squads and o early morningmassacres. O all the time they spent in the gulag thatwas the hardest. Te uncertainty o their position

weighed heavily on them. Anna said what troubledher more than death squads was the break with theroutine that had become a way o lie or more than adecade. What would she nd out there? Who wouldlook aer her? Tat ear weighed heavily on her. Sheguessed that others were eeling exactly as she did butthey couldnt bring themselves to talk about it.

And then the trucks arrived and they le. Teyguessed that they were moving due West but what

their destination was going to be they had no idea.One woman recognised the outskirts o Leningrad andhope ared. Tere in a shed on the docks they wereregistered by the Red Cross and were given clothes.Tat evening they boarded a troopship.

I couldnt help smiling at the look on Annas ace whenshe described having that rst hot shower, being ableto wash her hair with carbolic soap to kill the lice thatinected it and to scrub her body until it hurt was theclosest thing to heaven she had experienced here on

earth. o eel clean once more. Ten she went intoraptures about pulling up her rst pair o bloomerssince being captured, the joy o a so silky petticoat,a warm woollen dress and a coat. She still had themand insisted on showing them to me. From what shesaid I expected to see something very special but whatshe showed me was coarse and ugly. Only then couldI begin to truly appreciate something o the hardshipsshe had endured. Ten she went on to say that withinan hour o donning her new clothes most o it cameo. Her body had so acclimatised to the cold that shebegan to sweat so the coat came o rst, then the pet-ticoat and once she had washed her prison dress sheput it back on. She said that her riends had exactlythe same experience. So the new clothes were put intothe small cardboard suitcase that each had been givenwhich also contained a change o clothes. She smiledrueully and said that no Dior or Chanel creationcould have made them eel better.

Tey disembarked in Hamburg. Tere again the

International Red Cross took charge. Names, places obirth and last residence were taken. Tey had a wallwith list upon list o names o people who had diedor were missing and they went through the lists orhours. One by one amily members names appearedon the lists and a atalistic gloom settled on the groupo women. Ten they were told that the Red Crossin Berlin had more comprehensive lists as they were

updated on a daily basis. So Anna decided that shehad to get to Berlin. Te Red Cross had supplied eachwith a small amount o money. Anna was too scaredto use this so she decided to walk to Berlin. It was along walk. Sometimes a armer would let her ride onhis cart and allow her to stay over in his barn at night.Once an Allied troop carrier stopped and gave her aride, a long one, as they saw the Red Cross on the suit-case she was carrying. Finally she made it to Berlin.She spent days going over the lists there, sleeping in

bombed out ruins and grateully eating meals the RedCross provided. One by one members o her amilyand that o her husbands appeared on the lists. Finallythere was no-one else to search or. Ten despair setin. Blacker than anything she had ever experiencedbeore. For days she couldnt eat and wandered up anddown bombed out streets. Mindless o where she wasuntil on a partially demolished storeront she saw thename Madeleine. Ten she remembered her athersyoungest sister, not many years older than she was.She searched the lists or her name but couldnt nd it.

Anna knew she had married and had only a aint anduncertain memory o her married name. But as aras she could ascertain her name wasnt on the list andshe decided to set o to Bremen where Madeleine hadmoved aer she was married.

Another long walk. During the walk Anna remem-bered the name o the street on which Madeleine hadlived but could not bring to mind the houses number.Even i she had remembered the number, she oundonce she got there, that very ew o buildings weremore than just shells. She needed to nd a place tosleep and nally ound a house with one room thatwas not totally destroyed. She decided to live thereuntil she could nd out i Madeleine still lived or haddied.

She began clearing some o the rubble on the oor sothat she could have a level area to sleep on when sheheard a noise behind her. In the doorway there stooda youngish woman with an iron rod in her hand.

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She raised the rod menacingly and pointed to thestreet. Ten the moment roze as recognition dawn onthem. She slowly lowered the iron bar and hesitantlysaid Anna?

Ten they were embracing and tears o joy owed.Te rst healing cry since she was incarcerated inLubyanka. Madeleine got Anna registered so that

she could get a ration card and Annas stay in Bremenbegan.

Aer her house was bombed Madeleine moved intothe basement and had been living there or years. Herhusband and only son were both killed on the Westernront. Tey kept themselves busy by clearing some othe rubble in and around the house and that was howAnna got to know other women who were living insimilar conditions on that street. Ten the word got

round that a Russian troopship would be docking theollowing day. So they all went down to the docks, somany hoping to nd a loved one on the ship but theothers to rescue the prisoners who would disembark.Tey stood beyond the barrier and watched the mencome down the gangplank. Gaunt skeletal guresbowed and prematurely aged shufed down and intothe Red Cross shed. Later they emerged one by oneand were being led away by a woman. Madeleine hadtold her that the women took the men in and ed andclothed them until they were strong enough to leave.

Strong enough to start searching or missing amilyand riends and that this had become a tradition.

Anna had noticed a man coming down the gangplank.Short bent orward rom a prematurely curved spineand painully thin but it was the despair in his eyesthat spoke to her heart. When he came out o the shedshe took him by the arm. He looked at her question-ingly but didnt say anything neither did she. Mad-eleine took his other arm and they walked home.

Herman was very ill or the rst our months he waswith them. What had seemed to be a cold turned outto be double pneumonia. Anna nursed him throughthe crisis and back to health. Once he began eelingbetter they talked or hours. He had also been cap-tured on the Eastern ront and sent to a POW campbut as he was only a oot soldier he was o no interestto Russian intelligence. When the war ended theywere transerred to a salt mine in Siberia where hespent the ten years beore his release.

She accompanied him to the Red Cross to go throughthose endless lists. One by one the members o hisamily appeared on the list. Finally he asked the RedCross to try and locate his brother who at the outbreako the war was living and working in Switzerland. Hewas married and had a young son.

Six months later he was inormed that they had lo-

cated the son. He was living with his mothers sisterin Berne. Tey inormed him that as ar as they couldestablish the SS had executed his brother and sister-in-law in France where they were helping the under-ground to get ugitives out o France and into Switzer-land. He wrote to Paul and the correspondence owedbetween them and nally Paul invited him to join himand his Aunt in Switzerland.

During this time in Bremen a strong bond had de-

veloped between Anna and Herman and aer careulthought he decided that he just couldnt ace leavingAnna behind so he begged o the visit to Switzerland.Paul was insistent and so travel arrangements weremade or him and Anna to visit Berne. Once theywere there Paul arranged or his Uncle to tune a ewrehearsal pianos at the Conservatoire were Paul wasworking at that time. Herman wasnt sure he could doit. He hadnt practised his proession since beore thewar but Paul was insistent. So nally he gave in and tohis surprise and the satisaction o the conservatoire he

did excellently. Tis lead to more pianos being tunedat the conservatoire and nally the actual concertgrands prior to a concert.

Anna and Herman truly enjoyed their stay in Berneand their departure or Bremen was put o time andagain. Te only awkwardness at the time was that Paulhad applied to emigrate to South Arica and his auntwas against this Herman didnt like the idea at allbut said nothing. Herman elt Paul was wasting hisyears o training at the conservatoire but Paul pointedout that unless you were truly brilliant and had goodconnections you didnt have a chance o being bookedas a concert pianist. He only got requests to accom-pany visiting singers but little more than that. Annasuspected that it was the death o his parents morethan anything else that was the prime motive or himwanting to leave Switzerland. She elt he wanted to putall that behind him and start aresh. When his parentswere mentioned he simply walked out o the room orsaid he didnt want to talk about it.

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Ten his emigration papers came through.

Herman was a quiet man. He let Anna do the talk-ing but she discovered that in his quiet way he ormed

very deep attachments and that the thought o losingPaul was causing him great discomort. Now withPauls imminent departure Herman became evenmore withdrawn. He began having nightmares and

speaking in his sleep. Paul le. For a year the lettersowed between them and aer the rst glowing letterrom South Arica Herman seemed to be more at ease.Anna and Herman married in Switzerland to makeemigration easier and two years later they arrived inBloemontein.

One Saturday we were having aernoon tea, what Imean is coee actually, with Anna, Herman and Paul.o me it seemed as i telling her story had become

easier or her. She had just told us about the youngGerman pilot, his rape and his consequent death whenI asked what I had been dying to ask or a long time.

ant Anna I have wanted to ask you or some time.How do you eel about the Russians? I mean do youhate them?

She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders and withtrue Germanic stoicism said in her accented English,

Das vas war.

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rose pink legs, approached. Each pair ended in at,blunt-tipped toe shoes, which gave the wearer a at-ooted, duck-like walk. In the area around the win-dows criss-cross ankle ribbons were adjusted, rillyskirts plumped out and a steady, so plonk, plonkstaccato echoed about as each girl tested her pointeshoes.

Te examiner rose. Silence ell. She shufed herpapers and called the names o the rst two candi-dates. Tey moved rom the rose-pink cluster, ready todance. One was tall, slender, Nadine Judd, the other,Doris Fisher, had the sylph-like quality o a airy. Bothwere scheduled to dance a solo and then perorm aduet. Tey stood by, nerves jangling in anticipation.Behind them so whispers hissed until the pianistlied her hands. Tere was total silence. A cord sound-ed and like magic Dolly oated lightly onto the stage.

Te world around her aded and French words, suchas glissade, pli, ouett, jet, ronde, tournant, chasedeach other through her brain as the music and stepstook over.

For the next ew minutes I became part o the mu-sic. It guided my body, arms, hands and eet. I movedwhere it told me to go. Around me the world becamea aded, out-o-ocus, smudge. Ten, all too soon, itended. Te music stopped. My right leg automaticallyslid orward and my arm uttered graceully towards

it as I took a bow. Ten, with a little leap I ran lightlyinto the wings. Had it gone well? I did not know. Re-ality ooded back as I stood there gasping or breath.Te real world ooded back, the dance was over. Teagony o waiting or results had begun. Te wind wasalso back and so was the heat, but somehow the worldhad changed. I had danced a major exam in ront oan international judge and I had survived.

Now in her large comortable Lazy Boy Dolly almostlaughed out loud remembering that little 11-year-oldsaying: Ill absolutely die waiting or the results. Dy-ing wasnt so easy. She looked again at the newspaperand smiled soly, smiling as she reading the captionthen and now, this time applying it to hersel. Tatday had been a pivotal point in her rich her lie.

Days passed beore Te Friend appeared with the ullstory o the ballet exams and the country wide results.Miss Skeaping stated that the standard in South Aricawas very high, but added that in Bloemontein it had

8

An old photograph in a daily newspaper brought thememories dancing back. It transported an old agehome resident across the decades to a hot, blustery,October day in Bloemontein in 1939. As Dolly Wed-derburn now sat enjoying the warm sunshine stream-ing through the window o her room, her toes beganto tap, the years ell away and she once again was aeather light airy, oating across a stage. She watchedthe dust motes dancing in the ltered sun rays likeecks o gold and she remembered how she too haditted lightly across many a stage.

Te pictures and accompanying article told o resto-rations which had been completed at Bloemonteins

rst Raadsaal in St Georges Street. As Dolly looked atthe photographs under the heading then and now,she was once again a cute, curly-headed, 11-years-old,Shirley emple look alike, nervously sitting on one othose window sills waiting to dance a vitally importantballet exam. It all began when the British CecchettiSociety o Dancing perceived a huge gap between theGrade 3 and the Elementary eachers exam. It thenintroduced a sti, new Grade 4 exam and phased thisin internationally. Te Society then had contractedMiss Mary Skeaping to travel the world to test the

capabilities o pupils. In South Arica Miss Sheapingwas to examine candidates in Johannesburg, Durban,Cape own and Bloemontein to ensure standards andtechniques matched the Societys strict requirements.

She started o with guinea pig rounds in Bloem-ontein. On the appointed day, warm winds waedacross the veld and into town turning the day intoa hot, airless, sultry, early-summer scorcher. Tecandidates, almost all 11-years-old, were neatly attired

in ballet togs and tights, which they had been allowedto don inside the historic Raadzaal. Te girls, who allelt immensely privileged, slowly sauntered in, tryingto aect an air o careless condence. Tey clusterednear the windows in search o a breath o air. Terethe strict eyes o local teacher, Joyce Smerdon, keptthem in control and her stern glances ensured that theconversational buzz was kept to a muted level.

Te atmosphere inside the room was explosive. en-sion mounted each time another pair o long, skinny

Bloemonteins own Dancing QueenBy Rose Willis


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9been exceptional. She had seen hundreds o girlsperorming across the country, she said, but only twocandidates really stood out. Teir perormances hadbeen quite perect and she had awarded them hon-ours the highest merit that she was able to give. Tetwo were Nadine Judd and Doris Fisher.

In time Nadine went on to become the rst soloist

with the British Ballet Company, changed her nameto Nadia Nerina and attained world ame. Few real-ize that this internationally acclaimed prima ballerinastarted her career in Bloemontein. Dollys dreams obecoming a member o an international ballet compa-ny were put on hold by the outbreak o World War II.Europe was in turmoil, the shipping lanes were lledwith oating mines and it was simply was too danger-ous to travel. Her ather would hear nothing on thissubject and it was closed. But, ate had other plans or

Dolly and oddly enough they involved two young ladswho saw her dance that day.

One was the nine-year-old Japie Human a gied, childprotg, who had started playing the piano by ear atthe age o our. Dolly took his breath away. He wastotally entranced. She was like a dream, a vision,ethereal, delicate, exquisite. She oated like a eather,soly as a cloud, with all the magic o a airy, acrossthe bland stage oor. She was a glittering white wisp,then here, then there. Her toes seemed not to touch

the ground. Te uid ow and excellence o her move-ments that day remained with me or the rest o mylie, he said. In time Japie Human, became Dollysmusical soul mate and a lie-long riend. He also be-came a key actor in helping her build up her studios.

Te other boy, a riend o a neighbourhood riend, wasthe typical boy next door, but invisible to Dolly at thetime. Accompanied by cousins rom the Karoo hedreluctantly come along to see the dancing. He was re-covering rom rheumatic ever and in the heat did noteel well, but the sylph-like airy that ashed here andthere on the stage also captivated him. Little did theyknow it then, but Cupid was already aligning his bow.

Dolly never made it to the British Ballet. She ell inlove. Te war claimed everyones attention. Men wereenlisting and woman everywhere were knitting, bak-ing, collecting cigarettes and making up parcels. Dollyhelped where she could. Lie went on. Dolly went toschool, she danced, she attended parties and met

Dolly never made it to the British Ballet. She ell inlove. Te war claimed everyones attention. Men wereenlisting and woman everywhere were knitting, bak-ing, collecting cigarettes and making up parcels. Dollyhelped where she could. Lie went on. Dolly wentto school, she danced, she attended parties and metalmost every eligible young swains o the day. Lie wasas good as it could be.

Ten one day a new player stepped on to the stage andcaught her eye. Handsome South Arican Air Forcepilot, Ralph Wedderburn, arrived at a dance with agroup o Dollys riends. She could not believe hereyes how had that thin, wan, ill-looking young boyturned into this absolute dish. Miracles, it seemedwere possible. Magic lled the air as Ralph recognizedthe little airy, the dancing ray o sunshine, hed seenway back in 1939. He invited her to the Wings Parade

at 27 Squadron Air School, but Dolly declined, shedidnt wasnt to ruin her perect school attendancerecord.

A tense day or two passed as Dolly wondered i shedever see him again, but, Ralph was smitten. Te beau-tiul, curly-headed, Doris Fisher, or Dolly as he calledher, had stolen his heart. He swore eternal devotion toher and that is exactly she got. Dolly ound him kind,caring, comorting, reassuring, a joy to be with, utterlyreliable, and unshakably even-tempered.

Suddenly we realized the magic o love, said Dolly.

Dolly and Ralph got engaged and were married in asmall, quiet, solemn, happy, wonderul ceremony. Itwas our day and we wanted it to be very special, veryprivate and ours alone, said Doll. Teirs was a storyo perect love rom that day on until Ralph died.Dreams o Europe aded and Dolly settled down to bea wie and mother, but the call o ballet was too strong.

She set up studios across the province and dancedinto the record books as one o the most prolic balletteachers in South Arica. She became a legend in herown time and spent almost hal a century in the worldo teaching and ballet schools. Dollys proudest joy wasseeing the hundreds o potential young dancers realizetheir dreams and win championships galore. Duringher magnicent career she guided 52 girls to becomeully procient, qualied dancing teachers. Without adoubt she was a Dancing Queen.


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10

Poetry

aken From:

SOUH AFRICAN POERY: A New Anthology Compiled by Roy McNab withCharles Gulston

Published by C.A Roy or Collins, St. Jamess Place, London 1948


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11Being one o only three English-speakers in Richmond(pronounced Reeshmourned) I was, and remain some-thing o an oddity, and had I been in a healthier rameo mind, I would, no doubt, have immediately pickedup the signals that my decision to move here had notbeen an altogether well-considered one.

Amongst the buildings my riend had purchased, is

a charming old dorpshuis located at the commence-ment o the main street, and I, alongside a small crewthat actually did most o the slog, applied mysel to thetrades o building, plastering and general restorationwork.

Every so oen a little old lady would labour up thestreet rom the retirement home in which she lives toobserve progress on the project. Tere she would standin rapt silence or a ew minutes, then shake her head

in dismay and toddle o back down the road, untileventually it all became a little too much or her.

What are you actually doing here in Richmond? sheone day addressed me in Arikaans.

Now, I would have thought that that had been plain orall to see. But the ruminations o the aged was a sub-

ject about which I knew little, and the likely reaction oan elderly platterlander to the sarcasm o a marginallyyounger uitlander, even less. Politeness and consider-

ation were thus called or.

Well, I came here to help a riend x this house, Ireplied in my own unique, and thereore seldom un-derstood, version o the language, and also to nish abook.

She looked at me in utter bewilderment. But the placeis in ruins! she exclaimed. Why would anyone wantto waste his money on a ruin?

ruth be told, the entire dorp was in ruins; and Im notjust reerring to the buildings.

Some months later, my restoration work complete, Iwheedled my way into a local arts and cras projectinitiated by another uitlander. Te shop rom whichthis project was run is in the heart o the dorp andequidistant rom the renovated house on which I hadworked and the retirement home.

HERE IS A DEEP-FROZEN DORP just o the N1roughly halway between Johannesburg and Capeown, and it is here that, in sober mind, I chose to

spend what have subsequently turned out to be over vegenerally dreary, yet at times, highly diverting years omy lie.

I use the adjective deep-rozen or good reason, as it ishere that thousands o Joburg Jollers, en route to theirannual reunion in the Cape, dread being caught orspeeding, or worse still, having their cars break downon them. And quite understandably so; or a week spenthere whilst awaiting the arrival o a car part as a sel-taught grease-monkey with two le hands and a No 58

spanner tinkers with your Lamborghini, doesnt exactlyll you with condence. Neither does it live up to theoerings on Fourth Beach over the estive season, noreven those o Addington Beach at any time o the year,so rozen in time is the place. Yet or reasons I have yetto establish, the denizens o the dorp believe they are inseventh heaven; the logic, I suppose, being that havingexperienced heavens one to six during their workinglives, they have nally arrived in paradise. It happens tothe elderly, you know.

Having in years gone by thrown all my toys rom mycot and set orth on a desultory twenty-our-monthwalkabout which took me physically no urther thanmy local pub and mentally into the world o ele ub-bies, I moved to Richmond - the dreaded Karoo dorpthat slumbers in the shadow o a monstrous illuminatedCaltex sign - to both help a riend renovate a number oproperties he had acquired in the place, and completework on a thriller I had embarked upon shortly beorea vicious attack o male menopause brought upon me

a temporary (some would question that) loss o sanityand the permanent loss o my worldly possessions. Sixmonths, I convinced mysel, would be all the time Idneed to complete both tasks. I should have known bet-ter.

My arrival in this dusty dorp with its closely-knit, yetdecidedly disparate communities o everyday olk,retirees, welare beneciaries and sheep armers can belikened to the rst drip o what has thus ar proved to belittle more than a trickle o migratory uitlanders.

Books are or reading, arent they?

By Darrel Conolly


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12Daily, I would watch the old girl trundle up the road,oen stopping to chat with the women who spun androlled wool in the haven o winter warmth that is theshops verandah, until curiosity again got the better oher.

What are you doing now? she enquired in Arikaans.

Running this little enterprise, I responded in linguaConolly.

For the same man who owns the house up the road?

Already tongue-tired, I lapsed into English: No,someone else.

She cupped a hand to her ear, lent orward, an aston-ished look on her wrinkled ace: Ernie Else?

No, I laughed, a vet rom Johannesburg.

And the book?

Oh, thats going to take another six months at least.

She stood in silence or a good ew seconds, her beadyeyes darting between the industrious-looking womenand me, as i seeking support rom the ormer. Is it inArikaans? she eventually asked in sympathetic voice.

No, English, I replied casually.

Now she xed her eyes squarely on me, stared incredu-lously. Goeie hemel! she cried in disdain, Hoe lankneem dit jou n boek te lees in jou eie taal?

Tis then, was the day I rst began making plans toevacuate the dreaded dorp. Born in Durban, educated(well, partially no, make that slightly) in Cape own,I had spent most o my adult lie in Johannesburg,that gloriously ugly city with a can do attitude likeew others in the world. And here I was in the dreadeddorp, where the highlight o my stay thus ar had beenan evening spent sitting, wine glass in hand, atop akoppie overlooking the N1, consumed by ts o hys-terical laughter as car aer car sped past Richmondsmain source o income a trac camera. Had liereally come to this?

It had.


13/18

Join Darryl David, ounder o Booktown Richmond and SAs rst Mu-ral own on a journey o discovery to the Art - land o SA - the Karoo.

On this 7 day tour youll be inspired by names that live in the palaces oour memory - Helen Martins, KoosMalgas, Walter Battiss, Outa Lappies, Piernee and so many other hid-den treasures that will leave you breathless.

Tis is not a tour o art museums but an odyssey that lets you experi-ence the wilderness as a spiritual place that has worked through thehands and minds and souls o this countrys greatest artists!

Cost - R7499 per person all inclusiveOnly 5 spaces availableFor more ino call Darryl on 0813918689 or on [email protected]

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Te New Karoo

What a remote book estival says about the new South Arica

BY Fred StensonTursday, April 12th, 2012

It began with a phone call. Peter Baker, a Canadian veterinarian with a small animals practice in Johannesburg,South Arica, wanted me to come to Bookbedonnerd III, a literary estival in the Great Karoo Desert villageo Richmond. Peters partner in the estival, Darryl David, had located my novel Te Great Karoo (about

western Canadians ghting in the Boer War) online. I assumed this meant he liked the book, but in act it wasso thoroughly unavailable in South Arica, neither Peter nor Darryl had physically seen it. It was a GovernorGenerals Award or Fiction nalist in 2008, and named or their desert: good enough. Would I come?

While organizing the expedition, I was called uponby my amily and my potential understo explain howattending a book estival in a largely uninhabited desert on the ar side o the planet was going to enhance mycareer. Tey wanted something more substantial than my books title and the desert having the same name, and Iwas able to satisy most concerns with the attendance numbers o the rst two Bookbedonnerds (and in the endit did result in my book becoming available in South Arica). But another set o questions had sprouted in myown mind: Why was I so determined to go? Why did so many South Aricans drive hundreds o kilometres toattend a desert estival? For that matter, why had Peter and Darryl created such a logistically demanding event?Its hard enough to get people to cross their own city, let alone a large country, to attend a book estival.

When I boarded the jet or Johannesburg, I was still oggy on several points. Even the meaning oBookbedonnerd wasnt clear. Book was book, but the Internet was having problems with bedonnerd. Te onlyplace I could nd it was in a glossary or Athol Fugard plays, where it was translated as beaten into the ground.Books beaten into the ground. Was this denitive? Promising? Worrying?

On the ar side o the world, Peter Bakers son William picked me up at the Johannesburg airport in the amilybuckee (pick-up), and we sped south into the prairie that comprises most o the ourteen hundred kilometresseparating Johannesburg and Cape own. Te Great Karoo Desert is a our hundred thousand square kilometrepatch in the middle o that expanse. My novel was about western Canadians who came here in 1900 to ght orthe British against Dutch South Arican armers. Te Canadian cowboys le home in winter, arrived in Arican

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summer, and probably elt lucky until they entered the blast urnace o the Karoo and realized there was nothingthere or horse or man to eat or drink. Aer seven hours o driving, Will and I also entered the Karoo, and, in theailing light, I saw a Canadian ag ying rom a rocky hilltop. Dad put that up to welcome you.

Everyone calls Peter Baker Baker, including his wie. Te moment I stepped out o the buckee on mainstreetRichmond, Baker lied me o the ground. A ready grin in a pliant ace, wild eyes: a likeable human being.Next I met his wie Beth: t and pretty, with a lovely British-South Arican drawl. No antiseptic air-kissinghere; she gave me a proper buss. Ten I was in their restaurants back lounge, and the youngest Baker, Rob, was

introducing me to South Arican beer at twelve rand (two dollars) a bottle. A convivial blur ensued.

What morning revealed next day was a well-treed dorp with curlicue gables and retwork verandas in the oldDutch style. Richmond has its air share o razor wire, iron bars and serious guard dogs, but it struck me as muchless security obsessed than most South Arican towns. Tis was my second trip, the rst being a novel-research

journey in 2005.

By the time I took my rst walk in the village, I knew the story o how the Bakers and Richmond had becomeunited. When their daughter went to Stellenbosch University, Beth and Peter drove down regularly to visit,breaking the trip in Richmond at an old Karoo couples B&B. Richmond had a problem; it was dying. Houses had

become so cheap that people were tearing them down or the rare yellowwood.

Te Bakers bought one place, then more, and more, until they had a signicant stake in Richmond. When Petermet Darryl David, who was interested in launching a Booktown in the Great Karoo, the two partnered. TeBooktown movement started in 1961, with Hay-On-Wye, in Wales, near the England border. At the time Peterand Darryl met, there were Booktowns on every continent except Arica. Te challenge was clear. Darryl (SouthAricas only Indian proessor o Arikaans) would concentrate his considerable diplomatic skills on wooing theBooktown organization, while Peter made sure Richmond had enough bookstores to qualiy. Richmond madethe grade: Aricas rst Booktown. Te Bookbedonnerd Festival ollowed.

Te heart o the estival is a high-ceilinged ormer library on Main Street. As I entered, Darryl was making a

welcome speech about why hed entitled this years estival, Te Coolie Odyssey. He wanted to ocus on Indianwriting in South Arica, and the title was to suggest the racism East Indians had endured. Tere was a mildargument among the Indian writers present, most o whom elt Coolie was a term best le on historys ash heap

At that stage, I got nervous. My rst presentation was later that morning, and I wondered how a Canadian novelabout a 110-year-old British-Arikaaner war would go over. Was the Boer War something else the new SouthArica would be happier leaving behind? When my turn came, I started reading a scene set in the Great Karoo.As I was rolling along, I checked my watch and realized my time was running out. I had pre-timed the reading,but hadnt allowed or Peters generous introduction. Now I was on the verge o going over, not the kind o rstimpression I cared to make. I was oundering in search o a way to stop when an elderly man walked by meand out o the building. Seconds later, the whole audience jumped up and gasped. Tey could see the old ellowthrough the window, and hed suddenly collapsed.

Peter and Will Baker raced out and went to work. Peter took his pulse; Will administered CPR. A nervous stretchlater, the man revived. Te amily gathered around Peter or an explanation. In his blunt style, he said, You died.William got you going again.

Aer the dust o this had, literally, settled, a ew people said they were sorry my reading had been cut short. Ikept my mouth shut. Basically Id been rescued, albeit shockingly.

Tat night, at Bakers Supper Club, while the estival-goers were living it up, a couple o men rom the adjacent

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Arican town entered and sat at the bar or a beer. Te Baker boys greeted them warmly but the men seemed illat ease. Tey had come or a reason beyond a drink, and, when I was introduced as a writer rom Canada, theydecided I would suit their purpose, which, it turned out, was to make a socio-political point. Aer small talk,the spokesman o the two said he thought the estival was good or the town but wasnt it ironic that, just overthereand here he pointed toward his villageMost o the children cannot read.

From the moment o arrival, I had been looking or some overarching principle that held the estival together.Darryls theme, Te Coolie Odyssey, suggested a racial harmony agenda, and, to my innocent Canadian ears,

that meant a ocus on the old racial stries and how the country could heal rom them. Several estival presentersand guests were well suited to speak to that subject, especially Ahmed Kathrada, who had spent eighteen years

jailed at Robben Island with Nelson Mandela. Also on hand was Denis Beckett, the man whod run the anti-Apartheid magazine Frontline in Johannesburg through the bloody nineteen-eighties. Becketts magazinelambasted hypocrisy in all directions and oended most everyone, but he was never shut down. Also present wasFrontline contributor Rian Malan, an international journalist whose book, My raitors Heart, had laid bare hisnations (and his own) contradictions with rare and harsh candour.

Near the end o the second day, Chris Nicholson gave a talk about his new book Papwa Sewgolum: From Pariahto Legend. As I sat down to listen, I had only just learned that Mr. Nicholson was the judge who had heard the

Jacob Zuma corruption trial. A key moment in the trial was when Judge Nicholson had allowed possible politicalmanipulation o the evidence against Zuma to be argued by the deence. Tat led to acquittal and removed thenal obstacle to Zumas presidency.

I there was a person on the hot-seat o current South Arican politics, it was Chris Nicholson, but he wasnt inRichmond to talk about Zuma, nor did anyone try to orce him. His Sewgolum biography is the true story o anIndian South Arican goler. Sel-taught, he had an awkward reverse grip that caused people to dismiss him, evenaer he began to dominate coloured tournaments. He was excluded rom national tournaments under the ruleso Apartheid, and that was his ate until an entrepreneur, Graham Wol, (the inventor o Oil o Olay) took uphis cause. Under Wol s patronage, Papwa Sewgolum went on to win two major tournaments in Holland and todeeat Arikaans hero Gary Player in a national championship.

Probably it was through Chris Nicholson that I started to tumble to the deeper, truer meaning o the Richmondestival. I it was about the big issues o South Arica, then it was doing so on an equal ooting with regionaland personal causes. Side by side with Ahmed Kathradas recounting his ordeal in prison and his role in therst Arican National Congress (ANC) government, there were presentations about Karoo architecture, theendangered Arican wild dog, Arikaans poetry. South Arica has been talking (and ghting) about its big issueso race and poverty or decades, but Bookbedonnerd represents something the nation has been less able to dountil now, which is to talk and joke about all manner o things, great and small, and to do so in the absence oaggression and ear.

Te ellow in the bar with his comment about illiteracy in his village was also right. Te estival would lacksomething until the people o the Arican village could read its books and otherwise ully participate andmutually enjoy. But perhaps that is to be the estivals uture, not its present.

Saturday was the estivals last day. When I took part in a panel on my novel that morning, there was a pleasantsurprise in the audience: Geo White, a riend rom university days in Calgary. Geo, a ormer journalist, nowworks with the Canadian High Commission in Pretoria. We had communicated by email, but his visit to theestival was unexpected.

Later that day, Geo was called into diplomatic action. During one o the nal sessions, Ahmed Kathrada aireda serious gripe against Canada. O all the countries he had visited as a touring author, only Canada had impeded

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his entry. Invited or a book tour in 2006, he was told by the Canadian High Commission he needed policeclearance to get a temporary visa. Later, the High Commission compounded the problem by saying there wouldbe an exception made or him. Kathrada told them to do him no avours. As long as ormerly imprisoned SouthArican reedom ghters needed police clearance to enter Canada, he would preer not to go there.

Te minute the session ended, Geo went orward to conciliate. It was a dramatic moment and a reminder thatCanadas light has dimmed in recent years. Te Harper government that impeded Mr. Kathrada in 2006 stillharbours MP Rob Anders, the man who once called Nelson Mandela a communist and a terrorist.

In the all o 2011, when Bookbedonnerd time rolled round, I was at home in Cochrane, Alberta, and ull olonging. Tough it made no sense, I wanted to be back in Richmond, taking up a post at the Dinner Club bar,soaking up the high-rollicking un. Instead, I wrote Denis Beckett to get his perspective on the estival to help mewrite about it. He wrote back immediately and said that, or him, the key meaning o Bookbedonnerd is that itrescued a Karoo village rom death by yellowwood hunters, and that it was all rom books. While the big citieso South Arica were having diculty supporting independent bookstores, Richmond, a dusty dorp in the GreatKaroo, was sustaining a village ull o them.

I think I got the message. For decades, South Arica was a place where things like Karoo villages oen died,

rom ear and insecurity. A revived Karoo village is like a ock o a critically endangered birds ound bathing ina pond. In Richmond, book people rom Johannesburg and Cape own can gather with the olks o the Karooand talk avidly about things that would have gotten them killed in the nineteen-eighties, and, in so doing, helpashion the new South Arica. For Denis Beckett, this has been accomplished by beautiul lunacy. A SouthArican Indian teaching university-level Arikaans and a Canadian veterinarian get together and rescue a desertdorp through the currency o bookswhat could be more beautiully lunatic than that?

Such things matter, because the situation there changes every day. Even as I was nishing this piece, interestingnews came rom South Arica. Irwin Cotler, a Canadian Liberal Member o Parliament (and ormer JusticeMinister in the Martin Government), had been to South Arica and had met with the countrys oreign minister,Ebrahim Ebrahim. Mr. Ebrahim was another ANC reedom ghter long imprisoned on Robben Island, and

he and Cotler discussed the criminal record rule that was impeding South Aricas ormer reedom ghtersrom visiting Canada. Cotler vowed to go home and launch a private members bill to change this rule, and, rstthing back, he had a press conerence in which he announced this intention. Tere are early signs the HarperGovernment might be willing to back the change.

As a postscript, I now know what Bookbedonnerd means. According to the Arikaans language scholar DarrylDavid, bedonnerd means crazy about. Bookbedonnerd means crazy about books. David did admit, however,that there is another connotation o bedonnerd, which is ucked up. Asked how this has aected things, he saidit has caused him a lot o uphill.

Administered by Venture Publishing Inc., Eighteen Bridges Magazine 2012

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For comments, suggestions and criticism, please do not hesitate to contact us via e-mail at any time.

I you wish to submit material we shall look orward to receiving your writings or photographs.

Our e-mail address is: [email protected]

Yours Sincerely,

The New Richmond Reader

Layout Design Jan Currin

About Te Author

Fred Stenson is the author o Te rade, which was nomi-nated or the 2000 Giller Prize and won the inaugural GrantMacEwan Literary Award, the City o Edmonton Book Prizeand the Writers Guild o Albertas George Bugnet NovelAward. Te Great Karoo is Stensons eighth work o ction

and eenth book. He was raised in the Alberta oothillsnorth o Chie Mountain.

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Documents

Richmond Reader May 2012