House guests

Our lodgers have now moved in and will be staying here for the next two years. It got me thinking about the various folk who have stayed with us over the years. Since we have lived in this home, it has mainly been family but growing up we had a real diverse mixture of house guests. The earliest overnighters I remember, were two church ministers who were both extremely tall. They stayed at different times but I remember taking them a cup of tea in the morning and as I walked into the bedroom, their feet were sticking out over the single bed so I would have to walk around them to reach their bedside and their smiley faces.

They both had children and treated me as one of their own. They helped a lot to ease the everyday tension in our home. My dad and these men were both in the same boat so to speak. They were all anti-racist, anti-government and actively involved in the fight for humanity and justice for the millions of Black inhabitants of the country. With that, they all were experiencing the same difficulties with the government's security police. So they had much in common. Laughter is definitely the best medicine, especially in situations like that and it was good to hear my father's authentic laugh. It was a sound we seldom heard. I likened it to a rare bird's song. But there it was. You know those explosive guttural guffaws combined with smiling eyes and moving shoulders. For once I knew for sure that he was not putting on an act. I always used to watch him like a hawk, mainly for self-preservation reasons so I knew his every nuance. These men brought out a very different side of my father. Therefore my memory bank is full of happiness, kindness and gratitude for these men.

They were also very kind to my Mum. They were appreciative and treated her with dignity and respect. As a young child, I observed these interactions very carefully and thoughts started to develop in my mind regarding that being the correct way to interact with others. That was new and different for me as I had previously only ever observed a very different way to act from my father.

After that, apart from family coming to stay for short breaks, we had years without house guests until in my teens, a very loud American couple arrived at our front door. They were missionaries and I remember the house ringing out with a phenomenal number of 'Hallelujahs'. Everything seemed to warrant a 'Hallelujah' - a cup of tea, grace at mealtimes, the TV coming on, me coming home from school. It was just all too much, I thought. They bandied about, what I thought was a sacred, precious word; as if it was something to be thrown away willy nilly. For years afterwards, regular 'hallelujahs' would escape my Mum's and my mouths when we felt like being facetious. Oh how that would make us giggle! I did not feel they brought anything positive into our lives, although they obviously made some kind of impression on me as I still remember them and their unusual surname that rhymed with 'romper'.

Someone who did make an impact on me and was an unexpected guest so to speak, a young man called Johan. Our family always used to go down to see the city's Christmas lights on Christmas Eve. This particular year, we wandered through a shopping centre and landed up in a quieter side street. We kept stopping to browse the shop windows. My Mum and I were a few metres ahead of my dad. I noticed a young lone soldier in uniform following us. This was probably due to my upbringing as the family's 'spotter' of security police who used to lurk around trying not to be seen but who were not really not bothered if they were. I told my Mum about him and we tested him by stopping more often. Every time we stopped, he did too. He was throwing furtive glances our way. I meandered back to my dad and explained what was happening.

My dad turned and walked towards him and asked him what he wanted. He did not respond. When he was asked again, he answered in Afrikaans. My dad did not have a clue what he had said. He had lived in the country for twenty odd years but had never bothered to learn the language, apart from sporting terminology so he knew what was going on in the sport on TV. I stepped forward. The soldier had a sad story to tell. He was supposed to be going home upcountry for Christmas on a very long train journey but his watch and money had been stolen in barracks. So he had no money for his train ticket and had subsequently missed his train. He could not go back to barracks until Boxing Day. He had no money and nowhere to sleep.

Without a further thought, we knew we had to help him. He was nineteen but seemed younger than his years. We all thought he seemed so vulnerable and lost. Fortunately, one of my dad's congregation owned a local hotel. This lady felt indebted to my dad as he had helped her husband overcome alcoholism. Yes, he has done some good in his job over the years. I will acknowledge that.

So, as my folks did not wish to invite an absolute stranger into our house, we drove round to the hotel. As in the familiar Biblical story, there was no room at the inn. But due to the fact it was my dad asking and explaining the soldier's problem, the hotelier's husband gave up his own room so Johan would have a bed for a couple of nights. We were so grateful but they insisted that one good turn deserved another.

The night was still young, so we took him to see our friends who were Afrikaans speakers. Johan, their sons and I all played touch rugby in the back garden. Lots of fun. We duly took him back to the hotel, satisfied we had done our best for him. Next day, after church, we went to the hotel for Christmas lunch as the hotelier had previously insisted. Unfortunately there were no spare covers for Johan. I sat eating a delicious Christmas meal with all the trimmings but it left a bad taste in my mouth and mind. Johan was wandering the nearby streets and I could see him. He did not have any food to eat and yet here we were living the lives of the other half. I asked my Mum if I could give him my meal. She declined but said if he was still outside when we finished, we would make sure he did not go hungry.

As usual, the hotelier was always overly generous and we staggered out of there with boxes filled with frozen meat, fresh fruit and vegetables, and other foodstuffs. A Methodist minister earned a pittance and she knew that and wanted to help by gracefully giving us what she could. Johan shyly waved to us from afar. My Mum beckoned him over. She asked if he had any washing or anything he needed to do. He brought his huge tog bag full of dirty washing. We took him home.

At the time, we stayed in a six-bedroomed manse. Not ours obviously, but the Church's. Johan and I sat at the kitchen table peeling potatoes. My Mum cooked him steak and chips. He gobbled it down like it was the best meal he had ever eaten. We played swing ball in the front garden while my Mum washed all his clothes and we hung them up on the line. My dad found him a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to wear. Then off we went to our usual Christmas Day haunt. Our friend was a lifeguard and lived with his family in one of the lifeguard houses in Bakoven. We all loved it there. It was so relaxed and everyone was so friendly. The swimming was safe, the atmosphere was fun and we knew they would all welcome Johan with open arms.

To see him swim, have a drink and laugh with everyone was brilliant. I thought to myself - we have managed to give him a good Christmas. Around eleven o' clock we left all the fun and merriment and took him to get his by now dry clothes off our washing line. My Mum and I said goodbye to him and wished him well. My dad drove him back to the hotel. The following morning my dad got up very early and drove him back to his barracks in good time.

I was sorry that he had not been able to go and visit his family and was certain his Mum must have been devastated but this was the next best thing, surely. He phoned his family from our home and his Mum had spoken to my Mum. That was quite a conversation - two Mothers trying to communicate through broken English and broken Afrikaans but they managed and I watched my Mum's eyes welling up with tears and a big smile on her face. I surmised my Mum's face was mirroring the image of his Mum's face across the miles.

Writing this, I suppose he was not so much a house guest as a guest of our family. I had been actually sad to see him go. I guessed I felt that way as he had brought a cohesion to our disjointed family. We all wanted the same for him. We wanted him to feel safe, relaxed and happy to make up for all his distress and disappointment.

As a family, we did manage to come together at times but it always seemed to be for other people; never for ourselves. When we did this for others, it was never artificial, it was always sincere and heartfelt. I suppose I wonder what we could have achieved if we had had a more positive bond ourselves. I will never know. I just know that the memories of those times always warm my heart. Being there for others in any way I can...that is what makes my heart sing.