Nikki celebrated her first birthday with a group of friends in our garden playing in her new, red blow-up swimming pool. Her aunt Joan came specially to be with her then because she and her husband, Nikki’s Uncle Nick, had planned to go on holiday to the Northern Transvaal. They had bought a new Morris Mini-Minor for the journey.
Joining them on the trip was their good friend, Billy, who would help with the driving. This sounded a good idea because Nick’s eyesight was not very good. However, my main concern was that three people and their luggage in such a small car. would be very cramped, especially as they would be journeying for thousands of miles.
On the day of their departure, they popped round to our back gate to say goodbye. We chatted happily and wished them a wonderful and safe trip and asked them to send lots of postcards (because there were no cell phones in those days!)
As they drove off, I remained watching until their little car disappeared. I had a strange feeling about the trip but did not mention it to Phyllis. I ascribed it to being over concerned over the matchbox of a car they were travelling in.
Soon we were receiving postcards from Johannesburg and Pretoria describing what a wonderful time they were having. They were looking forward to celebrating Joan’s birthday in Warm Baths, a town near where my father’s sister had a farm and we had visited while living in Pretoria.
Then an early knock on our back door on a Sunday morning got me out of bed and I was most surprised to see Mrs Frieslaar, Gnagna’s next door neighbour, standing at the door with a worried look on her face. I invited her in. She said that she got a phone message that Joan had been in an accident and that she had been killed and that was all she knew. Could I please go and tell Mrs Price because she did not want to have to do it. I said that I would do it and she left.
Returning to the bedroom, Phyllis wanted to know what was happening and with whom I was talking. I relayed the message from Mrs Frieslaar – that Joan had been in an accident and that she had asked if I could go and tell her mother. Phyllis was in shock and said that she hoped they were not badly injured. I then had to tell her that Joan had been killed. She burst out crying and it took some time before she calmed down.
I got dressed and asked Phyllis if she wanted to go with me, but she declined and said that Joan was her mother’s favourite and she would be devastated. It was still early on the Sunday morning, and I first made us each a cup of tea while preparing myself for something I never wanted to have to do.
Arriving at my mother-in-law’s house, I rang the bell and she opened the door with a friendly greeting and invited me in. She went into the dining room, turned and faced me to hear what I had to say. I told her that I had bad news and that Joan and the others had been involved in an accident. She said she hoped that it was not a bad accident. I then explained that according to the message it was a serious accident and that everyone had been killed. She shrieked and collapsed on the floor. I picked her up and held her in my arms until she recovered sufficiently to sit down in a chair.
I told her who gave me the message and what I intended to do to get more information about the accident and to establish whether it was true or not. Mrs Frieslaar did not have a contact number but said that the accident happened near a town called Warm Baths north of Pretoria. I undertook to contact the Police station there and find out what had happened.
A policeman told me that they had arrested the driver of a Massey-Harris truck that was loaded with heavy machinery in the early hours of the morning. He wanted to be off, but they felt that he was not sober enough to be able to drive on the roads, so they called the Polise medical superintendent to examine him. The doctor felt that as the driver was not drunk, he could go. The policeman told me that they were uncomfortable releasing him, but it was the Superintendent’s decision.
The driver drove off with his very large and heavy truck and less than 20 km, on a bend he went over the barrier line and crashed into the car. In a further discussion, it was explained that Joan was driving and the crushed steering wheel caused her death. All three were all taken to the morgue as deceased, but later they realised that both men were still alive.
In later discussions that I had with Nick it turns out that it was Joan’s birthday and they went to a drive-in cinema show some kilometres out of town. Nick asked Joan to drive because his eyes were not good in the dark. Nick recovered slowly in hospital but was never the same guy I had known before, and the loss of his wife destroyed him. Billy spent a long time in hospital and had some serious lasting damage to his eyesight.
I made some attempts to claim compensation from the trucking company, but the medical superintendent had so much protection that it became a lost cause. The cruel part for Phyllis and her mother was that long after her death we kept receiving postcards stating what a wonderful trip they were having. When their luggage finally was returned to us, there were gifts Joan had purchased intended for the family.
A difficult period for all of us.
Then happiness returned again. Bambin, Phyllis’s grandmother, decided to make good on her promise to visit us in Cape Town. She wanted to see her daughters Lydia and (aunty) Dédé and she was going to stay with us in Simon’s Town.
On Nikki’s birthday in November that year, there was a picture on the front page of the Cape Times stating: “Four generations of girls. Nikki, Phyllis, Lydia and great granny Brondolo.”
We had a wonderful summer and Bambin enjoyed her stay with us so much that she decided to accept our original offer to leave France and come and stay with us. I think time spent with her grand-daughter and the sunny weather, made the decision for her. She had to get her affairs in order before returning to come and live with us.
Then sadness returned because some months later we got word that Bambin had slipped on the marble staircase if her lawyer’s building. She was there to settle her affairs and unfortunately incurred such severe brain damage that it led to her death.
Her daughters did not want to return to France so, against our wishes, the rest of the family decided to sell her properties. Bad news for us. When we returned to Nice years later, her apartments were again being advertised for sale, but now for millions.
Good news was on the horizon again with the news that we were expecting an addition to our family. Nikki was two and a half and just the right age for a sibling. Phyllis was in demand for teaching positions at the time and she used our 1948 Chevrolet that we nicknamed “The Tank” to drive to school. We chose a Gynaecologist who trained in America, a Doctor Fourie. He used a hospital run by Catholic Nuns in Seapoint. Phyllis was pronounced healthy but advised not to do any ‘heavy lifting’.
Everything was going well until a show of blood got me to phone Doctor Fourie.
He ordered us to go to the hospital and wait for him. I had to leave Phyllis at the hospital overnight because I had to return to look after Nikki. Gnagna had looked after her when possible too.
Returning the next day I was told that although she was still losing blood, the doctors were hopeful that matters could be fixed.
Unfortunately though, eventually we had to accept the sad resolution that our baby had been lost.
