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When Jock took control of his life and the family was smiling again he regained his sense of
humour and even my Father Les could laugh at a recalled episode.
Jock had been happily and sedately trotting his horse through town bearing the latest body in
coffin on its mournful way, when he spotted who he thought was Alma walking ahead of him in
the same direction. As he drew up to pass her he began pulling faces at her and surreptitiously
acting the clown. When he saw the shocked face of the young lady who was decidedly NOT
Alma he was covered in embarrassment and hastened to make a get-away. The pedestrians
were horrified to see the speeding horse and bouncing coffin before the coachman regained his
composure.
By the time I got to know Grandpa Jock they were old
people, already in their late seventies and eighties. They
lived then in a little wood and iron house at M’Kondeni
just outside ‘Maritzburg. I loved the smell of the little
house, permeated with Granny’s abundant cooking and
Jock’s pipe. Granny bustled about, she was never a great
smiler or hugger but she fed us and that was the way she
showed her love. Grandpa on the other hand, acted out
silly rhymes and played nonsense games with us. We were
highly entertained as no adult had been as silly as we
before! One of his favourites:
When I come home at five o’clock - The monkey’s on the
table
Get a stick and knock him off (accompanied by walking
stick causing chaos on the table)
Pop goes the Weasel!

GRANDPA JOCK PLAYING HE’S A TRAIN.
HIS PUFFING PIPE WOULD HAVE BEEN
ACCOMPANIED BY HIS CHUGGING FEET
ON A TIN TRAY!

Then Granny coming in from the kitchen with laden tray, grey hair in bun, thin glasses on her
nose, a red-checked apron covering her long grey granny dress: “Oh getaway with you Jock!”
she says while we all try to look serious. She’d no doubt had enough of his playing. It couldn’t
have been much after these episodes and memories in the little wood and iron house in
M’Kondeni that Grandpa Jock died. It was 1947; he was 84 years old and I would have been
seven, a good age to enjoy nonsense.
As I said previously, Granny Rebecca came to live with us after Jock’s death. She was a quiet old
lady, sitting with her embroidery at her door which looked onto the long back veranda. By then
she had grown to love Ruby and had even forgiven her her Catholicism.
Below are two more photos of Jock and Rebecca in their old age.

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