7th January MeMe

It’s January 7^th 2011. I’m remembering January 7^th 1980. It was the last holiday I had with my Mum. Aunty Nancy came too. We went to Amanzimtoti, on the South Coast of South Africa, by train; my Mum was no longer up for the drive even if I did it. It was an eventful trip; you left at night – always – and arrived at Durban by 8, in time for a hurried change for ‘Toti. We’d brought sandwiches and all that to save money; and we picked up a stray.  You always picked up a stray with Aunty Nancy. She was carrying an awkward bundle and wearing a thick jacket in the heat; and she seemed almost hunched. We muscled our way into a compartment – OK, Aunt Nancy did that – and then she finally relaxed. Her name was Alexis; I told her that was so exotic, and she asked me what ‘exotic’ meant. She took off her coat once the ticket inspector had gone. She had a pet budgie under her arm, and she was carrying a sewing-machine, it belonged to her dead mother.

As always, Aunt Nancy knew exactly what to say.

“Did you want a ham sandwich or a chicken one?”  

I remember thinking it was all vaguely like a war movie;  there were lots of ‘troopies’ (South African National Servicemen) on the train; and Aunt Nancy definitely received and enhanced the flirtatious gene in the family. We had left the door open for air and soon the passing soldiers were yelling, “Hey, Nancy!” as they passed back and forth. Alexis,  having opened up enough to accept sandwiches and salad,  had closed back up again, and was staring at nothing much. One of the troopies dared my mothers’ glare enough to ask me, “Are you going to play that thing, or is it just for brags?” and Alexis looked up at my guitar and said, “I’ll sing if you do.”

Aunt Nancy never stopped talking about that night.

Alexis had a lovely singing voice, and we learned to harmonise really quickly. Eventually there were troopies gathered all down the corridor of our compartment and into the doors of any left open by families who realised that they were just boys away from their families, wanting to concentrate on something else than being away from home, for a while. Some sang, some clapped in time; we never had trouble making ourselves heard. It’s the biggest audience I’ve ever played to and I didn’t need a microphone.

By two, the conductor was making polite but suggestive noises, and the party wound down quietly. Well, aside from Aunt Nancy’s standing ovation. Mum and Aunt Nancy were out pretty quickly. I heard Alexis talking to her budgie and we both knew he couldn’t answer. We kept our voices down.

She lived in Durban. She had been through a difficult time since the family divorce; she loved her parents and found it difficult to divide her love as they seemed to expect her to do, especially given her Dad was in Durban and her Mum was in Johannesburg; so she found a boyfriend to act as one target for all the concentric circles of her love, and we all know how well that works out.

Then her Mum died, so suddenly. While her Dad was making practical arrangements that drove her mad with their slowness and apparent lack of grieving, she picked an epic fight with him, and ran out into the night where her willing boyfriend drove her straight north. Shock takes a while to catch up with you and grief closes off other senses, so by the time she figured out that there was actually a price tag attached to that drive there was only just enough time to seize the nearest mementos – the sewing machine and the budgie – before running to the stranger neighbours and throwing herself on their mercy.

They phoned her Dad; they made the travel arrangements, they got her to the station; all while we were packing and making sandwiches.

She cried less after the sewing-machine-heist section of the story.

So, okay, I slept with a girl in adult form. Also, a budgie.

When we were getting ready for – detraining? – the next morning, Alexis warned me that she would not hug goodbye, as she was going to have to hold tight to herself to face her Dad after what she had done to him. I said that was all good; I’d written our address down and given it to her so she could write if she wanted. She frowned hard, and said that she thought if she was going to get to be a grown-up she would need to cut a few things off. Like pruning flowers.

A note to my younger readers. 1980. A lot of people still used the term grown-up for adult. And a lot of people in Durban are brilliant gardeners, given the climate.

She stepped off the train into her Dad’s arms the next day; but none of us thought it would be any other way. I don’t think she could see any of us through her tears; and my Afrikaner upbringing dictates that you move away in those moments.

Also, we had a train to catch.