Nights are quiet in Bultfontein. The occasional lowing of cattle, or the complaint of a calf that has found herself separated from the herd, perhaps the cry of a startled kiewiet: these just add to the sense of peace. But we do have nights when our peace is ruptured. Somewhere
I am writing this in early August, fire season in our part of the bushveld where it is generally referred to here as Winter sport. In recent weeks I have been reading about heatwaves and the resulting fires in Europe. Although this is their summer, for an outsider from the
Our house is right at the back of our small-holding, only twenty paces or thereabouts from the fence. On the other side of the fence is a cattle farm, commonly called the Beesplaas by the locals. Over some months our fence suffered an invasion, but it was conducted by the
I started writing novels on an old Olivetti portable typewriter. I loved my Olivetti. At that time the IBM electric typewriters were the latest and most desired technology, but they were out of my price range. Also, they were heavy, whereas I could take my little portable with me wherever