“Do you believe in life after death?” I was asked recently by a friend. “Certainly,” I said. “Not only do I believe in it. I have proof.” “Oh, really?” he said, an eyebrow raised sceptically. So I told him the story of my mother’s ashes. “And you imagine that proves
You remember I told you about when I took a shortcut through the cemetery. The night was cold and I was very hungry. Miriam’s warm dinner made the choice for me. I took the shortest route down the path between the graves. Almost immediately I was sorry I had made
Death is a serious business. Shakespeare told us that it is “that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns.” We knew that though. Some very rich people have bemoaned the knowledge that “you can’t take it with you.” The lyricist Moss Hart even collaborated on a play with that
South Africa is a strange country and always has been. All true South Africans love their country, but many have chosen to leave. During Apartheid years some people left because they were suffering intense discrimination and wanted to get away from it. Today, people are leaving largely because they have
A writer should always be awake to any opportunity. If an interesting story turns up, you need to pounce on it before it slips away and someone else writes it. That piece of wisdom was not in my mind when Miriam and I were taken to lunch by a well-known
We were living on the edge of the Knysna forest on the southern coast of Africa when my lovely old Olivetti typewriter and I parted ways in a traumatic fashion. When my eldest daughter presented me with a computer for my birthday I realised the personal computer had arrived, turning
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