We Do See Some Funny Too... Read online

fifty meters? Matches? Yes, matches were also different! They were slippery, and always fell from your hand and disappeared.

  But if you did have a candle going in there after battling the door open and closed, it did make your stomach work much faster and more thorough. Outhouse residents had developed bright shiny eyes, and candles brought masses of shadowy ghosts into the room too. You did your business quick, did a fast swipe with last Sunday's headlines, not caring to much about leftovers, and got out in a hurry!

  Rain at night was sometimes a painful affair. Mothers did not understand the muddy feet, mud on the pyjama legs and the sheets. Amazing people, moms, they did not seem to 'had to go' when the heavens came down.

  Going on a winter's night was worse! Yes, you could dress up warm for the excursion to the distant little house; jerseys, coats, socks, boots and a blanket around the shoulders were fine. But, once you got there, most of these had to go, to enable you to release the pressure. The thought of frost bite in those sensitive areas was terrifying!

  Think about it, if that little piece that was supposed to go clunk on the ice at the bottom of the pit froze before it detached?

  The town facility was built of brick, with a door that fitted, but it had to be green too. The other major difference; no deep drop for a splash. At the back of the room was a half door, through which municipal workers put a bucket. This bucket was placed under the hole in the box, and caught all the deposits you made. Very much like the tax man!

  Twice a week the municipal workers came around at night with a cart pulled by donkeys, the Night-car. Merrily they would run from outhouse to outhouse, grab the bucket through the half door, empty it onto their cart and put the bucket back. Similar to what the rubbish collectors do today.

  A town privy had one big advantage over the one on farm! Revenge! Getting even! All you had to do was get a wide plank, open the half door and set the one end of the plank neatly over the bucket, the other end sticking out the back door. Then you waited!

  Once you were certain that it was the right person inside doing the groaning; you listened for the paper tear. Then you jumped! You jumped on the end of the plank sticking out. It worked like a see-saw, the end of the plank that was on the bucket would fly upwards, spraying whatever was on it skywards, at the same time giving the bare butt a good whack.

  It was easy to get away too, the victim was far too busy with the newspaper to come out and catch you!

  Going to the smallest room is too easy nowadays; no wonder you kids are so full of it!

  I sometimes feel that you all need a good solid wipe with yesterday's newspaper!

  STRIPES (THE LIFE AND DEATH OF A KUDU BULL)

  We lived on a smallholding, just outside a town large enough to justify one magistrate and two traffic cops.

  On the plot we kept a cow, with her calve, to provide milk for the house, two goats to keep the roses and garden in the fashionable state of neglect, four dogs to exercise the goats, three cats for entertaining rats and a few chickens to contribute to breakfast, and wake us up early enough to get to school on time.

  Dad was a marketing agent for a number of farmers, visiting them often to explain the vagaries of the market and the resultant low prices they received for their produce.

  One day he came home earlier than normal, called us together and told us that he had brought us a present, to look on the back of his pick-up. There it was, a tiny little kudu bull calve, hardly ten days old, to be named Stripes for the markings on his back.

  The calve was found by a farmer, orphaned. The farmer didn’t know what to do with this baby, and offered the little thing to dad. As my father had lots of faith in mom’s abilities, he accepted this gift.

  My mother, to justify dad’s faith, immediately went into cow mode, had the old man go and pull the last drop of milk out of Daisy’s udder, into a bottle and fed the orphan. Blankets were found and a cosy bed was made for Stripes in the kitchen, where he would spend every night for the next few months.

  This sleeping in the kitchen might not have been the greatest of ideas, as Stripes grew bigger; he started claiming the kitchen as his territory. Once he was big enough to sleep with Daisy in her stable, he was banished from the house. Stripes did not take kindly to this arrangement, and every opportunity he got, or could create, he was in the kitchen. As he grew larger and larger, developed horns that grew longer and longer, the kitchen represented a bombed out war zone after each of his visits.

  Stripes was a very sociable animal, just loved the attention of people, and joined the family, and any visiting friends, in the evening for sundowners on the lawn. He developed a taste for beer, and joined-in downing his evening cap too. I am sure his hanging head some mornings was due to too many beers the evening before.

  During rutting season, in his third year on the plot, Stripes started disappearing. At first it was just for the day, with him being back early evening for his bottle of beer. Then it became two days, even three, on a few occasions. To calm us kid’s worries; dad explained that Stripes was visiting Kudu pubs to pick up a bit of fluff. Totally clueless, we nodded knowingly.

  Then Stripes did not come home, not after the third day, fourth or fifth. Stripes just never came home again, not to wreck the kitchen, not to drink a beer. Our home became a place of sorrow, with tears putting us to sleep every night.

  Dad tried to ease our minds by telling us that Stripes had found a wife, and was now married with children that he had to take care of. On the question as to why he did not bring his family home to live on the plot, Dad explained that the wife did not know people, and was afraid. The explanation did sooth a bit, but was not totally believed.

  One Saturday night the town magistrate, his overdressed wife and spoiled children came over for drinks and a barbecue. The magistrate had the cheek to pull his chair into the space where Stripes usually stood to have his beer.

  We children were playing touches on the lawn, but I kept half an ear on the conversation between the magistrate and my dad. They were discussing hunting, as to who had killed the biggest, the longest horned, the heaviest and the most dangerous.

  Then the magistrate said: “A strange thing happened to me the other day, a short distance from here I came across the fattest kudu bull I had ever seen. What was weird was that it did not run, it actually approached me. I got a clean head shot. It made the most beautiful biltong* ever. You must come around to our place and get some.”

  Dad never did go to fetch some of that biltong. I knew: It was Stripes hanging in strips on the magistrate’s veranda.