This is story #11 in the series “Where Exactly is Home?”. The author recommends you read them in order.
Introduction:
“Where Exactly is Home?” follows the story of my parents, my two younger brothers and me, Susan, who emigrated from war-battered Britain, in the mid-late 1950’s, to Southern Rhodesia, Africa.
The effects of this move on our family were huge, as we struggled to adapt to such a different way of life. Only after further upheaval, and more long-distance travelling, did our family eventually settle in the city of Salisbury, Rhodesia.
However, we did not know then that we would not remain there for the rest of our lives, either.
When the family first went to Africa, I, Susan, was 9 years old. My two brothers, John and Peter, were almost 7 and 4, respectively.
Nowadays, as seniors, John and Peter live in England. I live in Canada. Throughout our lives, we have both benefitted from, and suffered because of, our somewhat unusual childhood.
I, for one, still sometimes ask myself which country represents home to me.
This is a series of stories under the title “Where Exactly is Home?” – I recommend you read them in order, starting with story #1.
11. Bio-scopes and Sundowners
I remember going once to a cinema, not far from our house in Wanstead, Essex, in east London (UK), where we lived at the time, with my mother and my brother to see the film “Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs”. I was about 7 or 8 years of age, feeling very excited, because we didn’t usually get to see films. However, much to my mother’s surprise, if not to mine, too, I didn’t see some of the film, because I was so terrified of anything remotely scary on that big screen. I would clench my eyes shut, put my fingers in my ears, and refuse to remove my hands until someone nudged me to let me know that it was safe to look again.
This dislike of horror movies has continued throughout my life. Even today, decades later, I refuse to watch any movie that is either terrifying or violent. As soon as the background music heralds the likely start of something sinister, I am “gone”, either literally, leaping up from my seat and out the room, escaping to quiet safety elsewhere, or else, remaining seated, but with my ears stoppered by my thumbs, my eyes squeezed shut, covered by the four fingers of each of my hands.
When we went to Southern Rhodesia in 1957, though, where television did not even exist until the mid-1960s, we were living in the bush. The days and nights were approximately the same in length (6am-6pm), no matter the time of year, since we weren’t that far south of the equator. There was very little to do in the way of entertainment, either for the adults, or for children. Socializing did take place, though, especially amongst the adults, round about supper time. The usual format, the Sundowner, involved inviting guests over to sit on the veranda, or “stoep”, as it was called, for cocktails and beers. Far too much alcohol was drunk, and no-one thought too much, in those days, about the dangers of driving home “under the influence”. Children didn’t always attend such gatherings, of course, but, if so, the youngsters arrived in their pajamas, ready for bed, and would simply fall asleep on the floor, if need be, as their parents drank the evening away. Then much later on, whilst still asleep, they would be carried into the car, driven home, and put to bed properly.
