This is story #15 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.
15. Swimming Pool…or Not?
What was available as entertainment, to us who were living in the Southern Rhodesian bush in the late 1950s? Almost nothing! The open-air swimming pool, which was meant to serve both the community, and the local Junior school, which had several boarding hostels full of students, had long since been unusable. I didn’t know why it was in this state. Nor did I know all the ins and outs of who was responsible for what.
It was only later that I learned that the Social and Sports Club was supposed to be maintaining the pool. The Club had originally applied to the Rhodesian Lottery requesting funds for the construction of the pool, because, with this additional facility, the Club would be granted a liquor license. However, as soon as the pool was built and the license acquired, the Club hadn’t kept up the maintenance of the pool. Swimming was nowhere near as important, it transpired, as serving alcohol.
Our family of five, newly arrived from England in 1957, were hardly great swimmers. We three children could not swim at all, in fact, but, despite this reality, I remember that my parents were determined to restore that pool, come what may, for the benefit of all. I had no idea how they were going to do this, of course, nor what was involved. The local community was equally skeptical about the outcome of this venture.
Darwendale’s pool was not small, either. It had five or six lanes and had been used in the past for galas. Swimming was considered a compulsory subject for all (white) children, who were taught to swim from the earliest of ages. For the students boarding at the hostels, swimming at the weekends provided both entertainment and improved fitness, of course.
