We obviously had an enormous task ahead of us, and it was going to be hard work.
An empty swimming pool looks so much bigger, somehow, than a pool filled with water. I was just 10 years old, and John was 8. To scrub by hand every one of those filthy dirty tiles, which lined both the sides and the bottom of the entire concrete pool, was to us an almost impossible task. It would take forever, or so we thought.
However, we had to start somewhere, so accompanied by a few residents, each of us armed with a scrubbing brush and a bucket of soapy water, we began scrubbing away, one ceramic tile at a time, at the very bottom of the pool. My parents were there, of course, as was Peter. He was only just four years of age, so not much use as an additional worker.
To me, if not to all of us, what happened next was almost a miracle. The committee of the Sports and Social Club, having been told that the pool was to be transferred to the school, was not very happy, but, in the end, the Club managed to maintain its coveted liquor license by building additional tennis courts on the property, instead. As tempers cooled, residents soon began to change their views about this upstart British family who knew nothing about life in the bush. As we took up the task of cleaning that cavernous hole, I remember noticing other people arriving to help. The school’s headmaster even organized work brigades of students from the boarding hostels. I could hardly believe so many of them, accompanied by hostel wardens, were walking down the hillside ready to join us. Soon we had plenty of keen, able, dedicated workers, and all for free.
It was a wonderful moment when the clean pool was first filled with water. I remember this, particularly, for another reason, though. My little brother Peter whom my mother usually watched like a hawk, fell into the water, which was, by then, way above his head. All I heard was a cry, followed by a sudden splash, as the stationmaster’s wife, who happened to be standing nearby, leapt fully clothed into that water to rescue him. There was much rushing around, and many tears thereafter, as we were all in a state of shock. Peter could so easily have drowned. After all, like John and me, he couldn’t swim.
