This is story #33 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.
33. Movin’, Movin’, Movin’
When I think back to my childhood, the song “Rawhide,” sung by Frankie Laine and used to accompany the TV series “Rawhide’ often begins to reverberate in my head. I can hear it even now, decades later, with its catchy tune and its cowboy lyrics:
“Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’,
Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’,
Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’,
Rawhide!“
Why does this song come to mind? We didn’t have cattle to drive across the Wild West, did we?! Nevertheless, I have always considered this song as my family’s theme song, especially the verse:
“Keep movin’, movin’, movin’,
Though they’re disapproving,
Keep them dogies moving, rawhide!”,
Like the cowboys in the song, we moved frequently, not only from one country to the next (three times in two and a half years), but even when we eventually settled down to living in Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia, we continued to move within the city itself. The reasons, with hindsight, were always understandable even though upheaval came with every move.
When my brother John was about to enter high school, my parents decided that he should attend the technical Allan Wilson School in central Salisbury, and that we needed to relocate from Southerton, where we were renting a house near the African township of Highfields, to the centre of town. My parents rented a two-bedroomed apartment in Salisbury, in a tree-lined area nick-named The Avenues. Langside Court was a small, three-storey block from which all five of us could walk to work or school. We started out with an apartment on the first or second floor, I think, but for some reason, we moved from there to the top floor. I don’t know why, though.
We didn’t stay at that building for more than a couple of years. Why did we move again? Perhaps it was because fellow renters, Mr. and Mrs. Woods, an elderly couple with whom our family had become very close, and who frequently came to us for dinner, decided to move back to the UK. Maybe it was because my parents, who were in their late 30s /early 40s, didn’t have a bedroom to themselves. Instead, every night they pulled open a sofa-bed, and slept in the living-dining room. They must have stored their clothes in the two bedrooms which we three children had. The arrangement couldn’t have been ideal, but, as children, my brothers and I didn’t even think about the inconvenience. It was what it was.
