- Joined
- Nov 24, 2003
- Messages
- 5,337
Every end of a decade I flashback to my first end of a decade I was old enough to remember(through rose tinted glasses), especially if I hear Happy New Year by ABBA.
The next end of a decade 89, communism crumbling, was just after the loss of my father and my only memorable part of that Christmas was having Christmas in Bulowayo and going for a short morning jog, bumping into a divorcee who had been at the previous nights party, getting laid, getting back late, just in time to get ready for the lunch party to find that that lady was one of the guests, whoops. This year there is just us, with a few fireworks, in excile, looking around at the world economic melt down, my home country in ruins.
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30 years back, ABBA Voulez-Vous LP on the battery powered turntable. Several families celebrating the end of 79 and the Rhodesian ceasefire with a week on the shore of Lake Mac, each staying in a National Park rondaval. The party was on the picnic site on the pier end. Cold boxes and gas lights. The boats parked in the stone wall harbour Evenrudes hitched up, the elderly British cars parked further up. There were 7 girls from 12-14, 3 boys 14-17 ( I was the youngest boy), a constant battle of girls vs boys had gone for the worse the previous night as our missing tape of Farts compiled at a previous vacation turned up in the entertainment, accompanied by squeals of glee from the girls. Old years eve we called a truce and my brother had nicked a bottle of brandy and was helping fortify the coke we were relegated. We were dancing out the decade, erratically.
I had just completed my first year of boarding school, and was happy to get a reprieve from that internment camp with daily church services. It had been an eventful year with the bush war escalating and our school in the bush turned into a fort with the conflict that surged around us occasionally brushing us excitingly, the teachers with FNs and our very own APC nicknamed the Batmobile. Hard moments with class mates loosing family. The evening curfew was frequently violated as boys went out for a little quality time to sneak a drink and a smoke. After one of our cooks was shot wandering through a restricted area the illicit wandering activities ceased and quality time used to occur in ceilings and the kids tended to be caught and canned more often. The last sunday service of the year had got me canned for telling an annoying friend to "F%^k off" in one of those sudden, paused, silences in a chapel service causing an embarrasing echo of realisation. End of term and things were looking up!
Over a couple of years of group family holidays the one girl, Clare (tomboy same age as myself) and myself had become close friends. Her letters to me at school were very welcome. These group family holidays had meant that we spent time together away from the Cats and Dogs and we did our own adventuring, I was a little impulsive, she head strong, sunny nature and more than a little carelessly destructive. We had both maturing physically but neither grown up. Our folks were a little concerned at us getting physical, more concerned with us surviving.
December 31st 79 we had all been out fishing in the morning and between us all caught very little, but there were a few huge bream. We had returned for a late lunch and prepare for the party. I had a new boat for Christmas and I wanted to use it for more than rowing around the harbour. So we asked to take it out fishing and if we could borrow a small auxiliary motor. My oldman refused the use of his auxiliary as it was way too powerful, however Clare managed to sweet talk her dad. We fixed his Seagull 1&1/2 horse motor to the transom, thereupon both our fathers insisted we take one of their powerboats. Nope this was my boat, and with our kit, fishing rods, cold box, my 22 magnum and her old mans RDP, we set off across the lake to our favourite creek and had fun fishing.
With the sun low in the sky, precious few bream in the keep net, we upped anchor. I took the starting cord wrapped it round the top of the motor and heaved and it chugged. Her turn to drive and Clare took us out into the middle of the creek and out into the middle of the lake. She then stalled the motor, took the cord and tried restarting it. She got angry cranked the throttle lever up and down and surprise, surprise the end lug came off. So out came my SAK and with a bit of DIY made a shorter working cable. Something had dropped off into the water, well that was not retrievable but I, the hero, worked my miracle and yes the engine was able to work.
Clare set the pull start, heaved. The motor went mental, full throttle and slipped into forward as it hit full revs. Good and bad, it was getting us moving but had caused catastrophic transom failure and a huge hole at its base was letting the lake in. Having tossed all heavy equipment including anchor, tackle box and cold box over the side, (keeping the weapons, if necessary she could swim) we were getting along in a happy equilibrium ok with bailing getting within ½ a mile of the harbour. So who should come by was the BSAP (police) launch with Lord @#$@# Soames, the British Govts representative temporary Governor, having a sundowner cruise. We waved for help, yellow flag included, letting in more water but they waved back merrily and continued on, their wake breaking over our reduced waterline causing us to founder it was getting dark and we were clearly loosing the battle so I surrendered and sent up a pencil flare, Clare, sweet Clare decided that we needed more attention and instead of using my rifle chose to use her dads RPD behind my back and succeeded in letting loose 4-5 rounds of 9mm in one burst, I nearly lightened my personal load. Our folks were getting the party going but our dads had already started their boats to come looking for us when they saw the flare and heard the conflag. They left through the harbour on full throttle past the police launch coming in.
We were hauled in and dried off the guns were cleaned. Our folks had a barney with the police who should have provided assistance, couldnt because they were carrying a VIP and we had appeared to be armed and we should have known not to use a weapon in that manner during the ceasefire. Settled it with a couple of the Police joining the party, away from the VIPs to find a wild cat had nicked the fish from the morning trip.
Clare and I joined the other kids with their brandy and coke as the record came on and we danced erratically, the steaks sizziling on the braai. The others got into trouble when the loss of the brandy was discovered but we kept a little more subdued, sunburnt and both mildly pissed off with each other but happy to watch others getting it in the neck.
The next end of a decade 89, communism crumbling, was just after the loss of my father and my only memorable part of that Christmas was having Christmas in Bulowayo and going for a short morning jog, bumping into a divorcee who had been at the previous nights party, getting laid, getting back late, just in time to get ready for the lunch party to find that that lady was one of the guests, whoops. This year there is just us, with a few fireworks, in excile, looking around at the world economic melt down, my home country in ruins.
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30 years back, ABBA Voulez-Vous LP on the battery powered turntable. Several families celebrating the end of 79 and the Rhodesian ceasefire with a week on the shore of Lake Mac, each staying in a National Park rondaval. The party was on the picnic site on the pier end. Cold boxes and gas lights. The boats parked in the stone wall harbour Evenrudes hitched up, the elderly British cars parked further up. There were 7 girls from 12-14, 3 boys 14-17 ( I was the youngest boy), a constant battle of girls vs boys had gone for the worse the previous night as our missing tape of Farts compiled at a previous vacation turned up in the entertainment, accompanied by squeals of glee from the girls. Old years eve we called a truce and my brother had nicked a bottle of brandy and was helping fortify the coke we were relegated. We were dancing out the decade, erratically.
I had just completed my first year of boarding school, and was happy to get a reprieve from that internment camp with daily church services. It had been an eventful year with the bush war escalating and our school in the bush turned into a fort with the conflict that surged around us occasionally brushing us excitingly, the teachers with FNs and our very own APC nicknamed the Batmobile. Hard moments with class mates loosing family. The evening curfew was frequently violated as boys went out for a little quality time to sneak a drink and a smoke. After one of our cooks was shot wandering through a restricted area the illicit wandering activities ceased and quality time used to occur in ceilings and the kids tended to be caught and canned more often. The last sunday service of the year had got me canned for telling an annoying friend to "F%^k off" in one of those sudden, paused, silences in a chapel service causing an embarrasing echo of realisation. End of term and things were looking up!
Over a couple of years of group family holidays the one girl, Clare (tomboy same age as myself) and myself had become close friends. Her letters to me at school were very welcome. These group family holidays had meant that we spent time together away from the Cats and Dogs and we did our own adventuring, I was a little impulsive, she head strong, sunny nature and more than a little carelessly destructive. We had both maturing physically but neither grown up. Our folks were a little concerned at us getting physical, more concerned with us surviving.
December 31st 79 we had all been out fishing in the morning and between us all caught very little, but there were a few huge bream. We had returned for a late lunch and prepare for the party. I had a new boat for Christmas and I wanted to use it for more than rowing around the harbour. So we asked to take it out fishing and if we could borrow a small auxiliary motor. My oldman refused the use of his auxiliary as it was way too powerful, however Clare managed to sweet talk her dad. We fixed his Seagull 1&1/2 horse motor to the transom, thereupon both our fathers insisted we take one of their powerboats. Nope this was my boat, and with our kit, fishing rods, cold box, my 22 magnum and her old mans RDP, we set off across the lake to our favourite creek and had fun fishing.
With the sun low in the sky, precious few bream in the keep net, we upped anchor. I took the starting cord wrapped it round the top of the motor and heaved and it chugged. Her turn to drive and Clare took us out into the middle of the creek and out into the middle of the lake. She then stalled the motor, took the cord and tried restarting it. She got angry cranked the throttle lever up and down and surprise, surprise the end lug came off. So out came my SAK and with a bit of DIY made a shorter working cable. Something had dropped off into the water, well that was not retrievable but I, the hero, worked my miracle and yes the engine was able to work.
Clare set the pull start, heaved. The motor went mental, full throttle and slipped into forward as it hit full revs. Good and bad, it was getting us moving but had caused catastrophic transom failure and a huge hole at its base was letting the lake in. Having tossed all heavy equipment including anchor, tackle box and cold box over the side, (keeping the weapons, if necessary she could swim) we were getting along in a happy equilibrium ok with bailing getting within ½ a mile of the harbour. So who should come by was the BSAP (police) launch with Lord @#$@# Soames, the British Govts representative temporary Governor, having a sundowner cruise. We waved for help, yellow flag included, letting in more water but they waved back merrily and continued on, their wake breaking over our reduced waterline causing us to founder it was getting dark and we were clearly loosing the battle so I surrendered and sent up a pencil flare, Clare, sweet Clare decided that we needed more attention and instead of using my rifle chose to use her dads RPD behind my back and succeeded in letting loose 4-5 rounds of 9mm in one burst, I nearly lightened my personal load. Our folks were getting the party going but our dads had already started their boats to come looking for us when they saw the flare and heard the conflag. They left through the harbour on full throttle past the police launch coming in.
We were hauled in and dried off the guns were cleaned. Our folks had a barney with the police who should have provided assistance, couldnt because they were carrying a VIP and we had appeared to be armed and we should have known not to use a weapon in that manner during the ceasefire. Settled it with a couple of the Police joining the party, away from the VIPs to find a wild cat had nicked the fish from the morning trip.
Clare and I joined the other kids with their brandy and coke as the record came on and we danced erratically, the steaks sizziling on the braai. The others got into trouble when the loss of the brandy was discovered but we kept a little more subdued, sunburnt and both mildly pissed off with each other but happy to watch others getting it in the neck.