modestine

I love the concept of the name RLS gave to his beast of burden that accompanied him across the Cevennes. The name itself is nothing to crow about, bit the thought of a beast quietly carting its load over hilly terrain for hours each day, fillse with chuffiness. 

At present I am reading one of Rannulph Fiennes' books, one about fear. I think its entitled "Fear", & gives ideas on how to deploy it in your adventurous moments. Of course none of us will be as adventurous as RF. Throughout many of his books he drops snippets of stories about walking across the poles, ie: The Poles!, over Everest etcetera. And of course he does that because he can, but also because it lends him a great deal of credibility & fame. It is therefore not surprising that I find him arrogant & boastful, worth reading about, but oh what a bore. 

Elements of his early life come as no surprise; daddy led his regiment, we had black maids &  gardeners, my great grandparents grew up on prime agricultural land & grew grapes near Cape Town. More likely they benefitted from the labours of the underpaid class. He relays an incident, he asked the housemaid for a slice of his birthday cake & fearing reprisal from her masters for feeding a child cake before dinner, the maid servant said no. Young RF went of to a closet, retrieved an old pistol, hr pointed it at the poor maid & said: "Cake or your life"! Jesus, Mary & Joseph if that isn't the epitome of arrogance & privilege I have ever heard. No surprises, Ran didn't feel guilt, remorse or regret, nor did he question his capacity to mistreat other humans. His attitude seems to be kill or be killed, death is the price of getting what you want. 

No surprise, he was later awarded an OBE by Queen Elizabeth II. 

I can proudly report that my family tree is free of decorated war heroes (we have soldiers), sports stars or multi millionaires. 

My father's heroic deeds only came to light on the day of his funeral which was attended by a conspicuous cohort of women & their children. As I stood at the rear of the hearse, I glanced around at the milling crowd & I was alerted to a possible oddity. Soon afterwards I was stopped by one of these mothers & her son. Although I'd known this mother for decades I had never spoken directly but she appeared before me & seemed eager to ingratiate herself to me. As she spoke I just thought it was a little odd. Later an old schoolmate's mother, who had also been widowed many years ago, almost confronted me just to say: "your father was a saint". I knew he wasn't, so I only offered a weird smile.

Later it dawned on me; all these women had one thing on common, they had each been widowed with dependent children. Their conspicuous appearance at dad's funeral was a clear confirmation to me that dad had given them some type of financial support in order to secure their families & homes. That was his gift, he had also managed the books a local religious order, The Brown Sisters, for over 50 years. At no time did he ever seek recognition, publicity or reward. 

 

My mother's "fame" probably related to her inner strength & positivity. At age 48 years, with 7 children on tow, the youngest just 7 years of age, she suffered a stroke or brain hemorrhage. She was left untreated for several hours, until her youngest child returned from school. Medical staff advised that she would pass away at any moment. A second stroke in the evening, was seen as a blessing. My grandmother told me & my younger brother the prognosis, to which I said "she  won't die". My grandmother, smiled weakly & said nothing. 

The next morning mum was still alive. She was comatose but breathing by herself. A week later mum was still alive & every day we would visit & tall to her. She simply laid on her side, eyes closed & motionless. A month later, the same. Doctors shook their heads, but were adamant mum would not survive. After two months, they wanted to discharge mum into am aged care home. Dad fought for mum to be moved to a long term hospital type care. In that hospital after months of palative care, just enough to sustain life, mum laid on her side, motionless. Then, one day after more than 8 months, she stirred. Nursing staff were stunned, doctors were summoned. The word miracle was uttered. Over subsequent months mum stirred more; she opened her eyes & stared blankly at first, later with some recognition, later still with a weak smile. Allied health staff were brought into action, physical therapies were initiated to address, not the hemiplegia, but the wasting that occurred from nearly a year's disuse & lack of therapy/care. They wanted to keep mum & offer her therapy, later to discharge her to an aged care home with 24hr nursing support. Dad said, "I want to take her home!". Hospital hierarchy & doctors were opposed, there is no way adequate support could be managed in a home setting. Dad was insistent, mum was gathering strength,my sisters pitched in, the family supported as best we knew.Mum passed away from heart failure while asleep one Sunday morning, some 46 years later. 

The doctors said she would never feed herself.

She did.

The doctors said she would never talk again. 

She did. 

The doctors said she would never walk again.

She did.

She did a lot more. For more than forty years she was a paragon of positivity & always had something nice to offer all her visitors. I'm certain she felt privileged for the love & care she was given by dad, her daughters & sons & supporters, for the opportunity to continue living in the house that she & dad bought sixty years earlier. And probably for the gift of life & the ability to witness the lives of her children, as adults & parents, & to see her many grandchildren do the same. 

I read years ago: behind every prophet are disciples to spread news of the glory of the great one. 

In weeks or months ahead I hope to venture forth modestly. I will avoid mountain peaks, the media & possibly all of the great capes. My legacy will be to pass away after a long, modest & a little bit cheerful life. My daughter, eagerly anticipating my possession of a tough little cruising boat, asked me where I will go. I said: "I will just go out the front door & see how it goes". That's what hobbits do.