I was very fortunate to have known my grandparents. Although they were very diverse, I had some fond memories of them.
My mother being Afrikaans and my father Welsh and Scottish descent. My father who was born in South Africa, was the eldest of 7 children.
My Scottish grandmother, Nanny, holding my older sister and I on her lap, my grandfather, Harry Edmunds, was born in Wales.
I have very fond memories of them, they were the complete opposite to my Ouma who was very quiet and conservative, my fathers family was loud and free spirited, but I loved them all dearly. My mother and father at my wedding, long, long ago.
My grandmother (Ouma) we called her, was the woman who influenced my life the most, she taught me what it meant to have integrity as a person, and how amidst one's hardship one could still be satisfied with in oneself. She ran a goat and sheep farm, raising children at the same time. I never knew my grand father (Oupa), he died of a heart attack at the age of 45, leaving Ouma to raise 10 children on her own the youngest being 8 months old. (TV wasn't invented yet in those days)
My Ouma, Maria Jansen
We lived in the Eastern Cape in Port Elizabeth as a child, Ouma lived on her farm in Steytlerville in the Karoo, which is about 2 hours drive from Port Elizabeth. I loved visiting her in the holidays and weekends.
There was so much to do and see on the farm, I also got to see my cousins.
I loved the smell of the red dry dust which stained my clothes to a totally different color to what they suppose to have been, reason why my mother always packed old clothes for the duration of our stay.
I always felt like I was camping out, the smell of the paraffin lamps at night giving off it's ghostly shadows in the dark against the wall, we kids use to scare each other instead of going to sleep and giggled until we got into trouble.
We used to have such fun picking prickly pears, forgetting about the fine hairy thorns that got into our hands and lips causing us to itch like mad, wont talk about the upset tummies. Lol!
Ouma never had electricity or running water. The Karoo is located in a semi-arid desert climate, hence the shortage of water, she relied on water tanks and on my uncles who brought her barrels of water from the town to store in a shed on the farm.
Ouma was a a typical Afrikaner woman, proud of her culture and very religious, she was hard working and could make a delicious meal out of nothing on the coal stove in the kitchen, which was always warm and smelt of coffee and the aroma of home made freshly baked bread. Ouma taught me to bake bread which I still do today, my daughter gave me a bread machine awhile back, I much prefer making bread the old fashion way, kneading the dough like Ouma taught me. (very good for the arm muscles and keeps the breasts firm).
I never once heard her bad mouth anyone, she always said, "Don't gossip about someone if they aren't around to defend themselves",. She was a remarkable woman who taught me the value of simple things in life, to be satisfied with what I had and work with it to the best of my ability.
She endured the tragedy of losing two young adult children, my two aunts who died tragically in separate accidents , one in a car and the other of heart break when her husband was shot in a hunting accident three months after they had been married.
One could detect the sadness in her bright blue eyes which never lost there sparkle.
Ouma was a strong woman of valor, her children respected her, although soft spoken, she meant every word she spoke when applying her authority over us when stepping out of line.
I remember her telling me, when one has an opinion about something and someone doesn't agree with you, it doesn't mean that one is wrong and the other person is right, or one is right and the other person is wrong, we all have our own opinion and should respect each others opinions.
My heart was broken when my father was transferred to Durban, separating from my Ouma wasn't at all easy for any of us. But, that is part of life.
I am so privileged to have known her and learned from her. Her farm was called "Weltervrede" in English meaning "Well satisfied". She died at the age of 84 a few years after having to leave her precious farming to the hustle bustle of town life.
I am sure she died "well satisfied" with her life. That was my memories of my grand parents, hope you enjoyed reading it.
Thank you @galenkp for the lovely topic, it brought back very precious memories,
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