What blows my mind is that Sue Kirby, a close friend in George where I now live, knows Peter. Dave, her husband, met Peter in his primary school days, they went to St Andrew’s, were discharged from the army together and then Pete went to Rhodes and Dave went to Cape Town University. They remained close friends throughout.

Much to my delight, Peter spent the night at Sue’s before going to Knysna to perform his one man show. Sue kindly invited me to lunch. It was incredible seeing my friend of forty years again.
“He’s grown so much older,” was my initial thought.
‘And so have you’, a voice inside me laughed.
Peter still has a wry sense of humour which I discovered with delight. He recounted the last time he had seen me before my stage fall.
“We were at Anne Curteis’s place in the country. For some reason, my young two year old daughter was infatuated with you and spent much of the time sitting on your lap on the lawn.”
He showed me a photograph of this little bundle of mischief who had played on my lap all those years ago. This beautiful woman in her thirties laughed into the camera.

Over lunch I asked him about his production.
“Janice Honeyman said to me: ‘You are a wonderful writer. Write about something that moves you and I will direct your production.’
How could I fail to begin writing immediately?”
Janice Honeyman is an actress, writer and director extrodinaire!!!
I remembered Janice directing me in: Isn’t It Romantic. Janice directs like a dream. I could well understand the relish with which he began to write. He wrote about something that has alway fascinated him, the First World War.
And that was how At All Costs came into being.

The following evening, Sue and I drove to Knysna to see Peter’s production.
We took our seats and I waited eagerly for the performance to begin. The lights brightened and Peter strode through the audience to front of house. Facing us, he began to speak.
The play takes place in the 1970’s. Peter addressed us as a character, David Wells, who is a survivor of the Battle of Delville Wood in 1916. The Battle of Delville Wood was the first major engagement entered into by South Africans on the Western Front during the First World War. For six days and five nights a soldier was killed every minute, with one South African soldier dying every three minutes. David Wells had returned to the wood fifty years later in an attempt to lay his ghosts to rest.
“It has taken me fifty years to face my fears.” 

Peter is a brilliant writer and this is clearly evident in his descriptive use of words in his play. He paints scenes so horrifying in their bleak, guttural truth.
He is also breathtaking as an actor. I don’t think I have seen Peter act before. What I saw that night was heart wrenching. David Wells reached out and took me with him down through the corridors of time so that I too felt the gunfire, smelled the stench of war, the loss, the inhumanity of man. I saw it all there reflected on the face and in the voice of David Wells. At one point, I had to close my eyes because it hurt to be a witness to such pain, anguish and suffering. I had tears running down my face at David’s final words.
“We held the Wood.
At all costs.”

In the First World War, there were 17 million deaths and 25 million casualties. I am enraged at leaders who declare war. Are they sitting in icy cold muddy trenches attempting to shoot someone in an opposite trench? Of course not! They sit comfortably in their offices and order young men to carry out their war for them. And what an unendurable time those young men had to endure between 1914-1918. When the Great War ended in 1918, they swore that was the war to end all wars. Twenty years later, the Second World War began! While Peter and Janice were rehearsing their production, Russia attacked Ukraine. Ukraine was forced to defend herself. 

I wonder what would happen if more women were Presidents or Prime Ministers? I think maybe there would be far fewer wars. Women are more empathetic than men and they are also more far seeing. They consider the consequences of their actions.

Watching Peter Terry playing David Wells was actually a cry out to the world to stop wars.  Wars have gone on from time immemorial.
And I fear they will continue to do so!

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them. – Laurence Binyon

The post Terry & the Terrible Havoc!! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Red and yellow and pink and green
Purple and orange and blue,
I can sing a rainbow,
Sing a rainbow,
Sing a rainbow too.
Listen with your ears,
Listen with your eyes,
And sing everything you see!
I can sing a rainbow,
Sing a rainbow,
Sing along with me…

This song learnt at nursery school, played through my mind constantly when I recently viewed the flowers in the West Coast National Park.
B and her husband, John who are ‘swallows’ spending five months of the year in England, were actually caught here when South Africa’s lockdown was declared. As B said: “I would far rather be in George than in England during this COVID time.”

Secretly I gave a silent cheer when they were trapped in SA. B and John had often bewailed the fact that they were on the wrong continent when the West Coast flowers bloomed. So B, John, a dear friend, Christine and I set off for Riebeek Kasteel, where we were to spend one night before heading for a two night stop in the queen of all flower spots, Darling.

Travelling with Christine was a hoot. She is the Secretary of the Eden branch of WESSA (Wildlife & Environment Society of South Africa) and her knowledge of plants and natural history is vast. We would see fields that were beautifully patchworked with vibrant purple succulents. The squeal of delight from Christine at the colourful mass of flowers, made me very glad that B, who is a responsible driver was at the wheel!

We arrived safely in Riebeek Kasteel late in the day. We were very nervous about staying in hotels because of COVID. However, a friend of ours had just recently returned and told us which hotels to stay in.
“They observe the COVID regulations perfectly.”
And indeed, we never saw the hotel owners without their masks and our rooms were wonderfully sterile and clean. 

I flopped onto my gorgeous four poster bed, glad to have a few moments of quiet before dinner. At six thirty, B put her head around the door and with a sparkle in her eye, said: “Gaye, you’ve got a visitor!”
“Visitor? I don’t know anyone from here,” I said getting up. And that was when a well loved face from my Durban past, peered around the door.
“Drews!” I exclaimed.
I met Heidi Drew in church in Durban about eighteen years ago. As the congregants led out, I saw one woman remain seated. She was crying. I couldn’t bear to simply walk away, so I quietly went and sat down next to her and put my hand on hers. I am so grateful for that hand clasp for on that day a strong friendship was born. When last I had contact with Drews, she was living in Cape Town.
“What are you doing here?” I asked in amazement. 
“I moved here a few months ago.  B noticed this on Facebook and contacted me.”
B had met Drews through me and they were firm friends.
Conversation sparkled and flowed between us and we ended up at her house sampling dessert wine and blueberry flavoured olives!

I lay in my fourposter bed that night and gave thanks for the friendship that had begun eighteen years ago through the touching of hands in church.
“And while I am speaking of friendship, dear Lord, every night I speak about the same thing. I am aware that it must get very boring for you but I’m sorry, Lord, you’re stuck with it – my special friend – Daves.”

Daves and I became close friends after he introduced himself outside the restaurant, Travelbugs, in George. He explained that he and his wife had recently moved to George and that his best friend was my acting buddy, Peter Terry. I looked into his mischievous, smiling eyes and our friendship began to blossom and grow.

About fourteen months prior to our flower expedition, Dave (Daves to me!) was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. I went to stay with B and John during the first five months of lockdown. Daves and his wife, Sue, lived virtually next door. 

Daves and I would meet outside his house at 7.45 in the morning and go for delightful walks around the golf estate. I walked carefully because of my brace and Daves also walked at a medium pace. We chatted nonstop. And it wasn’t just normal chit chat. We shared deep things that meant a lot to us. At the end of each walk, he would look at this little machine he carried and say: “We walked 2,7 kms today. Not as good as yesterday when we did 3 kms.”
It broke my heart when finally he couldn’t manage our walks anymore.
“I’m sorry, Gaye-Girl, I’m gonna have to give these walks a break for a moment.”

As the months passed Daves became more frail. And yet, do you know what blows my mind? Not once did I ever hear Daves complain. Not once!

When we decided to go and see the flowers, Daves exclaimed: “You’ve never seen the flowers? Oh, Gaye-Girl, you will absolutely love them. Take lots of pictures so I can see what you see. Sue and I visited them several years ago but I believe that this year they are outstanding.”

How right Daves was. I have no words to describe the wonderful sights that greeted me each day. Fields and fields of  incredible jewels of flowers. Sparkling upwards they seemed to open in this wonderful harmony that filled the air with a chorus of joy.

I laughed at Christine. She spent much of her time, bum in the air, as she inspected the unusual botanical treasures that caught her interest. A shout from her, and the rest of us would charge across to inspect and discuss her amazing discoveries.

I received a message from Daves giving me a short history of Riebeek Kasteel that he had found on the internet. I loved the way that he was making sure he was sharing this experience with me. In Darling, Christine and I shared a room. The wonderful thing about being deaf is that it doesn’t matter if the other person snores up a storm. I always have blissfully soundless nights! 

Early the next morning, I was sitting on a rock surveying the most extraordinary scene. There was the blue of the ocean that shimmered it’s ballad to the skies. And surrounding me a chorus was being raised to the world in their flowering millions.
‘How can I possibly do justice to this with a mere photo for Daves?’ I wondered.
My phone suddenly gave a ‘ping’. Drawing my eyes away from the glory surrounding me in every direction, I saw it was a message from Sue. I went cold all over and the glory before me seemed to shiver in it’s soundless beauty. The night before, Daves had a stroke and was now in hospital. He was paralysed and couldn’t speak. The glittering blooms surrounding me glistened upwards.

Life is such an inexplicably strange yet alluringly wonderful thing. It has moments of incredible joy and beauty and also tragedy and heartache. My heart hurts that Daves never saw my pictures of those beautiful emeralds, pearls, sapphires and ruby-like flowers spread out before me. Yet I think of the multitude of jewels he bought into my life with that first greeting outside Travelbugs. I often hear Daves’s voice when I open my curtains in the morning saying: “Gaye-Girl, it’s a beautiful day. Go out and soak it up!”

Next year I would love to take Sue to ‘Daves Place’. I know he will be smiling down from on high at all the treasures laid out for us. 

“My Sue and Gaye-Girl,” I can hear him say, “isn’t life beautiful?
Savour and remember!”

I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow too.

The post Life’s Rainbow! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

And speaking of wavelengths, I give so much thanks for the wavelengths provided by technology. During this lockdown, we have all been able to stay in contact with family, friends and business associates through FaceTime, Facebook, WhatsApp, Skype, Instagram, Zoom etc, etc and etc!

During this lockdown period, I have been staying with B and John. I wanted to move in with Mums but was unable to because of her burglar alarm system.
B is an avid cyclist. I really feel for her during lockdown because cycling has always been a necessity for her. The other morning, I received a WhatsApp message from B: ‘Come out into the front garden NOW!’
I rushed out and began to laugh. B was lying flat on her back, seated on her bicycle. Her legs were pedalling at this joyous rate.
“I’m fly-cycling!” she laughed.
B proved to me that where there’s a will, there is always a way!

B’s next door neighbour, Di, is on our WhatsApp group. Life seems to bubble out of her. She offers up smiles to the world. I laughed at B’s husband, John, when he said:
“She has a low voice. Very low and…sexy!” and then continued reading his book.
I wish I had a low voice. The actors, Dorothy-Ann Gould and Janet Suzman have beautiful, low voices. And that lowness is marvellously sexy!
Di’s effervescence often has her giving off a humorous side to life. Before South Africa went into lockdown, Di placed a hilarious picture on George Friends. It was a picture of her and Mike, her husband, dressed up in dark glasses, masks, green rubber gloves and slanting Panama hats. They look as if they were dressed to rob a bank. We all thought it was hysterical. Little did we realise that three weeks later, that appearance would be the norm for anyone outside their home. You look askance at anyone not wearing a mask!Di reminds me of Kilroy. We will be out in the garden when her joyful smile appears above the wall. A quick chat always brightens our uneventful days!

Jans is a member of the group. You can never mention Jans without taking into account her dogs. They are an intrinsic part of her. Kayla, the Collie, Finn and Dazzle, two rough haired/broken Jack Russell’s, and Bayz who is an utterly endearing ‘Brak’! I feel for Jans during this lockdown. She is used to taking her dogs for two hour hikes in the forest. Now she is confined to her home. She has put a hilarious video on George Friends of an obstacle course that she has devised for them in her garden. I am dying to see the antics of the dogs and the obstacle course after lockdown. Knowing Jans and her dogs, they will probably perform each antic to perfection! She also set about redecorating her home and posted the results on the group. I marvelled that we were all able to share in Jans’ beautiful new look in her lounge through technology.

My bedroom looks out on this gorgeous common, more houses and then my eyes are caught up by the beautiful Outeniqua Mountains. The other day I got a WhatsApp message from Sue saying: “Dave and I are passing the common. Look out for us.”
Sure enough, a few moments later their car approached. B, John and I waved madly. As it drew opposite us, suddenly we saw the English flag of   St. George flapping at us from the driver’s window. We laughed out loud. A half hour later, the car reappeared with a South African flag waving frenziedly as Sue and Dave returned home.
“They kept the best for last,” I remarked to my two English friends!

It was Sue’s birthday a few days ago. We bought her a lovely pot plant and messaged to say we were coming round to drop it off. It felt utterly ridiculous driving the fifty metres to Sue’s house, but those are the rules in South Africa. Rules I completely agree with and respect! It was gorgeous seeing her happy face and enlightening smile. From six meters away. I long for her gorgeously served tea, scones and cake all placed on her beautiful china. Sue has promised us wonderful delectable delights once this lockdown is over.
Most of all though, I missed hugging her.

During this lockdown, I have become so aware of the value people have for me. The preciousness of hugging people is inestimable.      

Ingrid is our botanist and athletic Park Runner!
I will come back from a Park Run or in my case a Park Walk and on George Friends say to Ingrid in great excitement: “I saw such a wonderful plant on the Park Run today. It was this mustardy/orange colour and it was clinging onto this tree. Mmmm, maybe it was the fruit of the tree. Yes, it could quite easily have been that.”
Ingrid, who had done the same Park Run asked me whereabouts I had seen this odd looking fruit. I was able to describe the exact spot because it’s quite near the end of my run-walk.

“Ah, Gaye, that’s a fungus. It’s a…..” and she gave some dreadful Latin name. That took away the excitement of finding my mustard fruit. Then she added: “Wasn’t it otherworldly beautiful?” and my excited discovery was restored!
I love Ingrid for the wide, openness of her heart. She gives so freely and I find that I am often on the receiving end of her free spirited giving!

I have known Christine for years. She is a reliant, dependable person, someone who I feel I can call on in an emergency. Just before the lockdown, my friend had lost her Collie one morning in the forest. He had been hit by a cyclist and had run off in a panic. At ten o’clock that night they called off the search. It began once more the next morning. B stopped searching in the forest, picked me up and we then drove around the neighbourhood looking. On the way, we encountered Christine and told her the story.
“Right, you go that way and I will go this.”
Three quarters of an hour later, she pulled up alongside us.
“No success but I will spread the word.”
And she did.
And just to finish this story, the Collie was found!
Christine is from Manchester and has a wicked sense of humour to go with her Mancunian drawl. She keeps us entertained on George’Friends with snippets of BBC comedies like The Vicar of Dibley and The Two Ronnies much to my delight! – (Press links to watch!)

The last person to make up our group is Mums.
It was not my idea to have Mums join George Friends. No, the others insisted!
‘She is so much fun. Combined with her practical wisdom, she is a definite MUST!’
It thrills me to have Mums liked and admired by my friends. She is one of us!

Our group has just celebrated it first anniversary. George Friends has shown hilarity, concern, advice, recipe making, and recently, during lockdown, it’s shown people, infected by one another, pouring gorgeous glasses of gin! It has and still is filling us with joy and laughter. That is something often needed in this lockdown period. Thank goodness for George Friends!

Picture a stunning stained glass window. It is made up of intricate pieces of glass that are startling in themselves. These fragments shimmer and shine in a crystalline manner. However, it is when they are put together, with each little piece containing a magic of it’s own, that the stained glass window begins to make sense. It begins to glisten, gleam and beam with a radiance all it’s own.
Each of my friends possess an inner and outer radiance. Put them together and they begin to shine, shimmer and reflect, glistening off each other.
This is the magic of George Friends! 

The post WhatsApp: ‘George Friends!’ appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

“Hello!”
I looked into those mischievous, dancing eyes and instantly made a friend.
Karen and I met in a lift club when I was ten. I changed schools a few years later but I saw Karen often when I went to Durban for the Christmas holidays.

Karen was a person that was soaked in music. Her father was the founder of The Drakensberg Boys Choir. Karen’s love of music began when she sang her first songs, aged four, with the 20 pioneer boys who had joined the new choir school.

When she was 17, she was asked to train and conduct the school choir. I can just imagine the relish she felt brandishing the baton in her hand. Her passion came to the fore. She would not rest until the sound the choir produced was perfect. It was astonishing the marvellous melodies and harmonies she coaxed from the choir that year. The sound soared around the school hall. Karen smiled. She was happy.

Like myself, Karen became an actor.
I remember sharing a house with Tossie Van Tonder, the dancer. Tossie is a long, tall individual. At one time, she used to shave her head and looked uniquely wonderful. Karen got the female lead in a film, Playing With Fire, in which she was cast as a dancer. She used to come and work with Tossie in the studio. Karen was not a ‘dancer’ yet there was no way that she was going to let herself down. Once again, her passion expressed itself. She fervently rehearsed for a full month with Tossie, who was the film’s choreographer.

I was amazed to discover that I had a small role in Playing With Fire. As a result of my fall, this has been wiped from my memory. So I have no knowledge of the film’s success or failure. That is not the point I’m making. Karen’s inner passion kept on taking her to new places. These stretched her as an individual and pushed her on.

The first time we saw each other after my accident in 1989, was when she flew back from Paris to visit her family in the nineties. I was then living in Durban and Karen gave me this beautiful tea pot. It has a cat curled sleepily around it’s lid. It is too gorgeous to use, so it sits in my lounge. I often catch the cat’s eye and we smile at one another. In 1995, flush with the money I had been making with my show My Plunge to Fame, I booked an air ticket to various destinations around the world. One of them being Paris. I was keen to see Karen who had been living there for some time. She had been composing, singing and making CDs. She lived in a small flat and seemed happy. The two of us sat at a bistro, drank wine and attempted to catch up on our lives in that one meal. We laughed and spoke over each other in our excitement to get things out. When I left, two days later, Karen gave me these small salt and pepper shakers. They are two adorable cats dressed as chefs. They grin at me from my kitchen counter.

For the past few years, my friend, B and I go and spend three days of enchantment in the Cotswolds. We stay at Cassie Bassett’s (nee Holliday) second home, Hollybush Cottage. I have mentioned this idyllic place before in my blog. This, for me, is the most perfect place in the world. Three years ago, as was the norm, B and I invited a whole load of friends around for lunch. Karen, who was living in Bath, two hours away, came much to my delight. It had been years since we had seen each other and we relished being together again. Karen had moved from Paris to Bath because she had an autistic daughter. Apparently Bath offered a superb school for children with autism.
“This time next year,” I promised as we hugged goodbye.

The following year, I traveled to England at a later date, in August. When I phoned to tell Karen that this years ‘Hollybush’ was on, she said she had a problem.
“My daughter is on holiday. Would you mind very much if I bought Francesca along?”
I assured her that we looked forward to meeting her daughter. On the day of the luncheon, I received a very distressed call from Karen: “ Francesca woke me at three o’clock this morning, dressed in her school uniform. I explained to her that there was no school and got her back into bed. This morning, Gaye, she went into a complete meltdown. She was drumming her head against the wall whilst making this thin indecipherable sound. I am so sorry but we won’t be able to come today.”
We had a lovely lunch and Tammy (Bonell Garner) spent the night. B said to us: “I think that tomorrow, we should all go and visit Karen in Bath.” 

We arrived in Bath and I had barely moved my hand from the door knocker when the door was flung open by a grinning Karen: “You made it!” she cried as she engulfed us all in hugs.
“And you must be Francesca?” I said to this child who was staring at us with gorgeous big brown eyes.
Karen kneeled next to her and said: “These are my friends, Gaynor, Tammy and B,” she held her, whilst pointing us out. Francesca stared for a moment and then ducked out of her mum’s embrace and scooted to the other side of the room. She picked up a picture book and began turning the pages.  Her attention was clearly on us not the book. 
“She can’t speak so don’t expect any replies,” Karen explained.
We had a gorgeous lunch and I was once more struck by Karen’s passion. This time it wasn’t her music or acting that drew this wonderful characteristic to the fore. Karen’s passion was revealed in her relationship with her daughter. Her autistic daughter, who couldn’t speak a word, who sat watching her DVD of “The Little Mermaid” for the 140th time, drew a fervent love out of Karen. It was a different kind of passion to that she’d displayed in her acting and with her music. This was a totally all encompassing kind. It was the kind that I have never experienced. The passion of a mother for her daughter.
“See you at Hollybush next year,” I cried, waving as B drove away that evening.

That was the last thing I said to my friend of 47 years.
On the 20th May, 2019, Karen’s body was discovered at the foot of her staircase. All that passion she contained evaporated from our world. And yet the passion that she gave out so joyfully still remains in the people she touched and loved.

Karen was so young when she died. I think of my other friends – Gaby Lomberg, Gina Benjamin, Jil Hurst, Fiona Coyne, Frantz Dobrowsky and Chris Wells. All in their forties and fifties. Their lives cut short too early.

It makes me realise, especially in this time of Coronavirus crisis, you must make the most of every day. Be thankful for this gift of life. Keep in touch with your friends. See things around you with fresh eyes. Be kinder to others and to yourself.
Live each day with passion.

As Karen did.

The post My Passionate Friend! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

I was sitting at the Rhodes Memorial in Cape Town with B, when suddenly I was tapped.

I swung around to be met by a dark mopped stranger with this delicious grin on her face.
“Gaynor?” A stranger that knew my name. “I would recognise your voice anywhere!”
Obviously B and I, both being deaf, had been speaking fairly loudly. This stranger gave a laugh. I had heard that wide, open laugh before. And those wicked devil may care eyes spoke to me of a time in my past. I didn’t think that this stranger was a stranger, after all. Who was she?
Guessing the quandary I was in, she said:
“We met about 40 years ago, during our first year of Varsity. I am Sally-Ann Murray.”
“Sally-Ann Murray!” I leaped up to engulf her in a hug. “We were both drummies together!
“Ssshhhhh, not so loud, please!” Sally-Ann begged.
“Drum majorettes,” I said in a whisper. “Glory, Sally-Ann, that was a whole lifetime ago.
We had both studied English at KZN University. Sally-Ann had walked off with the Cum Lauder for English! I laughed at the fact that when I clicked who Sally-Ann was, I didn’t think: ‘Oh, my old English compatriot!’
On hearing her name, my first thought was: ‘Drummies’!!!

I have this image of us young seventeen year olds marching in long trails around the KZN University hockey fields. We were dressed in minute red practice shorts with white t- shirts that had SHE printed on the front. We were practicing for the Rand Easter Show where we would be pitted against other university drum majorette teams. In 1980, the KZN University drummie team won at the Rand Show. I have no memory of our win but I have seen photos of the black and white parade uniform that Sally-Ann and I wore.
We were great drummies!

“Glory, I haven’t seen you since our Varsity days. What do you do now, Sally-Ann?”
“I’m the Chair of English at Stellenbosch University.”
“Wow! I remember sitting next to you in English lectures and now you are ‘Ms Chair’ at Stellenbosch. That’s incredible,” I laughed.
We exchanged phone and email addresses.
“And, Gaynor, call me Sam, it’s much easier.”
Sam – Sally-Ann Murray. I loved that name. It felt just right!
I left there, my heart singing at having re-encountered this old Varsity friend of mine. Sam! I laughed. I really wanted to keep in contact with her.

Sam duly sent me photos of her family and I sent her photos of my menagerie! Perdita, my wire haired dachshund, is fifteen years old now. I cannot ever envisage a day when she leaves this world and moves to that ‘other place’. I sent Sam a photo of Perdita and expressed exactly this sentiment. She replied by sending me this incredible poem she had written:

Old Dog Woman

The last one leaves her a wide bed.
Bony feet. Cold air where long ago
a lover once curled against the thin
animal ridges of her spine. 

Slow paws. Grey head. The new dog arrives upstairs. Call it that, or heaven. Comfort without Cortisone, among every stripe every colour. The rain, if it rained, would be cats and dogs. Unbelievable, but true. Heads in the clouds the animals chew the fat of missing years, stretched out like pools of lazy sun. Come dinner, they feast on air, which doesn’t taste bland, as you might think.  The new dog wolfs it down, this filling emptiness. The flyless sleeps. This nameless place is paradise. 

So passes the first day,
old dog growing younger by the second.

Downstairs, where old dog is dead,
no one knows this. If they did,
you would be taken for a fool,
your credulity ridiculed.
Hi
(Some people think they
know everything about dogs
and about everything more
besides. They will do any
thing to break your spirit.)

But this dog love is here
with you to stay.

In time, perhaps
you will understand.

Below, old dog woman microwaves her unfinished mug
of cold morning coffee, as she does every afternoon.
When the timer pings, she feels surprise.
She goes to the window, holding the leash
because she’s holding the leash. She looks out.
Stares at the garden gate. Tries not to cry.
She folds up the soft harness. Cries. 

Now it seems so easy to die, yet here she is.
Still alive. Olive tree. Wild iris. Blushing bride.
Spider begonia. Grass aloe. Artillery cover.
People waiting at the bus stop always say
her garden is a picture. There is no one right now.

She walks to the bedroom. Looks at
the three-quarter bed that’s always been
just right. She straightens the quilt
and plumps the pillow. She folds
the dog blanket neatly in the basket.
She goes back to the kitchen.
She warms the mug again.
The clock ticks loudly.

My old friend was both a professor and a poet!

How I love this poem and my heart aches for the woman with the useless leash in her hand. When I acted, I searched for the essence of the character I was playing. I would use novels, paintings and poetry. If I were to have played a woman who had just lost something special to her, this poem would’ve been invaluable to me!

Sam and I both followed creative careers. I took up acting. Sam began lecturing in English and devoted what spare time she had to writing. I remember being awarded the Most Promising Newcomer Award in Durban for the part of Anne in Anne of Green Gables at the end of my Honours year. This Award gave me the confidence I needed at the start of my acting career. In Sam’s life, poetry played a vital and important role. In 1989, she won her first award: The Arthur NortjeVita Award for poetry. And two years later, she was presented with the Sanlam Award for Literature (Poetry). You can’t compare my little award, with these two major South African literary awards. Yet the confidence that was enfolded within them, must have affected Sam in a similar vein as mine had. I asked Sam what her reaction was on getting her first two awards? She replied: 

“Hmmm, that’s going way back, but those early awards were validating. I was judged by published poets and experienced critics. They singled me out and made me believe I had something worth working on. But, whew! It’s then years of making good and learning to accept an important lesson – writing is not about prizes!”

I love that remark. Writing is not about the prizes. Sam writes because she feels an irrevocable need to write.

By her teens, writing, like reading, like breathing, had become a central need in her life. In 2009 Sam finally moved from poetry to prose and her novel, Small Moving Parts was published. This was a fictional narrative tinged with autobiographical elements about her white working class childhood in apartheid Durban.

“Why did it take you so long to write your novel?” I enquired.
Sam laughed. “When I began writing, literary fiction felt like the privileged terrain of writers like Coetzee and Gordimer. Awe is such a crushing force! As a young woman, I didn’t have the confidence to attempt anything vaguely similar. So I stuck with my poetry. It somehow seemed more manageable, more inventively possible. As time passed, I got more assured and exploratory. Before I knew it, I had started working on Small Moving Parts. My book was born! 

“Beginning to write is an odd thing,” Sam commented. “Every time I write, it’s a ‘beginning’ AGAIN. Another new beginning. That’s quite a daunting thought. But also a relief.” 

I thought back to when I wrote my book My Plunge to Fame. This process also brought me relief in that a considerable amount of lost memories were reignited. 

Despite publishing her award winning novel, it is poems that are constantly making their presence felt. 

“Poetry, for me, is a completely normal part of my daily life,” says Sam. 

Poems creeping their way into her life and onto the page! Sam’s third anthology of poetry, Otherwise Occupied is being launched in Cape Town at Exclusive Books, Cavendish on the 10th April. She will be interviewed by the poet and critic, Joan Hambidge. The press release reads: 

“Dryad Press, in association with Exclusive Books, is proud to present this serious, often playful, sometimes outrageous volume of poetry by Sally Ann Murray, Chair of the English Department at Stellenbosch University….”

How I would love to be there to witness this playful, outrageous Sally-Ann that I remember laughing with so many years ago. But I am presenting a motivational speech in Durban that day that cannot be missed. Sam says of herself with amusement: “I am a stew, a sieve, a magnet, a compass, a kaleidoscope, a writhing pile of domestic compost…all those give me shape and ideas.”

I wondered how Sam find the time to create and write with her high powered job?

“My job keeps me really busy so I find that the best time to write is early in the morning. I feel both tranquil and lively then, rising to the surface of the day. It’s quiet, with only the still-dark sky and a few starry-eyed bird calls and four black dogs for company. I take the time I have and make the most of it. And if there’s one thing I’ve discovered, growing older, it is that it’s important to be kind to yourself. This is the only life you have. It’s no good lambasting and regretting. If what you can manage, right now, is to finish one short story and submit it: good for you, woman!”

What a wise remark! Too often I have found myself regretting that I didn’t do something. I then metaphorically have hit myself on my chest every time I think of it. What Sam is saying is: Be kind to yourself! Don’t live with regrets. Be in the present and do what you can do. In other words, don’t get into a stew because you can’t go cycling or walking in the forest with your friends. Live in the now and do what you can manage. Therein lies joy!

Sally-Ann Murray and I, togged out in our practice drummie red shorts, marched around that field with the rest of the squad. We muttered expletives every time we missed a step or swivelled the wrong way. I find it strange knowing that the younger person still exists inside all of us. I look at Sam now – Chair of English at Stellenbosch, poet, novelist – with admiration and awe. 

And then, with a smile, I remember the drummies!

The post A Tap on my Shoulder! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

I cannot join my friends when they go into the woods.

I’m unable to walk at the pace they like to walk. Also, just imagine if we met ‘a big bad wolf’, I would be easy pickings as I am unable to run! Recently it was with a carefree heart and a nimble ‘Gaynor step’ that I went to see Into The Woods, the musical, by Stephen Sondheim. In this case, it didn’t matter how fast I walked and there was no need to run. Into The Woods was there, waiting for me. 

Stephen Sondheim, the creator of Into The Woods is a magician. What enchantment he opened up before us. I knew about the musical and the characters involved. B, who joined me, had no idea what sort of musical lay in store for us that evening. As she paged through the programme before the show, she was amazed to see the characters of: Rapunzel, Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella and Jack and the Beanstalk.

“Oh,” B said, “you didn’t tell me we were coming to a pantomime.”

“It isn’t. Watch and see.”

She watched. And she saw.

This was certainly no pantomime.

A baker and his wife have been cursed by a witch and as a result are unable to have a child. They can only remove the curse if they bring her four ingredients: “the cow as white as milk, the cape as red as blood, the hair as yellow as corn, and the slipper as pure as gold” in three days’ time. And so the characters of Cinderella, Rapunzel, Jack and the Beanstalk, and Little Red Riding Hood interact in a wood. And thus began our magical evening.

How I envied those performers singing in a Sondheim production. Many years ago, I was told by Gay Lambert in another Sondheim creation, Sweeney Todd, that: “It’s a gift for an actor to sing a Sondheim song because he understands how to create for the actor. It’s all there in the lyrics and music.”

Both B and I are deaf and so there were lyrics that we missed. But that didn’t matter. The characterisation, the set, the moves all enhanced the story telling perfectly.

Into The Woods was directed by Steven Stead. Steven and I worked together in Cinderella in 1987. He had just completed his first year at drama school. I had no idea that this eager young lad with quick, darting eyes that missed nothing, would develop into this wonderful actor and one of the top directors in South Africa. It was his clarity of vision that made this musical production what it was.

“Once upon a time…” Michael Richard’s deep, rich voice as the Narrator began the tale. I was drawn back through the mist of time to his playing of Arthur in Camelot,1989. I smiled to myself as images of a younger Michael possessed the audience with the same astonishing presence as he was doing nearly thirty years later. I am not going to go into the wonderful story that was performed for us that evening. There are reviews and countless articles on Into The Woods. For me it was an evening of wonder, light, sublime music that I could hear once more and performances that were unique and breathtaking. 

Kate Normington’s portrayal of the Witch was stunning. Obviously she saw Meryl Streep’s portrayal in the film of Into The Woods. Yet in no way did she attempt to mimic that. She found her own voice that was both horrifying, tender and heart breaking. Greg King’s set was a wonder. It began with nine upright fairy tale books that duly open into various scenes within the deep, dark wood. We allowed ourselves to be picked up and carried into the ‘Woods’ where we were soon deliciously entangled in the plot.

I was surprised at the end of the first half to be told that we had a twenty minute break before the second half began.

“I thought it had finished. Surely all the characters now live happily ever after?” B commented.

“Yes, I also thought so. But with Sondheim, we should have expected this. With him, nothing is ever as it seems.”

The second half showed us what happened after the “happily ever after”. It is unexpected and…yes, at times, horrifying. Deceit, greed, lies, placing oneself first, all of these traits could only lead to chaos. Suddenly the ‘fairy tale’ took on an alarming turn. Death became very real. You realised that choices have consequences. Sondheim showed the complexity of human relationships. People are connected and they have to work together to overcome evil. At the curtain call, I rose to my feet applauding. I applauded the actors onstage and also that wonderfully wise creator – Stephen Sondheim.

We were standing in the foyer, sipping drinks when I heard the rich tones that had begun the musical. Only this time, I heard Michael Richard’s voice saying: “Gaynor…”

I was enveloped in a Michael-hug. I love being hugged by Michael. He gathers me to him in this real bear like manner! I pulled away and looked up into his gentle yet discerning eyes: “You were great, Michael!”

And then I felt arms enfold me from behind. 

“You made it!” Kate Normington said. Turning I gave her an enormous smile. 

“I couldn’t miss it. You were marvellous!” I said giving her the warmest hug. The three of us stood there smiling together.

“This feels as if…it’s meant to be. The last time we were together like this was in Camelot,” I said.

“Do you know that this is the first time Kate and I have worked together since that production?” Michael pointed out.

Maybe the curse of Camelot had not only been felt by me with my fall, but by others as well.

B felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see this man with shyly smiling eyes.

“I knew Gaynor at drama school. I am nervous to introduce myself to her because she might not remember me and that might embarrass her.”

“You must say hello! Gaynor’s memory is a strange thing. If she doesn’t remember you, she will be delighted to meet you all over again.”

This man came towards me. “Gaynor, hi! I did Drama with you at Durban University. I’m sure you won’t remember me but I just had to come and say hi.”

I stared at him and my mind swirled, struggling to reach back 38 years. It was his eyes that caused me to smile. 

“Yes…yes…I do remember you! Your name, it begins with a…B or a D?”

“Brinton” he said, delight spread across his face. 

I had this dim memory of Brinton and I dancing together. Was this merely in a dance class or had he too been a member of The Barefoot Dance Company? I asked my old university dance teacher, Margi Larlham, who is now a painter in America and she gave me his full name instantly: Brinton Spies! 

Of course, Brinton Spies. I rediscovered an old friend.

“And me? Do you have any idea who I am?” This dark tousled haired man with a wicked grin asked.

“I’m sorry, I presume you’re an actor because your face is familiar but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name?”

“Yes, I am an actor, Roy Hunter. How could you have forgotten my name when we lived together for a month?”

“We did what?” I squeaked. Was I now meeting a previous lover? And I hadn’t even remembered his name! 

He laughed. “We were both acting at The Playhouse in Durban. We were in different shows but we shared accommodation. That is why my face is familiar. You have forgotten but we actually know one another.”

Thinking about it, it could have been Noël Cowards Private Lives that I performed in Durban. How utterly amazing to discover that a vaguely familiar face is actually an old friend!

I was standing chatting to Michael and Kate when this young woman came up to me.

“Hi, Gaynor, Dad hasn’t introduced us yet but I’m his daughter, Sarah. I played…”

“Florinda!” I said in delight. “I saw your name in the programme but I didn’t realise that you were Michael’s daughter. This is incredible! I last saw you when you were a teeny tot. You and Ashleigh were hilarious.”

“Did I hear my name being bandied about?” Ashleigh Harvey put her arms around me and gave me the warmest hug.

And then suddenly the rest of the cast were there.

What completely blew my mind, was that they all knew me. I was hugged by people I didn’t know.

“It’s so good to meet you at last!”

“We heard you were in. Did you enjoy it?”

“Oh, it’s so great to have you here…”

These were all actors that had appeared once I had ‘left the stage.’ 

Yet they all ‘knew’ me.

As we drove home, my heart was full.

I believe that in life everyone ventures Into The Woods. We meet up with friends and enemies along the way and have adventures of every kind. There are so many nooks and crannies, open spaces, leafy glades you tumble through till you reach a cool, relaxing stream. Then you clamber up again, over boulders and bushes into the next adventure.

Bernadette Peters who played the Witch from 1987-1989 says: “It was wonderful to hear Sondheim talk about the song: “No One Is Alone.” 

He said: “People think the song is about being alone, but it’s not. It’s about how we all affect one another…in everything we do it affects someone, and we have to think about that.”

Just remember

Just remember

Someone is on your side (Our side)

Our side

Someone else is not

While we’re seeing our side (Our side)

Our side

Maybe we forgot, they are not alone

No one is alone

Someone is on your side

No one is alone

The post Fairy Tale Friends! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

“This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle,

I think of countries in terms of colour.
There is South Africa in it’s vivid yellow, almost orange. Denmark has a cerulean blue to it. Spain owns a fiery red. And ‘England, my England’ possesses an intense lustre of brilliant green.

Some people may disagree about England’s colour. They think of it in terms of grey, saying that it is cloudy and rains all the time. I tend to think of the stretching parks, lofty oak and silver birch trees thrusting into the air, the almost secret passageways of vivid green through which your car passes on country lanes. I am sounding a little over the top about England, I know, but…I arrive in England mid-August.
My joy is enormous!

‘B’ is meeting me at Heathrow. I always thought the term ‘soulmate’ was an over the top way of referring to your best friend. Then I met ‘B’ and realised that the term precisely applied to her. My soulmate and I will then head for our first port of call – the Cotswolds. There we have been loaned this quite beautiful ‘cottage’ belonging to a friend of mine Cassie Bassett (nee Holliday).

I first met Cassie when she was in her final year of school. Her mother, Shelagh Holliday and I were performing together in a production. One Sunday, Shelagh invited the cast to her home for a beautiful lunch. We ate outside under the trees. It was a golden day full of camaraderie, laughter and good food! Cass would transport the food and condiments to us in this old fashioned mini car. I had never seen anything so inordinately trendy! Cassie and I struck up a friendship which has endured for thirty-two years.

Cassie is now living in Oxford with her gorgeous family. This Cotswolds cottage is their get away home. Every year the Bassett’s are kind enough to lend it to me for a couple of days. This year, ‘B’ and I plan to stay there for three days. How I love that place. The house is enchanting, looking out over the most beautiful garden. On the second day, all of our friends arrive. I have known Tammy Bonell Garner for thirty six years! She is just one of the many that will be visiting for lunch. It will be so wonderful catching up with them all once more.

We leave there and head for London. We will be staying with a friend who I have known for thirty years exactly. She came out to South Africa in 1987 to direct Othello. We put it on at the Market Theatre during the apartheid era with a black man, John Kani, playing the lead. Such an Othello had never been performed before in our country. It is an experience that will always be significant to me. We made a film of our production and a portion of me playing Bianca was recently used in an Absa advertisement. Frustratingly, because of my fall, I am unable to remember playing any part onstage before my accident. Recently though, I have been thinking that I am now remembering bits of my Bianca performance. Is this merely me seeing myself playing Bianca in the advertisement and on film and wondering if I am remembering? Or is Bianca returning to me with a sensual sway of her hips and that lovely ululating entrance of mine?

While we are in London we are going to the Royal Academy of Arts Summer Exhibition. Almost 250 years ago, the Royal Academy’s founding members agreed to hold an “Annual Exhibition of Paintings, Sculptures and Designs, open to all Artists”. This was to help finance the training of young artists in the Royal Academy Schools. Today the Keeper of the Royal Academy, Eileen Cooper, is the Academician. She investigates and examines the themes of discovery and new talent. It is her responsibility to coordinate the largest open submission exhibition in the world. There are over 1,200 works of art which are on display from June 13th to August 20th. I love photography and I have already looked at some of the photographs online. They are mind-blowing and I long to see them close up. I haven’t investigated the paintings yet. You need to see the real thing, to literally feel the creator behind them. How I long to be there and stand in ‘a room with a view’!

‘B’ has booked us tickets to see the theatre production of Mama Mia in London. The film begins with  the song.

“I have a dream, a song to sing
To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale
You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels……”

I so love those words!

I have a dream, a fantasy
To help me through reality
And my destination makes it worth the while
Pushing through the darkness still another mile
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I’ll cross the stream, I have a dream……

That song in Mama Mia speaks to me in a strange and mysterious way. I have pushed through my own individual darkness. My ‘angels’ have helped me cross the stream. It has been a different stream to the one I anticipated. And I still have so many dreams. I pray my angels keep up their work and help me cross the many steams ahead.

When I became deaf, that was the end of watching theatre for me. I was unable to hear a thing. Then ten years ago, I had my first Cochlear Implant and seven years later I had my second. The wonderful gift of hearing was given back to me! Just recently I saw the incredible production of Funny Girl at The Fugard in Cape Town. What a joyous experience that was! To sit there watching a musical again, feeling ones feet tapping in time and hearing those gorgeous voices soaring effortlessly to fill the theatre with glorious musical harmony.

I have the DVD of Mama Mia and I know and love the music. And yet I still get this old niggle from way back of ‘What if I don’t hear this theatre production?’
But I know that is all it is: an old niggle! Yes, there were the odd lines I missed in Funny Girl. But that is all they were – the odd lines! I haven’t seen a show in London since I was twenty-one. What an unbelievable treat it will be to watch Mama Mia.
And hear!

‘B’ and I can have a gorgeous fresh fruit juices in Neals Yard. When I was twenty-one, I au paired for a family in Kensington. Saturday was my day off and with a nimble click of my heels, I would head to Neals Yard. There I would meet members of my weekly mime class. We would laugh and chat together about which shows we had managed to get tickets for in Leicester Square. I remember getting a ticket to Glenda Jackson in a three hour show. I remember a friend, Rory, saying: “Three hours! No, you must be mad. No one can hold my attention for three hours!”
Not only did Ms Jackson hold my attention for each one of those 180 minutes, she was totally riveting!

We are going for lunch in Covent Garden. How I love the hustle and bustle of Covent Garden. B and I usually spend some time there, browsing through the various stalls and laughing at the different buskers. Then we will head towards a gorgeous Italian restaurant, Carluccio’s, in Garrick Street.

When I go overseas, I love seeing the buildings and architecture of the individual towns I visit. They make me gasp in awe at their sheer creative magnitude. I must admit though, that it is the people that are the bigger draw card. When I had my accident, I remember thinking: ‘I have a mass of friends now. But in five years time, I will be lucky to have a handful. Who is going to want to be friends with a deaf, spastic person who can’t walk and talk?’
Oh ye of little faith! I learned that people don’t value you for what you can and can’t do. They value the person ‘inside’. I learned that I needed to trust and to give of myself. Stop hiding behind my ‘fall!’ The more you give out, the more you get back. And I have been fortunate enough to maintain all my old friends.
And make new ones!

“Friendship between women is different than friendship between men. …It’s my women friends that keep starch in my spine and without them, I don’t know where I would be.”
Jane Fonda

So many friends will be there at Carluccio’s. There will be friends from long ago and more recent ones. All people that I love dearly. Recently, I read something about a woman who was getting married and moving to a new country. Her mother said to her: “Angel, my advice to you is, make women friends, lots of women friends!”
“You are giving me that advice on my wedding day? Surely you should be speaking about the husband/wife relationship?” her daughter replied startled.
“That is a relationship between the two of you. I have no say in that. What I am saying is that it is your women friends who will be vitally necessary to you. Cultivate them!”
I am so fortunate in that I have cultivated a large amount of female friends. There will be one male present who makes me laugh. I have a smile dancing on my face at the thought of seeing him again. Indeed at that luncheon, I will have to continually swop places so that I can catch up with each one in turn.
It will be a looooong lunch!!!

After London, ‘B’ and I head up to Nottingham where we will spend two days with her parents, generous, loving people. Then it’s back home to Sheringham and seeing ‘B’s husband, John. I have missed him over the past four months.
At long last, I will be able to unpack and settle into English life!!!

I have been treated to this trip to England. I have been provided with a gift to: Westminster Abbey, St Paul’s, Covent Garden and the Changing of the Guard! Most of all though, I have been treated to…friends! It is friends that highlight places. Many people would love to go travelling but they do not have the finance. But everyone can have friends.
Treasure them!

Green, my land of green – England, here I come!
I pulled out my case and began to pack. The words of the old Vera Lynn classic tumbled out of me:
There’ always be an England
And England will be free
If England means as much to you
As England means to me……….

The post Friends! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

Gym

The post Keep going! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

“There was a magic about the sea. People were drawn to it. People wanted to love by it, swim in it, play in it, look at it. It was a living thing that was as unpredictable as a great stage actor: it could be calm and welcoming, opening its arms to embrace it’s audience one moment, but then could explode with its stormy tempers, flinging people around, wanting them out, attacking coastlines, breaking down islands. It had a playful side too, as it enjoyed the crowd, tossed the children about, knocked lilos over, tipped over windsurfers, occasionally gave sailors helping hands; all done with a secret little chuckle”

I think of how like the sea my life is. It has had so many changes all reflected in the sea. It has had it’s “magical” times; it’s “opening and embracing” times; it’s stormy and “breaking down” times. It has also had it’s quiet, becalmed times. At times it was so becalmed I wanted to churn the water up and get it moving in sheer desperation. I have been carried high on a wave only to be crashed headlong onto some rocks. Then I have been scooped up by the ocean once more. Let me share with you one of the phases of my “sea” life……

I look at the book lying in my lap, My Plunge to Fame by Gaynor Young. It has a picture on the cover of Neil McCarthy and I playing Cassio and Bianca in Othello. We look so incredibly young. I was 27 and just launching into life. So many plans and such great ambitions. I had my accident eighteen months later. Those plans and ambitions changed.
My acting stopped. I became a writer and a motivational speaker. I pick up my book and I think back to the launching of My Plunge to Fame.
And I smile.
I was nearly sick with nerves for the Durban launching of my book. I had to give a speech. Well, Gaynor had been doing her speeches for years, you’re thinking. Yes, that’s true but the speech I had been doing for years was actually my one woman show. And before my show opened, I had four weeks of rehearsal. I had to give a totally new speech at this launch for my book. For weeks beforehand I tossed and turned in bed. I was literally paralysed with fear, trying to unscramble my thoughts about what I was going to say.
It’s pathetic the way I always turn to the Lord in situations like that. When I was an actress, every time I went onstage, my entrance would always be preceded by prayers of extraordinary heat and fervour. A similar situation occurs now that I am a speaker. You can only imagine what they were like when I had to step forward as an author! I didn’t know how to be an author. Authors, I imagined, should be incredibly cool and utter remarks of great philosophical relevance. They should have this dry, cynical wit. Can you honestly see me fitting into that category?! I had to appear as Gaynor Young presenting herself as…well, as…Gaynor Young. Scary! Indeed terrifying!
But.
Laugh! My speech went too wonderfully for words. I didn’t once have to look at my notes. The things that I meant to be funny the audience laughed at and they also cracked up with hilarity at things that I hadn’t meant to be funny. Made me wonder!
At the launch we had an extraordinary turn out of people. Far more than we had anticipated so people had to stand at the back of the room. And they all bought books. Everyone did! And some bought more than one. Some bought three, some five. I know one person that bought ten! I couldn’t actually believe it. They were buying my book!

Carte Blanche, the investigative documentary program, filmed me the whole of the next day. They had a divine crew and I really got on well with Derek Watts, the host. At that stage I had no Cochlear Implants and I was relying on my one hearing aid. (I was totally deaf in my left ear so a hearing aid was not even considered.) I found that by holding a person under the chin I was able to pick up the vibrations of their voice. This helped me a tremendous amount in deciphering what they were saying. I obviously did it with Derek the whole time. I was terrified that I would miss what he was asking me. Afterwards people that saw the programme accused me of flirting dreadfully with him. What utter garbage but I must say that he’s got a beautiful chin to clasp!
My Jo’burg launch also went amazingly. I was even more nervous for that launch than the one in Durban. All of my theatre friends were there. They had known me as an actress, a good actress. I was terrified that I would now dry up and forget what I was going to say or express myself badly. I didn’t want to do that in front of them. But my fears were groundless. As with the Durban launch, it went fantastically.
My entire family was there. Megan had flown out from New Zealand , Liz came up from Cape Town, Mum and Dad from George and Patch was in Johannesburg. They sat in the front row so my eyes instantly fell on them. Mum was crying but knowing Mum that was to be expected. But Dad! He was a complete basket case. I went up on stage, smiled at everyone, looked at my family and saw my Father in this little puddle on the floor. This is the man who fifteen years beforehand was very reticent about showing his feelings! My precious, beloved Father. At the end of my speech I got a standing ovation and everyone in my family was weeping. For them, it seemed to be the final rounding off of my recovery. Des and Dawn Lindberg then sang a song that they had composed for me. Naturally, I couldn’t hear a thing but felt honoured that they had gone to that trouble.

Afterwards I felt positively drunk with happiness. I mingled with all my friends. A few of them I hadn’t seen for absolute ages. Yet they had all turned up, wishing to see me through this new start in my career. When I had my accident, I thought that all my friends would turn their backs on me. They would get bored with having to talk slowly. They would get impatient with having to put up with this spastic child. Oh, ye of little faith, Gaynor! Today I not only have all of my old friends but also a host of new ones.
The next six days were packed full with interviews. I got back to Durban exhausted. But oh, I had had such a full, fun and exciting time. There were fifty-five emails waiting for me. Many of them were people congratulating me on my launches and others were from people who wanted me to speak for them. Wasn’t that exciting?
Throughout our lives we all go through ups and downs. At that moment I was riding high on the crest of this full, massive wave and the feeling was quite exhilarating. I was aware that it would soon run down but that’s was fine. I would just tread water until the next swell gently buoyed me up to the top once more.

The post On the Crest of a Wave! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

I was chatting to some friends at a dinner party when suddenly I was tapped on the back. I turned to this petite, pixie haired woman. In fact, she was a tiny elf with dancing, crinkly eyes that met my stare quite openly. Then she spoke. Hell, I would kill to have a voice like hers –  deep and husky with a strong British accent. Incredibly sexy sounding!

“Hi,” she said, “I believe you’re deaf.” Taken aback, I merely nodded. ” Well,” she said “so am I,” and pointed to hearing aids in both ears.

“You’re deaf?” I said stupidly.

“I have 20% hearing in both ears so, yes, I’m deaf!” she laughed. I liked her instantly. I left the dinner party that night having made another friend in George.

B and her husband, John, went back to their home in England for Christmas and we  SMS’ed each other daily. In one SMS she asked me how old my computer was.

“About 10 years old,” I replied.

“Okay, listen,” said B, “I have about 3 lap-tops lying around. When I return I’ll bring

one over for you.”

I was totally gob-smacked as you can imagine! True to her word, B and John landed back in George and that evening she bought around my laptop. It was, in our modern day slang words “totally awesome!”

Even better than my wonderful lap-top, is my friend with the dancing eyes – B! She is a mass of contradictions. A gregarious person, yet one that likes being by herself. I think being deaf all her life she is quite comfortable being alone. She is this mad keen golfer and I believe is damn good. Her handicap is 8! I feel as if I have known her a long, loooong time. It is very rare to encounter friends like this. This is the first time that I ever have! In fact B is more than a best friend. She is a Soulmate. “Soulmate” Pah! I used to scoff at the word. As far as I was concerned, Soulmate was a very over the top way of saying best friend. Soulmate – Yuck!  Uh uh, definitely not for me. I preferred to be more down to earth using the word: best friend.

Until I met B. There is no other word that adequately sums up what B is to me. And so, at that dinner party, a Soulmate stepped into my life.

Two friends curled up on the sofa, mugs of Spearmint and Camomile tea in hand, talking, laughing and just being. Sitting at my favourite restaurant, Travelbugs,  tucking into their delectable Chefs salad with chicken sprinkled on top. Meeting B at gym which is not the most ideal situation – for me! She makes me work so damned hard. I have even been known to sweat!!! Also, at gym, we have discovered the joys of the steam bath. There I sweat without a problem and I love doing it. Very red faced when I come out but I feel fresh and ready to face the world!

I could weep that B spends six months of the year in England,  BUT today I am flying to England to spend three weeks with my friend – a present from B!

I thank God for bringing this Soulmate into my life. I thank Him for inventing B!

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