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When Mum’s cat died we were dreadfully sad. He was eighteen years old and was much loved. Then the most amazing thing began to happen. The birds came back to her garden in their droves! Weavers, Finches, Sparrows,  Sunbirds, Rock Pigeons and ordinary Pigeons. Even a baby albino Pigeon!
For Christmas, B and I gave Mum three large sacks of grain to feed her birds. When Mum let her dog out in the morning, she used to fill a cup with seed and scatter it on the bird table. The birds knew that the bird table was THE place to be. The little birds didn’t stand a chance when the ginormous Rock Pigeons were around. They settled their large, cumbersome bodies on the table taking up all the space and enthusiastically devoured the bird seed. All of it. Mum wasn’t having that! She bought a bird feeder which the Rock Pigeons are too big for. So while the smaller birds cluster around the bird feeder eating to their hearts content, the Rock Pigeons and pigeons devour all the seed that drops onto the ground.
Everyone is content. Even the little Albino pigeon!
I walked over to Mum’s house as I was being picked up there for gym. I made myself some coffee and took it upstairs to sit and chat. There was a sudden flurry of wings and sitting on the balustrade fence outside her room were four Drongos. Drongos are common in South Africa.They have glossy black feathers and red eyes. These birds usually get meals the honest way, such as capturing insects in mid-air using their incredible aerial skills. But at other times, like on cold mornings when few insects are flitting around, the Drongos turn to a life of crime.
When times are hard, this crafty bird can make false alarms to make other animals drop their kill and run from the scene. They then swoop in to pick up the remains! Researchers classify the Drongo as ‘a kleptoparasite’ – an animal that steals food from another creature that has caught it. But the Drongos sitting on the Mum’s balustrade, weren’t set on nabbing someone else’s food. No, these four mites looked expectantly at Mum. That morning, I discovered another way that they get food for themselves.
“Oh, they’ve come,” said Mum. She got out of bed and picked up a Tupperware box at the side of her bookshelf and carried it to the window. She opened it to a pile of cheese.
“Cheese,” I exclaimed, “birds don’t eat cheese, do they?”
“Drongos love it,” was the answer.
Mum would throw a bit of cheese into the air and the birds would collect it with a swooping dive. It was the most magical thing to watch. One of the Drongos had been tagged with a silver bracelet round it’s ankle. An “anklet”!
“I love this one. I call him ‘Oubaas‘.”
I smiled. That was Dad’s name on the farm.
“Watch,” Mum said. “C’mon, Oubaas, come get your cheese.” She held out the cheese cupped in her palm. He looked at Mum. He looked at the cheese. Then he swooped and landed on Mum’s wrist. Very delicately he bent and took a bit of cheese. Maintaining eyes contact with Mum he swallowed it, took another piece and then he was off into a nearby tree where he proceeded to put it on a branch and eat it in a more leisurely fashion.
I stood, totally entranced watching my Mum and her birds. Two mornings later, I went over to find Mum laughing. “You know how I always sleep with my window open. This morning I opened my eyes to see Oubaas inside my room, hopping along the end of my bed. Tik-tik-tik went his little feet and then he would let out his little rousing cry. He was waking me to come and feed him, the little blighter!” Mum said, fresh laughter assailing her.
I get so cross when people say that animals don’t think. They do. It is just that they think in a different way to man. They think in a way man cannot understand. Have you ever watched geese flying in a perfect V. They know who is going to lead, who the next two are going to be and so on. I think that animals often communicate telepathically. This flying in a V is a prime example!
I am sure that many have read The Elephant Whisperer. A couple of years ago when the author, Lawrence Anthony died, somehow his herd of elephants knew. They were hundreds of kilometres away yet they made their way to his homestead and just “hung out” there for a couple of days. Then they left. My heart tugs at that.
Whether it’s Mum’s Drongos, geese flying in a V, elephants mourning a lost friend…animals think. I think that they “think” in a finer way than man.
Lawrence Anthony wrote: “Our inability to think beyond our own species, or to be able to co-habit with other life forms in what is patently a massive collaborative quest for survival, is surely a malady that pervades the human soul.”

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       Anne, Margs and I were always the three kings. Libby had wonderful clothes in which we adorned ourselves. Every year we would have the same argument over who was to wear the beautiful embroidered jacket! (I still lust over that jacket!) Margs said: “Let us follow yonder star. It will lead us to the baby, the Saviour of the world!” We three kings then set off across the lounge following Patrick’s star singing “We three kings of Orient are…” The star was meant to move to above Mary, Joseph and Jesus but instead it  got half way there then stopped. And refused to budge another inch! We three kings were meant to finish our song and say: “Look, the star has stopped over the stable…” Let me tell you the star was nowhere near the stable. It was stuck just past the piano and refused to budge! Patch said: “Hold on, just let me adjust the…”

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My mind is full of Madiba. I have been watching TV and he is everywhere. And yet he is gone. In Heaven, our Lord will be saying: “Hey there, good and faithful servant…” I could and should write about him. But there are people better qualified to do that. So in order to turn my mind to other things, I read through my journal. And I thought: “Yes, that is what I will tell them about this week – My time performing Gaynor Rising at the Baxter Theatre. This was pre-Cochlear Implant, time.

Pandora, my cockatiel and I left for Cape Town. Some people travel with their spouses or partners. I travel with my bird! I was to be performing at The Baxter Theatre for two weeks. I was looking forward to it but was also poop scared. The last time I had performed at The Baxter was before my accident. When I was an actress. A damn good one! That was over. I now performed as Gaynor Young telling her “story”. Would people find it interesting? Would it hold their attention? Maralin Vanrenen, my director, had no doubts whatsoever. I must do what I always do…have faith in Maralin!

 

After the show one night, I was drinking a glass of wine with friends when I was tapped on my shoulder. A man with a spastic left hand greeted me: “Yes,” he smiled acknowledging my look of recognition and moving his hand. “The same as you except I’m lucky, I’m right handed!” We introduced ourselves and then he said: “I so enjoyed your show. You showed me the joy of living. I had forgotten. Thankyou!”

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Shirley Johnston is one of  my closest friends. When I was playing in Camelot we used to share a lift to the State Theatre because she was appearing in another show at the same theatre complex. We both have the same sense of humour and I like her enormously.

In 1991, two years after my accident, Shirley approached me.”You turn thirty in three weeks. Dave and I were chatting in bed and we decided that we would very much like to host your thirtieth birthday party for you. That is, if you’d like one of course.”

What a question!

Shirley and Dave didn’t set a limit to the amount of people I could invite but I don’t think that they were anticipating 150 people. Word spread and everyone I knew wanted to come.

I had decided to make a lemon meringue pie as my contribution to the party. I used to be an ace lemon meringue pie maker and I was sure that I hadn’t lost my touch. I put all the Marie biscuits into an old Pick ‘n Pay packet ready for crushing later. It was a treat using all of Shirley’s gadgets. An electric fruit squeezer drew the juice from the lemons. An electric mixer mixed the condensed milk with the lemon juice. I was really enjoying myself. I decided to make the pie’s base. Crushed biscuits mixed with melted butter. I took hold of the Pick ‘n Pay packet with all the biscuits and looked around the kitchen. I needed a flat, hard surface. The granite kitchen counter top would do perfectly. I gripped the Pick ‘n Pay packet firmly in my hands. Like an axe-man chopping wood I bought it down hard on the counter. CRASH. Shirley turned from what she was doing startled. CRASH.

“What are you doing?” CRASH.

“I’m crushing the Marie biscuits.” CRASH.

“But Gaynor…” CRASH.

“It works brilliantly.” CRASH.

“Are you sure…” CRASH.

I didn’t hear the rest of her sentence. CRASH.

“That should do it.” CRASH. “Once more for luck.” CRASH. “Just to make sure!” CRASH.

I opened the packet. Two dozen smashed eggs met my eyes. A strangled cry behind me made me turn around. There was Shirley doubled over with the Pick ‘n Pay packet of  crushed Marie biscuits in her hand. We looked at the sodden mess of crushed eggs and laughed till tears poured down our cheeks. We laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

We had to buy another two dozen eggs.

The day I turned thirty was special. Everyone who was there meant something to me. After lunch I said to Shirley: “I would like to say a few words to everyone, okay?” I stood on a table on the patio so that everyone could see me. I was nervous.

“Because of my accident, my speaking still isn’t quite right,” I began  “so if I say anything and you don’t understand, won’t you shout out and tell me? I can’t guarantee that I will hear you but give it a try anyway.” There was a spontaneous round of encouraging laughter at this…and I was away.

I don’t really  remember what I said. I do  remember the heady experience of being in front of an audience  again,  their faces,  laughing, listening,  hanging  on my every word.  I  finished off  with a  poem by ee cummings. I had learnt it before my accident and amazingly I remembered every word. If I didn’t know that he had died many years prior to my accident, I would have sworn that he had written this poem exclusively for me.

i thank You God for most this amazing

day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue dream of sky;and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,

and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth

day of life and love and wings;and of the gay

great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing

breathing any – lifted from the no

of all nothing – human merely being

doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

 My thirtieth birthday is so clearly imprinted on my mind. I am taken aback by the big heartedness of Shirley and Dave who gave to me such an incredible day, such a treasured memory. I love them both for always giving so much. (Shirley Johnston was the editor of my book, My Plunge to Fame, and she is the scriptwriter for this new film that has just come out: Felix. It has had brilliant reviews and I can’t wait to see it!

Yes, I remember my thirtieth birthday party clearly. Twenty-two years ago I remember the love woven into it.

So clearly.

The post A ‘Smashing’ Time! appeared first on 'ear 'ear! by Gaynor Young.

And while you smile

Another smile smiles

And after a while

There are miles of smiles

And life’s worthwhile

Because you smiled.”

My Gran wrote that for me when I was nine years old. When I think of her, I smile. She was that kind of person.

Thinking back on my English travels, I recall the day that B and I set off for Covent Garden to meet friends of mine for lunch. I looked at the woman siting opposite me on the tube. In front of her was a suitcase on wheels. Her young daughter was asleep next to her. I gave her a smile which was met by a blank stare. She had obviously been travelling for a long time and was in no mood for smiles! Two seats down was a rather dour man who was reading a paper and occasionally just staring into space. Our eyes met and I gave him a friendly smile. His eyes shifted uneasily back to his paper. Obviously the tube was not a place for smiles!

We arrived and meandered around Covent Garden. They had lovely little stalls but it was a case of merely looking. Everything was terrifically expensive. Numerous people caught my eye but not once was I met by an answering smile. Oh well, tante pis! London was obviously not a place for smiles!

We arrived at the restaurant where we had arranged to meet everyone. We had no sooner sat down when Suannne arrived. Suanne Braun is a vibrant personality and carries laughter with her. I had seen Suanne this time last year and it seemed as if we had merely paused for breath in our conversation. And there was Jenny De Lenta. I hadn’t see Jenny for twenty-one years and oh, it felt good hugging her once more. I had forgotten the serenity Jenny carries with her. She introduced us to her husband, Craig and her beautiful littler daughter, Milaya. Craig and Milaya went off to do their own thing and left us girls to talk, catch up on each others lives, laugh together and rejoice in being alive. At 2.30 p.m. ‘B’ leant across to me and said: “I have managed to contact your old friend, Lawrence Hilton. He’s in Leicester Square and will be here in ten minutes.”

Hell, ’twas good seeing him again. He makes me laugh like few other people do. I don’t know what it is! We obviously share the same sense of humour in bucket loads. That afternoon loads of smiles were shared amongst us fellow South Africans!

Walking home I smiled at a woman walking towards me expecting the normal blank stare in return. I was met by an answering beam as the woman passed my side. Not just in the mouth. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as if the two of us had just shared a joke. I stopped in my tracks, looking back at her. Then unable to stop myself I went after her, calling out: “Excuse me, could you just wait a second?”

“Sure,” she said, “What’s the matter?”

“You. You are what matters.” She looked a little puzzled. Understandably! I tried to explain. “I am on holiday here from South Africa, and I have noticed that you Londoners don’t smile at strangers. You don’t smile at people you pass on the street or sitting opposite you on the tube.  Londoners didn’t smile, I thought, that is until I passed you and you met my smile with a radiant beam that took my breath away. Thankyou!”

The woman grinned at me. “I have been living in London for the past seven years. But before that I spent thirty of them growing up in South Africa. I am South African!”

I chuckled the whole way home.

“And life’s worthwhile

Because you smiled.”

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