Open Writing

“The acoustics in this hall aren’t very good are they?” The chap looked puzzled, then apprehensive, then replied, “Mmmm – yes, now you mention it, I can smell those bad acoustics too!” We howled with mirth….’’ Isabel Bradley enjoys good conversation, friendship, food and music making before bidding a reluctant farewell to Namibia.

My last two weeks in Oranjemund flew by, I was so busy it was almost like being at home in Johannesburg. There were rehearsals with Salome, my lovely pianist friend, and with Natalie, the music teacher at the school.
Salome is petite, dark, and full of energy. With four young children and a husband, she somehow finds time for exquisite, creative needle-work, bakes wonderfully, and does a spot of music teaching on the side. Getting to know Salome was an honour and definitely a treat!

There were afternoon teas with Rudae. And of course, the usual run-around taking the washing to the laundry, visiting Spar, and watching the gemsbok direct traffic…
One Saturday morning, the Riding Club opened their monthly coffee bar to the public. Leon and I tried their treats. Children were given pony rides around the paddock, and people sat out in the sunshine watching them, eating quiche or great slabs of the most wicked chocolate cake I’ve ever tasted. (Leon had the quiche, I enjoyed the cake…) There was also good coffee available, which Leon enjoyed, while I had a pot tea.

One of the riding-club ladies approached and asked if we’d like to take a ticket in their raffle. Next time the coffee bar was open, all eyes would be on the paddock, which would be divided into numbered squares. If the pony dropped a load of manure on the square we chose, we’d win a prize! “Oh,” quipped my Love, “never will so many eyes have been watching one pony – The Great Defecation!” We bought a ticket – Leon will have to attend the next open day to make sure we win our prize fair and square…

That was Saturday 25th June. On Tuesday, 28th June, the music teacher at Oranjemund Primary School and I played some “background” music at the Community Centre, while guests were arriving for the 25-year Awards Ceremony. Natalie du Plessis and I got on well from the first moment we started rehearsing. She’s totally dedicated to teaching music in this corner of Namibia. FORTY of her students were taking UNISA exams this year – that’s a huge amount of teaching.
She’s also coaching her music students for the annual Eisteddfodd that happens in Springbok. They’re travelling there on a Friday afternoon, performing on the Saturday, returning on the Sunday, and the UNISA examiner arrived on the Monday. This is some time soon – early August, I think. Not to mention the fact that Natalie’s giving her fifteen-year-old son home-schooling, as not everyone is cut out for boarding school, which is almost the only option for children of high-school age.

Natalie is a very busy lady, and a talented musician. It was great fun making music with her that Tuesday evening. Hopefully, she and Salome will be playing duets for two pianos soon, and can be part of our next Oranjemund concert! Oranjemund boasts quite a large number of pianos. The school has four – two in each of their two music classrooms, and a lovely baby grand in the hall.

Being an ex-school-secretary, I enjoyed going to the school to rehearse with Natalie, and made a point of stopping to chat with Pearl in the front office. Of course, she too is a lovely lady – aren’t ALL school secretaries wonderful? The Headmaster, Dieter Meyer, introduced himself to me, and treated me with the welcome “disrespectful respect” all headmasters save for secretaries. I felt as if I’d come home.
With a twinkle in his eye, he mentioned that flute players, to his knowledge, were like violinists – they had to stand out front, while the pianist took a back seat. We chuckled over this, then in my concert on the following Sunday, after mentioning his joke, expanded on the subject, telling the audience that the pianist is, in reality, the vital foundation for the soloist, and a full partner in the musical experience, playing duets with the other instrument, never truly in the background!

On Friday 1 July, I finally went on a tour of the mine. The mine, of course, is the reason for the town’s existence, so it was important to find out a little more about the way it functions, and how its workers live. It was a fascinating experience – one that was far too detailed for me to write about.

That evening, we went to dinner at Rozanne’s flat. Rozanne, remember, is our delightful and excellent physiotherapist friend. She’d also invited Glen. We sat in her living room, talking and laughing, and probably disturbing her neighbours, until late that evening. Glen reminded us of the waitress who’d served us at Don Estebahn a couple of weeks earlier. “The thin one, remember? The one who gets a tummy ache and a back ache in the same place!”

We also spoke about Fanie at Op My Stoep. Glen, who’d visited that restaurant without female company a couple of times, told us that Fanie refers to his food (sorry, anyone who may be offended by strong language) as “vokking uitstekend” to the men, but when the ladies are present, he amends his adjective to “velskoen”. For those who don’t understand Afrikaans – sorry, it just doesn’t translate as hilariously as the original; but it all means, “absolutely excellent”… Leon and I enjoyed several “v…g uitstekend” meals at Fanie’s place…
Glen then told us how he once travelled with his band – he’s a drummer – to a gig in a small dorpie (village) in the middle of nowhere. A mayoral assistant had been assigned to look after all the needs of the musicians for the night. Glen sat next to him in the hall, listening to the band setting up. He turned to the “care-giver” and said, “The acoustics in this hall aren’t very good are they?” The chap looked puzzled, then apprehensive, then replied, “Mmmm – yes, now you mention it, I can smell those bad acoustics too!” We howled with mirth.

It was a candlelit, laughter-filled evening of friendship and warmth that will happily be hauled out of our memories and talked of often.

Taking leave of Rozanne that evening was difficult. She walked out into the soft, cool Namibian air with us, we looked up at the stars, we talked loudly and laughed loudly, probably woke all her neighbours, then she walked with us almost as far as Glen’s flat, half-way home, leaving her own front door and gate wide open… Eventually, we had to physically turn her around, and watched her until she was safely around the corner – calling silly comments to each the whole time. What a wonderful, warm, caring and fun person she is. I miss her.

Next day, Salome and I had our final dress rehearsal in The Little Theatre. We’d set the concert date for Sunday, 3 July, at three in the afternoon. The Oranjemund Players did all the advertising for us, by e-mail to the entire company network, and in the Sperrgebiet Gazette for three weeks running. It was advertised as a Relaxing Afternoon of Music and Poetry. Leon came with us and helped set up the lighting. When he lived in Oranjemund in the 1980’s, he’d been a strong and active member of the Players, and felt happily at home in the theatre, climbing ladders, fiddling with light boxes and lights, and generally working miracles so that Salome and I could read our music – and be seen by the audience! Glen helped enormously, too. And commented about the “acoustics” while I was playing, setting Leon laughing.

The Sunday concert was great fun for me and Salome. We’d chosen about thirty minutes’ worth of “small” pieces, thinking that perhaps the Oranjemund audience wouldn’t appreciate a full-length recital of flute music. There were at least fifty people in the small auditorium, which was far more than we’d hoped for. Many of our audience were children, which delighted us both.

The programme opened with a baroque dance called “La Florentine” by Francois Couperin, and I explained that at the time he lived, both ladies and gentlemen wore high heels and heavy wigs, and really fancy, BIG clothes, so that they couldn’t move very fast, but had to be elegant… Then came a favourite piece of mine, “Morceau de Concours” by Faure. That was introduced with a little explanation about the piece being written for the end-of-year competition at the Paris Conservatoire of Music, and how wonderful it must be to study at a school where music is the main subject. I also explained how the modern flute sound originated at this particular school of music, and how Faure and other French composers write so gloriously for the instrument, that the sound is almost inevitably gorgeous, no matter who’s playing!

Our next offerings were “Chanson de Matin” and “Chanson de Nuit” by Elgar. He was introduced as an English composer, who had a foreign name and gave French titles to his music. Here are my poems inspired by these pieces and by Oranjemund that I read for the audience before we played the music:

Song of the Morning
Written on Inspiration from
Edward Elgar’s Chanson de la Matin
By Isabel Bradley.

Otherside the cosy curtains,
Suspended in a sky bluer and deeper than any sea,
A sickle moon hangs silver,
It’s star twinkling below…
As the sun peeks
through palm-tree fronds,
And rises, cool and calm,
The birds wake one by one,
Burbling –
“hallo, pretty – hallo, pretty!”
They call and sing,
They croak and shout –
One great song of joy!
Time of hope and action,
Let’s up and do,
Let’s do our best,
And give our best,
And love and live –
And love to live!
As the birds sing, so should we:
“It’s morning – it’s beautiful, joyful morning!”

Song of the Night
A poem composed to introduce
Edward Elgar’s “Chanson de la Nuit”
By Isabel Bradley
Sunset.
Translucent Jacaranda-blossom sky,
Fading,
As the moon rides high
And a last wind blusters through the trees,
Blowing the stars away…
All is still,
A fine mist hangs
In gardens, and parks and fields.
Shadow-shapes float above roof-corner
And lamp post –
eagle owls calls out,
“Who? … Who?”
And ghostly gemsbok graze and gaze.
Peace reigns outdoors.
And in?
Warmth and joy and
Pull-up-the-covers and cuddle close:
All is safe my Love.
All is safe this night.

These were followed by another French work – my favourite of the moment, “Romance” by Camille Saint-Saëns. Here I spoke of the joy music brings, and of the delight and the privilege of being able to share that joy, not only with other musicians, but with our audience. The short programme ended with a last French item, Benjamin Godard’s “Valse”. This, for those of you who haven’t heard it, is a wild show-piece, sounding more and more like a huge barrel-organ as it rushes to it’s end... I told the audience the story of how, when I first worked on this piece with Alice, who is Dutch, she mentioned the similarity to the barrel-organ, and told me how they were trundled by horses through the streets of Holland when she was young; how the people would run after them, dancing to the music when they stopped in a square; how beautifully decorated these huge music-boxes were; and how the barrel-organ man would shake his metal box filled with change, turning and turning the wheel to make the music blare. Here’s the poem I wrote a few years ago that introduces this piece:

The Barrel-Organ Man
By Isabel Bradley
Hush!
What’s that I hear?
The Barrel-organ, drawing near?
What fun –
Forget the drab -
Do the work some other time!
Out to the street, let’s go,
Find the Barrel-organ Man…
Can you hear?
Hear - the sweet and halting melodies –
Where?
Down the road?
In the square?
This way? Or that?
Hear - clogs on cobble-stones,
Running, eager;
See - faces, round and laughing;
See - fluttering black skirts
Lifted high above the puddles…
The barrel-organ man
Turns the handle, on and on,
Oblivious of tune and rhyme and rhythm,
Round and round and –
Changes hands with barely a –
Pause –
before the music,
garish and glorious,
Blares on,
Louder, closer now,
Music, laughter,
people dancing,
Men, women, children -
Sorrows and hardships whirled away
By a red-gold-gaudy waltz.

Someone in the audience had been primed to call for an encore. It was Dawn Watt, a member of the Oranjemund Players. Her husband is their chairman, as well as being one of the Namdeb pilots. Dawn and Wendy had been busy backstage on Saturday while we were rehearsing. So, Salome and I played Grieg’s “Dance of the Elves”. The whole programme took just under forty minutes.

Afterwards, several lovely people, including the school’s music teacher, Natalie, and the Headmaster, Dieter, came on stage to chat and thank us. Sadly, Salome’s family dragged her away. However, there were several other good friends in the foyer, waiting with a “bucket” of sherry for me. In Oranjemund, sherry is served in large red-wine glasses, usually filled to the brim. Yum. There were Geraldine, Billy, and Rudae, and Morag and Bob who I’d met once at a quiz evening, and Rozanne’s boss, Vanessa, and Wendy… We enjoyed a lovely chat. To my delight (it’s getting more and more difficult to get through ordinary doorways, my head is swelling…) they all asked that I come back to the town to give another concert – a “longer, proper concert, with ‘big’ music, possibly some Mozart?”! Rozanne was at the concert, but rushed off with her friend as soon as we finished, to watch the Wimbledon Finals. Glen missed the concert as he was travelling to Windhoek for an early appointment on Monday morning.

Leon and I went home, watched a movie on television, then went to Flamingo’s for a posh and very delicious dinner. It was so lovely being together, all dressed up, in a lovely atmosphere with candlelight and quiet music in the background…
Monday morning was my last tea with Rudae. She phoned me at about quarter to ten, and asked if I’d like to drink tea at the top of Swartkops Hill, as it was such a beautiful day. What a super idea that was. We drove out of town towards the river, and parked at the town-side base of this great hump of black rock. Rudae took a loaded basket from the back seat of the car – and from the floor-well behind the seats, two plates holding hunks of fresh chocolate cake… I carried the plates, Rudae carried the baskets, and we began climbing the only hill in Oranjemund. It was a steep climb up a “road” made for 4x4 vehicles. It wound around the side of the hill, and along the top to a flat outlook post with a view across the river to the sea, and to Alexander Bay, and to the dunes of the Namib Desert… There was a wooden bench, where we put down the basket. I had my camera with me, so we took a few photos of each other and of the glorious views that stretched forever. Trapping such a view is impossible, but I do have some lovely photos… Then, Rudae waved a magic wand, and produced a bottle of peach champagne, crystal champagne flutes, cheese straws, and the feast began, a feast of talk and laughter and fun and enjoyment of each other’s company. What a delightful morning!

Next day, Salome and I met at the school hall. Melanie, the library teacher at the school, had asked if we would give a flute demonstration for the children. Knowing the restless behaviour of school children in Johannesburg, I was a little apprehensive. Needlessly. The children of Oranjemund Private School are happily and beautifully disciplined, they’re interested and interesting. First, we played for the little ones, from Grade Nought to Grade Three. They were very sweet, and sat quietly, shrieking with delight only when I played my piccolo in the high register!

The little ones filed out after about fifteen minutes of talking and playing, and then the senior primary pupils arrived – hundreds of them! The school caters for nearly a thousand children. They, too, were fascinated by the flute and the piccolo, all of them had blown across a bottle-top, and knew that if there is a lot of liquid in the bottle, the sound is higher than if the bottle is empty. When question-time came, one youngster asked how long it took me to be able to play the Godard Valse. Without thinking, I quipped, “Oh, about forty years!” There was a heavy silence – no doubt the entire student body thinking as one that that is an awfully long time to have to work at playing the flute. Then a bright-spark at the front put up his hand, and innocently asked, “How old ARE you, Miss?” The teachers’ faces, as if they were one person, turned thunderous. I had to fight the urge to laugh – I’d really asked for that, hadn’t I? When the hall was empty again, the deputy headmaster and Melanie-the-librarian both asked me to please return with a “different presentation” when I visit in August…

There went my head, growing a little bigger…

Salome and I were a little tearful, saying goodbye – but we’d agreed to meet at my “fully furnished” house for tea next day, to say goodbye properly. A special bond forms between people who share music the way we did. Salome learnt a very difficult programme in two and a half weeks, ensuring that our concert went well and was enjoyed by everyone. She’s such a star. If I could tear her away from her four children, her husband, and her organ, it would be wonderful to have her near me in Jo’burg! Ah well, one can dream…

From the school, I rushed home, put down my flute bag, locked the house, and walked over to Geraldine’s for lunch. What a spread – and what lovely company! Rudae was there, and Brenda, who I hadn’t had time to get to know, we had a lovely afternoon! Among her friends who’ve known her a while, Geraldine has a reputation for putting on a beautiful spread. She denies it strongly – but the twice that I visited her, she certainly was a wonderful hostess in every way!

I’m missing all my new and lovely Oranjemund friends already!
Next morning, I woke in tears. Only one more day before I was to leave my Leon for two months, though by now I was determined to return for about a week (depending on Citation flight availability) in early August, once I’ve settled some business in Jo’burg and enjoyed my special music sessions with Roland, Marion, Brian, Clive and Jack… It was a difficult day, every time I stopped thinking, I wanted to burst into tears again, and if Leon so much as mentioned “no more tears”, off I went again, leaking all over his shoulder.

My flight was confirmed – it was to be twelve hours later than I’d expected, leaving at about five on Thursday afternoon rather than five in the morning… I spent the morning washing floors, scrubbing bathrooms, doing the shopping, and selecting the clothes, shoes and music that I couldn’t survive without, then packing and re-packing.

Salome brought her little girls to see me in the afternoon, and I cheered up a little. We enjoyed a cup of tea together, and a happy hour in front of the computer, introducing Salome to Power Point, which I’ve been discovering and enjoying with my photographs. My poor friends and family here in Jo’burg are going to be subjected to presentations on Oranjemund, Luderitz and Kolmanskop, the trip down and anything else I can think of using this wonderful computer programme for!
By the time Salome and I said goodbye, I’d cheered up a little. Five minutes after she left, I realised I hadn’t got my music back from her, so I phoned and she asked me to PLEASE come to her home next morning to play a little for her friend Janet who hadn’t been able to come to the concert! Whew, what a whirl…

That night, Leon and I went off to Op My Stoep for a “v…g uitstekend”, quiet meal together. We arrived to find Rozanne and her friend, Estelle, sitting at the bar waiting for take-away pizza. While they waited, we enjoyed another delightful half-hour of laughter with the two girls. Leon told Rozanne how sad I’d been all day about leaving. “Secretly,” he confided to them in a loud stage-whisper, “I’m also very sad, but cowboys don’t cry… But I’m not a cowboy, am I?”

Then I had to tell them how I was struggling with the ten kilogram limit on my luggage, and shared the secret that in spite of leaving behind all toiletries, some shoes and clothes, for use in August, my suitcase weighed exactly ten kilograms; my hand-luggage weighed nine, and my handbag probably just about as much…

The meal was, as usual, delicious. Fanie is definitely extremely excellent as a chef!

Of course, I woke in tears again on Thursday morning.
Thank goodness for the planned visit with Salome. Her friend, Janet, is yet another lovely “Oranjemunder” and her sister Jean (from Joeys) was with her. They’re identical twins, though Janet is confined to a wheel-chair. On this occasion she was using a motorised scooter which was very elegant! They were having a lot of fun in this small town where everyone knows everyone else’s business. Jean and her husband, Ian, visited the Don Estebahn restaurant for a meal, causing instant gossip. Jean said she could see people whispering behind their hands, and just imagined their comments: “Look, there’s Janet – but she’s not in her wheelchair! Can she perhaps walk, just short distances? And WHO is she WITH? That’s not her husband!” Instant shock and horror, followed by understanding and giggles when people saw Janet and Jean together… We had a lovely morning. I put on at least one more unwanted kilogram, eating the yummy chocolate goodies Salome had made.

The afternoon was spent preparing savoury mince and beef stew to keep Leon fed for the next two months. I’d already made a huge pot of chicken stew, which separated into nine single meals sitting “snugly” in the freezer…
At four, I fetched Leon from his office. My legal ten kilogram suitcase was in the boot, along with my dodgy nine kilograms (including flute, music stand and music) hand luggage, my handbag, and three extra layers of clothing. It was East Weather, balmy with a minimum of wind, and I was melting in my winter travelling clothes!

Keeping myself calm and tear-free was extremely difficult on the way to the airport. My Love dumped both my large bags at the counter, and I visited the ladies’ room (nervous bladder), then we sat and chatted and held hands rather desperately. Both my bags, legal and dodgy, disappeared onto the baggage cart and out to the Citation, without a murmur or a hint of query from any official. Ten minutes early, the pilots asked me to go through security and passport control – they were ready to leave. So – Leon and I had a last, slightly tearful hug, and off I went. From behind the fence, he watched me walk across the apron, and I turned to wave so often, the other passengers must have thought I was quite dippy. Then, I saw the fire-engine waiting on the runway, and figured we were flying on that rather than the Citation, which couldn’t POSSIBLY be this tiny cigar-tube aeroplane everyone was actually climbing into… Leon was still at the fence, watching as we taxied to the end of the runway, turned, and the acceleration pushed us back into our seatbacks. My last sight of him was a tiny, forlorn and lonely blue dot hanging onto the fence…

The flight was fast and reasonably comfy, though of course such a small plane does NOT offer leg-room, or a loo! Thank goodness I’d made those two emergency visits at the airport… The safety brochure on the ‘plane says that the back seat CAN be converted into a loo, but should only be used for that purpose “in case of emergency”… I wondered what kind of emergency would justify the trouble of removing all the hand luggage from where it was piled in the back seat; the REAL reason this instruction is given to passengers, I’ve been told by a pilot’s wife, is that the pilots are the ones who would have to clean it out after the flight… Luckily, it was only a two hour journey.

Bergen, as I said at the beginning of this epistle (heavens, NINE PAGES…), was there to meet me. Jo’burg was cold. Home was welcoming, but it’s not right without Leon. I hereby publicly vow and declare that after September, when Leon’s current Namibian work visa expires, I will never again allow us to be separated for more than one or two nights at the most.
Meantime – there are lovely people to see, and so much to do I hardly know where to begin!