COLLOQUIAL EXPRESSIONS Growing up in a house with family and a home with a mother and father and brothers and sisters and maybe a maid shoving a vacuum cleaner around or a floor polisher maybe you will have found a lot of names for things cropping up in every nook and cranny. Yep, even out in the yard and over the fence in the veld. All sorts of colloquial names and terms by which we describe things that after a while slip into the memory bank and become part of the language and (I take it) the thought process. I can pick up a few right there that I have used in talking. ‘Floor polisher.’ You know what that is? Little two-brush job, Columbus, made in the US of A, for polishing ‘parquet floors’ (after the ‘girl’ has done the polishing with a ‘polishing brush’ on her knees of course.) Now I know my first mother in law said to her daughter (my wife) ‘never go down on your knees for a man.’ I agree. ‘Every nook and cranny.’ A nook is what exactly? And a cranny? It sounds right though. ‘The yard.’ Meaning the back yard. A stretch of lawn that became progressively smaller as it became progressively greyer and less green with all the concrete blocks piling up from heaven. Otherwise known as ‘the back.’ ‘The fence.’ It was actually a wall but used to be a fence, yes. And ‘the veld’ well, we all know we are in Africa, don’t we? We have a stretch of dry yellow stuff, tall, to remind us. Stuff you can get lost in easily and find a lion or two. On the other side then we will start with ‘the road’ and of course ‘the pavement’ on ‘our street’ which was named after a man called Simon, not Peter I hope. Then ‘the gate’ which was sometimes called ‘the garage gate’ and ‘the driveway’ leading down to ‘the garage.’ To the right of ‘the gate’ across from ‘the fence’ (another wall) you had ‘the front gate’ and ‘the post box’ and a path made from ‘slasto’ (sedimentary sandstone rock laid down in sections as they were taken from the quarry) called… (did it not have a name?) next to ‘the rose garden’ and ‘the wall’ separating us from ‘the Joseys’ (in this case) and a little fence called ‘the picket fence.’ It wasn’t a very pretty house I can tell you, or grand in any way. But it was ‘the house.’ ‘The lawn’ was dad’s pride and joy and ‘the flowerbeds.’ You had ‘the tap’ in ‘the corner’ and ‘the tree’ (in this case an acacia) and ‘the Bird of Paradise’ which was another tree next to the path. ‘The flower box’ stood in front of ‘the front window’ under ‘the gutter’ from which a heavy creeper grew creepy flowers in the spring that dangled down like trumpets. I hated them. But they were supposed to be pretty and bright and yellow and pink and they had an exotic name that coloured our little street up a bit and made a difference to the spring. ‘The Botha’s’ lived on the other side and ‘across the road’ we had ‘the Gerbers’ and ‘the Dups’ (Du Plessis.) Ours was ‘No 12, Simon Street, Rustivia, Germiston, 1401.’ Our phone number was ‘58 7333.’ The windows also had boxes (frames?) and ‘ledges’ to run the rain off. We had all sorts of flowers and shrubs and tools and things apart from flowers to add to our lawn that we also called ‘the front’ or ‘the front garden’ (there was no back.) The more you start talking about this the more the names just come. I spent a lot of my youth ‘playing’ on ‘the front lawn.’ I played a lot ‘in the street’ too and ‘on the pavement.’ There was no paving there, it was just grass, but we called it ‘the pavement.’ And there was a ‘gutter’ to the pavement that channeled the water down our street to ‘the veld.’ It would rain heavily in the summer and we would have ‘thunder storms’ with hail and lightning, what they would call a ‘Highveld’ thunderstorm. It was very dramatic and noisy and often the lightning bolts would ‘trip the lights’ and my dad would have to go outside to ‘the switch box’ and ‘trip the switches.’ We would ‘water the lawn’ with ‘the hose pipe’ and dance around ‘the sprinkler’ in the summer. We would ‘help Dad’ ‘weed the garden’ and ‘weed the lawn’ with a screwdriver. We would ‘mow the lawn’ too and help him plant seeds in the spring with the back end of ‘the garden fork’ that we still use for that. We had ‘garden shears’ and ‘pruning shears’ we had ‘the spade’ and ‘the shovel’ and ‘the pick’ and ‘the rake.’ We had ‘the mower’ and ‘the fertilizer’ and ‘the roller.’ We had ‘the wheelbarrow.’ I spent a lot of my Saturday with these tools when I was not ‘working with Dad in the garage.’ I just know there are plenty of other things you are going to think of and plenty that will come to me as we go along. We had ‘the roof’ of course and ‘the facing board.’ We had the number, 12, hanging from ‘the side.’ We had parallel strips of concrete rolling down to ‘the back’ and upon our ‘box cart’ we challenged the surrounding architecture and ‘the Bothas’ looking over the wall. Since we are here I can talk about ‘the garage’ and ‘the car port’ and ‘the car port’ again (we had two) and ‘the Wendy house’ (doll house) and ‘the maid’s room’ and ‘the maid’s toilet.’ These were no go areas that in the apartheid world of South Africa meant no go. Here was ‘the back wall’ and ‘the veld’ beyond. ‘The mine dumps’ could be seen from on top of the wall and they too were a no go area. Inside ‘the garage’ you had ‘the bench’ and of course ‘the door.’ You did in fact have a door at the back but it was never used. You used ‘the door’ through which you brought the car and closed it afterwards. ‘Have you closed the garage door?’ my father used to ask. ‘Go fetch the girl’ he used to say. I would run from ‘the stoep’ outside ‘the back door’ (kitchen door) and stop at the corner of the garage and poke a head around. ‘Aletta ons is klaar’ (we are finished) I would yell and without waiting for an answering ‘yoo hoo’ I would run back to the stoep as if the devil was after me. By that stage it was night and we had finished supper. That’s why I was ‘calling the girl.’ Aletta was ‘our girl’ my whole life and I never thought of her as being anything else until I left the home. She had her days for polishing floors or polishing brass and I would sit with her out in the sun and watch how she turned the metal into bright mirrors with her little can of Brasso. We never shared a word I can remember, or a thought, not until that time came when I had to ‘leave the house.’ It took me all those years to realize, at the end, that I loved her, and she loved me. I have no idea where she is now, or if she is still alive. She came from Swaziland and dressed up for church on Sunday and rode a racing bike in her church gear that I don’t think anybody has seen the like of since those days. ‘The back door’ then opened onto ‘the scullery’ and the scullery had in it ‘the washing machine’ ‘the fridge’ ‘the broom cupboard’ ‘the sink’ (shallow for dishes, deep for clothes) and a dish rack on the side, in the corner. Aletta would spend most of her time at ‘the ironing board’ and on the other side of ‘the fridge’ (Frigidaire) was ‘the vegetable basket’ a little free-standing wire thing. Inside the broom cupboard she kept the Columbus. No carpets in this house. Tiles and floors. Black and white ‘Marley tiles’ in the kitchen and scullery, parquet throughout. In the kitchen we had ‘the stove’ with four plates and an oven, ‘the fridge’ again (we moved it from the scullery when we moved in a deep freeze) and a table with benches. We had a ‘dinette’ where we kept our plates and glasses behind sliding glass doors above and a set of ‘drawers’ and ‘cupboards’ below a red ‘Formica’ surface with a burn mark on it from a kettle I think. We had ‘the kettle’ there and ‘the toaster’. Inside the cupboards we had ‘the groceries’ and inside the drawers ‘cutlery.’ We had strange plastic place mats that we put out onto ‘the dining room table’ on Sundays. Where does it end? Will someone else please tell us about the food we ate and the utensils we used to prepare the food? Of the baking done on that table and in the oven? Of ‘the breadboard’ and ‘the bread bin’ and ‘the bread knife’ and ‘the dustbin’? Of that first wife of mine throwing it away like that and throwing me away later? Of ‘egg holders’ and ‘egg beaters’ and ‘scrambled eggs?’ And ‘teapots’ and ‘tea strainers’ and ‘tea tins’ (forget tea bags) and ‘the tea bush’ outside the door where we emptied the pot? Of the difference between butter and ‘marge’ in the old days when ‘marge’ was horrible white stuff? And all the strange names we gave things and the strange things we did with them? ‘Toemonien!’ (come on then) to the cats, ‘Looksie and Stayput.’ ‘Toemonien, toemonien, toemonien…’ What heritage lies here, what culture, and what posterity? ‘The Esse’ in the lounge (eat your heart out, Sherlock) and ‘the Morris chair’ and ‘the couch’ and ‘the fireplace’ and ‘the pelmet’ and the ‘lace curtains’ and ‘the Venetian blinds.’ Looksie creeping through the ‘burglar bars’ at night and ‘making a big racket’ with the Venetian blinds. ‘The dining room’ with ‘the dining room table’ and ‘the dining room chairs’ and ‘the half moon table’ and ‘the record player’ and ‘long players’ (LP’s) and ‘singles’ and ‘33’ and ‘45’ and ‘78’ rpm? And ‘valves’ that had to ‘warm up.’ And towels that you could ‘warm up’ on ‘the Esse’ and take it to the one thumping for it from ‘the bath.’ Boof! Boof Boof! Three thumps against the bathroom wall brought you dad and a hot towel. ‘Hotwaterbottle’nabottleabovril?’ ‘The anthracite heater’ that’s what it was called (The Esse) and with it a hand shovel that I have lost, I so loved it, with a flat end that worked so perfectly for scooping up ashes the next day when it needed starting again. We had a very warm lounge with very warm winters and very warm memories. Down the passage you got the first room on the left, a ‘built in cupboard’ all there is to talk about and the other rooms too, except what was in them. To the right was ‘the toilet’, a single, and a ‘toilet seat’ that you must lift. You could also sit there and do a No2 or ‘a jobbie.’ I hated ‘doing a jobbie’ and I hated ‘jobbies.’ I hated ‘having a runny tummy’ and ‘opening medicine.’ ‘Mommy’ knew I did but gave it to me anyway. ‘Liquid paraffin.’ ‘Clark’s mixture’ (fag you, Clark, and the cape you rode in on.) You had to ‘wipe your bum’ afterwards and not ‘have an accident.’ My potty training was something like this: I do it in the potty and you throw the potty away with whatever it is inside it, holding your nose while you do so. I had ‘tummy problems’ as a boy and I am not sure today if I still do not have them. Just talking about it makes me ‘want to go.’ And they call ME an arse hole! After ‘visiting the toilet’ (‘hi toilet, how are you today?’) I go ‘visit the bathroom’ and say hi to all my friends there, the ‘wash basket’ there in the corner and ‘the bathroom cupboard’ (a tall schoolmaster meneer) and ‘the bath’ and ‘the bathroom taps’ and ‘the basin’ and the plug’ and ‘the bathroom shelf’ and ‘the bathroom mirror’ and various other items, you would know better, I spent most of my time in ‘the bath’ busy ‘soaking.’ You had ‘towel racks’ or ‘hand rails’ (can’t think which) and funny Tupperware glasses, pink and green, used for holding ‘tooth brushes’ (will they still be called this in ages to come?) You could do the ‘facehandskneesandfeet’ in the bath or the ‘allparts’ but mostly it meant (if it was ‘allparts’) a soak for hours on end and a world of imagination into which a sjambok might intrude if you were lucky. ‘Wash the bath’ he used to say and there it was, the evidence, ‘a dirty bath’ or ‘a ring around the bath’ and no maid now, no ‘girl’ to clean it for you. Day in, day out, night in, night out, the same thing for that poor girl. There’s just so much stuff, other stuff, other words, expressions, figures of speech that are as much a part of our thinking as the air that we breathe. Holidays in the car, a life spent in the car. All the terms of endearment we used on each other along the road, growing up. You ask what family is I think it is that, the thing we pass on to our children for them to pass on to theirs. The thing I think they treasure, that makes them feel they are a part of it. It’s more than just blood, isn’t it? Everybody shares blood. When I went to sleep at last or when I woke up, waking up to that family. Having that big bed in the main room, the family room, where we all came from. That was a nice feeling. I will never have it again.
Posted on: Tue, 02 Jul 2013 06:07:41 +0000
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