The tender love of my mother

I have a Whitlow 

            It was whilst my dad was away in the army that I developed a most painful left thumb.   There was a red swelling around the nail which became worse and was soon full of puss.   It throbbed continually and left me moaning and sleepless.   I have looked it up on the internet and this is what it says:

            “The clinical term whitlow is applied to an acute infection, usually followed by suppuration, commonly met with in the fingers.   The point of infection is often trivial—a pin-prick, a puncture caused by a splinter of wood, a scratch, or even an imperceptible lesion of the skin.   Attention is usually first attracted to the condition by a sensation of tightness in the finger and tenderness when the part is squeezed or knocked against anything.    In the course of a few hours the part becomes red and swollen; there is continuous pain, which soon assumes a throbbing character, particularly when the hand is dependent, and may be so severe as to prevent sleep, and the patient may feel generally out of sorts”.

Sorry no picture of a thumb

            My dad was away in the army, Bertha was at boarding school, Les was still a very little boy, Thelma was there to help my mother, and Daf had to go to school.   My mother had been up all night trying to ease my pain, so there was only one thing to do.    Early the next morning Petrus had to inspan the two cart horses, Chummy and Kolbooi, so that Mommy could get me to Doctor Goldberg in Viljoenskroon as soon as possible.   Petrus helped me into the cart with Mommy already waiting with the reins in her hands.  The horses pulled off with no trouble at all; perhaps they could sense that there was a child in terrible pain.

            It was a dreadful journey as every bump of the cart was most painful and I sat holding my bandaged hand above my head.   Mommy made the usual stop for the horses to rest and pass water; she was aware that they were only animals and treated them with care.

            We reached town after about an hour and took the cart to the usual outspan place where someone took over.   We went to the doctor’s rooms as soon as we could and Doctor Goldberg saw me immediately.   He confirmed that it was a whitlow and lanced it after giving me an injection in the thumb and there was immediate relief.   He was a Jew and our family doctor.   He was most kind to us and warned that I would eventually loose my thumb nail.   After bandaging my thumb he gave mommy what she would need to help my recovery and told her to bring me back in a week’s time.

            From the doctor’s rooms we went to Mrs. Shargel’s shop where mommy bought a few things and after hearing about our plight, Mrs. Shargel gave us each a cup of tea and some biscuits.   She also gave me a packet of sweets which would help for the pain!   We were soon on our way back home and I fell asleep, leaving my poor mother to guide the horses and take us home safely.   The things a mother will do for her children!   She had also had a sleepless night, but still carried on keeping the horses at a steady trot to take us home while worrying about her other children who were at home and at school.   Just thinking about it makes me appreciate my mom more than ever and I wish that I could tell her so.

            Eventually my dead thumb nail grew out to be replaced by a nail with two distinct ridges on it.   I have always had great difficulty telling my right from my left, so I soon learned to feel for the thumb nail with the two ridges and then I knew which side was left and which was right!!!   (If you don’t believe me, just ask Yvonne.)

            Most of the shops and businesses in Viljoenskroon at that time were owned by Jews and Lebanese.   Many years later my brother, Les, married a Lebanese girl, Lydia Kalil, from Bloemfontein whose one sister, Yvette, was married to Danny Gossayn, a Lebanese farmer from Viljoenskroon.

            There was a Jew, Leo Steele, who had a shop in Viljoenskroon, and after he married an Afrikaans girl I heard people saying that she had become a Jewess and I wondered what they meant by that   When I was in their shop one day I looked at her and noticed that she used a lot of make-up, especially very red lipstick, and as the farmers wives in those days did not use make-up, I thought that a Jewess was a woman who used a lot of make-up.   It was only later that I found out that being Jewish was a religion and had nothing at all to do with make-up!!

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