Dolosse, Ossewaens and My Brother Les

My Grandpa and his “Dolosse”.

            Do you know what a “Dolos” is?   It is the knee bone of an animal and they were toys for boys who played with them from time immortal.   They were his cattle, sheep, pigs and horses.   I had quite a collection of them helped by my Grandpa and he would enjoy watching me playing with them.   He named all my oxen and laughed at my pronunciation of the Dutch names.   One day while I was playing I asked him “Grandpa, do you also have dolos bones in you?”   “Yes I have” he said. So I asked him if I could have them when he died and he said  “Yes of course you can”.   “Promise Grandpa”?   “ I promise my boy”!!!   I wonder if my grandsons would like my ‘Dolosse’ when I die one day!   I know that Harvey wants my Bakkie!!!

Die Ossewa.

            During 1938 there was a great celebration in South Africa to commemorate the Great Trek of 1838 when thousands of Afrikaans speaking South Africans decided to leave the Cape, which was under British Rule.   This opened up the interior of this country and the result was the establishment of the Transvaal, Orange Free State and Natal.   My sisters, being in an Afrikaans school near Mirage, were taught songs for the occasion and they, in turn, taught me.   So we sang these songs with pride and joy, just as the little Dutchmen did.   “Kom sing met my ‘n Burgerlied wat aan my hart sal raak”. But the one which would remain in this little “Rooinek’s” heart was “Die Ossewa”. 

  “Die Rooispan Afrikaners trek so pragtig, stap so stadig aan met die ou ossewa.   Die roepstem kom tot ons so luid en kragtig, trek saam met die ou ossewa”.   Something in those words have remained with me always and later in life I realised just how much I despised the British cruelty during the Boer War which caused so much disharmony.

            It was about that time that my parents decided to visit the Eastern Cape.   My dad had a Dodge as I can remember the sheep ram emblem on the bonnet.   With our luggage tied on the roof and on the carrier, (there were no boots), we set off.   It was my mom and dad, four children and Oupa Dave Randall.   I stood between Oupa and Daddy on the front seat and sang those Voortrekker songs with my sisters until the adults could not take it any longer.   I do not remember much about the journey accepting the car boiling up the Katberg pass and Oupa had to keeep placing rocks behind the wheels when the car wanted to roll back.   My mother had lived in the flat Free State all her life and was terrified that we would roll down the side of the mountain into the river far below.   Somewhere along this route we picked up hitchhiker who stood on the running board of the car, and I can remember my mother hanging on to him to stop him from falling off.   We visited Uncle Arthur and Aunty Dicky (Ivy) at “Anglers Rest” near East London before going on to Bolo and “Inverbolo”.   Where My Grandpa Henry Whittal was at that time I do not know, I can only think he must have been with one of his other children.   Alas! … my brain does not want to release any more details of that holiday.

My Brother Les is Born.

Grandpa stayed with us at home when my dad took mommy to a nursing home in Bothaville and it was just eleven days short of my fifth birthday that my brother Les was born.   I was so excited that at last I would have a mate, but alas, the gap was too big for us ever to become close friends.   He was named Leslie Bertram Whittal.   Once again it was a name that my mother liked, and my dad’s name was given a second name.   My parents wanted to call him Bertie, but he was called “Boetie”, little brother, and there are still people who call him that to this day.   I called him ‘Boet’ and although he prefers to be called Les, I still like to call him ‘Boet’, ‘cause he is my brother!!   As a new born baby he became very ill and my mother was kept very busy, but Grandpa was there to help her with the other children.   He made it a special task to stop me from pestering my mom.   Les was a very sensitive child who liked drawing and at one stage he even learnt to crochet while suffering from tonsillitis.   He was a clever boy who matriculated at the age of 17. ..He was a very pretty child who grew up to be a handsome young man.   He had fair hair and took after the Whittals.   I cannot remember him playing in the dust and mud, or standing in the hot cow dung to warm his frozen feet in winter.   Maybe he could send me a story or two for this, my blog.