Daddy is in the Army.

Mommy solves her problems with the horses.

A photo taken in 1940
Bertha, Daddy, Mommy, Thelma & in front, Daphne, Leslie & Vernie

Jim Randall

        My mother’s brothers had offered to help her with the farming, but as far as I know this seldom happened.   Uncle Jim Randall, who was still unmarried, had moved into our outside room and put his horses in my dad’s stables.   We children resented him eating the biggest bunches of my dad’s Crystal grapes which grew in front of our verandah and he would never think to pick us a bunch.   My dad would always pick fruit for us children first, he was so kind.   Uncle Jim also brought along his unruly dogs.   Weekends he was never there, either with a girl friend at Mirage or with Uncle Fred and Aunty Sally.   He had his own farm next door and had to spend time there as well, but he was always short of farm labourers as he could not get on with them.

            He ordered us around and made my mom very unhappy and she cried a lot.   At one stage most of my mom’s farm labourers left because of him so she had to ask him to leave off helping her.   I will give him his dues and say that he sure knew how to handle horses!   My mom could not drive a motorcar and had to make use of the cart and horses.   These sensitive animals knew that she was a nervous woman and afraid of them so they played up every time she wanted to go to town.   They would refuse to budge or go to the other extreme by rearing up on their hind legs, and Scot; the beautiful chestnut coloured gelding, would kick the splash board until you saw splinters flying.   On occasions he would get his hind leg caught over the shaft (disselboom) and go quite crazy.   Chummy, the other gelding, was much better, but could be influenced by Scot.   Scot was born and reared on the farm and was a foal of my dad’s mare, “Tiny”, and our stallion, “Ligman”.   There was another foal, also a beautiful chestnut, and she was named “Princess”.   As far as I can remember she had not yet been trained when we sold the farm.

            With my Mom upset and crying, Uncle Jim would come along, help her down, get in the cart and, taking a firm hold on the reins, he would whip the horses and drive them around in circles.   With foam dripping from their mouths and sweating profusely, they were ready for the trip to town and would take my mother there and back with no further problems.   Half way to town you would have to stop for the horses to pass water, which they could do whilst inspanned.   Should you have a mare pulling the cart you would have to outspan her as a mare is not able to pass water whilst in a harness.

            When you got to town the horses had to be outspanned and given water and food, but there was always someone there to help.   You always took a bale of food along for the horses, cowpeas, teff grass or lucerne, and there would always be a trough of water for the animals.   There was also always help when inspanning again.

            I recently spoke to a cousin of mine who lives in Bloemfontein, and she told me that her mother, Aunty Stienie Randall, used to get a lift into town with my mom in the cart and horses and that she used to say that she was amazed how well my mom could drive and handle the horses.   (And I always thought that she was a typical nervous woman!)   My mother solved her problem one day in town by swapping Scot for a more placid gelding named “Kolbooi”.   We were all sorry to see Scot go as he was a beautiful horse but he had a bit of the devil in him.

            To write about horses would be a story on its own, so I will tell you a bit more about Uncle Jim’s horses next time.

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