Pappie is peacefully asleep. The light in the room is dim and in the quiet serenity of the room Andrea Bocelli’s voice is softly bouncing off the furniture of the room. At times it seems as though the sheer splendour of the beautiful music echoes into Pappie’s sleep. In contrast with yesterday, the music seems to keep him in a peaceful sleep. Yesterday he felt every sorrow, joy and wonder of each individual piece of music. He seemed to have been irritated with our constant whispering. He wanted to experience the music.
But now it’s different, The silence between tracks on the CD brings an aerie silence to the room. But he only moves a finger or two. And then the wave of the music fills the room and one sees the peace on his brow.
This is the way that he should hear his music. He’s at peace…
I find myself looking past the horror of his disposition, the small body that lies in the bed before me…
My dad is the strong man who could lift me on his shoulders when my small feet couldn’t walk on the hot sea sand anymore. The articulated self-assured speaker in any situation, without any prior notice. He used to always crack a little joke about “unaccustomed to public speaking” before embarking on a speech that would captivate any audience.
The man who used to keep his one eye closed when he read from the Bible to me at night. I was never sure whether he really couldn’t focus, or whether my multi-talented Dad could maybe in fact rest, or even sleep with his one eye while reading to me with the other. But never did he rather choose not to read. He always read out of the children’s Bible with the utmost patience. He made me feel as if his day would not have been complete if he hadn’t read to me. As if this task was what he had been waiting for the whole day.
The times he used to bath me after I had been sick in my bed. Now in retrospect it seems strange, because he would’ve been the only one in the house for whom that particular task would not have been suited. But he held his own and cleaned it all off and patiently would wash my tiny body till it was squeaky-clean. He would get so annoyed with me when he had dried off my one leg, foot and carefully each toe, and unwittingly I would put that foot back into the bath to pass the other.
Over weekends go to the drive-in, and with severe aggravation and frustration finally get the car parked in the exact correct position so that all 7 could see the screen unobtrusively. Only to be told of a quarrel that had erupted between the four of us in the back. By the time the movie had started, we had just exhausted ourselves to the point of sleep. The words: “Nooit weer kom ons inry toe nie!” echoing through the evening……But the next Saturday evening we’re back at the drive-in. The “Beautiful People” and “Born Free” and “Dirkie”….. He wouldn’t have swopped the walks to the tuck shop with us, the swings under the screen and yes, all the endless fidgeting to find the ideal viewing position, and repositioning of the speaker on the window, for anything in the world.
The man who would take us on long drives through the countryside. On long trips to far away places with “padkos” and all, or the day trips to view the flowers at Namakwaland. Being astonished because he came to show us the beautiful countryside, and we’re all ….. yes, sleeping.
The man who could at the drop of a hat recall names of famous opera singers or any other important information. Teaching us the wonder of nature and all it’s splendour. The father who would sit and help us with our homework, having a vast general knowledge, and who taught us the importance of being fully bilingual.
The man who held a microphone to my mouth and begged me to sing until I could no more. The man who stood in the back of the auditorium of the Nico Malan and told me to walk onto the stage. When I stepped onto centre stage, I heard his voice from the back: “Sing! Enigiets! Toe nou man!” All I could think of at that stage was “How much is that doggy in the window”. The disappointment in his voice…but his words reassuring as always: “Toemaar dit sal kom”.
The man with the grip of iron. The forgiving hug after the long punishment talk, the man who introduced Pronutro and Weet Bix to us after years of the same Post Toasties and Rice Krispies, with hot milk. I remember all four of us sitting around the breakfast nook in eager anticipation to what we deemed would change our lives, as we knew it. Pappie’s face like a small boy with a secret.
Waiting eagerly in front of the SABC building in Sea Point while Pappie is reading the broadcast news. Sitting on the swings, but keeping a sharp eye on his office window for a sign. Because when he comes out, he would be taking us to Venezia’s. The All-the-flavours-you-can-eat ice cream place. The ride back home I can now not recall, but I do remember trying to outdo one another with special flavours ice cream. He seemed to always have chosen the ideal flavour combinations, but would be interested in one of our creations, ..always the more sour taste – the litchi or kiwi.
The endless amazing and interesting stories about his travels with the Springboks, the earthquake in Tulbagh, the floods, the Parks, the interviews with interesting people and important persons. Of the one gem of a special ’78 record he had found amongst a pile of dusted-over records and junk at an old lady’s home. The painstaking care he took to clean and restore that record with a sponge and water. I was sure as a child that these records were made of cut glass. The desperation in his eyes when he deemed it necessary to destroy a specific record. I could see the pain in his eyes.
It’s that passion for his music that I need him to experience now. The wonder. The splendour.
As the waves of the symphony fills the empty quiet room, I realise. It’s not just my dad and I in this room. It’s a full philharmonic orchestra and the conductor and Andrea Bocelli and the shuffling audience…. and my memories of my dad.
I’m sure you know this man, Danie van Eeden. The most important man in my history, present and future. The one who would be there every time I sing. Every time I hear music and can appreciate it within my soul. When I can feel the music – that’s what my dad taught me.
And now when the world is slipping away from him, he can lose himself in his music and float into a peaceful sleep…
In South Africa today security plays a vital part in any business or private home. This book and the volumes to follow, will guide you step by step through the essential precautionary measures to be taken in protecting your family and valuables. From employing security guards, evacuation of your site and security measures to burglar bars and alarms in your private home.
a Book compiled by me from experience gained after 10 years in the security industry as Industrial relations officer with Nosa qualifications, 1st Aid, fire protection and also S.O.B. grade A.
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