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3. Our African Garden



When I want to fully appreciate our garden, I compare it with what it was a few years ago. Then the ground was covered with bush, which had not been disturbed since it had been dry land, for undoubtedly where Alale now stands, there was once a lake, which in some bygone age was emptied by the rocky barriers giving way in the poort, the traces of which barriers can still be plainly seen.

Then, no road led to our grounds, and we had to wind this way and that amongst the mimosa bushes, passing round wattle-and-daub huts, thatched with rushes, naked pickaninnies crawling about in front of the door, amongst chickens and dogs : possibly, near by, a woman would be sitting over a wood fire in the open, or pounding mealies in a hollow tree-trunk with a club. On the woman's head might be a turban, in her mouth a long-bowled pipe, a necklace of beads and teeth, armlets of brass, and strapped tightly on her back a small, shiny, black baby, supported by a shawl fastened in front.



Eventually we emerged into the main road to the township.

In those days we lived in a canvas tent, fearing with every gale that it would come down upon us, and during a thunderstorm we could see the shape of the lightning through the canvas. Then we cooked and washed out of doors, and had to carry water for garden and household purposes in buckets up the steep river bank by rough paths.

To-day we live in a snug house with a comfortable verandah. The native huts have disappeared ; the bush is also gone. Instead of mimosa bushes, firuit and other trees are growing, and instead of the winding paths amongst the bush, which now I sometimes miss, there are trim paths and a road. We no longer dip our water out of the river and laboriously carry it up the river bank, but a windmill brings it up for us, and we dip it out of stone tanks, or lead it where we will in pipea

The road which cuts our ground into two parts is a grassy one, fenced in with wire and cleared of stumps. Along the far side are healthy young trees, grouvillia, eucalptus, and beefwood, which give promise of shade in years to come.

We are fond of wild bits of bush and wood, and, where possible, have left patches of them along the river banks : and are quite proud of the variety of native trees, bush, and creepers that we possess, but of which we know hardly any of the names.

Some of the wild plants in our garden are valued by the Dutch and natives for medicinal purposes. The castor-oil plant is perhaps one of the most highly valued, natives often asking for a few leaves for headache and other ailments. Another is the cancer plant, a kind of acacia, bearing beautiful snap-dragon-shaped flowers of a bright red colour. The wild tobacco is also used for certain ailments, and another small bush, much resembling the Cape gooseberry, but with smaller leaves and fruit of a brilliant red, is used as a certain specific for boils, the bruised leaves being applied as a poultice, and the berries being looked upon as a certain cure for distemper in dogs.

We have some good specimens of wild olive, which the natives use for making their knobkerries, considering it the best wood for the purpose. They have a mode of hardening the wood by a careful process of burning.

The root of another bush is exceedingly hard, and haa a fine, pretty grain. It is used by the natives to make their long-bowled pipes, which are fashioned with great care and are perfectly symmetrical.

One part of our river bank is thickly covered with full-grown trees, and over these grow masses of wild clematis, passion-flower, and another creeper which bears a strawberry-pink flower and crimson pods, a little larger than a gherkin, the leaves being something like ivy, but of a transparent green . There are numbers of smaller creepers in the shady recesses, some with yellow flowers like the laburnum, others with blue flowers, and some with sweet-scented masses of yellow, each having some sweet scent or beauty of its own.

The river's edge is lined with reeds and rushes, the former often growing to ten or fifteen feet in height, and giving much trouble by their propensity to send out shoots in all directions, often smothering trees and vegetables that had been planted near the river. The rushes are highly valued by the natives for thatching their huts and tying up bundles, owing to thL toughness and dLbility. ani for which purpose they bruise them between stones. Several willow-trees overhang the lagoon, their twigs of delicate green sweeping the surface of the water. The opposite bank of the river, some hundred yards away, is also covered with large trees, the whole making a very pretty picture.

As soon as part of the steep river bank had been cleared of bush and weeds, we had it cut into terraces and planted with Bahia oranges and naartjes, which, with the shelter of the banks and the moisture of the river, do very well, and have this year yielded their first rich crop of golden balls.

I like as far as possible to do the garden work myself. The flowers and trees seem to respond to the care given them, and to droop and run to seed when left to themselves and the gardener. But gardeners are a necessity, and, after all, I am not sure that I do not get as much pleasure out of them as I do out of the flowers and trees. One of my gardeners, " Julius Caesar " by name, was a Basuto. He nearly always smiled a most pleasant smile, and was wonderfully good-tempered, except on rare occasions when the childishness of the true savage would break out for a day or two. When plantmg seedlings or making trenches, the rows would be about as straight as a dog's tracks. He never did master the meaning of the words straight and parallel. But with all his faults he was a good boy (all native labourers are " boys " in Cape Colony), hardworking, honest, and quite willing to do his best, though often with comical results. Other boys that I had were of no pure native race, but were very satisfactory, and gave no trouble, taking an intelligent interest in their occupation. When natives get settled down and interested in any work, they become thoroughly attached to it, and if anything happens to their work feel it keenly. I heard of one native shedding tears when a horse he had been tending for some time was sold. My boys were always anxious that their work should have the best possible results.

On the higher ground above the banks of the river, we planted, with other fruittrees, peaches, apricots, nectarines, and apples, all of which have given good results for little labour. Last year our two-year-old pomegranate bushes were a perfect picture of bright green, crimson, and gold. Pomegranate bushes are always beautiful; the leaves are glossy and bright, the flowers rich, and the fruit very charming, especially when, just cracking with ripeness, they show the luscious fruit within. Our honey-pot grapes too, have been a success, yielding crops of almost too sweet fruit. Not so successful as these were our loquats, almonds, and plums. Though planted at the same time they have yielded no fruit.

For shade and ornamentation, and to screen our fruit-trees from the high winds which prevail here, we have planted beefwood, blackwood, pines, cypress, and other trees of the same kind. But the most successfril and the prettiest of them all is the pepper-tree. Its finely intersected leaves are always graceful, and when it is covered with creamcoloured flower tassels or the light magenta berries that follow, the picture is perfect.

A good deal of fruit is destroyed by the birds, and no net seems to have a small enough mesh to keep the smaller birds oflf the ripe fruit.

I have watched a bird sitting on the blossom-laden branch of a nectarine tree knocking oflf showers of bloom by scraping its bill up and down the twigs. But our garden would be very dull without birds, and they may freely eat the fruit in exchange for the brightness they bring with their song and colour. And how beautiful some of them are: - The sprues, with their glossy peacock-blue coats looking like flashes of coloured fire as they fly against the sunbeams, or the " honeysuckers " (the Sun bird) which are the most harmless and beautiful of them all. They are never still, flitting from twig to twig almost like butterflies. The male bird's feathers are a fascinating blending of lustrous crimson, green, and blue, the females a modest grey. They flit from flower to flower, and hanging just below them, dip their curved bills amongst the petals, sucking the honey and possibly eating the small insects they find there.

The butcher birds are not so showy as the foregoing, but are much tamer. Their colours are black and white. One used to follow me about the garden, and when I was digging would keep quite close to the spade, looking out for grubs amongst the newly tumed-up soil, and when it found one would fly with it to the barbed wire-fence, impale it on one of the barbs, and come back for another. One of our tamer birds is very much like a robin, with a red breast, but of slimmer build, and larger. This bird often comes to the house in the hope of picking up stray crumbs. I caught one of these birds twice within an hour in a spring mouse-trap, which I had set outside with a piece of bread in it to catch field-mice. Swallows also visit us in the summer, building their mud nests in the angles of our verandah timbers. They leave us when the cold weather comes, to return again in the spring.

Cape canaries and bush pigeons are very numerous, as are wagtails, which are almost everywhere to be found where there is any water. The Dutch name for our smallest bird they pronounce " Knedike." It is about the size of our English wren, of a brown-grey in colour. It builds its nest of fine grass, wool and fluff, the inside of it being not so large as the inside of a tennis ball.

This short record of our birds hardly begins the list, but will serve to show that the bush around us is by no means without life.

In spite of what others have said to the contrary, many of our birds sing very sweetly, though there is never the rich flow of notes that the European songsters have. Many of these in South Africa begin the songs of the birds of the dear home-country, and then break off, as if they had forgotten the rest, or as if the memories of the place where they had learned the songs were too much for them.

There is a sort of clanship amongst our African birds. When a snake attacks a nest or the birds discover an owl, they immediately give a peculiar cry, at which other birds come to the rescue. They whirl round the tree in which the snake or owl is ensconced, and fly up and down, bufieting the enemy, apparently with the hopes of driving it away.

The Dutch have a story to explain the cause of these commotions on the discovery of an owl : In days gone by, when birds and beasts held their parliaments and sports like human beings, there arose a great discussion amongst the birds as to which could fly the highest. The crane put in a claim for high flying, also the padderfanger, and the owl too; but of course he was laughed at, for he was far too sleepy to do anything of the sort. The eagle also put in a claim, and had many supporters. But as opinion was much divided, they agreed to have a great meeting on a certain day to see who could fly the highest. All sorts of birds entered for the competition, from the little Knedike to the powerful eagle-hawk. The sports began, and each bird did his best. The smallest birds competed first and then the larger ones. When the tinkey-tinkey's turn came, he was nowhere to be found, and the other birds laughed, thinking that he was frightened, and had run away, for he had never flown further than from one bush to another. However, they went on with the sports, and the birds circled up into the air one after the other. When the eagle-hawk's turn came, he easily rose higher than any of them. But, unnoticed by any, the little tinkey-tinkey had hidden himself on the great eagle-hawk's back, and just as the eaglehawk lifted its wings to swoop down to earth again, the tinkey-tinkey flew out to the tip of one of the uplifted wings, crying, " I flew the highest, I flew the highest." The ostrich tried to fly after that, being the biggest bird, but was of course quite a failure.

Now the birds were very angry with the tinkey-tinkey for playing them such a trick, and decided that he should be well punished.

But when they went to look for him, they found that he had gone down a small hole into an ant-hill, and none of the other birds could get him out. So they determined to set a watch at the hole to catch him as he came out. The owl having big eyes and looking the wisest of all birds, was chosen to watch the hole. But the owl found it slow work, and soon began to blink his eyes, and then went to sleep. So the tinkey-tinkey came out and flew away.

Presently the other birds came back to see if the tinkey-tinkey had been caught. Finding the owl asleep, they bufieted him. This has now, say the Dutch, become a custom amongst the smaller birds, who, when they see an owl, always remind him of his stupidity by flying in his face and teasing him.

Our house is a wood-and-iron one, with black and white gable ends. It is thoroughly English, having been built in the old country. A verandah (which is a necessity in this sunny country) runs round three sides of the house. We make good use of our stoep, sitting there in the heat of the day, reading and enjoying what cool breezes there may be, and the view across the river to the mountains beyond. On our verandah we receive our visitors and give them afternoon tea. It is also the place where we keep our choicest flowers and plants : coleus in many colours, begonias, maidenhair ferns, chrysanthemums, geraniums, and many other treasures.

It would be hard to say which hour of the day we most enjoy on the verandah, perhaps the evenings, when the greatest heat of the day is over, and the shadows begin to lengthen out, when the birds begin their evening song, and the mountains take a russet purple hue, and varying tints play in the sky. As the sun sinks, the mountains seem to close around us, and one star after another will appear, the Southern Cross and its two pointers brighter than all. Perhaps the moon will rise over the edge of the hills, flooding the country with a soft light, the lesser stars become obliterated, and only a few of the largest constellations can be seen.

One of the grandest of Nature's pictures that I ever saw, was this same view just at sunset. We had had a fearful thunder-storm^ and the bush and trees were heavy with rain. The birds came out from their leafy shelters to sing their evening carol, and the air was fresh and sweet. The rain had ceased where we were, but the east, which the house faces, was purple and grey with thick clouds from which rain was still falling. Behind us, the sun was setting below an 'archway of molten gold. Across the valley, in front of us, was a large and perfect triple rainbow; within the arch a curtain of dropping gold, caused by the sunlight catching the raindrops ; outside the arch were deep purple and grey clouds. On the left a hill was crowned by the brilliant, though broken, arch of another rainbow, while a third spanned a kloof amongst the hills on the right.

Our verandah is in fact our favourite resort, and we are proud of it - I think with good reason.

Near the house are single white, also sweetscented double-pink oleanders. The single white is especially pretty and delicate, but it has no scent, and soon spoils with the high winds. Close by, too, is a hedge of heliotrope, pink, yellow, and vermilion in colour. It bears masses of flowers, and has a very sweet scent, which attracts thousands of butterflies. It would be impossible to try to describe the gaudy colours of their wings. When disturbed, they rise in a rainbow-coloured cloud of brightest hue.

We have the small watch-dog already mentioned. He lives near the house in a kennel which the natives call his house. When he performs what tricks we have taught him, for the natives' edification, they often nearly roll over with laughter. One day he attracted our attention by furious and continued barking, and being loosed from his chain, at once attacked a cobra, which, unnoticed by us, had been gliding along the wall of the house. The dog bit it several times, but did not seem to injure it, for before I could get a stick with which to kill the reptile, it had slipped into the lining of the house, through a gap left in the iron during some repairs. A cobra is not a nice neighbour, and after very carefully closing up all cracks and holes on the inside of the wall, we did our best to entice it with milk and other delicacies to come out again. But all to no purpose. It would only put out its head and then retire. At last, in desperation, we closed the hole up, and left it to its fate. Besides cobras, which often reach six feet or more in length, we have found of poisonous snakes, numbers of puff-adders and night-adders, also a few garter-snakes (which are showily marked with red, yellow and dark brown); and we have killed hundreds of ground-snakes and water-snakes, which are said to be nonpoisonous. We have now practically exterminated every kind of snake from our grounds, which were at first infested by them.

The winter months are from May to September. The nights are then cold, and ice of a quarter-inch in thickness is common. The leaves fall from the trees and the flowers wither, making our garden look as if it were in mourning for the warm sunny weather that has departed. These four months are almost rainless, but this is usually compensated for by heavy mists which the frost sometimes turns into a rime that makes the bush look as white as if covered with snow.

In September we hope for rain, and if our hopes are realised, the garden springs into life, as if some magic wand had been waved over it, covering it with a sea of tender green, and billows of pink and white blossom. Many truant birds come back to us, and everything seems at one step to have passed from a dormant state to one of life and energy.

The hottest part of the year is at Christmas, when the thermometer often passes 100° in the house. At this season of the year very hot winds blow, which dry up the plants that are not well watered, so that the leaves crumble like burnt paper, if crushed in the hand.

Qn Christmas Day, which is often the hottest in the year, we sit in the sweltering heat dividing our time between doing what is necessary and trying to find some place that is a little less hot than another. We try without success to keep cool by imagining old friends and scenes in England - outside, the frost and snow; inside, the familiar fireside and rooms decked with holly and mistletoe, the cheerful faces round the bright fire, the but the very mention of a bright fire makes us feel hot, and we change the subject.