why he was late

A short story

Written by

Marilyn Mills

During the many years I worked at a school there were lots of hilarious moments and quite a few sad ones to boot.

One of the funniest moments happened early one morning sometime after the first bell had rung.    Most of the children were in the classroom and a quietness had settled over the School.

Children start arriving from around 6.30 a.m.at the school and the few hours before the bell rings are quite chaotic.   The Secretary and I had greeted students, taken money for fees, given headache pills and throat lozenges, fixed scraped knees and joked and chatted with staff members.   We were settling down to our usual cup of coffee and a hard day’s work.

Suddenly the front door bell rang.

The Secretary, being very English and not abiding’ tardiness’, unlocked the door from her desk and waited to pounce on the very late comer.

‘Why are you so late, you know school starts at 7.40 and that the gate closes promptly at 8am.   It is not right that you should come so late.’   The tirade began!

I looked up and saw the little student standing looking into the secretary’s office from the foyer with huge round eyes.  His mouth hung open in amazement and he looked like a little guppy.   He tried to get a word in edgeways but the tirade continued.

Eventually the question was asked.

‘Why are you late?’

The child looked beseechingly toward the front door where, unbeknown to us, the father was still standing.

A voice answered ‘The car eet is fxxxd!’ (the actual word came out loud and clear)

A deathly hush descended on the front office.

Now you have to appreciate the Secretary is really very English despite having gone to finishing school in Switzerland and living in Zimbabwe for many years. She is a founder staff member of the school and is completely dedicated to her job.  She prides herself on her English heritage and is quite proper – at times!

‘Oh, ok then.  You better hurry to your classroom, my boy’ she spluttered in her clipped English accent.

The child ran back to the father for a quick hug then set off smiling to his classroom.   We heard the front door latch close as the father walked away.

I hung my head and smothered my mirth but after a minute or two a huge guffaw emanated from the Headmaster’s office and we all collapsed in a heap of laughter.

Talk about the day starting with a bang!  

How is that for an excuse for being late?    After that when children came late the secretary made quite sure that the parents were not still standing in the foyer before asking that dreaded question -

 ‘Why are you so late?

THE STORY OF TWO DOGS

THE STORY OF TWO DOGS!

Written by

Marilyn Mills

We  were sitting down to a much needed cup of tea during our lunch break at the Veterinary Surgery when the receptionist came into the office with a very worried look on her face.

‘The police are on the phone and they insist on talking to you ‘she told my husband who is the vet ‘ it is most urgent.’ she explained.

I could see my husband’s face.   He was perplexed.   Working with the police was always heart breaking as the police dogs were first in the firing line and by the time they were brought to the vet the injuries they had endured were usually very extensive and traumatic.

 He picked up the receiver reluctantly.

‘Hello Sergeant, how can I help you?’ he asked.

He nodded and agreed as he listened to the policeman talk.   He shook his head silently and then said

‘Bring them in right away and let me see what I can do.’

I looked at my husband and saw that he was distraught.

‘What is it?   Has another police dog been shot or stabbed or even poisoned?’

‘No’ he answered.    ‘I have never had to deal with this situation before in my entire professional career.   It seems that a toddler has drowned in a swimming pool in the suburbs and when they pulled her out she was missing a hand.’

I was shocked.    ‘Missing a hand?   How terrible!’

‘Yes, the child’s Gogo was hanging up the washing and the child was happily playing in the garden with the two large dogs who reside there.   The Gogo said after a while she heard the dogs barking frantically and when she went to look for the child she saw the dogs at the side of the pool looking into the water.  

The policeman says when she eventually managed to pull the child out of the water.   She noticed that the child’s nappy had been removed and the hand was missing.’

‘The police want me to operate on the dogs to check the contents of their stomachs to rule out the fact that one of them may have bitten the child otherwise they may have to treat this case as a Muti Murder!’

Both of us were horrified at the thought.

Ever the more practical one, my husband asked me to go and buy some re-sealable plastic bags from the local shop.   He explained that it would not be necessary to operate on the dogs but that he would induce vomiting and collect the contents.

 Not being the most hardened vet’s wife, I battled to keep the contents of my stomach down as I raced off to buy the necessary articles.

What a tragedy was unfolding.

Moving along the aisles in the supermarket everything felt surreal.   All the people going about their business as usual whilst elsewhere a Gogo was mourning her grandchild, a mother mourning her child and homeowners distraught at the tragedy of what had happened at their home.

I marvelled at the complexity of life.

When I got back to the veterinary hospital I saw that the police had arrived.  Squad cars were parked all over the car park.    Inside the waiting room with several policemen was a very distraught woman holding onto two of the most magnificent chocolate brown Labradors I have ever seen. One was very definitely the male as his head was twice the size of the other one.   The dogs were both agitated and strained at their leads as they struggled to understand what was happening.   They sensed something was very wrong.

After I had given the plastic bags to my husband, who was in the process of getting the theatre ready, I went to sit with the owner in the reception room.   The police were bustling about.   Cell phones were ringing.   Voices were raised!   In general the quiet waiting room had turned into a disaster zone.

Taking the distraught woman’s hand I guided her into the sanctuary of the office to try and get her details in a quiet and dignified way.

Slowly the story unfolded.

The owner of the house where the toddler had drowned had been happy for her domestic worker, who  had worked with her for many years, to bring her grandchild to work as she felt it was safer than leaving the little girl at home in the township.   It had been a regular occurrence and the dogs happily played with the little girl while she tottered around following her Gogo while she did her work.

Nobody knew what had actually happened.   The Gogo wasn’t even aware that the child had wandered off until the dogs had started barking.   Now the police were blaming her dogs and talking about putting them down.    Yet there was a lot of confusion.   Maybe it was a Muti Murder!

They had found the baby’s nappy lying at the side of the pool.

A post mortem had to be done.

The dogs were each put into a newspaper lined kennel.   My husband explained to the two sergeants what he was going to do and that they were to wait for his diagnosis.

The team began the procedure.   They took the male Labrador first. He was the bigger of the two and the definite leader of the pack.   Out of the two of them he would have been the most likely to have done the deed.

The medication was given and the dog put back into his kennel.   Then they waited.

Luckily the medication worked quite quickly and before long he had emptied the contents of his stomach onto the newspaper.   The assistant then moved him to another kennel and my husband was able to bag the contents into the plastic re-sealable bag.

He could not believe his eyes.   There before him, mixed with the normal things you would expect to find in the stomach of a large dog were tiny little fingers.   His heart sank.

He looked at the dogs.   There was no aggression in either of them.   They both looked back at him with eager eyes as if to say – ‘ You will have to talk for us. You will have to tell the story’.

My husband went back to the police and the owner in the waiting room and invited them into the office.

He showed them the contents of the pack.

The police started shouting that they would have to put the dog down.   The owner cried out in disbelief!

He calmed them all down and explained what he thought had happened.

‘The hand was definitely ingested by the large male Labrador’ he said, ‘but I do not think the dog bit the child intentionally.   My theory is that the child fell into the pool and the dog tried to get it out.   First it tried to hold onto the nappy and that came off in his mouth.   Then he tried to grab the flailing arm to try and pull the child out and the hand came away from the body.   At no time, in my opinion, did the dog take an aggressive stand.    I have worked with these dogs all my life and I have owned six of them myself over the years and never would one of them deliberately cause such an injury to a child.’

The police stared at the vet wide eyed.

The owner cried softly.

‘Do you not think it is necessary to put the dog down’ asked the one policeman.

‘No definitely not’ said my husband.   ‘He was trying to save the little girl.   Of that I am sure.’

The policemen were not really convinced.   They asked if the evidence could be kept in the freezer until they had spoken to their superiors.   They had decisions to make.

The policemen asked him to write out a full statement as soon as possible and they would collect it together with the evidence in due course.

The owner left with her two precious dogs.   Tears of gratitude were pouring down her face. 

The following morning early my husband let himself out of the front door quietly to collect the morning newspaper.   We had not slept very well and thought constantly on the fate of the poor male Labrador.    The story had made the front pages of The Witness.  

The headlines read ‘Labradors hailed as heroes!’    They were the toast of the town as they had tried to save a baby from drowning in a local swimming pool.   Photos of the two dogs took centre stage on the front page.

He hurried in to show me the headlines.   We both breathed a sigh of relief.

We were so glad that yet another tragedy had been averted.

The statement and the contents of the bag were duly collected a couple of weeks later and to date we have heard nothing more.

All in a day’s work at a local veterinary practice!

A sunny day in Hilton

It may be a beautiful, sunny day in Hilton when all the people are out and about on their bikes and pushing prams or just walking and soaking up the sun but there is a swirling, sneaky breeze that is whistling around corners and rustling up the fallen leaves.   The breeze is icy!

July in Hilton has not been as cold as I thought it would be.   Last year seemed much colder.  June has come and gone and I did not get my yearly dose of flu - touch wood.   Maybe it is because I am taking my Vit C tablets regularly or maybe it is because I am doing water aerobics in the heated swimming pool at Garlington.
Whatever it is I am most grateful.

I am off to the beach for a week tomorrow and hopefully I will get a good rest.   I realy need a bit of R and R,

More questions than answers!

Where are we going to?
Where have we been?
So much is happening
so much has been seen.

Life is more difficult
day after day.
Shouldn't it be getting easier
the older - they say?

Everyone has their problems.
Everyone has their pain.
Trying to make ends meet.
Trying to train.

Some people crash
Some people burn.
I look around
will it be my turn?

God, you are good
you have always helped me.
Help those around
who cant see the wood for the tree.

I have faith
that all will be well.
Why cant others have the faith
I have tried to instill?

Reach out to me
Reach out to them.
Hold us together
to form a strong hem.

Where are we going?
Where have we been?
Some people never
see what we have seen.

Have a grateful heart
no matter what lies ahead.
Life can be tough
but we are tougher instead!

It is a very sad time

The past month has been very sad for me as I lost my brother.   He meant the world to me as he has been there for me all the days of my life.   He was four years older than me and for as long as I can remember he was always there with a word of advice, a funny story, a helping hand and a very, very strong faith.

I know that he is at peace at last and I hope to see him one day but there is a void in my heart that will never be filled.
Rest in Peace dear one.

Short Story

NOT BLACK AND WHITE BUT PUCE RED!

A short story written by

Marilyn Mills

For the

Open Category of The Witness Short Story Competition.

0825572801

15 Keans Drive

Hilton.

3201

NOT BLACK AND WHITE BUT PUCE RED!

Picture the scene – King’s Park Stadium on a balmy, wintery Durban afternoon.   Thousands upon thousands of rugby enthusiasts thronging the stands for a Curry Cup final!  The year – unimportant!  The teams – Sharks versus some poor unfortunates!

Black and white everywhere!  Beanies, scarves, T-shirts, tracksuits, hats, you name it, they wore it and it was all black and white!   The carnival atmosphere was enjoyed by all the members of our rainbow nation.   Coloured, Indian, Black, White, Brown and Yellow!   All differences forgotten or put aside for a few hours!  All joined together by one national sport –Rugby!   Joined together to support their team – The Sharks!

An invitation to join younger brother and his wife at the Curry Cup final that year was a high prize indeed.   As an avid supporter he had season tickets and his ‘after the game‘ braais in the car park were legendary.   His white Kombi always a landmark for family and friends and the wonderful aromas emanating from the braai attracted many new ‘friends’ from the surrounding cars.   They celebrated their wins and commiserated with each other over their losses but most of all a fun time was had by all.   We were in for a real treat.

With our black and white beanies and scarves firmly in place we wove our way through the surging masses to find our seats.  They were up in the ‘God’s’ and although a real energetic climb to get there, it was well worthwhile as they were wonderful. We had a ‘bird’s eye’ view of the whole field.   All the seats were slowly beginning to fill up as fans with their afternoon’s supply of snacks, most of which were huge, plastic jugs of beer for the men and plastic bottles of water for the ladies, made their way into the stands.   The hawkers were doing a brisk trade of their wares as packets of chips, popcorn and biltong were being passed along the rows and money returned to the hawker in the same way.   The rhythmic music of the local DJ pounded through the speakers.  The anticipation was palpable.

A burst of loud music and heralding by the Master of Ceremonies preceded the ‘flashers’ as they ran on to the field.   Immediately a roar went up.  The girls danced in front of each section of the crowd and there was a great sound of appreciation as the men clapped enthusiastically when the girls opened their great black cloaks to reveal the skimpiest of black and white bikinis barely covering their wonderfully toned assets. When the ‘flashers’ came to dance in front of our stand, I noticed some women playfully covering their men’s eyes with their hands and mother’s shielding their little one’s eyes for fun.   Wolf whistles and lurid remarks rang out left, right and centre.   Then with a flash of their black cloaks and a toss of their long, lustrous locks, they disappeared off the field.

The Master of Ceremonies announced the teams and slow clapping started before the opposing team ran on to the field.  Sharkie, the team mascot, ran around the field trying to generate a Mexican Wave and generally stirring up the crowd.

-2-

Gradually the clapping grew faster and when the Sharks team hit the turf all hell broke loose.   Cheering, waving, whistling resounded around that stadium.   I had to put my hands over my ears.  

The whistle blew.   Time stood still.

Eyes were riveted on the game!

Each and every one of the enthusiastic crowd became involved.

‘Ref –where are your glasses?’

‘Ref – that was off sides’.

‘Come on Ref – that was a penalty’

‘Go Sharks go’

Every person an expert!  Each member with a strong opinion and not afraid to voice it!

Every time a try was scored or a penalty converted another great roar went up from the crowds.

The mood was electric.

The Sharks were giving the other team a run for their money.   Slowly but consistently they were putting points on the board.   Their opponents were not about to lie down and die.  They were not going to take a beating.   Not in a Curry Cup final! They came back hard and strong, all guns blazing, making the home team work for their points.

All of a sudden my bladder started conveying urgent sms messages to my brain.   Hurry, hurry, hurry!   Quick, quick, quick!  Damn. It was still 10 minutes to half time.   I jiggled from side to side thinking that if I did not listen to the sms’s they would go away.   I jiggled until I could jiggle no longer so I negotiated with ‘the one who knows all things’ to show me the way to the ladies a few minutes before the whistle blew so as to be ahead of the masses.

We started moving through the agitated crowd until we hit the aisle.  As you can imagine we were not very popular. There was mumbling and snide remarks behind our backs.   I pretended I hadn’t heard.  The urgency of my pursuit was all consuming now! Unfortunately my other half had his eyes riveted to the game while I led him as a dutiful blind dog would do.

Just then the Sharks got the ball and the crowd exploded.   The team had a wonderful back line and was using it to the fullest.   The ball swung out and was deftly picked up and swung out again.   All this time the team was moving forward, pushing their opponents backwards.   One goal in mind!

The atmosphere was on fire!

3.

A member of the Sharks team got hold of the ball and then must have done something incredibly stupid as the crowd groaned collectively.   There was an enormous amount of verbal abuse being hurled at the poor team player.

My man was rooted to the spot watching with huge eyes and also groaning.   No amount of nudging would move him.   By this stage I was desperate and considered abandoning him, I had already abandoned the game as my brain was drowning!   This was a really desperate action on my part as my sense of direction is not very good and I could have got lost forever!

Luckily for me the game resumed and my other half saw the pools of water in my eyes.   Not tears!

We started moving down the stairs again. This time with much more urgency!   But still with eyes riveted on the game!

Suddenly a man roared, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Thinking it was my brother who had just noticed our absence I turned and without any cohesive thought, I shouted back in a very loud voice–

‘Just to the loo ..!’

My voice rang out over the whole stadium, which had suddenly hushed to watch the game of play at hand,  and the man who had shouted the question –obviously to one of the players on the field who had made a move in the wrong direction – then looked at me in astonishment as did thousands of round startled eyes.

Then another great roar rose from the stands, this time it wasn’t from enthusiasm.   It was LAUGHTER!

‘Well hurry back’ he retorted and the laughter grew louder.

The blood roared in my ears as I became the object of much hilarity.   Time stood incredibly still.

I put my head down and ran, no, I scuttled like a crab to the nearest ‘ladies’.   Chose the closest booth and locked the door.

The heat from my face was more embarrassing than the heat emanating from my bladder.

I wanted to crawl up and die!

No thoughts of black and white then – just PUCE RED!

The colour subsided as coherent thoughts returned when bladder was relieved.   Then laughter took over.   Luckily my man had missed it all by being so engrossed in the game, or so I thought, and made no mention of my dilemma.

4.

Sweet thing had bought me a coldrink and a bar of chocolate.  I Just love him!  

With tail firmly tucked I made my way back to our seats.   By this time the game had started all over again so nobody was the least bit interested in me.   The rest of the afternoon passed very amiably.   The Sharks were on top form and won the Curry Cup that yea r.  The euphoria was contagious and the party began.   The crowds spilled out of the stadium chanting and waving their black and white paraphernalia.   I held on to the arm of my man tightly as he led me back to the car park.   Head firmly downcast, beanie pulled low, just in case anyone would recognize me!

While enjoying the braai afterwards at younger brother’s Kombi I related my story to the guests and joined them in laughing at my ‘indiscretion’.  Luckily it was dark and they could not see my face.   What a tale for ‘Was my face red?’  

At least I had given all the members of our stand a chance to have a good old laugh and to forget their troubles.  I was fortunate to be part of the black and white brigade even though it was infused with  a shade of PUCE for a moment.

Did I go back to more rugby matches?

You bet!

THE END

   

It is January 2013 and we are living at Garlington.   Our dream has come true!   All the years of planning, saving, choosing and sweating blood, sweat and tears have paid off and now we are well and truly estalished in our new, beautiful home.   This is our retirement home and we have put into it everything we really want.   We have not been extravagant but we have surrounded ourselves with quality things and all set in a beautiful, secure environment.   Heaven on earth!   A place our children will treat as a retreat.   A home from home and  a balm for their souls.   Just as it is for us.   We have created a legacy for our children and our grandchildren present and to come.   God is good.