of all my photographs this is a favourite.don’t you love it when you look at a picture and the whole story unfolds?march 1990.i was not even there when it was taken but at home very ill with hepatitis. justin is the 4th turtle. kathy had taken the boys out for the day. my doctor was deciding whether or not to admit me to hospital. i remember being pretty much out of things, very tearful and unable to wake up.i begged not to be admitted. the previous 2 weeks were one fuzzy blur. i was itchy, nauseous, had a constant headache and high fever. between cold baths i slept. my eyes and skin were bright yellow and the only thing that did not make me ill was pineapple juice. family and friends rallied around.
this particular saturday when i eventually opened my eyes, at the bottom of the bed were my 3 little ninjas, faces painted and each carrying a few plucked daisies. they were full of excitement about their fun day and jumped into bed with me. i can still smell that little boy smell of sweaty hair, face-paint, salty skin and pink fizzers.
meet jane kock- born in may 1959 (a few months younger than me - what a good vintage 59). i first met janey in 2003 when she lived on the streets and was part of the trolley-brigade that congregated on the corner of brooke street. she had 3 friends jennifer, sandra and maria and a more humorous foursome you would struggle to meet (especially now because maria has died and sandra is missing in action (kept in a cellar on the property where she works for a wealthy old man in fernwood estate, according to janey). these four ladies and i struck up a friendship. it started with the jenny, jennifer and jane connection. i would keep our office paper aside for them and in return they would recycle bishopscourt cast-offs to me. i have got some amazing bargains from them. one being a persian carpet (pretty worn) but awesome - for R30 (i then paid R800 to have it properly cleaned). gill would spy the heavily laden trolley coming down the road and try to barricade me in the office or take away my purse. "jennifer (me) do you really need that?" "what are you going to do with that old tin.?" janey was always very enterprising and would offer to tidy up our front verandah (nevermind the fact that it was her and her friends who were sleeping on our verandah and messing it up), wash cars or run an errand or two for cash. she would then run a tab with me and i would keep her "savings" until friday when the whole lot was blown at barbellas on the main road. she had a boyfriend kenny - pretty good looking and well spoken for a vagrant, very funny too but pretty awful to her when he had too much to drink. we shipped him off to johannesburg a couple of years ago and have not seen him since.
michael loves to repeat the story of when, on one of our first dates, he pulled up to collect me and i had a call from janey. please could i collect her from groote schuur hospital immediately (7.30 on a friday night)? kenny was supposed to fetch her at 3 and had not arrived. she had had an operation to her jaw which had been broken (by kenny) and her teeth removed (the few that were left). what a performance firstly to find her, then to find some soft take-away food which she could eat and then deliver her back to her treehouse on protea road. she lived in a tree (well next to a tree on a rooftop) on one of those open parking lots in protea road. really clever - i was curious and went upstairs to inspect. you climbed the tree and then a couple of steps along a branch and you were on the flat roof of the garage of another (not so well-known) firm of attorneys in claremont. what a fantastic unobstructed view of the mountain and if i did not have michael waiting for me in the car, i would stayed a while and had a night cap with her. it was not as easy to get down the tree so probably best i did not stay for that drink.
janey's visits started becoming a daily thing and she spotted a gap in the market when our messenger left suddenly due to ill health. there was much debate in the office as to whether she could be trusted with our post office key, banking and other messenger duties. we would employ her for an hour or so a day. at first we had to give her a formal letter on our letterhead advising that she was authorised to collect our post and to enter the banks doing deposits for us. certain banks would not let her in the front door (how rude). she is very bright (advises us that she was once a bookkeeper) and now has everyone in the office on her side (most of the time). she works full time for us and does a pretty good job. she is now not only our messenger but she does filing duties in our collection department as well. we know her limitations, we only allow her a minimal amount of cash everyday (the more cash she has the stronger the % of alcohol in her drink), we pay her rent and travel costs and save the balance of her money for her. friday's are usually a right off once she gets paid. happy hour starts early on a friday at the bottom of brooke street. she gets at least 3 paid holidays a year - her bus ticket to poffadder is paid for. she spends a week or two there and when her money runs out we get a reverse charges call and bank account details of some distant relative in springbok. we then have to pay her to come back!! michael often threatens not to buy the ticket for her return but he soon weakens as he has to suffer abuse and questioning from people in the post office and the banks who ask "what have you done with janey?" (he does most of her duties when she is not here - nice boss). she gets quite confused when he tells her that when he wins the lotto he is going to buy her a house in beaufort west. "why would i want to live in beaufort west, it is so far away from cape town and my job?" hello......
life with janey is never dull. she has had many chances and has abused our hospitality - she lived on the office premises for quite a while but we had so many complaints about noise, bad language and parties from the neighbours that we had to buy her a wendy house in hangover park. we told her no guests but it was extremely hard for her to sleep in her warm room under cover while her friends froze in front of the gate. if she did not open the gate missiles would get thrown down the driveway to her window. so she now commutes to work and she is definitely the best dressed employee at our office. you will not believe the extent of her wardrobe and each day she arrives in a different outfit, usually with a hat and always with earings.
i could go on and on - a more colourful character you could not meet. she has a tragic story to tell and i am trying to encourage her to make some notes and i will help her to write her story. she has added a lot to our office, she has a way of putting things into perspective, she will do anything for us, she knows where to get leather stitched, will buy our bread, rolls and cheese for lunch, collect our dry cleaning, order my pay-day sushi treat and collect it for me, she will dash out to buy emergency chocolate supplies and so much more. not that we take advantage of her. we struggle to keep her in the office and when she does goes out we try to keep her as busy as possible to curtail her very social habits.
she is a legend in claremont, she supplies her friends with food and clothing. she washes their blankets and dries their clothes. she knows the owners of the fancy boutiques by name.
the fact that with all she has had to go through in her life, having had to leave 2 children in onseepkans (near poffadder) with her family to come looking for work in cape town, having another daughter, robyn-lee in cape town (heatherton road in newlands) and then having her taken away from her when she found herself on the streets, being abused and spending nights beaten up in the gutters of claremont and spending years on the street - all this and that she can still arrive at work on time (mostly) in the mornings, neatly dressed with sparkling earings (eyes maybe not that sparkling - that comes later), a smile on her face and be just so happy to have a meaningful job. she now struts around claremont and pays her old friends to carry her packets back to the office. she is the one who now saves the paper for the trolley-brigade. it all says a lot about janey and i must put her right up there on the list of special people in my life.
janey dressed up for the world cup - she supported spain throughout and tells us she has "spanish and korean blood" (maybe khoi rean). coulters bought her the outfit - it lasted for a couple of days and was stolen by the "skollies of hangover park"
at nic's 21st where she came to "help" me. the shebeen theme was right up her street and
she almost had more fun than the birthday boy
footnote
before publishing this i thought i had better check the facts with janey and get her approval (i have been in trouble before). she came back to me with a list of small details which i had got wrong and i have corrected them. she also asked me to mention that she is trying really hard to stop drinking because she needs to save money. she has not had a drink since sunday (pretty damn good). we asked her how much she was spending a day on alcohol "between R20 and R30 but it is not for myself, i share". it is her birthday on sunday so she is not saying that she has stopped drinking because she probably will have to have a "small party". she is also pleased that i have reminded her about writing her story and she is working on it.
one of my all time favourites is 70 today. can't say hard to believe because the poor old man has not aged well. i prefer not to see or listen to him live anymore ever since his debacle at the oscars. not everyone agreed with me about his performance but i would now rather listen to his old stuff. not that i even had very many of his albums. street legal was my first dylan record and it was played to death on my little red record player. that is why changing the guard is one of my favourite dylan songs. not his most popular song and it can't really compare to blowing in the wind, watchtower, mr tambourine man but it is special to me. take a listen if you care to (mom don't think you should bother and dalene it might bring back memories of your tortured youth). i was a cruel sister and i will have to tell you more about it (sooner rather than later) but i once made her listen to leonard cohen's "bird on a wire" on repeat all the way from cape town to knysna. i think i was going through a real grunge stage and knowing how into the bee gees, donny osmond and abba she was, i thought i could change her taste in music.
quite funny when you read through the lyrics. this song, like the famous blue raincoat (click here) i had tried to work out it's meaning but never quite got it. i knew that mr zimmerman was changing from judaism to christianity but these lyrics for a 16 year old were just a bit too absurd and i remember singing along (on my own) "caught between jupiter and a bottle" instead of "apollo" (even at 16 i was showing the signs). a bit like the van morrison song "brown eyed girl" for years i thought the first line was "hey palomino" instead of "hey where did we go". silly me.
but like leonard cohen i have now done a bit more research (marvellous tool this internet) and have found out that bob is also not too clear on all the meaning of this song:-
Question: Your songs often bring us back to other times, and are filled with mythic, magical images. A song like "Changing Of The Guard" seems to take place centuries ago, with lines like "They shaved her head/she was torn between Jupiter and Apollo/a messenger arrived with a black nightingale...". How do you connect with a song like that?
Dylan:[Pause] A song like that, there's no way of knowing, after the fact, unless somebody's there to take it down in chronological order, what the motivation was behind it. [Pause] But on one level, of course, it's no different from anything else of mine. It's the same amount of metric verses like a poem. To me, like a poem. The melodies in my mind are very simple, they're very simple, they're just based on music we've all heard growing up. And that and music which went beyond that, which went back further, Elizabethan ballads and whatnot... To me, it's old. [Laughs] It's old. It's not something, with my minimal amount of talent, if you could call it that, minimum amount... To me somebody coming along now would definitely read what's out there if they're seriously concerned with being an artist who's going to still be an artist when they get to be Picasso's age. You're better off learning some music theory. You're just better off, yeah, if you want to write songs. Rather than just take a hillbilly twang, you know, and try to base it all on that. Even country music is more orchestrated than it used to be. You're better off having some feel for music that you don't have to carry in your head, that you can write down. To me those are the people who... are serious about this craft. People who go about it that way. Not people who just want to pour out their insides and they got to get a big idea out and they want to tell the world about this , sure, you can do it through a song, you always could. You can use a song for anything, you know. The world don't need any more songs.
oh dear, too late to get disheartened. i will just appreciate the true artist, poet and musician he is and wish him a very happy birthday.
for those still interested... the lyrics (poem)
Sixteen years,
Sixteen banners united over the field
Where the good shepherd grieves.
Desperate men, desperate women divided,
Spreading their wings 'neath the falling leaves.
Fortune calls.
I stepped forth from the shadows, to the marketplace,
Merchants and thieves, hungry for power, my last deal gone down.
She's smelling sweet like the meadows where she was born,
On midsummer's eve, near the tower.
The cold-blooded moon.
The captain waits above the celebration
Sending his thoughts to a beloved maid
Whose ebony face is beyond communication.
The captain is down but still believing that his love will be repaid.
They shaved her head.
She was torn between Jupiter and Apollo.
A messenger arrived with a black nightingale.
I seen her on the stairs and I couldn't help but follow,
Follow her down past the fountain where they lifted her veil.
I stumbled to my feet.
I rode past destruction in the ditches
With the stitches still mending 'neath a heart-shaped tattoo.
Renegade priests and treacherous young witches
Were handing out the flowers that I'd given to you.
The palace of mirrors
Where dog soldiers are reflected,
The endless road and the wailing of chimes,
The empty rooms where her memory is protected,
Where the angels' voices whisper to the souls of previous times.
She wakes him up
Forty-eight hours later, the sun is breaking
Near broken chains, mountain laurel and rolling rocks.
She's begging to know what measures he now will be taken.
He's pulling her down and she's clutching on to his long golden locks.
Gentleman, he said,
I don't need your organization, I've shined your shoes,
I've moved your mountains and marked your cards
But Eden is burning, either brace yourself for elimination
Or else your hearts must have the courage for the changing of the guards.
Peace will come
With tranquility and splendor on the wheels of fire
But will bring us no reward when her false idols fall
And cruel death surrenders with its pale ghost retreating
Between the King and the Queen of Swords.
ps.
did you know that bob is also known as elston gunn, blind boy grunt, bob landy, robert milkwood thomas, tedham porterhouse, jack frost and sergei petrov? perhaps i could try and stump john maytham this afternoon by asking him "who is tedham porterhouse?" wish i could phone in but that man scares me (another pp).
oh and while i am on a roll and for those who are not fans, listen to adele's version of his "make you feel my love". feel the love.
my aching nerves. i am getting old. gone are the days when one of your children answered you back and you could tell them to stop being cheeky, give them a klap and send them to their bedroom. i am a bit concerned about my situation. gareth (as only gareth can) quite politely (as gareth often isn't) told me off (*a**ed me out) last night. (that is if you can be politely, *a**ed out). "mom, it is time you changed your facebook profile - i promise you nicky won't mind and whilst it is a nice picture of you and nicky both the girlfriends you are with in the picture are not our girlfriends anymore - and your status stating you are not "in a relationship" is a lie. you are married and you are now a kotze. change it please, it is the right thing to do." so what did i do when i got home, went straight to the computer and changed my status and profile picture (obedient me). not an easy job to change your facebook settings - i did need some online help from gareth and janetta.
i have legally changed my name. the home affairs department was the easy part of the process. i got the new id within weeks and went off to the bank and filled in numerous forms at enquiries. then they wanted FICA documentation - got the id (tick) but no utility bill in the new name so they had to be provided with an affidavit. another visit to enquiries only to the told that there was a charge of R150 for each new card (i have a couple). i walked out in a huff after telling them that when my card expires in 2012 they can alter my details.
having a double identity has it's advantages. the girls in the office are amused when i announce "hello this is jenny kotze calling from attorneys coulters van gend & kotze" sudden respect and helpfulness from previously rude and unhelpful bank call centres. however, sometimes when dealing with irate clients and i am asked "who am i speaking to?", i reply "this is jenny rosslee, pa to mike kotze" (stupid a-hole - not michael hey the irate client).
i have also realised that the signature on the back of your bank card means nothing. i sign kotze on the rosslee cards and sometimes have to be rosslee on formal work documents. i am also now not allowed to witness any wills or estate documentation when michael is the executor. all a bit confusing.
last wednesday i received a call from the DA asking whether "mrs kotze" would be voting. i realised that home affairs were pretty much on the ball as i thought that i would need to vote as a rosslee. on arriving at the polling station with both identity documents i asked them to check whether jennifer rosslee was registered. she was not. not that i would have been brave enough to try and vote a second time (besides which the counsellor for our ward was lucky to receive one vote from me, nevermind 2 - pp) (pompous p*#ck).
you can come out of your room now gareth. mummy loves you.
