A Delightful Morsel from South Africa.
Winter is almost over. We have had a very warm one. Spring is not supposed to come until September, but already the trees are getting quite green, and birds and butterflies are coming back. We very seldom see snow at Roydon, and have had none this winter, but we are having a fearful drought. It is over a year since we had rain. The farmers are looking very anxious about their crops.
In October the "shearing" begins. You meet everywhere bands of Kafirs in their red blankets, knob-herries (sticks with a huge knob at one end, usually carried by natives) in their hands, and a bundle containing a pot, tin beaker, shears, and sometimes boots, slung over their shoulders; these are "shearers." The farmers hire them at the rate of about sixpence (twelve cents) for ten sheep. Not much, is it? but the Kafirs are easily satisfied.
The sheep are put into an enclosure. Each Kafir, stripped to the waist, seizes one and commences to shear the wool off. Sometimes they are careless and cut the flesh. Then a man standing by dips a brush in tar and rubs the place over. This not only heals it, but keeps the flies off. As soon as a shearer has finished a sheep he receives a "loikee" (bean or something of that sort). At the end of the day he receives payment according to the amount of loikees in his possession.
The wool is packed into large bales and is sold by the pound. Dealers send the bales by rail to the seaports, where they are shipped to England, and come back to us in the shape of clothes. It is just as well to keep to windward of the shearing-house. Not being addicted to water, the Kafirs have an odor peculiarly their own. As I once heard it remarked, "it is enough to knock a fellow down," if you go too near.
We sell a great deal of fruit in the summer. Our fruit ripens then, not in autumn. Early in the morning the men begin to pick and pack the fruit. In 1893 we sold 9100 apricots, 10,718 plums—which includes New Orleans, Golden Drop, Magnum Bosum, Damsons, Greengages, and the common blue plum—and 16,243 peaches and nectarines, besides hundreds of apples, pears, and figs. In the winter we have oranges, lemons, shaddocks, and citrons. Our winter fruit was a failure this year on account of the drought.
We send most of our fruit to East London, where it has a ready sale. In their season we have loquats, granadillas, and walnuts. We almost live on fruit in the summer. The weather is unbearably hot. Last Christmas day was very hot, and all we felt inclined to do was to lie about in the shade and drink cooling drinks. As evening approaches we get merry again. It is cool almost as soon as the sun sets. We have no twilight to speak of. It is lovely out-of-doors in the evening. We promenade up and down and watch the stars.
My friend, Douglas Ritchie, who is thirteen years of age, has started a stamp collection. He would like to exchange South African stamps for those of other countries. He is also very anxious to join the Round Table. Will you send him a Patent, please? His address is The Manse, Queenstown, Cape Colony, South Africa. My letter is getting so long that I must conclude. Will you please give my love to dear Mrs. Sangster, and tell her I do enjoy the "Pudding Stick" so much.
Isma Fincham, R.T.L.
Roydon, Queenstown, Cape Colony, South Africa.
Of course we'll send the Patent. Mrs. Sangster thanks you warmly, and is much gratified to learn that you so greatly enjoy her Pudding Stick. She gives you, her distant but not less dear reader, her most cordial greeting. Won't you write another just as good morsel as this one?