CCK 8am News - August 2017

The Eight O’Clock

Searching for Silence

News

The first step, I am told, when recognizing that you are an addict, is actually saying it out loud. I can’t say it out loud to you, but I can write, ‘My name is Paulina and I am an addict. I am addicted to busyness.’

I suspect that there are many of us who suffer from this addiction, and as you read this, you will probably find that we have many things in common. My days are filled to capacity with things that I need to do. Every day I am driven by an addiction to be busy doing things.

The frightening thing is that the addiction to busyness is fueled by the access to technology. Being busy all of the time becomes easier. Like any other addiction you don’t realise that you are addicted until something happens in your life that makes you realise that maybe there is an imbalance.

I was not able to attend the Winter Living Theology lectures (because I was busy), but I have been listening to them on audio. As the lectures progressed I became more and more aware of the fact that I am not able to do ‘nothing’. And this inability to do ‘nothing’ and to just sit for five or ten minutes has always been a part of my makeup. In fact, my late father’s comments resonate—‘Why are you always running around? Even when you are sitting still your brain is thinking of the next thing.’ That was five years ago—a few weeks before he passed away.

Praying the Psalms (with a difference)

My night vision has changed making it

hazardous for me to drive in the dark, at night or on winter mornings. So I had to give up praying the Psalms in the church until summer.

However, I have hit on a plan an invite you to join me—I stay at home!

At the moment Rob is using The Message for the Psalms on Mondays to Thursdays at 6.30 am. I’m praying the same Psalm at the same time as others but at home.

Imagine—in the privacy of your own study, bedroom, lounge, you can shout encouragement (Yes, Lord) as God bashed His enemies (which is ok if you’re not one of them).

You could also sob your heart out as you realise that ‘All we, like sheep, have gone astray.’

August 2017 Eight O’Clock News

August 2017

8 am Service, Christ Church, Kenilworth

And my busyness has continued unabated. Any white space in my calendar creates anxiety for me.

And in this busyness I have sometimes missed the glimpses of Jesus in my life. Time with my children.

Time with my husband. Time with good friends.

Time with God. These are all glimpses of Jesus wanting to say, ‘Hey, can I have some space in your head for a bit?’

As I write this I think of a time when I felt closest to God. I felt closest to God on a road trip we did as a family last year where we spent time in the Tankwa National Park in the Karoo. There is nothing there!

No cellphone reception. No electricity at night and silence. Silence that is so loud it frightened me in the first few hours. But it was that silence that birthed my creativity and led me to write two children’s books.

Something I never even had on my list of things to do!

We live in a country where there is so much going on every day and perhaps we are busy in order to escape the troubles that our country faces. Perhaps we create our own busyness so that we don’t have to face the dire consequences that our society is facing at the moment. The consequences of poverty, broken homes and a broken society. Or perhaps we are afraid that God may talk to us when there is silence and we are afraid of what the Lord may say to us.

- Paulina French, Jesuit Institute of SA - Sent in by Elizabeth van Lingen

Or laugh for joy at the thought of mountains skipping like rams, and hills like lambs (a bit awkward if you live near Table Mountain. Not to worry—hold tight and enjoy the ride).

Four mornings a week you could skip to your car with a song in your heart on your way to work, play or whatever. Who knows—your vehicle may enjoy the experience. Just advise it not to try and overtake the taxis.

- Doreen vd Merwe

Silence Psalm 62:5: For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from Him. Habakkuk 2:20: But the LORD is in His holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before Him’.

Socrates: 470-399 BC * The unexamined life is not worth living. * By all means, marry. If you get a good wife, you'll become happy; if you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher.

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Isobel Blake Isobel Blake lives with her very large and friendly Tabby

cat called Kalinda in a charming cottage in Harfield Village. She has recently moved from Johannesburg and has been attending Christ Church about past three months. I called on her to hear her story.

Isobel and her sister, Marjorie, who died three years ago, were born in Johannesburg to parents of English and Scottish extraction. They lived in Malvern, attended the local schools, matriculating from the Queen’s High School. Isobel became a secretary and worked for the French Bank of Southern Africa. Romance knocked, and when she was 20, Isobel and Ian Blake were married in St Mary’s Cathedral, Johannesburg. She continued to work for the French Bank until their first daughter, Lisa, was born. Isobel then worked part time until Gina, their second daughter arrived, when she ‘retired’ to become a full time Mum! Their son, Cameron, was born in 1969.

Ian, whose career was in advertising, with connections in New York, was also interested in buying and selling houses which resulted in a number of moves until they eventually settled at Bibury Grange, a large and beautiful historical Victorian farmhouse, built in 1882, and named after a village in England.

The property, in Kyalami, between Johannesburg and Pretoria, was on the wagon route from Pretoria to Krugersdorp and was used by Lord Kitchener as an officers’ mess hall during the Boer War. It was an idyllic place to bring up a family, with plenty of space to keep animals—horses, cows, goats and ducks, as well as numerous cats and dogs. Lisa and Gina attended the Breschia House Ursuline Convent School in Bryanston, and after a spell at Hilton College, Cameron matriculated from Hyde Park School in Johannesburg.

With her girls at school there, Isobel became heavily involved in Breschia House School, organizing the catering for sports events and involved in the girls’ hockey, netball and swimming. Later, she moved on to become the principal’s secretary at St Vincent’s School for the Deaf and then administrator at San Salvadore Home for Intellectually Disabled Women, and, finally working for the Winterveldt Office NPO, administering the funds received from the European Union and concerned Roman Catholic organizations in America. The Winterveldt Office originally funded 20 primary health-care clinics in most provinces of South Africa until they were gradually taken over by the Department of Health. When Isobel retired, only 10 remained with the NPO, receiving funding from the Department of Health. Somehow, in the midst of all this, Isobel enrolled with UNISA and, the oldest member in her class, attained a BA degree, majoring in English and Psychology!

All Isobel’s family are now living in Cape Town. Lisa is Professor of Psychiatric Occupational Therapy at UWC. She lives in Rondebosch with her partner and has two sons, Alex (26), a horticulturist, and Danny (23), who completed his Business Managerment Diploma course at Damelin College, and now works there. Gina is a creative, award-winning ceramicist, married to her husband, Andrew, and now living in Green Point, Cape Town.

Her two children, Adrian and Lauren, are studying at Stellenbosch University for a B Com and a degree in Visual Arts respectively. Isobel’s son, Cameron, spent a year in the Army, the last intake, and then obtained a Diploma in Fine Arts, at the Michaelis School of Fine Art. He worked with film crews for a time, and then became interested in the history of the First and Second World Wars and, based on the amazing stories told to him by ‘exAugust 2017 Eight O’Clock News

troopies’, with their permission, wrote three successful books. He lived in Cape Town with his wife Ilse and their 15-year-old daughter, Kate, until— very sadly—he died suddenly in November, last year, at the age of 47. Ilse and Kate still live in Diep River, and it was to be close to Kate that Isobel decided to move to Cape Town.

Isobel and her family—though all the children had been baptized in the Anglican Church—had not attended church regularly, except at Christmas and Easter. But, about a year ago, she started attending a Thursday morning service at St Michael & All Angels in Bryanston. She enjoyed the services and became involvement in their outreach programme and served at a soup kitchen for the homeless in Hillbrow. Together with her daughter, Gina, she also became involved in a small school run by an African pastor in Yeoville.

Isobel loved St Michael’s and became friendly with a young Canadian deacon, Martha. She became very conscious of God’s hand on her life, especially when Cameron died, and she could turn to the church and, particularly, to Martha, from whom she received comfort and solace in her grief. Cameron’s beautiful funeral was conducted by the Revd Nicky Ing at St Thomas Church, Rondebosch, and, again Isobel felt God’s presence in the loving comfort she received.

Just at the time she needed it, the cottage where she now lives, where she had been on the waiting list, was offered to her by the CPOA and, yet again, she had a strong sense of God’s hand in the drawing of her circumstances. Isobel recognized her need to become part of a spiritual family and started to look for a church to join. After attending one or two others, she came to Christ Church, and—although she misses the pews, the robes and the altar candles of St Michaels—she feels she has come to stay. She has been warmed by the loving reception she has received from the people she has met, and attends both the Sunday 8 am and the Wednesday services.

Welcome, Isobel! We are glad you have joined us!

- Elizabeth van Lingen.

I’M NEVER WRONG I ONCE THOUGHT I WAS WRONG TURNS OUT I WAS MISTAKEN - Source unknown. Sent in by Jim de Necker

An Unforgettable Day in Knysna Wednesday, 7 June 2017 started as a perfectly normal day

for us. We saw smoke in the distance but did not take it too seriously—we went grocery shopping late in the afternoon returning at about 5 pm. We changed into more comfortable clothes and my husband went up to his office above the garage while I fed the dogs and cat.

At about 5.30 our neighbour from across the road, Graham Berry, telephoned and said, ‘Marcella I suggest that you pack a few things and leave, we are leaving now!’ I ran up to my husband’s office to tell him. We looked from his deck and saw the flames approaching from beyond the valley.

The wind at that stage was gale force and there were sparks about.

My husband (Cecil) grabbed his laptop and a backup drive and put them in his car together with our two dogs, then drove the car up our steep driveway into the street. We dashed upstairs to our bedroom where I asked Cecil to clear the safe with my jewellery, my father’s war medals and documents. I grabbed three tog bags and threw them onto our bed. He put the contents of the safe into one while I put a few toiletries and sleeping attire into another. Some years ago, when I attended a Bible study group, we had prayed for a community in the Cape who had lost their homes in a devastating fire. We discussed this and decided what we should take out of our homes in similar circumstances. The priorities were: ID, Driver’s licence, Bank cards etc, clear the safe of documents, jewellery, photo albums, special paintings, small heirlooms and—medication.

I dashed downstairs with the smallest bag and grabbed our medication, eye drops, supplements and my new script and put them into the bag. Then I grabbed a family portrait, some special paintings and some photo albums—some stayed on the sofa where I put them. Cecil carried as many of these as he could up to the car.

The wind was horrific and it was a real challenge.

He called to me to hurry as the house was starting to burn and stayed in the car with the dogs, putting the headlights on so I could see the car through the dense smoke. Embers were falling and the situation was dire. I dashed upstairs to pack the last bag on my bed. The noise of the embers on the glass door to the balcony was deafening. It sounded like hail stones. The balcony door started swaying and I could picture the door bursting open in the terrible gale. Our bed was covered in a down duvet and that would have caused an inferno. I snatched the almost empty bag and ran down the stairs to the scullery door.

When I opened it to leave, the embers were so large, and the wind so strong—I was forced to slam the door, run to the bathroom, get two towels, dunk them in the plastic basin of water in my sink (many of us had been washing our dishes like that and then putting the water on our plants) and wrapped them around my head and

August 2017 Eight O’Clock News

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shoulders and tried again.

Now the path which I had to navigate was ablaze from the dried leaves, sticks and bits of shrubbery, which had accumulated there. I grabbed the basin and threw the water out onto the path, grabbed the bag again, took a deep breath, said a silent prayer for help and dashed outside and locked the security gate (old habits die hard)! I ran down the wet path, up our driveway where I was buffeted by the gale force wind and slammed into the Shaolin blocks several times. Visibility was very poor with thick black smoke swirling around. I could not see the cat but made for the headlights. Cecil had the car running and was very relieved when he saw me!

I battled to opened the car door due to the wind, but managed to throw myself in and we sped off down the road.

We drove down a dip in the road and had to brake sharply, flaming branches on both sides blocked the road! Our nightmare was not over yet. Level-headed Cecil reversed carefully down the way we had come and turned in a wide driveway across from our house. I looked at our house—the steps up to the office were ablaze and smoke was billowing from the house.

We slowly made our way, meeting a fire engine manned by two men at an intersection. They frantically waved us away—their eyes like saucers to see a car at this stage with two people and their dogs.

We did not know quite what to do at that stage, so we headed for the waterfront as we thought it would be safer near the water.

We unsuccessfully tried to get something to eat and drink (some of the restaurants were closing in order to let their staff go off).

We were advised to go to Lourie Park, (sports stadium) off George Rex Drive. There were a lot of people there who did not know where to go or what to do. Some kind people were going around offering accommodation but we felt that we could not accept as we had two dogs (one, a large Rhodesian Ridgeback).

We decided to go to the Leisure Isle Boat Club where we felt safe. Cecil is the Treasurer there so we had access to the clubhouse where we spent the night but did not get much sleep.

It was quite an amazing sight with all the surrounding hills ablaze and huge flames from the townships as some of the houses caught alight. There were also gale force winds. Many people parked there too and watched the fire spread towards the Heads.

I suffered from smoke inhalation afterwards. It was very painful, but having healthy lungs it did go over after a few days.

We thank God that we both survived the ordeal and that we could save our dogs—our cat came back to the house two days later.

We were very touched by the kindness of and generosity of friends and many other people, and thank everyone for their prayers and support.

Our home (L) was completely destroyed with all its contents and my car so we have to start again from scratch after 51 years of marriage!

Fortunately, we were adequately insured and as Cecil says, ‘This is a new start for us!’

- Marcella Milne (Lilla West’s twin sister)

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Crossing the Circle

It was a great privilege to visit the white continent. Since childhood,

I had been fascinated by explorers like Scott, Shackleton and Amundsen. This being 100 years since the race to the South Pole, I decided that my time had come.

Four flights and three nights elapsed before embarking on the Sea Adventurer, my home for 14 nights. Ushuaia is the southernmost town in South America. Entirely dependent on tourism, it nestles between the sea and the Southern Andes, still covered in a mantle of snow. I had been on a half-day tour of Tierra Del Fuego—an archipelago at the southern tip separated from the continent by the Strait of Magellan. Despite icy wind, low clouds and raindrops we walked along the beach and the wetlands seeing strange birds, trees and vegetation. I learnt about the Fuegian Indian people who managed to survive in this harsh environment. Today the lone survivor, a very old woman, lives in Chile.

Once on board, it was fun to explore the decks as we sailed down the Beagle Channel into the South Atlantic, the Drake Passage proving a very real challenge to many of the 108 passengers. The ship rocked, rolled—violently. By now we had been introduced to our expedition team of 12 including an ornithologist, historian—David, a Brit with a lovely sense of humour, marine biologists, a geologist / glaciologist, field guides, Simon our medical doctor and our Russian Captain—a huge man. This was to be the last tour of the season (March), the last voyage having been cancelled due to the ice forming sooner than expected.

Passengers were mostly Americans and Australians, a few Brits and Argentinians and ten South Africans. With the decks awash, portholes were bolted and doors to the deck locked to prevent further mishaps. We had to find our sea legs quickly or retire to the cabin for the two days. I was able to stay on my feet but had bruises from bumping into walls and railings. Lectures and slide shows kept us informed and entertained. The vibe in the lounge was friendly and interesting. Once through the Drake, we were allowed on deck.

Three times the wandering albatross hovered over the ship, but I missed it each time. By now, we had seen our first iceberg in the distance. The rough crossing having slowed us down, we were heading due South and expected to cross the Antarctic Circle at ± 23:30. We were advised to wear our thick yellow jackets and to be on the bridge for the countdown—with a glass of champagne and snacks. At exactly 66.33 degrees South, the ship’s horn boomed, Neptune and his cohorts appeared and Shane begged for permission to continue south! We huddled together for shelter and some of us watched the stars before retiring.

The daily programme was well planned and organised. We turned around during the night to sail closer to the mainland and islands off August 2017 Eight O’Clock News

the peninsula.

On Day 1, I was included in the Scott group, so had to wait for an announcement before boarding a zodiac (8–10 persons plus leaders) which speeds over the water to the land. We swung over into the shallow water and made our way over rocks with the ski-poles—an essential item to traverse slushy ice and slippery rocks but not as easy as it looks. Orange cones had been placed where we could walk or sit down. We were given up to two hours to explore before returning to the ship for lunch. This process was repeated in the afternoon where we landed on another island or cruised for two hours, watching the leopard, crab-eater or Weddel seals on ice-floes or frolicking in the water.

Penguins flew past in the water like many black arrows. We saw a pod of 15 orcas swimming purposefully right by our zodiac.

Every day brought a new experience. We made our way to Detaille Island and explored Crystal Sound off Graham Land.

Icebergs of all shapes and sizes surrounded us—some beautiful shades of blue. Huge chunks of ice floated by the motionless zodiac. We sat silently to take in the atmosphere and the beauty of our surroundings. The next day we landed at Horse-shoe Island in Marguerite Bay. The British Antarctic Survey Base was closed in 1960. We entered their hut and saw their tins of food, clothing, books, games etc left behind. They endured extreme conditions in order to do their scientific research.

I enjoyed walking by a huge colony of Adelie penguins [named

by Charcott the French explorer after his wife]. The parents were in and out of the water, but up on the icy slopes, the fat chicks are perfectly evenly spaced. There they stand in a trance for 40-42 days, while they moult their downy feathers which fly about like snowflakes. The adults were completely unafraid of humans, pecking at our ski-poles and even sitting on our boots.

At Stonington Island we walked through a colony of Gentoos, juveniles being fed and then running after parents for more.

The noise was deafening and it was smelly. The weather was beautiful, very cold at 5–8°, but deceptive as the sky was bright blue and the icebergs a brilliant white. Dripping ice sparkled everywhere. We made two continental landings—at Paradise Harbour, where we saw the calving of an ice shelf. I was puzzled by the rumbles of thunder,

followed by the sound of gunshots, before this mass of ice collapsed into the sea causing a mini-tidal wave. The second landing followed at Neko harbour, named after a floating whale factory ship that operated in 1911-12 in the South Shetland Island and the Peninsula. Thankfully, the whale and seal populations have recovered since this decimation early in the 20th century.

We were all on deck when we sailed through the 11 km long Lemaire Channel—a spectacular sight with towering cliffs of ice in the glittering sunlight, the water like a mirror. We had a barbeque dinner on deck with gluwein and hot chocolate for warmth. Blue-eyed shags, petrels, and terns wheeled overhead as the sun disappeared.

I loved Deception Island. We sailed into Whalers Bay through Neptune’s Bellows—the bay a flat cinder beach that extends ± 100m to a steep caldera wall. Norwegian whalers left behind barrels, machines etc. The water was tepid as steam wafts gently over the beach where fur seals blink lazily at these human intruders. Today the seals have annexed the hangar where the British Antarctic Survey team kept their small plane.

This base was evacuated in 1967—the pilot and the co-pilot were able to fly out, while the rest of the team ski-ed overland and were picked up by an American research vessel. The beach also has huge elephant seals. Phil, the geologist said that there are many small volcanoes under the ocean around Antarctica.

We headed towards the South Shetland Islands. At Livingston Island, we saw hundreds of Chinstrap peguins waddling about— one lone Rockhopper had joined them until he could find his family. Cruising back to the ship we saw about 30 humpbacked whales swimming right by the zodiacs—one lone Southern Right whale tagging along with this pod. They were so close we could see their eyes.

We headed towards Argentina and the huge icebergs faded into the distance.

Two nights of concert, quiz and auction follow before we entered the Beagle Channel.

Suddenly a huge pod of about 60 Sei whales swam beside us.

They broke into two groups as we sailed between them. It was a wonderful ending to an unforgettable experience.

I am greatly blessed to have seen this pristine wilderness and thank God for this special gift.

- Lilla West

From the Garden...

One of the most pleasing sounds of Springtime, to be heard all

over the country, is the contented cooing of osteopaths as Man picks up his garden spade.

- Oliver Pritchett August 2017 Eight O’Clock News

Lorna Thompson ‘Thank you all so much for joining

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us in celebrating my mother’s long and happy life—all 101 years and 5 months of it. 101 is a major milestone, but it would be a disservice to my mother to concentrate on her age alone.

My mother was an unforgettable character throughout her life— loving, caring, opinionated, determined, stubborn, courageous and adventurous.

I met my mother at the Booth Memorial Home on Christmas Day 73 years ago. Apparently the nurses were singing carols in the corridor when I was born.

I guess I have known her longer than anyone alive today. Her school friends have gone, the friends of her middle years have gone and most of you here have been friends of my mother during the second half of her life. Her exceptional ability to make new friends throughout her life is a remarkable reflection of the kind of person she was.

Born in 1916, she was the baby of a family of two boys and three girls. The family lived in Moore Road, Wynberg before moving to Waterloo Green opposite Springfield Convent. She went to Wynberg Girls School where she excelled at sport and academics. Sport is the thread running through her life and was the source of many of her long lasting friendships. She was blessed with a good health, good balance, co-ordination and a competitive spirit. Netball, hockey, tennis, badminton, squash, croquet—she played them all with enthusiasm. In her earlier days she loved riding horses along Muizenberg beach and kept her riding outfit and crop for many years after she no longer rode. Much to our dismay this crop became the weapon of choice when my brother and I needed disciplining.

My grandfather did not believe in a university education for his children so my mother was sent to the Underwood Secretarial College which advertised itself somewhat pretentiously as ‘The College for the daughters of Gentlemen.’

During WW2 my mother ran an import/export business singlehandedly, with the help of eight workers, when her bosses were called up. She was capable, hardworking, responsible and always up for a challenge. She joined the SA Womens’ Auxiliary Unit which focussed on feeding and entertaining the troops whenever a convoy arrived in Table Bay. She was also a voluntary stenographer at the Imperial Forces Training Camp.

Voluntary/Charity work has always been part of my mother’s life.

My parents were married in 1940. I was born towards the end of the war and my brother three years’ later. We had a very happy, loving and secure childhood. My parents shared a delightful sense of humour, an interest in books, theatre, music, current affairs, gardening, sport and the outdoors. They had a wide circle of friends and often entertained them at home, with the evening ending, somewhat noisily, in a singsong around the piano, which my father played by ear.

When I was at the Buxton Nursery School, a group of the young mothers got together to start a nursery school for Coloured children who had no such facilities. From a church hall, they moved to Newton’s Stables which they renovated. Cake Sales, Jumble Sales, Soirees were held, but money was tight. The chairlady suggested holding an open air concert at Maynardville.

This was owned by the CT City Counci—and there was much

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time, effort and red tape involved in getting permission from them.

But those ladies were a determined lot and eventually got their way.

The Ballet School offered to put on Les Sylphides, the Cape Town Orchestra agreed to accompany them, Arderne Scott Timbers donated the stage, the Forestry Dept donated bushes and trees to hide the wings and back stage, electricity was taken from a pole in Church Street, trenches were dug for long drops. In 1950 the first performance ever took place at Maynardville. It ran for four nights and was a great success. They were able to pay off all their debts on the nursery school. In the next few years further performances took place and they opened another nursery school and a Teachers’ Training College with the proceeds. It is a credit to that little band of mothers that the Athlone Nursery School, the Blouvlei Nursery School and the Blouvlei Teachers’ Training College—and Maynardville—are still operational today.

My mother loved challenges, adventures and new experiences. From a young age she travelled to the UK and Europe with her father—the travel bug biting with a vengeance. Her first overseas trip on her own was in 1956 with Trek Airways. It took five days to get to London. The planes needed to refuel and so they bunny-hopped through Africa— Salisbury (Harare), Entebbe, Cairo, Malta and London. Passengers disembarked, did a spot of sightseeing, had a decent meal (not airways food), slept in a hotel bed and boarded the next day. She and my father travelled extensively once Rog and I were out of the home.

Mom never stopped learning and keeping up with current events. She read the newspaper daily, learnt how to use a computer in her 90s, and played a mean hand of bridge. Even though she hung up her croquet mallet a few years’ ago, her interest in sport did not diminish.

Mom loved watching tennis and cricket on the box—and was very vocal in her criticism. She would have had an awful lot to say about the Proteas’ recent performance in the T20s!

One of the biggest challenges in managing this very strong and determined mother was to stop her driving, as we felt she had become a hazard to herself and other road users. She would not hear of it. At 95, her driver’s license expired and we felt sure that the Licensing Dept would take this matter out of our hands. She knew her eyesight was not great and I took her to three optometrists to see if she could pass the Traffic Dept’s eye test . She failed three times and we thought that would be the end of it. Not my mother. Determined as ever, she had her eyes tested, got new glasses, passed the Driver’s Eye test, drove herself to the Licensing Dept, plonked her money and proof of Eye test on the counter and was given a new license. She was ever so pleased with herself.

St John’s Parish has played a prominent role in my mother’s life. It has been the source of great comfort, support and fellowship during tough times. She was baptised, confirmed and married in St John’s and joined CCK when we moved to Kenilworth about 60 years ago.

All our lives have ups and downs and Mom’s was no exception. She missed my father’s cheerful, gentle companionship when he died suddenly 25 years ago. But the worst and most devastating blow came when my beloved brother died four years ago this month.

Losing a child at any age is devastating and I don’t believe Mom ever really got over the loss. But with typical British stiff-upper-lip, she buried the hurt deep inside, squared her shoulders, put a smile on her face and soldiered on.

You have all been amazing, loving, wonderful and supportive friends of my mother and will probably never know just how much your friendship meant to her. I thank you for being there for her when I could not.

The Cape families of Thompson, Blatch and Hoare made her feel loved, special and wanted. Her staff and the Carers have surrounded my mother with love and care far beyond the call of duty. Thank August 2017 Eight O’Clock News

you all.

Some of us meet our angels in this life, and my mother met one— my sister-in-law Marion. It would not have been possible for Mom to have stayed on alone in her house without the care and support of Marion. She managed my mother’s affairs, paid the bills, did the shopping, took Mom to doctors and specialists, supervised the staff, called in the plumber, electrician... Most of all, she and her family kept Mom from being isolated. They included her in weekly family outings, high days and holidays.

Thank you, Marion.

I loved my Mom dearly and will miss her enormously, but I feel truly blessed to have had a mother for 73 years.

Mom, you were an inspiration to us all and I thank you for teaching us about “Living 101’.

- Carol Blatch

Ruby Lynn was born to Lauren and Stuart Bateman on 17/07/17.

—a precious sister to Luke and granddaughter to Eric and Mary.

An Italian Funeral A Jewish man was leaving a convenience store with his

espresso when he noticed a most unusual Italian funeral procession approaching the nearby cemetery.

A black hearse was followed by a second black hearse about 50 feet behind the first one.

Behind the second hearse was a solitary Italian man walking a dog on a leash. Behind him, a short distance back, were about 20 men walking in single file.

The Jewish man couldn't stand the curiosity. He respectfully approached the Italian man walking the dog and said: ‘I am so sorry for your loss, and this may be a bad time to disturb you, but I've never seen an Italian funeral like this. Whose funeral is it?’

‘My wife's.’

'What happened to her?’

‘She yelled at me and my dog attacked and killed her.’

He inquired further, ‘But who is in the second hearse?’

‘My mother-in-law. She came to help my wife and the dog turned on her and killed her also.’

A very poignant and touching moment of Jewish and Italian brotherhood and silence passed between the two men.

The Jewish man then asked softly, ‘Can I borrow the dog?’

The Italian man replied, ‘Get in line.’

- Source unknown, sent in by Alison Kempton Jones

Community News...

Henwoods’ First Grandchild: Sam Peter Harpur, born to Penelope and Gavin on July 24. Dennis and Belinda (and parents) are so very pleased—Sam is reserving judgement !!

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MA Graduation, Oxford-style !

Jean Westwood was in Oxford to share in Ursula’s graduation. Ursula is home till she starts her PhD at Oxford in September. Well done, Ursula.

Geka Flegg celebrated her 80th birthday with parties in Germany, France, England and South Africa.

L: with granddaughter, Kyla, in England.

R: with grandson, Andreas and his mom, Justine, in Cape Town on 30 July.

The editor could not fit the other 40 guests into the picture.

Hitting the boards with the Bard ‘It is the stuff of dreams: a Cape Town drama teacher has been admitted to study at William Shakespeare’s place of birth.’

Lauren Bates has been accepted into the University of Birmingham’s Master’s peogramme in Shakespeare and Creativity. Lauren: ‘It is an incredible opportunity because it is right in the very place where Shakespeare was born and where the Royal Shakespeare Company is based.’

Lauren has won the international scholarship for the Shakespeare Institute which will cover her tuition.

Neil Veitch has been awarded The Rhodes Scholarship Inspirational Educator Award for 2017! Neil says: ‘I've taught from 1968 to last year, with some breaks— broadcasting and publishing—but latterly had contact with some high flying lads who were clearly headed for important careers and very senior positions in those careers. While not actually coaching them to do so, I encouraged them and one in particular, to aim for the Rhodes Scholarship—two of them made it. I had success as a teacher with some of the top students, but, I like to think, worked as hard with the plodders who were far more numerous!

This Award, inaugurated in 2014 has been awarded three times [before] and I am grateful to be the recipient for 2017. I was nominated by my former student, Vinesh Rajpaul, presently doing his PhD at Oxford and I feel humbled to be in the company of the Award's earlier recipients. The Award carries a Certificate and a sum of money, payable in dollars, which is good news for a financially embattled South African!’

August 2017 Eight O’Clock News

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Blood Type An Arab Sheik was admitted to hospital for heart surgery but prior

to the surgery the doctors needed to have some of his blood type stored in case the need arose.

As the gentleman had an extremely rare type of blood that couldn't be found locally, the call went out around the world.

Finally, a Scotsman was located who had the same rare blood type.

After some coaxing, the Scot donated his blood for the Arab.

After the surgery the Arab sent the Scotsman a new BMW, a diamond necklace for his wife, and $100,000 US dollars in appreciation for the blood donation.

A few months later, the Arab had to undergo a corrective surgery procedure. Once again, his doctor telephoned the Scotsman who this time was more than happy to donate his blood.

After the second surgery, the Arab sent the Scotsman a thank-you card and a box of Quality Street chocolates. The Scotsman was shocked that the Arab did not reciprocate his kind gesture as he had anticipated.

He then phoned the Arab and asked him: ‘I thought you would be more generous than that—last time you sent me a BMW, diamonds and money, but this time you only sent me a lousy thank-you card and a box of chocolates?’

To this the Arab replied: ‘Aye laddie, but I now have Scottish blood in me veins’.

A Blessing of Solitude May you recognize in your life the presence, power and light of your soul.

May you realise that you are never alone, that your soul in its brightness and belonging connects you intimately with the rhythm of the universe.

May you have respect for your own individuality and difference.

May you realise that the shape of your soul is unique, that you have a special destiny here, that behind the façade of your life there is something beautiful, good and eternal happening.

May you learn to see your self with the same delight, pride and expectation with which God sees you in every moment.

- John O’Donohue (Sent in by Wendy Gunn)

- Source unknown. Sent in by Alison Kempton Jones

Moving Home Margie and Willie Hare photographed by Claire May outside the front door of their new home in Fish Hoek. We will miss them.

2 Samuel 7:29: And now, may it please You to bless the house of Your servants, so that it may continue forever before You. For You have spoken, and when You grant a blessing to Your servants, O Sovereign LORD, it is an eternal blessing!"

Comfort In the Saviour’s Arms Congratulations to

Darryl Trimming.

He wins a lifetime’s access to the Eight O’ Clock News.

The statue is to be found in St John’s Episcopal Church, Huntington, West Virginia.

[Darryl assured me that he didn’t google it during the sermon but before the service began.]

August 2017 Eight O’Clock News

The Righteousness of God But in our time something new has been added. What Moses and the prophets witnessed to all those years has happened. The God-setting-things-right that we read about has become Jesus-setting-things-right for us. And not only for us, but for everyone who believes in Him. For there is no difference between us and them in this. Since we’ve compiled this long and sorry record as sinners (both us and them) and proved that we are utterly incapable of living the glorious lives God wills for us, God did it for us.

Out of sheer generosity He put us in right standing with Himself. A pure gift. He got us out of the mess we’re in and restored us to where He always wanted us to be. And He did it by means of Jesus Christ. Romans 3:21-24 Editorial Team Tel/e-mail Ev Els

021 696 0336 emichael@iafrica.com

Cheryl Anderson

083 272 1530 canderson@beckman.com