My Life VOL 2




CONTENTS :

Chapter 41 : A Fruitarian's Journey ..........2

Chapter 42 : Oranjezicht ..........................6

Chapter 43 : Return to Pinelands ............10

Chapter 44 : Kite Fever ...........................15

Chapter 45 : Departure from Pinelands ...17

Chapter 46 : Living in Ottery ....................22

Chapter 47 : Mathematical Pleasures .......27

Chapter 48 : Leaving Ottery .....................31

Chapter 49 : Kenilworth, 1987 – 1989 .......36

Chapter 50 : Mandy ..................................39

Chapter 51 : Return again, 1989 ...............43

Chapter 52 : Renate and Barrydale ..........46

Chapter 53 : Ingrid and Bridge ..................50

Chapter 54 : Death of my Mother ...............56

Chapter 55 : Park Estate ...........................58




* * * *







Chapter 41 : A Fruitarian's Journey




But my time in Pinelands was running out. Even the tolerance of the tolerant Father Seba was starting to wear thin at my eccentricities. I think he was particularly embarrassed by my habit of parading around the vicinity, often in view of his parishioners, sporting a pair of neckties playing the role of trouser braces.




I was also feeling the need for a change. A total get-away.

So I started clearing my stuff out. I sold my violin, my shoes and gave away my tenor recorder and about three of my descant recorders, keeping only my Mollenhausen wooden descant, a gift from Mr Chiappini. I also gave away my music stand and a lot of sheet music, to a group of players at the Museum where my mother was librarian. I threw away my 200 foolscap pages of poker calculations, a great loss to the culture of mankind. I had given up poker and music.




One of the strange changes caused by my radical diet was that I no longer felt the need to listen to music, and simply never devoted any time to any music programme, although I continued to enjoy the sound of it when heard accidentally.




Having divested myself of most of my possession, I now felt lighter and ready to travel. Round about September 1974 I set out in my Beetle bound for a farm near Uniondale as my

first port of call.

This farm, called “Vyekraal”, lay about 10 miles east of Uniondale, on the road to Port Elizabeth. It belonged to Emil Coetzee, who farmed fruit: apples, plums, peaches and apricots, mainly. He was interested in fruitarianism and became much more so during my stay with him, which lasted about a week or two. His wife Heike in fact complained that I had caused a revolution in her house.

He taught me how to prune all the various types of fruit trees on his farm, and I spent many hours doing so.




My second port of call was at Port Elizabeth, at the home of a woman who I had heard about from Essie Honiball, who was raising her baby on fruit only. Her name was Nanette Huisamen.




This baby was amazing, at 18 months it was large, on its diet of fruit only. A standard dish for it, as for its mother, was a blend of paw-paw, banana, avocado, with perhaps some other fruits, such as pineapple, and some raw nuts also blended into this “pudding”. Unfortunately the husband was not happy about what was going on, nor were other relatives and busybodies, who thought the diet criminally inadequate.

Despite the obvious fact that the baby was enormous, flourishing and the picture of happiness.




Sheer prejudice and stupidity, and later, on my way home from Durban (the furthest point on this journey), I touched at this home again, only to find that the mother had succumbed to the pressures of those around her, and put her baby on a more conventional diet. To me the baby looked miserable, without any trace of the beauty and joy I had seen before.




From Port Elizabeth I moved on to Aquarian Estates, a farm near Pietermaritzburg, where a group of people were staying. They had formed a company to own the farm and run it as a sort of community for people of similar ideas. These ideas included healthy diet, especially veganism and raw eating: right up my street. By now my 9-year spell of strict diet was just about 9 months old, after the initial few years of trying to reach the point of strictness.

I spent 3 very happy weeks on this farm. They employed Zulu women as labour on the land, and I often worked with them. I was learning Fanagalo and could practise it on them. This is a sort of hybrid of native languages meant to be understandable by all natives in S. Africa. They also showed me many “weeds” that were actually very delectable salad vegetables.

Running the farm were Dawn and Danie Jordaan, who had a daughter Delta-Anne aged about 9 and a son aged about 11. These kids amazed me by solving an extremely difficult puzzle: to assemble 9 pieces with digits on them into a 5x5 square with no repeated digits on any row or column. To my previous knowledge this problem was to all intents and purposes insoluble.

I slept on the veranda. I could sometimes hear the fukwe (rain bird)'s song, sometimes an exquisite duet between two of them. I thought it the most beautiful music I had ever heard.

Sometimes I would take the VW minibus to go and collect the kids from school, sometimes a hair-raising chore as I struggled to keep the bus from sliding off the slippery, muddy road. Some nights I also enjoyed helping some enthusiasts to complete some huge jig-saw puzzle.

Finally I moved on to Durban, the furthest point of my journey. Here I stayed about a month at the home of Marguerite, my eldest cousin, and her husband Dudley and four children Rohr, Lloyd, Craig and Tia, whose ages ranged from 16 down to 11.

I had seen almost nothing of this family since my departure from Durban in 1965, over 9 years before. Now I was surprised to find that Dudley had a large number of books on fruitarianism in his lounge, and was very knowledgeable about the subject. He was in fact trying to make progress in becoming a fruitarian himself. During my stay with him, I was to see him holding out well for about a week, every time, and then caving in and going on a binge.

All four of his children were also very keen on the idea of a fruit diet, and I spent many happy hours with them collaborating on the preparation of fruit and vegetable juices from recipes in Kulvinskas's epic Love your Body, which I was carrying with me on my travels.

I also spent much time in their garden experimenting with many kinds of sprouts.

During this stay of mine in Durban, Jovan, my old friend from my Pretoria days, came to Natal for a camping holiday with his two sons, Milan and Dusan, aged about 6 and 8. I had not seen Jovan since his visit to Cape Town in 1966, and his sons never.

I went to visit Jovan and his boys in their tent outside Durban, and I found these boys to be most enchanting. Jovan was constantly playing games with them, and showed himself to be an excellent father.







Chapter 42 : Oranjezicht




Back in Cape Town, I stayed with Liz and Manny at their house in Pinelands for a couple of weeks while looking for a new abode.

I found a beautiful old house in Oranjezicht that took about 6 boarders, and there I spent over two years.

Oranjezicht lies at the upper side of Cape Town city, on the side of Table Mountain. From our flat, tiled rooftop, where I spent much time sunbathing in winter, I had a nice view of the city below.

I spent hours walking every day, either halfway up the mountain to fetch fresh, clean drinking water from where it emerged from the mountain at a spring or else scouring the mountainside for mushrooms in autumn, or else running down the hill on the grass through the De Waal Park to the shops in the city to buy fruit or beetroot.

In my bedroom, which always gathered the rising sun, I grew wheat sprouts on my window-sill.

Early in my stay in Oranjezicht I was accosted one day in the street by a young woman, Nina Romm. We became good friends. She was an art student at Michaelis, and also fancied himself a bit at chess. Perhaps I should mention that at that time I sported a huge beard and a very long ponytail.

She became a diet mate, and in fact did heroic deeds in diet. Her figure changed from a bit too fat to exceedingly slender. And she started to amaze her yoga teacher with her progress, a teacher called Simone Williams whom I had never met and would not meet for another 4 years. Nina and I would run barefoot through the narrow streets of Gardens, an area of the city just below Oranjezicht, in the rain of June, searching the shops for beetroot and beet leaves, which we would use to make raw juice. (When I met Simone Williams in 1979, in an entirely different context, and we discovered that we had both known Nina, Simone told me she was the best yoga pupil she ever had).

In 1975 a convention was held in the Art Gallery annex, called Ways to the Centre. Many lectures were given, for example one lecture, on Mandalas, was given by my old professor of Applied Mathematics, Professor Whiteman, who also translated the Upanishads and wrote books on his mystical experiences. Another lecture was given by a young man called Richard Olds. I made friends with him immediately after his lecture.

From that date onwards I was walking to Hopeville, at the far end of Loader Street, nearly every day. Hopeville was the name of the house where Richard, his girl Penny, and a taxi-driver called Mike lived. It was right at the other end of the city from where I lived, about 2 miles away, and situated on the bottom of Signal Hill.

There were always guests visiting at all hours at Hopeville, mostly young men: nobody seemed to do any work, except Mike. Richard did free-lance work, making sets for stage productions by Capab. He also made a glass pyramid in his back garden, and also an Orgone Box (he was a great believer in Wilhelm Reich), both for human occupation. I kept strictly away from them. I always had my own ideas.

They all took pot continuously, and I loved the way it made them, but one day I got them to try a new sort of high. First, we all went out to gather dandelion plants on the hillside. Next, I got them to wash the sand off the roots. Next , the plants, with roots intact, were put through a juicer.

The juice is extremely potent and extremely bitter, but I always love its taste. Each one had about half a glass, which is really a huge amount. After that we were all high the whole night through. And they all conceded it was as good as pot. I myself just felt possessed of an indestructible strength and energy, nor was there any let-down afterwards.

A few houses before the end of Loader Street and Hopeville was the house of Chaim. In front of which was a most magnificent comfrey plant, practically under a water tap, and well watered. Every day, on passing, I would help myself to a few huge, luscious leaves and chomp them immediately. Chaim didn't mind at all.

Richard was greatly influenced by my example in diet, and soon had many bottles of sprouts going, mostly alfalfa. For a year he made great efforts to adapt to this diet of raw vegan food, but could never get rid of a chronic sort of bronchitis which only seemed to get worse.

That is the most discouraging thing about diet: the truth of existence is per ardua ad astra : there is no gain without pain and particularly in diet you have to go through the flame of life to atone for your whole life of self-poisoning. You have to get worse before you can get better. It's just in the mechanism of the way in which the body rebuilds itself. One has to stick it out, for years if necessary.

By May 1975 my niece Lisa (my sister's only child)

was turning 3, and from now on, for the next six years, I would spend much time with her.

Liz had a half-day job as haematologist at Groote Schuur Hospital. I would drive from Oranjezicht to the hospital at 1pm, park my car there, then get a lift with her to her home at Pinelands. There she would likely as not read a book by the side of her swimming-pool while Lisa and I played happily together. We built with blocks, coloured in pictures, or went for a walk. Or I would pull her along the pavements with a rope attached to her scooter. After a few hours I would walk back to my car, parked about 3 miles away, and return to Oranjezicht.

Nina had an 18-year-old sister who was studying in the Transvaal. Her name was Norma. I met her briefly when she came down to Cape Town for a short holiday. Later I was to get to know her better.










Chapter 43 :Return to Pinelands



A twelve-year cycle, broken into two equal 6-year portions, was starting to show up in my life:

1958-1965: away from 5, Achilles Way, Pinelands

1965-1970: at 5, Achilles Way, Pinelands

1970-1977: away from 5, Achilles Way, Pinelands

1977-1983: at 5, Achilles Way, Pinelands

1983-1989: away from 5, Achilles Way, Pinelands

1989- : return to 5, Achilles Way, Pinelands.




In May 1977 my father died, leaving my mother alone in the house. I decided to return to stay with my mother.

Norma moved to Cape Town soon after this, and found a Dutch boyfriend about 37 years older than herself. She was now at UCT and, after her previous courses in firstly Western Philosophy and thereafter Eastern Philosophy, was now studying Sociology. During her period as student she moved in with Ernst in his flat on the eighteenth floor of the Pick and Pay tower in the Gardens. There I would frequently go to visit her, usually for a game of chess (she once beat me 6 games in a row, having been the Transvaal woman's champion) or else we would go to the Sea Point promenade to fly two of my small kites. But I must remember that I only started making kites in 1982, so this is probably looking ahead to 1983.

On getting her degree in Sociology, Norma applied for and obtained a post as lecturer in Pretoria. But Ernst refused to leave Cape Town, so it looked as if they were coming to the parting of the ways. Norma even asked me if I wanted to go with her to stay in Pretoria, but I declined. Luckily Ernst then changed his mind and went with her. He had supported her in her student days: now in the evening of his life she would be happy to support him.

The last time I heard from Norma was about 1987, when her relationship with Ernst was still going strong. She always referred to him as her “baby”, had no desire for any other children of her own, and as a Geminian proved to be a model of the constant heart. She got her PhD, and a year ago or so when I tried to trace her whereabouts, the trail led to Hull University, but then petered out.

Of course, in Pinelands I saw even more of my young niece.

In 1979 I moved out of the Pinelands house for the winter months March to September, to stay in a commune in Muizenberg. This was The Towers, a very large building that had previously been a monastery or nunnery. It now housed the headquarters of Odyssey, a New Age magazine, and upstairs was a balcony with about half a dozen 6ft by 6ft cells opening onto it. Jill Iggulden, the editress, had the end cell which was slightly larger, and I had the cell next to it, which had room for my camp stretcher, a garden chair, and not much else.

There were about 20 people, mostly quite young, staying at the Towers and we led rather a pleasant, sociable life. There was even a table tennis room where I had some good games with Manny when he brought Liz and Liza for a visit.

There was a cottage in the front garden of the Towers, abutting on the road outside, rented by a couple, Ivan and Katinka Hall, and their 6-year-old daughter Tamsin.

Katinka was my first real astrology teacher, and showed me how to draw up complete horoscopes, a quantum leap beyond Sun Sign astrology. At the Towers I also met Bruce Hewett, one of the foremost English-speaking S. African poets, who was also a very advanced astrologer. He lent me Alice Bailey's Esoteric Astrology, which is without doubt the most important book on astrology ever written.

I used to love going for short shopping outings with Katinka in her car. She was a little worried by Tamsin, or perhaps I should rather say her relationship her, and I myself, used to basking in the confidence and love of small children, found her very distant and reserved. But then, quite suddenly, after several weeks, Tamsin thawed towards me. From one extreme to another, I was now her favourite, and even invited to sleep in the other bed in her room. Which I enjoyed doing. But this friendship was not to develop further, for the time to say goodbye was now on all of us – Jill Iggulden's tenancy of the Towers was now at an end, and was not to be renewed.




Back in Pinelands, September 1979, life resumed where it had left off, my most regular and meaningful activity being my daily visits to my niece. Our favourite game was to recite a piece of poetry when on a walk or out somewhere, alone together or with others. The rule was that one of us barked out a word or two, then the other had to continue with a word or two, and so. The poem was:

“This is the weather the cuckoo likes

And so do I,

When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,

And nestlings fly.”

Lisa always wangled it so that the word “nestlings” fell to her – of course I didn't try too hard to upset that apple-cart.

Another game that afforded both of us enormous hilarity was making up peculiar surnames on the spur of the moment. Mr this and Mrs that. None of our efforts come to mind now, alas.




My chief memory of 1980 was the advent of a considerable comet in my life: Rubik's Cube. These things became ubiquitous for several years, they took over cars and television screens even. No child was without one, and few grown-ups. I relished the challenge of this cube, to solve it with no outside help: this kept me busy for over a week, till I had worked out my first, most primitive methods.

And it also kept me busy for years afterwards. I was trying to find new and better methods of solving it. I was not interested in speed, but in the shortest possible number of moves, and the simplest and most elegant methods. Later, after 1989, when I really took up computer programming as the biggest hobby of my entire life, I wrote a program to assist me with solving the Cube. Together, computer and I could be pretty sure of solving any position in 31 or 32 moves at the most.

In 1979, at the Towers, I also reviewed some scientific books for Odyssey. One of these was Michel Gauquelin's Spheres of Destiny. This book presented the author's scientific, statistical researches into some aspects of astrology. He offered overwhelming scientific proof of some of the postulates of astrology. In my review I suggested that more such researches were needed in order to give astrology more respectability in more scientific circles.

Now in 1980 and 1981 my own curiosity compelled me to do such researches on my own. Step one: drawing up a list of 420 geniuses with birthdates. Step two: going daily to the Royal Observatory in Observatory, to use their almanacs to get planetary positions going back to 1750, and hence drawing up the horoscopes of these geniuses. Step three: analysing these horoscopes to discover the particular properties of their horoscopes that made them geniuses.

I got very interesting results, which proved the importance of astrological “aspects” (angles between planets), an aspect of astrology not covered in Gauquelin's work, especially in the horoscopes of genius.










Chapter 44 : Kite Fever




In November 1981 there began a new craze of mine.

The only kites I had ever tried to build were some abortive efforts at boarding school. But now I was possessed of a demonic urge to make and fly kites. Where this came from I cannot now remember at all.

The first kite I made was a triangular box kite just under a foot long. The three main spars were plastic drinking straws of very large diameter. The front box was made of plastic from a thin shopping bag, the rear box of paper from a glossy magazine. This kite was seldom able to be enticed to fly, but one day at last I enjoyed a beautiful sight of this kite in steady flight, in very kind, steady conditions of wind.

A performance I was never able to repeat with this kite, in spite of many attempts at reconstruction.

My second kite, a fairly flat white kite the size of a big hand, flew fairly reliably among the trees and flats of Pinelands, thanks to a long plastic tail.

Eventually I made Delta One, my first attempt at a delta kite. It was made entirely of ordinary thin plastic drinking straws, covered with thin plastic cut from a shopping bag, and so was only the length of a drinking straw. It also had a shortish plastic fin, cut from a similar bag, with a cleverly cut hole in it. The cross-straw, holding the wings apart, was pinned to the wing straws with lills.

This kite flew with a beauty of style that astonished me, and made me a devotee of delta kites for a long time. My deltas went right up to Delta 32, yet I never managed to build another delta that quite matched Delta One for majesty of style. Some of these other deltas shone in other ways, however.

Basically these deltas were all the same size, i.e. pretty small, and made of the same materials. Delta 2, however, was unique in having spars made of thatch, intended for stronger winds that would have destroyed the lighter deltas.

For a long time Delta 2 would only fly with a drogue, which acted as a tail. Tails really spoil the individual styles of kites, and I try to avoid them where possible. Later I added circular plastic fins to the back ends of the two wing spars, which projected beyond the kite surface. These fins I cut from the plastic lids of cottage cheese tubs. They were fairly rigid.

Delta 4 was made from a blue plastic shopping bag. The plastic was rather stiffish and very crumpled. On a hunch, I crumpled it even more and ended up with a kite that could fly closer to the zenith than any other I ever made or saw. It was also a very nicely convertible kite: to cope with stronger winds, all I had to do was push a thatch rod through the central spine straw.

Delta 9 was made of ultra-light materials. On a completely windless day, I used to take a walk with this kite, which would happily fly in the air speed of my walk – about 3 mph.

Apart from my deltas, the kites that generated most interest were my miniatures, kites about 7 cm long, made using dry grass stems as spars, and invisible thread as flying line. Their tails were tiny balls of polystyrene strung out along a thin line. I flew them at Talk Bay pool in the gentle sea breeze, and also at Sea Point, allowing them to practically enter a flat window on the third floor.

I was forever walking backwards and forwards between the house and the field about 5 houses away at the end of the road. Naturally the kids of the street were interested, so I had to make kites for them too, also for Lisa and her friend Dirk from the house opposite my mother's.

While flying my kites I usually wore a caftan, to protect my arms and legs from the sun. and a sunhat of course.










Chapter 45 : Departure from Pinelands




As I have said, I was in the habit of going every afternoon to visit my niece. My sister and I had grown much less close over the years 1970 to 1982. Now in early 1983, matters came to a head. One day I was there, the next I was not. Nor the next, nor ever again for years. It was simply the end. That end took place inside me, and was not made manifest on the outside by any words on my part. There just was no point in expressing any explanation, or in fact even finding one for myself. I was just something that happened inside me, and when it happened I knew it had happened. As I left her house that day, I knew I would not return.

Since that date we have not really been on speaking terms, except for essential practicalities. Nor have I been at all interested in anything resembling a “reconciliation.”

My sister continued to visit my mother in her house, where I was staying. I found these visits irritating, to the extent that I decided to leave.

When I have been loved by a person or animal, I will treasure the memory of those happy times. If she then ceases to love me, she becomes to me a new person, who has no right to usurp the position and privileges of her predecessor, nor to contaminate my memories of her by her spurious resemblances to her. I will avoid her to avoid this contamination. This I have done with several women in my life.

For the next six years I saw practically nothing of my mother, sister or niece. Nor my sister's cat: which was a greater loss to me than anything else. I certainly loved that cat more than anybody in the world, and the cat loved me more than anyone else did.




In March or April 1983 I moved into a room of a friend's flat in Muizenberg, and stayed there for 5 or 6 months. This was Valerie Dade. Of course, I took my kites with me, and continued to fly them, mostly on the beach.

Delta 3 had become a superstar, and gave a magical performance on her one string one evening above the grass before the pavilion. She would climb steeply then veer off far to the right, then go into a nose-first dive on the right. Now I had two options: reeling in the line would cause her to complete the loop, turning clockwise till she pointed upwards and leftwards. Reeling out the line instead would allow her to turn left and go up the way she had come down.

A riveting performance that had the spectators spellbound. I also built a large kite, of a beautiful green colour, which I would fly over the beach in a very light breeze – her beauty was remarked on by a mother to her child.

Valerie's flat was Sunrise Mansions, at the south end of Muizenberg, squeezed between the mountain and the sea.

Similarly squeezed were also the railway line (next to the sea) and the road. At night I would hear the constant crashing of the sea on the shore (rocky at this point) added to the sound of the breakers on the not-so-distant beach. And the occasional rumble of a passing train. And (least musical of the three) the swish of a passing car.

Every afternoon I would climb up the steps to Boyes Drive and walk along it as far as Kalk Bay, where it descends to join the coastal road. There I would look for a large, overripe avocado in a shop that usually had some of these. Or maybe buy a 100 gram packet of Hazel nuts.

Val and I often played canasta, which both of us enjoyed, but seldom went out together. She did not seem to be fond of walks or other outings.

My main memory of Val actually dates to late 1986, when she visited me at my home in Simonstown a few times. One morning she phoned me to complain of depression. I gave her the following advice: go to bed and don't get out of it until your depression clears up. Well, it works for me anyway.

I moved out of Val's flat in September, to the Philippi smallholding of my friend Mossie, where I stayed six weeks. He was running a lucrative business growing and selling sprouts. I lent a hand here and there and helped him to drink his wheatgrass juice.

Jill Iggulden had asked me to write up my astrological research, done in 1980/1981, (see Chapter 43) for publication in Odyssey, and now at Mossie's I got stuck into the task. This work of mine was duly published in five consecutive issues of Odyssey starting in October, 1983, with far-reaching consequences for the status of astrology and the correct understanding and application of it. For alas, at present astrology still labours under a preponderance of misconceptions.

This was my first publication, and concurrently with my first article on astrology, my article “Biorhythms of Love” was also published for the first time, in the same issue, based on my researches into biorhythm.

One night Mossie took me with him to a meeting of a group of about 6 shareholders who were aiming at buying a certain farm, Hawequas, near Wellington, to turn it into a sort of New Age haven, something like Aquarian Estates I suppose. At this meeting I first laid eyes on Ingrid Peters, a youngish woman, still unmarried, who looked vaguely presentable to me. I was to meet her again 3 years later.

In my investigations of certain religions, with a special eye on their dietetic practices, I had gone to the Helderberg headquarters of the Seventh-Day Adventist sect, on a short visit in 1980. As a result of this I had got acquainted with a young married couple, Andre and Carol de Kock.

He was a teacher of mathematics in their Helderberg school, and also played chess, so I invited them over to the Pinelands house one evening. Where he gave me the surprise of my life by thrashing me at chess. He was obviously a much better player than I.

In 1983, while staying with Mossie on his farm during what could obviously only be a temporary expedient, I thought of phoning Carol to ask her if she knew of a place to stay. I hadn't seen her for years, so it was news to me to hear that she and Andre were splitting up. But she had one positive suggestion to make: that I go and stay with Andre in his house which she had just abandoned. This house was in Ottery, a couple of miles east of Wynberg.










Chapter 46 : Living in Ottery




Andre agreed with Carol's suggestion, and I moved in with him immediately, in November 1983. At least he would have somebody to play chess with. As it turned out, I spent three very harmonious and pleasant years with him, without a single argument or quarrel between us.

Andre had left Helderberg and now had a job with a company as computer expert. He was taking a course in Computer Science through Unisa. It was a piece of cake for him, and he topped the national exam results every exam.

His chess was quite brilliant, in fact his games were such works of art that I preferred to study them in preference to the games of more famous masters. He did play with me, but really these games were more in the nature of lessons than games. He played in the top Cape Town tournament of 11 players, and held his place about 5th among them. In lightning play he was even stronger, ranking about 3rd in the city. His rating was a bit above 2000.

Carol had moved in with her parents, who had a house in Plumstead, 3 miles to the south-west from Andre's house in Ottery. Andre wanted her back, so he visited them nearly every night, usually taking me with him. The four of us, Carol, Andre, I and Joan, Carol's unmarried twin sister, would sit together in the lounge and watch Dallas.

Joan was a non-identical twin of Carol, and a music teacher at a school. She always played the piano at the Adventist functions. I also heard Carol play the piano: she was also very good, but did not practise as much as Joan.

Their mother was a woman who fitted in very well with the younger set and was very popular with all of us. Joan had a boy friend called Delano, whom I didn't much care for.

In March 1984 a sort of festival took place in Cape Town. Part of this was the formation of a group called Come and Play, who were to organise events such as kite-flying days, new types of games for larger groups of people, such as running around the grounds in chains, and new word games for a sedentary game. I was roped into this as an advisor on kite making and flying. This brought me a lot of publicity in the Cape Town press, which of course supported all these festivities. People in the streets of Ottery were stopping to talk to me as they recognised me from my picture in the newspaper. In which I was hailed as the “Kite King” and some fairy tales were spun about me, which I did not object to as I thought it all good fun.

At this time I had also been contacted by a woman called Patsy Collett, whom I think I had met already in 1980, but had moved out of my ambit. Or maybe she contacted me; I can't remember exactly how it is that we got together at this time.

She was, like me, very diet and health conscious. We enjoyed some delicious March Galea melons together. We spent nights in bed. I wrote her love letters in an exercise book. Her teenage daughter came on a visit and much admired my poem To Marguerite. We conspired to save the life of a woman dying of cancer by putting her on a grape diet.

But there was a tension between the Capricorn elements in our horoscopes, a basic power struggle. The whole edifice of our friendship collapsed like a house of cards when our sexual chemistry, put to the test, failed to measure up to expectations. I left precipitately, carefully gathering such of my belongings as were lying around, so as to circumvent any need to return. I think neither of us had us desire for another meeting, nor did we ever have one.

About 6 months later I found a more satisfying chemistry. “I met a woman” who would be coming often to my house (this does not denote ownership but occupation) to pick me up in her old Cressida and take me out as a walking companion. I found her sexually attractive and indeed she said I was in love with her. In this she may not have been entirely wrong. I certainly wanted to sleep in her bed.

A desire not shared by her for many weeks. She took me for Xmas lunch with her parents in Glencairn. On the way back, in the train, she surprised me by inviting me to stay the night.

A night of intense chemistry, which I enjoyed very much, and she also expressed her opinion of me as an adequate lover. I think she was a bit surprised by the lengths I went to.

The next morning, she showed signs of silliness, but seemed to be determined to return immediately to a more businesslike mode, and the high-jinks of the previous night were not to be repeated for another two moons.

Incidentally she was born at the new moon, and by an “amazing” coincidence both her invitations were timed exactly to the new moon. An astrologer who had read Linda Goodman might have predicted these dates with total accuracy. For, as Linda Goodman says, a woman can only conceive at the moon phase of her birth, and if ever a reluctant woman is going to succumb to temptation, it will be at a biologically consequential moment.

Our friendship continued on a more platonic level for a few more months, until she returned to England – she had been on a six-month visit, partly to see her parents again.

About a year later, I met another girl.

In Wynberg, about three miles my house in Ottery, lived my friend Simone Williams. Yes, this was the yoga teacher of my friend Nina from the seventies. I had met Simone at the Towers in Muizenberg when I lived there in 1979. She was working at the Towers as a secretary for Odyssey magazine. But we spent no time together, really, and I hardly got to know her.

It was only now in 1985 that I got into the habit of walking to her house frequently. Through Simone I met several people, not least the local street urchins who were great friends of hers. They also became great friends of mine. Leader of these kids was Bernice, from around the corner, and in her retinue came half a dozen others. We had many delightful games with these kids, did Simone and I.

Simone also knew Rosemary Vosse, the chairman of the Theosophical Society, who had a house 5 minutes walk down the river, called Riversedge. (I never found out whether this meant the more probable Rivers Edge, or the more fantastic River Sedge). Many a time I walked to Riversedge to chat with Rosemary, and to help her address the hundreds of letters she sent out every week, to correspondents all over the world, but particularly in Tibet and Italy (she had married an Italian and lived in Italy). She produced a monthly Buddhist magazine which partly accounted for her voluminous correspondence.

Occasionally she put up people in her spare room. One such person was Helgali. Helgali was one of three sisters and a brother in a very fruitarian family from up country, but she was known as the black sheep of the family. She was not married, but had a six-year-old son with her.

I rather liked Helgali, and proposed that we should get together, even if not so strongly attracted to each other, for the sake of solidarity and companionship in the face of the non-fruitarian world. She agreed, and though she had a boyfriend, soon got rid of him.

We got on nicely, and were becoming more intimate, but then I did something rather stupid to upset the apple-cart.

Her sister returned after an extended stay in Germany, and called in at Wynberg to visit Helgali. I was visiting at the time, so I also met her. She was very pregnant, expecting any day. When I met her, I put my arms around her, and told her I loved her very much. Helgali was watching this performance, which was given in front of her, but did not seem to appreciate it too much.

In fact it seemed that she was entirely pissed off with me, and didn't want to know my troubles any more.

After about 3 weeks she got over her anger with me, and we reconciled as good friends, but the idea of a romance between us was now out.

But our new friendship went well and we had some good times together. Flying kites with her son, or taking him to the Spur for a birthday treat. I liked her son very much, though he was very naughty, if cutting up the curtains with a pair of scissors or setting fire to the dry leaves in the gutters under parked cars can be regarded as naughty.




Chapter 47: Mathematical Pleasures




“It is the activity of the intelligence above all that lends charm to existence.” - Such would be the opinion and philosophy of anyone who considered himself to be the arsehole of a mathematician, and it is certainly mine.

My favourite mathematical pursuits have been geometry, number theory, and more particularly Pythagoras Theorem and the Four Colour Problem and Diophantine Equations, chess, Rubik's Cube, Sudoku, Computer Science and Programming, and Cryptology. Of the vast amounts of time and energy I have devoted to these pleasures, most has been given to Computer Programming, Rubik's Cube, The Four Colour Problem, Sudoku, and Bridge Bidding as a particular problem in Cryptology: the problem of compressing the greatest amount of information into the least number of code-symbols.

Years earlier I had been fascinated by a book containing well over a hundred different proofs of Pythagoras' Theorem, and looked for more of my own, finding about half a dozen new ones.

Now in 1985 my interest in maths revived, and I became a subscriber to UCT's Mathematical Digest, to which I made several contributions to a grateful editor. My most interesting problems, published in this magazine, were an original proof of Pythagoras' Theorem, a method of using only the square root function and the four simplest mathematical operations on a calculator to compute the cube root of any number, solutions to Diophantine equations involving numbers of over 400 digits (numbers higher than 10 to the power 400), to handle which I had to write special programs for my BBC computer (but this item came much later than 1985). I also won the magazine's challenge to all maths teachers and pupils for the best solution to the Partitioned Rectangle problem. (I submitted not one but two entirely different proofs of this theorem).

The Editor liked also my Egg Cup Theorem, which examined this problem: supposing a spherical egg rests in an egg cup, with every point on the lower half of its surface in contact with a point on the cup, can the egg now be rotated to a new orientation so that no point on it will touch the same point on the cup as before?

A particular challenge I offered to all readers was to solve Abdul Wefa's ancient 3-square problem in a new and better way than ever before. After 3 months no answers to this challenge had been received, so my solution was published. One of the proudest achievements of my life.

But the culmination of my mathematical delights came only in 2006, when Sudoku reached an explosive state of development. If ever an activity had been designed to show off my most particular talents to the utmost, it was Sudoku.

Which is a matter of the purest mathematics and logic.

I revelled in Sudoku and the internet possibilities of communication regarding it. I published problems and also solutions to other problems. The champion creator of the hardest Sudokus in the world was Ocean, and the champion solver, indeed the only solver, of these problems was Maria45.

But Ocean's sudokus kept getting harder, till their rating reached and exceeded 10.0, then thought to be the theoretical maximum. I became the only person offering acceptable solutions to these problems. As thanks for my efforts, Ocean dedicated a new Sudoku, of enormous difficulty, to me, calling it : “Extreme Jade (for Gurth)”.

“Jade” was a term that I had introduced to describe a particular sort of sudoku: one that starts easily and then turns very nasty. I was the first to be honoured in this way by Ocean – thereafter he dedicated several of his new sudokus to other worthy contributors to the progress of sudoku.

My greatest satisfaction in sudoku, however, came not from solving hard sudokus but from my investigation into the properties of sudokus with symmetrical clues. (symmetrical in value as well as position). I popularised this type of sudoku by inventing techniques and challenging others to do the same. Several players rose to the occasion in a very satisfying way.

Whenever I invented a new type of symmetrical sudoku, Mauricio responded by immediately publishing difficult examples of the new type. This was fortunate for me, as I could not have composed such difficult examples, and so my techniques were made to look more spectacular, because even extremely “difficult” sudokus could be solved very easily by means of my new techniques. Other players who especially appreciated my new symmetrical sudokus, and excelled in inventing new solving techniques for them, were udosuk and RW.

My work in this field was given recognition in that , of all the dozens of solution techniques invented, named and listed

in the Sudoku annals, only one bears the name of its inventor: my “Gurth's Symmetrical Placement” technique.

The highest and most satisfying praise I ever received during my life was when the great Mauricio wrote in appreciation on the www.sudoku.com website: “Your technique is the most beautiful technique that I have ever seen, Gurth.”







Chapter 48 : Leaving Ottery




Andre had applied for a new job in the Transvaal, and on being given this position decided to sell his house in Ottery, so I had to look for new digs. Katinka Hall, my astrology teacher from Towers days in Muizenberg, had moved from her beautiful little house, The Nest, in Simonstown, to a new abode in Hout Bay, but kept the Simonstown house as an investment and was renting it to a young lady called Carina. Katinka thought Carina might like to share the house with me, as she was finding it a bit difficult to meet the rent. And so it turned out.

I moved from Ottery to Simonstown at the beginning of November, 1986, and stayed there for five months.

Carina Wapenaar, daughter of a racing car driver, drove her blue Beetle somewhat like one, and was 26 or 28 years old, the latter I think. My stay with her was very satisfying in two ways:

firstly, although still a smoker, she really understood the importance of a good diet, and was ready to be inspired by my lead and to follow my example. I, for my part, had slipped off my strict diet considerably, and had been eating too much bread and cheese during my stay in Ottery. So now I was motivated anew to set a good example and to improve my own diet.

Her smoking immediately became a thing of the past, and she took to a fruitarian diet like a duck to water, going all the way at once with no apparent need for an adjustment period. She was over the moon and feeling the indescribable joys of this wonderful diet without any payments and struggles of the sort Richard Olds had had to undergo. This happy success of Carina was a source of much joy and inspiration to me also.

Secondly, it so happened that I did something else for Carina that she found a source of great joy. Although very fond of her “music” CDs, she strangely enough had no conception of what classical music could be. For her this was a whole new world that I opened up to her, and soon she was revelling in the piano sonatas of Mozart, Mendelssohn's Hebrides music, the string quartets of Haydn, and much else. This music was provided on loan from the Simonstown library, but Carina starting buying her own records of classical music.

Carina had an on-off relationship with her boyfriend Kevin, usually two weeks on followed by two weeks off, followed by more similar cycles. During the “on” periods I saw a bit less of her, but for much of the time we went everywhere together. She was a dressmaker who had stalls at craft markets in various suburbs, and would often take me along for the ride and to give her a little unprofessional help.

At one of these places, I saw a woman, also a dressmaker, who Carina knew. I really fell in love with her in quite a big way, but this Elizabeth already had a boyfriend and Carina could see I was wasting my time there. This Elizabeth was a really exquisite creature. But I have always found Pisces women elusive, to me especially, and she was as elusive as any. These days I have learnt my lesson and simply do not look at a Pisces woman twice, however irresistible.

Carina's black dog Clash, biggish and very young, was also a source of joy. When Carina was too busy to pay Clash attention, I would take her for walks along the roads and paths on the side of the mountain. How she would prance for joy in the road outside The Nest once the two of us got outside! And when Carina was free to join us, the three of us had wonderful games on the rocks at the sea's edge: Carina and I would throw a frisbee back and forth, with Clash the pig in the middle, charging back and forth between the two of us.

In December Carina and I went for a very interesting weekend to MacGregor, about 150 miles away in the Karoo, in her Beetle. Which broke down in Worcester, about halfway to MacGregor, where Mossie was now living on his herb farm and had invited us to come for the weekend.

One of his other guests had already arrived at McGregor. This was Bruno, a free-lance mechanic, whose customers included Mossie and me. We phoned Mossie from Worcester, where we were stuck, and Bruno came out to fetch us in his huge truck. We loaded the Beetle onto the back of the truck and carted it to MacGregor. When the weekend was over the Beetle rode back on the truck, and so did Carina and I. A new customer for Bruno!

Bruno was a very, very intelligent Gemini, with total clarity of vision. Whereas Mossie was a devotee of Jim Hurtak, leader of the Academy for Future Science (of world -wide renown). Mossie inflicted a Hurtak session on his poor guests, who were all required to listen devotedly to the words of the master, on (or rather off) a CD, who ranted and raved in the style of Hitler.

This was more than I could stomach, so I just walked out and went and sat on a bench on the veranda. Where I was joined a few moments later by Bruno, who was equally disgusted with this crap. We had a good laugh at the folly of the others, in swallowing these fairy stories.

At this weekend in McGregor also attended Ingrid Peters, with her 8-month old baby boy Joseph. This was my second meeting with Ingrid, having met her for the first time in October 1983. She asked me to massage her back, which I did. I found it a very fine back, and enjoyed this experience quite a lot. I would meet her again after another six months or so.

Since round about the year 1980, a remarkable rapport had been developing between me and the I Ching. In particular, Sam Reifler's translation. His Taoist and Zen slant appealed to me, and phrases such as “you do not fully and easily accept the will of God” appeal to me, and even more the fact that Reifler usually speaks of The One and All rather than of God – a phraseology which to me seems the clearest expression of my own pantheism. And I also felt a deep understanding of his concept that one might grow to a stage beyond goals and ambitions.

And now in early 1987 the I Ching was again asserting its influence and relevance in the lives of Gurth and Carina.

A difference of opinion was developing between our landlady Katinka and ourselves as to the amount of rent we should pay. She was of a mind to ask for more; we were not of a mind to pay more. We held out again the threat of eviction. Because this is what the I Ching told us to do; it forecast that Katinka would give way.

Carina was starting to get worried as the time of our moving out approached : I'm not going to have a roof over my head, she said. Don't worry, I said, Katinka will give in. And so it turned out. A few days before the end Katinka gave in, with some excuse that is irrelevant, and said she would let us stay on with no increase in rent. Which we duly did.

During one of Carina's regular break-ups with Kevin she felt she had reached the end of the road with him. She came to my room and asked to borrow the I Ching. Then she went back to her room and let the Hexagram come. It was the hexagram of ending, using the word “unreconcilable.”

For Carina, that was it – the writing on the wall. Kevin was thrown out finally. He just couldn't believe she would act on a book in that way... but some people understand the power of the I Ching. ... the great Jung himself said it never lies.

But in March the time to move on came, for both of us. Carina moved to Knysna, an old dream of hers, to start her own business, a boutique, with some help financially from her mother. And I found a good place to move to, the flat of Monique, in Kenilworth.







Chapter 49 : Kenilworth, 1987 – 1989




I had met Monique Nauta in 1985, through Helgali, who also did some work at the Michael Oak Waldorf School in Kenilworth. And in 1986 I had visited her and her boyfriend Jakes at her flat, Leckhampton Court a couple of times.

Now in April, 1957, hearing that I was looking for digs, she was keen that I move in to share her flat with her. She had had an argument with Jakes, and he had moved out.

I agreed to move in, but first I wanted to spend a couple of weeks with my friends Elmarie and Alex, who would be house-sitting in a large house in Constantia for that space of time. They were wanting more company, and I was happy to go there, as I liked both of them very much.

The way in which I had first met Alex and Elmarie was in itself quite interesting. In December 1986 Carina had become interested in TM (Transcendental Meditation) and went to an introductory lecture, dragging me along somewhat reluctantly, as such things are not my cup of tea and never have been. After the lecture, people moved around a bit and I saw a rather good -looking man standing on the platform. Somehow I thought he had a friendly look about him which appealed to me. I went up to him and started chatting, with the result that we soon clicked. His feelings towards TM matched mine closely, and he claimed a passion for chess. Then he pointed out a very attractive woman sitting in the front row – his wife Elmarie. All four of us met one another and we all became a set of good friends. Elmarie and Carina would follow up their common interest in TM (both took and completed the course), and Alex and I would become chess buddies. Alex and Elmarie came to visit us a couple of times in Simonstown, and we went to the beach together.

I spent a couple of idyllic weeks at Constantia with this couple. One highlight was when Alex revealed that he saw no point in changing his shirt before seven or eight days. Alex took his Buddhism to a logical extreme: it went against the grain for him to travel in a car, because the car was using a tarred road whose tar was responsible for the mass murder of the grass population. Incidentally Alex was a highly qualified lawyer who saw no point in working and so did not. A year or so later he took the position of Magistrate of Swellendam.

I loved the way, whenever some disaster happened, that Alex would say, “What does it matter?”. These words were constantly on his lips, and I don't think Elmarie liked it at all. (The implication being, of course, that she did not matter either). The more power to Alex for sticking to his guns! Incidentally, I quite agree with his philosophy.

I was just a little bit more than a little bit in love with Elmarie. She could play chess, even snatch a game off me if well fuelled with pot. She and Alex were a divorced couple who had come together again without bothering to remarry. Maybe one divorce was enough for them. Alex had children from a previous marriage, but they were absent in distant parts.

Monique, my landlady-to-be, was one of numerous visitors to us three at the Constantia house, mostly friends of Alex and Elmarie. One day there were just the three of us, Monique, Elmarie and Gurth, together and I basked in the combined attentions of these two girls.

Then I moved into Monique's flat. It was a lovely, spacious old flat on the ground floor, with the back door opening onto a nice lawn with clothes lines not taking up too much room on it. The front door opened onto a spacious veranda where I did much sunbathing. Monique is one very artistic lady and the flat was very beautifully and inexpensively furnished.

Monique's sister Louise lived with her friend Robin in two tiny caravans on the mountainside above Scarborough, a remote beach on the southwest side of the Cape Peninsula.

Louise and Robin went away on a trip, so Monique and I took the opportunity of spending a weekend in their caravans. It was a nice break from the more citified Kenilworth.

After about three weeks Monique and Jakes made it up, and he moved back into her flat. So we were now three. A threesome that got on extraordinarily well together. They took me along with them practically everywhere they went, so my social life became considerably richer. Jakes and I actually became closer than any other pairing in the three. We had endless games, chess, Risk, and philosophical discussions. When after a year he and Monique quarrelled and he left, he would come to visit me against Monique's express prohibition.

After Jakes left, Monique and I continued to live happily together for another year, during which my friendship with Jakes also continued. And even then I only left because Monique was getting married and moving into a house.

One day in about mid-1957, I bumped into Ingrid Peters in a fruit shop about a mile east of “my” flat. It turned out she was living in Derby Court, flats about 10 minutes walk from mine. I took to visiting her and her baby boy. We became good friends. Often we would go for walks in the neighbourhood.







Chapter 50 : Mandy




Early in 1988 Jakes introduced me to a young pupil (in Afrikaans) of his named Mandy. She was just 13, and lived with her parents, brother James (11), and two smaller sisters, Caroline and Mary, aged eight and six.

Jakes was thinking of moving away, or else he had other reasons, but he was thinking I might take over from him as Mandy's tutor. Their house in Claremont was a convenient 20 minutes walk from Leckhampton Court.

The first time Jakes took me to their house, Mandy and I immediately clicked, as was also very apparent to Mandy's very perceptive mother, an Aquarian, Fen.

I became very welcome in their house, not only as tutor but also as companion, especially as a chess companion for Mary, who was very keen on chess and beat me always. Mary was pretty, and interestingly enough, she was a vegetarian, the only one in her family... they had all been for a while, and whereas the others caved in, Mary would not.

I was of course a total vegetarian, had been ever since 1971 and never would be anything else.

I also played tennis down the road with the boy, Richard, and volley-ball in the garden, partnered by Richard against Mandy and her Dad, who was the best of us. They whacked us good and proper.

I adored Mandy, and according to her mother, she venerated me. The harmony between us was indeed extreme. At 13 she was every inch a woman, and I never thought of her as a child. A very, very attractive woman at that.

It is interesting to note that in astrological terms, our Suns were trine, our Moons were trine and our natal moon phases were identical. Biorhythmically, our physical cycles were 100% in sync. So our harmony was exceptional. But there is another side to such a picture: there are likely to be missing certain needed elements: in our case there was missing the Fixed Quality and the Fire and Water elements.

Despite any missing elements, Mandy was by far the greatest joy in my life during that year, and remains one of the greatest loves of my life.

The rest of this chapter is about a short trip to Swellendam, and has nothing to do with Mandy except for the fact that I remember I was thinking of her a lot during that trip. It was when my tutorship of her had just ended, in early 1989... I did not consider myself qualified to teach her in the higher grade that she had now reached, even teaching her Standard Seven Afrikaans had been pushing my luck a bit, as my knowledge of Afrikaans is not all that great.

My friend Alex had moved to Swellendam, about 200 Km east of Cape Town, where he had become the town's magistrate. I went to stay with him and Elmarie in their home there for a short holiday. ( A holiday from what? You might ask - well, a holiday from a holiday.)

Naturally I played some chess against them both, for they are both keen players, but what I most remember is playing against a small boy of about 8. I attacked him with my King and a couple of my King's most loyal pawns, and after exciting vicissitudes and losses managed to win. Alex was not amused – but in general I don't think humour was his forte, though geniality was. His only comment was “ he knows absolutely nothing about chess”, being slightly annoyed to think the little boy might not be a party to such an opinion.

I remember little else of this time in Swellendam, except going with my friends to a local art exhibition. There I might have laid eyes on some exciting females, but am sure I found the exhibition boring – I always find such exhibitions so. I wouldn't hang any painting on my wall if you paid me, except for one painting which I actually bought for R50 and kept on my wall for a year or two. But when I left my last digs I left it behind.

My only other important memory of the Kenilworth years is another trip I made with Jakes and his sister Tinka to his family's holiday house in Onrus.

I had met Tinka, a very sexy young lawyer, some months before. Jakes was encouraging, telling me I could easily cut out Tinka's boyfriend. Somehow, at this remove, I am inclined to doubt Jakes's sincerity. As he told me once, his name Jacob means 'deceiver'.

But I was delighted at the prospect of a weekend with Tinka and Jakes in Onrus. Which is a beautiful place, where the Onrus river runs into the sea, with only holiday houses and about one supply store a kilometre down the road.

There are many shallow rocky pools, and a large beach adjoining the river.

On the first morning Tinka amazed me by proposing a game of chess! But somehow I do not remember playing any game of chess with her. I remember her on the beach, however, where she just sat doing nothing, or maybe reading a book, while Jakes and I had a whale of a time playing frisbee. Or at least, I had a whale of a time. Jakes was always so phlegmatic, I sometimes wondered if he ever really enjoyed himself. I think he was always too aware of the sadder side of life. But he could be very, very funny. I loved most his impersonations of a solemn preacher spouting the most hilarious crap.

Talking about crap, that reminds me of Jakes's birthday party, which took place at some dive or other. The party started with the usual meaningless small-talk, but Jakes soon killed that. “Cut the crap!” he demanded. He had a very incisive intelligence, and was a very tough nut to crack at chess, despite having vastly less experience. He thought his only chance against me was to attack all-out, and he did well that way. One move of his I rather liked: he replied to 1. Nf3 with 1. ...e5! saying in effect “Up yours!”










Chapter 51 : Return Again, 1989




In May, 1989 I returned to Pinelands, true to my 12 year cycle. But this time I would stay until my mother's death in 2004, 15 years later, at the age of 94. Except for two short periods away: 3 weeks in 1992, and 2 months in 1995.

Always when living at 5, Achilles Way, Pinelands, in my parent's house, I narrowed my social life to concentrate more on my immediate family. I had little time for other contacts. It's just the way I am: for me charity begins (and ends) at home.

Up till 1968 my Ouma (grandmother) and sister were my main interests; from 1977 to 1983 my niece was; and from 1989 I gave my attention almost exclusively to my mother.

In her last years, my mother was bedridden, suffered from bedsores, and most of the time I was the only other person in the house, undertaking a wide range of duties, nursing and feeding my mother, doing the shopping, organising gardeners and housemaid, paying the bills, dealing with official correspondence, and the like .

Once she remarked to me: “This is no life for you, Gurth.” But it was, I envisaged no other, feared her death would leave me motiveless and suicidal, and I told her as much.

Most of all, though, I was revelling in this opportunity for me to repay some of my debts. I remembered the days of my youth when she would bring me breakfast in bed: now at last I could repay the compliment. I have a big streak of Scorpio in me: I will repay!

During all those years, my mother and I were good companions. Especially when it came to watching TV. Here we could share our interests in sport – she was crazy and extremely knowledgeable about Formula One and golf especially. She could tell the characters apart from distant rear views, just by their walk. We also watched tennis and cricket avidly.

She also watched soccer, but I gave that a miss. I could never get to like this game, just why I cannot say – I don't know why.

Of course, we also enjoyed a lot of good documentaries and movies on Telly. Both of us also loved the Teletubbies, and watched them for years.

Finally, we watched five soapies a day together. A very important art form this, if you consider that a soapie can last about 30 years, a bit longer than any opera or novel. And also have the advantages of the movies: the visual and aural elements of drama. A picture is usually worth a thousand words.

Apart from my mother, my most important in-house activities during these years were computer programming, which consisted of writing programs to play Bridge and Jacoby and Reversi, and to solve the Rubik's Cube. Also word processing programs where I turned all the keys on the keyboard to use in triggering abbreviations. Also programs to manipulate 800-digit numbers, for my mathematical researches into number theory. Also programs to explore the world of fractals. Later, round the turn of the century, I had three years of musical inspiration, resulting in over 500 compositions. Strange that this form of creativity should have manifested itself so late in life.

My most important out-of-house activities were: firstly, in the early years 1990 – 1991, my friendship with Elmarie, next my friendship with Renate in 1992, and thirdly my friendship with Ingrid which started and ended with the start and continuation of my career as a Bridge player.

Elmarie had left Alex in 1988 or 1989 and married Theo van der Horst, a man I had never met or heard of. They were living in a flat in Kenilworth, and had a baby daughter.

I became a regular visitor to their flat. All three of us were keen chess players, and we spent much time playing chess. But we spent even more time playing cards, the three of us. We would spend the first half of the night playing poker for penny stakes, but with no limit – then the second half playing Jacoby, a very good game specially designed by Jacoby, of bridge fame, for three players.

We also all liked good music. Theo liked to play his favourite, Mahler, but Elmarie and I preferred something a bit lighter, Schubert or Mozart for instance. So we needed a bit of give-and-take here.










Chapter 52 : Renate and Barrydale




Colin Nauta, Monique's brother, was a computer specialist who, if he worked at all, worked with computers. Not programming, but more the hardware side. He knew of my interest in programming, and admired especially my perspective drawing programs. When my BBC Acorn computer broke down, he fixed it for me.

Colin, a Capricorn Sun and Moon, was a very paternal and generous character, and when I got a PC ( a more proper and less Mickey-Mouse type of computer than the BBC models, which used the less powerful 6502 microprocessor) he gave me some discs which taught me how to program in the machine code of the PC, which is different to the code of the 6502, as the PC used the 8206, and later 8306, 8406 etc microprocessors.

I needed to program in machine code, a much longer process than using a higher-level programming language, because I needed the extra speed for my highly computational sort of program.

I remember Colin particularly for one visit he paid me in Pinelands, which for me was the peak of our acquaintance. We went for a long walk together, eastward through the string of cemeteries along the railway line, and our conversation was as deep and spooky as the weird tombs around us, an ever-changing landscape.

I had not seen Colin for quite some time, but Renate had come to Cape Town and was looking for somebody to write a program for her to do astrological computations. Colin thought of me, and put her onto me.

This Renate was the very same woman, the elder sister of Helgali, that I had so ill-advisedly embraced in front of Helgali in 1985! I had not seen her for nearly seven years. With her was her 6-year-old son Ewald.

Renate was again just returned from Europe, having just divorced Ewald's father who lived in the Swiss Alps, and was spending a little time in Cape Town on her way to live with her mother in their house in Barrydale, a town 25 miles beyond Swellendam, about 160 miles from Cape Town.

While in Cape Town her aim was to buy a computer and get onto it a program which could do the special computations that she had in mind. This was not to be bought; a tailored job was required. To meet these requirements she hoped to use me.

But we got on very well together. We went everywhere together, and got together every day for hours and hours. As Colin remarked when we popped into his shop, we had “become inseparable”.

She found and bought a computer, an Acer laptop with a rather small and poor screen, but good enough for her purposes. But writing the program would take weeks, so she invited me to go with her as a guest to Barrydale and write the program there. I thought 2 weeks would be enough. I don't think my mother was best pleased with the idea of my haring off to Barrydale, but that was just too bad. She had taken a dislike to Renate.

I was very happy at Barrydale. I liked going for bicycle rides with Ewald. We went for car trips to Swellendam to visit Helgali who was living there with her son Konrad, who I knew as a six-year-old in 1985, and her second son Sam, who was now about Ewald's age. On the way back we would stop in a mountain pass to fill our water jugs with fresh spring water. Remember, Renate was from the highly diet-conscious Otto family, all fruitarians in principle if not always strictly so in fact.

The programming was going well; Renate spent many happy hours together behind the computer getting it to do exactly as she wished, which wasn't always quite plain sailing, as I had to get used to the quirks of the relatively strange computer language, QuickBasic as opposed to the GWBasic I had been using at home.

A rather amusing episode occurred during my stay. Ingrid, a friend of mine as well as of Renate, decided to come and stay with us in Barrydale for a while. A typical pushy Sagittarian, Ingrid tried to take over the guest room, which I was occupying, for the use of herself and her son, and relegate me to the lounge.

I wasn't having any of that, so Ingrid was forced to eat humble pie and sleep on the lounge floor herself.

Ingrid's pushy ways did not endear her to Renate's mother either, as she tried to take over in the kitchen...

in fact Nana developed a virulent dislike of Ingrid that I was now fully sharing, so we conspired together to throw Ingrid out of the house.

But the thick-skinned Sagittarian “lingered like an unloved guest” and claimed that her car needed fixing before she could leave. Eventually we saw the last of her and breathed a sigh of relief. Very strange indeed to think that in another three years I would be falling in love with Ingrid. At that time I detested her heartily.

Renate and I had become as thick as thieves and were practically engaged. But she wanted to go to Switzerland to make arrangements with her ex-husband for future maintenance of her son. This trip threatened to be of long duration, 6 months to a year.

I could not endure such a separation, and thought that if it happened it would probably cause the death of my serious interest in Renate. I tried to warn her of this, but such a warning could hardly seem anything but a form of blackmail, so realising that, I pretended to be happy with her departure, but with a heavy heart inside.

She left, and for the next six months I felt a great sense of loss. Something died in me, and when she returned, at the first moment of our meeting again, I could not respond to the warmth of her embrace. It was over.

We remained good friends, and saw each other from time to time on her rare visits to Cape Town, but never regained our closeness of before.










Chapter 53 : Ingrid and Bridge




In 1952 I had also joined a Bridge club for the first time: the Pinelands Bridge Club, which met in the Pinelands library. There I had played duplicate bridge with a rather unsatisfactory partner, a fellow by the name of King, for about six months. With poor results. There was no question or possibility of using one of my home-made bidding systems, as there was little communication between us of any sort, a poor foundation for a bridge partnership.

At the end of the year, however, I had some worthwhile excitement from bridge. I had met up with a chap, Vincent by name, an old friend of Monique, who was keen on bridge and willing to cooperate with me on putting together a system for our joint use. We did this, and had the satisfaction of winning the first prize for East-West partners at a rather fun evening of bridge at the Mowbray Bridge Club. But our budding partnership fell through soon afterwards. Vincent and I somehow were not a stable combination.

After this I suffered a terrible drought, the absence of bridge, for over two years.

During these years the animosity between me and Ingrid had somehow evaporated. We used to meet occasionally, have telephone conversations sometimes.

At her place in Plumstead, a house she was renting, I saw a friend of hers, Barbara I think her name was, that I thought extremely beautiful, so that my heart was profoundly stirred.

One day Ingrid decided to take her son Joseph, age about 6 or 7, to Epping station where an old steam locomotive was being used to pull a couple of coaches around the local sidings, mainly as entertainment for kids who would otherwise never see one of these obsolete old engines. Ingrid stopped in Pinelands, as we had arranged, to pick me up and take me along. By chance Barbara was also there, with her husband probably, and I caught a heart-catching glimpse of her beauty.

On the way back home, Ingrid dropped me off in Pinelands, where we had a bit of a chat on the grass roadside. I was probably talking about Barbara, and I remember thinking to myself how unattractive Ingrid was. I mention that with regard to future events.

Because, with the unsatisfied urge to play bridge nagging away at me, and knowing that Ingrid was a bridge player, I reached the only logical conclusion and schemed to make a bridge partner of Ingrid, for a successful invasion of some Bridge club.

That was in February 1995.

I broached the subject to her, and she was interested.

We got together and I started teaching her one of my bidding systems. I remember us engrossed in our studies on Fish Hoek beach to the extent that we did not see the people around us, some of whom knew us and were surprised to see us so thick.

We needed more time together, so I stayed with her over the weekends, and these weekends got progressively longer till they were longer than the rest of the week.

I also enjoyed hugely playing beach bats, volleying a tennis ball back and forth, with both Ingrid and her son Joseph, aged 8. On the beach at Fish Hoek, and also on Ingrid's front or back lawn at her house in Milford Road, Plumstead. I also played Uno with Joseph, which gave both of us a lot of fun, and the three of us played some simplified bridge.

In March Ingrid spent a week house-sitting in Fish Hoek, and I went down with her for this week. It was a nice change for all of us.

Ingrid and I were now ready to put our bridge to the test against competition, so we joined the Constantiaberg Bridge Club, which met in nearby Diep River, at the Musgrave Village Clubhouse. We had a lot of fun and did quite well – I was satisfied with our system, which we continued to hone.

I remember how we pissed off one old pompous ass with a 2-diamond transfer bid, which Ingrid had failed to alert, much to my glee. It bamboozled him completely.

We were both so keen on our bridge that we decided to join another club as well, and we chose the Milnerton Bridge Club. There we met more interesting characters.

In May I stopped my rather pointless weekly returns to Pinelands, and simply stayed on in Plumstead. My mother was not best pleased, as I “left' without notice nor notice of my intentions. Well, I didn't know what they were myself.

My stay, a highly idyllic and romantic one for me, lasted just over two months. Then my bubble burst – Ingrid decided to leave Cape Town and go and live in Darling, a small town about 100 Km north of Cape Town. That marked the end of our partnership.

I had met a German man at the Milnerton club, and he and I became friends and bridge partners. This was Kurt. He was a captain of industry, owning his own engineering firm which had contracts to supply Cape Town with lampposts, among others. A very intelligent, jovial and wise man, who when I showed him my latest bidding system, wanted to try it out with random hands, and soon came to the conclusion that it worked.

I had of course returned to live with my mother in Pinelands. Kurt's engineering workshop was just 20 minutes walk from our house, through the cemetery and across the railway lines, so I often walked to visit him – he ran his job with plenty of time to spare for such visits. He was also a baker of note, and also provided delicious vegetables for his visitors.

Kurt and I played mainly in the Pinelands Bridge Club, which was the nearest to me. (His house was in Higgovale, an expensive suburb on the slopes above the city). We gave up the Milnerton Club, which was not so strong. But we also played occasionally at the Constantiaberg Club, simply because it was such a friendly and pleasant Club, which the Pinelands club was certainly not. And we also played sometimes at a club in Sea Point, where we met some more interesting people.

But Kurt was somewhat overbearing and dominating, and we eventually clashed over something, I forget what. Kurt was also not so happy with his bridge. He was always making mistakes, at least in his own estimation, which didn't worry me but seemed to worry him more. So our ways parted.

Then I found my best partner ever, a man about 15 years older than me, a very clever player of the cards, who wanted to play the Precision system of bidding. My own latest favourite system shared some of the features of Precision, and Mike was very happy to follow my lead in evolving our bidding system, just as I was happy to learn from him when it came to the play of the cards, a subject that previously had never interested me to the same extent as bidding.

The membership at Constantiaberg had more than doubled, and the club now regularly used 20 or more tables for an evening of duplicate bridge. Mike and I did very well, I remember we once scored an unbelievable 75% for one night's play. And for a while we topped the averages.

I had introduced the keeping of averages for the last 40 nights played, and produced graphs every week showing, for each pair, their last 40 weekly results and also their average for that period. I used my Quattro 4 program to do this.

But what was happening in bridge circles was not to my liking. More and more restrictions on the bidding were being introduced. My system came under fire, some authorities objecting to it on the grounds that it gave too little information to the opponents, and so made it too difficult for them to play against. When absurdity can flourish to this extent, I think it is time to quit.

I think the final straw was when an official of the club stood up and announced that forthwith it would be illegal to open One No Trump with a singleton. Not that I would ever wish to do such a thing, but I had had enough of the restrictive spirit.

One night on my way to the club, I crashed headlong into a car that was cutting across my path. That car was a total write-off, as I hit it amidships, sending it into a spin, after which it bounced off a parked vehicle and then knocked down a wall on the other side of the street. Luckily the woman driver was not hurt. Nor was I, and my car could even limp home unassisted. But it needed extensive repairs, which took months to sort out. First the insurance had to be sorted out: I carried no insurance at all, but the woman was at fault, having gone full speed through a stop street, and so her insurance company had to pay for the damages, a matter of about R18,000. (My car, a Ford Tracer, had cost me R35,000 new in 1996; this crash was in 2001).

During the months that I was without a car, I did not even consider going to play bridge, and when I got my car back, I decided not to play bridge any more. Poor Mike was very disappointed. He had enjoyed playing my system so much ! He protested against my withdrawal from the bridge scene, but I remained adamant. I never saw him again. And I never played bridge again. But I would see Ingrid again, Ingrid with whom I had started my bridge career, after another 4 years.










Chapter 54 : Death of my Mother




The three years following my car crash were years of increasing isolation for me. However, I continued my twice-weekly visits to the Seniors Chess Club, under the Rondebosch bridge, on Monday and Friday mornings.

My mother's condition was deteriorating, and she became bedridden. Finally, in August 2004, she died, in very peaceful circumstances.

I was in the habit of looking into her room every morning at about 7, to see if she was ready for her breakfast.

Sometimes she would still be sleeping, and I would be careful not to wake her. She might sometimes sleep on for several hours. She would always sleep on her back, with her face visible.

One day she seemed to go on sleeping rather long. But her face looked just as usual, so I sat in the chair near her bed and read a book. I could see her breathing, so I was not unduly alarmed.

But the hours went by, and eventually I started to get worried. I thought I had better call the doctor.

The doctor came, and spoke to her, trying to wake her up. To no avail. Then a closer examination told him what was to me the astounding truth: she had been dead for about 10 hours! I protested that I had seen her breathing – the doctor told me that that was a frequent illusion.

I continued to live alone in the house till December, i.e. another 3 months. Then the house was sold through the brilliant agency of Mr Trevor Armstrong.

Selling the house was quite fun. A tour of the offices of the local estate agents showed more than a 10% variation in suggested asking prices. But none of these agents made a very good impression on me. Until Trevor came along one day with his assistant to look at the house.

What was brilliant about Trevor is that he built up a clientèle of would-be buyers and gained a deep understanding of exactly what they wanted. His idea of selling a house was not to invite a stream of strangers to inspect the house, hoping it might take someone's fancy – no, he already knew whose fancy it would take! So I was spared the procession of disdainful buyers traipsing through my house. Nobody traipsed through it at all.

Because Trevor knew exactly who would buy the house – and pay more for it than any other agent had dared to suggest. Their visit to see the house was a mere formality.

Trevor was a most delightful man to deal with – for me anyway – I don't take kindly to bullshitters. He even ended up getting more than the original asking price – how he managed that I didn't know, nor did I care.










Chapter 55 : Park Estate ...........................58




I found a nice room at 25 Thornhill Road, Rondebosch – two blocks east of the Rondebosch Common, where I lived happily for over two years. I was fortunate in having a landlord, who, though living in the same house, was a model of consideration and never nagged. There was usually also one other lodger, besides myself.

The main change in my life is that I decided to give up my addiction to TV, and not watch it ever or at all again. Well, at least for a while.

I loved walking on the common and would walk through it on my way to the chess club on Monday and Friday mornings, sometimes stopping to admire the beautiful clouds in the sky. This was about a 25 minute walk.

This chronological and retrospective narrative ends here. The events of the last five years are still too much in the present to be suitable for treatment here.