Return to Corriebush by Lynn Bedford Hall

Author:Lynn Bedford Hall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: To anyone who has read or owns a copy of Fig Jam and Foxtrot, this sequel will be welcomed with open arms. Once again, the gentle kind-hearted but nosey women of Corriebush get together for a cup of tea, a slice of cake and a gossip, and along the way present the reader with four more stories and over 90 delectable recipes. This is a book to be savoured and enjoyed while reading the heart-warming stories about Flora the retired nurse, Jacoba the pianist, and Estrelita the trapeze artist, or the tragic fact-based tale of Sara, a young Voortrekker girl. Share with friends and family one of Lynn’s superb dishes, tailored to suit today’s tastes – how about Tomato Tartlets with Olives, Pesto and Pecorino, or what about Savoury Lamb Chops or Roasted Peaches? And to those readers who have yet to experience the people, stories and food of this small Karoo town, pull up a chair, put up your feet, and enjoy!
ISBN: 978-1-43230-218-4
Publisher: Random House Struik
Published: 2013-04-19T04:00:00+00:00

‘Because they are very, very thirsty, Sara, and they smell water. And nothing will stop them from getting to the water. If we travelled behind them we would find dead wildebeest, blesbok, eland, zebras, all kinds of animals lying trampled and torn. And inside that bunch they could be carrying along lions and leopards, all crushed up amongst them.’

Now the drumming grew fainter; the red cloud shrank, bounced over the horizon, and disappeared.

Gradually the pattern of the days established itself. Up at dawn, a skof of several miles, a rest during the midday heat, when most people retired to the wagons and slept. Everyone was tired. Because there were not many servants, the children frequently had to drive the sheep, herding them over the brittle, bumpy veld. Often long mimosa thorns would pierce their soft leather shoes, the scraggly bushes reaching out and tearing their long skirts, while their mothers sat on the chests on the fronts of the wagons with their babies on their laps and drove the oxen.

Sometimes Barend would come riding up to their wagon, carrying a terrible yellow or black snake by the tail, its head clubbed to a pulp, its body still throwing coils in the air. Sometimes he would point out a pride of lions sleeping under a clump of thorn trees, or a herd of zebras, fat and shiny, galloping in the distance, or ostriches giant-striding over the bushes, with their bobbing necks and flapping wings. But the fearsome ones were the lynxes and hyaenas and leopards, which would slink into the sheep enclosures at night, rip open their stomachs and leave entrails and blood all over.

Sara’s great friend was her cousin, Laetitia Steyn. During the day they were seldom apart and were usually to be found sitting at the back of one of the wagons, bare feet dangling, skirts billowing, sharing secrets, dried peaches, and vetkoek with dripping.

‘They say Tant Lettie Brits had her baby kneeling behind the wagon,’ Laetitia told her friend. ‘And it came out with the cord wound four times round its neck. My mother says Tant Lettie’s as strong as an ox. Two days later she was leading the span, baby in one hand, riem in the other.’

‘Well,’ Sara countered, ‘Antjie told me that her mother had eleven children, and that they used to just drop like plums, she said, while she was herding the sheep, and she’d pick them up and walk home at the end of the day. She’d set off in the morning with just the dog and the sheep and come back with a baby every year, eleven times.’

Sara loved the evenings on trek. They always started with a sudden whoosh of whiplashes, and voices calling to voorlopers and beasts to halt. This meant that they had found a suitable spot for the night. Sometimes it was next to a dam. Usually there was thick green slime quilting the surface of the water, bubbling and sucking as the wind drove it from one side to another.

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