Cinderella in the South | Page 8

that a state of war had meant.
After breakfast, there was no hurry about our inspanning. But when we
had once got off we were soon up level with the farmhouse on the hill's
shoulder. We halted for friendship's sake, and waited for the cups of
coffee that we were assured would be soon ready. Our host was
Dutch-looking, but seemed British; I thought rather narrowly British in
his sympathies. He discussed the War keenly and thoughtfully with my
companion. He had two brothers in German East, I knew, and he was
soon asking me about them. But our paths up that way had not
converged. I could only tell him by hearsay about the main advance,
wherein they had been sharing, and I had not. As I told, a dark
handsome, gentle-voiced woman brought our coffee out. Soon a shy
little girl put her head round the corner of the stoep, and withdrew' it
again. I jumped down to greet her. Then she agreed to come and shake
hands with us both. Her father colored up, and smiled as he told me of
a great scheme. A lady in town had offered to board this child. So kind,
wasn't it? She was of sturdy English make (her father's father was an
Essex man. I had been told). Her hair and eyes were very dark; she
looked ever so capable.
'Yes, very kind,' I murmured, but I was reflecting that the lady's
kindness might not be so very ill-rewarded. The child might prove
useful and cost little. She might give the sort of help that is apt to be
useful and costly in a country like ours. 'Yes,' said the father smiling,
'and she may get to the day school that way, the lady says. We couldn't
have nearly afforded to send her into town otherwise. But now she's got
her chance of a regular school.' 'Oh, really,' said my friend. His kind
ugly face looked none too pleasant as he said it, I remember noticing
that.
Then he went to his mules to 'buckle' up a strap somewhere. I was
surprised to hear him cursing something under his breath. It was not his

manner, I thought, to curse straps or mules. We said good-bye a very
cordial one and then drove down towards the main road. It winds
through a vlei towards the town. We had got almost to the big
water-course so banked up in thirsty sand, when he told me what he
was cursing. He repeated his words deliberately: 'Damn it, damn it to
hell,' he said. I protested faintly till he made it clear to me what he was
damning, then I recklessly endorsed his damnation. For he was not
cursing Heaven or humanity; he was cursing that blessed Anglo-Dutch,
or rather Dutch-English, institution of South Africa, the color-bar. He
had been told by one of the managers that should the father apply for
admission to school on behalf of the child we had seen, he would be
certainly refused. The father was really much too poor to send her away,
he told me.
'They're ever so honest and hard-worked. They've put up a great fight
on mealie meal against bad seasons. They've pinched hard for the
child's poor little outfit. He's got into debt for it. He's a Britisher, and
has got two brothers fighting. Very dubious, dark children have been
admitted already, as presumably Dutch. Dutch and colonials rule the
roost here. And to leave Christianity alone, where does British
Imperialism come in? It's risking spoiling a life, and the life of such a
decent kid.'
Thereat he certainly condemned guiltily, as he should not have
condemned, Dutchmen and colonials, their churches, their social order,
and their sanctimony. 'Thank God I was at plebeian Oxford,' he said,
'and was free to mix with colored men. This is far more select, this dorp
academy, with its elect Principal and its supermen-managers.' We
nearly had a row about his language.
We came over a rolling down towards the commonage. 'They've kept
free from fires here,' I said. 'Yes,' he said, 'but I'm doubtful if their
vigilance pays, if their game's worth the candle. I mean if such absence
of illumination is worth all their watching about.' 'It saves waste of life.'
I said, 'animal and vegetable, if you can only keep the fires away.' I
appealed to the wisdom of our laws as well as to the argument of mercy
which I appealed to me. 'And you get that sort of thing.' he said,

pointing to the thick brown tufts of unappetizing feed. 'That's been
going more than a year, hasn't it? 'Oh for a wind and a fire,' say I.
We passed over the commonage, which showed very black with recent
fires. 'It looks rather knocked out,'