Everything/Anything and…Chess…"Despite the documented evidence by chess historian HJR Murray, I've always thought that chess was invented by a goddess"–George Koltanowski: from the foreword to:"Women in chess, players of the Modern Age"
Ek het ‘n studie gemaak van Rooikappie en die Wolf. Dit het als so begin: Sodra ons terug by die skool is na die lockdown – volgende week 8 Maart – is ons opdrag gegee om in elke jaargroep ‘n tradisionele storie te neem en ‘iets anders’ daarmee te doen. Vir ons jaargroep is Rooikappie gegee en ons gaan die kinders kry om hul storie te skryf vanaf ‘n ander karakter se oogpunt hulle kan kies: die wolf, Rooikappie, die Ouma of die houtkapper. Dit is ‘n lekker manier om dit so bietjie ‘fun’ te maak en dis altyd interessant om te sien waarmee die kinders na vore kom. In my rondsoeke na idees om my voorbereiding te doen, het ek afgekom op verskeie interessante artikels en geskiedenis wat my gelei het na meer ‘n studie as om aan beplanning te werk – alhoewel die beplanning ook op die ou end darem gedoen is! Ek was taamlik erg geskok om te sien wat oorspronklik deel was van hierdie ‘onskuldige’ storie! Sien die aangehaalde gedeeltes in blou.
Ek het onder andere op die dokument van die Britse hoofbiblioteek afgekom en ek het die PDF dokument hier ook opgelaai in die inskrywing vir jou om af te laai en self deur te lees. Ek het hier ‘n gedeelte aangehaal. Ook met die lees van artikels, het ek op ‘n blog van ‘n Onderwyseres afgekom waar sy 25 variasies van Rooikappie het! Ek het ook uitgevind dat daar nie minder as 85 variasies bestaan! Dis net ongelooflik hoeveel studie daar rondom die storie gemaak is. In die volgende afbeelding kan die oorsprong van soortgelyke stories gesien word. Ek het die artikels baie interessant gevind en nooit geweet dat daar soveel variasies bestaan nie! Gelukkig is die variasie van Charles Perrault verander – met ‘n gelukkige einde, maar is ook die ‘aaklige’ gedeelte verwyder!
Aanhaling van die dokument hierbo geplaas. Quote from the document by the British Library – the PDF in this entry for you to download and to read in your own time.
Charles Perrault’s tale of Le Petit Chaperon rouge (Little Red Riding-Hood) first appears with four other stories in a manuscript Contes de ma Mère l’Oye, which was offered to Élisabeth Charlotte d’Orléans, the niece of King Louis XIV, in 1695.
According to Marie Françoise Quignard, Charles Perrault rewrote tales which had been transcribed from the stories of nurses and old women by his son Pierre Perrault d’Armancour. Charles had the tales beautifully written out, and illustrated them himself with little gouache paintings at the head of each story, but signed the dedicatory letter with his son’s name in order to obtain him a post as secretary to Elisabeth Charlotte. The manuscript is now in the Pierpont Morgan Library in New York. The tales were intended to be read aloud, as the introduction refers to ‘those who listen’ to the tales. There are corrections to the manuscript, possibly by Perrault, and, in the story of Red Riding-Hood, beside the last reply of the wolf that his big teeth are ‘to eat you with’, a note says that these words should be spoken in a loud voice in order to frighten the listening child.
Three more stories were added to the first printed edition Histoires ou contes du temps passé published in 1697 by Claude Barbin. Le Petit Chaperon rouge is the shortest story in the collection. The heroine is a little girl who is idolized by her mother and grandmother; the latter making a little ‘chaperon’ for her to wear. The Dictionnaire de l’Académie Française of 1694 defines chaperon as a padded medieval bonnet, and also as a strip of cloth, in velvet, satin or camelot (a material which was a mixture of goat hair, wool and silk), worn by girls and women who were not of the nobility, ‘not long ago’. It was therefore mainly ornamental and quite small, very different from the enveloping capes shown in most English language illustrations of the story. The painted illustration (which is coloured) in the 1695 manuscript shows Red Riding-Hood in bed about to be eaten by the wolf, who is emerging from the curtains at the back of the bed. Red Riding-Hood wears a strip of red cloth laid over her head from her forehead back over her hair as far as her neck. In the first printed edition the engraved line drawing by Antoine Clouzier is not an exact copy of the painting. The image is reversed (by the printing process) and one can see more clearly that the wolf is beneath the covers of the bed, as described in the story. The little piece of cloth on the heroine’s head is just visible. Speculation that this is a picture of Grandmother, because the wolf has no clothes on, is belied by the presence of the red headdress in the original picture 3 Perrault does not describe the wolf putting on Grandmother’s clothes, but he does mention that she is ‘en son déshabillé’, implying a nightdress or shift. Perrault has not shown this, perhaps for the sake of a clearer image; one can excuse him on the grounds that the wolf was ‘showing his true nature’.
The Dictionnaire de l’Académie Française also explains that an older woman who wore this type of headdress was known as a Grand chaperon, a woman who accompanied young girls, whom we would now call a chaperone. In the eighteenth century a riding-hood or capuchin. was a large, soft hood with a deep cape attached, faced with a coloured lining, worn by all classes, and not just for riding. It was generally black with a bright lining.4 This is the garment usually depicted in illustrations, but of course red and not black. So perhaps Robert Samber, who first translated the stories of Perrault into English in 1764, thought that a chaperon translated as a ‘capuchin’, the alternative name for a riding-hood. The rolling r’s of ‘Red Riding-Hood’ certainly sounded well.
Perrault tells all his Contes very economically, in a precise, polished style. Le Petit Chaperon rouge is as brutal as the original version of Cinderella. The little girl meets the wolf in the forest, and asks where she is going. On hearing that she is to visit her grandmother, he runs ahead and eats the old lady, and then takes her place in bed. When Red Riding-Hood arrives, he pretends to be the old lady, and the little girl assumes that his gruff voice is due to a cold. He tells the little girl to undress and lie down beside him, a detail which is expurgated in later versions. Then follows the famous exchange of comments on the size of his arms, legs, ears, eyes, and finally teeth. Giving the terrible reply that his big teeth are to eat her with, he promptly gobbles her up. End of story, with no rescue. The verse moral explains that young ladies should be on their guard against human wolves. And the most dangerous sort of human wolves are pleasant and gentle, and follow girls into houses and alleys.
In 1729 an English translation of Perrault’s stories by Robert Samber was published by J. Pote and R. Montague as Histories or Tales of Past Times. Samber translates Perrault’s text exactly; the wolf eats up Red Riding-Hood. The only addition is that he calls the little girl Biddy, and the wolf Gossop Wolfe, a name which in a later anonymous version turns into Gossip Wolf. Samber makes Red Riding-Hood his first story, whereas Perrault begins with La Belle au bois dormant, and Le Petit Chaperon rouge is second. The illustrations in Samber’s translation, which are copperplate engravings, copy those by Clouzier in the first French edition.
The German Romantic writer Ludwig Tieck, who wrote a number of fairy tales, published a dramatic poem in 1800 about Red Riding-Hood, Leben und Tod des kleinen Rotkäppchens. An English translation of this was published in 1851 by Groombridge and Sons: The Life and Death of Little Red Riding-Hood, a tragedy, by Jane Browning Smith, illustrated by John Mulready. See this link: https://books.google.co.uk/books id=jfcIAAAAQAAJ&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false
Tieck introduces extra characters, both human and animal. Red Riding-Hood and her friend Jenny blow dandelions to see how long they will live. Red Riding-Hood’s seeds blow away instantly, indicating a short life. A dog has a philosophical dialogue with the wolf about the advantages of being a servant and protector of man, or a free agent and his enemy. The wolf hates man because his mate was killed by peasants, and he was ill-treated and hunted. The wolf kills Red Riding-Hood, and is shot by a huntsman, but too late to save her, and two robins mourn her fate (fig. 3).
In their version, Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm provide a happy ending. After the wolf has eaten grandmother and the child, a hunter enters the house and cuts open the wolf, releasing them both. The child fetches stones to fill the wolf ’s stomach, and he dies. The Grimms also provide an alternative ending in which Red Riding-Hood is alarmed by the wolf ’s fierce expression, and runs to her grandmother’s house. They shut the door to keep the wolf out. He waits on the roof, until grandmother fills a trough with the water in which she has cooked sausages, and the wolf, tempted down by the smell, falls in the trough and drowns.
Ek het die boek vandag raakgeloop. Dis die mees oulikste kinderboek boek wat ek lanklaas gesien het. Die tou – wat lyk soos rêrige tou – is deel van die boekomslag. Jy kry die idee dat dit ‘n regte stukkie tou is wat om die boek gebind is as jy op ‘n afstand daarna kyk. Meerkatte is een van my gunsteling Afrika-diere…My gunsteling voël is die Tarentaal.
Voorin is allerlei humoristiese sê-goetjies en interessanthede oor die Meerkat-familie, o.a. hulle motto: Stay Safe, Stay Together.
Sunny Meerkat decided to find the perfect place to stay – and then sent postcards home about his travels and experiences. The Meerkat motto is: Stay Safe, Stay Together. [and sleep together!] Click photos for a larger view, especially the photo following the next photo, so you can read the message.
Binne in die boek is verskeie poskaarte wat deur die Meerkat – wat besluit het om te travel om die perfekte plek te soek om te bly, huistoe gestuur is. Hier kan jy een so ‘n poskaart sien. Die volgende foto is die agterkant met die boodskap. Klik die foto sodat jy die boodskap kan lees.
Die einde van die storie. Soort van ‘n foto-album. Sunny Meerkat het besluit om terug te keer huistoe – slegs na ‘n week! ‘n Baie oulike idee van die skryfster, Emily Gravett. Ek kyk graag Meerkat Manor, dit word nou weer op Channel 5 uitgesaai, episode 2 was gister en jy kan die video’s op hul webbladsy kry tot ‘n maand nadat dit uitgesaai is. Wel, terwyl ek heerlik kuier, onthou die Meerkat motto: Stay Safe, Stay Together! [and sleep together!] Ek sal nou nie soos Sunny Meerkat kan belowe dat ek gaan ‘skryf’ nie, dus, hou die blink kant bo en moenie vergeet: 14 Augustus is Afrikaans-dag nie! Die dag waarop die GRA gestig is. [14/8/1875] O ja, Vrouedag is 9 Augustus.
Hierdie volgende gedig het ek op laerskool geleer [moes!] en ek kon nie die hele gedig onthou nie. Baie dankie aan Koos van Rensburg wat die gedig vir my op die blog in ‘n boodskap kom plaas het!
Die Meerkat
Die Meerkat deur C.F. Hofmeyer
Spitse snoetjies, donker ogies
stertjie lank en kaal
lange naels, skerp soos naalde
en ‘n jassie vaal.
In die moreson se strale
in die oggenddou,
penorent sien jy die meerkat,
sy kinders en sy vrou.
Spoedig loop hul heen en weertjies
knibbel hier en daar,
grawe gou lekker uintjies:
oggendmaal is klaar
Sonder sorge is hul lewe
in die ope lug,
tot daar kom die wrede honde –
Ja! dan moet hul vlug.
DIE MEERKAT
Regop sit die meerkat teen die bult, sy koppie roerloos, fyn gesny en slim met die ogies soos vonke daarin; hy staar na die verdorde velde en die slingerloop van die paaie en hou die bosse dop van waar die dood gou kan bespring. Maar niks lewe of roer in die rondte en die somerson is `n bol vlammende vuur wat ver en wyd die berge laat tril in die hitte Dan roer hy sy kop en die omgewing, verras en ontwaak, vloei na die lewe na wat daar beweeg het, en verstol dan weer gou in die doodsheid. En waarom hy ook moet lewe, die rooimeerkat met penregop lyf, dit weet niemand – hy, nog die lang ketting lewe lank voor hom.
Nou spring die omgewing in aandag; geluid het gekom oor die stilte, `n gulsige hond met hangende tong het verskyn en sy woeste geblaf, val luid teen die lug en eggo die klowe dan in. `n Paar draaie, vervolger en vervolgde die verskroeide aarde oor, dat die pote dreun en gehyg van `n asem gulsig bly gaan. Dan net `n fyn, angstige skreeu en die meerkat ril nog `n keer en sterwe met sy tandjies wit na die sonlig daarbo. Die hond gaan dan snuffelend verder en daar hoog kras `n kraai – was hy nodig – die meerkat – en wie van ons sal dit raai?
CM van den Heever
Ek is uiteindelik oppad, ongelukkig slegs vir ‘n baie kort tydjie. Gelukkig kon ek die tydjie afknyp om weer bietjie in Suid-Afrika te gaan kuier, anders sou nog ‘n jaar verby gegaan het sonder dat ek die familie gesien het.
Hierdie liedjie is baie mooi – met veral die mooi tonele uit SA.
Halala Afrika
Toe die wêreld hier nog jong was en die horison wyd en oop
Was dit groen hier in die halfrond, suid van die ewenaar
En in die skemer as die son sak en die beeste huis toe loop
Klink die roepstem van die vroue oor die heuwels van die land:
Halala, ewig is ons Afrika.
Tula tula mtanami, tula tula sanaboni, tula tula mtanami,
Ubab uzobuya sihlale naye, ubab uzobuya sihlale sonke, Hmmm-Hmmm
Toe kom die skepe uit die weste, wit seile oor die see
Om te vra vir koos en water en te bly vir so veel meer.
En die land wat een tyd oop was, die land het ons verruil
Vir die ghetto’s van die stede is ons koperdraad gegee.
Halala, ewig is ons Afrika
Halala, sasiphila, kamnandi, halala, mayibuye Afrika
Tula tula mtanami, tula tula sanaboni, tula tula mtanami,
Ubab uzobuya sihlale naye, ubab uzobuya sihlale sonke, Hmmm-Hmmm
Daar was rykdom in die maag van ons moeder Afrika
Diamante en ook steenkool, goud, edel metaal
En die mense word die slawe hier want die mense word betaal
Om te tonnel in die aarde elke greintjie uit te haal
En die groot en oop grasvlaktes span dit toe met doringdraad
En van die olifant tot die gemsbok al die diere moes kom buig
Voor die mag van die grootwildjagter voor die mag van sy groot geweer
Totdat net die stilte oorbly, totdat net die stilte heers.
Halala, ewig is ons Afrika.
Halala, sasiphila, kamnandi, halala, mayibuye Afrika
Sasidjapolutjoloythina
Halala, sasiphila, kamnandi, halala, mayibuye Afrika
Source: southafrica.com/forums/language/5041-zulu-translation-request.html Krediet vir foto met Tafelberg: Suid-Afrikaanse Lugdiens
On this link HERE you can download Peter Rabbit MP3-stories for free! The link will open in a new window
We recently visited the Lake District and in particular, the western area, where you can see the purple-pinkish spot at Cockermouth. We stayed in an apartment at Mockerkin, just about 7 miles from Cockermouth. See my entry about Cockermouth here:https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2008/08/30/i-wandered-lonely-as-a-cloud/ and about Mockerkin here….https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2008/09/06/mockerkin/. For my South African readers reading here…I know it’s funny to say “miles”, but in England, all distances are in miles, which was a ‘surprise‘ to us, as we are used to kilometers and the metric system in South Africa. I grew up with the metric system, but they try to keep the Imperial System in England….sort of part of “tradition”.
On this map you can see whereabouts the farm of Beatrix Potter is…the other purple spot at Hawkshead. It’s also at “Near Sawrey”…we travelled about an hour from where we stayed to Hill Top farm. You have to buy a timed ticket. We went really very early, bought our ticket -for 5 past 12. You can choose your time, but we didn’t as we wanted to go as early as possible…..so we had just more than an hour to wait. To while the time away, we were doing some sightseeing. They don’t allow many people to go in at any one time and they’re very strict. If your ticket says 5 past 12, you can’t try to slip in at 3 min past 12…ask me!! lol! You have to wait till they call the time your ticket says! On the map you will also see a spot at Carlisle…and that will be my next stop with a next entry…as we visited Hadrian’s Wall there. The remains are actually more near to Brampton…which is near Carlisle. Just south of Cockermouth you will see Whitehaven, a coastal town and it has a historical ‘story’ too. I’ve got some great images which I took there, Whitehaven has an American “connection”. If you’re curious, you can go and read about it…I will upload images about it later.
This image was taken in front of Hill Top farm
Part of the house, as there were many visitors, it was difficult to take a complete picture without any visitors. We were not allowed to take any pictures from the inside of the house, but I have images from “The tale of the Roly Poly pudding”….and if you visit the house, you are given this book and as you wander through the house, you can look at images in the book and the house too, as Beatrix Potter was an illustrator herself, you will see how perfectly she illustrated her books. In particular this tale, the setting was Hill Top farm! I also have a link where you can read the complete story online.
Front door
Part of the house that is not accessible to tourists. A farmer lives here and I think he looks after the farm too. Beatrix extended the original house, but it was asked in her testament that this part will not be accessible to tourists.
hmm…think you know what this is…this was taken a few meters away from the front door..
Samuel Whiskers! The title of this tale is…”The Tale of Samuel Whiskers or the Roly Poly pudding.” Of course you can’t leave this place without a little book and I bought myself this very tale as it has images that will remind me of the house…as the setting of this tale is this house!
‘Tea time at Hill Top ‘ by..Stephen Darbishire – Image: visitcumbria.com/amb/hilltop.htm
This piece of art gives you a great idea of what the kitchen looks like. I love it!
Beatrix Potter was born on 28 July 1866 in South Kensington, London. She lived a lonely life at home, being educated by a governess and having little contact with other people. She had many animals which she kept as pets, studying them and making drawings.
Her parents took her on three month summer holidays to Scotland, but when the house they rented became unavailable, they rented Wray Castle near Ambleside in the Lake District. Beatrix was 16 when they first stayed here. Her parents entertained many eminent guests, including Hardwicke Rawnsley vicar of Wray Church, who in 1895 was to become one of the founders of the National Trust.
His views on the need to preserve the natural beauty of Lakeland had a lasting effect on the young Beatrix, who had fallen in love with the unspoilt beauty surrounding the holiday home.
For the next 21 years on and off, the Potters holidayed in the Lake District, staying once at Wray Castle, once at Fawe Park, twice at Holehird and nine times at Lingholm, by Derwentwater, famous now for its rhododendron gardens. Beatrix loved Derwentwater, and explored Catbells behind Lingholm. She watched squirrels in the woods, saw rabbits in the vegetable gardens of the big house. She made many sketches of the landscape. They still kept in touch with Rev Rawnsley, who after 5 years at Wray, moved to Crosthwaite Church just outside Keswick.
Rawnsley encouraged her drawings, and when back in London Beatrix made greetings cards of her pictures, and started a book. Rawnsley encouraged her to publish, and eventually Frederick Warne published ‘The Tale of Peter Rabbit’ in 1902. Her third book, ‘Squirrel Nutkin’ had background views based on Derwentwater, Catbells and the Newlands Valley. Fawe Park featured in ‘The Tale of Benjamin Bunny’.
In 1903 Beatrix bought a field in Near Sawrey, near where they had holidayed that year. She now had an income from her books, Peter Rabbit having now sold some 50000 copies. In 1905 she bought Hill Top, a little farm in Sawrey, and for the next 8 years she busied herself writing more books, and visiting her farm. In 1909 she bought another farm opposite Hill Top, Castle Farm, which became her main Lakeland base. Seven of her books are based in or around Hill Top. Tom Kitten and Samuel Whiskers lived there. Hill Top is still as it was then, and is now the most visited literary shrine in the Lake District.
Beatrix Potter married William Heelis, a solicitor in Hawkshead, in 1913. Then started the next stage in her life, being a Lakeland farmer, which lasted for 30 years. The office of William Heelis is now the National Trust’s ‘Beatrix Potter Gallery’.
In 1923 she bought Troutbeck Park Farm, and became an expert in breeding Herdwick sheep, winning many prizes at country shows with them. Beatrix continued to buy property, and in 1930 bought the Monk Coniston Estate – 4000 acres from Little Langdale to Coniston – which contained Tarn Hows, now Lakeland’s most popular piece of landscape.
In 1934 she gave many of her watercolours and drawings of fungi, mosses and fossils to the Armitt Library in Ambleside.
When she died on 22 December 1943, Beatrix Potter left fourteen farms and 4000 acres of land to the National Trust, together with her flocks of Herdwick sheep. The Trust now owns 91 hill farms, many of which have a mainly Herdwick landlord’s flock with a total holding of about 25000 sheep. This was her gift to the nation, her own beloved countryside for all to enjoy. Beatrix was the first woman to be elected president-designate of the Herdwick Sheepbreeders’ Association, which continues to flourish.
Read more on this link… http://www.visitcumbria.com/bpotter.htm
Beatrix Potter bought Hill Top in 1905 with the royalties from her first few books, written at her parents home in London, but inspired by her annual holiday visits to the Lake District. She visited as often as she could, but never for more than a few days at a time, sketching the house, garden, countryside and animals for her new books.
After she bought the house, she busied herself writing more books, and visiting her farm. In 1909 she bought another farm opposite Hill Top, Castle Farm, which became her main Lakeland base.
Beatrix wrote many of her famous children’s stories in this little 17th century stone house. Characters such as Tom Kitten, Samuel Whiskers and Jemima Puddleduck were all created here, and the books contain many pictures based on the house and garden.
Beatrix bought many pieces of land and property in and around Sawrey, including the Old Post Office, Castle Cottage and a number of small farms. In 1913, aged 47, she married William Heelis in London and moved to Lakeland, living at Castle Cottage which was bigger and more convenient than Hill Top.
When she died in 1943, she left Hill Top to the National Trust with the proviso that it be kept exactly as she left it, complete with her furniture and china. http://www.visitcumbria.com/amb/hilltop.htm
Roly Poly pudding–from uktvfood.co.uk
Ingredients
200g plain flour
pinch of Salt
1 tbsp Baking powder
115g suet
50g light brown sugar
150ml water
5 tbsp Jam, warmed
2 tbsp Milk
1 tbsp demerara sugar
custard, to serve Method 1. Set the oven to 200°C/gas 6. Lightly grease a baking sheet.
2. Sift the flour with the salt and baking powder.
3. Stir in the suet and sugar.
4. Add enough water to bind to a stiff but not sticky dough.
5. Roll the dough out on a floured surface, until it is about 5mm thick.
6. Spread with warm jam, leaving a border of 1 cm around each side.
7. Roll up loosely and pinch at the ends.
8. Place on the prepared baking sheet and brush with milk. Sprinkle with Demerara sugar.
Thomas Ochse Honiball was born on 7 December 1905 in Cradock. He attended school in Stellenbosch and did drawings for the school magazine. He studied architecture at the University of Cape Town (until 1926). In 1927 he continued to study commercial art in Chicago, where he was introduced to American cartoons. On his return to Cape Town in 1930 he worked in advertising and later as freelance caricaturist and cartoonist. From 1936 he worked for Nasionale Pers newspapers and in 1941 took over from DC Boonzaier as political caricaturist.
T.O. Honiball married Iona Boesen in 1934. They had four children.
Iona died in 1971. Honiball was married to Essie de Villiers – Dreyer in 1973. (Essie Honiball)
He retired in 1974 and held his first one man exhibition in Pretoria in the same year.
He continued to sketch political caricatures until 1978.
In 1977 he donated his Honiballiana – collections to Stellenbosch University and the National Library Museum (NALN – Nasionale Afrikaanse Letterkundige Museum en Navorsingssentrum) in Bloemfontein. In 1985 he bestowed his collection of political caricatures to the NasionalePers.
1986: Foundation of TO Honiball-Promosies
T.O. Honiball died on 22 Februarie 1990 in Montagu. Source: HERE…and read on WIKIPEDIAmore about him. Image: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/78/247418341_9131adefc8.jpg?v=0
English readers: There’s an English story at the end of this post for you….! Do enjoy!
On this next link you can read about Afrikaans stories and there are some PDF’s to download about Stories/poems – in Afrikaans, mostly for use by teachers or parents doing homeschooling. The link will open in a new window.
Afrikaans Children’s stories are loaded with stories written about Wolf and Jackal. You can say It’s part of our culture…and almost our history. If you’re an Afrikaans speaking child and you don’t know about Wolf and Jackal-stories – written by PW Grobbelaar, you definitely have a H-U-G-E gap in your upbringing…and your culture… I can’t even think that it would happen, only if you’re now living in another country, yes, that’s possible…but then it’s your parents’ fault if you don’t know about these stories! In these stories, Jackal always plays the joke on Wolf….. We have the most wonderful stories about Wolf and Jackal and the most wonderful people to bring these stories alive to us and our children. One such a person was Dana Niehaus. Sadly, he passed away more than ten years ago…and we’re lucky to have his son, Danie! Danie is a singer and he’s got that wonderful personality his dad had too. I’ve got a cd with some of these Wolf and Jackal stories where his dad tells those stories and would like to upload one favourite here later today. I just LOVE his way of retelling these stories. I used these stories with my grade 3 children in listening skills activities and they used to laugh more than they’d listen, so we all listened the story out first, laughed ourselves to bits and then the second time we sat with straight faces…- even though it was a bit hard – to listen to the story again…I’ve found a couple of stories on the internet…the source is at the bottom of this post…do enjoy them on the audio files too… luckily these stories are also in many other languages available! and they always have the most wonderful illustrated images and TO Honiball was one of the best to illustrate these books……...ok…now in Afrikaans…Ek hoop julle geniet hierdie stories en ek het gewonder, is daarenige Afrikaanssprekendes in die buiteland wathulletuis Afrikaans leer…ek sal graag van jou wilhoor as jyhier lees en jy een van hulle is… Hier is een van Dana Niehaus se vertellings : Jakkals wil mos jok…van ‘n Bollie-plaat. Gepraat van “Bollie”…dis so jammer dat Huisgenoot die Bollie verander het na Bobo!! waar gaan die lewe heen!! ons arme kinders het net lief geword vir Bollie…en nou moet ons hoor dat Bollie nie meer bestaan nie! Bollie was so DEEL van ons “kultuur“…!! Further down in this post you will find more audio stories.
Jakkals en Wolf is honger
Audio file: Jakkals vertrou sy eie vredenie
Jakkals vertrou sy eie vrede nie… Die Mooiste Afrikaanse Sprokies
uitgesoek en oorvertel deur
PIETER W. GROBBELAAR
JAKKALS VERTROU SY EIE VREDE NIE
Op ‘n oggend snuffel Jakkals tussen ‘n klompie bome rond, toe hy Hoenderhaan op ‘n hoë tak gewaar.
“Môre, my liewe Haan,” groet hy vriendelik.
“Môre, Jakkals,” groet Haan. “En waar stap jy dié tyd van die oggend nog rond?”
“Ek soek ‘n bietjie ordentlike geselskap,” sê Jakkals vinnig. “Maar dis nie lekker om so kop in die lug te staan en praat nie. Kom sit liewershier by my.”
“O nee,” antwoord Hoenderhaan. “Ek ken jou streke. As eknabyjoukom, eetjy my op.”
“Nog nooit nie!” roep Jakkals uit. “Het jy dan nie gehoor nie? Daar is vrede in Afrika onder al die nasies.”
“Koe-ke-le-koe!” lag Haan.
“Hoekom lag jy?” vra Jakkals.
“Nee, ek lag sommer vir al jou stories,” antwoord Haan. “En dan lag ek vir my eie storie ook.”
“Wat se storie is dit?” vra Jakkals.
“Gisteraand het Wildehond my bekruip,” vertel Haan. Toe moes ek die bome in vlug. Nou is Boer met syhonde op pad om my tesoek. Ek kan hulle al sien aankom.”
“Nou ja, dan groet ek maar eers,” sê Jakkals skielik haastig.
“Hoekom wil jy al loop Jakkals?” vra Haan. “Ons gesels nou eers lekker. Jy is tog sekernie bang vir die honde nie. Daar is mosvrede in Afrika.”
“O ja,”‘ antwoord Jakkals, “maar die vraag is of die onnosele honde daarvan weet.” En hy draf vinnig weg.
Sop
Die Mooiste Afrikaanse Sprokies
uitgesoek en oorvertel deur
PIETER W. GROBBELAAR
Die Boesmans het die dierewêreld fyn deurgekyk. Daarom is Leeu vir hulle die sterke, Wolf soos Hiëna dikwels genoem word ‘n wreedaard, en Jakkals ‘n lafhartige bedelaar.
Wolf het ‘n ver pad geloop om by sy broer te gaan kuier. Nou is hy honger en dors. In die veld kry hy Leeu wat aan ‘n sebra lê en eet. ‘n Entjie weg sit Jakkals vir ‘n bietjie oorskiet en wag.
“Naand, Leeu,” sê Wolf vriendelik.
“Mmm,” sê Leeu, en hy kraak ‘n murgbeen oop.
Wolf gaan op syhurke sit. “Hoe lyk dit, nooi jy my dan nie om ‘n stukkie saam te eet nie?”
“Ja, ja!” sê Jakkals gretig.
“Bly stil!” sê Wolf, en Jakkals gee ‘n paar tree pad.
“Nee,” sê Leeu, en hy skeur aan die boud se sagte vleis.
“Net so ‘n bietjie soppies om op te lek,” vra Wolf. “Ek is baiedors.”
“Ek lek my eie sop,” sê Leeu.
“Net ‘n oumurgbeentjie om afteeet,” soebat Wolf.
“Dè, vat dan!” sê Leeu, en hy gooi vir Wolf die been wat hy nou net self droog gesuig het.
“En wat van my, Leeu ? ” vra Jakkals met ‘n huilstem.
“Trap!” sê Leeu, en hymik met syvoorvoet.
Jakkals verskuif nog ‘n entjie verder weg.
Wolf vat die been, en hy kou daaraan asof hy tog te lekker kou, en
hy suig daaraan asof daar baie te suig is. Toe staanhy op. “Baie dankie, Leeu,” sê hy. “Ek sal sulke vriendelikheid nie vergeet nie. Komeetgerus môreaand ‘n bietjiesop by my.
“Dankie, ja,” sê Leeu, en hy lek al klaar sy lippe af, want hy weet Wolf se maats is dood as dit by sop kook kom.
“Dankie, ja!” sê Jakkals asof Wolf hom ook genooi het, en hy gaan lek die droë been af wat Wolf laat agterbly het.
Agter die bultjie kom Wolf op ‘n volstruis af. Dis net vere en voete, en toe begin Wolf weglê. Die stukwat oorbly, sleep hysaamhuis toe. “Eet julle maar die vleis, ” sê hy vir sy vrou en kinders. “Laatbly net die benevir my.”
Die volgende dag sit Wolf twee potte op die vuur vir die volstruissop. Die een pot haal hy betyds af om koud te word, maar die ander pot hou hy kookwarm.
Dis ook nie te lank nie, of hier kom Leeu aan met Jakkals op sy spoor. “Hoe lyk dit met daardie sop waarvan jy gepraat het, Wolf?” vra Leeu.
“Ja, hoe lyk dit met die sop?” vra Jakkals.
“Kom sit maar hier in die ry,” sê Wolf, en hy beduie waar sy vrou en kinders al wag.
Vrou Wolf hou haar mond oop, en Wolf gooi in, maar dis van die koue pot s’n. So gaanhy van kind tot kind, en hulle drink tog te lekker. Maar toe hy by Leeu en Jakkals kom, skep hy twee bekers van die vuurwarm sop uit.
“Maak wyd oop!” sê hy, en hulle maak so.
Toe gooihy.
Leeu wil nog sluk, toe spu hy al dat die sop met so ‘n wye boog staan. “Sjoe, vriend Wolf,” sê hy kortasem, “maar jou sop is vandag darem kwaai.”
“Dis van ‘n volstruis se bene,” sê Wolf. “Dié voël kan mos so kwaai skop. Wil jy nog ‘n bietjie hê?”
“Nee, dankie,” sê Leeu, “ek dink ek loop maarweer.”
En Jakkals? Hy kan nieinsluknie, want distewarm. En hy kan nieuitspunie, want hy is te bang vir Wolf. Daarom sit hy so met die tranewat oor sywange loop. Maar toe Leeu wegdraf, draf hy saam, en hy maak sy mond agter ‘n bossie leeg. En nou nog as Jakkals so in die maanskyn wag dat Leeu klaar moet eet, en hy dink aan daardie sop, dan begin hy sommer van nuuts af huil.
Luistermaarmooi.
“Kwaai sop!” tjank Jakkals. “Volstruissop! Volstruissop met ‘n skop!”
Vat homJakkals!
Die Mooiste Afrikaanse Sprokies
uitgesoek en oorvertel deur
PIETER W. GROBBELAAR
VAT HOM, JAKKALS!
Deur hul aanraking met mekaar, het die sprokies van die verskillende rasse so vermeng dat ‘n mens soms nie weet waar die Boesman storie ophou en die Hottentot invloed begin nie om van die invloed van wit en swart mense nie eens te praat nie. Maar die belangrikste bly die verhaal self. i. Ryperd
Jakkals is kwaad vir Hasie, want hy het stories by vrou Jakkals gaan aandra, en nou het sy haar man die huis belet. Maar Hasie het baie planne. Op ‘n dag hoor hy Jakkals suutjies in die paadjie draf. Toe gaan lê hy in die bossies en kreun.
“Ha! nou het ek jou, Haas,” sê Jakkals, en hy wil net spring, maar Hasie antwoord met ‘n swak stem: “Vat my maar, Jakkals. Ek is te siek om te vlug. Tel my op jou rug, dandrajy my huis toe.”
En Jakkals dinkdis glad nie so ‘n slegte plan nie. Nou sal sy vrou sommer weer vir hom goed word as hy met ‘n lekker stuk haasvleis daar aankom. Jakkals laat loop in die paadjie af, en Hasie moet net klou.
Jakkals, Jakkals!” roep hy later, “Die vlieë pla baie. Pluk tog vir my ‘n taaibostakkie dat ek hulle kan wegjaag.”
“Ai, jy is lastig,” sê Jakkals, en hy gaan pluk maar.
Toe hulle nog van ver af na Jakkals se huis toe aankom, staan sy vrou al op die stoep om te kyk wat haar man hier kom soek. “Vrou, vrou!” roep Jakkals. “Ek het vir jou ‘n lekker vet haas gebring.”
Maar kyk, nou sit Hasie regop, en die pyne is skielik uit sy lyf, en die taaibostak is ‘n lat. “Vrou, vrou!” koggel hy Jakkals. “Ek het vir jou ‘n lekker vet jakkals gebring!” En die lat gesels oor Jakkals se blaaie, en Jakkals bokspring en galop. Toe wip Hasie van sy rug af en verdwyn lag lag in die bossies.
“Nee, so ‘n treurige man wil ek nie hê nie,” sê vrou Jakkals. “Waar het jy al van ‘n jakkals gehoor wat hom deur ‘n haas laat ry? Maak dat jy wegkom hier voor my oë!”
ii. Die Byekerk
Hasie hardloop na die berg se kant toe, en daar sien hy ’n bynes diep in ‘n klipskeur. “Ai!” sê Hasie:
“Lekker is lekker, engoed is goed –
en die beste lekker isheuningsoet!”
En Hasie druk sy kop diep in die skeur om die nes by te kom, maar hy het nie geweet dat Jakkals al weer spoorsny nie. Hy sit nog so, toe Jakkals hom aan die hakskeen gryp. “Ha! nou het ek jou, Haas,” sê Jakkals, en hy wil hom sommer sy tande laat proe.
Maar Hasie het klaar geskrik en ver gedink. “Sjuut, Jakkals,” sê hy. “Kan jy nie hoor my vriende hou kerk nie?”
“Waar?” vra Jakkals nuuskierig.
“Hier in die klipskeur,” sê Hasie. “Ai, hullesing tog tepragtig!”
“Laat ek hoor, sê Jakkals, en hy druk sommer in. Dan trek hy sy kop weer uit en sê: “Nee wat, hulle kan nie sing nie. Dis net brom brom brom, al op dieselfde wysie.”
“Hulle is sekermoeg,” sê Hasie. “Steek ‘n bietjie ‘n stok daar by die voordeur in dat hulle weet ons is hier. Dan moet jy hoor.”
En Jakkals gryp ‘n stok, en hy werskaf in die klipskeur rond, en toe druk hy sy kop in om goed te luister.
Nee kyk, dit was ‘n sonde. Die bye mors met Jakkals; hulle verniel hom; hulle steek hom byna dood. Hy spring om en hardloop, maar die bye het nie tyd nie. Dis net zoemtjiek! “Eina!” Zoem tjiek! Zoemtjiek! Zoemtjiek! “Eina! Eina! Eina!”
Hasie lê soos hy lag. Hy rol soos hy lag. Hymaakhomeintlik seer. Nee, Jakkals sal hom nie gou weer pla nie.
iii. Vat Hom, Jakkals! MaarHasie is glad tegerus. Sing sing in die paadjie. Wirts warts om die bossies. Kyk nie waar hy loop nie; trap nie waar hy kyk nie. Woep! daar sit hy. Jakkals het voëlent aan ‘n stomp gesmeer en dit in die paadjie neergesit. Hasiespook, maarhy sit al hoe vaster. Hy ruk en pluk en skree.
Jakkals kom tussen die bossies uit. “Ha! nou het ek jou, Haas!” sê hy. Sy lippe is nog altyd skeef geswel van die bysteke sodat dit lyk asof hy nie kan ophou lag nie. Hasie word stil. Ja, jy het my, Jakkals,” sê hy. “Nou kan jy my maaropeet. Dis net jammer om so dorstigtesterwe. Ekwasjuis op pad rivier toe.”
“Nee, ons kan ‘n bietjie gaan drink,” sê Jakkals, wat hom heeltemal droëtong gehardloop het om die strik vir Hasie reg te kry. Hy pluk Hasie los van die voëllym af, gooi hom oor sy skouer en stap af na die drinkplek toe. Ai, hoe stil en blink is die water nie. Jakkals laat sy kop sak om te drink. Maar kyk die ongeskik! Hierdie ander jakkals druk sommer sy snoet tussenin. “Gee pad!” brom Jakkals.
“Wat is dit nou, Jakkals?” vra Hasie agter sy skouer.
“Kyk self,” sê Jakkals, en hy sit homneer. En: “Staan soontoe!” sê hy vir die ander jakkals wat hom al weer beskou.
Hasie sien dadelik dat Jakkals met sy eie weerkaatsing baklei, maar hy sê niks nie.
“Loop weg hier!” sê Jakkals vir die derde maal, en hy wys tande, maar die waterjakkals wys terug.
“Moenie so met joulaat speel nie!” roep Hasie. “Kyk hoe staan daardie ander dier se mond soos hy jou uitlag. Vat hom, Jakkals!”
Toe Jakkals gryp, gryp die ander jakkals ook. Toe Jakkals duik, is hulledoems! al twee binne in die water. Toe Jakkals verdwyn, is allesweg.
“Ha ha ha!” lag Hasie:
“Kwaai is kwaai,
en kwaai se voet: ou Jakkals soek syeiebloed!”
En toe Jakkals hangstert uit die water klim, sing Hasie al ver in die paadjie af.
Audio file: Vat homJakkals!
Antjie Somers
Die Mooiste Afrikaanse Sprokies
uitgesoek en oorvertel deur
PIETER W. GROBBELAAR
ANTJIE SOMERS As paaiboelie het Antjie Somers geengelyke in Afrikaans nie. “Oppas vir Antjie Somers. Hy sal jou in sy groot sak stop!” is ‘n dreigement wat baie geslagte kinders soet gehou het. “Hy“, ja, want Antjie Somers was natuurlikeintlik ‘n man. Hier volg een van die talle maniere waarop die verhaal vertel word.
Andries Somers was ‘n voormanonder die Strand se vissers. Wie kon soos hy ‘n treknet vasvat? Wie ‘n spaan met hom laat sak? Nee, niemandnie. En dapper! Waariemand in gevaar gekom het, was Andries Somers eerste by. Nes ’n see-eend kon hy swem, en talle drenkelinge het hy land toe gebring as die ander al lankal moedverlore was.
Maar afguns is daar altyd, en skoorsoek is g’n kuns nie. Eendag op die strand pak ‘n klomp vissers hom. Andries laat nie met hom speel nie. Hulle kantel voor sy vuiste. Maar een bly te stil lê waar sy kop ‘n klip gevang het. Andries moetvlug, anders hangdiemensehomdalk op. Hy kry ‘n sisrok van sy suster. Hy bind ‘n kopdoek om. Hy haak ‘n mandjie oor sy arm. Toe kies hy koers, diep na die binneland.
Op ‘n plaas agter die berge gaan verhuur hy hom. En hy werk weer soos net hy kan. Van die voordag staan hy bak tot dit laat word in die aand. Wingerd spit of pars of mis ry maak nie saak wat hulle doen nie. Andries Somers word die voorman op die plaas.
Maar die afguns het ore en ‘n storie baie tonge, en voor lank skinder die mense kliphard onder mekaar.
“Vertel ons,Andries, van die sisrok wat jy in jou huis wegbêre,” por die ene.
“En die kopdoek, Andries Somers ? Of is jou naamdalkeintlik Antjie?” pla ‘n ander.
“Antjie Somers! Antjie Somers!” koggel hulle.
Andries Somers laat sy kop sak, en hy maak of hy nie hoor nie, want naderhand kom daar weer nuwe rusie. Maar die derde dag toe kan hy hul geterg nie meer verduur nie. Daardie aand pak hy sy bondel, en hy maak dat hy daar wegkom.
Nooit weer keer Andries terug nie. Nêrens slaan sy spoor weer uit nie. Hy het soos ‘n gees verdwyn.
Maar al meer vertel die kinders wat saans teen die berg gaan hout soek van ‘n ou vrou wat hulle verjaag.
“Sy het ‘n rooi kopdoek,” sê een kind.
“Sy het ‘n sisrok met grootstrepe.”
“Sy het ‘n lang mes.”
“En ‘n mandjie.”
“En ‘n streepsak oor haar skouer.”
“Sy wil ons vang en in haar sak prop!” kerm hulle.
En die grootmense skud kop. “Dit is daardie Antjie Somers,” sê hulle onder mekaar.
Andries Somers raak vergete: dapper Andries, flukse Andries, Andries wat altyd kon voorvat. Maar een storie word al luider en geslagte lank herhaal: “Antjie Somers! Antjie Somers, Antjie Somers gaan jou vang!”
Once upon a time there was a Wolf and a Jackal walking down the road that led to town. As they were walking, they found a wagon on the side of the road. The Jackal and the Wolf decided to see what was in the barrels that were on the wagon. They couldn’t believe their eyes! It was butter.
So the Wolf and the Jackal sat there for a moment just looking at their discovery. They couldn’t figure out how to get those big barrels off the wagon and take them home. They talked about it and decided that the Wolf would go to the front of the wagon and play dead. Then when the farmer loaded his body in the wagon and drove off, he would quickly roll one of the barrels off the wagon. The Jackal would go hide in the tall grass and wait.
The farmer came back and saw the Wolf lying on the ground in front of the wagon. He took his donkey whip and whipped the Wolf a couple times to make sure that he was “dead”. He then picked up the Wolf and put him in the wagon.
(Their plan was really working. I bet that whip really hurt the wolf. Sometimes when people are naughty they get spankings. I one time got spanked with some bamboo. I will never be naughty again).
When the farmer started driving away, the Wolf pushed the barrel off the wagon and up ran the Jackal. He took the barrel to the side of the road. A few minutes later, the Wolf jumped off the wagon and made his way back to the barrel and the Jackal. The wolf couldn’t wait to dig into the butter. He was so hungry, but the Jackal insisted that they wait. He told that Wolf that fresh butter will make you die if you eat it. He told him that they would have to let it get ripe. The Wolf was so disappointed. They then made their way back home, excited about what they had found.
Well a few days later the wolf couldn’t keep his mind off the barrel of butter, so he ran to the Jackals house and asked, “is the butter was ripe yet?” The Jackal replied, “Umm, to tell you the truth, Wolf, my wife just had a baby. We named him Good Start. I am more worried about getting him baptized than I am about the butter. Why don’t you come back by in a couple of days and then we will check on the butter.” The wolf agreed and went on his way.
(Did you know that the Jackal was really in his house eating all the butter? His wife really didn’t have a baby).
A few days later the Wolf ran to the Jackal’s house. He was pounding on the door. The Jackal came running to see who it was. “Oh, Wolf, you scared me to death. I thought I was being robbed,” said the Jackal.
The Wolf replied, “I want to go check on the butter and I want you to come!” The Jackal snarled back, “Well, I have some bad news. My wife just gave birth to two more sons, so I am off to get them baptized. We named then First Hoop and Bottom of the Barrel.” The Wolf was even more mad and he was more hungry for the butter. The Jackal promised that tomorrow they could go get the butter.
That night the Wolf couldn’t sleep because he was so excited. The Jackal had been waiting for him when he got there. They ran to the barrel only to find that the butter was gone. The Jackal blamed the Wolf and the Wolf blamed the Jackal for eating all the butter and not sharing. They began to fight. The Wolf was much bigger than the Jackal and could win the fight easily. The Jackal screamed to stop the fight. He made a suggestion about how they could find out who ate the butter. He said, “We will both go lie on those rocks and take a nap. The sun will make us warm and we will sweat out the butter. When we awake from the nap we will see who has butter on him.” The Wolf that this was a great plan because he knew he hadn’t eaten any of the butter.
(Did you know that you really can’t sweat out butter?).
Well, the Jackal really didn’t sleep. He just lay there waiting for the Wolf to go to bed. He then ran over to put the rest of the butter on the Wolf’s body. A few minutes later the Wolf woke up and looked at the Jackal. They looked at each other and the Wolf had butter everywhere. The Wolf knew that he really hadn’t eaten any butter, but the Jackal insisted that he had. The melting butter around his mouth proved it. The Jackal was so mad they didn’t speak for days….The End.
Tyl Uilspieël Storie
Uilspieёl neem die dorp op horings
Op ‘n dag sê Tyl vir sy ma: “Ek gaan op ‘n tou loop soos hulle in die sirkus doen.”Wat makeer jou?” vra sy ma, verskrik .“Jy sal afval en jou nek breek.”
“Nee Ma, ek oefen lank reeds in die geheim op ons solder om op ‘n tou te loop. As ek dan ook boonop soos ‘n hanswors aantrek, en grappies maak, sal ek twee keer soveel geld maak.”
“En as jy afval?” vra sy ma benoud.
“Toemaar Ma, ek sal nie val nie, vir die veiligheid sal ons ‘n matras onder sit. Ek het reeds vir my maats belowe om môre vir hulle ‘n vertoning te lewer. Ek gaan ‘n tou bokant ons venster vasmaak, en dan weer oorkant die straat aan die bure se huis.”
“Ag Tyl, waarom is jy tog so stout?” sug sy ma, Maar hy steur hom nie aan haar nie. Hy het die tou gespan en daarop geklim.
As hy maar geweet het van die plan wat die bure in die mou gevoer het, het Tyl dit sekerlik nooit gewaag nie. Omdat hulle vir hom kwaad was oor die poets wat hy hulle vroeër gebak het, het hulle ‘n plan beraam om hom in eie munt terug te betaal.
Net toe Tyl op die tou op sy een been gaan staan en sy arms uitsteek om sy balans te behou, sny die bure se kinders skielik die tou af en daar tuimel hy neer. Gelukkig het hy op die matras geval, maar vir dae lank kon hy skaars sit of loop. Terwyl hy daar op die matras op sy rug lê, het hulle hom lekker uitgelag en gespot. Uilspieël het gemaak of hy hulle nie hoor nie, maar in die stilligheid het hy gedink: “Toemaar, ek sal julle terugkry.”
‘n Paar dae later kondig hy aan dat hy op die mark ‘n tweede vertoning gaan gee. Die dorp se mense is almal daar om die pret te aanskou. Uilspieël se vriende kom almal hand gee en sê met ‘n spotlaggie: “Ons hoop dat dit hierdie keer beter met jou sal gaan.”
“O, julle gaan verstom staan oor al die wonderlike toertjies wat ek vandag gaan uithaal,” belowe die voornemende koorddanser. “Maarvoorek begin, moetjulle my help. As die toeskouers elkeen hul linkerskoene uittrek en vir my aangee, sal ek vandag sorg vir heerlike pret.”
Ewe onnosel voldoen die mense aan sy versoek en kort voor lank het Tyl ‘n hele klomp skoene bymekaar. Hy ryg hulle almal met ‘n tou aanmekaar en klim bo-op een van die hoë pale waaraan die tou vasgemaak is. Hy gaan sit op die paal en waai vrolik vir die mense.
“Toe nou,” skree die toeskouersongeduldig. “Begin nou met jougrappies. Hoekom het ons dan ons skoene vir jou gegee?”
“O, ek wil hulle eers sit en bekyk,” skreeu Uilspieël bo van die paal af. “Hier is ou Ryk Soul se flentertoiings wat al seker honderd maal versool en gelap is. Dit is ‘n skandevir so ‘n ryk man. Hierdie blinkleer stewel behoort seker aan Fanie Fyntrap. Ek wonder of hy al ooitdaarvoorbetaal het.”
Een vir een bekyk hy die skoene soos ‘n bobbejaan. Die toeskouers word al kwater vir hom. Elkeen is doodbenoud dat sy skoen aan die beurt sal kom. “Ons was gekke om ons skoene vir die mannetjie te gee”, dink hulle.
Maar Tyl geniethomselfgateuit. “Aan wie sou hierdie skeefgetrapte, slordige ou stewel behoort?” skreeu hy. “Tog nie aan Meester nie? Wat moet die skoolkinders van hom dink? En hierdie skoentjie met die fyn spitsneusie? Hoe sou Ellie Platvoet ooit haar breë platannas daarin kry?”
“Gee terug ons skoene!” skreeu die toeskouers woedend.
“Dê, vat julle toiings!” sê Uilspieël meteens, en hy laat die skoene soos reën op die mense val.
Almal koes en elkeen probeer weer om sy eie skoen in die hande te kry. Dit tel op en pas aan vir ‘n vale. Een ruk ‘n skoen uit die ander se hande. Hulle skel en raas en slaan onder mekaar dat die stof so staan. Die helemarkplein is in rep en roer.
Maar wat doen Uilspieël? Hy sit daar bo-op die paal en hou sy maag vas soos hy lag. “’n Mooier konsert sou ek nooit kon gee nie!” skreeu hy. “Jullebehoort my tebetaal. Ek het lanklaas soveel pret gehad.”
Eers nadat almal terug is na hul huise, het Uilspieël vinnig van die paal afgeklim en die hasepad gekies na sy eie huis voordat die ander seuns hom in die hande kon kry.
Deur iets van die skoen te sê, het Uilspieël eintlik iets van die persoon gesê aan wie die skoen behoort. Stem julle saam dat ons haarstyle en kleredrag dinge van onsself verklap? [Source: cnx.org]
ISBN:0798139021
Herman Charles Bosman
Publisher:Human & Rousseau
We read this book during secondary school and I loved these stories of “Oom Schalk Lourens”…”oom” means “uncle”… I think I should get myself this book again! I know I have one…packed away…very old copy…my dad used to go around at bookshops…when he was young…think I take after him in that way…lol!
Herman Charles Bosman was one of South Africa’s best (yeah, I know I always call the story writers and poets the “best”…because I try to focus on the best if not the “very” best! lol)… classical story writers….read on Wiki about him… see you later…
Herman Charles Bosman (February 3, 1905 – October 14, 1951) is the South African writer widely regarded as South Africa’s greatest short story writer. He studied the works of Edgar Alan Poe and Mark Twain, and developed a style emphasizing the use of irony. His English-language works utilize primarily Afrikaner characters and point to the many contradictions of Afrikaner society in the first half of the twentieth century.
Bosman was born at Kuilsrivier, near Cape Town to an Afrikaner family, although he was raised with English as well as Afrikaans. While Bosman was still young, his family moved to Johannesburg where he went to school at Jeppe High School for Boys in Kensington. He was a contributor to the school magazine. When Bosman was sixteen, he started writing short stories for the national Sunday newspaper (the Sunday Times). He attended the University of the Witwatersrand submitting various pieces to student’s literary competitions.
Upon graduating, he accepted a teaching position in the Groot Marico district, in an Afrikaans language school. The area and the people inspired him and provided the background for all his best known short stories; the Oom Schalk Lourens series and the Voorkamer sketches. The Oom Schalk Lourens series features an older character with that name. the Voorkamer series are similarly all set in the Marico region.
During the school holidays in 1926, he returned to visit his family in Johannesburg. During an argument, he fired a rifle at his stepbrother and killed him.
Bosman was sentenced to death and moved to Death row at the Pretoria Central Prison. He was reprieved and sentenced to ten years with hard labour. In 1930, he was released on parole after serving half his sentence. His experiences formed the basis for his semi-autobiographical book, Cold Stone Jug.
He then started his own printing press company and was part of a literary set in Johannesburg, associating with poets, journalists and writers, including Aegidius Jean Blignaut. Needing a break, he then toured overseas for nine years, spending most of his time in London. The short stories that he wrote during this period formed the basis for another of his best-known books, Mafeking Road.
At the start of the Second World War, he returned to South Africa and worked as a journalist. He found the time to translate the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam into Afrikaans.
Read HERE on Wikipedia…more about him…
Herman Charles Bosman’s best-loved stories about the Marico District are published here for the first time in the form intended by the author. This text of Mafeking Road – edited by Craig MacKenzie – is the first to appear from the original versions, with an introduction and notes on the texts.
Bosman’s storyteller figure Oom Schalk Lourens takes us into the world of the concertina-player who leaves the Marico for fame and glory; the girl who returns from finishing school to dazzle and dupe the Marico yokels; the Boer War soldier with a tragic story to tell about his son; the legendary leopard of Abjaterskop; the man who kills his wife and buries her under the dung floor of his voorkamer …
Jealousies, hatreds, loves and betrayals – the entire range of human emotions are laid bare in a manner at once humorous and satirical, romantic and ironic. Mafeking Road reveals to us a world quaint and distant … and yet powerfully familiar.
Herman Charles Bosman, who died of a heart attack in 1951, is one of South Africa’s most famous story-tellers. This is a classic collection of his short stories. As a person he had a unique way of seeing life, an intense excitement that he managed to convey in his stories. His books are pre-eminent in the field of South-African literature.
Read on THIS SITE more and you can view more books written by him in English as well as in Afrikaans. You can order the book HERE from Kalahari.net….
Please click HERE to visit the Groot Marico on your next trip…this is HC Bosman-world…and read about Patrick Mynhardt… Patrick Mynhardt was the Honory Life President of the HC Bosman Literary Society.
If you like this, you’d also like…
(for the witty teller of folk-tales:
-Mark Twain, “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” (1867) and other sketches and stories.
-Sholom Aleichem, Tevye’s Daughters, and other stories (c.1905-1916).
I would like to blog about Edgar Poe…I came across poems and just loved his poetry, in particular, this one about Annabelle Lee….and in the same time, thought to find bits about love, as this poem is about the love for Annabelle Lee…I couldn’t link the site here from where I found these bits about Love I agree with, as there are links to adult sites and it wasn’t appropriate for all to read. It’s been quite a time that I gathered information about Love, as people have different “views”, but I do think most people agree about more or less the same when it comes to love. Feel free to list what you think “love” is! I will make my list with about 10 here…this list could be much longer, as we all know there are so much to say about this topic! Love is….. …..a cup of tea in bed when you’re still sleepy! …..a flower from your own garden… …..the chirping of birds in trees …..a smile saying….”I love you!” …..carrying those heavy bags of whatever! …..massaging tired shoulders! …..getting the bathtub ready! …..showing polite manners…. …..the sunbeam on your face…. …..raindrops splashing about….
Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American poet, short story writer, editor, literary critic, and one of the leaders of the American Romantic Movement. Best known for his tales of mystery and the macabre, Poe was one of the early American practitioners of the short story and a progenitor of detective fiction and crime fiction. He is also credited with contributing to the emergent science fiction genre.[1]Born in Boston, Edgar Poe’s parents died when he was still young and he was taken in by John and Frances Allan of Richmond, Virginia. Raised there and for a few years in England, Poe grew up in relative wealth, though he was never formally adopted by the Allans. After a short period at the University of Virginia and a brief attempt at a military career, Poe and the Allans parted ways. Poe’s publishing career began humbly with an anonymous collection of poems called Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827), credited only “by a Bostonian.” Poe moved to Baltimore to live with blood-relatives and switched his focus from poetry to prose. In July 1835, he became assistant editor of the Southern Literary Messenger in Richmond, where he helped increase subscriptions and began developing his own style of literary criticism. That year he also married Virginia Clemm, his 13-year old cousin.Read more about Edgar Poe here…
And on THIS LINKyou will find all his poems and works. How do you define love?
Some say it’s mysterious, magical, complex, difficult, imaginary, thought-provoking, inspirational, intuitional, joyous, immeasurable, ecstasy, and undefinable. Perhaps.
It is important to stand in Love, not fall into it.
Love is waking up to find the object of your affection in the dream you were having asleep on your shoulder.
Could it be that Love is a story that can never be fully expressed?
Love is a bond or connection between two people.
Love is the ability and willingness to allow those you care for to be what they choose for themselves, without any insistence that they satisfy you. – Leo Buscaglia
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. – 1 Corinthians 13:5-7 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I do like this poem!! by Poe…..
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
-The End-
On this link HERE you will find ALL of Edgar Allan Poe’s poems, prose and stories! Also a Biography and even a Resources-link!
“Two Frogs” is a fantastic book. I want to share this book today and by doing this, do my “good deed” for today! I love books, even more, children’s books! I’m slowly busy building up a library! I used this book with great success during Philosophy lessons… Firstly, the pictures in this book…just look how stunning! Doesn’t it convey a lot, only by looking at it! That’s why children’s books fascinate me, you get outstanding illustrations and lifelong messages. This book is definitely one of those which you would buy and have different uses for, when teaching. I’m going to copy a few lines from the book…and the images support the text just brilliantly!
—Once there were two frogs sitting on a lily pad in the middle of a large pond. One of the frogs was holding a stick. “What’s that for?” asked the other frog. “For protection,” said the frog with the stick. “This stick is to beat off the dog.”
“What dog?” said the other frog, quickly looking over his shoulder. “I can’t see a dog. There is no dog!” “Not now there isn’t, not at this moment,” replied the frog with the stick. “But what if a dog should come swimming across the pond and try to eat us up? Better be safe than sorry.” The other frog was puzzled. “But no dogs ever come swimming in the pond,” he protested. “At least I’ve never seen one. In fact I can’t even remember seeing one on the edge of the pond. And why would a dog want to come swimming in the pond anyway? They’re not so fond of swimming as us frogs, you know.”
Now, by looking at the pics, you can imagine what happened…I put questions forward to 9 year old children e.g. Should we always be prepared? Should we always think about all the “what ifs”? Is it ridiculous thinking the worst might happen? Why would you want to be prepared for the worst? What do you need to be well prepared? What do you see as “the worst”? How else can we prepare us for the “worst”? This book lends itself to numerous questions and at least an hour’s discussion with children. One of the “what ifs” in this book really happened at the end! That was the dog…but the frogs were already gone and not there to see the dog…
If you want to leave your point of view about these questions, it would be well received!
Image: frogsonice Please click HERE to read a story about two frogs..do enjoy
Jock – a bull-terrier – was born in the present day Kruger National Park near the Pretorius Kop Camp. He was the runt of the litter and the young Fitzpatrick saved him from certain death by adopting him as a pup. Percy Fitzpatrick became a transport rider – carting supplies for the goldfields at Pilgrim’s Rest and Barberton from Delagoa Bay (now Maputo) in Lourenco Marques (now Mozambique). Jock grew up to be a faithful and obedient companion, as well as a champion fighter and hunter. Jock accompanied Fitzpatrick on his journeys through the KNP, as well as through the towns of Sabie, Graskop, Pilgrim’s Rest, Barberton and Lydenburg.(Lydenburg is the town where I grew up..well, on the farm about 20km outside the town…)
The lion and the snake were fighting. The snake escaped the lion’s claws before the lion could kill it, and fled to the man’s house. The snake begged the man to hide it because the lion was pursuing it. The man hid the snake in his cupboard and the lion never found it, although he searched the house.When the lion had gone, the snake took his leave from the man, saying, “How are good deeds rewarded?” The man said, “Normally good deeds are rewarded with money, but since you have no money, you may give me an animal as soon as you have been successful at hunting.” The snake said, “But do you not know that snakes reward good with evil? I am going to devour you, man!” The man said, “No, no, that isn’t fair. We men always reward good with gratitude and useful goods. Let’s ask the bee first.” The bee said, “I never get any gratitude. Man just takes my honey after having smoked me out of my own house.” The man said, “Let’s ask the mango tree.” The mango tree said, “I never receive thanks. Man takes my fruits, and when I bear no more, he cuts me down and throws me into his fire.” The man said, “Let’s ask the coconut palm.” The coconut palm said, “It is true, good is rewarded with evil. Man takes my nuts, taps my sap, and to cap it all off, he cuts off my leaves for his roof.”The snake said to the man, “You see, now I will eat you.” The man said, “Wait until I have said goodbye to my wife.” The snake agreed and they went to the man’s house. The man said, “Dear wife, the snake is going to eat me, goodbye!” The wife said, “Surely, Mr. Snake, you would like some eggs as a hors d’ouevre?” She took a bag of eggs and held it open for the snake. The snake put in his head to take an egg. The woman pulled the string tight and so caught the snake with its head in the bag. Then she took a knife and cut its throat, saving her husband’s life. But the husband divorced her, for men reward the good women do them with evil.
Spoken by great men:"Give me 20 divisions of American soldiers and I will breach Europe. Give me 15 consisting of Englishmen and I will advance to the borders of Berlin. Give me two divisions of those marvellous fighting Boers and I will remove Germany from the face of the earth." - Field Marshal Bernard L. Montgomery, Commander of the Allied Forces during WW2.
"The Americans fight for a free world, the English mostly for honour, glory and medals, the French and Canadians decide too late that they have to participate. The Italians are too scared to fight, the Russians have no choice. The Germans for their Fatherland. The Boers? Those sons of Bitches fight for the hell of it." American General, George 'Guts and Glory' Patton.
Chessalee 
