I'M STAYING Chapter 1

 

CHAPTER 24

 

ENGLAND

 

THE END OF OUR SENTENCE

Who would think that such a peaceful looking place could cause so much misery

I soon realised that my husband’s temper wouldn’t stay under control for too much longer.  After all, even an angel would be challenged under these circumstances.  While I resorted to tears of anger and disappeared to my favourite place of refuge which was hidden behind the blackberry bushes in the bottom of the vegetable garden, John had a need to confront this man who constantly challenged his qualifications and abilities as a Horticulturalist.  The time for fake smiles and effort-filled pleasantness was drawing to an end as we became bolder and the need to defend ourselves became necessary to save our sanity.

Two particular instances were instrumental in signing our release from what had, to me, become a prison in paradise. The first was at yet another interminable meeting with Sir Duncan and Lady Felicity.  The micro-management had reached a peak with piles of notes being handed to us with more and more detailed and unnecessary tasks to complete.  When we questioned the need for these pointless reminders we were insulted and ridiculed once again, with the implication that we were ignorant and lazy South Africans who had been fortunate enough to be employed by the Lord of the Manor.  John’s temper had now reached boiling point and words were no longer assisting in deflecting our bosses’ tirade.  “No!” he shouted suddenly as he stood up and pushed his chair back noisily.  “I will NOT tolerate these constant criticisms and insults a moment longer!”  BANG! He slammed his fist on the table before leaving the room.  Lady Felicity visibly shook at this behaviour and my heart did a flip-flop in my chest.

After he left there was a time of silence, and then the meeting proceeded as normal!  Not a word was uttered about John’s outburst and it was business as usual, with Sir Duncan continuing to go through his pile of scribbles and Lady Felicity demurely taking notes in her diary.  I was amazed at this show of English pride and tolerance and all with such a straight face.  I had encountered the British stiff upper lip!  Not a single display of emotion, nor a word spoken about the interruption.  This is how they have been conditioned to face the world and never give a hint of their inner-most feelings. 

The second incident and the one that definitely sealed our fate happened on a rainy, cold afternoon.  John and I had been given the task of removing all the cooch grass from the vegetable gardens where in some cases it had been allowed to take over entirely, choking the roses and herbs that grew there.  We had hoped to be allowed to poison most of it and clear entire beds, replacing the plants with fresh ones on completion.  This had been the recommendation of the consultant when he came to visit the estate the previous week.  And of course, this would have been the most practical way of dealing with the weed which had re-seeded itself throughout a large portion of the garden.  However, Sir Duncan, the multi-millionaire who couldn’t stand wastage had decided to give us the onerous task of removing all the weed by hand, then removing those plants that were still alive, transplanting them temporarily elsewhere, removing the gravel which stood on top of the weedguard material and after washing it thoroughly, saving it for further use and finally removing the weedguard which was choked with weeds.  This was a tough job, long and painstaking, back-ache producing and to our minds a lot of extra and pointless work.  We had been at it for days to the point that I had been on my hands and knees in the pouring rain and mud, removing weeds and placing the gravel on to a tarpaulin ready for the boss to examine each evening. 

To add to our work-load Sir Duncan had decided that the meadow to the side of the house which had been successfully sowed as a wildflower meadow some years back, should now be weeded by hand.  The consultant had remarked that a wildflower meadow in nature would naturally contain weeds but the boss wanted to dictate what his meadow should produce and that meant that nettles, thistles and docks were to be eradicated.  Our answer would have been to poison them and use our hours of labour on more important things in the garden.  I believe that Sir Duncan derived a great deal of pleasure watching us from the window of his study.  How he must have loved to see us toiling away on our knees, weeding his fields! 

We were willing, as usual, but soon found it an impossible task as the nettles have very long roots and each one has to be dug up individually.  To have satisfied our boss, an impossible feat I now believe, or to have attempted to complete the task set us would have meant weeks of hard manual labour.  As he always wanted the work to be done and finished on the day he handed us our lists, he was most unhappy that only a small amount of weeding had been done each day and this was being done in between all our normal daily duties and the mammoth task we were working on in the vegetable garden, where once again we were trying to save his pennies when we could have got the job done within a day. 

Once again John was called on the two-way radio to report to the house where he was questioned again about the nettles that were still growing in the meadow.  Feeling exhausted and despondent, John’s temper flared up and this time he did a proper job.  He left the house and stormed over to the potting shed, grabbing a large garden fork he stomped back and standing outside Sir Duncan’s study window he waved the fork in the air shouting “YOU COME AND SHOW THIS STUPID SOUTH AFRICAN HOW TO REMOVE THE NETTLES!”   With a shake of his head, Sir Duncan put his head down and without any show of emotion continued with his reading at his desk.  Whereupon John smashed the front door open and stormed into the house hurling abuse at his rather startled boss. I imagine that Sir Duncan, at this point suspected that he’d made a huge mistake in hiring a mad South African man and perhaps expected his demise to follow shortly with a well placed garden fork in his back.

Thank goodness, my husband knew when to back-off.

The only sign that John had ruffled his feathers was a note in our folder the next morning stating that we should NEVER leave garden tools out in the rain.  This, I take it was the garden fork which had been brandished at him through the window and then flung down in the vegetable garden in anger by John.

Sir Duncan made it known that he was far too superior to become involved in a battle of words.  We were servants and there was never negotiation with servants.  At a meeting the following week after a tedious hour of listening to his complaints and orders he suddenly sat back and said “Your services will no longer be required on our estate and you will be leaving at the end of the month.” 

We were taken by surprise although I suppose we should have expected it.  I nevertheless had the nerve to ask “But why?”

“We have been informed by our very loyal and long standing staff members that you are not happy here.  We believe you have told people that you only intend to stay for another six months before you plan to leave.” 

This was a new one to me!  “Who told you that?” I asked.

“Oh, not just one, but THREE of our most loyal employees” we were told.  “Oh yes” chipped in the supportive wife in a squeaky voice,  “Three of them told us the same story”.

There was a lot I could think of to answer that,  like you’re lying!  But I knew when I was beaten.

Lord Duncan was never going to admit that he was scared of John’s temper.

I felt a strange mixture of emotions after that meeting.  Elation that we were finally escaping what to me had become a prison.  Frustration that we were not able to discuss the problems encountered in our work.  Anger that we had been dismissed so unfairly with no credit given for all our hard work and willingness.

This brought to mind the apartheid days in South Africa and how the blacks were mistreated. I suppose it made me feel better to liken myself to a farm worker from those dark days who would work long and hard only to be rewarded with minimum wage and a harsh tongue from his boss, shown no respect or compassion, nor given credit for work well done.  I finally felt a bond with these people and learnt a new respect for their acceptance and humble ways.

For the first time in my long working career, I had been fired!