The vanishing past

When I was a kid, we didn't have TV. South Africa came late to the television, and as a result, a great part of my childhood was spent listening to the radio. Ah, those were the days. As much as I love television now, I passionately adored the radio, because it allowed me to use my imagination and be an active participant, rather than a passive observer. Programmes like My Word, Just A Minute and My Music (all obtained from the BBC and broadcast by the magnificent Sprinkbok Radio) helped to shape my love of words and music.

We used to listen to the Cold Power Hotline on a Friday night, Squad Cars, Snoektown Calling, and the Man from the Ministry. Swop shop (or what have you?) on a Saturday morning, and the Little People's programme presented by Kathleen Davis at 4:00 on weekdays. These were the days of Malcolm Gooding, of gorgeous, plummy English accents.

CBT teaches that we shouldn't look to the past, we should focus on the present. I found that very helpful, and it has helped me to imagine a future. I do miss those days though.

I miss writing a letter, going to get a stamp, and getting one back in due course. I miss the days when we used to play outside, riding our bikes and falling out of trees. I miss the notion that life was simpler then.

Of course, life wasn't simpler. There were things going on around me that I barely took cognisance of. The country was ruled by a white minority who was ruthless in repressing information and created an institutionalised system of racism that is still casting its shadow, 60-odd years later.

There is a funny saying: "It's never too late to have a happy childhood". My childhood was happy in many ways, and yet dark in many others. So now, at the age of 47, I'm having that happy childhood. And I'm loving every minute of it.