I was looking for a photograph album the other day. Trawling through my cluttered drawer filled with packets of photographs and piles of albums I opened the one I thought I needed.
It wasn’t! It was an album once belonging to my mother. Turning the pages memories came flooding back. I stopped at a newspaper cutting of me modelling a pair of white trousers and a sailor suit style top. I was about seventeen and vividly recalled that day. It was in the height of a Kimberley summer. Temperatures would have been in the late 30 degrees centigrade.
The photograph was taken by a young reporter from the local newspaper. Because he worked with my mother and knew I had modelled in the past, when approached by a boutique wanting advertising, he’d contacted me. He explained what he wanted me to do. I had to stand outside the boutique pretending that I was looking at the window display.
I felt very shy and he put me at ease by cracking silly jokes. I always found it easier modelling clothes on a catwalk than posing for photographs. To this day I still hate having my photograph taken! Standing, for what felt like hours in the hot sun, the reporter finally showed the boutique owner the photographs he had taken. They chose one and I went into the shop to cool down. It had been a long afternoon.
I changed back into my own clothes, had a glass of iced water and headed for the bank, where my father worked, to get a lift home. As soon as I got home I was going to change into my bathing costume and dive into the swimming pool. I couldn’t wait!
Walking down the empty road, lost in thought, I was suddenly accosted by a man who had stepped out from the shadows. He was holding a knife in his hand. Everything happened so quickly. He leaned towards me and pointed the knife at my stomach before telling me to hand over my handbag. I was taken totally by surprise and, without thinking, stepped to one side, shouting at him to get out of my way! I think I also told him to ‘bugger off’! I remember glancing up and seeing a shocked expression on his face. Without looking back I ran the short distance to the main road, forcing my way through the crowd to the set of traffic lights. Fortunately they had changed in my favour so, mingling into the crowd, I walked hurriedly towards the entrance to the bank.
Suddenly I began to shake uncontrollably as the enormity of what had happened dawned on me. I had very little money with me anyway so losing my handbag wouldn’t have been too costly. It had been a spontaneous reaction which could have had a serious outcome. It was usually very safe in Kimberley in the early seventies. To my knowledge nothing like that had happened in the past.
Strange how photographs, songs, even smells can conjure up old memories. Some are good and can bring a flush of happiness. That photograph had the opposite effect. I still shudder when I think about that moment. It wasn’t bravery that made me react as I did. Nothing was premeditated, it was just a reflex action when caught by surprise!
My mother and I went on a safety awareness course a few months later. I mentioned the episode and was told to never repeat that outburst but to hand over the handbag. No one had mobile phones in those days and very few had credit cards, so to lose a few rands would be a cheap price to pay for your life.
I didn’t find the photograph album I was looking for but spent the next hour paging through some of the others. Many memories came rushing back, thankfully all significantly better than the newspaper cutting! Nowadays I have to trawl through my phone to see photographs. It’s not the same. I also still prefer reading books to using a kindle. This leopard is definitely too old to change her spots! 👠
Jenny Burrell 