On Jumping Over a Rinkhals

This is actually older sister Barbara’s story. It’s her story because she was the brave one, and because she was about 50% older than me at the time, seeing I was four or five. She threatens to write it one day (in fact, says she has written it down. Somewhere).

Here’s the way I remember it (or more likely, was told it):
We lived on ‘the plot’ Birdhaven east of town on the forestry or sawmill road in Platberg’s morning shadow. One evening towards sunset we were playing in the back yard outside the kitchen door when Barbara needed to go inside to fetch something (water to mix up some mud?). Near the door she came across a snake and took a flying leap over it (she would probably add ‘athletically’ or ‘gracefully’, but I bet there was a shriek involved about then).
I jumped up and ran closer to see a snake reared up and looking concerned. This of course posed a much greater threat, so I sensibly ran away, around the house and in at the front door. You know: Discretion? Valour?
After that I vaguely remember the black bakelite phone attached to the wall, the one you wound the handle energetically before picking up the modern one-piece ear and mouthpiece to give the live person on the other end the number you were looking for. I dunno who was phoning, wasn’t me.
Then I remember the old man in the kitchen moving the stove with a stick in his hand and (I think) a box to guide the snake into. I remember being told the rinkhals (for it was identified as such – Hemachatus haemachatus if you’re looking it up) had “crawled into the back of the stove”.
And I remember being told that it was given to Tommy vd Bosch who would take it to the Durban Snake Park, poor thing (although I only thought “poor thing” years later now that I know it would have been better to release it where it belonged).

That kitchen door Birdhaven Harrismith Kitchen crop  That poor thing  Harrismith Birdhaven Rinkhals. jpg

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