Didn’t steal much as a kid. But I did slug down a bottle of Monis red grapejuice on the quiet in the back storeroom (there’s the door in the pic) of the Platberg Bottle Store / Drankwinkel working for Mom & Dad one Saturday morning. Warm, straight out of one of those cardboard boxes all the bottles were packed in.
That afternoon we went for a long drive out Witsieshoek way in the beige Morris Isis (no, not Islamic State of Iraq & Syria, just Isis*).
After a while the car door had to be flung open for me to have a hearty grapey chunder out onto the gravel road in the veld. I imagine a confession then also would have had to take place. Can’t remember.
I haven’t liked red grape juice since. Communion in the teetotal Methodist church has had me being possibly the only sinner rudely reminded of theft and puke every time the shed for you came round. Divine retribution? He does seem to move in mysterious ways!
The cave on the Witsieshoek road
* Named after the River Isis – which is actually just the Thames in Oxford – the Morris Isis was “designed for work in the Dominions, Colonies and Protectorates” . . . “the factory’s output . . . is entirely for export. Great attention was given to providing a low appearance without sacrifice of ground clearance. The all-metal 5-seater saloon body is stated to be practically indestructible and climate-proof.”
It had the fascinatingly bizarre feature that both the gear lever and the handbrake were on the floor to the right of the driver, wedged in the narrow space between the seat and the driver’s door.