Hanna Jonkers
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Hanna Jonkers was born in an area called Rooi Erwe in Calvinia in 1951. She started working at a young age, helping her mother and grandmother at work.
Hanna tells stories of Jan Thomas, but says that she has never seen him herself. She describes how she and her cousin had to fetch water in a rolling drum as children, and how everyone gathered around the fire in the evenings to tell riddles.
Hanna Jonkers was born in Calvinia in an area called Rooierwe in 1951. She went to school at Hantam Primêr, but did not attend for long. She had to help her mother and grandmother with their jobs at the white people’s houses, washing dishes and taking care of the children. She stayed with her grandmother and got her own job when she wanted to earn her own money. Her mother, who raised Hanna on her own, passed away when she was young. Hanna says she was the oldest child and therefore had to help with everything around the house. Her memory is not so sharp anymore and her husband’s hearing has failed. She says God has been good to them throughout their lives.
Hanna knows of Jan Thomas, but never saw him herself. These were stories the grown ups told them as children. Hanna tells a story of a lady who was scratching her head and said, “I wish I could just see what is on the top of my head”. Jan Thomas came, cut off her head and placed it on her lap, saying “Here, now you can see what is on your head.” Hanna misses those stories.
Because she and her cousin were the oldest kids in the family, they had to help out with everything. They lived far from water in Rooierwe and had to fetch water in a rolling drum. When they had to roll the drum full of water back home, her cousin would always say, “I have to do something else” and Hanna would roll it by herself with her hands or feet, dead tired at the end. They got hidings with a whip and her cousin always escaped that, too. She and he would knead and bake roosterbrood together. Everyone would gather around the fire and tell riddles, but she never understood them. One was “Brake brake from the front, small bushels from the back”, being a plough.
My name is Hanna Jonkers. I was born in Calvinia… Calvinia, 1951, in the Rooi Erwe [Red Plots]. We grew up, I grew up there. We came from Newtown, then went to school at Hantam Primary. I didn’t go to school for long because I always had to help my ma and grandma with the little ones, and in the house. I grew up at my grandma’s. Her name was also Hanna. Sterkse (?? 01:23).
As I said, I didn’t go to school for long. I left school early and after that I always went with my grandma and my ma to work for the white people; I had to look after the small child who was there. And so I walked with them and went and came, until I decided that I was now going to get a job for myself, so that I could earn money myself. And, and ehh, I just carried on like that through the years, struggled, we didn’t have it easy, because my ma, my late ma, was a single mother and I was the eldest of them, of us children, so I had to help her.
So I didn’t, I can actually not remember that well, my memory isn’t so good any more. I’ve become very forgetful and, but we carry on as we carry on here. The Lord is with us, and the Lord holds our hand. Me and my husband – he isn’t healthy either, he’s lost his hearing as well and I’m also losing mine. So I don’t have, I don’t actually have much to say, but what I can say is that the Lord is good to me. To us. We don’t have what we should every day, but I thank the Lord when I wake up in the morning, in the evenings; I talk to the Lord throughout the day and ask the Lord to be with us, to give us strength, and I’m grateful to the Lord because as I’m sitting here now I’m 65 and the Lord has carried me through. Together with my husband. He’s 64 now.
Have you heard of Jan Thomas?
Yes, my ma and them spoke a lot about Jan Thomas.
Can you tell us something?
[laughs] Oh, that’s fiction, isn’t it? I never saw him myself, but the grown-ups always spoke about him. My ma and them spoke, and we laughed so much when we were sitting around the coal drum. The auntie lived on the farm and then she would scratch her head and say, “Ah, if I could only see the top of my head.” Then Jan Thomas would come, I don’t know from which direction, and he would cut off her head and say, “Right, now you can see your head, because… [laughs] … you have it in your lap.”
Now, stories like that, one misses those stories that your ma and them, and your grown-ups, told you; you miss them quite a bit. But as I say, I can’t remember much because I’m very forgetful.
Have you heard of Grietjie Kekkelbek?
Sorry?
Grietjie Kekkelbek.
No, I don’t know Grietjie Kekkelbek, but I know Grietjie from Garies. I always saw her on TV… I saw how well she danced. But she died, didn’t she? She always had lots of sports, we always liked it when she – when she’s maybe on TV today or tonight, we always sit and watch her as she dances and, when they make such nice music.
And ghost stories?
No, I actually don’t – we would make jokes. I know once my husband he wasn’t wearing a lot of clothes. Say, for example, he was only wearing his pants and his shirt and then he and his brother and other friends were in town. Then the weather turned and it became cold and he wasn’t wearing anything warm and his brother always liked to, let us say, wear a second top or a jersey. And in those days they were terrible, like young laaities*, and so. Then my brother (sic) told his brother, asked “Soeka (??06:07), please give me a warm top or one of your tops.”
Then the brother said, but he didn’t actually mean it in a bad way, “No, man, first buy me a little something.” Now, a little something is, look, half a bottle or a bottle. A drink he had to buy. Now, he probably had money in his pocket, I don’t know. That time they were still young. Then he now had to go buy the drink so that he could get something to wear, because he could feel, the east wind, it cuts through to the marrow; when it starts up no one can stand it, you have to wipe your tears, because it is too cold.
[laughs]
Do you perhaps remember anything else?
Oh, we always loved to, to… When we were sitting next to the fire, me and my late cousin. The two of us were the biggest in the house, I mean the oldest of the bunch of small children in the house. Now, the two of us always had to do everything. Had to carry water – we, we didn’t live here, we lived in the Rooi Erwe. You had to walk far to get water. You couldn’t carry a bucket, you had to have a rolling drum. You know a rolling drum?
[gestures to the side] Like that kind of drum, but it is higher and it has a plug that screws closed, like these blue and white containers. Then you screw it closed, then we walk. It is far (sic) to explain, but we had to walk far. say from this corner [gestures], from this corner where we live to the top corner where Mister came from.
Yes.
It could be farther because the Rooi Erwe were different from this Newtown area. Then we had to push the drum, or we had to move it along with our feet. Me and him. He would always leave me after a while because he now had to go do this or that, then I had to push the drum, with my hands, or I had to move it with my feet. I always rolled it with my right foot.
By the time that he got back to me, I was so exhausted from pushing this rolling drum – it was full of water. You had to push it. Was far that you had to push it. But as I say, the Lord carried us through. He’s no longer with us, I’m still here, we’re the same age. Only the months are different.
And so we carried on, me and him. When the two of us maybe had to work – he had to do something, then he never did it. And when we now got a hiding from my grandpa – he had a whip that he… if we ran, he hit us with the whip around our feet. Then you couldn’t run, you fell down. Then he was long gone. Poof. [Taks ?? 09:30]. Then I had to, again had to (inaudible 09:34), they were, he caught me and he was gone. So I always got a hiding and he was gone. (inaudible 09:44 – 09:46) But it was always nice, being with him.
We, if I didn’t knead, he kneaded. But we always had to wash our hands, arms up to here, because kneading the dough, and it was dough and it was floury bits and all, and we always braaied* roosterbrood* together, it was nice.
Scraped offal clean, but now I don’t want to scrape any more, because I scraped too much in those years. If someone now asks me to do them a favour, then I will do it, but I often say no. I’ve scraped too much. I don’t want to scrape any more.
But it was nice. We always sat around the fire and asked riddles. Now, I’m not one for riddles, I always just sat and listened because I, I almost never guessed correctly because they would ask you the most terrible riddles. One that I can remember, is: “Briek-briek van voor en mossieboudjies van agter” [Brake-brake in front and sparrow haunches at the back]. Now, how can one know what it is?
Say it again?
[laughs]
“Briek-briek van voor en mossieboudjies van agter.”
“Mossieboudjies”?
“Mossieboudjies”. At the back.
What is it?
Now, now, how can one know what it is? Huh?
Hm.
But if you grew up on a farm and you walk into the fields, then you see, here is a plough. Now, it’s obviously a plough. It has those thick things in front, “briek-briek van voor” as they say, and then you have these thin things at the back (inaudible 11:26 – 11:28).
[laughs]
(inaudible 11:35) … but because you now asked me…
Hanna Jonkers is in 1951 op Calvinia gebore op ’n plek genaamd Rooierwe. Sy het op ’n jong ouderdom haar ma en ouma begin help met hulle werk bly blanke mense.
Hanna vertel stories van Jan Thomas, maar sê sy het hom nooit self gesien nie. Sy beskryf hoe sy en haar neef as kinders met ’n roldrom moes gaan water haal, en hoe almal saans om die vuur gesit en raaisels vra het.
Hanna Jonkers is in 1951 op Calvinia gebore op ’n plek genaamd Rooierwe. Sy het by Hantam Primêr skoolgegaan, maar nie vir lank nie. Sy moes haar ma en ouma help met hulle werk by blanke mense. Daar het sy skottelgoed gewas en kinders opgepas. Sy het by haar ouma grootgeword en later haar eie werk gekry toe sy haar eie geld wou verdien. Haar ma, wat ’n enkelouer was, is dood toe Hanna jonk was. Hanna sê sy was die oudste kind, daarom moes sy met alles in die huis help. Haar geheue is nie meer so goed nie en haar man het sy gehoor verloor. Sy sê God was nog hulle hele lewe lank goed vir hulle.
Hanna weet van Jan Thomas, maar het hom nooit self gesien nie. Dit is stories wat die grootmense vir hulle vertel het toe hulle kinders was. Hanna vertel ’n storie van ’n vrou wat haar kop gekrap en gesê het, “Ai, as ek tog net bo-op my kop kan gesien het.” Toe kom Jan Thomas, sny haar kop af en sê, “Toe, nou kan jy op jou kop kyk, want … jy het hom op jou skoot.” Hanna mis hierdie stories.
Omdat sy en haar neef die oudste kinders in die familie was, moes hulle alles doen. Op Rooierwe het hulle ver van water af gebly en hulle twee moes water in ’n roldrom gaan haal. Wanneer hulle die drom vol water moes terugrol huis toe, het haar neef altyd gesê, “Ek moet iets anders loop doen,” en dan moes Hanna alleen die drom met haar hande en voete stoot tot sy doodmoeg by die huis aankom. Hulle het met ’n sweep pak gekry en haar neef het hom altyd daaruit ook gewriemel. Sy en haar neef het saam roosterbrood geknie en gebraai. Saans het almal om die vuur gesit en raaisels vra, maar sy het nooit die raaisels reg geraai nie. Een was “Briek-briek van voor en mossieboudjies van agter”, en die antwoord was “’n ploeg”.
My naam is Hanna Jonkers. Ek is gebore in Calvinia … Calvinia, 1951, in die Rooi Erwe. Daar het ons grootgeword, ek grootgeword. Ons het oor Newtown (?? 00:45) toe kom loop, skoolgaan by Hantam Primêr. Daar het ek nie lang jare skoolgegaan nie omrede ek moet vir my ma en ouma altyd moet gehelp het om, die kleintjies wat daar gewees het te help en in die huis my, ek het by my ouma grootgeword. Haar naam is ook Hanna gewees. Sterkse (?? 01:23).
Soos ek sê, ek het nie lank skoolgegaan nie, ek het maar vroeg uit die skool uit gegaan en daarvan af het ek altyd saam met my ouma en my ma gegaan by blanke mense gaan werk en dan moet ek na die kleintjie gekyk het wat daar gewees het, en so het ek maar so saam met hulle geloop en gegaan en gekom, totdat ek nou maar self besluit het ek gaan nou ook ’n werk kry vir myself, lat ek vir myself verdien, en, enne, so met die jare het ek maar so aangegaan, gesukkel, ons het dit nie breed gehad nie, want my ma, oorlede ma, was ’n enkelouer en ek is die oudste van hulle, van ons kinders gewees, enne, moes ek maar vir haar gehelp het.
So, ek het nie, ek kan nie eintlik lekker onthou nie, my geheue is nie meer so lekker nie. Ek het baie vergeetagtig en, maar ons gaan aan soos wat ons hier aangaan. Die Here is by ons, en die Here is saam met ons. Ek en my man, hy’s ook nie gesond nie, hy’t ook sy gehoor verloor en ek is nou ook op die pad om myne te verloor. So, ek het nie, ek is nie eintlik baie om te sê nie, maar al wat ek kan sê, die Here is goed vir my. Vir ons. Ons het nie elke dag wat ons moet het nie, maar ek sê dankie vir die Here as ek soggens opstaan, saans, deur die dag praat ek met die Here en vra vir die Here om saam met ons te wees, krag te gee en, ek is dankbaar vir die Here want soos ek nou hier sit, is ek vyf-en-sestig en die Here het my deurgedra. Saam met my eggenoot. Hy’s nou vier-en-sestig.
Het Antie al gehoor van Jan Thomas?
Ja, my ma-hulle het baie gepraat van Jan Thomas.
Kan Antie vir ons so iets vertel?
[lag] Ai, dit is mos fiksie (?? 03:45) daai, maar ek het hom mos nooit persoonlik gesien nie, maar die grootmense het altyd gepraat van hom. My ma-hulle het altyd gesê dat ons so gelag het as ons om die kooldrom sit. Die antie het, op die plaas gebly en dan het sy haar kop so gekrap en dan sê sy: “Ai, as ek tog nou net bo-op my kop kan gesien het,” toe kom Jan Thomas, ek weet nie watter kant van af nie en hy sny haar kop af en hy sê: “Toe, nou kan jy kop kyk, want … [lag] .. jy het hom op jou skoot.”
Nou sulke klas goedjies, mens verlang nougal baie na dié goedjies wat jou ma-hulle en jou grootmense vir jou vertel het. Maar soos ek sê, ek kan nie nou regtig nie baie onthou nie want ek is baie vergeetagtig.
Het Antie al gehoor van Grietjie Kekkelbek?
Skuus?
Grietjie Kekkelbek.
Nee, ek ken nou nie vir Grietjie Kekkelbek nie, maar ek ken vir Grietjie van Garies wat ek altyd op die TV gesien het … Hoe lekker sy gedans het, maar sy’s mos nou al oorlede. Sy het altyd baie sports gehad, ons het altyd gehou daarvan as sy op, as sy sê vandag of vanaand op TV miskien. Dan sit en kyk ons altyd vir haar, as sy nou so dans en so lekker, as hulle so lekker musiek maak.
En spookstories?
Nee, ek is nie eintlik een wat so baie van, ons kan grappies gemaak het, ek weet eenkeer was my man, hy’t nie baie klere aangehad nie. Sê nou maar byvoorbeeld hy het net sy broek en sy hemp aangehad en toe is hy en sy broer en nog vriende in die dorp. Toe steek die weer op en dit raak koud en hy het nou nie warme ding aan nie en sy broer het altyd daarvan gehou om, sê maar, om ’n tweede top of ’n jersey aan te trek. En, daai tyd toe is hulle mos maar gruwelik, soos jong laaities, en so is mos maar. Toe, sê my broer nou vir sy broer, vra, uhh: “Soeka (??06:07), gee vir my asseblief ’n warm top of een van jou tops.”
Toe sê die broer, maar hy’t toe nou nie eintlik lelik bedoel nie: “Nee, man, koop eers vir my ’n iets.” Nou, ’n ietsie is, kyk nou ’n halfie of ’n bottel. Is nou ’n dop wat hy nou moet koop. Nou, hy’t seker maar geld in sy sak gehad, ek weet nie. Daai tyd is hulle mos nog jonk. Toe moet hy nou die dop koop lat hy net ietsie kan aantrek, want hy voel toe nou, die oostewind, hy sny deur murg en been want as hy opgetrek het dan kan niemand staan nie, dan moet jy maar net trane afvee, want hy’s te koud.
[lag]
Kan Antie miskien nog iets onthou?
Ai, ons het altyd so lief gewees vir, vir vir, as ons langs die vuur sit, ek en my oorlede neef. Ons twee was nou die grootste in die huis, ek meen nou die oudste, van die klompie klein kinders in die huis. Nou, ons twee moet altyd alles gedoen het. Water aandra, ons het, ons het nie hier gebly nie, ons het in die Rooi Erwe gebly. Dan is dit ’n ver ent wat ons moet loop om water te kom haal. Jy kan nie net met ’n emmer geloop het nie, jy moet ’n roldrom gehad het. Jy ken ’n roldrom?
??
[wys na die kant] So ’n tipe drom soos daai drom, maar hy is nou net hoër, en dan het hy ’n prop wat toedraai soos hierdie blou en wit kanne. Dan draai jy hom toe, dan loop ons nou, dis nou ver om te verduidelik, maar dit is ’n ver ent wat ons moes geloop het. sê nou maar van dié hoek [wys] van dié hoek af wat ons nou bly tot by die boonste hoek wat Meneer nou mos nou gekom het.
Ja.
Dit kan verder wees, want die Rooi Erwe se gedeelte is anders as hierdie Newtown-gebied. Dan moet ons nou die drom hom stoot, of ons moet hom trap. Ek en hy. Hy’t altyd met my so gemaak, dan loop hy nou ’n ent want hy moet nou dit loop doen en hy moet dat loop doen, dan moet ek nou maar die drom stoot, so met my hande, of ek moet hom nou trap met my voete. Maar ek het hom altyd met my regtervoet so getrap. Teen die tyd wanneer hy weer by my kom, dan is ek so pootuit van dié roldrom te stoot – hy’s vól water. Jy moet vir hom stoot. Is ’n ver ent wat jy moet vir hom stoot. Maar, soos ek sê, die Here het ons deurgedra. Hy’s nou nie vandag meer daar nie, ek is nog hier, ons is dieselfde ouderdom. Net die maande verskil. En, so het ons maar aangegaan, ek en hy. Dan sal ons twee miskien nou moet ’n werk, hý moet ’n werk gedoen het. Dan het hy dit nooit gedoen nie. En wanneer ons moet pak kry, by my oupa, dan het hy ’n sweep gehad wat hy vir ons, as ons nou hardloop, dan slaat hy vir ons met die sweep onder om ons voete. Dan kan jy mos nie hardloop nie, dan slaat jy mos nou neer. Dan is hy al vergeet weg. Taks (?? 09:30). Dan het ek maar, moet maar weer die (onhoorbaar 09:34) was hulle, hy’t nou vir my gevang en hy is weg. So’t ek altyd maar pak gekry en hy is weg. (onhoorbaar 09:44 – 09:46) Maar dit was altyd lekker, saam met hom gewees.
Ons het, as ek nie geknie het nie, dan het hy geknie, maar altyd dat ons ons hande was, arms tot hier bo want die deegknie en dis deeg en dis meelspatsels en als, en ons het altyd saam roosterbrood gebraai, dit was lekker gewees. Afval geskrap, maar nou wil ek nie meer skrap nie, want ek het te veel geskrap van daai jare af. As iemand nou vir my kom vra om ’n guns te doen, dan sal ek dit doen, maar ek sê baie kere, nee, ek het te veel geskrap, ek wil nie nou meer skrap nie. Maar dit was lekker, dan het ons altyd langs die vuur gesit en sit en raaisels gee. Nou ek is nie een vir raaisels nie, ek het altyd maar net gesit en luister, want ek, ek het nooit altyd omtrent reg geraai nie want dit is ’n te verskriklike raaisel wat hulle vir jou gee, gegee het. Een wat ek al, wat ek kan onthou, was gewees altyd: “Briek-briek van voor en mossieboudjies van agter,” Nou hoe weet jy wat is dit?
Sê dit weer vir ons?
[lag] “Briek-briek van voor en mossieboudjies van agter.”
Mossieboudjies?
Mossieboudjies. Van agter.
Wat is dit?
Nou, nou, nou. Nou kan jy jou self indink, wat is dit? Nè?
Hm.
Maar as jy nou op ’n plaas grootgeword het en jy stap so op die lande uit, dan sien jy, hier staan ’n ploeg. Nou outomaties is dit ’n ploeg. Hy’t nou daai dik goete van voor, briek-briek van voor, soos hulle hom sê, en dan het hy nou glo hier sulke dun goedjies hier agter (onhoorbaar 11:26 – 11:28).
[lag]
(onhoorbaar 11:35) … maar omdat u my nou gevra het …