It was just before Christmas in the early to mid 1950s and De Beers Diamond Mines were holding their annual “Christmas Tree” for workers children. It was held at the Kimberley Stadium with lots of entertainment for the youngsters. Amongst these were rides in a horse drawn trap and donkey rides as well as puppet shows and clowns.
I can remember that I had a new dress of pale blue nylon, with a silver belt – my first bought dress, and I was extremely proud of it. I held my dad’s hand and watched as Father Christmas arrived on the back of a fire engine. The crowd surged forward to hear when their names were called, to receive their presents from the portly, bearded gentleman. After the melee had dispersed, we were left to our devices to enjoy the entertainment. Dad came across a couple of his workmates and stood nattering for a while – I grew bored and told him that I was going to look at the horses in their stables, which was on the other side of the stadium.
Being a ‘big girl’ now, my dad didn’t mind, so off I went, all by myself, to see the horses. I contented myself with patting and scratching them behind their ears, for a while. Soon I saw a buggy whizz past, filled with noisy younger children. Hmm... That was too babyish for my liking. Just after that, I spotted the donkey rides, being led by a young African man – now that was more my style!
I waited in a short queue for my turn and was helped mounting. The young man led the donkey for a few yards before I airily told him to let go, as I had taken riding lessons (on horses). He obediently let go of the reins and everything went well until the pony trap came whizzing past once more. Unexpectedly the donkey decided to join its stable mates in their gallop around the track. I tugged on the reins to slow this headlong rush, but to my dismay, found that I was slipping sideways; the girth strap had not been tightened. I kicked my feet free of the stirrups and flung my arms around the beast’s neck – all to no avail. In a short space of time, I found myself dangling between the donkey’s front legs, being dragged along the ground. Even in my state of terror, I knew that I could not cling on forever –I had to let go sometime. As I let go, the donkey’s hoof clipped me on my left eyebrow – I saw stars! In the distance behind me, I heard shouts; presumably, it was the African man. I never stayed to find out.
As I picked myself up, I realised with horror that my beautiful new dress was in tatters. In tears, I ran in search of my father on the other side of the track. Miraculously, out of the throng of people, my dad appeared. It was only then that I realised that blood was running down my face. I was more worried that I would be in trouble for ruining my new dress, but naturally, my dad was more concerned with my well-being. I was later told that I was fortunate not to lose my eye.
I never saw that pretty dress again, not even the silver belt: I still bear a small scar from my encounter and my left eyebrow grows in peculiar directions, much to my chagrin.
