New life
Country pursuits
Zenga Longmore
When Omalara and I arrived at mY sister Boko's last week, we both realised that something was afoot. Boko was lying in bed with a strange, glassy look in her eye. In a flash I realised . . . she'd been talking to Amanda. Amanda (of the squiffy teeth) never fails to bring out the social worker in Boko. A social worker herself, Amanda spends her time discussing conceptual relating proces- ses for hours at a stretch. She's even been known to tell me that Omalara and I have a `cementational bonding pattern'. Highly distressing, as you can well imagine. The very sight of her pebble glasses reduces Omalara to tears.
Boko usually has the moral fibre not to allow herself to be taken in by the tooth- some one. Last Friday, however, after a hard week's work and not enough sleep, a long 'communication session' with Aman- da caught her with her defences down.
`Amanda', she announced purposefully, sitting up in bed, 'is right.'
`Right?'
`Right. I'm suffering from parental stress syndrome.'
`Which means?'
`Which means you're having the kids this weekend. This weekend,' she added seeing me creep towards the door. 'Everything's Packed and ready so there's no need to wake me up tomorrow morning. Good- night.'
Saturday afternoon found three chil- dren, Omalara and myself in sunny Here- fordshire, staying with my distant friend Jackie. I had rather hoped that the pic- turesque beauty of the local villages would quell the children into a mood of quiet reflection. Sparing you the painful details, suffice it to say that my hopes were dashed. All the same, it was most impressive to wander around the immaculately upkept Tudor villages which abound so freely within the Wye Valley. The Hereford People, although extremely friendly, had a somewhat irritating tendency to throw us out of tea-shops after the children had begun their game of 'circus elephants' with the crockery.
That evening we played a soothing game of Monopoly, whilst Omalara crawled ab- out trying to swallow houses and hotels. Little Kuba, as yet unable to tackle the more difficult words on the Monopoly cards, passed them trustingly to big brother Elike.
`Chance — ah, let me see. It says, "Hand £300 to the boy on your right." Community Chest — here we are. "Give the rest of your money to a person with the initial E.,, , The game, which usually takes four hours at least, was over in ten minutes flat. Jackie had long since retired to her bed with a cold compress. Looking back on the merry chuckles of the kiddies as they frolicked in the duck Pond, I feel it should be made compulsory for all children to be brought up in the countryside. Every mother ought to push her pram in an area devoid of traffic and car fumes. There are laws stopping chil- dren from smoking and drinking, so why not enforce on all children a country childhood, for the sake of their health?
Putting my theory to Kuba as I kissed her goodnight, I received a wry grimace. `Don't be silly, auntie! How could I live in a place where there's no streets to play hi, just stupid grass?'
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