Thembo
Chapter One
“Dan. Will I see that other boy again?”
“What?”
“Will I see that black kid at Aunty Beti’s?”
My little brother’s question came out of the blue. At first I thought I hadn’t heard him properly. It was unlikely that Sammy had seen anyone else on our last visit to great gran’s house as we’d been together most of the time. There certainly wouldn’t have been any other black kids like us there.
“We’ll see.”
My answer seemed to satisfy him and he continued looking out of the train window at the moving scenes while I went back to listening to my I Pod. About ten minutes later Sammy suddenly sat back in his seat and looked at me. I waited for his next question.
“Can I play with him again?”
“I suppose so. What’s his name?” I half suspected it was one of his imaginary friends. He’d had quite of few and I’d grown to accept them rather than argue with him.
“Thembo. He’s from Africa,” he replied, popping another sweet into his mouth as he turned to face the window again.
In a graveyard in a South African gold rush town there are stones dedicated to Welsh settlers who left the failing slate quarries of North Wales to seek a fortune in another continent far away from their home.
This story was based on such a family who left their home in Cwm Llech to travel to South Africa. In the present day a descendent begins to research his family tree while he is staying with his great aunt in that village.
“Dan. Will I see that other boy again?”
“What?”
“Will I see that black kid at Aunty Beti’s?”
My little brother’s question came out of the blue. At first I thought I hadn’t heard him properly. It was unlikely that Sammy had seen anyone else on our last visit to great gran’s house as we’d been together most of the time. There certainly wouldn’t have been any other black kids like us there.
“We’ll see.”
My answer seemed to satisfy him and he continued looking out of the train window at the moving scenes while I went back to listening to my I Pod. About ten minutes later Sammy suddenly sat back in his seat and looked at me. I waited for his next question.
“Can I play with him again?”
“I suppose so. What’s his name?” I half suspected it was one of his imaginary friends. He’d had quite of few and I’d grown to accept them rather than argue with him.
“Thembo. He’s from Africa,” he replied, popping another sweet into his mouth as he turned to face the window again.
In a graveyard in a South African gold rush town there are stones dedicated to Welsh settlers who left the failing slate quarries of North Wales to seek a fortune in another continent far away from their home.
This story was based on such a family who left their home in Cwm Llech to travel to South Africa. In the present day a descendent begins to research his family tree while he is staying with his great aunt in that village.
The Spice Route
Learning to sail on the Indian Ocean aboard an old sail training vessel could be fun. Four youngsters from Merseyside turn up at Mombassa in Kenya with their youth leaders hoping to enjoy a once-in-a-lifetime trip following the old spice routes on the Cinnamon Trader. Meanwhile Charles and his girlfriend set off on a luxury cruise from the same port.
When a pandemic attacks the older members of the sailing ship's crew, those who are left face the problem of where to head. Back to land where the virus is attacking all adults.
Or out to sea where Somali pirates lie in wait for their next victims.
A Royal Naval Vessel observes the dilemma but can it help?
Royal Naval Vessel in Indian Ocean Saturday 12th March 6.00 p.m
The helicopter hovered over the dhow, guns loaded and fixed on the target while a rigid inflatable bounced across the water from HMS Salford. Everyone was tense as the rib drew alongside the fishing boat and three of the marines boarded it.
The atmosphere on the frigate’s bridge was apprehensive as the officers waited.
“I’ve got an all clear from the deck,” the pilot of the helicopter reported over the radio.
“That’s good news, ma’am,” Tom, the First Officer said quietly to Commander Ellen Edwards, the captain of the frigate. They watched the inflatable boat in the distance disappear behind each wave then reappear as it stood off the dhow waiting for the boarding party. The dhow’s sails rocked back and forth catching the low sun’s rays which now spread across the darkening water.
“Yes!” Commander Ellen Edwards sighed in relief. “But if they had been pirates and not Somali fishermen it would have been different.”
When a pandemic attacks the older members of the sailing ship's crew, those who are left face the problem of where to head. Back to land where the virus is attacking all adults.
Or out to sea where Somali pirates lie in wait for their next victims.
A Royal Naval Vessel observes the dilemma but can it help?
Royal Naval Vessel in Indian Ocean Saturday 12th March 6.00 p.m
The helicopter hovered over the dhow, guns loaded and fixed on the target while a rigid inflatable bounced across the water from HMS Salford. Everyone was tense as the rib drew alongside the fishing boat and three of the marines boarded it.
The atmosphere on the frigate’s bridge was apprehensive as the officers waited.
“I’ve got an all clear from the deck,” the pilot of the helicopter reported over the radio.
“That’s good news, ma’am,” Tom, the First Officer said quietly to Commander Ellen Edwards, the captain of the frigate. They watched the inflatable boat in the distance disappear behind each wave then reappear as it stood off the dhow waiting for the boarding party. The dhow’s sails rocked back and forth catching the low sun’s rays which now spread across the darkening water.
“Yes!” Commander Ellen Edwards sighed in relief. “But if they had been pirates and not Somali fishermen it would have been different.”
