The child
Anne Campbell Miller, Anna Christina Botha van der Merwe, Heather the Florist, Ouma, Gran, or simply Van... many names for a multi-faceted woman. Born in 1915, Anna Christina Botha van Niekerk (why they felt the need for such a long name, is beyond me), oldest daughter to parents who felt, if I understood the story correctly, that raising a child with a club foot was too much for them, she was passed on to a relative. Her new father was all one could hope for in a father. He hand-crafted a brace for her and with time, she walked the same as any other kid. One had to look really closely to see there was ever any problem with her foot. What was missing in her foot, though, was given to her hands. This woman had amazing hands. I think that growing up with her hands was what makes me, to this day, look at people's hands to see their character.
The wife
She had been married before, before my time, to Jacobus (Koos) Willem van der Merwe. They were divorced and apparently, he died long before I came along too. I think this was where she earned the nickname "Van". Van is a nickname usually given to men with the last name of Van der Merwe in South Africa. I know little about this period in her life, beyond that she didn't speak kindly of him.
The mother
Somewhere in this time period, she had her two children, my uncle, Van, as we all called him and my mom, also Anna Christina Botha van der Merwe - talk about keeping names in the family! I know my mom was born in 1940, in a German concentration camp in what was then South West Africa. Here is why I regret not listening to her stories. Its all so vague. She also told of how, during a war, the farm was burnt and they lived under a vast oak tree in the South African bushveld for some time. I know it was summer. She had her oven dug into the ground. I remember the oak tree stories because they fascinated me, but that is all I remember and I don't even remember those well. I wish I knew more!
Mrs Miller and Heather, the florist
She met and married Jim - James Campbell Miller and changed her name to Anne. I was too young, really, to understand their relationship beyond the obvious companionship between them. She had her florist shop on Rink Street in Port Elizabeth, "Heather the Florist". He shared the front shop with her, but his main space was at the back, "Electrical Installations". He was the electrical contractor to many of Port Elizabeth's large institutions. She taught floristry at the Port Elizabeth Techicon too and put together her own reference book for the students. The copy I had, her personal original, I had grand plans of having published. Somehow, it was one of the items that was lost in our transit to Brazil, which saddens me greatly. Not too long after they were married, Jim (that is what I grew up calling him) took her to Scotland, his homeland.
It was there that she fell in love with heather and thus the name of her shop.
Enter grandchildren
My mother took it upon herself to attach herself to a man. I say, attach, as, to this day, there is doubt over the validity of their marriage. Only last year, I got to see my original birth certificate for the first time and the father's name is not listed. I'm grateful, actually, as I want no connection with the name. But I digress... I was the second of 4 children. My gran used to tell of how, when she saw me in the hospital, she decided to protect this child. When my father left my mother, she was pregnant with my youngest brother and in no condition to care for 4 children on her own. Jim and my gran set her up in a house and whipped me off to a better life.
The grandmother
This remarkable woman ran her shop, worked double time making sure all was well at my mother's house, making sure her garden was a minor miracle, did all the PTA meetings, taught, was very involved in the school and raised me as her own. It is largely due to her influence that I am who I am today. She instilled in me a strong value system. At her hands, I learnt to appreciate beauty in all forms. I learnt to accept people regardless of how different they are. I learnt that age is not a prerequisite for respect. She respected my opinions from the first. She taught me how to keep a shop, how to answer the phone properly, how to speak properly. She spent hours helping me research school projects and taught me to always give of my best. She taught me to love nature, to love the earth and to treat her well, that what you put into the earth is what you will get out. Ah... and as a teenager... when I didn't want to see a certain boy, she'd go into battle axe mode and send them packing at the door, taking the blame on herself. My friends loved her. Our home was a gathering place. My boyfriends were terrified of her, though Jorge will deny it with his dying breath (He says, "I wasn't afraid. I was going to do that anyway". Another story for another day), but we know different.
The great-grandmother
She gave up smoking at the age of 73, so that she could have that little bit of extra money to buy goodies for her first great-grandchild. She loved her great-grandchildren, although, by the time she got to know Tatiana, her mind was already slipping. The main photo was taken the year Tatiana was born, at a grand old age of 75. She was living in Port Elizabeth then still and we were in Durban. When she moved up to Durban, we got to know a very different woman. A woman filled with humour still, excited over everything life had to offer. We wheeled her around Durban streets in her wheelchair and she'd make animated conversation with whoever would stop to listen. No 'old and crotchety' for her. I pray I grow old with the same grace and humour that she did. She was totally convinced that I was my mother and Tatiana was me - an honest mistake, as Tatiana, back then, was identical to what I looked like as a child.
I look into that face and those hands with their perfectly manicured nails that no amount of digging in soil could defeat, and yes, every wrinkle tells a story. I can still look into those green eyes and soak up the humour and the wisdom. What an amazing woman!
