Observations placeholder

B J Laubscher – Where Mystery dwells

In an interesting letter Mrs May Davies from Pinelands in the Cape told of the following experience:-

“Sunday January the 8th 1961 was the usual kind of Sunday in my household; a casual breakfast, a quick glance at the paper and then gathering together the ingredients that go towards making a picnic a success."

Mrs. Davies suffered from migraine. "Quite suddenly while packing the basket I developed a blinding headache, and an ache in all my limbs that was unbearable. I reached out for my husband's arm for I was blinded with pain. "I can't go out today. I must lie down, please let me stay in the dark and please put some ice on my head."

My husband did all these things and I lay not on the bed but on the settee in the lounge, where I could feel the wind on my face and get the sea smell. This was strange because with such a head-ache I usually only wanted the quiet and the dark. I lay, sometimes saying "Please God take this pain away," or just lay waiting for the waves of nausea to go, resentful and disappointed because my Sunday had been spoiled.

Then suddenly my mother came and stood by the settee. She looked many years younger than when I had last visited her in England five years before. "I have come to have a look at your view before I die, and to see you then I can die happy," she said.

I got up from the settee, took her hand and said ;- “Don’t be silly Mom, you are not going to die." She folded her hands in her apron, a trick she had of doing when talking. It was an apron made of hessian and I remembered how she used to wear it over her skirt when she scrubbed the kitchen floor when I was a little girl.

"Come on our May," she said, "show me the view from the verandah that you are always writing 'ome about." We went on to the stoep together and looked at the sea sparkling silvery white with waves. We looked at the view across from Mouille Point towards Blaauwberg Strand and the mountains beyond. My Mom sighed. "Don't it smell nice," she said. Then turning to me she smiled. "I am so glad I've seen it, now I can die ‘appy."

We both stepped back from the stoep into the lounge. My Mom walked a few steps with me, smiled and was gone. I was not lying on the settee any more, but standing in the room when I came to.

I did not feel afraid; she had been so real and not ghost-like. I went through the flat into the kitchen where my husband was making a cup of tea. "Did you hear me talking?" I asked. "Not a word." I tried again. "My Mom has been to see me. I think she is ill. I think she is going to die."

My husband did not laugh. "It could be my girl," he said.

"And if your Mom is passing on, you are the first one she will try to tell." Well we drank tea, I cried a great deal because England and my Mom were so far away. Then I wandered through the lounge hoping to see her again, but there was no one there. I must have dreamed it, I thought. On the Tuesday evening January 10th, the cablegram arrived dated January 10th, 8 a.m. "Mom passed away early today-cremation date later. From Dad."