Insecticide Hairdressing

A young mother, with three small girls, came over to see me in the playground one morning.  She looked a little distressed.   Apparently the middle girl, who was very active and always into mischief, had gone out into the veranda and tipped insecticide powder over her hair.    The mother then spent a considerable amount of time before school washing the powder out of the girl’s hair.   Not an easy job, considering the powder was very poisonous.  

 I worried about the little girl all day, but she seemed okay at the end of the school day, when the mother came to collect the oldest girl.

I became very close to this family, during my time at the school, and visited their home often.   They were very hardworking immigrants, who started with a two roomed house, which they extended over time, and made into a very comfortable five roomed house.    They also did the same with their greenhouses.   And all this was done without growing the plant that brought many people instant riches, and often a spell in prison.   

I admired them greatly, as a family, except for the insecticide incident, as I knew the powder should have been locked away.

Action, or not

The fathers lining up along the front fence of the school were angry, very angry.   No shotguns in sight, but the word went around that they were there in order to have a confrontation with the supply teacher.    He was terrified, so we did the sensible thing, and hid him in the toilets until the parents left the school, which took some time, I might add.  The teacher’s crimes: he could not control the class of very difficult and badly behaved boys, who had spent the day, literally swinging from the light fittings.  

The teacher, a slightly built and quiet man, never came back to the school again, and no doubt still has nightmares about ‘out of control’ children and angry and aggressive fathers.  

I do hope he took some lessons in assertiveness training though.   He needed it!

Care and consideration, always appreciated

The car, an old and battered Ford Fairmont, broke down just outside the community centre.   Well it ran out of petrol, to be precise.   We seemed to be always broke, and keeping the tank full was never an option. 

I was just about to get the can out of the boot, in order to walk back to the service station, when I saw a car come down the drive of the farmhouse.   The farmer stopped and asked if he could help, as he had seen my car stop on the side of the road.   He then took me to the service station, and brought me back, whereupon we noticed that the front right tyre was flat.   The farmer changed the tyre, then filled the petrol tank, before sending me on my way home.   

This was a typical supportive and considerate action by a caring farmer in the local farming community.