The second was more serious, but an accident. I had managed to get my grubby little hands on a box of matches, and was fascinated by the process of lighting them, so was Karen for that matter. Not wanting to be discovered playing with something we had been expressly forbidden from touching, let alone playing with, we hid in my bedroom closet, closed the doors and proceeded to play with fire in an empty jam tin.
Unfortunately one of the items hanging in my wardrobe was my mother’s wedding dress. One of the matches touched the veil, and the next thing that I knew, we were sitting in a wardrobe filled with smoke. I bailed out and thought Karen was right behind me and closed the doors and went running to fetch an adult to extinguish the fire. I had locked Karen in the wardrobe, fortunately when my mother opened the doors she saw Karen passed out and dragged her out before the wardrobe exploded into flames. The neighbours rushed to help and the fire brigade was called.
They saved the house, my bedroom was not as fortunate. Father only arrived home long after the situation was under control and we children spent the night with the Vorster’s. So I only faced my father’s wrath the next day. Two Teeth managed to rebuild my bedroom within a month. I think because my parents were happy that we did not die in the fire I was never punished, but was lectured ad nauseam about the danger of matches. I never played with them again.
Lots of Hugs and more,
Peggy-Sven
A White African's Tale 