*
The gate to the farm Mooiwater was built of big blocks of red brown rocks forming 2 rectangular wings. Beyond it a sand road wound its way down a slope to a river. Behind the river were flat topped mountains with valleys meandering between them, looking like a gigantic labyrinth. The only other signs of civilization were a telephone line suspended on wooden poles and some dead straight fences, cutting through the veld.
Leonard said: “Gee Mathilda, I hope you are not the shopping mall disco-addict kind of person. This is really in the sticks.”
“Don’t worry. You go and enjoy the exhaust fumes of Pretoria. I always wanted to stay on an African farm.”
On our way down the road, we saw blesbok and springbok grazing among the cattle, herons were stalking around a dam and guinea fowls ran across the track. We crossed a shallow river forded by a concrete bed. From a cluster of rondawels smoke rose into the sky. We came to a long avenue of old blue gums. It opened up to a homestead nestling on a mountain slope that rose gently up to a steep, rocky krans.
Several sheds and outhouses, built out of rock like the entrance, were grouped around a kikuyu grass meadow the size of a football field. On the far side the red roof of a house peeped out of a cluster of trees. In between the buildings horses were grazing and 2 windmills were turning in the breeze.
3 huge dogs shot out from behind a concrete water reservoir and jumped around the car barking their heads off.
“Good luck, Mathilda,” Leonard grinned. “These monsters will probably eat you up for breakfast first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Ha ha. If you don’t shut up they’ll bite your backside off when we get out of this car.”