By Shari
Rood
Historical
– 297 pages
Cover
art by Trisha
FitzGerald
Blurb:
Through
The Cane Fields is the story of two young sisters living a life of privilege in
Apartheid era South Africa.
Delia Hallowell is content with her carefree,
luxurious life until she meets a boy named Thomas.
As the son of the cook, Thomas is
separated by the divide of class and race. As their friendship grows, so does
the realization that they cannot be together. Delia
must make a choice between her true feelings and her family’s expectations.
Exerpt:
When I was very little, my father packed us up and
moved us to South Africa,
of all places. I think it was quite a shock to my mother, one she never really
recovered from. Since my sister and I were small and malleable, it wasn’t long
before we came to know warmth and sunshine to be a regular thing and so we left
the gray skies of England
to brood and blow and rain down pellets of sleet and ice without us.
I confess I’ve wanted to write about my childhood for
some time but it seems that life often crept in and stole so many moments that
before I knew it, time had passed and I find myself in the twilight of my life.
It is the natural course of life to flow like a river which twists and winds so
that one often has no recollection of how we arrived where we are in the first
place. Nevertheless, I am determined to set down as much of it as possible, if
only for my own pleasure.
I was quite young when we moved to Gilford and so much
has happened in the interim that it wasn’t until the day I went to the
Botanical Gardens in Washington
that I really started to remember. I think it was the smell of jasmine. It
seemed to open some door, long closed, and the memories came in the type of
flood that thrashes the trees and soaks the plains and by and by, disappears.
My childhood was glorious and we were fortunate enough
to be wealthy. I do not think that the word had much meaning to me any more
than a fish that swims in water knows what it means to be surrounded by the
life giving substance.
We lived in an enormous house in the Midlands of South Africa. On a clear day you could see the
Drakensberg Mountains in the far distance. It was a
grand life and I spent many happy days lounging about, sometimes on the lawn
and sometimes by the pool in my fuchsia bathing suit and tortoiseshell
sunglasses listening to the various comings and goings. South Africa
was beautiful back then. I know how important it is for things to change. We
can’t always live in a bubble, but, as for my childhood at least, it was a
magical time. I didn’t understand how the world works I suppose, all those
black faces passing by the window on their way to the sugar cane fields, so hot
in the morning sun. I still dream about them.
Because we came from England when I was so young, my
sister remembers it all better than me. She always made it out to be a crying
shame that we came here. Personally, the thought of Africa
seemed exciting to me even then, but my sister wasn’t the sort of person who
got excited by adventures.
My mother seemed happy, though somewhat put out over
the loss of her social circle and group of friends. I suppose that in
hindsight, it would have been perhaps better if she’d stayed in England. I
suppose it’s not really my business to speculate. My parents had their reasons
and we children could do nothing but come along.
When I was twelve years old, my father became the head
of one of the largest Sugar Mills in South Africa. We left our stately
home in the Midlands and we moved to a remote
place down the south coast only a mile from the sea. My parents, being the busy
and important people they were, didn’t tell us much in regards to Sezela but I
conjured enough images in my own head to make me feel like a young Robinson
Crusoe. I was excited at the prospect of meeting new friends and even more
excited at the thought of wandering alone in the wilderness with only my wits
to protect me from some jungle cat that might stalk me.
These pleasant images filled my eyes and ears, and
though my sister babbled in the background, I barely took notice. The dreaded
older sister didn’t want to go. She was prone to hysterics over much smaller
matters and when she found out about our upcoming move she nearly brought the
house down with her sobs and tantrums.
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