It's that time of year : the festivities of the last month have been put back in their bubble wrap and stored as memories, the gym is full of people who are fulfilling their new year resolutions and the grass has died from lack of rain and extreme heat. It was lovely seeing far-flung relatives, but they have all now flown back to real life and we need to buckle down to getting the year going. So, Happy 2026....
....we hope. I find I am needing to take a break from the relentless stream of warmongering and senseless deaths reported daily in the media. Because pockets of safety seem to be disappearing faster than the ice cap. It's a conundrum for me - just because I decide not to read all the bad news does not make it go away. It just makes me ignorant, or uninformed, but sometimes we all need a breather.
One form of escapism for me is going to the movies. A couple of weeks ago, while our lovely daughter was hosting film club with her friends here, Andrew and I snuck off to Town having booked to see The Housemaid (described as a thriller mystery, so a little off centre from our usual pick.) It was a beautiful Cape Town evening, and as we were early for the show, we decided to take a walk to the Company Gardens to check out a project we had seen the genesis of last time we were there.
The project has been completed. It is a bold, imposing memorial to the 1700 South Africans who had fought in the first world war, but because of this country's abysmal past and racial segregation, had neither been commemorated or acknowledged by name. There are rows and rows of teak wood posts, each engraved the the name and date of death of the soldier it represents.
Like all war memorials, it takes a moment to translate the installation in front of us to the fact that each name is a person lost to their family and friends and the good of society. So many futures lost. Most of the posts are person height, and we wandered between the rows, getting more and more gloomy about the state of the world. The installation is a very effective statement. We turned back to head off to the cinema to be distracted.
The movie house was packed with the holiday crowd of youngsters and peppered with a few of us oldies. It was indeed very entertaining for two reasons: the story itself had its moments (I had to close my eyes for some of the gory bits) but far more exciting was the audience participation. The Oooohs, No don't touch her and Run, get out that were shouted at the screen and the audible gasps at the scary bits felt like a second show in itself. I enjoyed it very much. I don't think I have been to such interactive theatre since I took the children to see Barney on stage. (Who thought a giant purple lumbering dinosaur was a good idea for toddlers??) It also made me realize that the youth of today is more vocal and reactive than we were as young adults, and that's a good thing.
Maybe, just maybe, this next generation will be able to speak out about the real life horror show going on at the moment. Hopefully their voices will be heard when they scream NO DON'T TOUCH HER, RUN, GET OUT to leaders and politicians and celebrities who are creating the thriller mystery we all live in.
If not, I very much fear there will have to be more war memorials in the future, more wooden posts representing wasted potential. Please no.
