George O'Flynn Madden ~ as told by Granny

My Dad was born in Vrede in the Orange Free State, South Africa, on December 13, 1903, which would make him 108 years old.  He died in a car accident on October 12, 1963.

He was a tall man, with a military bearing, even though he had never served in the military.  He was very quietly spoken and in all my life I never heard him raise his voice, in fact, when he spoke quieter than usual we knew to beware, not that he ever raised a hand to us, we were not scared of him, but knew we need to mind our manners.

Dad worked on the railways and there he was known as the Whispering Colonel because of his quiet voice.  They too knew that when George Madden spoke even quieter than usual, to keep out of his way!

Dad wasn't a very demonstrative man but we knew he loved us.  He like nothing better than to have the whole family at home round the piano singing all the old songs, ending with favorite hymns.  Dad only went to church with us occasionally.  Being Irish, he was brought up Catholic, but I never knew him to attend that church.

Dad, being a farmer at heart, loved to grow things on his land, Blarney.  He grew winter wheat, mealies (corn), and  all kinds of vegetables.  We had chickens and at one time even a big black pig named Barnacle Bill.  We also had a Jersey cow called Venus.  There were fruit trees and over 200 rose bushes.  Dad loved to graft his own bushes.  He would stand on the veranda at Blarney of an evening and say to us, "Listen to the mealies growing," and we would listen as the mealies rustled in the breeze.

He was a water diviner of some repute, using a v shaped stick.  We, as kids, loved to try it out and were delighted when dad put his hands on ours and the stick began to pull downwards.

 

                                 The above is an example of what a diving stick can look like.

Dad retired from the Rhodesian Railways and went to work for Duly's Garage in the used car department.  Some of my happiest times were when Dad, on his way to work in the morning, would call in at our married quarters home and spend a little time with me.  He would sit and drink a cup of coffee, not saying much, but just being with me and the grandchildren, though, mostly, they were still asleep when he came by.  I often think how much his grandchildren and great grandchildren would have loved him.

Granny Tells Stories

My Mom, known to most as Granny, asked if I would write the stories of her youth.  Mom, Joan Margaret O'Flynn Madden Breakwell, also wrote stories about her grandchildren, her in-laws and also included some letters she wrote to friends.  There are even a few of the stories that my grandfather, George, wrote when he was young.  Hopefully this blog will be a record for our family, of our lives in Africa and the United States of America.


I have my own stories to tell too.  I have letters that my Mom and Dad wrote to me whilst they were still living in Zimbabwe and they contain accounts of some significant events in our lives.  The stories will be told in no particular order since I think it's better to have a record of them here than on random pieces of paper stuffed in a folder.


Several of us have a fondness for telling stories.  Maybe our verbal renditions are more exciting that the written word, but I shall try my best to relate them in a way that will be interesting and at the same time paint a picture for the reader.  Here goes nothing, people!