Last words from Riana Scheepers
The more you’re not supposed to laugh, the more difficult it is to control yourself, says Riana Scheepers.
mMy travelling companion and I were driving through the Southern Cape platteland. My husband grew up there, he knows the area well. As we went along, he would read out the fascinating names of the farms, the turn-offs, the stations, the villages. Ouvloer, Botteliersfontein, Aasvoëlkop, Die Boord, Herbertsdale, Karringmelksfontein, Cooper’s Siding, Vadersgawe... He had a story to tell about each one of them: about the people, their lives, the fun and games, the trials and tribulations.
My husband’s stories were so enthralling that the journey passed by in a flash. Before long, we were approaching Riversdale’s Sleeping Beauty; that fair lass who has been slumbering so peacefully for centuries, her lashes resting on her cheeks.
Because my husband’s parents were sometimes away for long periods of time, as a child he had to spend quite a few months in the boarding school hostel. And, of course, that’s where many a misdemeanour was cooked up. He suddenly burst out laughing. What are you laughing about, I enquired. Why is it, he said, that so many of the most hilarious things happen in church?
It’s obvious: the things that make you want to laugh till you cry always happen in a place and at a time when it’s most frowned upon. Like in church. What made you laugh, I asked my husband. He told me the most beautiful stories. About Jock, a Scotsman, who was married to a South African woman. Poor Jock, with his pale skin, suffered terribly in the brutal African sun. As an emergency measure, his wife always kept lip balm on hand to soothe his chapped lips. One day, while prayers were being said in church, Jock nudged his wife and asked for the lip balm. She handed it to him. While everyone’s eyes were closed, Jock generously smeared his lips with the balm, including, for good measure, his chin and cheeks. As the minister said amen, his eyes fell on Jock and he burst out in uncontrollable laughter. Followed by the entire congregation as they realised that Jock had smeared not lip balm but his wife’s red lipstick on his lips and face. Chaos in a staunch platteland church. Saturday nights in the platteland were reserved for dancing and back then, people would dress up for the occasion. At one such dance party, one of the elders and his wife were really kicking up their heels. The aunty decided it was way too hot to be wearing stockings; they had to go. She peeled them off in the ladies’ room but not having her handbag nearby, she decided to stuff them in her husband’s pocket. The next morning, her husband was quietly sitting in the elders’ pews, wearing the same suit he’d had on the night before. Suddenly, his nose began to itch terribly. Instead of the crisp white handkerchief he always had with him, out came the pair of pantihose, fluttering in the air before him. And, naturally, everyone in church noticed. Disorder in a staunch platteland church. Only once the man had left the church, red-faced, could the service continue. During Pentecost, all the local high school students had to attend the evening service. Their designated place was up in the two galleries. It was great, says my husband, because the girls were in the opposite gallery. A certain husband and wife, prominent community members, were known for always being late. And this particular evening was no different. The only places available in the crowded church were in-between the schoolchildren in the gallery. The couple sat down right in front of my husband and his mischievous pals; the wife adorned in a fox-fur stole smartly draped over one shoulder. Needless to say, the schoolboys became very distracted, fascinated as they were by the fox right in front of them, its beady eyes watching them. Finally, one of the ringleaders could no longer contain himself and pressed two fingers into the fox’s eyes. The fox’s mouth promptly sprang open. In a panic, the boy jumped up, yelling words that definitely didn’t belong in a church. The woman also leapt up in fright, screaming even more obscenities. The entire gallery of schoolboys fell about, trying desperately not to laugh but failing miserably. Pandemonium in the church, and the end of the service. Today’s ministers have much more compassion for the human condition than the fire-and-brimstone preachers of the past. These days, you’re actually allowed to laugh in church. But will it still be so funny now that you’re allowed to?