Weekend Post tells of a past era, like ‘stoep stories’

My favourite leisure read, Weekend Post, closed its doors a couple of days ago, and with it, a light went out.

Momentarily, yes, because new memories are set to be made with a supplement to replace the broadsheet; but still, I felt sad.

While I worked in The Herald newsroom and had nothing to do with the nuts and bolts of Weekend Post’s offering, its team was delightful, small and sharply brilliant.

Newspapers worldwide are grappling with circulation dips, and the reasons trotted out haven’t changed over the years: decreased advertising sales, a digital takeover, more online news options, and the like.

But the closure of a weekend paper reminded me of a short essay read towards the end of last year.

A contemplative academic drew on studies and architectural history to support his argument that true, proper leisure time is about more than rest — it is critical for a wellfunctioning society.

I’m not sure how true this is, but it’s said that the front veranda — or “stoep”, as we call it in SA — became a less common feature in modern houses as time went on.

With its disappearance, the writer argues, one of our most fundamental human functions

— collective connection — all but disappeared, too.

While we do interact online, at work, at school, and during social functions, the natural, organic process of sitting on a front stoep, watching the world go by, and having a chat and a cup of tea, doesn’t happen as often as it used to.

Now, we go to the gym, catch up on work, or sleep in after late nights out, having attended stuff that cost money and time and was often much ado about nothing.

When I was little, I’d sit on my gran’s stoep with her, sometimes, and watch the street live out its richly varied life.

Quite often, we’d spot a problem that needed solving or a neighbour who needed help.

My grandmother worked and ran a tight and clean household, so she wasn ’ t one for sitting idly, doing nothing much.

But when she was doing nothing much, it was because doing nothing is quite something.

My mother, too, would divide her day into a frenetic schedule of work, shopping, cooking, and general activity, punctuated by an hour of complete peace at lunch, with her newspaper, a cup of tea, and a sandwich.

This apparently innocuous 60 minutes was critical for her mental and physical health, as she told me years later, and reset her inner clock and sense of resilience for the rest of the week to come.

Weekend Post, like stoeps, and tea and a sandwich, was a welcome pit stop after a manic week.

Lest we forget: a world without stoep stories is a world without life.

I’m grateful to this grand old lady of a newspaper for reminding me of that.