In winter we were under the blankets well before eight and departed from the warm and glowing area near the kitchen stove to our freezing bedroom above, but not before we all lined up for our nightly dose of cod-liver oil. From September onwards for the next eight months, (all the months with a letter R), we went to bed well greased with a tablespoon of cod-liver oil, sweetened with some sugar.
Kettles were on the boil, to fill a parade of 'kruiken', chrome plated hot water bottles.
One by one, with the hot bottle dangling on our finger, we marched off upstairs, to place them between the blankets, keeping our feet quite warm for most of the night. Fingers were dipped in the holy-water font, a sign of the cross and then on our knees in front of the bed for an ‘Our Father and a Hail Mary’ sealed with a goodnight kiss. Ah! We went to bed in faith we woke up with it. Frans thought he wouldn’t survive a cold night without any tucker so he managed to conceal a well-stuffed French roll under his pillow. Some of us sucked our thumbs, but Frans used his two last fingers of his left hand and rolled from side to side until he dropped off to sleep.
Some nights were so cold that the early dark morn were greeted with a cry of, ‘Look at my blanket, it’s all wet with dew’. Father Frost artfully decorated the windows with icy ‘flowers’ during the night. To look out we blew warm breath at close quarters to get a peeping hole for a view of the outside world.
We gazed upon backyards full of sheds and vegie plots in winter sleep, the larger wooden building was used as a dancing hall on the weekends, run by Mr.Faber.
We usually freshened ourselves at the waterbasin in our bedroom, with a handwasher and cold water, we didn’t have a hot water system. Sometimes it was that cold that the water in the pipes was frozen and not a drop came from the tap. Even the holy water in the font was covered with a fleece of ice.
Down in the kitchen, the stove was roaring and plates of steaming oatmeal porridge were waiting to fill our empty bellies.