Tuesday 7th November 2023
Uncle Len.
Today he was laid to rest, in the autumn sunshine, surrounded by his family. He'd reached the age of 85 years of age, 85 years of hard luck, opportunity, knock backs, adventures and reinvention. His eldest child of 5 and only son, Karl, gave the most eloquent eulogy and I nodded and cried and laughed my way through it.
My first encounter with him was almost 50 years ago as he was one of my best friend's, Dad. He was younger than my own dad although now I realise not by many years but at the time, both he and Aunty Ann seemed so much younger and cooler than my folks. He was different from the 'usual' British expats though, as he was born in Poland. Being 10 years old, I paid very little attention to his stories of war, and communism and Solidarinosk and his hardships. Today though, I paid attention to how his life was altered by the Russian soldiers at his door when he was a baby and by all intents, he shouldn't really have survived his youth, but he did and he'd taken his young family to the most Southern part of Africa, where I met dear Anna, his third child and my bestie.
As a 10 year old, I didn't really believe his stories of how he was planning on moving his family to a small island with a donkey, or travelling back to England through Africa on a double decker bus, but he did talk very differently to my own Dad. Plus he let us watch Dallas, haha. His work ethic was incredible and believed that everyone should chip in at the current project on hand, from washing the cars, laying of the fertilizer on the lawn or making bricks by hand for his swimming pool wall. I remember after two days of real hard holiday work, that I would go sleep at my own house for a rest, haha. But we did get to spend long sunny hours in the swimming pool and playing darts in the bar and generally having the best of childhood lives.
Spending Friday nights around the kitchen table, chatting deep philosophy (unknown to me then), with Aunty Ann and her brood is another sepia gemstone. Her food was amazing albeit different Polish dishes on occasion. Us kids would do the washing up and interestingly, Teresa would always suddenly need the toilet - mid drying, haha.
I'd learn three words of Polish over those years. I'm going to write them phonetically, though.
Bolly guava - for my understanding, is what usually happened on a Saturday morning after many brandies and coke the night before. Us kids would get hushed into silence while the adults rubbed their temples and reached for the coffee.
Gin Dobre was said on other mornings when there was work to be done and no empty bottles needing removed.
And lastly
Ginkweye... which is what I'd like to say to Uncle Len for surviving Russian camps, refugee life in both Iran and India and for picking potatoes in England. For meeting and impressing Aunty Ann and bringing my friends to South Africa so we could meet.
Ginkweye for being, because of you, we all are .... and for the whole Kondal (Kondol?) Family that brought me into their fold... Ginkweye (Thank you)
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