It was to the house at the end of Valley Road that Granny Darko came to live with us. She was in her late seventies. Her husband, August, the builder and generous supporter of the Bismarck Adventist Church, had passed away, leaving her lonely. She had a large family, all now with families of their own, except two male members who never married. Perhaps I should name them here. There was Bertha (Auntie Rabe), Augusta (Auntie Gusta, married to Charles Fehlberg), Fredrika (“Auntie Rika”, married to Frank Fehlberg), Wilhemina, my mother, Reinhold, Ernest, Walter and Otto. Otto was killed at a Queenstown mine. Walter, handsome and gifted with a fine, baritone voice, contracted arthritis which shortened his life. The last two did not marry.
Ernie, too, was a fine singer and was always our star performer as a tenor soloist. He also had an unusual talent as a whistler, having the rare gift of whistling in two part harmony, something I have never heard apart from him. When he performed in public, professionals declared that he had something in his mouth. We knew better, for he used to entertain us in the raspberry rows. In fact I used to watch him carefully, purse my lips like him and practise hard as a boy. I even managed to carry a line of a tune, but was never able to carry a tune right through. However by constant careful practice of this mouth formation by young flexible lips, I believe something of the same results could be achieved by others. His was a very pleasing whistle with a firm tone and fine range. Of course he was in great demand at concerts.
It was at our home that Granny Darko finally died. My father acted as undertaker, making the casket, as he did for a number of others of the district. The casket with its precious contents was carried to the little cemetery on the hill near the Methodist Church in a spring cart.
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