This time of year

The 21^st January 2016 is not a date I will ever forget. That was the day that my wife Magucha died - six years ago this 21^st January 2022. But that is life isn’t it? We will all die one day!

 

Looking back to the time that we lived together many memories are fading – as is natural of course. The sound of her voice, and her infectious laugh are lost to me now but I can still see her eyes – always windows to the soul. I will admit that I do miss her, grievously miss her. I miss the feeling of her little hand in mine – what she called her “pata” (Portuguese for paw). She was not a “touchy feely” sort of person – she would squirm in my arms if I hugged her, saying in her wonderfully mangled English (Magucha speak!) that I was “strafogating” her. 

 

Magucha was not someone easy to categorize. It was not possible to say she was this or that kind of person. She was in many ways an extrovert – had a very large circle of friends and got on well with people in all walks of life. At the same time she was a very private person with an astonishing depth to her character. She was highly intelligent, very perceptive and seemingly attuned to the inner needs of people she knew. And she was also a wonderful mother with an amazing understanding of a child’s needs – and was certainly deeply loved by both children and her 4 grandchildren.

 

Furthermore she was definitely not the sort of person one could “tie down”. There was a strong rebellious streak in her make-up that I learned about very early in our marriage. To accommodate this I quickly learned to adopt the old maxim, “If you love something, let it fly free. If it returns it’s yours. If it doesn’t it never was.” 

 

Maugucha always returned. Not that she was ever “mine” in the ownership sense of the word but I truly believe she found peace, even solace, in our relationship. That is not to say that peace always reigned! Living with someone who had a strong Latin (Portuguese) temperament and a strong will of her own was not always conducive to “peace” in the accepted sense. Many were the tempestuous scenes that arose seemingly out of nowhere – though I soon worked out that they were, in many respects, a reaction to the rather fractured relationship she had with her mother. I was often the unwitting “victim” of pent up frustration.

 

I loved her you see and knew that there are two sides to everything. One has to know one to appreciate the other. How can on one know harmony with out first experiencing disharmony; happiness without experiencing unhappiness; love without first experiencing lack of love? 

 

You notice that I haven’t yet said that Magucha loved me! She never told me that she did – not in so many words. But she was very attentive to my needs and was very generous in what she gave me – and others have told me that she knew I was her “rock”; that I would always be there for her. That was just her way of expressing love. 

 

We were together for just short of 36 years.

 

As always I resort to poetry to best express my emotions – there is always a poem I can find. This is one I have used before – by John Masefield.

This is a photo taken on our 3^rd anniversary – and our first in Australia – 31^st August 1982 – that is, to me, a perfect visual expression of the poem below.

 

Beauty 

I have seen the dawn and sunset on moors
and windy hills,
Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of
Spain;
I have seen the lady April bringing the daffodils,
Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm
April rain.

 

I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old
chant of the sea,
And seen strange lands from under the arched
white sails of ships;
But the loveliest things of beauty God ever 
showed to me,
Are her voice, and her hair, and eyes, and the 
dear red curve of her lips.

John Masefield.

 

 

There is another date that I don’t forget – 1^st June 1977 – the date my first wife Frances died. We were married for just under 7 years.

And Now?

Anniversaries keep coming round don’t they? Yep – 42 years ago today I married Maria Augusta Bandeira de Lima – better known to all by her nickname – Magucha. Now being married to someone from a different culture and language base has its challenges. And then throw into the mix the different personalities – me, tall (1.96 metres and 97kgs) and relatively phlegmatic, and she, tiny (1.52 metres and 50kgs), very pretty with a quick fire, Portuguese (Latin) temperament and sparks would often light up the environment!

 

She loved flowers, pretty things, small things, bright colours and mirrors – there are mirrors all over the house that I have left in position, not having the heart to move them. But then she also had a kind heart, was very loving with an innate sense of justice. She also was indomitable and absolutely fearless - I never saw her afraid of anything.

 

Another strange thing, which I call to mind, is that I never saw her cry. I’m sure she did – in fact when her father died, twenty years ago, I’m certain of it, but not in my presence. In that respect she was very private.

 

Being my wife, she could criticize me and point out my many faults but if anyone else tried that within her range of hearing she would fire up, almost vibrate with anger, and defend me with all her considerable powers.  I loved her for that. 

 

You see – I truly know that, if the situation had ever arisen, I would have defended her to my last breath. I have absolutely no doubts that she would have done the same for me.

 

Finally, however, with all her health problems and the pain she suffered, the “uninvited visitor” called and she went with him to that “Undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns”.

 

She was only 62 years old when she died five and a half years ago on 21 January 2016. We were together for just over 36 years - and I miss her more than I can tell.

 

As always when my emotions run high I turn to poetry to best express how I feel. I offer the following which I have used before but it still resonates with me:-

  

  My Wife

Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,
With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,
Steel-true and blade-straight,
The Great Artificer
Made my mate.

Honour, anger, valour, fire;
A love that life could never tire,
Death quench or evil stir,
The Mighty Master
Gave to her.

Teacher, tender, comrade, wife,
A fellow-farer true through life,
Heart-whole and soul-free
The August Father
Gave to me. 

             Robert Louis Stevenson

Australia and the Portuguese discoveries

A few reflections on history never go amiss. For instance who “discovered” Australia? Of a certainty the “First People” arrived here over 65 000 years ago. I mean who were the first Europeans to see and or visit Australia? A Brit - Capt Cook? The French? The Dutch? The Portuguese?

In my humble opinion that honour must fall to the Portuguese. Just look at their time line in the Indian Ocean area:-

·      Vasco De Gama rounded the Cape of Good Hope in 1488.

·      Just off the coast of Western Australia near the city of Geraldton are the low lying Abrolhos Islands. It has been asserted by some that Abrolhos is an English corruption of the Portuguese phrase Abre-olhos!  - which roughly translates as “Open your eyes!” or “Look out!”

·      The enclave of Goa, on the West coast of India, was established in 1498. 

·      The small Island of Timor (just 285 miles – 460km, North of Australia) was colonized in 1516.

·      It is generally believed that Cristovao Mendonca sailed down the East coast of Australia in about 1521.

·      Mendonca had three ships in his little fleet but only one returned. One ship was lost in a storm – last seen heading East across the Tasman Sea towards what is now New Zealand and one ship was wrecked. This wrecked ship is possibly the origin of the “legend of the Mahogany Ship” alleged to be in the sand dunes near Warnambool, on the coast of State of Victoria. 

With all this, admittedly circumstantial evidence, to my way of thinking, it would be impossible for the Portuguese navigators to have “missed” Australia. That just doesn’t make sense to me!!

All this is complicated, however, by the secrecy surrounding these Portuguese voyages. Most of Australia - “Java le Grande” – on the early maps was in the Spanish sphere of influence. In 1494 the Pope Alexander VI – after some dispute with the Portuguese King Joao II – decreed the Treaty of Tordesillas in 1494. This Treaty split the world into two – the Portuguese sphere stretching from part of the East coast of South America (now Brazil) to a line which is almost the State line between Western Australia and the other States. 

This is why Brazilians speak Portuguese but Argentina, Peru, and Chile and other countries in South America are Spanish speaking and why Timorese speak Portuguese whereas people in the Philippines speak Spanish. 

Another complication was that because of the rivalry with Spain and the secrecy involved, all Portuguese Captains involved in these explorations, had on the pain of death, at the completion of each voyage, to hand over to the Maritime Archivist in the Casa da India, all log books, maps, charts and journals. This was to comply with the Politica do Sigilo (The Policy of Secrecy).

Nothing can now be categorically proved as these carefully stored historical documents were totally destroyed in the great earthquake and resulting fire in 1755, which demolished much of Lisbon.

An earlier rendition - Magucha's bio - in her own words

From, “Travellers and Migrants”, by Andrea Witcomb. A publication produced by Community Access Gallery, Fremantle History Museum.

Magucha’s “Biography” based on an oral history interview, as recorded by Andrea Witcomb on 24^th September 1997.

{I have made minor corrections with spelling}. 

Maria Augusta Bandeira de Lima Campbell-Watt (Magucha) was born in Lourenco Marques (now called Maputo), the capital of Mozambique on 9^th May 1953. Her parents were both Portuguese. Her family had always travelled between the Portuguese colonies as her father’s family had been in the army and therefore they were frequently transferred from one place to another.

Her parents met when Magucha’s mother came to visit her sister in Nampula, in Mozambique. She was 25 years old. Magucha’s father was doing his military service in the same town of Nampula. They decided to live in Lourenco Marques where her mother developed her career as a radio announcer as well as an actress – both on radio and on the stage.

When Magucha was seven years old they went to Portugal for six months for a holiday. This was quite usual for colonial families. They met their grandparents for the first time. Her own father had not seen his family for twenty-two years and her mother had not been back to Lisbon for ten years.

Magucha recalls that, “When we got to Portugal, my mother decided she did not want to return to Mozambique. My father arranged a new job with an Angolan iron ore 

company which belonged to some cousins and then we transferred to Angola. 

The problem had been that my mother had ten years of fame while my father put his profession to one side to give my mother a chance to do well. My father worked at Sonape, a petroleum company. His work was really from nine to five so he could look after us and what was happening at home. We had maids, everyone had maids in Africa. But there was a need for someone to take responsibility because my mother worked all hours, it could be late at night or really early in the morning. So it was thought that it was my father’s turn to develop his career and for my mother to take a step back in hers. When we got to Angola she arranged some work as a radio announcer but only part-time. She didn’t work so many hours again.”

Magucha did her primary school in Mozambique, Portugal and Angola. Her high school was all in Angola. She decided she did not want to go to university so she went to Escola Industrial e Commercial (Industrial and Commercial School) where she took a secretarial course. She specifically chose not to do educacao feminine (feminine education). She wanted to go to work as soon as possible.

“When I finished I wanted to go to work but because I was very young my father did not let me. He sacked the maids and made me stay at home where I cleaned. I stayed for six months, for I did not like it. I said no, I am going back to school. So I did an exam and gained admission to the Industrial and Commercial Institute. I only did a year for I was offered a good job as ground hostess in what, at that time, was called the DTA. My father let me work this time as he knew the people involved and knew where I would be. Later in the same place I was offered a job as air-hostess which I accepted. It was really to teach Angolan people how to be hostesses. The airline had become an Angolan one. This was in 1971, 1972.”

After the revolution (1974), everyone was optimistic. But of course, problems soon began appearing: According to Magucha, “the principal problem in Angola was the fact that there were three different parties. No one knew who said what. If you wanted to remain together it was better not to belong to any group. It began to get a bit violent. We had to leave. I knew that there was a pilot who was going to escape with a plane. Our routes were Mocamedes, Windhoek, Sa da Bandeira, Luanda. So, his intention was to go to Mocamedes, Windhoek and not return. We arranged to fill the plane with family members. I escaped on that plane with my mother and youngest brother.”

When the plane reached Portugal they were put in a kind of prison for having hijacked the plane until the plane was returned to Angola and everything was all right. Magucha herself became sick and they used to let her out to get nursed. She stayed in Portugal for a while. In the meantime, her father and eldest brother made their way in a car convoy to South Africa. They eventually ended up in Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) where the Rhodesian government paid for their family to join them.

Rhodesia became Zimbabwe. At first it seemed to be a controlled changeover but the situation became threatening. Magucha herself was beaten on the street for being on the wrong side of the road when some guerrillas came through. This prompted her and her husband Andrew (a Scot* born in Durban, who grew up in Rhodesia) to leave Rhodesia. Magucha’s family had already left for Portugal as they did not want to go through a civil war again.

Andrew visited Sydney, Melbourne and Perth. He thought Perth was the most similar to Salisbury, the capital of Rhodesia. They decided to come. In the meantime they had put their names forward to return to Portugal, go to Brazil, to America and to Australia. They resolved that whatever came first they would accept. They began to study the atlas and read books about Australia. As it happened they were offered a place in Australia.

Magucha liked Perth immediately. She was particularly taken by all the water here: “I liked it a lot the moment I arrived in Perth. For I like water and Perth had water all around it. There were beaches. For me it was my liberation. It was here that I learned to drive a car. I became more independent with my own friends. It was completely different. Of course I already knew how to speak English because of my husband. I can’t say it was all easy. As soon as we arrived my daughter burned herself badly. I wasn’t used to kitchens in the middle of the living room. In Africa they are a separate room and one can shut the door. Babies don’t go into them. Here, Carolina managed to touch a cup of hot coffee which went all over her. She was only one year old. She had to stay in hospital … it was fairly serious.”

The Australian government provided the family with accommodation at Noalimba …They had two rooms and the bathrooms were outside. It was a migrant hostel for English speakers only. They were sent there because her husband was Scottish. The Portuguese always went to Graylands. However, she was frequently called to translate for Portuguese families. She is still friends with the first family she helped in this way.

They were allowed to stay at Noalimba for a few months, longer than usual because of Carolina’s condition. They received unemployment benefits until Andrew got a job. This was welcomed because they could now pay for their meals at Noalimba giving Magucha the time to be with Carolina in the hospital. Their other child Robin, went to school very near Noalimba. The other families helped look after Robin until Magucha came back from the hospital.

Although the family only had ninety dollars when they arrived, Andrew found work fairly soon. Their first home was a unit in Booragoon which they rented for seventy dollars a week. Magucha wanted a clean place because of Carolina’s injuries. Noalimba lent them all the furniture they needed until their furniture eventually arrived from Africa.

After learning to drive, Magucha found a period of employment at Mount Lawley College. Jocelyn Vieira, a teacher of Portuguese, employed Magucha both for her administrative skills and as an assistant teacher. Unfortunately that language program was closed and Magucha took work at the “Trots” in town, in a restaurant washing dishes. Later she was employed at Fremantle Hospital were she helped to cook food and serve it to the patients. This was good job – she worked part time, five hours a day and earned six hundred dollars a fortnight. She had holidays and the conditions were good. She stayed for ten years.

“My professional life was never the same. Life changed completely. But I have helped many people and done other things. I’ve helped to teach Portuguese, I’ve helped at the Fremantle Women’s Health Centre. Now I am a volunteer – part of the work I do is paid and the other part is not. I’ve helped many Portuguese people with the doctors and so on.”

In 1990 Magucha returned to Portugal for holidays. While there she realized how Australian she had become. While she liked Portugal she realized she did not live in the same manner. She did not have the same “saudades” (longing for Portugal) that her parents have. As she says, “Of course I like eating Portuguese food, I like being around Portuguese people, eat chourico and those things. But if I don’t have them I am not going to die. That is, I am well adapted. I don’t feel the same anguish as my parent’s do … They are going to return to Portugal, because they really feel the anguish of not being amongst Portuguese people, of not speaking Portuguese, of not having the history close by, of living the life of Lisbon which they like and want … My life s here. My children are Australian.”

                                                -------//////------

*NB: I am not a Scot! Never been there. My grandfather was a medical doctor, born in Glasgow. 

In her own words.

I have a book, “Australian Volunteers at work – 101 stories” sponsored by Volunteering Australia, published in 2000. Magucha’s story as a volunteer is one of those recorded.

This what she said and which I have transposed:- 

“It feels like home”.

I’m Portuguese, born in Mocambique. I also lived in Angola for many years, but because of all the troubles and the war, we left and ended up in Rhodesia, which today is called Zimbabwe, where I met my husband. From Zimbabwe we came to Australia as refugees in 1982, when my son was eight years old and my daughter one year old. 

I worked in the Fremantle Hospital for ten years as a pantry maid. In those days it was for the children’s future which counted rather that a career for myself. During this time I developed a kidney deficiency. My kidneys actually stopped working, and in 1993 I received a transplant. I had to give up work a year later as the work was too heavy.

But when I went home I thought ‘I don’t like this’. The children were at school, everyone had a life, and I didn’t. I found out that the Fremantle Women’s Community Health Centre needed help, so I began volunteering. I did a lot of translations including pamphlets for Portuguese ladies about breast examination and pap smears. It was all about preventative medicine. I was then asked to join the committee of the Centre and I became the secretary for four years. I help where needed – for instance fundraising and general administrative help. I love being here – it feels like home.

Because of my interest in preventative work we invited Portuguese women to come to the Centre, feel comfortable, and become part of the group. There are a large number of Portuguese women in Fremantle. The group meets every Wednesday and we have a ball! The women who come to the group hardly used to go out before. They lived a restricted life, dedicated very much to children and grandchildren. I tell them nothing is wrong with having a bit of fun. Sometimes we go out for a cup of coffee or lunch. They do things like embroidery, knitting, sewing – whatever can be sold at the annual fete, and the money raised goes to the crèche. We started meeting only one day a month, and now we meet every week.

The women give each other support and tell each other little secrets, how to do this and when to do certain things. Some of the women have health problems. Many worked very hard before they came to Australia, and are now suffering the consequences. Apart from the fun side, there is still serious stuff going on – talk of going to doctors, about prevention of disease, pap smears, breast examination and diet.

It is six years since I had my kidney transplant, but now I’m back to square one because I’m rejecting the transplant. So I’m on a waiting list for another kidney. I could be three years. Apart from that, I feel fine!

                                                            ---///---

NB. Magucha was, with love and great generosity, given a kidney by her younger brother, Joao-Miguel, who came out to Perth for the transplant operation. That, as far as I can now remember, was in 2003. Anyway it lasted right through until she died in January 2016. 

Always

A bold statement I know. But I will always remember Christmas Day 2015. Magucha was in hospital and, obviously, very, very ill. As you can see from the photo taken on that day, the valiant smile, the hollow eyes, and the “look” needed no words. They said it all.

I don’t think I am being melodramatic when I say that I think she knew the end was not far away. That the “uninvited visitor” would soon arrive to accompany her on her final journey to that “undiscovered country”. She always showed great courage and was never afraid of anything, least of all death.

Even though all this happened four years ago being with her in hospital every day until she died is something I will never forget and is a time I will always treasure. It was a very special time for me. 

Again I don’t think I will be revealing anything that others would not have done in similar circumstances when I say that I used to get to the Hospital at about 10.00 every morning and, when she was in the “high care” ward (she was in a single bed room), not in Intensive Care, one of the first things she wanted me to do was to help her shower – even though the nurses were there to do just that. That was my job, you see! She was very weak and needed assistance to get out of bed and into the shower where she would sit in the plastic chair provided while I helped her wash (later, because she became so weak, it was only a “bed wash”). And I always brought in a clean nightie for her to change into. Sometimes she also wanted me to feed her, which I found very touching. 

I loved her you see. What else could I do? 

Then sometimes, if she was in the mood, I would read to her – one of her favourite stories was “My family and other animals”, by Gerald Durrell. But that never lasted very long – she used to get very tired and fall into a quiet sleep. 

As some would know I am always moved by poetry – by the poet’s choice of words, their cadence and rhyming. In my mind I’ve always associated this poem with Magucha because of the difficulty I had in convincing her to leave Portugal and marry me. Our cultures were quite different and I spoke no Portuguese (apart from some swear words she taught me!) and while she was more or less fluent in English her use of words was unique (some she made up to “fit” what she wanted to say) and her odd pronunciation (which I’m sure was at times quite deliberate) was very much what became widely known as “Magucha speak”! Once married we both had a deal of adjusting to do but after a while things evened out and in the end I think we learned to work well together.

This is for her.

The Strange Music 

“Other loves may sink and settle, other loves may

loose and slack,

But I wander like a minstrel with a harp upon

 his back,

Though the harp be on my bosom, though I finger

and I fret,

Still, my hope is all before me: for I cannot play it

yet.

In your strings is hid a music that no hand hath e’er

let fall,

In your soul is sealed a pleasure that you have not

known at all;

Pleasure subtle as your spirit, strange and slender as 

your frame,

Fiercer than the pain that folds you, softer than 

your sorrow’s name.

Not as mine, my soul’s anointed, not as mine the

rude and the light

Easy mirth of many faces, swaggering pride of song

and fight; 

Something stranger, something sweeter, something

waiting you afar,

Secret as your stricken senses, magic as your sorrows

are.

But on this, God’s harp supernal, stretched but to

be stricken once,

Hoary time is a beginner, Life a bungler, Death a 

dunce. 

But I will not fear to match them – no, by God, I

will not fear,

I will learn you, I will play you and the stars stand

still to hear.”

                                                                        G. K. Chesterton

That last verse has special meaning for me:-

“But on this, God’s harp supernal, stretched but to

be stricken once,

Hoary time is a beginner, Life a bungler, Death a 

dunce. 

But I will not fear to match them – no, by God, I

will not fear,

I will learn you, I will play you and the stars stand

still to hear.”

I just hope the stars heard.

Magucha

Now, as the first “anniversary” (January 21, 2017) – if that is the correct word to use – of the death of my wife Maria or Magucha (by which name she was widely known) approaches I am conflicted with many, very mixed, emotions.

As her many friends would know, on an initial introduction her small stature could often divert attention from her astonishing ‘lion heart’. It was impossible to intimidate her. Once you got to know her however, size did not come into it – her intelligence and personality shone through like a beacon. Because she had survived serious illness and several near death experiences she lived for each day and, seemingly unconsciously, had taken to heart the Biblical instruction, “Take therefore no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself” (Matthew 6:34 in the English King James Bible).

She was utterly fearless and, when it was brought to her attention, would fight unfairness or injustice with a ferocious intensity and singleness of purpose. Her most enduring and endearing qualities, however, were her kindness, her generosity of spirit and compassion. Magucha subscribed to the belief that we are wayfarers all, on the journey through life, and she was always prepared to give a helping hand to those who stumbled while on that journey. She seemed to shed a loving and kindly light and many were attracted to that “light” which gave warmth and comfort to those in need and good counsel to those in distress. Her ability to see “through” a problem and the depth of her common sense and worldly wisdom was astounding.

In a similar vein children were attracted to her apparent Alice in Wonderland ability to shrink in size to meet her young charges at their level – both physically and mentally. Her imagination had an almost childlike, innocent quality of freshness and innovation, which children found irresistible.  It was joyous to behold her love of all children but especially for her grand-children (three girls and a boy) – a love that was gladly reciprocated.

Mind you she was no saint! All this apparent “goodness” was leavened by a generous measure of human contrariness. Magucha had a streak of mule like stubbornness (once she made up her mind on anything it was very difficult for her to accept the need for change); she had a quick fire Portuguese (“Latin”) temperament and was not easily crossed; she was opinionated to a degree, with an insatiable attraction to conspiracy theories; she had an abiding and somewhat macabre interest in serious crime. But she also had a wonderfully infectious laugh and a quirky, mischievous and engaging sense of humour!

Furthermore (and I know!) she seemed to have a pathological inability to save money. If she had any she would spend it – generally on the welfare of others.

It could be said that she was “just” a woman who had a finely tuned sense of justice. But she was also someone who had overcome her own frailties and with astonishing determination, selflessness and will-power, managed to push herself to the limits of her strength and abilities to help those fellow humans in need and less fortunate than her. In this she was exceptional and should be remembered as a “worthy” human being in every sense of the word.

I believe she was an inspiration to all who knew her.

She was also my wife and best friend for, shall I say, an interesting but never boring, 36 years!

I loved her dearly and miss her intelligence, the sound of her voice, her humour, her smile and laughter, her love and emotional warmth in more ways that I can tell.

She loved life. She was 62. She was my Magucha.

Tanita - the classic cat.

Our family has had some amazing cats over the years, but I think Tanita takes pride of place. The name Tanita is an abbreviation of the Portuguese words taõ bonita – meaning ‘so pretty’. And she was a very pretty short haired tabby. However, as will be revealed she was, shall we say, rather eccentric. Whether she was slightly deranged I am not sure but she had two aversions – dogs and visitors at night. In this regard she was a wonderful ‘watch cat’.

As soon as darkness descended her defence mechanism would click in. If she heard someone approaching the house she would emit a ferocious growl, almost a snarl, an astonishingly loud noise from such a relatively small animal. She would approach the window or the door, from which she had first heard the sound, with hackles raised and measured step. In 99% of cases it was someone we knew. Even so she would approach the person very cautiously before returning to her resting place.

Dogs, on the other hand, she considered fair game, and it didn’t matter the size of the dog.

We had, at this time, a house with a driveway that dipped quite steeply down from the initial road access. Tanita’s favourite place was to position herself just below the point where the driveway started to dip. She positioned herself there because she could lie in the sun on the warm concrete, not in mid-summer of course, but at most times of the year and it was a good vantage place. It was also a perfect ambush position – just like anti-tank gunners position their weapons just over the brow of a rise in the terrain, waiting for an enemy tank.

Local dogs, painfully aware of her capabilities always gave our property a wide birth. It was the odd, unattached, strange dog that drew her ire.

I have seen Tanita raise her head, ears flattened, so she could just peep over the lip of the driveway, without being seen herself. She would wait until her target had just passed directly in front of her. She would change position, tense up and then launch herself at the unsuspecting animal and latch herself onto its hind quarters with all claws extended.

The poor creatures never knew what hit them. They would take off down the road, at full stretch, yelping all the while. A few minutes later Tanita would be seen back at her post, as if nothing had happened.

The absolute classic occasion was one my wife witnessed, while I was at work. She had asked a tradesman for a quote to do some repair work to our pergola. Tanita had been disturbed by the arrival of the tradesman’s van and had retreated to another favourite spot – on top of the pergola. Now this tradesman had a dog, a fox terrier type mongrel, smallish, but much bigger than Tanita.

As this man was walking around, inspecting the work to be done, his dog walked with him. My wife warned him that he should be careful as we had a cat. Without a glance, he gave an obviously standard response, “Its ok. My dog doesn’t chase cats.” Well, my wife had seen Tanita, on the pergola, staring down at this interloper, invading her carefully guarded premises, and sensed that some untoward event was about to unfold.

Before she could explain to the tradesman that it was actually his dog that was in danger, Tanita dropped with perfect precision, like an avenging angel, on to the back of the hapless hound. Quite a commotion ensued.

The dog was eventually found hiding under the tradesman’s van, from which place of refuge he refused to budge, until the engine was started and the vehicle began to move.

What capped off the whole incident, as far as my wife was concerned, was the tradesman’s outrage and offended sense of propriety, “Bloody stupid dog – being chased by a cat!!!”

He had been warned.