The Friendships Engineer West Nicholson may be the small town in which I spent my childhood years making it lasting friendship memories. This town half way between Bulawayo, the second largest city and Beitbridge the border post town adjoining South Africa. This town, so small, if you passed a wind the village knew. It was a farming community, using the Liebigs meat canning factory, a club, golf course, something station where my pops worked, a shop selling everything, the railway terminal (the final of the line), police station, post office, as well as a small gold mine. With a population count around 160 there is nowhere to hide. The farms in the region where all ranches of enormous size, with herds of wild life competing for that grazing. My father moved his family to this town when I only six yrs . old. There where at most sixteen kids inside same population as my sister and I, and that we all played together. These where times during the short meetings with one another, as we all, as a result of proximity, attended boarding schools. But the friendships made where lasting, along with the memories of those days eternal. Our parents joined together often, meeting at the club where the farmers joined the city folk to get a social drink or two. Some parents, talented with musical abilities, form a band and dances held inside club hall. Films, shown weekly with a Friday, a conference spot for that local population, shown with a wall inside grounds of the club, beside the swimming pool. In summer, a fast dip between reels, in the winter months, a collapse chair which has a blanket for warmth. A friendship maker if ever there is one. The club equipped which has a swimming pool, provided a much-needed cooling spot for that kids, the truth is this is a hotspot with soaring summer temperatures, along with the pool, the supper party spot. The town, bisected with a river (named the Umzingwane if my memory is correct) supplied the towns needs of water, in addition to a recreation space for youngsters. A wide river, given to flash flooding occasionally, an extra swimming pool for all of us. The low-level bridge's spans, a fort for that boys then not yet interested in girls. On the either side, that old mine dump, a perfect setting for card-boarding (snow-boarding, practiced with cardboard boxes) also an area for cops-and-robbers used pellet guns. The golf course, a dirt track, with mine dump sand when combined old oil, as greens. Yet enjoyed by all who played, which included each of the boys of the town. It was also a hunting ground for all of us to hone our skills on, then one friend even owned a 410 shotgun. He attemptedto shoot a monitor lizard on one occasion, but only managed to embed ricochet pellets in his leg. Fearing retribution from angry parents, these removed employing a pen knife wielded with a brave boy. (he ended as being a police, if I'm correct, and not a physician.) The years past on and that we grew in space and age, friends became boyfriends and girlfriends, all boy games faded away, along with the teenage life descended. The trip to Bulawayo, to see Cliff Richards 'Summer Holiday' all friends in lots of cars. Fishing trips with a Sunday, camping trips with parents, not merely one family, but nearly the whole village population. The fumbling and experimenting of young partners, a source of humour now. Yet these outings developed friendships memories that last even to this day. The town never outgrew us, we it, however the memories of the friendships made, goes beside me to my grave. The circumstances of the country, with border duties along with other developments causing the 'bomb-shelling' of households on the four corners of the world. Some friends never witnessed again, or communicated with, till the computer discovered, the net found and tools like Face Book and Skype developed. The friends when found on internet websites years later, roared to life again, as if never lost, or even the idea that 40 odd years had passed.
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