SMOKE: Keeping A Diary

Originally published: 25 November 2003

I've always wished that I had kept a diary from an early age, getting into the habit of doing so right through until old age, because the record it would give you of your life would be the most honest, detailed account of it anyone could ever have.

I tried a number of times when I was at school to keep a diary - every year on 1 January I would make it part of my New Year's Resolution list, which inevitably I never stuck to for more than 30 minutes.

But one year I did keep a diary. The year was 1985, I was 12 years old and in Standard Five at Christian Brothers College in Pretoria, and it was the last year that I would spend in that horrific city before our family moved to Cape Town (where I have been ever since).

I only kept up the diary until 23 February, with one entry on 4 September (don't ask), and reading it now is the most bizarre experience you can possibly imagine.

What a little prat I was. I'd obviously just read the Secret Diary Of Adrian Mole, because my entries were punctuated with turns of phrase like "Dear Diary", and "I was dead scared", so no doubt the famous diary had made quite an impression on me.

In fact - I suspect Adrian Mole was the reason I decided to tackle the diary in the first place, but once the novelty wore off - and I discovered that just about every entry began with "Today was so boring" - I gave it all up.

But it has certainly taught me a few things about myself reading it now and has offered some insight into why my life turned some of the corners it did.

The thing that struck me most was a running commentary on my exploits in the Primary B cricket team - I was a talented sportsman, but never had any form of decent coaching to help me realise that talent.

I have documented in previous articles how much the Brothers and other scum who ran that school hated me, and I can only assume their hatred stemmed from the fact that I was an extremely sensitive child.

I found my entries about cricket extremely funny but also peculiarly sad, and today I decided to haul some of them out to give you a glimpse into my mind as a schoolboy.

They are completely unedited, with ellipses marking passages that have been left out. The rest has been printed exactly as it stands.

12 February 1985, Tuesday

"Today has been quite interesting. I got to school just before the bell went. I had brought my cricket clothes for the match today. But at second break I looked on the notice board to see if my name was on the list but it wasn't...

"After school I rushed to the tiki-box to phone Mom to tell her to fetch me early. The tiki-box was out of order so I went to the secretary's office but the secretary said that I couldn't use her phone. She lent me ten cents and told me to phone from the tiki-box in the boarders hostel. But that phone was also out of order. So I went down to watch the match I was supposed to play in...

"Dad and Mom got very cross about my not playing in the match. They said I have to go to the coach tomorrow and ask him why I didn't play. Wish me luck diary. I have a feeling I will need it!"

13 February 1985, Wednesday

"...After scholar patrol I went to cricket. I asked the coach and asked him if I was still in the team. He said maybe. I had to stay at school until half past four. While I waited I went into the nets and practised till ten past four then I walked up to the tree where I usually wait for Mom...

"I did a little Afrikaans homework then went outside to practise cricket by myself. After about ten minutes Dad came home and played with me for about fifteen minutes. Then I came in and finished my Afrikaans...

"I hope that I can play in the cricket match next week."

14 February 1985, Thursday

"...When Mom came home I went outside and practised my bowling..."

15 February 1985, Friday

"...After lunch I had a sleep. When I woke up I was just going out to play cricket when Dad came home. He had his new car. He's buying it tomorrow. We all went around the block in it. When we got home Dad played cricket with me."


16 February 1985, Saturday

"...After lunch Dad went to Jan Smuts to fetch Uncle Joe. When Uncle Joe got here him, Dad and I played a great game of cricket."

18 February 1985, Monday

"...Then school started. We had P.T. in which I played cricket. The rest of school went by quite uneventfully with nothing very exciting happening. After school I went down for cricket but there was no practise because Mr Cope (our coach) had decided to play a match instead. I did not play again but next week he promised that I can play. I hope so. I had to go onto the edge of the boundary to stop balls that were missed. Boys kept hitting the ball really hard and they went over the boundary and got lost. The I saw Mom and had to rush off."

19 February 1985, Tuesday "...After school the Primary "B" played another match but yet again I didn't play. I don't think it's fair. I am better than some of those boys and I come to every practice."

Four days later my diary came to an abrupt end - I have no idea why. I guess reading over my failures each day didn't seem like an ideal way to spend my time. But reading back on those entries I was filled with a deep sadness that I could have tried so hard, and wanted something so bad, yet nobody would give me a break.

I realised that my whole life has been like that, right up until the present day. I don't lack in commitment - nobody could be more committed than I - but no matter what I do, or how well I do it, I just never seem to get the breaks I deserve.

I guess the saying is right: "Some things never change."

I wanted to end this piece with the very last entry in my diary - unrelated to cricket - which really brings home to me the times we were living in. I just wish that I had continued that diary - crap as it was - as I am sure I would have had a really good record of Pretoria in the eighties if I had done so.

23 February 1985, Saturday

"...After breakfast Mom and I were practising a duet (on the piano) when we heard a knock on the door. A coloured man was there and said he was looking for a job. Mom said no, she didn't have a job for him but he said his children were starving because he had no money nor food, so Mom said he could wash the car. She gave him some breakfast and when he was finished that car - it sparkled like anything. Mom gave him R2 and off he went."

Kinda places my problems in perspective.

All Smoked Out,
Luke Tagg