A Glimpse into the Household

It has already been seen, that though household expenses were heavy, the tendency towards simplicity began in Durban. But the Johannesburg house came in for much severer overhauling in the light of Ruskin’s teaching.

As we have seen, although household expenses were high, we began to live more simply in Durban. But Ruskin’s teaching led to much greater changes in the Johannesburg household.

I introduced as much simplicity as was possible in a barrister’s house. It was impossible to do without a certain amount of furniture. The change was more internal than external. The liking for doing personally all the physical labour increased. I therefore began to bring my children also under that discipline.

I made my home as simple as a barrister’s house could be. Some furniture was unavoidable. The change was more internal than external. I grew increasingly fond of doing all the physical work myself. So I began to teach my children to do the same.

Instead of buying baker’s bread, we began to prepare unleavened wholemeal bread at home according to Kuhne’s recipe. Common mill flour was no good for this, and the use of handground flour, it was thought, would ensure more simplicity, health and economy. So I purchased a hand-mill for £7. The iron wheel was too heavy to be tackled by one man, but easy for two. Polak and I and the children usually worked it. My wife also occasionally lent a hand, though the grinding hour was her usual time for commencing kitchen work. Mrs. Polak now joined us on her arrival. The grinding proved a very beneficial exercise for the children. Neither this nor any other work was ever imposed on them, but it was a pastime to them to come and lend a hand, and they were at liberty to break off whenever tired. But the children, including those whom I shall have occasion to introduce later, as a rule never failed me. Not that I had no laggards at all, but most did their work cheerfully enough. I can recall few youngsters in those days fighting shy of work or pleading fatigue.

Instead of buying bread from a baker, we began making unleavened wholemeal bread at home using Kuhne’s recipe. Ordinary flour from a mill was no good for this bread. We thought flour ground by hand would make for a simpler, healthier, and more economical life. So I bought a hand mill for £7. Its iron wheel was too heavy for one person to turn, but easy for two. Polak, the children, and I usually worked the mill. My wife also helped occasionally, though she usually began her kitchen work at grinding time. Mrs. Polak joined us when she arrived. Grinding was very good exercise for the children. They were never forced to do this or any other work. They enjoyed coming to help and were free to stop whenever they were tired. But the children, including some I will introduce later, generally never failed me. That is not to say that none of them was slow to work, but most worked cheerfully enough. I can remember few youngsters in those days avoiding work or saying they were too tired.

We had engaged a servant to look after the house. He lived with us as a member of the family, and the children used to help him in his work. The municipal sweeper removed the nightsoil, but we personally attended to the cleaning of the closet instead of asking or expecting the servant to do it. This proved a good training for the children. The result was that none of my sons developed any aversion for scavenger’s work, and they naturally got a good grounding in general sanitation. There was hardly any illness in the home at Johannesburg, but whenever there was any, the nursing was willingly done by the children. I will not say that I was indifferent to their literary education, but I certainly did not hesitate to sacrifice it. My sons have therefore some reason for a grievance against me. Indeed they have occasionally given expression to it, and I must plead guilty to a certain extent. The desire to give them a literary education was there. I even endeavoured to give it to them myself, but every now and then there was some hitch or other. As I had made no other arrangement for their private tuition, I used to get them to walk with me daily to the office and back home—a distance of about 5 miles in all. This gave them and me a fair amount of exercise. I tried to instruct them by conversation during these walks, if there was no one else claiming my attention. All my children, excepting the eldest, Harilal, who had stayed away in India, were brought up in Johannesburg in this manner. Had I been able to devote at least an hour to their literary education with strict regularity, I should have given them, in my opinion, an ideal education. But it has been their, as also my, regret that I failed to ensure them enough literary training. The eldest son has often given vent to his distress privately before me and publicly in the press; the other sons have generously forgiven the failure as unavoidable. I am not heartbroken over it, and the regret, if any, is that I did not prove an ideal father. But I hold that I sacrificed their literary training to what I genuinely, though may be wrongly, believed to be service to the community. I am quite clear that I have not been negligent in doing whatever was needful for building up their character, and I believe it is the bounden duty of every parent to provide for this properly. Whenever, in spite of my endeavour, my sons have been found wanting, it is my certain conviction that they have reflected not want of care on my part but the defects of both their parents.

We had hired a servant to look after the house. He lived with us as a member of the family, and the children helped him with his work. The municipal sweeper removed the waste from the toilet, but we cleaned the toilet ourselves. We did not ask or expect the servant to do it. This was good training for the children. As a result, none of my sons developed a dislike for sanitation work. They also gained a good foundation in general sanitation. There was hardly any illness in our Johannesburg home, but whenever someone was ill, the children willingly helped nurse them. I will not say that I was indifferent to my sons’ formal education, but I certainly did not hesitate to sacrifice it. My sons therefore have some reason to feel aggrieved with me. Indeed, they have occasionally said so, and I must plead guilty to some extent. I wanted to give them a formal education. I even tried to teach them myself, but one difficulty or another kept getting in the way. I had made no other arrangement for private tuition. Instead, I used to have them walk with me to the office and back home each day. The total distance was about five miles. This gave both them and me a fair amount of exercise. During these walks, I tried to teach them through conversation, if no one else needed my attention. All my children were brought up this way in Johannesburg, except the eldest, Harilal, who had remained in India. If I had been able to teach them for at least an hour with strict regularity, I believe I would have given them an ideal education. But both they and I regret that I failed to give them enough formal education. My eldest son has often expressed his distress to me privately and publicly in the press. The other sons have generously forgiven the failure as unavoidable. I am not heartbroken over this. If I have any regret, it is that I did not prove to be an ideal father. But I believe I sacrificed their formal education for what I genuinely believed was service to the community, though I may have been wrong. I am quite clear that I did not neglect anything needed to build their character. I believe every parent has a duty to provide properly for this. Whenever my sons have fallen short despite my efforts, I am certain that they have reflected the defects of both their parents, not any lack of care on my part.

Children inherit the qualities of the parents, no less than their physical features. Environment does play an important part, but the original capital on which a child starts in life is inherited from its ancestors. I have also seen children successfully surmounting the effects of an evil inheritance. That is due to purity being an inherent attribute of the soul.

Children inherit their parents’ qualities as well as their physical features. Environment plays an important part, but a child starts life with what they have inherited from their ancestors. I have also seen children overcome the effects of a bad inheritance. They can do this because purity is an inherent quality of the soul.

Polak and I had often very heated discussions about the desirability or otherwise of giving the children an English education. It has always been my conviction that Indian parents, who train their children to think and talk in English from their infancy, betray their children and their country. They deprive them of the spiritual and social heritage of the nation, and render them to that extent unfit for the service of the country. Having these convictions, I made a point of always talking to my children in Gujarati. Polak never liked this. He thought I was spoiling their future. He contended, with all the vigour and love at his command, that if children were to learn a universal language like English from their infancy, they would easily gain considerable advance over others in the race of life. He failed to convince me. I do not now remember whether I convinced him of the correctness of my attitude, or whether he gave me up as too obstinate. This happened about twenty years ago, and my convictions have only deepened with my experience. And though my sons have suffered for want of full literary education, the knowledge of the vernacular that they naturally acquired has been all to their and the country’s good, inasmuch as they do not appear the foreigners they would otherwise have appeared. They naturally became bilingual, speaking and writing English with fair ease, because of daily contact with a large circle of English friends, and because of their stay in a country where English was the chief language spoken.

Polak and I often had heated discussions about whether it was desirable to educate the children in English. I have always believed that Indian parents betray their children and their country when they teach them to think and speak in English from infancy. They deprive their children of the nation’s spiritual and social heritage. To that extent, they make them less fit to serve their country. Because of these convictions, I made a point of always speaking Gujarati to my children. Polak never liked this. He thought I was spoiling their future. He argued with all the energy and love he could muster that learning a universal language like English from infancy would give children a considerable advantage over others in the race of life. He did not convince me. I no longer remember whether I convinced him that my view was right or whether he gave up on me as too stubborn. This happened about twenty years ago, and my convictions have only deepened with experience. My sons have suffered because they did not receive a full literary education. Even so, the knowledge of their native language that they naturally acquired has been entirely good for them and for the country. It means they do not seem like the foreigners they otherwise would have seemed to be. They naturally became bilingual and learned to speak and write English fairly easily. This was because they had daily contact with a large circle of English friends and lived in a country where English was the main language spoken.