A grey Saturday held little excitement beyond the adventures of my novel and the prospect of a leisurely
morning but my prospects brightened when I was invited to attend the Christ Church Morning Market.
A grey Saturday held little excitement beyond the adventures of my novel and the prospect of a leisurely
morning but my prospects brightened when I was invited to attend the Christ Church Morning Market.
I soon discovered that the church fete, known for its miniature railway and brica- brac, has been an annual
feature in Grahamstown for more than 50 years.
I am clearly a novice market goer, judging by the looks of the tables which were now sparsely laden with baked goods.
The veteran spirits of markets past have already raided the homemade booty. But there was still plenty to see.
An intricately constructed doll house sits atop an adjacent table. It is outfi tted with every conceivable domestic appliance, down to the full set of tiny copper pots.
I recalled the mass-produced doll houses of my childhood – a plastic Barbie mansion with a one dimensional façades of furniture.
These aren’t toys, but relics from a time where economics didn’t outweigh the true art of craftsmanship. Grannies and youths alike scour the tables cluttered with everything from costume jewellery to handy home inventions at the white elephant stall.
I contemplate the egg slicer because of its sheer brilliance, even though I’m not particularly fond of hard-boiled eggs.
I fi ght the urge, although, for a meagre R4, it’s hardly a fi nancial setback. I save my change for my Achilles heel, vintage books.
My fi ngers browse the bindings of the classic section: Homer, Shakespeare, Austen, Dickens many of them are in remarkable condition.
My mind reels with the potential for leisurely Saturday mornings spent reading in bed. I exit with my stack of classic titles with just enough left over for tea and a scone.
And instead of feeling guilty, I feel unusually triumphant after the unexpected shopping spree. Ah, the buoyant thrill of a good deal!
The annual fête may be an old hat for many Grahamstonians, but it’s a new discovery for me. I stumbled onto a real-life adventure.
