After completing my apprenticeship and a year of full-time study, I continued to work in the same pharmacy. I was taking a walk during a lunch break when I met Evan. We had attended Pharmacy School together and became pharmacists at the same time. He informed me that he was about to depart for Europe on holiday and, perhaps, to find a job.

I decided that there was no reason why I shouldn't do the same. I sought out the Union-Castle Mailship office near where I worked and booked a passage on the Athlone Castle Mail Ship. The Union-Castle mail ships provided a fortnightly express mail and passenger service from Southampton to South African ports. 

The Athlone Castle sailed from Durban, arriving in Capetown after five days calling at East London and Port Elizabeth. Two days later, it returns to Southampton, a 14-day journey. 

There was not much choice for travel between Britain and South Africa at the time. The ships were able to transport about 750 passengers and were sufficiently comfortable for the long voyage. They provided a fantastic opportunity for young people to visit Europe.

Second class cabins were not unlike a train compartment with bunk beds one above another. One faced the possibility of having to share the cabin with a stranger. It so happened that we ended up on the same ship and in the same came cabin. We were young, and it was an adventure. The period on the ship allowed time to meet many young and inspiring people with diverse objectives; it was most exciting.

To travel by sea and experience the excitement of the farewells as the ship departed added meaning to life. The bonding and emotions expressed between friends and family were often heartfelt. At the same time, all visitors were allowed on board until the ship departed.

Our journey terminated at Southampton, from there we travelled to the Overseas Visitors Club in London. The Club was teeming with young South Africans and young people from all over the world. 

Evan found a convenient room that we could rent, not far from the Club in Earl's Court. I didn't have much money, and I was keen to find a job. However, I was persuaded to join a group of eight South Africans and tour Europe.

 I later discovered that the city was awash with pharmacy students. Some had recently failed the final exam, while others were waiting to rewrite failed subjects. Many had just given up. Next to accounting, studying pharmacy was considered one of the most challenging careers of the time. 

The turning point came when I attended my first lecture. I had no notebook or pen and not adequately prepared. The lecture room was full of students. The lecturer strode in, delivered the lecture, and upon conclusion, unceremoniously marched out; and so did many others.

I remained for a period deliberating upon the experience and concluded that I was now on my own. If I were to have a future, it had to start now. 

Upon returning home, I discovered my father had found an apprenticeship for me. While investigating a recent incident, he had met the management of a large pharmaceutical wholesaler. They obliged by organising an interview, and before long, I was an apprentice.

Even today, thinking back, I have no idea of how I arrived at this point. Much of what I have written might seem strange to someone that has followed my story. I do not doubt that I was a very different child at school and did not fit the traditional social mould. I had no fear or feeling; if I failed, I just carried on. I assumed no distress; no one understood me. Perhaps I was considered impenetrable and beyond understanding. 

Nothing changed; my apprenticeship was harsh at first. As expected, I started with menial tasks and progressed until I was doing almost all the dispensing. Compounding of medicines was more professional and very different back then. 

Finally, I completed my concluding year of full-time study and qualified as a pharmacist, a year before Mike.

 So, where do I go from here? I returned home to a vacuum after the Drakensberg break with my mother. I had no career in mind, and neither did I have anyone skilled enough to mentor me. I had visited a factory that manufactured explosives and fertiliser, but that did not appeal to me. 

Suddenly, I had an inspiration. While living in Port Shepstone years before, I passed a pharmacy window and watched a pharmacist busy compounding medicines. I thought that to be a possible career and set off for the local pharmacy school to make enquiries. 

To become a pharmacist, I had to complete a three-year apprenticeship and then do two years of full-time study. Alternatively, I could study part-time, and if all goes well, I need only to study for the final year.

Part-time meant working an eight hour day, lectures three nights a week and on a Thursday afternoon. All that sounded horrific; I didn't have too many other choices.

Within my ignorance, I assumed that I would quickly find somewhere to complete an apprenticeship. I had no sooner registered when Mike, a fellow scholar at school, arrived. Mike was considered to be one of the more competent and capable boys in the top class. He knew me quite well, having spent much of our school career together.

He looked at me stunned, "Whatever are you doing here?" I explained that I had just registered for a career in pharmacy. "Glyn", he stammered, "Pharmacy is quite the wrong career for you!".

Undaunted, I withdrew and made my way to the local bookstore, where I purchased the prescribed textbooks. Upon returning home, my news was met with indifference. I was accustomed to making my own unprecedented decisions, like accepting the headmasters offer to move on.

Because of early experiences.

 It has been quite a revelation writing about myself and my past experiences. All that I have experienced include a cause and an effect. Nothing in the past was understood by me or anyone else. Naturally, I was the subject and could not possibly have known any better. 

Early years between the age of five and ten are crucial years for a developing brain. At birth, we are endowed with a brain primed to learn almost anything before slowly demolishing redundant neurons. A child's age between 2 and 7 is known as the preoperational stage. It is a period when a child learns, among much else, to be egocentric and develops centration, the ability to focus on one perspective of a situation at a time.

Because of my early experiences, I did not respond to anything; I was a compulsive daydreamer and mentally elsewhere much of the time. It is a period when a child learns social patterns and can adjust or blend with others.

In time, the brain not knowing anything better sets the 'code in stone'. No matter how many beatings or disciplinary attempts are made to educate the child or person, nothing changes. This mental block introduces much distress as the adult begins to mature and recognise the inherent maladjustment. 

This minor default dwells inconspicuously within the psyche forever, making the bearer unconsciously uneasy in communion with others. The default is few friends, a lack of self-assurance and missed opportunities. The alternative is withdrawal and focusing on something easily managed and can aid isolation.

I can easily imagine that in times gone by, variations of the infirmity, if that what it is, was presumed to be a mental impediment.

1953

 I returned to school the following year as it was deemed necessary that I should at least have a JC certificate. My failure did not come as a surprise to my family or anyone else. Least of all, for me, I was especially unconcerned.

About six weeks into the new year, I was summoned to the headmaster's office. I anticipated the customary rebuke as I stood submissively at his desk. Instead, he declared that he was satisfied to promote me, provided that I understand that if I did not pass the final examination in two years, I would have neither a JC nor a Matriculation Exemption.

I accepted his proposal and set about making a move. I don't recall discussing the offer with anyone. No comments were forthcoming, and life carried on, bearing in mind that I was now weeks behind. I faced a new extended syllabus. The change did not unduly faze me; it did introduce a greater volume of work that necessitated an intensified commitment to study. That alone motivated me and stirred my inquisitive mind beyond the mundane and customary facts.

Toward the end of the second year, just before writing the final examinations, there was much activity. Classmates were frequently involved in private interviews with teachers, presumably to discuss their future. I was never invited nor sought an interview.

The long-awaited day dawned, seated formally within the school hall, we began the disclosure of our knowledge.  I know it seems odd to those who read this, but I was not unduly disturbed by the gravity of the occasion.

I had recently acquired a drivers licence, so it was thought to be a good idea after the exams if I drove my mother to a Drakensberg resort for a week. While there, enjoying the pleasures of life, I received a telegram - I had passed.

Secondary School

 The secondary school that I chose to attend offered tuition in pure chemistry and pure physics; it appealed to me rather than to study physical science. I thought of physical science being a more watered-down version. 

It was a good choice for me, but my old lifestyle demeanour persisted. I was maladjusted from the start. The school was deeply committed to participation in sport, and senior boys were constantly harassing the newcomers. I remember sitting on my own in the large but empty refectory, reflecting on the past and thinking, "What have I done, however, did I get here?"

Within the first couple of days, I was sent to the headmaster's office for a caning along with half the class. We had not done our set homework, but I had no idea of what was required. It was not a good start!

My solitary disposition quickly took hold as I sought to withdraw and be invisible. Friedrich Nietzsche, the Philosopher, advises one not to follow a herd mentality. Strict dogmatic behaviour by those attempting to constrain or compel may invite rebellion. He suggests that for people that resist, it can be terrifying and dangerous.  Thinking 'outside the box' puts one at risk, yet it can be advantageous and creative. I had little choice; circumstances dictated that option for me. I lacked the wisdom to understand my predicament as, I believe, everyone else did.

Nevertheless, I was very different, spending my days secluded in a shed behind the house, making fireworks and doing chemistry experiments. There was a shop in the city that sold all manner of laboratory equipment and chemicals. It was enough to initiate horror within the mind of any present-day health and safety administrator. Studying to pass exams was a fallacy for the benefit of the diligent.

At the end of 1951, I wrote the Junior Certificate school-leaving examination, I - failed. 

1949

 The war, WWII ended on 2 September 1945, and we returned to Durban. My first years at school in Port Shepstone were disastrous, but nothing like what was about to unfold. Initially, we lived in a residential hotel; we had no base or home awaiting our return. I returned to school at the nearest school available; there were not too many options.

It was a large school with many pupils and extensive sports fields. Many of the boys were coarse hungry orphans from a nearby orphanage. They were quick to deprive me of anything that resembled food. I was not accustomed to an environment of that nature. I was unpretentious and solitary.  During breaks, another boy and I would retire to the extremities of the sports fields, hide and remain away until the bell rang. 

The class teacher was not much less a tyrant; I think she reaped more fulfilment from her cane than bringing me to my senses. The more I dodged the descending cane on my hands; the more exaggerated the venom. 

I returned to the hotel each day black and blue but did not receive much comfort there either. Finally, I awakened in a hospital bed with a pile of Bugs Bunny comics beside me. While I can clearly remember much of what went on, I have no recollection of the hospital circumstances or how long I remained there. As far as I can recall, it was not illness or injury.

Thankfully, my mother found a more refined school for me the following year. I was ten years old, but still, my fragile psyche was irrecoverably altered. My introverted, intuitive thinking intensified while teaching staff knew better than to urge participation.

I spent three years at the school before going on to a secondary school. There, I studied more scientifically inclined subjects.