CHAPTER #8

Turbulent times in Chile.

It was an amazing experience to fly over the Andes and to look down on those majestic snow covered mountains from above - in fact it was just like being a part of an Imax movie. I knew we would be landing in one of the longest and thinnest countries in the world but there was no evidence of that as we descended steeply into the Santiago airport.

Once again we were going to be based in a capital city but this time it was to be in a country where the landscape stretched from the Atacama desert in the north to the tip of South America, only a hop, skip, and a jump away from Antarctica. In between those two extremities were the Andes mountains, seaside resorts, grassland, lush valleys, volcanoes, deep blue lakes, hot springs and the famous Easter Island. A truly unparalleled topographical smorgasbord but, sadly, one that I was not destined to sample in much detail.

When we arrived in Santiago we were met and taken to a furnished apartment which had been rented, temporarily, on our behalf. It was in the centre of the city in sight of the Plaza de los Heroes and a large stately avenue called Avenida Bernard O’Higgins. Rising above the eastern edge of Santiago the Andes could be seen like jagged mounds of strawberry ice-cream bathed in the light of the setting sun.

Because Mouse was bewildered by the change of scene and didn’t take to being cooped up in an apartment, she and I began to take long walks around the neighbourhood. It was so cold that I knitted some little socks for Mouse to wear but, unfortunately, they kept falling off and eventually had to be discarded. Even without the socks, though, Mouse attracted a lot of attention during our daily walks and we were stopped frequently to be asked about her name (embroidered across the top of her coat). “Moo-say” someone would say in Spanish, “what means this?” I could have made lots of new friends by just walking my dog.

Some enemies, too. The superintendent of our apartment building did not approve of pets at all and insisted that I should pick up Mouse and carry her through the foyer each time we traversed it so as not to leave visible paw prints. Obviously we had to find another home as quickly as possible.

And we did. It was a tastefully furnished house on Calle Augusto Ovalle Castillo with a well-tended garden in front, a driveway extending down one side, and a small tiled terrace at the back. Julia, the maid who “came with the house”, inhabited a small room, covered with honeysuckle, in the back garden.

Santiago soon became the most sociable of all the places in which we had lived up to that time. Bill, working on a joint Canadian/American project, was immediately assigned to active duty - much of it to be performed in the field, away from home. I made friends quickly with several of the company wives and knew that there would be lots to occupy me while Bill was away.

First of all, though, we had to have a car. This turned out to be a red Volkswagen “beetle”, a vehicle I embraced immediately because it gave me independence at last. One of the early VWs, it had a spare tank of gas which was activated by a toggle on the floor. Unfortunately this toggle didn’t always function properly. On one memorable occasion I ran out of gas right in the middle of a tramcar track on top of a hill. I flipped the toggle several times to no avail. Looking around for help I saw a tramcar bearing down on me with its bell dinging frantically but, like a deer blinded by headlights at night, I was paralyzed with fear and couldn’t move. Fortunately for me two helpful bystanders, seeing my predicament, rushed up and gave the car a mighty push which allowed it to coast downhill to safety. My gratitude knew no bounds when they even helped me to get a pail of gas so that I could continue on my way afterwards.

We hadn’t been in our new home long before Bill, who was a very fastidious man, started accusing me of using his facecloth every morning. Since his accusations were unfounded I denied them vigorously. One day he rushed into the bedroom and insisted I accompany him immediately to the bathroom. Scowling, he pointed to his washcloth and said “There! See, it’s soaking wet. Now don’t tell me you haven’t used it!” I hadn’t. So we called Julia in to ask if she knew anything about the wet washcloth. “Oh, si, senor”, she said in Spanish “I use it to clean the toilet every morning.”

After that episode Bill was glad to escape on another of his field assignments. I also felt that the time had come for me to visit South Africa again. We agreed I should take Mouse with me to spend a vacation with my parents. Excitedly I made reservations and collected the necessary travel documents for Mouse.

Unfortunately dogs were not allowed in the cabin with passengers and so Mouse was consigned to a pressurized hold with other live cargo. However, as a special concession, I was going to be allowed to take her for short walks each time we landed.

I worried about that little dog all the way to South Africa and hurried around to the belly of the airplane to retrieve her as soon as we reached our first stop in Africa. Leash on she scratched happily in a patch of grass, did her business and hated to go back into her crate when it was all over.

Unfortunately, our trip coincided with the period during which the Mau Mau were committing atrocities in Kenya so, once we got to the Belgian Congo, security became very tight indeed. I was permitted only a brief visit with Mouse then escorted, under armed guard, into the airport where the doors were locked behind us. The same security measures were observed on the way back to the airplane. Dozens of United Nations aircraft parked on the airfield made it look very much like a war zone which, at that time, I guess it was.

It was wonderful to be with my family again. Mum and Dad loved Mouse on sight and before long Dad was feeding her a penny chocolate each night (those were the days when you could actually buy something for a penny) and as soon as she heard the crinkling of the wrapper she would start to salivate in anticipation.

On this visit home I had actually planned to tell Mum and Dad about my rocky marriage but, in the end, decided not to. The Pratts are great worriers and it didn’t seem fair to burden them with my problems, particularly as I wasn’t sure how the problems would eventually be resolved.
Could it be that I just expected too much of life? After all, Bill was a decent man who didn’t abuse me and, because of our marriage, I was meeting interesting people in exotic countries. If only he wasn’t so stiflingly jealous and possessive, or if he would only talk to me more and face the fact that I, at least, was not happy in our marriage. Then, of course, there was the baby situation. Ever since Bill had been diagnosed with low sperm count, I knew that we would never have any children unless they were adopted - but adoption was not an option as far as Bill was concerned. So, frustrated motherhood was definitely a major cause of my unhappiness. As I lay in bed each night, trying to analyse the situation, I felt like a dog chasing its own tail, getting nowhere. After all, deciding to break up our marriage was a major decision and probably not one that Bill would go along with willingly. Seven years of marriage was a big investment in time and I couldn’t dismiss them lightly.

Apart from trying to sort out my priorities on this trip there was one other thing I was intent upon doing: leaving Mouse with Mum and Dad (if they would have her) so that she would not become a casualty of any future turmoil in my life. As it turned out they were happy to have a little dog around for company and Mouse appeared equally pleased to be adopted by them. At the end of my vacation I bade everyone a sad farewell and left minus one furry little friend.

Back in Santiago I resumed weekly bridge games with other project wives and even added a new activity. Lupita, a young Mexican mother who had become my friend, invited me to join a group which met once a week to sing and play the guitar. So, for the remainder of my stay in Santiago, I became an enthusiastic student of both guitar and romantic Spanish songs.

Then, one day, the phone rang and I heard Don MacFadyen’s voice at the other end. Although Bill was away from home at the time I invited him to dine the following night. Julia and I prepared a lovely meal and set the table for two.

After dinner, in a moment of weakness, I told Don that I was not happy in my marriage to Bill - that I was thinking of ending it and returning to South Africa. Unsurprised by this revelation, he told me that he had been aware of my discontentment as far back as Paraguay.

What a relief it was to be able to talk to someone about my problems at last and the fact that Don was my oldest friend in South America made it easy to confide in him. Afterwards, as I wept, Don put his arm around me and confessed that his feelings for me went deeper than friendship! I looked at him with eyes and nose streaming and almost stopped breathing. Then we both smiled because, suddenly, this blossoming of our friendship into love just seemed to be right.

Was this going to be a complication or a solution? I didn’t know, but I did promise Don not to take any action until we had had time to sort out our own feelings for each other. Needless to say I slept poorly that night wondering what the future might have in store for us.

The next day I was told that there was a plan afoot for several of the company wives to visit their husbands in Los Angeles (the one in Chile, not California). Naturally I was expected to go along since it was assumed I would want to see Bill also. Coming right after my dinner with Don, this was hardly the case. Nevertheless, I had to go and so, accompanied by three others wives, we set off by car early one morning.

Arriving some five hours later, after travelling through some spectacular countryside, we were met by three eager husbands - and Bill. I was not looking forward to spending the weekend in close contact with Bill but as he made no mention of any constraint between us we ended up being politely distant with each other.

Los Angeles is considered to be the gateway to the south, a place where people go to hike and raft in the national parks, but, of course, we didn’t do either of those things. However, we were taken to see an extinct volcano nearby. It was a strange place with no earth underfoot, just sharp, black, burned out crunchy carbon, leading down to a small very round lake. We might just as easily have been on the moon or stepping onto a film set for Star Trek.

After supper that night everyone played bridge, Bill and I slept back to back, and the wives returned to Santiago the following day. At least one thing was cleared up for me: my future was not going to include being married to Bill for very much longer.

I had agreed to rent a post box in Santiago so that Don could write to me privately. Don, the Great Communicator, had always been incredibly verbose and that verbosity was certainly translated into writing frequent long and passionate letters to me. I know he was disappointed that my replies were always much shorter. Eventually, he found that by reading them very slowly it made them at least seem longer.

It was through those letters that Don and I got to know each other really well. I discovered an emotional, soft-hearted, enthusiastic man who, aside from being an eternal optimist, had a strong sense of responsibility - all qualities I truly admired. And he was handsome, too!

We both knew that Don’s children, and Kay, would always be front and centre in all discussions about the future. When Don asked Kay for a divorce and told her about me she was surprised but not dismayed. Don told her that his support for the family would naturally continue unabated and, with that assurance, Kay gave us her blessing. Only one major obstacle remained: I still had to tell Bill that I wanted a divorce.

The personal upheaval I experienced during those subsequent months made the romantic songs I was learning with Lupita’s guitar group seem a lot more poignant and meaningful. A further distraction came when I was asked to play a part in a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Sure I would. Anything to fill my days until things got sorted out. Before the play could be staged, however, an uninvited visitor showed up at my door.

One evening, while I was alone at home, the doorbell rang. I saw no evidence of a car outside and was not expecting any guests so at first I hesitated to open the door. When I finally did open it I saw a burly young man wheeling a bicycle down the driveway towards the gate. He had heard the door open and returned immediately. Excitedly I was told that he had been sent by the “senor” to get $500 from me because the Jeep had broken down and needed to be repaired. Although it sounded suspicious, the fact that he knew about Bill being in the field meant that it could be legitimate.

I said I was sorry but I didn’t have $500 and that he should contact one of the other members of the project. I then attempted to close the door but he pushed his way past me, stood in the hallway and said “How much do you have?” I asked him to wait while I went to check. Instead of waiting he followed me into the bedroom and stood looking over my shoulder to see what was in my purse.

By now I was really scared and had visions of being beaten, raped and murdered all at once. Trying to stay calm I extracted $200 from my purse and gave it all to him, insisting that he sign a receipt for it. He departed with the money, after signing a slip of paper, and left me trembling behind the locked door.

As soon as I had recovered enough to telephone, I called Dick Hodgson to ask if he knew this person and, of course, he did not. Obviously I had been conned and robbed by someone who might have once worked on the project and been fired; or perhaps even someone, still employed by the company, using a false name. We never did find out who he was, but at least the other wives were warned to be on the alert and the thief never reappeared.

It was customary in Santiago for departing foreigners to sell off any household items they didn’t want to take with them, before they left. I knew Bill would have no idea of pricing anything so I was determined to put little stickers on all of the things that we had accumulated over the years to make it easier for him to sell them if he wanted to. There were also several other things that had to happen before I could pull the plug on our marriage: I was committed to acting in the play which was due to be staged in a month, I had to make an airline reservation to South Africa, and tell several good friends the reason for my departure.

Because I was nervous, and hate confrontations, my plan was to write a letter to Bill (still stationed in Los Angeles), and send it by special delivery so that he would receive it the day after the play ended. I thought Bill might become enraged when he read the letter so I wanted everything to be ready for an early departure. Finally the letter was written, rewritten and revised until it contained all that I could possibly think of to say - and much more coherently than I could have expressed it in person. Placed in a safe place, it was now ready to be dispatched at exactly the right moment.

In the meantime, rehearsals for the play were going so well that there had been a request from the local TV station to film it in their studios. This meant that Bill would get the letter while I was still at the taping. Timing would be tight but at this stage I couldn’t deal with any more changes.

Although Don was anxious to be with me when I confronted Bill, I thought this would be unwise and said I would telephone him afterwards. Julia agreed to stand by in case Bill got violent. Knowing that the letter would be sent on its way the next morning, it was a miracle that I managed to get through the play without flubbing my lines.

I skipped the cast party and went home to worry. Next morning I drove to the bus station to send my letter on its way. The TV taping was to take place in the afternoon.

Because the director of the play had been warned that I would not be available to play my part after the TV show had been taped, a rather reluctant understudy had been prepared to take over from me for the two remaining performances. By now several good friends also knew of my escape plan and, despite their shock at my news, had promised to help Bill as much as they could after I left.

At the TV studio, taping seemed to take forever - stage sets had to be mounted, everyone dressed and made-up, cameras and lighting adjusted, scenes rephotographed several times - it just went on and on until the butterflies in my stomach and the pounding in my head threatened to undo me altogether. Mercifully, we were released some six hours later and I headed for home.

When I arrived, Bill’s Jeep was parked in the driveway.

As soon as I saw Bill I began to weep. Instead of violence and recriminations he hugged me and said it would be all right. However, his idea of “all right” was very different from my own. After reading my letter, Bill had convinced himself that, as long as he promised to be the kind of man I really wanted, he would be able to persuade me to stay with him. We spent most of that night talking - too late for it to make any difference, of course, - but more than we had in all the time we’d been married.

Naturally, Bill put the blame for the break-up of our marriage squarely on Don’s shoulders and didn’t believe that the marriage had been in trouble long before Don became a part of the equation.

The next day Bill drove me to the airport and I left Santiago, totally drained of all emotion, on a flight bound for Johannesburg.

I would wait there for a Mexican divorce to be granted before Don and I could be reunited again.