Saying goodbye to Ingy

IT WAS December of 1985, and in South Africa, Tarzan Boy was charting alongside Take on Me and the banger Life is Life.

I was 14 and on holiday with my family.

We were staying with close family friends who lived about a six hour drive away.

Ingrid was my age, her brother David, the same age as my own brother.

Ingrid was sassy and spoke back to her parents.

My brother and I wouldn’t dare to do the same to ours.

We’d get a quick sharp clip on the ear.

But Ingrid was larger than life.

She had a laugh and a smile that sucked you in and made you never want to leave.

She had honey brown tanned skin, blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes.

Of course she had loads of friends.

At 14, I was tall, skinny and freckle faced.

I wasn’t part of a clique or the ‘in crowd’ but visiting Ingrid meant I was now, if only for the holiday.

Our parents gave us the option of hanging out at home or coming with them to the local dam for a barbeque and swim.

We opted to stay behind, because Ingrid had a plan.

They didn’t know it, but Ingrid knew how to drive and there was a spare car in the driveway.

She had no licence; she was just 14 but it was an automatic and she knew the road rules.

Now there are two 14-year-olds driving around collecting other 14-year-olds, sculling beers in the back seat and being rambunctious.

It was amazing, I’d not done that before.

Ingrid drove us to a large property that had horses in a paddock and an outdoor area with a bar.

We sat at the bar talking and laughing, washing down even more alcohol and smoking cigarettes.

I was enjoying being part of the ‘in crowd’, it was exciting, thrilling even.

Time came when Ingrid thought it best to return because the adults would be arriving home.

As we drove up the driveway, we realised everyone had returned from their day out.

What’s more, they’d noticed the car gone … then us gone … and put two and two together.

We were in trouble but because we were safe home I think our parents felt relief more than anything else.

This week I got a message from dad, it read: ‘Very sad news, Ingrid passed away this morning after a battle with very malignant breast cancer’.

Five decades is too short a lifespan.

Ingrid’s Christian faith grew as she got older, she married and had two children.

I hadn’t seen her in person for many years when I received the news of her passing. She is in so many of my childhood memories, the cheeky girl who lived life large, it’s hard to grasp that she’s no longer here.

Getting older is a privilege not afforded to all.

A little while back I wrote a Ramblings column on cancer and how it is the great equaliser.

Kings and princesses can’t magic cancer away, they’re stuck in their human bodies just like the rest of us.

When people in their position are weak and sick, we realise there really is no cure.

If there was, they’d be better because they have the power, money and standing to make it happen.

Five decades is far too short a run but the beautiful, mischievous Ingy lives on in the memory of all who knew her.