Yesterday was Johnny’s funeral. He passed away on 22 October, aged 72.

Johnny worked with my parents from 1974 until a few years ago, when he could no longer keep up the physical work around the garden and in the house. His son, Bradley, took over to continue the work Johnny started almost 50 years ago.

Johnny was very much part of the Schutte family, just like Queenie, who was our domestic worker for many years.

When Queenie died in 2009, I was in South Africa and able to go to her funeral. My mother couldn’t make it, but sent a eulogy for me to read on the day. This time, I couldn’t be there for Johnny’s funeral, but my mother read a eulogy on my behalf.

Below is that eulogy, translated from the original Afrikaans.

Johnny was part of the Schutte family before I was. So for me, he was just always there.

I didn’t know him very well when I was younger. Not like my brothers, who used to sit with him and eat and chat when they were little.

But when, in later, years, I wrote a book about Knysna and my family, it gave me an opportunity to get to know him better. Because it wouldn’t have been a story about my family if Johnny wasn’t part of it.

He was a man of few words, but he told me his story like only he could.

I’ll never forget, there was a day when I went to visit him so he could show me his house – the old house, not the RDP one that he waited for for so long.

The house was down a slope, and I wasn’t wearing the most practical shoes.

At the end of the visit, I had to climb that slope in my stupid heels. And suddenly I became aware of a light pressure on my lower back. It was Johnny’s hand, just in case I needed him.

That moment, for me, sums up the role Johnny played in my life. I didn’t necessarily always see him, or hear him. But he was always there.

And now, he isn’t there anymore.

We’ll miss you, Johnny Oliphant. Rest in peace, my friend.