Just some gripes
Things have certainly changed during my lifetime, I used to bunk school and sneak away to the bioscope where you could watch four movies for a mere pittance and get a cup of coke for free, I watched in awe as John Wayne swaggered around, winning fist fights and shooting Indians, who surprisingly only fell over after being shot, What I have against today’s movies is the utter unbelieveability of it all, since that fart face traipsed across the screen shouting lock and load I have built up a natural resistance to the movies of today, good lord, any one who has ever handled a firearm knows that it is impossible to lock and load, you load and lock, that is an old artillery term where you load a round into the chamber and then you lock the breech, where does this crap come from?.
This same hero of the silver screen shot a person with a handgun and that person virtually disintegrated, any gun that packs such a wallop would have a recoil that will remove your arm at the shoulder if you fire it, I have seen the effects of taking a fatal shot, the victim crumples up and falls, sometimes forwards and sometimes backwards, but stays intact, unless of course it was a 50 or a 20mm cannon or the projectile was fitted with an exploding head, in which case the hole in the body is bigger, another thing that gives me the shits is holding a handgun on its side when firing, do yourself a favour, try it and see how much run off from the target you get, hold it correctly and you have a chance to hit anywhere on the body in the vertical plane, hold it sideways and your area of hit is considerably reduced.
We lost butter in my time, some crack marketing genius told the world that butter is harmful to your health, I often wondered about the hundreds of years of using butter that preceded his campaign, margarine in itself holds hidden dangers that is not made known to the public,
Coffee changed to instant coffee, in my childhood the only instant thing you got was a smack on the side of the head if you pissed the old man off, there was something called coffee concentrate though, it came in a bottle and you used two teaspoons full in a cup of boiling water but its taste did not match the real thing which used to stand drawing away on the edge of the old coal stove in a big pot.
Today almost everything is instant or refined, but check the additives, almost all of them unhealthy, even the morals of our existence have secumed to the instant genre, today you may buy condoms in the supermarket, I believe there is even a speed load version available that makes application almost instantaneous, HOW?. In my time, if you needed a condom you had to approach the local chemist and with furtive glances around put your twenty five cents on the counter, and he used to know what you wanted and haul out a small brown paper wrapped parcel that you shoved into your pocket and then left the premises at speed, knowing that the old chemist will draw the association next time he sees you walking down the street with your girlfriend.
But all this has no meaning to today’s generation, simply because they have nothing to draw the comparison against, they grew up with these things and it is left to old fart faces like me to bemoan the passing of time and the demise of a quality of life that will never return.
OUT OF AFRICA
For as long as I can remember Africa has been
in conflict with itself or the so called oppressor, time has taught me that there is no greater oppressor than the liberated, who in all instances subject their citizens whom so gallantly fought the forces of colonialism to hardships and atrocities sometimes unbelievable to our civilized European ethics, codes and morals.
When Africa came to be settled in a serious manner all those years ago, the pioneers fought hard to battle a foothold into the soil of Africa, this they where prepared to do alongside those already found there, but the social structures had no parallels, it was not wrong to take what you needed, or bash someone’s’ brains out if he offended, and this was in direct conflict with the settlers christianic views, of course they retaliated and laid down the law in no uncertain way, realizing that the safety of their families depended much on whether they could keep the savage at bay. There where battles and hangings, beatings and land appropriations through the following years and gradually a sort of shaky civilized peace bought prosperity to mostly the white settlers whom jealously guarded their wealth through the barrel of a gun or the sharp end of a sjambok.
A veritable powder keg, what the settlers had overlooked was the fact that these where not animals but humans with all the basic emotions of human beings, the lust for wealth and prosperity, the mistake was in having kept them in a state of savage ignorance as to what it took to build up wealth, an understanding that needs education of which they where deprived, but here and there white civilization started rubbing off on a few, this coupled with the inbred savagery of centuries of tribal rule provided the spark that made Africa burn. The late fifties and sixties finally saw Africa go up in smoke fueled by a savage population that was easily whipped up into a killing frenzy by their own, those wanting to manipulate circumstance to suit their own pockets.
Civilized Europe shuddered at the stories coming out of the region, and for the most part marked it down to propaganda, safely ensconced behind centuries of civilized laws and taxes, safe in the knowledge that a locked door denies access, not so in Northern Angola, where settlers and workers where strapped to boards and fed through the saw mills, where Portuguese women where forced to watch their husbands being dismembered before being raped and killed, where nuns and padres alike where slaughtered and gutted like fish. The Congo, where victims had their legs hacked off and left to die slow and painfully, where nuns where slaughtered mercilessly.
It takes a special type of soldier to combat this type of fanatical conflict, not necessarily the ones who strut the parade grounds in starched uniforms and regimented text book battles, it needed those who could match the savagery and still perform their duties, the kind of thing Kitchener did at Omdurman, and they came, answering the call of Mars and Loki and that of the most powerful god of all, The almighty dollar, these where the mercenaries, they where in it for something other than the ideology, they came to fight.
To the Congo came the French student, Le Affreu, the terrible ones, they came to earn money to study, from south Africa came Mike Hoares fifth commando, which including a great number of Rhodesians and Irish, in any conflict of this nature, anywhere in the world you would not have to scratch too deep to find an Irishman, inbred willingness to fight, oblique way of thinking that made it seem as if the hardships of war was natural, a nation born unto conflict.
Jadotville happened in 1961, 300 Irish soldiers from 76 battalion in Dublin was sent to the Congo, 155 of the 35th battalion ended up in Jadotville to perform area stabilization patrols etc.they where promptly besieged and faced a force of 3000 Katangese rebels of the Baluba tribe as well as French, Belgian and Rhodesian mercenaries, they fought with typical Irish tenacity, but they faced waves of 300 strong attackers backed by the worlds foremost bush fighters (maybe a foretaste of what was to come later when the Rhodesians stood alone in their own country fighting like devils to preserve their way of life), fighting a conventional war always needs good supply lines, any way, it ended in disaster for the Irish, forced to sustain attacks of this nature with no logistical backup is not possible in a conventional type of battle and favors the bush fighter that lives off the land, after a week of fighting they ran out of ammo and food and where forced to capitulate after inflicting 300 casualties and 1000 wounded on the enemy, with no deaths and only a few wounded on their side, they where treated as cowards by the higher command, to my mind a way of shifting the blame from the real culprits, something along the lines of what happened at Tobruk, where my uncle was taken after the South African commander surrendered to Rommel after more or less being abandoned by his superiors, to move off in the mists of history with the blanket of the shame of surrender hanging around his shoulders, he was vindicated of course in later years, but it took the Irish high command 45 years to honor the brave soldiers of Jadotville, today there is a commemorative stone to the memory of the brave men of A company at Custume barracks in Athlone to their memory.
A motley mob made up the leader element of the fighting forces of the Congo of that time, one of Hoares merry men later turned up as an instructor at the military college in Voortrekker Hoogte, where he taught me the finer points of safeguarding military secrets in the general confines of a military establishment during a course with military intelligence, Jerry Puren headed up the air force, a total of two aircraft but highly efficient, Black Jack Schramme had his own private army and his own ambitions, Bob Denard, Muller and Wicks was there for the money, and the fight and of course Mike was also in it for the Dollar, there could never be glory in this type of war.
The efforts of the men whom fought there at the time was eventually defeated by the united nations and their innate ability to be swayed by those who had a more economic interest in the land, and the local population be damned, thus the lights went out over the bush of the Congo, fomenting great atrocities and hardships upon the hapless population that stayed behind.
The fire slowly burned down to Rhodesia where after correctly interpreting the winds of change speech, the Government declared UDI, Britain disliked this and immediately imposed sanctions, what hidden agenda did the UK have to make them want to turn on their former colony in such a manner?.
In Rhodesia the insurgents and their backers (there where many of them, all wanting a slice of the spoils of war) faced a different kind of war, they where fighting the settler on his own ground, someone who had a lot to lose and knew and loved the country with a passion, more important, they knew the mindset and habits of the local population, they knew the bush and how to live and survive in it, and they applied their knowledge with devastating effect. Rhodesia was eventually defeated in the halls of the United Nations and the passages of government house in the UK; it left the formidable armed force of Rhodesia with a bitter taste and a dry mouth wondering what the F??? happened, even South Africa, under pressure from Mr. Kholl stopped supplying much needed fuel to Ian Smith, Ian stood alone and stated that in a thousand years the people would not be able to rule themselves, profound utterance, and one that proved to be correct in years to come.
A finger of flame licked out and touched the Caprivi, a bullet slew Lieutenant Zeelie, and the war had come to South Africa. Those years we where a conventional force, my uniform was ex second world war, my bunny jacket was of the same heavy course material as my trench coat , designed to keep me warm and dry in trench warfare, I wore ankle boots of leather and puttees that needed to be blanco'd to a drab green every night, I wore enough brass badges to dazzle any audience at a parade, badges that had to be polished every day, my tunic had a white lanyard around the shoulder that led into my top pocket and an attached whistle, pomp and bombacity of the highest order, parade ground soldiers, all of us, and I drilled under the sun with my .303 and hard hat, I was taught cliff scaling and river crossing, bush craft was camouflage and trench warfare.
Then one day we where summoned to Q stores and outfitted with the latest uniform and armaments and I started to feel like a soldier, the kit sat comfortably and the uniform was practical and designed for the bush. Under the auspices of some former Rhodesian instructors and a leader element from EC Command we went into the bush around the Great fish river and was introduced to COIN ops, I loved it, this was my kind of terrain, the bush was as friendly to you as it would be to the enemy, neutral ground, where survival depended on how well you could adapt.
We where defeated at the negotiating table and not at Quito Canevale as the victors would claim today, we F????? them up there, we decimated a major overwhelming force and withdrew in an orderly fashion , the Cubans learned to respect us that day, but to the victor remains the spoils and they can write history in any way they please.
I sat at the table that early morning in 94 with a heavy heart, wondering if my generation would ever except what we had lost the previous day, when they came in with an overwhelming majority, It was over, an entire way of life vanished on that day, and my contribution was huge, I was in charges of radio comms in the Ciskei, linking all the remote polling stations and sorting out logistics, my final act of the opera was to aid in giving the land away, I earned a standing ovation and a letter of commendation, great in content but as worthless as the paper and the gesture.
I am old now, and the preceding years Ian Smith’s words proved prolific and stirred the fears in my generations hearts, but if I look at my kids, they seem to be doing ok, they survive like all around them, black or white, and there are some in the Government that is really trying hard to make a better life for all, maybe it is my age or the fact that change is slow in acceptance for me, maybe it is a hankering to a time when I was young and in control, whatever the reasons, maybe this section of Africa's wars had been fought and hopefully, for a thousand years to come, peace will settle in the lush valleys and harsh plains of my motherland, and we will find mutual interests in our diversity, and live together in harmony.
Some thoughts on movies
I don’t enjoy movies lately, but, please, it is not because of the acting ability of the actors or the quality of the presentation, it is because I find them removed from the reality of life, or at least my life, they address issues I do not identify with and story lines I cannot understand.
The action movies are all totally over the top, even Bruce Willis whom I enjoy as an actor always manages to save the whole world on his own, I would like to meet Mister Willis one day, I think under all the hoopla he is probably a great guy.
My daughter enjoys vampire movies and I started thinking of how many of the movies today focus on the supernatural or uses the alien theme as a story base, I suppose the bottom line is that it sells tickets. Movies like 2012 left me cold because of the implausibility of it all and some inaccuracies as far as facts are concerned, Avatur held me for a while but somewhere along the line it become mundane, I enjoyed Johnny Depp in the pirate series, not because of the story line, but because I enjoy watching him act, lord of the rings is good because it does not beg to be believed, it is simply a story and provides a path of escape to the mind, to a place where it does not have to think.
I am partial to movies about space, or the exploration of space, these movies are never based on fact and are representations of the imagination of the authors, any how you look at them, there is no way you can refute the fact that what is portrayed might well be so.
The movies I enjoyed tremendously are strangely enough those I shared in the company of my brother. Patton as portrayed by George C Scott was brilliant and factual, in later years I watched a movie with Tom Selleck as Eisenhower, think it was called Ike, in which he takes Patton to task about some unfortunate incident, and I wondered why they had to portray the General as a whimp, and to top it all use a whimpy actor to fill the part. Blazing saddles was another, it never laid any claims to trying to be believable or factual, and the actors where brilliant.
I watched Let the good times roll with Johan, it was the story of a concert held in one of the bigger centres of the USA, during a time when Rock and Roll was very much controversial, it used re enacted scenes as well as actual footage and burned the music of the sixties for ever into my mind, I also saw a movie about the battle of the bands based in the UK, it featured music of the British breakthrough and was brilliant, the Animals, Gerry and the pacemakers and a tall black guy that appeared on stage singing a song of which the lyrics was "mackezee mackezoo, repeated over and over to the accompaniment of great backing music, it had the teen audience screaming on their feet.
Me and Johan watched and enjoyed Gator and Smokey and the bandit with Burt Reynolds, one of my favourite actors, saw him first time in Nickelodeon, he looked rough tough and uncouth and I made great effort to see all his movies, Lee Marvin was another, saw him as a Sergeant in the Red, a war movie, the first time I saw him in a picture was with Marlon Brando, a movie about a motor cycle gang shot sometime during the fifties, does any one remember him in Paint your wagon or Shout at the devil ?.
Westerns, or cowboy movies, Aaah what abandon they offered, Stagecoach, Last train to "somewhere?" ,The Alamo with John Wayne, The magnificent seven with Charles Bronson, Shane and so many more, then the humorous ones like The Hallelujah trail and musicals like seven brides for seven brothers, every western I ever watched had a fight scene and we used to sit and wait for it while slugging away at our cokes.
The closing scene of the Sand Pebbles, a tribune to a great actor and a brilliant movie, Steve Mc Queen was the actor and I watched all of his movies, brilliant man destined to pass into the realms of history at the pinnacle of his career,Clint Eastwood continued to make great movies, remember when he walked onto the screen wearing his poncho and flicking it aside to reveal his gun filled holster, movies like The good the bad and the ugly established him but greatness was still to come in later movies, Chris Kristofferson, his claim to fame was Convoy and a whole generation of CB users mimicked the accents and codes used during the movie, we all had "handles", mine was Lobo a name I earned in the military due to my penchant for being alone, my wife was hot pants and others I remember where Chicco, snowbird, grizzly bear, my how the years have flown and how the memory has flagged.
My brother and me watched a movie, the opening scene is shot in a car viewing towards the steering wheel and feature a pair of hands slowly slipping on a pair of gloves, that was my introduction to Mel Gibson and Mad Max and I enjoyed his movies, okay so I admit that the theme was hard to believe, but it was the car scenes that attracted and not the story, I saw him later in a movie called "We where soldiers" and I enjoyed it immensely, he portrayed the character a bit larger than life but the story line was believable.
Michael Caine in Alfie, shot in the sixties and a brilliant drama, saw him in a movie with Billy Connolly called “Water” lovely comedy, I followed his career through the sixties and seventies, never missed one of his movies if I could help it. Remember the Bond movies with Sean Connery, remember the big guy “Odd Job” in Doctor No, the roll of Bond was later done by Roger Moore, saw him in the Saint, he was truly a great actor.
Some time during the eighties a series was aired on South African TV, the story was about crime and the fight against it, the actor was Farino, he used to drive a big ford in the series, wonder where I can lay my hands on it.
War Movies, where the super soldiers dwell, unbelievable things these guys do but there where the exceptions, movies like Full metal jacket and Searching for soldier Ryan, a bridge too far, the Longest day, The Guns of Navarone and of course Patton, The escapist movies like Rambo, a lot of gumpfh really but easy watching, A great Movie was “ None but the brave and featured Frank Sinatra.
There was so many movies I saw, so many I would like to see again, wish I could find a venue where they are still available, but I know that I would have to watch alone, my children would find them too slow paced and sloppy.
Strange how the world has changed, how tastes and styles have developed through the years, even warfare has undergone fundamental changes, a soldier of my time would not last long on the battlefields of today, and I guess life itself could be seen as a battlefield and we old-timers are not faring too well in the battles anymore.
THE IMPORTANCE OF OWNING A KNIFE
I got my first pocket knife when I was seven years old, for christmas, and for a while my mother was upset with my father,
she clearly thought it was too dangerous an object for a young boy to
have, as it turned out, I got to keep it. It was a cheap knife with
colourfull strips of plastic on the handle and the next few days was spent whittling away at almost everything.
A young lad needed a knife to shape the branch into a bow and cut the cord to length, he needed it to whittle away at a forked branch to make a slingshot, it was used to skin rats, prise gum from a tree trunk, lift the scab off of a sore and on the occasion when a beast was slaughtered it came in handy to cut a piece of the small intestine off to scorch on the fire for munching on while the juice dripped down your cheecks.
A pocket knife was not a status symbol, it was just a part of a small boys makeup and accompanied him everywhere, I bought my second knife with pennies and tickies painfully stashed away in a polish tin buried in the mealie field, it was a BEST, it was black and the motif BEST was written on its handle, this knife could open a tin of condensed milk and the blade would be sharpened in the process, that knife taught me the finer arts of using a knife, it was sharp and any lapse in concentration resulted in a cut, some severe and I knew I could not go to my parents for help because they would take my knife away.
There was a special knife on the market those days, it was called a Joseph Rogers, my uncles had them and they where way above what a small lad could put together in a year of secreting pennies, it had a blade made of sheffield steel and the blade itself never came loose and moved from side to side like the cheaper knives tended to do.
Got a pocket knife recently, it was beautifully shaped and all stainless steel, it cost a hell of a lot of money and the first time I used it to peg into a tree it disintegrated, I could not find all the bits and pieces and today the blade is the only thing that remains. I am looking for a good pocket knife, not an OKAPI, it is to big for the pocket, something like the trusted old BEST that accompanied me through my formative years, some how I dont think this is going to happen and I might have to settle for a cheap chinese version.
Where do I come from
Hereditary traits somehow lie hidden in our genes, animals do certain
things because it was born in them, humans show subtle changes in
behavior and appearance based on conditions experienced over
generations. Then sometimes from somewhere this one fucked out gene
comes down the line, from some age old family member long since
forgotten in the march of time, and it chooses a host, it never
enhances the physique or adds an inch or two where it matters most, no
this genes comes and sits in the mind, it is a behavioral gene, if you
would like to call it that., it changes your viewpoint from the
ordinary, it makes you amazed at the behavior of the people around
you, and it makes you an outsider amongst "normal" people.
It is that gene that makes you uncomfortable in a crowd, that makes
you long for solitude when you are amongst people, it makes you
uncomfortable in comfortable surroundings, it makes it difficult to
understand why people surround themselves with furniture and stuff
that they cant comfortable carry around on their backs, it makes you
pity the man that buys a house, for he is truly stuck in that one spot
while the whole world is out there, to be plucked and savored like a
flower.
Tie yourself down to one spot and you will never expose yourself to
the exciting multiple facets that life has to offer, sit in one spot
and life learns your habits, and sets you up for an ambush.
Sit in the bush, cold and hungry, and watch the sun rise, and know
that it will warm you and you will not have to pay for it, drink from
the river and know that you are not drinking some ones refined piss,
eat what it has to offer you and know that it has not been refined to
a frazzle, and know that it is free.
Convention has hung society with rules, and these rules are written by
the God called money, even religion in all its forms bow down to this
God.
I tried to trace the ancestor from whom I received this gene, trying
to form a picture of what type of person he could have been. I picked
up a trail dating back to 1827, Cradock, someone whose names I share
had signed a legal binding document, then years later his spoor lead
to the Freestate and then to Ugie, Yes, I think I isolated that person
who gave me the gene, it was him, and he was a wanderer the old
bugger.
Firing
I watched an episode of topgear where the host was riding in the cab of a pacific class steam locomotive and also shovelling coal into the firebox, the south african equivalent would probably have been a 16DA, a pacific class high stepping fast steam locomotive that featured six feet driving wheels and a wide firebox, I know it was all for show and that he was not a trained fireman, more obvious because he did not pack the corners just shoved the coal in, but what did catch my interest was the fact that there where two fireman in the cab, plus some other personell, on a south african steam loco there simply would not have been space for all of those people, I never fired a pacific, but I often listened to Frikkie Maasberg and Schalk van Heerden, two old drivers of my time discussing these engines, they where hand bombers, you had to pack the corners and feed the firebox manually but I was told that they where magnificent steamers, Schalk once told me of a case where two firemen where put onboard a 15F out of Burgersdorp because the mechanical stoker had failed, I can imagine how strenious it was for the two shovelling the coal, trying to avoid the hump of the wormgear and each other and still reach all the spots in the firebox. I always singed my forearms while packing the corners of a 19D, I used to haul out and fling the coal into the box hard enough to hear it hit the back corner, the distance from the coal tender to the firebox door was just too far to be able to stand in one spot and fire, you had to take a short step foreward and then backward again, it was called the firemans shuffle. The shovel was fashioned into a chute, which made it easy to handle and could be used with great effect through a half open firebox door, preventing too much cold air from going in. I used to fire in jeans and the 19D used to heat up the legs and make it uncomfortably hot, that was why the firemans dungarees where wide legged, I am told that the 14CRB was notorious for burning a firemans arse. To my mind the cab of a 19D was just a little but snugger than that of a 15AR, though I could be wrong, with the exception of the Garrat type of locos, the cabs where open at the back and on the shunts, during rain or snow, it could become quite cold, the drivers all had pieces of canvas cut to size to fit the gaps, but sometimes it was more a pain in the butt than a help, it was only when you spallowed (rested for a while) that its use was appreciated, making the cab cosy and warm, promoting drowsiness. Sometimes there was no shunting scheduled, then we used to run out to the ashpit, bank the fire (pulling all the fire into the back with only a sprinkling in the front), fill the boiler and run back into a loop close to the shunting cabin and sleep, one had to be carefull though not to let the fire die out, but tending the fire was second nature and could be done in your sleep.
Thoughts on smoking
Many years have passed since I stopped smoking, in the beginning years it was not easy, my body craved the satisfying kick of the first puff of the day, I used to dream that I was smoking and would wake up with a deep feeling of disappointment at having fallen back into a habit that was so difficult to kick and when the realization kicked in that it was only a dream, it strengthened my resolve.
All my kids but one smokes, I am comfortable with the fact that the others know the consequences of their actions; they are old enough to take responsibility for their own lives.
But what sparked this reminiscence was the smell of the rubbish they smoke, it smells like burning newspaper when lit up and common grass when burning, and sometimes like cheap pipe tobacco and they pay a premium for this rubbish.
Last week my son in law bought a packet of camels and the aroma took me back many years, the quality never changed though the package and the price did, it set me to thinking of the time I started smoking and the different brands I experimented with, today there is no doubt in my mind that I started smoking because my contemporaries did, and that it gave you a certain air of machoness and defiance, all the wrong reasons for slowly poisoning oneself.
I started with Kent, a white flip top packet and mild tasting which I smoked clandestinely in the toilet, lord alone knows how I thought I could hide the fact from my parents, I suppose it helped that they also smoked, funny thing is that years later after I had moved on to more richer tastes in cigarettes, every time I was offered and lit up a kent, I had an urge to go to the toilet.
During my school years money to buy fags was not readily available, but if you sold a few empty cool drink bottles you could buy a pack then going for something like fifteen cents, smoking on street corners with your mates also exposed you to a variety of different brands
Anton smoked Texan, he was older that us and his cigarettes burned a path down into the lungs of inexperienced smokers giving a pleasant buzz,
Doepie smoked Lucky strike because his father did and thus it was easy to come by,
Willie smoked Lexington, quite a pleasant taste and very popular sales wise those years, George smoked what he could lay his hands on, I tasted Five Star from him once, a very strong tobacco aimed at the black market of the day and it could literally rock you on your feet.
Closer to home my Grandma smoked Venus Chiefs, lovely taste; something along the lines of Chesterfields that came along later and was only available in plain, later on, when they brought out the filters it would become my preferred cigarette.
I smoked Lucky strike for many years, crumple pack, you could fish out a severely crumpled Lucky , stick it in the corner of your mouth and let it dangle there, screwing up your eyes against the smoke drifting up from the tip, tantalizing you nose, I have permanent wrinkles on the side of my eyes from those days,
During smoke breaks in the Army, a Lucky was passed around and ended up with a glowing ember about two thirds the size of the fag, each guy managed to get one pull and when it came back to you it was hot and kicked like a mule, Luckies could also be nipped, the practise of nipping off the burning tip and saving what was left for later use, a practise that tended to make the fag a little stronger,
I tried Texan, but could never get used to the taste. Of course I experimented widely with the different brands on the market,
there was Marlboro, too rich for my taste,
Camel, too rich for my pocket,
Black Sobranie, Russian, aah, those Russians must really have wanted to smoke if they smoked that stuff,
from Mozambique, Havana, horrible really, looked like it could have been rolled from banana leaves,
Pall Mall, why would any one want to smoke that crap,
Courtly, once on the border that was the only cigarette available, Gerry used to smoke them and I think the QM made sure there was a glut of them because he did not want to piss Gerry off,
Consulate, biggest shit under the sun and expensive too,
Who remembers Venus corks, came in a box that slid open like a matchbox, Turkish tobacco.
Cavalla kings was another brand, a pleasant smoke but for some reason not very popular, you could also get springbok cigarettes, tasted something like Lexington , then on the more sophisticated side,
Rembrandt, Ransom and Pirillys, horrible tasting and I bought only one packet of each ever. Senior service, the pack with the grizzled sailor on the front, lovely smoke but heavy on the pocket,
Pall Mall no matter if you pronounced it Pall Mall or Pell Mell, it still tasted like dried out donkey crap.
Stuyvesant, the add went something like "through out the world, discerning people turn to Stuyvesant" not a bad fag but not a patch on Lexington.
Then a Rhodesian cigarette hit the market and a lot of us changed because of the Macho image portrayed in the advertising campaign, Gunston had come to take up space on the shelves of the cafe's and supermarkets, the original package had a unique colour and guys like Willie Meissner and Bobby Oltoff used it as racing colours, then the flip top pack came out and the colour changed, today, if you refer to gunston it conjures up an image of the later colour , a facts that pains me as I preferred the original,
Gunston did not last long on my list of favourites and I slipped back into the comfortable taste zone of Chesterfield.
There was the pipe years as well, got myself a Mac nab and shared Navy cut, Rum and Maple, Sobranie and some other exotic flavours with my Brother, in leaner times I smoked Boxer or BB or Fox, once even Horse Shoe, what a misnomer, Horse Shit fitted better,
My mothers uncle, oom oomie smoked Horse Shoe , it came in a cloth bag and he would sometimes playfully hit us on the eyes with the bag, made us sneeze and our eyes water, caused much mirth amongst the adults. Springbok also came in a cloth bag, tasted something along the lines of Horse Shoe,
Pipe smoking is inconvenient, you used a lot of matches and it shits in your mouth, burning your tongue, so back to the old fag it was.
For some years I suffered from a hacking cough and my sinuses played havoc, gradually I made the association but I started to fight the symptoms instead of the cause, then one day I checked my packet and found I did not have enough to see me through the night, we stayed far from the shop and the chances where that I would not make it in time, momentarily I panicked, then, in a sudden moment of enlightenment I realized that smoking had come to rule my life to the extent that I was sacrificing my health for the benefit of my habit and I resented that, I could never except a situation where I was being manipulated, it meant I did not have control over my own life.
I left the packet with the few cigarettes in it on top of the piano, a week later I asked Cathy to throw it away, I had managed to walk away from a bad habit, but make no mistake, if nicotine hooks you at any time during your life, it takes many years of conscious fighting not to slip back into the habit and no amount of praying, divine intervention or chemicals is going to help you kick it, YOU! have to stop.
Requiem for Queenstown
Queenstown lies in the Eastern Cape region of South Africa, in the area known as the border, this was as far as civilization spread in the mid eighteen hundreds,
during the wars against the ama Xhosa, the town was built to be defended in the event of an attack, it had a fortified hexagon in the center with streets radiating out from it along which cannons where trained for better fire power.
Queenstown was also the first major steam loco after East London, and was staffed by a large contingent of railway men, the farmers of the area depended on the town for merchandise and so a very efficient light industry section was created in the town, and like all towns of the area, it had a military camp, and all of us young men got to know the inside of the base intimately.
We lived there, me, my brothers and my mother, until she passed along, life was tough for us boys and for a time we survived as best we could, we met our wives there.
Queenstown is hemmed in by Longhill and Madeira hill to the one side, and the flat lands off to Whittlesea on the other side, just out of town, around the mountain lies the Bongolo dam, we had many a good braai there in the company of great friends, and if longhill could speak, I suppose many a little scandle would be revealed.
Off towards the south east, past the military base lies the shooting range, the pride of Colonel Chemaly, and the place where I was nearly shot one night during night training. The local cinema in town, think it was the Savoy and of course the drive in theatre near westbourne, where many a sweaty hand was shared in the backseat of a car.
Queenstown had beautifully laid out gardens and parks, the hexagon sported a fountain Where a certain lady lance corporal once swam around the pond in her browns on a dare, 12 o,clock on a cold wintry night, she earned the ten rand bet, but I think it was but a small token for the courage displayed, Jackie, you got spirit girl, always had and always will have. Queenstown folded around us like a well worn blanket, offering the warmth of friendships and fimiliarity of well trod streets.
The lounge where the sound approach played, the taste of potato chips bought at the Hexagon fisheries on a cold wintry afternoon, the texture of the soup that never changed at the roadhouse by the caravan park,
Martie, beyond a doubt the best crumpet maker in town,many a warm evening spent in her flat at the Oaks surrounded by friends, Violet with her quiet friendship, Jackie Barnes, Benoni van Staden, Coekoes de Wilsen, Jan Nel, Marie and Trevor May, Avril, Trudy, Grisly bear, Cathy, all names that impacted on my life then, and still do in my quiet times. Queenstown,from the cemetery on the joburg side where my mother lies, to the bridge over the railway line on the East London side, offered us a living and we took what we could get, sadly, not much of it is left today.
I visited Johan by train and was shocked at the devastation of the town, why did they have to take a little jewel and destroy it like that, do they hold nothing sacred, or would it be better if everything was reduced to cow crap and mud huts,
I am not referring to the commerce of the town, but to the degeneration that socks you in the eye as you wander through the streets, everything on the hexagon is gone, the streets had been dug up and left as if it was done as an after thought.
I see no order in the streets, even the traffic officers show a flagrant disregard for the rules of the road, I saw this happen on a bigger scale in Umtata all those years ago, now it has come here, to this place that is a shrine to the memories of a time that had such an impact on me, why would anybody want to crap on his own doorstep,
Where do they fit into the realm of humanity, do they fit at all?.
Some thoughts on religion
Many years ago when I was young and impressionable I was tasked with standing at the door of the church, welcoming the brothers and sisters, until the day I was told that I could no longer do that because I had gone to the drive in theatre the night before.
Poor misguided man who told me this, he was clearly under the impression that GOD had vested the power of judgement in him , this to him was the ultimate sin, if so, then what about the times I lay with a woman or shot at another human being or did any of the innumerable things that religion forbids.
For these major sins I could get on my knees and I would be forgiven, but for the sin of giving wings to my imagination by watching a movie, I was doomed, I could not see the wrong in the joy of dancing or listening to music and the movies gave me an escape route from a sometimes harsh life, I did not relish a life of blind servitude, anyway, that to my mind would have been a greater wrong.
Maybe he knew that as far as the church was concerned I would never have made the grade and took early steps to remove me from the ladder of advancement,
I learnt a lesson though, this incident taught me that religion is a very private thing, and if you wear it on your sleeve all the time it reflects all your weaknesses like a mirror.
A religious man once told me that pride is the primeval sin, the mother of all sins, I cannot agree with this, strip a man of his pride and you reduce him to nothing, you banish him from society and confine him to the fringes of humanity, at this level a person is easy to manipulate and control and becomes a slave to the whims of a stronger person.
Many times I have stood on church parade and watched a similar ceremony take place across the border in the enemy camp, and I wondered whom would be favoured if the political stalemate should be broken and we had to fight again.
You see, I don't believe in that any more, not in the way it was practiced then or today, when membership was used to give you a certain standing in society, money has crept into every seam of it and the only hold that man has over it has deteriorated into veiled threats, fear and the assurance that blessing can be bought for money.
Don't get the wrong impression, I admire people of strong faith and every person should believe in something, there are those that do immeasurable good in the name of religion, but every time someone tells me I should do this or that, or live my life thus and act like such else I will surely burn in hell, it makes my heckles rise.
I believe that there is a greater spirit prevailing amongst man, and it has nothing to do with money or power, I think that this spirit has the innate ability to soothe the pain life throws at you from time to time,
I believe it can be shared but should not be forced, I believe it lives inside every person on earth, test it, look with softness into another's eyes and see the response, is this not as it is supposed to be?.
There is an old adage that says "God helps those whom help themselves" I believe this, why waste time on an unresponsive individual who always only holds his hand out for help, but will never try to fend for himself,
Following like a sheep surely is in some way admitting that you do not comply with the manufacturers specs, no joy in your strength, no pride in yourself only a yes sir, no sir, while opportunity sits winking at you, trying its best to get past the blinkers on your eyes, there is none so blind as he who will not see
Things have certainly changed during my lifetime, I used to bunk school and sneak away to the bioscope where you could watch four movies for a mere pittance and get a cup of coke for free, I watched in awe as John Wayne swaggered around, winning fist fights and shooting Indians, who surprisingly only fell over after being shot, What I have against today’s movies is the utter unbelieveability of it all, since that fart face traipsed across the screen shouting lock and load I have built up a natural resistance to the movies of today, good lord, any one who has ever handled a firearm knows that it is impossible to lock and load, you load and lock, that is an old artillery term where you load a round into the chamber and then you lock the breech, where does this crap come from?.
This same hero of the silver screen shot a person with a handgun and that person virtually disintegrated, any gun that packs such a wallop would have a recoil that will remove your arm at the shoulder if you fire it, I have seen the effects of taking a fatal shot, the victim crumples up and falls, sometimes forwards and sometimes backwards, but stays intact, unless of course it was a 50 or a 20mm cannon or the projectile was fitted with an exploding head, in which case the hole in the body is bigger, another thing that gives me the shits is holding a handgun on its side when firing, do yourself a favour, try it and see how much run off from the target you get, hold it correctly and you have a chance to hit anywhere on the body in the vertical plane, hold it sideways and your area of hit is considerably reduced.
We lost butter in my time, some crack marketing genius told the world that butter is harmful to your health, I often wondered about the hundreds of years of using butter that preceded his campaign, margarine in itself holds hidden dangers that is not made known to the public,
Coffee changed to instant coffee, in my childhood the only instant thing you got was a smack on the side of the head if you pissed the old man off, there was something called coffee concentrate though, it came in a bottle and you used two teaspoons full in a cup of boiling water but its taste did not match the real thing which used to stand drawing away on the edge of the old coal stove in a big pot.
Today almost everything is instant or refined, but check the additives, almost all of them unhealthy, even the morals of our existence have secumed to the instant genre, today you may buy condoms in the supermarket, I believe there is even a speed load version available that makes application almost instantaneous, HOW?. In my time, if you needed a condom you had to approach the local chemist and with furtive glances around put your twenty five cents on the counter, and he used to know what you wanted and haul out a small brown paper wrapped parcel that you shoved into your pocket and then left the premises at speed, knowing that the old chemist will draw the association next time he sees you walking down the street with your girlfriend.
But all this has no meaning to today’s generation, simply because they have nothing to draw the comparison against, they grew up with these things and it is left to old fart faces like me to bemoan the passing of time and the demise of a quality of life that will never return.
OUT OF AFRICA
For as long as I can remember Africa has been
in conflict with itself or the so called oppressor, time has taught me that there is no greater oppressor than the liberated, who in all instances subject their citizens whom so gallantly fought the forces of colonialism to hardships and atrocities sometimes unbelievable to our civilized European ethics, codes and morals.
When Africa came to be settled in a serious manner all those years ago, the pioneers fought hard to battle a foothold into the soil of Africa, this they where prepared to do alongside those already found there, but the social structures had no parallels, it was not wrong to take what you needed, or bash someone’s’ brains out if he offended, and this was in direct conflict with the settlers christianic views, of course they retaliated and laid down the law in no uncertain way, realizing that the safety of their families depended much on whether they could keep the savage at bay. There where battles and hangings, beatings and land appropriations through the following years and gradually a sort of shaky civilized peace bought prosperity to mostly the white settlers whom jealously guarded their wealth through the barrel of a gun or the sharp end of a sjambok.
A veritable powder keg, what the settlers had overlooked was the fact that these where not animals but humans with all the basic emotions of human beings, the lust for wealth and prosperity, the mistake was in having kept them in a state of savage ignorance as to what it took to build up wealth, an understanding that needs education of which they where deprived, but here and there white civilization started rubbing off on a few, this coupled with the inbred savagery of centuries of tribal rule provided the spark that made Africa burn. The late fifties and sixties finally saw Africa go up in smoke fueled by a savage population that was easily whipped up into a killing frenzy by their own, those wanting to manipulate circumstance to suit their own pockets.
Civilized Europe shuddered at the stories coming out of the region, and for the most part marked it down to propaganda, safely ensconced behind centuries of civilized laws and taxes, safe in the knowledge that a locked door denies access, not so in Northern Angola, where settlers and workers where strapped to boards and fed through the saw mills, where Portuguese women where forced to watch their husbands being dismembered before being raped and killed, where nuns and padres alike where slaughtered and gutted like fish. The Congo, where victims had their legs hacked off and left to die slow and painfully, where nuns where slaughtered mercilessly.
It takes a special type of soldier to combat this type of fanatical conflict, not necessarily the ones who strut the parade grounds in starched uniforms and regimented text book battles, it needed those who could match the savagery and still perform their duties, the kind of thing Kitchener did at Omdurman, and they came, answering the call of Mars and Loki and that of the most powerful god of all, The almighty dollar, these where the mercenaries, they where in it for something other than the ideology, they came to fight.
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| Mike Hoare commander 5th commando belgian congo |
To the Congo came the French student, Le Affreu, the terrible ones, they came to earn money to study, from south Africa came Mike Hoares fifth commando, which including a great number of Rhodesians and Irish, in any conflict of this nature, anywhere in the world you would not have to scratch too deep to find an Irishman, inbred willingness to fight, oblique way of thinking that made it seem as if the hardships of war was natural, a nation born unto conflict.
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| Escourting refugees out of the danger zone |
Jadotville happened in 1961, 300 Irish soldiers from 76 battalion in Dublin was sent to the Congo, 155 of the 35th battalion ended up in Jadotville to perform area stabilization patrols etc.they where promptly besieged and faced a force of 3000 Katangese rebels of the Baluba tribe as well as French, Belgian and Rhodesian mercenaries, they fought with typical Irish tenacity, but they faced waves of 300 strong attackers backed by the worlds foremost bush fighters (maybe a foretaste of what was to come later when the Rhodesians stood alone in their own country fighting like devils to preserve their way of life), fighting a conventional war always needs good supply lines, any way, it ended in disaster for the Irish, forced to sustain attacks of this nature with no logistical backup is not possible in a conventional type of battle and favors the bush fighter that lives off the land, after a week of fighting they ran out of ammo and food and where forced to capitulate after inflicting 300 casualties and 1000 wounded on the enemy, with no deaths and only a few wounded on their side, they where treated as cowards by the higher command, to my mind a way of shifting the blame from the real culprits, something along the lines of what happened at Tobruk, where my uncle was taken after the South African commander surrendered to Rommel after more or less being abandoned by his superiors, to move off in the mists of history with the blanket of the shame of surrender hanging around his shoulders, he was vindicated of course in later years, but it took the Irish high command 45 years to honor the brave soldiers of Jadotville, today there is a commemorative stone to the memory of the brave men of A company at Custume barracks in Athlone to their memory.
A motley mob made up the leader element of the fighting forces of the Congo of that time, one of Hoares merry men later turned up as an instructor at the military college in Voortrekker Hoogte, where he taught me the finer points of safeguarding military secrets in the general confines of a military establishment during a course with military intelligence, Jerry Puren headed up the air force, a total of two aircraft but highly efficient, Black Jack Schramme had his own private army and his own ambitions, Bob Denard, Muller and Wicks was there for the money, and the fight and of course Mike was also in it for the Dollar, there could never be glory in this type of war.
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| 5 commando mercanaries |
The efforts of the men whom fought there at the time was eventually defeated by the united nations and their innate ability to be swayed by those who had a more economic interest in the land, and the local population be damned, thus the lights went out over the bush of the Congo, fomenting great atrocities and hardships upon the hapless population that stayed behind.
The fire slowly burned down to Rhodesia where after correctly interpreting the winds of change speech, the Government declared UDI, Britain disliked this and immediately imposed sanctions, what hidden agenda did the UK have to make them want to turn on their former colony in such a manner?.
In Rhodesia the insurgents and their backers (there where many of them, all wanting a slice of the spoils of war) faced a different kind of war, they where fighting the settler on his own ground, someone who had a lot to lose and knew and loved the country with a passion, more important, they knew the mindset and habits of the local population, they knew the bush and how to live and survive in it, and they applied their knowledge with devastating effect. Rhodesia was eventually defeated in the halls of the United Nations and the passages of government house in the UK; it left the formidable armed force of Rhodesia with a bitter taste and a dry mouth wondering what the F??? happened, even South Africa, under pressure from Mr. Kholl stopped supplying much needed fuel to Ian Smith, Ian stood alone and stated that in a thousand years the people would not be able to rule themselves, profound utterance, and one that proved to be correct in years to come.
A finger of flame licked out and touched the Caprivi, a bullet slew Lieutenant Zeelie, and the war had come to South Africa. Those years we where a conventional force, my uniform was ex second world war, my bunny jacket was of the same heavy course material as my trench coat , designed to keep me warm and dry in trench warfare, I wore ankle boots of leather and puttees that needed to be blanco'd to a drab green every night, I wore enough brass badges to dazzle any audience at a parade, badges that had to be polished every day, my tunic had a white lanyard around the shoulder that led into my top pocket and an attached whistle, pomp and bombacity of the highest order, parade ground soldiers, all of us, and I drilled under the sun with my .303 and hard hat, I was taught cliff scaling and river crossing, bush craft was camouflage and trench warfare.
Then one day we where summoned to Q stores and outfitted with the latest uniform and armaments and I started to feel like a soldier, the kit sat comfortably and the uniform was practical and designed for the bush. Under the auspices of some former Rhodesian instructors and a leader element from EC Command we went into the bush around the Great fish river and was introduced to COIN ops, I loved it, this was my kind of terrain, the bush was as friendly to you as it would be to the enemy, neutral ground, where survival depended on how well you could adapt.
We where defeated at the negotiating table and not at Quito Canevale as the victors would claim today, we F????? them up there, we decimated a major overwhelming force and withdrew in an orderly fashion , the Cubans learned to respect us that day, but to the victor remains the spoils and they can write history in any way they please.
I sat at the table that early morning in 94 with a heavy heart, wondering if my generation would ever except what we had lost the previous day, when they came in with an overwhelming majority, It was over, an entire way of life vanished on that day, and my contribution was huge, I was in charges of radio comms in the Ciskei, linking all the remote polling stations and sorting out logistics, my final act of the opera was to aid in giving the land away, I earned a standing ovation and a letter of commendation, great in content but as worthless as the paper and the gesture.
I am old now, and the preceding years Ian Smith’s words proved prolific and stirred the fears in my generations hearts, but if I look at my kids, they seem to be doing ok, they survive like all around them, black or white, and there are some in the Government that is really trying hard to make a better life for all, maybe it is my age or the fact that change is slow in acceptance for me, maybe it is a hankering to a time when I was young and in control, whatever the reasons, maybe this section of Africa's wars had been fought and hopefully, for a thousand years to come, peace will settle in the lush valleys and harsh plains of my motherland, and we will find mutual interests in our diversity, and live together in harmony.
Some thoughts on movies
I don’t enjoy movies lately, but, please, it is not because of the acting ability of the actors or the quality of the presentation, it is because I find them removed from the reality of life, or at least my life, they address issues I do not identify with and story lines I cannot understand.
The action movies are all totally over the top, even Bruce Willis whom I enjoy as an actor always manages to save the whole world on his own, I would like to meet Mister Willis one day, I think under all the hoopla he is probably a great guy.
My daughter enjoys vampire movies and I started thinking of how many of the movies today focus on the supernatural or uses the alien theme as a story base, I suppose the bottom line is that it sells tickets. Movies like 2012 left me cold because of the implausibility of it all and some inaccuracies as far as facts are concerned, Avatur held me for a while but somewhere along the line it become mundane, I enjoyed Johnny Depp in the pirate series, not because of the story line, but because I enjoy watching him act, lord of the rings is good because it does not beg to be believed, it is simply a story and provides a path of escape to the mind, to a place where it does not have to think.
I am partial to movies about space, or the exploration of space, these movies are never based on fact and are representations of the imagination of the authors, any how you look at them, there is no way you can refute the fact that what is portrayed might well be so.
The movies I enjoyed tremendously are strangely enough those I shared in the company of my brother. Patton as portrayed by George C Scott was brilliant and factual, in later years I watched a movie with Tom Selleck as Eisenhower, think it was called Ike, in which he takes Patton to task about some unfortunate incident, and I wondered why they had to portray the General as a whimp, and to top it all use a whimpy actor to fill the part. Blazing saddles was another, it never laid any claims to trying to be believable or factual, and the actors where brilliant.
I watched Let the good times roll with Johan, it was the story of a concert held in one of the bigger centres of the USA, during a time when Rock and Roll was very much controversial, it used re enacted scenes as well as actual footage and burned the music of the sixties for ever into my mind, I also saw a movie about the battle of the bands based in the UK, it featured music of the British breakthrough and was brilliant, the Animals, Gerry and the pacemakers and a tall black guy that appeared on stage singing a song of which the lyrics was "mackezee mackezoo, repeated over and over to the accompaniment of great backing music, it had the teen audience screaming on their feet.
Me and Johan watched and enjoyed Gator and Smokey and the bandit with Burt Reynolds, one of my favourite actors, saw him first time in Nickelodeon, he looked rough tough and uncouth and I made great effort to see all his movies, Lee Marvin was another, saw him as a Sergeant in the Red, a war movie, the first time I saw him in a picture was with Marlon Brando, a movie about a motor cycle gang shot sometime during the fifties, does any one remember him in Paint your wagon or Shout at the devil ?.
Westerns, or cowboy movies, Aaah what abandon they offered, Stagecoach, Last train to "somewhere?" ,The Alamo with John Wayne, The magnificent seven with Charles Bronson, Shane and so many more, then the humorous ones like The Hallelujah trail and musicals like seven brides for seven brothers, every western I ever watched had a fight scene and we used to sit and wait for it while slugging away at our cokes.
The closing scene of the Sand Pebbles, a tribune to a great actor and a brilliant movie, Steve Mc Queen was the actor and I watched all of his movies, brilliant man destined to pass into the realms of history at the pinnacle of his career,Clint Eastwood continued to make great movies, remember when he walked onto the screen wearing his poncho and flicking it aside to reveal his gun filled holster, movies like The good the bad and the ugly established him but greatness was still to come in later movies, Chris Kristofferson, his claim to fame was Convoy and a whole generation of CB users mimicked the accents and codes used during the movie, we all had "handles", mine was Lobo a name I earned in the military due to my penchant for being alone, my wife was hot pants and others I remember where Chicco, snowbird, grizzly bear, my how the years have flown and how the memory has flagged.
My brother and me watched a movie, the opening scene is shot in a car viewing towards the steering wheel and feature a pair of hands slowly slipping on a pair of gloves, that was my introduction to Mel Gibson and Mad Max and I enjoyed his movies, okay so I admit that the theme was hard to believe, but it was the car scenes that attracted and not the story, I saw him later in a movie called "We where soldiers" and I enjoyed it immensely, he portrayed the character a bit larger than life but the story line was believable.
Michael Caine in Alfie, shot in the sixties and a brilliant drama, saw him in a movie with Billy Connolly called “Water” lovely comedy, I followed his career through the sixties and seventies, never missed one of his movies if I could help it. Remember the Bond movies with Sean Connery, remember the big guy “Odd Job” in Doctor No, the roll of Bond was later done by Roger Moore, saw him in the Saint, he was truly a great actor.
Some time during the eighties a series was aired on South African TV, the story was about crime and the fight against it, the actor was Farino, he used to drive a big ford in the series, wonder where I can lay my hands on it.
War Movies, where the super soldiers dwell, unbelievable things these guys do but there where the exceptions, movies like Full metal jacket and Searching for soldier Ryan, a bridge too far, the Longest day, The Guns of Navarone and of course Patton, The escapist movies like Rambo, a lot of gumpfh really but easy watching, A great Movie was “ None but the brave and featured Frank Sinatra.
There was so many movies I saw, so many I would like to see again, wish I could find a venue where they are still available, but I know that I would have to watch alone, my children would find them too slow paced and sloppy.
Strange how the world has changed, how tastes and styles have developed through the years, even warfare has undergone fundamental changes, a soldier of my time would not last long on the battlefields of today, and I guess life itself could be seen as a battlefield and we old-timers are not faring too well in the battles anymore.
A young lad needed a knife to shape the branch into a bow and cut the cord to length, he needed it to whittle away at a forked branch to make a slingshot, it was used to skin rats, prise gum from a tree trunk, lift the scab off of a sore and on the occasion when a beast was slaughtered it came in handy to cut a piece of the small intestine off to scorch on the fire for munching on while the juice dripped down your cheecks.
A pocket knife was not a status symbol, it was just a part of a small boys makeup and accompanied him everywhere, I bought my second knife with pennies and tickies painfully stashed away in a polish tin buried in the mealie field, it was a BEST, it was black and the motif BEST was written on its handle, this knife could open a tin of condensed milk and the blade would be sharpened in the process, that knife taught me the finer arts of using a knife, it was sharp and any lapse in concentration resulted in a cut, some severe and I knew I could not go to my parents for help because they would take my knife away.
There was a special knife on the market those days, it was called a Joseph Rogers, my uncles had them and they where way above what a small lad could put together in a year of secreting pennies, it had a blade made of sheffield steel and the blade itself never came loose and moved from side to side like the cheaper knives tended to do.
Got a pocket knife recently, it was beautifully shaped and all stainless steel, it cost a hell of a lot of money and the first time I used it to peg into a tree it disintegrated, I could not find all the bits and pieces and today the blade is the only thing that remains. I am looking for a good pocket knife, not an OKAPI, it is to big for the pocket, something like the trusted old BEST that accompanied me through my formative years, some how I dont think this is going to happen and I might have to settle for a cheap chinese version.
I watched an episode of topgear where the host was riding in the cab of a pacific class steam locomotive and also shovelling coal into the firebox, the south african equivalent would probably have been a 16DA, a pacific class high stepping fast steam locomotive that featured six feet driving wheels and a wide firebox, I know it was all for show and that he was not a trained fireman, more obvious because he did not pack the corners just shoved the coal in, but what did catch my interest was the fact that there where two fireman in the cab, plus some other personell, on a south african steam loco there simply would not have been space for all of those people, I never fired a pacific, but I often listened to Frikkie Maasberg and Schalk van Heerden, two old drivers of my time discussing these engines, they where hand bombers, you had to pack the corners and feed the firebox manually but I was told that they where magnificent steamers, Schalk once told me of a case where two firemen where put onboard a 15F out of Burgersdorp because the mechanical stoker had failed, I can imagine how strenious it was for the two shovelling the coal, trying to avoid the hump of the wormgear and each other and still reach all the spots in the firebox. I always singed my forearms while packing the corners of a 19D, I used to haul out and fling the coal into the box hard enough to hear it hit the back corner, the distance from the coal tender to the firebox door was just too far to be able to stand in one spot and fire, you had to take a short step foreward and then backward again, it was called the firemans shuffle. The shovel was fashioned into a chute, which made it easy to handle and could be used with great effect through a half open firebox door, preventing too much cold air from going in. I used to fire in jeans and the 19D used to heat up the legs and make it uncomfortably hot, that was why the firemans dungarees where wide legged, I am told that the 14CRB was notorious for burning a firemans arse. To my mind the cab of a 19D was just a little but snugger than that of a 15AR, though I could be wrong, with the exception of the Garrat type of locos, the cabs where open at the back and on the shunts, during rain or snow, it could become quite cold, the drivers all had pieces of canvas cut to size to fit the gaps, but sometimes it was more a pain in the butt than a help, it was only when you spallowed (rested for a while) that its use was appreciated, making the cab cosy and warm, promoting drowsiness. Sometimes there was no shunting scheduled, then we used to run out to the ashpit, bank the fire (pulling all the fire into the back with only a sprinkling in the front), fill the boiler and run back into a loop close to the shunting cabin and sleep, one had to be carefull though not to let the fire die out, but tending the fire was second nature and could be done in your sleep.
Thoughts on smoking
Many years have passed since I stopped smoking, in the beginning years it was not easy, my body craved the satisfying kick of the first puff of the day, I used to dream that I was smoking and would wake up with a deep feeling of disappointment at having fallen back into a habit that was so difficult to kick and when the realization kicked in that it was only a dream, it strengthened my resolve.
All my kids but one smokes, I am comfortable with the fact that the others know the consequences of their actions; they are old enough to take responsibility for their own lives.
But what sparked this reminiscence was the smell of the rubbish they smoke, it smells like burning newspaper when lit up and common grass when burning, and sometimes like cheap pipe tobacco and they pay a premium for this rubbish.
Last week my son in law bought a packet of camels and the aroma took me back many years, the quality never changed though the package and the price did, it set me to thinking of the time I started smoking and the different brands I experimented with, today there is no doubt in my mind that I started smoking because my contemporaries did, and that it gave you a certain air of machoness and defiance, all the wrong reasons for slowly poisoning oneself.
I started with Kent, a white flip top packet and mild tasting which I smoked clandestinely in the toilet, lord alone knows how I thought I could hide the fact from my parents, I suppose it helped that they also smoked, funny thing is that years later after I had moved on to more richer tastes in cigarettes, every time I was offered and lit up a kent, I had an urge to go to the toilet.
During my school years money to buy fags was not readily available, but if you sold a few empty cool drink bottles you could buy a pack then going for something like fifteen cents, smoking on street corners with your mates also exposed you to a variety of different brands
Anton smoked Texan, he was older that us and his cigarettes burned a path down into the lungs of inexperienced smokers giving a pleasant buzz,
Doepie smoked Lucky strike because his father did and thus it was easy to come by,
Willie smoked Lexington, quite a pleasant taste and very popular sales wise those years, George smoked what he could lay his hands on, I tasted Five Star from him once, a very strong tobacco aimed at the black market of the day and it could literally rock you on your feet.
Closer to home my Grandma smoked Venus Chiefs, lovely taste; something along the lines of Chesterfields that came along later and was only available in plain, later on, when they brought out the filters it would become my preferred cigarette.
I smoked Lucky strike for many years, crumple pack, you could fish out a severely crumpled Lucky , stick it in the corner of your mouth and let it dangle there, screwing up your eyes against the smoke drifting up from the tip, tantalizing you nose, I have permanent wrinkles on the side of my eyes from those days,
During smoke breaks in the Army, a Lucky was passed around and ended up with a glowing ember about two thirds the size of the fag, each guy managed to get one pull and when it came back to you it was hot and kicked like a mule, Luckies could also be nipped, the practise of nipping off the burning tip and saving what was left for later use, a practise that tended to make the fag a little stronger,
I tried Texan, but could never get used to the taste. Of course I experimented widely with the different brands on the market,
there was Marlboro, too rich for my taste,
Camel, too rich for my pocket,
Black Sobranie, Russian, aah, those Russians must really have wanted to smoke if they smoked that stuff,
from Mozambique, Havana, horrible really, looked like it could have been rolled from banana leaves,
Pall Mall, why would any one want to smoke that crap,
Courtly, once on the border that was the only cigarette available, Gerry used to smoke them and I think the QM made sure there was a glut of them because he did not want to piss Gerry off,
Consulate, biggest shit under the sun and expensive too,
Who remembers Venus corks, came in a box that slid open like a matchbox, Turkish tobacco.
Cavalla kings was another brand, a pleasant smoke but for some reason not very popular, you could also get springbok cigarettes, tasted something like Lexington , then on the more sophisticated side,
Rembrandt, Ransom and Pirillys, horrible tasting and I bought only one packet of each ever. Senior service, the pack with the grizzled sailor on the front, lovely smoke but heavy on the pocket,
Pall Mall no matter if you pronounced it Pall Mall or Pell Mell, it still tasted like dried out donkey crap.
Stuyvesant, the add went something like "through out the world, discerning people turn to Stuyvesant" not a bad fag but not a patch on Lexington.
Then a Rhodesian cigarette hit the market and a lot of us changed because of the Macho image portrayed in the advertising campaign, Gunston had come to take up space on the shelves of the cafe's and supermarkets, the original package had a unique colour and guys like Willie Meissner and Bobby Oltoff used it as racing colours, then the flip top pack came out and the colour changed, today, if you refer to gunston it conjures up an image of the later colour , a facts that pains me as I preferred the original,
Gunston did not last long on my list of favourites and I slipped back into the comfortable taste zone of Chesterfield.
There was the pipe years as well, got myself a Mac nab and shared Navy cut, Rum and Maple, Sobranie and some other exotic flavours with my Brother, in leaner times I smoked Boxer or BB or Fox, once even Horse Shoe, what a misnomer, Horse Shit fitted better,
My mothers uncle, oom oomie smoked Horse Shoe , it came in a cloth bag and he would sometimes playfully hit us on the eyes with the bag, made us sneeze and our eyes water, caused much mirth amongst the adults. Springbok also came in a cloth bag, tasted something along the lines of Horse Shoe,
Pipe smoking is inconvenient, you used a lot of matches and it shits in your mouth, burning your tongue, so back to the old fag it was.
For some years I suffered from a hacking cough and my sinuses played havoc, gradually I made the association but I started to fight the symptoms instead of the cause, then one day I checked my packet and found I did not have enough to see me through the night, we stayed far from the shop and the chances where that I would not make it in time, momentarily I panicked, then, in a sudden moment of enlightenment I realized that smoking had come to rule my life to the extent that I was sacrificing my health for the benefit of my habit and I resented that, I could never except a situation where I was being manipulated, it meant I did not have control over my own life.
I left the packet with the few cigarettes in it on top of the piano, a week later I asked Cathy to throw it away, I had managed to walk away from a bad habit, but make no mistake, if nicotine hooks you at any time during your life, it takes many years of conscious fighting not to slip back into the habit and no amount of praying, divine intervention or chemicals is going to help you kick it, YOU! have to stop.
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| Queenstown, early seventies |
Queenstown lies in the Eastern Cape region of South Africa, in the area known as the border, this was as far as civilization spread in the mid eighteen hundreds,
during the wars against the ama Xhosa, the town was built to be defended in the event of an attack, it had a fortified hexagon in the center with streets radiating out from it along which cannons where trained for better fire power.
Queenstown was also the first major steam loco after East London, and was staffed by a large contingent of railway men, the farmers of the area depended on the town for merchandise and so a very efficient light industry section was created in the town, and like all towns of the area, it had a military camp, and all of us young men got to know the inside of the base intimately.
We lived there, me, my brothers and my mother, until she passed along, life was tough for us boys and for a time we survived as best we could, we met our wives there.
Queenstown is hemmed in by Longhill and Madeira hill to the one side, and the flat lands off to Whittlesea on the other side, just out of town, around the mountain lies the Bongolo dam, we had many a good braai there in the company of great friends, and if longhill could speak, I suppose many a little scandle would be revealed.
Off towards the south east, past the military base lies the shooting range, the pride of Colonel Chemaly, and the place where I was nearly shot one night during night training. The local cinema in town, think it was the Savoy and of course the drive in theatre near westbourne, where many a sweaty hand was shared in the backseat of a car.
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| The Hexagon in Queenstown as it used to be |
Queenstown had beautifully laid out gardens and parks, the hexagon sported a fountain Where a certain lady lance corporal once swam around the pond in her browns on a dare, 12 o,clock on a cold wintry night, she earned the ten rand bet, but I think it was but a small token for the courage displayed, Jackie, you got spirit girl, always had and always will have. Queenstown folded around us like a well worn blanket, offering the warmth of friendships and fimiliarity of well trod streets.
The lounge where the sound approach played, the taste of potato chips bought at the Hexagon fisheries on a cold wintry afternoon, the texture of the soup that never changed at the roadhouse by the caravan park,
Martie, beyond a doubt the best crumpet maker in town,many a warm evening spent in her flat at the Oaks surrounded by friends, Violet with her quiet friendship, Jackie Barnes, Benoni van Staden, Coekoes de Wilsen, Jan Nel, Marie and Trevor May, Avril, Trudy, Grisly bear, Cathy, all names that impacted on my life then, and still do in my quiet times. Queenstown,from the cemetery on the joburg side where my mother lies, to the bridge over the railway line on the East London side, offered us a living and we took what we could get, sadly, not much of it is left today.
I visited Johan by train and was shocked at the devastation of the town, why did they have to take a little jewel and destroy it like that, do they hold nothing sacred, or would it be better if everything was reduced to cow crap and mud huts,
I am not referring to the commerce of the town, but to the degeneration that socks you in the eye as you wander through the streets, everything on the hexagon is gone, the streets had been dug up and left as if it was done as an after thought.
I see no order in the streets, even the traffic officers show a flagrant disregard for the rules of the road, I saw this happen on a bigger scale in Umtata all those years ago, now it has come here, to this place that is a shrine to the memories of a time that had such an impact on me, why would anybody want to crap on his own doorstep,
Where do they fit into the realm of humanity, do they fit at all?.
Some thoughts on religion
Many years ago when I was young and impressionable I was tasked with standing at the door of the church, welcoming the brothers and sisters, until the day I was told that I could no longer do that because I had gone to the drive in theatre the night before.
Poor misguided man who told me this, he was clearly under the impression that GOD had vested the power of judgement in him , this to him was the ultimate sin, if so, then what about the times I lay with a woman or shot at another human being or did any of the innumerable things that religion forbids.
For these major sins I could get on my knees and I would be forgiven, but for the sin of giving wings to my imagination by watching a movie, I was doomed, I could not see the wrong in the joy of dancing or listening to music and the movies gave me an escape route from a sometimes harsh life, I did not relish a life of blind servitude, anyway, that to my mind would have been a greater wrong.
Maybe he knew that as far as the church was concerned I would never have made the grade and took early steps to remove me from the ladder of advancement,
I learnt a lesson though, this incident taught me that religion is a very private thing, and if you wear it on your sleeve all the time it reflects all your weaknesses like a mirror.
A religious man once told me that pride is the primeval sin, the mother of all sins, I cannot agree with this, strip a man of his pride and you reduce him to nothing, you banish him from society and confine him to the fringes of humanity, at this level a person is easy to manipulate and control and becomes a slave to the whims of a stronger person.
Many times I have stood on church parade and watched a similar ceremony take place across the border in the enemy camp, and I wondered whom would be favoured if the political stalemate should be broken and we had to fight again.
You see, I don't believe in that any more, not in the way it was practiced then or today, when membership was used to give you a certain standing in society, money has crept into every seam of it and the only hold that man has over it has deteriorated into veiled threats, fear and the assurance that blessing can be bought for money.
Don't get the wrong impression, I admire people of strong faith and every person should believe in something, there are those that do immeasurable good in the name of religion, but every time someone tells me I should do this or that, or live my life thus and act like such else I will surely burn in hell, it makes my heckles rise.
I believe that there is a greater spirit prevailing amongst man, and it has nothing to do with money or power, I think that this spirit has the innate ability to soothe the pain life throws at you from time to time,
I believe it can be shared but should not be forced, I believe it lives inside every person on earth, test it, look with softness into another's eyes and see the response, is this not as it is supposed to be?.
There is an old adage that says "God helps those whom help themselves" I believe this, why waste time on an unresponsive individual who always only holds his hand out for help, but will never try to fend for himself,
Following like a sheep surely is in some way admitting that you do not comply with the manufacturers specs, no joy in your strength, no pride in yourself only a yes sir, no sir, while opportunity sits winking at you, trying its best to get past the blinkers on your eyes, there is none so blind as he who will not see
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