We, the citizens of Rhodesia, had dared to follow in the glorious footsteps of the United States; to look the British Bulldog in the face and say “so far, and no further”.

November 15 2009

On Monday, the Australian government will say sorry to the thousands of children deported there during the twentieth century.

Meanwhile, Gordon Brown, the Prime Minister, will this week say he is to look into what can be done to make amends to all the children who were shipped to Australia, Canada and other former colonies, in schemes undertaken by successive governments up until 1967.

The children were separated from their families and told they were orphans, while the parents were told that they had gone to a better life. But most were brought up in institutions, or by farmers, and many were treated as child slave labour.

A Hollywood film, starring the Oscar-nominated actress Emily Watson, telling the story of the “orphans”, is now in production. Although ministers said they were rescuing children from deprivation, victims’ groups say the reality is that thousands of infants were sent to help populate Australia and other countries with, what was called at the time, “good white stock”.

Not all of those deported after World War Two experienced hard times. Some have done well for themselves. But the majority struggled after suffering the loss of their family. In the worst cases, the migrants are dead or still in institutions.

The Australian government will formally apologise at a special remembrance event in Canberra.

A ceremony will be held in Parliament House where the Prime Minister Kevin Rudd will say sorry, on behalf of the nation, to those who suffered abuse. Following the event, the apology will be tabled in the House of Representatives and the Senate.

Mr Brown will say that a consultation in this country will talk to groups representing the victims, with a view to an apology being made by the British government and any other action which will help those affected, a Downing Street source said.

Although estimates are unreliable, the Government has records of at least 150,000 child migrants from Britain, aged three to 14, of whom about 100,000 went to Canada, and the remainder to Australia, New Zealand, Rhodesia and other British dominions or colonies.

It is thought that during the final period in which the migration policy operated, from 1947 to 1967, between 7,000 and 10,000 children were sent to Australia and more than 500 sent to New Zealand.

The policy, sanctioned and supported by a succession of governments, has been described as “one of the most disgraceful episodes in post war politics”.

The migrated children were euphemistically told they would find an idyllic lifestyle in a new country. In reality, they were often badly cared for, counted as second-class citizens, arrived sick or without a name, and put in over-crowded and run-down institutions.

Among those carers who have come in for particular criticism were the homes of the Christian Brothers, in Australia, where several thousand children were accommodated over the years and where physical and sexual abuse and under-nourishment were reportedly rife.

According to the BBC documentary “Children of the Empire”, aired in 2003, a number of leading charities and agencies such as Barnardos, the Fairbridge Society and The National Children’s Homes co-operated in maintaining the policy for almost six decades despite warnings from independent inspectors.

Source

A little late for analogizes.  For many it is too late  for them to find their relatives as they have died.  They will never know the true meaning of family.

They were treated as slaves,  not the innocent children they actually were.

It is  a very dark and sad time for Britain and any Country who took the children as a result of the lies,  coercion and profiteering.

All parties involved should hang their heads in absolute shame.

The statement “I am sorry” will never give these children back their lives or the dignity they had stolen from them.  They have lost more then we can ever imagine. This practice continued up to 1967.

Britain can never claim they upheld Human Rights.  Their treatment of children has been appalling. The countries that took the children are no better.

These are the very countries that condemn other countries for Human Rights Violations.  Child slaves sold on the open market is not a proud time, for these countries or the  Human Rights violations and the Torture of innocent children. These children were treated like they were sub human.  While in care in Britain their names were replaced with a number. Children were nothing more then a number. These were British Citizens. Those who are still alive are still British Citizens. They had no choice as to where or what happened to them.

Do read this story of a “Home Child sent to Canada“ it is very enlightening.  It explains the process the children went through and the abuse they suffered. Children were stolen from their parents and sold.

Former British child migrants

Earlier this century, several thousand British children mainly in the care of voluntary organisations were emigrated to former

Dominions – mainly Australia, Canada and New Zealand – under several schemes involving the British Government, the Governments of the receiving countries and the voluntary organisations who operated the schemes.

The measures set out were to help former British child migrants were set up as part of the Government’s response to the report by the Parliamentary Select Committee for Health into the Welfare of Former Child Migrants, following an enquiry in 1998. These provisions apply only to those children who were migrated from institutional care in the UK under Government approved schemes. They do not apply to wartime evacuees or to those migrated under other assisted schemes.

The UK Government recognised that the priority for most children who were separated from their families through these schemes was to reestablish contact and – where possible – to reunite with their family.

The Government therefore offered two new kinds of help:

a. an Information Index to help those who wish to

find their family;

b. a Support Fund to help those without means

who have found their family to reunite.

In addition, the Government has also made available extra funding for the Child Migrant Trust, which offers an independent, specialised service for former child migrants and their families.

These pages tell you about these new measures and how they might help you. It also gives some extra information about other groups or organisations that might be able to offer assistance, including details of useful contacts in Australia, Canada and New Zealand.

Provides contact details about tracing former child migrants, and various schemes in place to assist in this matter.

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Related Articles

Brown to apologise for child migration policy

Australia issues apology to British child migrants

Kevin Rudd, the Australian prime minister, has issued an apology to 7,000 British child migrants who suffered abuse and neglect in the country’s state-run orphanages and religious institutions.

No apologies necessary

THE BRITISH CHILD EMIGRATION SCHEME TO CANADA (1870-1957) Check  “The British Home Children Registry” for names of Migrant Children.

Researching Your British Home Child In Canada

Today is Rhodesia’s Independence Day. A great country grinded into dirt by Robert Mugabe.

I thought, in the light of Robert Mugabe’s unending fear of the rise of Rhodesia from the ashes of his rotten Zimbabwe, that I’d remind everyone this is also 11th November. On this day in 1965, 44 years ago, Ian Smith rebelled against the British Empire in the same way the Americans did in 1776. Rhodesia was the only British Colony to rebel against Britain since the Americans in 1776 (to my knowledge).

On this day, Ian Smith mentioned that his motivation was to fight COMMUNISM.

Today, 44 years later, Robert Mugabe, the ultimate communist dictator stands over the ruins of Zimbabwe, which once was great. Robert Mugabe stands for everything and every reason why Ian Smith rebelled. Ian Smith did not believe that communism would h!
elp white or black people in that country… AND 44 YEARS LATER IN 2009… on 11th November… I CAN SAY: IAN SMITH WAS COMPLETELY RIGHT.
http://www.africancrisis.co.za/Article.php?ID=63698&

On November 11:

1634  Following pressure from Anglican bishop John Atherton, the Irish House of Commons passes “An Act for the Punishment for the Vice of Buggery“.

1675: Gottfried Leibniz demonstrated integral calculus for the first time to find the area under the graph of y = ƒ(x).

1880 Australian Bushranger Ned Kelly was hanged at Melbourne Gaol.

1918 World War I ended when Germany signed an armistice agreement with the Allies in a railroad car outside Compiègne in France. The war officially stopped at 11:00 (The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month).

 Armistice Day celebrations in Auckland were postponed in an attempt to prevent the spread of influenza but the rest of the coutnry celebrated.

1918 Poland regained its independence.

1922  Kurt Vonnegut, American novelist, was born.

1924 Prime Minister Alexandros Papanastasiou proclaimed the first Greek Republic.

1926  U.S. Route 66 was established.

1928  Carlos Fuentes, Mexican writer, was born.

1930 Patent number US1781541 was awarded to Albert Einstein and Leó Szilárd for their invention, the Einstein refrigerator.

1942 The troop ship Awatea was sunk and all on board but the ship’s cat escaped alive.

1945 Daniel Ortega, President of Nicaragua, was born.

1962 – Demi Moore, American actress, was born.

1965  In Rhodesia (modern-day Zimbabwe), the white-minority government of Ian Smith unilaterally declard independence.

1968  A second republic was declared in the Maldives.

1974 Leonardo DiCaprio, American actor, was born.

1975  Australian constitutional crisis of 1975: Australian Governor-General Sir John Kerr dismissed the government of Gough Whitlam and commissions Malcolm Fraser as caretaker Prime Minister.

Zimbabwe President Robert Mugabe and British Prime Minister Gordon Brown

By Edwin Mashonganyika

A Community Group with the aim to establish Zimbabwean values and identity in Scotland and the United Kingdom as a whole was launched in Edinburgh recently.

A member of the Group who did not want to be identified said the idea was to “foster Community cohesion and intergration and create a platform to interact, share ideas, advance cultural beliefs, explore and savour together the roots and origins of the Zimbabwean people.”

“We came out of Africa but we can’t get Africa out of us. It will be good to have  a big family day, friends, collegagues and associates…African food, African dances, jokes, African dress, African people, African experiences to enjoy and share,” said the member of the Groups facilitation Team.

Ties between Zimbabwe and the UK dates back to the British Empire when the country then Rhodesia was colonised by the British.

Zimbabwe attained its independence from Britain in 1980 after a long protracted liberation war headed by Robert Mugabe, who has ruled the country since then.

There is a large number of Zimbabweans in Scotland and the UK as a whole due to political and economic instability  in Zimbabwe.

Jeg vil hellere sidde i klassen og sove end at tage fri fra skolen for at arbejde for en befolkning i et land, der selv har gjort alt for at bringe sig i den situation, som de er i.

Der var orden i dette smukke land som Cecil Rhodes opbyggede i respekt for den indfødte kultur indtil at den nuværende præsident kom til. Han har kørt landet i sænk og nu er de nød til at acceptere almisser. Vores historielærer har fortalt os hvordan at forfatteren Georges Remi allerede i 1930 så malende beskrev hvorfor at det aldrig ville fungere i Afrika når vi gennem en omrejsende journalist følger hans oplevelser i det der i dag kendes som Den demokratiske republik Congo. Demokratisk er så gavmildt et ord, hvilket to Nordmænd nok vil være enige med mig i. Der er ikke meget demokratisk over Congo selvom at det fik en af de nok mest grundige forberedelse oplæg til selvstændighed, da Belgierne trak sig ud.

Der er intet, absolut intet sted hvor at Mugabe kan lade en fyr som Saddam Hussein stå tilbage. De har begge gennemført de samme slags grusomheder i mod deres befolkning og der rejser sig straks et spørgsmål om hvorfor at dette land ikke forlængst er blevet invaderet. Svaret på dette spørgsmål er let: De har ingen olie.

Hvorfor så spilde tid på dem i forbindelse med operation Dagsværk? Hvad er den skjulte agenda?

Måske findes den i at Operation Dagsværk blev stiftet i en tid, hvor at Mugabe var en frihedshelt for de unge, fordi at han omstyrtede en valgt regering der havde fået et dårligt ry. I disse kredse er man ikke glad for at datidens helt er forvandlet til nutidens despot. Det er nederen for dem.

Men jeg gider ikke at være med til hvidvask af historien og ærlig talt så siger det mig heller ikke meget om de har noget som helst i dette land at gøre godt med. Vi har mindre og mindre i Danmark. Det seneste påfund skulle være betaling for undervisning på universiteterne. Det ville ligge et alvorlig pres på forældrene. Har de ikke penge til børnenes uddannelse, så slutter børnenes muligheder før at de starter. Er Danmark en velfærdsstat. Jvf. mine forældre er der ingen efterløn mere så en velfærdsstat er Danmark ikke.

Hvis man vil vide lidt mere om operation Dagsværk, så se hjemmesiden:

Drop Operation Dagsværk

Det er ikke artige sager man kan læse der.

Det kan ikke være meningen at man skal bruge sin vigtige undervisningstid på andre mennesker. Der er i hvertfald ikke nogle folkeslag ude i verdenen som tænker på Danmark og med alt det som flyder og alle de muligheder vi unge ikke længere har burde der være brug for nødhjælp til Danmark fremfor nødhjælp fra Danmark.

…and the Past Role of European Countries

Who am I to say this, and how dare I say it?

I am merely responding to the announcement made by the prize committee of The Mo Ibrahim Prize for Achievement in African Leadership that no prize will be awarded this year. Here is the press release. The main web page of the parent organization describes the nature and origin of the prize:

The Ibrahim Prize recognises and celebrates excellence in African leadership. The prize is awarded to a democratically elected former African Executive Head of State or Government who has served their term in office within the limits set by the country’s constitution and has left office in the last three years.

The Ibrahim Prize consists of US$5million over 10 years and US$200,000 annually for life thereafter. It is the largest annually awarded prize in the world. The Foundation will consider granting a further $200,000 per year, for 10 years, towards public interest activities and good causes espoused by the winner.

In October 2006, Dr. Ibrahim launched the Mo Ibrahim Foundation to support good governance and great leadership in Africa. In 2007, Dr. Ibrahim stepped down as Chairman of Celtel International to concentrate on this initiative.

Founded in 1998, Celtel International has brought the benefits of mobile communications to millions of people across the African continent. The company operates in 15 African countries, covering more than a third of the continent’s population, and has invested more than US$750 million in Africa. In 2005, Celtel International was sold to MTC Kuwait for $3.4 billion.

Before I tell you of the past winners of this prize, I want to draw a picture for you of the grievous state of governance and leadership throughout the continent of Africa by calling attention to a few historical and present facts and factors.

Facts on Africa

There are 53 internationally recognized countries in the continent of Africa, including the six island states of: Cape Verde, Comoros, Madagascar, Mauritius, São Tomé and Príncipe, and Seychelles.

Of these 53 states, 52 are former colonies of, or protectorates of, or were occupied by, one or more of several states in Europe: Belgium, France, Germany, Great Britain, Italy, Netherlands, Portugal and Spain. The only country not so colonized or dominated, Liberia, was settled by freed slaves from the USA, its territory having been expropriated in 1822 from the many local tribes who had not formed a nation state.

[Image Source. Please click on the image for greater clarity]

To get a notion of the relative poverty of living even at the world average GDP per person per year of US $10,400, here are the figures (in US Dollars) of the top 20 countries and the European Union, which has 27 countries in its membership:

[Please click on the image for greater clarity]

As mentioned above, every one of Africa’s countries, except Liberia, has been, at one time or another and in varying degrees, a vassal state of one or more European countries. It is well known that, with some exceptions, these states, while under foreign domination, were stripped of natural resources and essentially plundered. The stripping of natural resources continues in most of these countries today, with relatively few examples where a diversified economy under true democratic rule obtains.

Of the six countries currently at a GDP level above the world average, most are still extracting minerals from the soil as the major part of their economy: oil, diamonds, manganese, timber.

It is well known that the world’s major economies have poured money and aid into Africa, to no lasting effect, again with a few exceptions. This, in my view, shows the futility of sending money and goods into countries to help people who are ruled by despots and thieves.

Dr. Mo Ibrahim has the better idea, in my view. As can be seen above and under the links provided, his foundation will reward with significant money and recognition those African leaders who turn away from pillage and one-man rule, toward democracy that is not merely in name only; and, toward raising the standard of living for the people through good husbandry of resources and in diversifying the economy.

The prize has been awarded since 2007. Here are the awardees (text and photos taken directly from the foundation’s website):

Joaquim Alberto Chissano, 2007—Mozambique

In 1992, President Chissano helped to end Mozambique’s 16-year civil war and reconcile a divided nation, working tirelessly to negotiate piece with the RENAMO (Resistência Nacional Moçambicana) rebel group. To cement the reconciliation President Chissano offered 15,000 places in Mozambique’s 30,000-strong army to former opposition RENAMO soldiers.

President Chissano implemented a deliberate shift from Marxist-Leninist ideology to multiparty democracy and a mixed economy. He successfully negotiated a reduction in Mozambique’s debt repayments and oversaw reforms that have led to sustained economic growth. During his time in office, Mozambique began the journey of reconstruction and development, with improvements in healthcare, increased access to education and greater empowerment of women.

Between 2003 and 2004, President Chissano served as Chair of the African Union. During his presidency he was a powerful advocate for Africa on the international stage, particularly in promoting the debt relief agenda.

Festus Gontebanye Mogae, 2008—Botswana

At his inauguration ceremony in 1998, President Mogae vowed to address poverty and unemployment. His time in office was characterised by programmes to develop education and health infrastructure, and to privatise parts of the economy, notably the airlines and telecommunications industry.

Under President Mogae’s stewardship of the economy and careful management of the country’s mineral resources, Botswana experienced the steady economic growth that has characterised its post-independence history. Having been one of the poorest African countries at the time of independence, President Mogae consolidated Botswana’s place as one of the most prosperous countries on the continent.

After decades of enforcing strict anti-corruption measures, Botswana is regularly ranked as one of the least corrupt countries in Africa. Describing the principles that guided his time in office in his final State of the Nation address, President Mogae said that “prudent, transparent and honest use of national resources for your benefit has been my guiding principle and code of conduct”.

Following the Botswana Democratic Party’s victory in the October 2004 General Election, President Mogae was sworn in for a second term in November 2004. He again promised to fight poverty and unemployment, and pledged to halt the spread of HIV/AIDS in Botswana by 2016.

In April 2008, in accordance with Botswana’s constitution, President Mogae stepped down as President, having served two terms in government. He was succeeded by Seretse Khama Ian Khama.

—

Addendum

In the face of massive aid in money and goods perennially provided African people by other countries and NGOs through the governments of their respective countries, small and direct-to-the-people efforts pay off at least equally well. In the above photo showing orphans in Kenya, you will see Jacinta Njoroge Lahti, a native of Kenya and a resident of Sweden, who founded the depicted orphanage and school. She is a member of the Rotary Club of Stockholm International, which club continues to be a major supporter of the school.

Note on figures used in this article

All figures were derived from The CIA World FactBook

First half of 1974…..

It was after one of my trips to PomPom that Joe Le Roux called me into his office as I walked through the entrance to the single quarters.

I was knackered and didn’t feel like an ear-bending session which this was probably going to become.  Joe was the quarters Chief Warden and his job was to make sure the accommodation and environs were kept in pristine condition and seemingly ready for a higher beings inspection.  I wondered what I had fucked-up.

Highly polished (and dangerous when wet) red verandas fronted all the rooms, fallen jacaranda blooms were raked only in one direction, and window panes glinted black in the moonlight, reflecting ghostly images.  Ornamental stones were white-washed monthly and tended to blind one during the day.  There was an army of labourers working for him and they earned their pay twice over.  Trees and shrubs were trimmed as to look like topiary works of art, grass was cut with edges trimmed to perfection, and the ablution blocks always smelled of Dettol and moth-balls.  None of the taps leaked.

He was on night shift this specific occasion and as was his custom he was outside polishing his immaculate light green Vauxhall Victor.  I am sure he had more feeling for this car than he had for his wife, at least it probably got more rubbing on its body-work than she did.   Joe and I were great friends and often when I finished work at a reasonable time I would take a shower and go into Joes office.  We would play cards till midnight while he recalled tales of his rather interesting life on the rails.  It helped to pass the time for both of us and Bella would also join us now and again when Keith was working away firing the beasts up to Victoria Falls.  We were a happy trio in those days.  He often bought goodies from home to snack on and which he always shared with me.

Joe was a good man and I will always have fond memories of him.  There are not many like him.

Vauxhall Victor similar to Joes

The image above shows the close proximity of the single quarters to the workshops………I never seemed far from the noise and smells of where I worked and I am reminded of that Dire Straits classic, Industrial Disease.  Pretty grim really now that I think about it, and not very helpful to ones social development.

Joe took me into the office and handed me an official looking brown envelope that was addressed to me.  It had been rubber stamped with something to do with Rhodesian Army Headquarters.  I sat down next to Joes desk and wearily opened the envelope.  He made some tea in a pot for us and opened the faded Tupperware containers that held his supply of sugar and powdered milk.  Joe poured the hot liquid into immaculate white porcelain Rhodesia Railways cups, and stirred the steaming dark brown mixture with a brightly shining Rhodesia Railways teaspoon.  He sat watching me quietly as I read.  There was no need to tell him what the letter contained…..he had seen them too many times before from my predecessors.  I folded it neatly and placed it back in the envelope.

As I sipped the sweet milky tea there was a brief moment when I knew that my life as I knew it was never going to be the same again, and how much I would miss Joe……and yes, perhaps all of this that surrounded me too.  It had become my comfort zone.   All young men awaited this type of correspondence…..at least those of us who had the will to fight for what we believed in and had not run off to some cushy South African University using their parent’s money and connections.

I dipped a Marie biscuit into my tea and the soggy piece broke off as I tried to take a bite.

There was no time for reflection now, only the knowledge that I was to report to Llewellyn Barracks (Depot, The Rhodesia Regiment) for twelve months National Service as part of Intake 139 later in the year.  There was no fear….nor any great surprise.  It was the way things were in Rhodesia in those days you see, as if it was the natural progression of a young mans tertiary education.

Except the only thing they were going to teach where I was heading was how to kill the enemy…..and hopefully how to be one of those who survived.

I asked Joe for the cards and dealt us two hands…….clinging to normality but somehow sensing I had discovered my destiny.

On October 24:

1260 Chartres Cathedral was dedicated.

1857 Sheffield F.C., the world’s first football club, was founded.

1861 The First Transcontinental Telegraph line across the United States was completed, spelling the end for the 18-month-old Pony Express.

1882 English actress Dame Sybil Thorndike was born.

1892 Goodison Park, the world’s first association football specific stadium was opened.

1901 – Annie Edson Taylor became the first person to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel.

1913 Union members and non-unionised workers clashed on Wellington wharves.

1919 South Island explorer Donald Sutherland died.

1929 “Black Thursday” stock market crash on the New York Stock Exchange.

Crowd gathering on Wall Street after the 1929 crash

 

1930 Sultan Ahmad Shah, King of Malaysia was born.

1936 Bill Wyman, English musician from The Rolling Stones, was born.

1944 New Zealand born film director Martin Campbell was born.

1945 The United Nations was founded.

1954 Autralian politician Malcolm Turnbull was born.

1964 Northern Rhodesia gained independence from the United Kingdom and became the Republic of Zambia.

1973 Jeff Wilson, New Zealand rugby player and cricketer, was born.

1980  The Polish government legalised Solidarity trade union.

2003 Concorde made its last commercial flight.

2008 “Bloody Friday“ on which many of the world’s stock exchanges experienced the worst declines in their history, with drops of around 10% in most indices.

 

Sourced from NZ History Online & Wikipedia.

Still early 1974……….Mpompoma repair siding, just outside Bulawayo.

Having got my revenge on the tosser Journeyman (the one who locked me in a fuel wagon) by setting fire to a piece of oily rag hanging out of his back pocket with a cutting torch, successfully slow-burning a smouldering hole through his overalls, knickers (he was probably a cross-dresser) and backside, it was again time to move to another assignment.

This time I was sent out to a place called Mpompoma (also known as PomPom).  It was quite far from the Mechanical Workshops and we went there in a big grey Rhodesia Railway lorry into which I loaded all my kit.  I felt very important in this lorry, leaning out the window in my grubby overalls and whistling at the chicks as we belched vile smelling black diesel exhaust smoke on our way out of the city.  I was even set loose on these missions without a Journeyman, although to be honest after the first year I worked just about full-time on my own.

Mpompoma was some kind of railway repair siding and I never could quite work out what the purpose was of fixing wagons there and not in the main workshops.  For an apprentice plater-welder this was also a bit of a dodgy place for a number of reasons.  Firstly my main task seemed to revolve around always being out in the blazing Rhodesian sun in full welding gear, and fixing something that someone else had managed to fuck-up through severe and probably malicious negligence.

There is a part of all wagon construction known as the coupling channel.  For the uninitiated, the coupling is that hook like contraption at each end of a wagon or locomotive that hooks into the coupling at the end of another wagon or locomotive when they are shunted together.  The wagons are then coupled or “hooked” together automatically and will happily follow each other around the tracks for as long as there is something pulling them.  Unfortunately couplings probably take more abuse from locomotive drivers and shunters than any other part of a train.

A typical coupling

As you can see from the above photo these couplings are robust bits of kit and they have to be.  They are also very long and stretch back into a closed cavity under the wagon known as the coupling channel.  There is also the mother of all springs inside the cavity to cushion the effects of the old in and out motion.  The next picture shows how the coupling moves into the coupling channel.  Note that the square metal section behind the coupling moves in and out of the coupling channel and the mother of all springs dampens this movement.

Coupling channel

The problem with this rather clever design is that when any overadventurous locomotive driver or shunter couples to fast (known as a rough-shunt), the whole coupling assembly can become quite pissed-off and deform inside the coupling channel and get stuck.  It then becomes a steel projectile under high tension, held back by the mother of all springs with nowhere to go.  It just begs someone to climb under the wagon and release the pent-up tension.  This is where my job came in and was dodgy work for a number of reasons.  Firstly these wagons were on a perfectly serviceable stretch of railway line that was quite clearly in use.  There was more than one occasion where I had to rapidly extricate myself from under a wagon, banging my head in the process because something big and black was moving up the line I was working on.  I always made sure I was on good terms with my trolley boy on these jobs and I had to trust him to (a) stay awake and keep a sharp look-out, and (b) warn me if something was on my work line and moving towards me.  He could get rid of me easily if he had a mind to.

Secondly the main mission under the wagon was to release the spring tension first, and this was done by cutting the spring itself with a cutting torch, which showered you with hundreds of bits of red-hot molten metal and sparks as usual.  This was due to the contorted positions you had to get into normally face-upwards, making your nose and mouth great targets.

There was always a terrific bang when the spring was finally cut….undescribable unless you have experienced it and pretty scary.  This was normally also accompanied by an extra shower of rust, encrusted dirt, and whatever animal parts might have become lodged in the coupling channel…..oh yes, they were everywhere.

Any attempt to remove the coupling before carrying out the above operation could possibly result in a very pissed-off and seemingly ballistically charged coupling ejecting the channel and comprehensively impaling you and your Jack the Ripper apron to any adjacent wagon.

Needless to say we tried to avoid this scenario as far as possible to dodge lengthy Health and Safety accident investigations, and the loss of any no-claim bonus you might enjoy on your life insurance.

Mpopoma Siding

After these trips we always got back to the Mechanical Workshops after dark.  Only the overtime crews working.  The days out at PomPom were long, hot, and tiring.  I would clean and lock up my kit and begin the long, slow walk back to an empty room.  The canteen was already closed for the night, there wasnt even that to look forward to……just the next day of the same thing.

September 14, 2009

Early 1974…..Rhodesia Railways Mechanical Workshops, Dodgy Substances Department.

I refer to this entry as the start of the  End of the Beginning because that is what it was.

1974 was to be a significant year for me and was to play a major role in shaping the rest of my life. I did not know it then but within little more than a year I would be turning my back on all that had gone before.

There was a place in the Mechanical Workshops that I will refer to as the DSD or Dodgy Substances Department.  The area where this department was located was out in the open and quite a distance from any other human habitation.  As the name implies, this is where we worked on railway trucks and tankers that were used to transport hazardous materials.  This could anything from petrol or diesel, unmentionable chemicals, and even sulphur.

I used to work overtime in the Dodgy Substances Department to supplement my meagre income.  It was an interesting place to say the least  and the place I first met, confronted, and defeated my phobia number one.

Railway fuel tankers are similar in design to the petrol trucks you see driving about on the roads.  Except they are much bigger.  They quite often have holes in them, not always by design.   These additional and unplanned orifices could be the result of accidents, or damage by some form of negligence.  They also made nice targets for the Communist Terrorists (CT’s) (referred to as Gooks from here on) we were fighting in Rhodesia at the time.  They liked to shoot at them with their RPG 7 Rocket Launchers as they looked really quite nice when they exploded and burned.

In all cases the tanker would come to us at the DSD for assessment and wherever possible, we repaired it.

Imagine this scenario: Fuel tanker arrives at DSD…..fuel tanker has not been completely drained of dodgy substance…..welder must weld inside tanker……interesting yes?

So the first thing was to ensure all residual fuel and fumes were removed from the tanker before we worked on it.  This involved the introduction of various pipes and gasses into the tanker which were supposed to neutralise any inflammable or other toxic and therefore death producing substances.  This was indeed very kind of our health and safety department.

Once everything was considered safe it was time to get into the tanker via an opening at the top.  This was easier for the little fat fucker because the hole at the top is much bigger than a firebox doorway.  Once in the top you climbed down a pre-positioned wooden ladder.  It was dark inside these trucks and you needed a lead-light to show you where you were or you could become a little disoriented.  I had an assistant who would sit at the top opening to make sure everything was OK and he would also lower down all the kit I needed to patch the holes.

On one particular day the Journeyman I was working with decided he was going to take the piss.  First he switched of my lead-light and then slammed the lid closed at the top of the wagon.

I was now in complete darkness.  And I mean pitch black…..so black that you can actually feel it clutching you firmly.  It was at this point that I realised I was a claustrophobic.  This is not the best place to find that out but there was not much I could do about it.  I refused to call for help and for the top to be opened.  I simply sat down and waited.  As I waited for the piss-taking Journeyman to get bored with his silly little games, strange thoughts began to go through my mind…..like what if they forget about me here?  What if this was not a joke and something had gone wrong outside.  What if they take the wagon away and fill it with fuel…..lots of whats.  You really do have to steel yourself against screaming out, generally making a big noise, and going a little berserk in these situations.

I was putting on a brave front but if the truth be told I was almost shitting myself……but I overcame the urge to void my bowels…..and contented myself in only farting a few times instead.

After what seemed quite a long time to me the top opened and the prick of a Journeyman (also on overtime and not my regular one) peered in and asked if I was alright.  I asked for my kit to be passed down.  I decided that it doesnt help to comment to idiots…….  I got on with my work, making a mental note that my revenge would be sweet, ruthlessly executed, and painful.  And it was.

Another job we done at the DSD was stripping down Sulphur Wagons for rebuilding.  Sulphur eats away the metal construction of wagons eventually and they need to be repaired quite often.  This was an open type wagon so no tosser Journeyman could lock me in a dark tank.  However the kit we used to blow the sulphur encrusted rivets away that were holding the wagon together was quite interesting.  We used to wear a shroud over our upper body with a huge helmet that made us look like deep-sea divers.  There was also air supplied to us in the helmet as we needed to avoid inhaling the burning sulphur.  This was not pure oxygen though (for obvious reasons….Kabooom!), and merely a stream of cool compressed air.  We also had what we called the Carbon Arc electrode….”Charbons de Gougeage”.  I remember these things to this day and they were state of the art in 1974…..long pieces of carbon encased in a copper tube that was held in an electrode holder that we used……a strong jet of air blasted down when we struck the arc and all the molten metal from the rivet heads was blown away in a huge spray of sparks……very much like a huge firework display.  The smell was terrible as the sulphur burned with an eerie yellow glow all around and on more than one occasion I found myself surrounded by dozens of evil looking blobs of the smouldering residue.

Cutting steel with carbon-arc

Round-Copper-Coated-Carbon-Electrodes

Everyone expects the Jews to be the only real Christians in this world. Other nations, when they are defeated, survive and recover but should Israel be defeated it would be destroyed. Had Nasser triumphed last June [1967], he would have wiped Israel off the map, and no one would have lifted a finger to save the Jews.
No commitment to the Jews by any government, including our own, is worth the paper it is written on. There is a cry of outrage all over the world when people die in Vietnam or when two Blacks are executed in Rhodesia. But, when Hitler slaughtered Jews no one remonstrated with him.
The Swedes, who are ready to break off diplomatic relations with America because of what we do in Vietnam, did not let out a peep when Hitler was slaughtering Jews. They sent Hitler choice iron ore, and ball bearings, and serviced his troop trains to Norway.
The Jews are alone in the world. If Israel survives, it will be solely because of Jewish efforts. And Jewish resources. Yet at this moment, Israel is our only reliable and unconditional ally. We can rely more on Israel than Israel can rely on us. And one has only to imagine what would have happened last summer [1967] had the Arabs their Russian backers won the war, to realize how vital the survival of Israel is to America and the West in general.

Location: Rhodesia Railways Mechanical Workshops, Bulawayo

Still in the Erecting Shop, 1973

I would like you to meet my Erecting Shop Journeyman.

His name was Brian Kelly and he came from Ireland.  I am convinced he was an IRA hit man but this was probably my overactive imagination at work, but he did strike me as a dark horse whose passive and quite nature merely concealed his other side.

Brian was a great guy, spoke with a wonderful Irish accent (obviously) and we got on really well although I made a number of serious fuck-ups while I was with him.  We will not discuss them at this time.

The ten o’clock tea-time was reserved for playing bridge in the Erecting Shop welding cubicle.  We had our own little hide away where our wooden lockers were.  Brian spent many frustrating months teaching me the game.  He had a lot of patience with me and I think I got the hang of it in the end although I still don’t really know what “vulnerable” and “rubber”means.  Anyway during tea time we used to sit around a steel table we had made and four of us would drift away into a make believe world of soft carpets, cigar smoke, and waiters dressed like penguins.  We really were a quartet of grand gentlemen in our oily, sooty overalls, greasy safety boots and chipped tin mugs that burned ones lips whenever a sip of tea was taken.

Brian’s wife also made the nicest mince sandwiches which I used to readily devour, normally not having anything of my own.

One of the jobs I was taught by Brian was a boiler tube replacement.  This was a bitch of a job and involved first the cutting out and then the welding back of up to 400 tubes that form the steam making heart of a steam locomotive.  The idea was that once the boiler was safely on its stands, the welder, in this case me, would climb inside the firebox and cut the old tubes out using an electric arc.  Quite a mission as you have to get the arc inside each tube to cut it out and the arc would flash all over the place.  If you have never welded electrically you wont understand what I am talking about but try to imagine it anyway.  Once they were all out the boilermakers would come and clean everything up and new tubes would be fitted which I then had to weld back in.  A long and back-breaking process, done in isolation and under a strict time scale.  Once all the welding was finished the boiler tubes were pumped up using water pressure so you could see any leaks in your welding.  And then it was back in again to seal off any water spurts.

In have to say here that I was complimented by Jack Crilly on my ability to carry out positional welding much better than the easier and normal flat welding.  This is quite strange as positional welding means upside down or vertical up/down welding and normally takes ages to master.  I got it right within a year and found it quite an accomplishment.  Boiler tube welding was all positional stuff and tested a welder to the limit both physically and technically.

I have never been a small lad.  In fact I am what you would call over average in build…..overweight or fat actually.  I was known as the little fat fucker in the workshops.  Getting into the boiler was always fun and getting out even more fun as a persons body expands when hot….I jest not with you here.  And it is really hot inside a boiler that is being welded.  The sweat literally pisses off of you.  Remember you are wearing elbow length fireproof gloves, your Jack the Ripper apron, boots, spats and your overall.  Oh yes and you have a welding helmet and cap on as well.  The cap was to stop any welding sparks burning the shit out of your exposed head which resulted in intense pinpoint pain, swearing, and the sickening smell of your own hair and flesh on fire.

If you do not manage to get your kit on correctly, some sparks do manage to get inside your overalls and I had one rather painful experience of a blob of molten metal coming into contact with the side of my dick….I have the scar to this day.  Lucky, lucky.

Sometimes blobs of metal got inside my boots….very painful too and you just have to grin bravely, swear, jump about, and wait for the bit of metal to cool down while being in direct contact with your skin.  There is no way to get your laced-up boots off.

As in the wagon shop there was also a graveyard for weary locomotives…..those fire breathing monsters that have come to the end of the line.  This was also a sad place where once proud giants of the railroad found their final resting place…..out in the open and unprotected from the elements.

It was an undignified end for these truly wonderfully majestic machines, and my love of and fascination for steam locomotives remains with me to this day.

Rhodesia Railways 20th Class Garrett hauling a passenger train.....what a majestic beast! There is a more than even chance I worked on this grand old lady.

Rhodesia Railways locomotive graveyard, Bulawayo

Inside a locomotive boiler showing steam tubes

Boiler tube plate where I would cut out and weld back the tubes

Inside a boiler

Towards the end of 1972 and early 1973…..still in the Rhodesia Railways Mechanical Workshops, Bulawayo

Second Mission: The Erecting Shop

I know what you are thinking.  Erecting Shop.  What a strange name and why would they call it that?  I thought the same myself and of course this part of the workshop complex was always going to be rife for a whole lot of strange comments.

So why is it called the Erecting Shop and what debauched activities take place there?  Patience dear reader…..all will soon be revealed.

Towards the end of 1972 I was told that I would be transferred away from the Wagon Shop.  My destination was not made clear at that time as there was a lot of shuffling around going on.  A large majority of the Journeymen and senior apprentices (3rd, 4th, and 5th years) were spending more and more time in the bush on Territorial Army (TA) call-up duty, and this was putting a severe strain on those of us who either had not yet been called up for National Service, or those that for one or other reason were unable to serve in the Rhodesian Army.  I suppose that this was when I first realised that one day I would be going on call-up and others would have the pleasure of cutting up smelly meat wagons.

To be very honest I was extremely sad to be leaving Jack Crilly.  He had become like a father to me and mentored me in everything I needed to know about my work and more importantly, about life itself.  He treated me as his son.  As an apprentice I never earned much money.  In my first year I took home 77 Rhodesian Dollars per month.  Out of this I had to pay for my lodging, buy clothes, and eat.  I had moved into the Railway single quarters in Raylton, the railway suburb right next to the workshops and staff canteen.  So I lived in the shadow of where I worked and the sulphur smell of burning coal was ever prevalent.  Each month I bought my little book of meal coupons and that’s where I basically ate all my meals.  Not bad food, but pretty much the same menu each day.

I got to know quite a few of the married personnel who had their houses next to the single quarters and ever so often I used to get invited round to someones house for a real supper of hot beef stews, hearty vegetables, and guavas and custard.  One couple I became very attached to was Bella and Keith Harris.  Keith, a giant of a man with a heart as good as gold, was a locomotive fireman…..the tough guys that shovel coal into the ever-hungry maw of a steam engines firebox.  And dear Bella….what a wonderful person……she just had a way of making me realise what it must be like to have a real home.  Wonderful people who never had too much of the good things in life but shared what they had.

Back to the Erecting Shop.

Erecting Shops are places where things that were previously un-erect (not flaccid as in penis, but rather dismantled) are re-erected.  Normally this process involved enormous machines.  In this case huge black steam locomotives.  Great big Beyer-Garrett monsters that could haul thousands of tons of cargo up and down the many miles of Rhodesian rail tracks.

Beyer-Garrett 15th Class

These were massively powered beasts that prowled Rhodesia’s open spaces taking goods all over the country and over the borders as well.

Life was quite hazardous in the Erecting Shop.  What you have to understand is that Rhodesia Railways locomotives could weigh between 30 and 120 tons depending on the model, and when it arrives at the workshops it is still on its bogeys, or wheel units.  So it is easy to move about with little shunting engines or winches.  However one of the first things that has to be is to remove the bogeys.  The only way to do that is by lifting the whole locomotive into the air and pushing the bogeys away.  The locomotive, suspended on huge overhead cranes was then lowered onto giant stands.  It would remain there for at least 21 days, the time it took for a full strip and rebuild.  Rhodesia Railways were known to be one of the most experienced organisations as far as this type of work was concerned.

I have described the removal of the bogeys as if it was a really simple activity but in fact it was an extremely precise and dangerous operation.  The first thing that is done before removing the bogeys is that the sanding pipes must be cut off using oxy-acetylene cutting equipment.  Sanding pipes are used to spray sand onto the rails in front of the main driving wheels of a locomotive when extra traction is needed, for example on steep inclines.     This cutting of pipes was one of my jobs and again rotten meat comes into the story.  You see there is a thing called a cow-catcher at the front of all locomotives and their job is to catch cows standing and minding their own business on the track…..basically a massive fast moving 100 ton meat tenderiser.  The problem was that the now mushy cow normally got caught up under the locomotive after being hit and bits of pieces of processed meat and bone ended up being sprayed up the front bogey assembly that included the sanding pipes.  So we are back to the 3000 degree flame burning minced up rotten beef.

Lifting a locomotive in an Erecting Shop (non-Rhodesia Railways)

A typical Erecting Shop (non-Rhodesia Railways)

Rhodesia Railways Erecting Shop where I worked as an apprentice Plater-Welder

January 1972……still in the Rhodesia Railways Mechanical Workshops, Bulawayo

First Mission: Wagon Shop

The Wagon Shop was exactly what the named implied.  It was where one would find all types of wagons in various stages of construction or destruction, depending on the activity taking place.   Any wagon that needed repairs of any description including complete rebuilds from the frame upwards came to the Wagon Shop.  Some of the ones that arrived were in advanced stages of decomposition due to either plain wear and tear, high-speed shunting operations by overzealous locomotive drivers, and in extreme cases; collisions, derailments and/or terrorist action.  Clearly some of them would never hear the clickety-clack of the rails again.  In most cases things could be put right with the correct application of brute force and profanity…..but there were of course the instances where they were so bent and twisted that they were scrapped for being beyond help of any kind and sent to the graveyard.

It is important to remember that at that time there were heavy sanctions imposed on Rhodesia so the scrapping of a wagon was considered a very serious decision to make.  Apparently a person needed superhuman powers of perception and outstanding academic qualifications to make such decisions.  This person was known as the Charge-Hand…..  basically because he was in charge of all the hands that fixed the wagons and he knew what our grubby fat fingers, big heavy tools, and heating torches could and couldn’t do.  I remember him quite well.  A pleasant person most of the time as I recall.  Unfortunately he used to lose it when under pressure and this seriously impacted on his personality.  I used to watch him walking around with a piece of chalk in his hand, writing all kinds of messages for us to read on the side of the newly arrived wagons, detailing its fate……repair, strip, rebuild, cut.  And when he was in a particularly foul mood, probably for not getting his leg over the night before, he even wrote the dreaded “scrap” word……gleefully grinning whilst condemning the mute subject of his frustration to the knackers yard…….a shadowy, sinister place that was always cold, damp and dripping.  There seemed to be a sadness about the wagons that were laid to rest there……the wicked wind whipping and whistling through their lopsided frames.

I would like to describe two specific types of wagons that remain vivid in my memory.  None of my reasons for remembering them are good.

Refrigerator Wagons:

Refrigerator wagons are used to keep meat carcasses and other perishables cold in transit.  Obvious you might say.  However you need to bear in mind that if the cooling unit breaks down between Wankie and Bulawayo in mid-summer, a refrigerator truck quickly becomes a microwave oven and whatever you were trying to keep cold rapidly begins to decompose into an array of unpleasant odours, strange, slippery, evil coloured liquids, and sodden cardboard boxes that fall apart when lifted, thus spilling their now vile contents all over the show.

It is important to understand at this point that when a cooling unit breaks down the whole refrigerator truck would be sent for repairs so that the entire wagon could have a quick service.  I dont need to tell you where they came to…..but I will anyway…….the Wagon Shop.

If you have never had the good fortune of being the first person to open one of these wagons after it has been standing in the sun for a few days,  it is going to be quite hard even for me to describe the sickening stench of rotting beef, pork, or lamb that has turned green, blue, and yellow, and has strange pus-like secretions leaking out of the various orifices that such animals have.  I do not think I need to elaborate further at this stage as any normal person reading this should have gotten the idea by now.

Try to visualise the following:

Refrigerator wagon comes in for repairs……the first thing that happens is that it gets stripped down.

One of my tasks as a Plater-Welder apprentice was to cut things up with extremely high temperature flames using a combination of oxygen and acetylene gasses.  I used to enjoy doing this eversomuch.   The problem here was that these trucks had a double skin with insulation in the middle of the inner and outer layers.  This insulation was highly inflammable……do you get the picture?  A really horrible yellow smoke, that was also toxic, was produced when this insulation caught fire.  Secondly, when pieces of rotten meat and old dried blood inside the wagon came into contact with a 3000 degree Celsius flame they naturally began to cook….right in front of my face……..burning rotten meat smell is very different from burning fresh meat smell.  So there was none of this tummy rumbling, mouth watering Sunday afternoon barbecue/braaivleis aromas wafting about….none of that at all.

Cattle Wagons:

Cattle Wagons have the opposite job to Refrigerator Wagons.  They also look different.

The main functional difference is that one type (Refrigerator) carries dead animals that sway gently on their stainless steel butcher hooks according to the camber of the tracks and appear to be taking part in some kind of synchronised swimming exercise.  The other (Cattle) carries live, snorting, snotty, dribbling, very pissed-off bovines, who probably know that they are on Death Row, so also try to get their last hump in on the way.  Live cattle also void their bowels and bladders in these Wagons.  Which is the root cause of my bad memories of them.  Basically the same reason as the Refrigerator wagons…..3000 degree flame in contact with dried or wet soggy cow-dung and urine…….you have the picture and are hopefully imagining the aroma……not like marijuana at all.  I have forgotten to mention these wagons were mostly made from wood…..flame+wood=fire=burns to body parts.

There were times when I thought that being in the Wagon Shop was punishment for some long forgotten sin.  I was to find out quite soon that there were far worse tasks than cutting up rotten meat, being gassed by flaming toxic insulation, and slipping on fresh, smouldering cow-dung.

And I was also to discover very quickly, the two things that scared the living daylights out of me.

Rhodesia Railways short cattle wagon

Example of a Refrigerator Truck (not Rhodesia Railways)

A tall blond woman with an uncommonly beautiful face walked up wearing a wind breaker that had a patch on it that read, Red Cross.  This tall blond woman went by the name of Jennifer.  Jennifer grew tired of being a sexually desired object for most of her life and at the age of twenty one, spun the globe and purposely kept her index finger below the equator.  It landed in the country of Zimbabwe.  Fortunately for Jennifer, she did not wind up in a country where she had to speak French, Dutch or Portuguese.  The people of Zimbabwe spoke English.  They learned English by the English and for a while, the country went by the name of Rhodesia.  Jennifer wasn’t even born when the country was called that.  In fact Jennifer was living in the country nearly a year when she figured out that Rhodesia and Zimbabwe were the same country. Many white farmers had long since moved out of the country and there were just a smattering of whites in big cities.  Jennifer didn’t seem to mind.  Jennifer went into a grocery store in the capital during her first few days in Zimbabwe in hopes of buying enough food to sustain her for a few days.  Upon entering a clean looking grocery store, Jennifer was shocked to see employees standing around a nearly vacant store.  There was bottled water and a few loaves of bread

 left.  Jennifer had no idea what it meant when the total in Zimbabwean Dollars came to $350,000.00 for two liters of water and a loaf of bread.  She gave the cashier a twenty dollar bill in American money and told her to keep the change.  The cashier pocketed nearly $400,000.00 Zimbabwean Dollars for herself which was the equivalent of a month’s pay.  It was a good day for that woman.  The only problem would be that she would have to spend that money immediately before the value changed.  The value of the Zimbabwean Dollar dropped by the minute.  Inflation was somewhere near 26,000% at the time of Jennifer’s arrival. Today it is nearly 2.2 million percent.  Jennifer picked the second poorest country in the world to make a difference.  As far as reaching the poor and impoverished, Jennifer was right on track.  To compound all of this, the president of the country declared land owned and run by white farmers to be seized.  There were nearly 400 white owned farms that helped the country sustain itself in 2000.  By 2007, there were just a handful of white hold outs that were in danger of not only losing their land but their lives.  Zimbabwe was really not a safe place for white people much less very attractive female white people.

            Now at time when blacks were squatting on white farm land and killing white

farmers, Jennifer showed up as innocent as Bambi.   The unemployment rate was somewhere near 80%. In the capital of Harare, she went to a clinic for women and told a large black woman behind a desk that she wanted to help.  This large black woman was surprised by the beauty and ignorant innocence of a young American woman, in a foreign land, unescorted.  After the initial shock, the woman sent her to the middle of nowhere.  The town she sent her to was dangerous and not far from the border with South Africa.  Most of the men and women were trying to enter South Africa illegally in hopes of finding a job.  Even if one could find a job in Zimbabwe, their currency was worth nearly nothing.  One might need a dump truck of money just to buy a meal.

            Jennifer showed up with a long tight skirt that went to her ankles.  She wore Birkenstock sandals with a shirt with George W. Bush’s face on it.  The caption said, “Wanted for war crimes”.  The people of the town were living in shacks with no plumbing.  There was no school for the children and no infrastructure to speak of.  It was worse than Tijuana in just about everyway and in this cesspool of human misery and squalor.  Jennifer was arguably one of the prettiest women in the world.  She came to the village with a back pack and an acoustic guitar.

            Jennifer’s father was a partner at a large law firm in downtown Chicago.  Their offices took up several floors of a high rise.  To be a part of this law firm was prestigious.  Attorneys were paid well. 

            Jennifer’s father had been a life long Republican.  He voted for every single Republican presidential candidate going back to Barry Goldwater.  Jennifer’s father was religious and driven.  They were Episcopal and lived in a small suburb that was in the top ten richest burgs in the country.  The village is called Kenilworth and all the streets were named after small towns in Great Britain.  England Primarily.  Most of the inhabitants were of British descent and very rich.  Jennifer too was of English lineage.  Ironically, Jack, Jennifer’s father, gave over $10,000.00 a year to an Episcopal missionary who was stationed in Namibia.  Jack was never even sure where that was.  He just knew his money went there to promote Christianity and safe drinking water.

            Jennifer went to prep school in the east and attended Stanford.  It was at Stanford that Jennifer had a history professor that told her that all American history was basically fabricated lies just like the bible and that the age of imperialism had come unravelled after World War II and the United States picked up where Great Britain and France had left off.  A man who had studied his whole life and received a doctorate at the age of

 forty five, challenged young and impressionable people to do something with their lives.  This professor read and re-read H.L Mencken and Nietzche in a studio apartment, with no wife and no family.  His big moment was protesting the war back in the late sixties and getting arrested.  He was promptly bailed out by his parents but told the story for so many years after that his time in jail went from four hours to four weeks.  His fabled plight resembled a Kafka novel rather than a simple act of civil disobedience that was considered to be a step above j walking or spitting on the sidewalk. 

            Be all that as it may, her father, his job, their community, their homogeneity, their insulation and so forth was somehow wrong.  Jennifer’s good fortune to be born into a good family was about as unlucky as some poor bastard’s luck to be born at a squatter’s camp in Zimbabwe near the border with South Africa.  Jennifer bought the line that it was up to her to make a difference.  Jennifer actually did make a difference in the lives of many people in Zimbabwe as did her father.

            Jack, the father of Jennifer, indulged his daughter despite the fact that he worried that at best, she would be gang raped by low level military leader, seeking to over throw Robert Mugabe, the first and only president of Zimbabwe.  At worst, Jack feared that Jennifer would be killed.  Either way, Jack knew that he could not stop Jennifer from doing what she wished.  He never set the stage for the word no and so Jack could not say no to Jennifer.  Jack built a hospital, a church and a school for the people of the town.  Doctors from France came and donated their time to help the people of the town.  Jack came at the insistence of his daughter to the remote town that did not even have a name.  He drove with a guide six hours in a Land Rover Defender on dirt roads until he found his daughter.  Along the way, Jack remembered his father’s friend who he had met in Great Britain during World  War II, was someone who had come from the area that became Rhodesia and then Zimbabwe.  He fought in the Second World War for Great Britain and lived on a farm about an hours drive outside of the city of Salisbury.  Jack’s father had always talked about visiting his old war friend in Rhodesia back when things were going well in the mid to late 1960’s.  They never got there.  Now Jack was riding in a Land Rover on roads that once existed during the days of colonial rule.  In many areas, the paved roads ceased to exist.  It after all had been over forty years since colonial rule.  Jack’s father never lived to visit his old war buddy but his son made it his duty to visit his daughter in what was once Rhodesia.

The children of the town danced and sang for Jack and hugged him.  It was

 the first time in his life that he had ever hugged a black person and the people of southern Africa were not like the caramel colored blacks back home that had mixed with whites at some point somewhere between modern times and the landing of the Mayflower.  The people of the town were blacker than black.  Their skin shined and their teeth and the whites of their eyes contrasted greatly.  Despite the fact that they had very little, they were happy looking and Jack left Africa feeling that he had done something very good despite the fact that he was badgered by his daughter.  Jack felt good about his contributions and that of his daughter until he received the news with a photograph that Jennifer had married a native of Zimbabwe.

            Nkute was like any other poor native of Zimbabwe.  It hadn’t been that way for him when he was young.  Nkute’s father was a well paid servant in a white household near Salisbury.  The man that Nkute’s father worked for was a politician that represented an area of Salisbury in the parliament.  He was part of the Rhodesian Front.  He had a hand in what was called the Lancaster House Agreement.  He wanted to ensure that if black majority rule was on the way, that whites still had a stake in the new government.  Whites were to retain 20% of the seats in parliament.

  Nkute lived in a descent home and was a champion Cricket player when the country was still Rhodesia.  After 1980, things began to change.  The white family that his father worked for moved to New Zealand and his father was out of a job.  Nkute’s family eventually moved out of the city to the country. 

Nkute was as an excellent student  He was sent by his village to school in Australia at the age of fourteen.  Nkute lived at the boarding school.  He was an exceptional student and gifted at soccer or as the call it, football.  He also was a valuable member of the school’s Cricket team.  Nkute did well all throughout school and became a doctor.  Nkute owned a house in suburban Sydney and had a nice life.  While listening to the BBC one day on his car radio, Nkute heard about white farmers being killed and land going to waste in Zimbabwe.  He listened to the reports of runaway inflation and the lack of medical attention for most who inhabited the country.   

Back in the Rhodesian days, white soldiers who assisted the British South Africa Company, were each given 3,000 acres of land through grants.  The leader of the British South Africa Company was a man whose name was Cecil Rhodes, hence the name Rhodesia.  The received a royal charter back in 1889.  The blacks on that land became tenants or were thrown off.  Blacks were given land in low rainfall areas and the good land for farming with good rainfall was given to whites.  At the time of independence, white farmers owned close to 5,000 farms.  The white farmers provided housing, school and hospitals for their black employees.  40% of the farms in the country were run by the 5,000 white farmers who made up over 60% of the country’s GDP.  Rhodesia was the bread basket of Africa.  Nkute understood what it was like to be ruled by white people and was happy as a young boy when independence happened.  It appeared to be the right thing for the majority.  The problem was the land distribution killed Zimbabwe’s ability to sustain itself.  People who did not understand and know how to farm, were given land and let the land go fallow.  It became paramount to import food to feed Zimbabweans.  The rate of malnutrition is at about 45% now.  It is low considering the inflation rate was 2.2% million percent when I first wrote about the inflation rate.  It has now risen again.

  Nkute took a leave of absence for a year from the hospital he worked for in Sydney and went to work for Medcin sans Frontier or Doctors without Borders.  Nkute made his way over to the same town that Jennifer happened to live in and the rest is history.  The normal boy meets girl stuff took place.  He was on good behavior while trying to woo her.  They married in Zimbabwe and disagreed as to where they would eventually live.  Jennifer did not want to remain in Zimbabwe the rest of her life nor immigrate to Australia.  Being in love with his beautiful wife, he decided to follow her back to the United States.  Nkute had to take further courses and training in order to be a full fledged practicing physician in the United States.  They both volunteered with the Red Cross together.

            “Excuse me, I am Nkute Nabazeen and thees ees my wife Jennifer… We har weeth thee RRRRed Crrross… Have you anyone who ees urt frrrom the fire?”  Said Nkute, in his strong southern African English accent.

            Nkute and Jennifer met with the tenants one by one and interviewed them in order to determine if they had somewhere to go for the night. At the end of the night, Nkute and Jennifer returned to their condominium on the 32nd floor that overlooked Lake Michigan. Jennifer went into their bedroom to light candles and prepare to do some yoga to help her unwind from the days events. Nkute purchased the Cricket Ticket on the Dish Network. India was playing South Africa in a test match. Nkute ate a deep dish pizza of spinach and onion, drank a Dutch beer and thought to himself; isn’t life grand?

January 1972……Rhodesia Railways Mechanical Workshops, Bulawayo.

There were four of us that year. Apprentice Plater-Welders, a grand title indeed.  I was just 17.

We were youngsters straight out of school with apparently not enough academic intelligence to go and get a Degree….lepers compared to the likes of the goody-goody, lardie-dardie-old-school-tie-up-your kilt brigade. You know the ones I mean.

We had ended up in the Welding Shop, a place of alien odours, bright blinding flashing crackling arcs, hissing and spluttering gas flames, flying sparks, clanging metal, phantom wankers, and swearing Journeymen.

The other three were there because they wanted to be….me for the simple fact that my pass rates at school were so bad that I was considered only good enough to melt two pieces of metal together after cutting, bending, and banging them into strange shapes. Being absolutely atrocious at mathematics of any kind, anything slightly numerical would ensure a panic attack of immense proportions, guaranteeing I would never hold a brain surgeons qualification.

I remember Titch Tyzack well. A small man as his name implies, he was the Welding Shop foreman and a true gentlemen who treated all of us with great respect and I don’t think I ever saw him lose his temper once. He issued us with all our new and shiny kit…..oxygen and acetylene gauges with black and red pipes to go with them, chipping hammers, wire brushes, long welding gloves, welding helmets and goggles, and a full length leather apron that was supposed to protect us from going sterile with radiation but actually made one look like Jack the Ripper out on one of his evenings walks around Whitechapel…..aaaah yes and some spats to cover our new and shiny brown safety boots, presumably to stop our victims blood splashing on them during the gut-slashing process.

He also gave me 6 little pieces of triangular aluminium……on it was stamped a number….728775……my employee number…..and they were held together by a special spring clip. I felt very important indeed as these were the currency of the technical stores….with them I would be able to draw all the tools I needed…..as long as I exchanged each tool for one of my precious little discs.

We guarded our discs well…counting them carefully each day, auditing them against the amount of tools in our wooden lockers….much evil could be done with them in the wrong hands.

The time had now come for us to meet our Journeymen, the person who would be our mentor for the next year at least. For those of you who don’t know, many of the Journeymen working in Rhodesia at that time were from foreign and often strange lands. Some of them smelt of garlic.  Others had greasy faces. I was destined to be put in the capable hands of a man named Jack Crilly, a tough as nails, broken-nosed Welder from Stockton-on-Tees, who had served his time at the Imperial Chemical Industry (ICI) facility. Jack did not smell of garlic…he was also not greasy….this was very useful as he needed to get up close when he spoke to me about something I had fucked up…..not because I was deaf or anything like that…..it was just so freaking noisy in the workshops that at times it was easier to speak in signs.

During my time as an apprentice I would also be nurtured by a probable ex-IRA gunman who also taught me to play bridge at tea times, a South African who liked to make out he was an underwear fashion photographer, and a Rhodesian who always seemed to be on another planet.

So the scene was set for a great five years….or so I thought.

Rhodesia Railways 20th Class Garrett: One Mean Mother Locomotive

“So far and no further!”

Interesting juxtaposition between colonial racial policies with respect to the treatment of indigenous peoples in Australia, Canada and Rhodesia.

Good thing that such institutionalized racism has been completely eradicated here in the Great White North!

The Office of the Deputy Chairman today released a statement stating that the Deputy Chairman, who is also Ambassador to the United Nations of Micronations (UNMCN), has announced A1’s neutrality in the newly declared war between the micronations of Rhodesia and Finismund.

Muito Rugby no continente africano nessa última semana. Nem só de Springboks vive a África.

Após mais um grande rodada do Tri Nations Series 2009 (o Três Nações), a África do Sul se tornou líder da competição – claro que com apenas duas partidas disputadas, a liderança provisória não diz muita coisa.

Como já relatado anteriormente, os Springboks derrotaram os All Blacks por 28 x 19. Com um primeiro tempo verde, onde os sul-africanos dominaram as ações e a equipe kiwi foi decepcionante, o jogo foi equilibrado no segundo tempo, com a Nova Zelândia reagindo e se superando. Mas não o suficiente para derrotar os Boks, que voltaram a demonstrar sua superioridade no momento garantindo a vitória com um try de Fourie.

As duas equipes ainda podem mostrar mais na competição, e creio que mostrarão nas próximas rodadas, com a disputa pelo título esquentando.

Em Bloemfontein, os Springbooks conseguiram, além dos 4 pontos, evitar que os All Blacks conseguissem o ponto bônus (marcar mais de 4 tries ou perder por 7 pontos ou menos de diferença). Em um torneio tradicionalmente equilibrado, sobretudo neste ano em que a Nova Zelândia não demonstra a superioridade dos últimos anos, o torneio poderá ser decidido justamente nos pontos bônus, uma vez que as vitórias fora de casa tenderão a ser grandes feitos.

A próxima rodada colocará novamente frente a frente África do Sul e Nova Zelândia, dia 1º de agosto, em Durban, África do Sul. 

A classificação ficou da seguinte maneira:

1 – África do Sul – 1 jogo; 1 vitória, 0 empates, 0 derrotas, saldo de pontos + 9, 0 pontos bônus, 4 pontos

2 – Nova Zelândia – 2 jogos, 1 vitória, 0 empates, 1 derrota, saldo de pontos – 3, 0 pontos bônus, 4 pontos

3 – Austrália – 1 jogo, 0 vitórias, 0 empates, 1 derrota, saldo de pontos – 6, 1 ponto bônus,  1 ponto

Outra partida entre seleções disputada na continente africano foi a final do CAR Southern Trophy (o troféu do sul da África), que terminou com o título o Zimbábue, 23 x 3 contra os anfitriões de Botsuana – por apelidos, foi o confronto das Zibelinas do Zimbábue (The Sables, em inglês, animal semelhante a um vison, que, ironicamente, só existe em climas frios) contra os Abutres (Vultures) de Botsuana.

Mesmo estando ausentes as equipes mais fortes da região, África do Sul e Namíbia, o resultado foi importante para os zimbabuanos pelas crises política, social e esportiva vivenciadas pelo país.

Até o início dos anos noventa, o Zimbábue – Rhodésia, até 1980 - era a segunda potência do rugby africano, tendo disputado as Copas do Mundo de 1987 e de 1991. Nas décadas de 1950, 1960 e 1970, a Rhodésia era uma seleção de grande respeito no mundo do rugby, tendo enfrentado os Lions e a Nova Zelândia, perdendo por placares apertados (27 x 14 e 16 x 12 para os Lions, em 1955; e 27 x 14 para os All Blacks, em 1970).

No entanto, assim como na África do Sul, o rugby no país era esporte dos europeus e seus descendentes. Com a crise política e social vivenciada no país no início dos anos 1990, já sob o governo de Robert Mugabe, a situação do Rugby se deteriorou. O êxodo dos principais jogadores do país para a Europa e para a África do Sul quase sepultou a seleção. O nível da equipe caiu muito, nunca mais conseguiu voltar a disputar uma Copa do Mundo e vem sendo facilmente derrotada por muitas seleções africanas que antes não eram páreo para o Zimbábue – não só é hoje muito inferior à Namíbia, como chegou a ser derrotada por seleções como Uganda e Madagascar. Por isso, o resultado deste final de semana é importante para a seleção, que aspira a tempos melhores.

Os resultados do CAR Southern Trophy foram os seguintes:

Dia 20/7: Zimbábue 31 x 22 Madagascar

Botsuana 16 x 10 Zâmbia

Maurício 10 x 9 Reunião

Dia 22/7: Botsuana 39 x 17 Reunião

Maurício 8 x 14 Zimbábue

Madagascar 36 x 15 Zâmbia

Dia 26/7: Madagascar 36 x 27 Reunião

Maurício 25 x 8 Zâmbia

Botsuana 3 x 23 Zimbábue

Classificação:

1 – Zimbábue

2 – Madagascar

3 – Maurício

4 – Botsuana

5 – Zâmbia

It’s good to see that African Path is back up (with some minor changes).

I have to really thank my friend on African Path for keeping me in touch with “Reality”. Today I have become more skeptical of what I read and hear as a result of having my eyes being opened. It’s not that I was just plain gullible, it’s just that now I have to really look at what is not being said in relationship to what I may have just heard or even read.

I came across the below 3 points regarding Zimbabwe and South Africa’s political climate and my prior thoughts and feelings on the change from minority to the more “Parliamentary” form of government was made affirmed.
It was just a farce – a hoax, deception all along. Let’s take the points listed below and examine them.

1) the British agreement to grant independence to Zimbabwe included the demand that the new Zimbabwean government would have to assume the debts acquired by their then-oppressor, the Ian Smith outlaw regime;

2) that the British government agreed, as part of the independence agreement, to settle the issue of land distribution, but reneged on this agreement with the blunt announcement to that effect by U.K. Secretary of State for International Development Clare Short in 1997, shortly after Tony Blair became Prime Minister;

3) that when the Zimbabwe government subsequently began implementing land reform on its own, the British government retaliated by withdrawing all budgetary aid to Zimbabwe, and getting other industrial countries to do the same. At that time, the Zimbabwe government was then dependent on aid for about 50% of its budget. The economy collapsed as a result of the retraction of this aid. The collapse was blamed on the Zimbabwe government.

Africans are also wondering if Obama’s idea of good governance means, being subservient, foregoing industrial development, and doing as you are told.

Let’s look at number 1 – Having the new government assuming the responsibility for the Ian Smith’s “regime” mess is wrong. Especially when Mugabe and the Indigenous people of “Rhodesia” were never part of the structure that “voted” and implemented any of the policies the outgoing administration placed on the whole of that society. What happened to the mineral wealth? Have they been taken over by the “New” administration?

Number 2 – What did Britain have to do with Zimbabwe’s land settlement? Especially after the mess they made with Palestine in 1940’s.

Normally, when the tenant leaves or moves out of the dwelling or house, they normally will take all of their trash with them or get rid of it. You pretty much want to leave it in the same condition as when you moved in. Whatever you break you should have to shoulder the cost to fix.

I am sure after 1980 the “Exodus” was massive with the robber barons taking most or all of the wealth of the land with them upon the so-called regime change. Today I question, how, “In 1976 the South African and United States governments could have worked together to place pressure on Ian Smith to agree to a form of majority rule.” The South Africans government was not even a “Majority” ruled government in 1976 in its own right. What could these two countries of “Apartheid” be doing, working together? Were these two governments working on the “Rhodesian” fleeing to South Africa

Change without changing is not changing at all – just a new form of slavery to replace the old system. President Obama blaming the sheep for being eaten by the wolves is just plain wrong.
“It’s All About You …”

Wilbur Smith —A factual account

The plight of the Black Rhinoceros is, or course, due mostly to the value of its horn and the ferocious poaching that this engenders. However, a contributory factor to the declining rhino population is the animals disorganized mating habits. It seems that the female rhino only becomes
receptive to the male’s attentions every three years or so, while the male only becomes interested in her at the same intervals. A condition known quite appropriately as ‘Must’ The problem is one of synchronization, for their amorous inclinations do not always coincide.

In the early Sixties, I was invited, along with a host of journalists and other luminaries, to be present at an attempt by the Rhodesian Game and Tsetse Department to solve this problem of poor timing. The idea was to capture a male rhino and induce him to deliver up that which could be stored until that day in the distant future when his mate’s fancy turned lightly to thoughts of love. We departed from the Zambezi Valley in an impressive convoy of trucks and landrovers, counting in our midst non-other
than the Director of the game department in person, together with his minions, a veterinary surgeon, an electrician and sundry other technicians, all deemed necessary to make the harvest. The local game scouts had been sent out to scout the bush for the largest, most virile rhino they could
find. They had done their job to perfection and led us to a beast at least the size of a small granite koppie with a horn on his nose considerably longer than my arm. The trick was to get this monster into a robust mobile pen which had been constructed to accommodate him.

With the Director of the Game Department shouting frantic orders from the safety of the largest truck, the pursuit was on. The tumult and the shouting were apocalyptic. Clouds of dust flew in all directions, trees, and vegetation were destroyed, game scouts scattered like chaff, but finally the Rhino had about a litre of narcotics shot into his rump and his mood became dreamy and benign. With forty game guards heaving and shoving, and the Director still shouting orders from the truck, the rhino was wedged into his cage, and stood there with a happy grin on his face. At this stage, the Director deemed it safe to emerge from the cab of his truck and he came amongst us resplendent in starched and immaculately ironed bush jacket with a colourful silk scarf at this throat. With an imperial gesture, he ordered the portable electric generator to be brought forward and positioned behind the captured animal. This was a machine which was capable of lighting up a small city, and it was equipped with two wheels that made it resemble a roman chariot.

The Director climbed up on the generator to better address us. We gathered around attentively while he explained what was to happen next. It seemed that the only way to get what we had come for was to introduce an electrode into the rhino s rear end, and to deliver a mild electric shock,
no more than a few volts, which would be enough to pull his trigger for him. The Director gave another order and the veterinary surgeon greased something that looked like an acoustic torpedo and which was attached to the generator with sturdy insulated wires. He then went up behind the somnolent beast and thrust it up him to a full arms length, at which the Rhino opened his eyes very wide indeed. The veterinary and his two assistants now moved into position with a large bucket and assumed expectant expressions. We, the audience, crowded closer so as not to miss a single detail of the drama. The Director still mounted on the generator trailer, nodded to the electrician who threw the switch and chaos reigned.

In the subsequent departmental enquiry the blame was placed squarely on the shoulders of the electrician. It seems that in the heat of the moment his wits had deserted him and instead of connecting up his apparatus to deliver a gentle 5 volts, he had crossed his wires and the Rhino received a full
500 volts up his rear end.

His reaction was spectacular. Four tons of Rhinoceros shot six feet straight up in the air. The cage, made of great timber baulks, exploded into its separate pieces and the Rhinoceros now very much awake, took off at a gallop. We, the audience, were no less spritely. We took to the trees with alacrity. This was the only occasion on which I have ever been passed by two journalist half way up a mopane tree. From the top branches we beheld an amazing sight, for the chariot was still connected to the Rhinoceros per rectum, and the director of the game department was still mounted upon it, very much like Ben Hur, the charioteer. As they disappeared from view, the Rhinoceros was snorting and blowing like a steam locomotive and the Director was clinging to the front rail of his chariot and howling like the north wind which only encouraged the beast to greater speed.

The story has a happy ending for the following day after the director had returned hurriedly to his office in Salisbury, another male Rhinoceros was captured and caged and this time the electrician got his wiring right. I can still see the Rhinoceros’s expression of surprised gratification as the switch was thrown. You could almost hear him think to himself. “Oh Boy! I didn’t think this was going to happen to me for at least another three years”

Piet Coetzee

“Each small candle lights a corner of the dark.”
Roger Waters