This genesis for this arose some years ago when I found a 102 page manuscript my Grand Father had written. I can’t ascertain when or why he wrote it suffice to say he passed in 1957, 4 years before I was born. In addition to the manuscript there were the odd speech he gave, some doggerel verse and loads of photo graphs.
Some of the text in the manuscript is not very good – pages about running a small business, about his sporting accomplishments- but it covers his Presbyterian upbringing in a mining village in Scotland, his heroics in World War 1, his new life in Africa quite well as well as his political service in Zambia.
Although written as an historical novel the text includes fabrication and exaggeration of certain events and facts but also includes verbatim extracts from the manuscript as well as some photos from the archive.
1920’s
THE GRAND ARRIVAL
Out of nowhere shrieks and cries came running towards what he called his home at the time. It was significantly partially under construction, but young children ran or jogged waving their hands in the air followed by a two car procession surrounded by elders, farmers, men and women, cows and goats.
It seemed obvious he was the mission they were seeking but it did not seem to be in any malevolent way. The crowd assembled outside of the low-slung gate and fencing that he had been hastily erected to demarcate his property. One of the cars parked someway distant and he thought he recognized his friend– Gordon James and his wife Stella and acquaintances Hamish and Anges Blanchard.
The second car then maneuvered around to the front and there standing in the passenger seat and clinging on was a diminutive figure, dressed in a pith hat, a white blouse and a grey calf length linen skirt with solid brown shoes anchoring her.
He stepped out from the gate still not quite comprehending the circumstance. A silence fell as the young woman stepped from the vehicle. She walked to within six feet of him then removed her hat. Just a few years previously he had served on the front line in Flanders but nothing prepared him for the shock of seeing his close friend and sweet heart standing 7000 miles from her home in the midst of a barren, bleak country and to see him.
Overt signs of affection or emotion were resolutely not in either of their make ups so a gentle embrace was the signal for the crowd to cheer and start signing a traditional song which he later found out was a blessing to a marriage yet to come. Two small boys each found a branch with a few leaves on it. They came forward whilst the singing and dancing continued, smiles as wide as the sky, and presented each with the gift. Both young boys then wrapped their arms around the slimly built women whilst the mister scuffled their heads. The boys then led the procession away from the house, back down the dusty track whence they come singing and dancing continuing unabated.
“I don’t know why Mac, but the people love your lady. When we told them who she was intending to become and then they met her it was immediate. I think maybe they just want to see a grumpy young man be better.” Her harsh brogue and loud palette made me shackle at the word “intending”. He had spent a good deal of time with Gordon James drawing plans and procurement list for my house. He had introduced him to Scotch which he had eschewed whilst growing up in Scotland. He tried to imagine the complicity of sorts that must have taken place but Mr & Mrs James’ part can only have been relatively small.
The two vehicles left all five passengers aboard and he availed himself to his tent and took a large immersion in a bottle of Scotch. During the war he had trained his mind to shut down. It seemed at times that things could get no worse, when casualties under his charge mounted to new daily records, when the pain from his water drenched socks seeped into the marrow of his feet, and sometimes, in odd and occasional moments of quietude. He was asleep by 7.00pm and woke again at 2.00am riddled with offense, presumption, shock and the wonderment of how this frail young women could raise the money, organize and expedite a trip on her own of some 7000 miles and then travel another 2000 miles into the heart of Africa, then somehow manage to locate me…
LAND FOR FREE
He had been in this outpost of the British Empire for almost exactly seven months. Under the auspices of the Board of Agriculture and Fisheries in Scotland he was placed in contact with a representative of the British South Africa Company in London. Grants of land were being offered to develop both Southern and Northern Rhodesia on the proviso that £1,000 in collateral could be proved to invest in agriculture pursuits. The grants, land title, went up to as much as 3,000 acres (about 4.5 square miles).
To impress his credentials he travelled and wore his army uniform to meet a young, squarely set, imposingly large representative of the British South Africa Company. The presentative’s office was small but impeccably neat. He had a single folder on his desk which bore a stamp Case 103 March 1921.
“My name is Evans” he said in a strong Welsh accent. “You and I both got lucky I guess. I served a similar ordeal with 2 ½ years on and off in Belgium and France. My time was cut short by this” patting the void that was the left arm of his jacket. “Just as well it wasn’t my right arm” laughing at his dark humor.
He had served in the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, one of the first army units to be deployed. He recounted that he had been party to the Christmas Day Truce. He was at Neuve Chapelle. “It was a bitterly cold, frozen day and even colder night. The Germans started it by shouting out “Happy Christmas Englanders” clearly not cognizant of the fact that the majority were Celts. A few shouted back referring their wishes to Austrians. The loudest memory I have in my life was English, Scots, Welsh, Irish, Prussians, Westphalians, Bavarians all signing “Auld Lang Syne”. For a moment the madness was quelled. “By New Years Day 54 of my colleagues would be dead along with uncountable Germans”. He looked reflective and Mac understood.
The Company representative pulled a map from the folder in front of him and opened it precisely on the table. It showed the redistributed lands with Tanganika back under the British colonial cloth, a vast swath of land from Cape Town to Kenya under colonial rule. In the northern part of the map Evans pointed to Northern Rhodesia, then pointed again to a small settlement about 150 miles from Southern Rhodesia and the Victoria Falls. “This is Lusaka where your opportunity lies. The current official population is about 2,000 which would not include the Natives of course. The plot we are proposing to offer is precisely 1,596 acres. The surveyors have just followed nature’s course, so boundaries maybe streams or rivers, an outcrop of rock, existing tracks and so on.”
After flicking through the folder Evans said “Well! That’s about it really. I have a deed of transfer that you need to sign, and I will get witnessed. There are other bits and pieces in the folder – names of people who have taken up the scheme relatively near to where you are going, some odd maps of the area, the statement of intent by the Company, a topographical map and survey drawing of the lot. Good luck my friend”
He enquired if any timeframes had been made. This seemed a vaguely obscure question to ask given 20 minutes before he had no idea if his application was going to be successful. Mac had given no thought to the practicalities involved. He knew nothing about agriculture. He had a slightly clearer picture of where Northern Rhodesia was and that is was long way from the sea. Now, the space of a few minutes he was the owner of a small tract of land somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
Over lunch at a nearby pub they talked about the war, sharing stories of pain and triumph. Evans admitted that he had to get his work complete by noon at the latest so that he could come here and wash away the pain that haunts him daily, nightly, every second of the day. Mac reflected upon this for a few seconds trying to understand why two persons reactions to similar traumatic events affected them in such radically different ways. Maybe it was the memorial scar of losing an arm that made him mad. Maybe, by matters of degree, Evans saw worse things than Mac. They had remarkably similar upbringings, Evans in mining Ebbw Vale, Mac in mining Bathgate. They had things in common. “People who work in the same trade whether in Berlin or Yorkshire have more in common than the teacher who lives door to them in Berlin or Yorkshire” (paraphrase F. Engel) Maybe… it was simply that different people were wired in different ways to deal with different situations. Mac recalled the day he was called to say his mother had passed. He was in the middle of a cricket match and carried on playing. Of course, he grieved later.
Evans imbibed maybe his sixth glass and admitted to having sated himself…. for today at least. Mac had come to like him over the course of the interview, assignment of title and subsequent lunch. Somehow, they promised to keep in touch.
STARTING OUT
Mac’s accommodation started out at the garret in the house of his soon to be best buddy Gordon James. Even though he expressed his gratitude, the rather dismal loft was not to his liking. He felt like he was making the best use of his time and “being on site” would help. He co-opted a young man who worked for the BSAC running errands, couriering documents, coordinating “arrangements”. If he was mixed in the colour of his skin, determining the prominent pigment would be the hard part. There seemed to be bits of Khoi, Indian, Caucasian, other negroid descendance’s. His voice patterns did lean toward an Indian alpha gene. His name, Rajesh gave the answer.
Mac asked him, Rajesh, to acquire, preferably rented, 1 10 x 10 ft tent hut; 1 6ft 6in camper bed ; 1 x blanket: 3 x Pillow. Other essentials – soap, oil, salt, pepper, toothpaste. A couple of glasses, mugs, plates, cutlery, a sharp kitchen knife, a cutlass, string, a frying pan and two pots. Then some basic groceries and a kersene lamp. Rajesh was very through and thoughtful and organised and resourceful. He managed to obtain everything at the best possible price, co-ordinate one central collection point then arrange for transportation to deliver the basic survival kit to its destination all in under two hours. “It’s important to know the right people in a small place like this”, which Mac certainly noted for future reference.
He called in that same afternoon a degenerate but highly ingenious Namibia, who has adapted a manually operated plough into an excavating device which could dig foundations, create decent roadways and engage with a necessary plumbing, sewage and other utility issues that would arise in building a new city. He was Dutch by origin but said he is known as Mr Patrik. He said he had seen a new soldier in town and was expecting his call at some time unknown.
An agreement was reached with Mr Patrik to dig foundations as per the footprint as presented to him. He extended upon by adding that the price of the slab would also be included provided Mac paid his laborer’s accordingly. “Once the slab is laid we should discuss taking the building to completion.” “We will” said Mac.
Mac had already fenced off the parcel of land that he felt most suitable to build upon. It was a plateau which rose about 15 foot from the otherwise barren, starched landscape. The area of the plateau was about an acre which was the amount required for the design he and friend Gordon James had designed. It was easily accessible, it was close to a well and the elevation would lend a certain presence. This only left 1595 acres to wonder what to do with.
The procurement of materials was the domain of Mr Patrik. So early one Monday morning a truck laden with barrows, ladders, bamboo and twine, buckets, shovels and forks and 4 strong young men, arrived. The missen hut acted as a bedroom, living room, office. Rajesh had, under his own initiative had also acquired a small desk and chair. Mac offered Mr Patrick a cup of tea upon which the latter walked to the truck and returned with a half empty bottle of Scotch under his arm. Mac passed him a glass and two swift swigs of the brown nectar swiftly passed in side Mr Patrick.
Mac said nothing of this but carefully opened the plans of the house design. “Yes” said Mr Patrick “I’ve seen these before. How do think I managed to work out a bill of quantities without?” Mac was somewhat taken aback by the abruptness of his response but taking in account the Scotch and this incident he quickly realised that Mr Patrik was not without fault; no one could find fault with his work though.
“So today we will start with the septic tank. The boys will have that dug in a few hours and by tomorrow the concrete will be laid. The cover is built in one piece so, as strong as my boys are they couldn’t lift it in place so extra labour will be needed. But by the weekend your days of running down to bush will be over. I am surprised not to see a pump here; you could have running water by this evening as I will lend you one. You’ve been living like this for 2 weeks now ?? I drive past most days and did think about stopping by just to see if you were OK but then remembered you are a war hero and must have seen and lived in far worse.”
It was of course far better than the trenches but he felt a bit small not having thought about a water solution. Although he was very dexterous he sometimes felt a lacking in resourcefulness and practicality. It had indeed his major inconvenience, but with a solution, a simple solution at that which he hadn’t even thought of, so it was galling.
Mr Patrik shouted something to his boys. They stood up and walked over slowly. “This is Mr Mac who we will be working with building a house for him. As you call me Mr Patrik so you will call Mr Mac by that name. As always, we will work very hard and very fast and will always make sure each afternoon that everything is stored away. So the first thing will be to built and wooden shed from some of the timber we brought. So Chipapo and Mwansa as wood craftsmen will do this. OK? Kabwe and Musonda will start work on digging a hole 12ft by 10ft by 7ft deep.” Mac tried by name association to remember the names of the boys. Kabwe – he had the word heard before with the meaning being “strong”. The was easy to associate with the Kabwe in front of him who was a good 6 inches taller than Mac and he had muscles that grew upon other muscles and a neck that must have been 28 inches. In contrast Chipapo was small and diminutive, maybe 5ft 8in, spectacles, delicate hands and a scar that ran from his right ear to his larynx. The other two names he wrote down.
HOW TO ENGAGE.
She had been here for two weeks now and had not seen or heard from him. She repressed thoughts of what she was doing 7000 miles from Lanarkshire and at least 1500 miles to the nearest coastline. She occasionally asked Stella, (Mrs. James) if she had heard from him, if he was ok…. “He is just very busy my dear so don’t worry, don’t worry. ” This routine was practiced on several occasions, then, one time she paused and added. “Jen, Mac is doing this all for you and I think he is embarrassed you showed up and he wasn’t prepared. I will invite him on the weekend if you are OK. But let time take its course”. “Thank you” Jen replied.
PROGRESS
In the two weeks since Mr Patrik and his boys took over Mac’s life, the progress had been express. Septic tank done and working, tool shed built and operational. Kiln working with timber for fuel. Trench digging for plumbing foundations dug. It wasn’t hard to get four young men’s names organized so along with Kabwe, Chipopa, we had Musonda (helpful) and Mwanja (third born son). Kabwe (meaning strong) was indeed massive and was the heavy lifter in the group. Chipopa, (meaning Miracle) was small and fragile but building requires a delicate touch for wiring, for connecting pipes and of course his specialism carpentry, cabinetry, veneering, marquetry. Musonda and Mwanja could be identical being of similiar, disposition but equally adept at various trades. In a sense Kabwe and Chipopa called the shots for Musona and Mwanja but they all revered each others skills.
When Stella James drove to this soon to be house he wasn’t in the least surprised. He had had no idea how to deport himself. In terms of affection, love, companionship he had very little knowledge but assumed there was a natural process was unfolding.
“My goodness. Haven’t we made progress!!” She was genuinely surprised to see an active building in full swing with the four young men busying themselves in various quarters of the site. The only other time she had been close was a few weeks earlier when the introduction was made.
It was mid afternoon and Mac and the boys had been working since 6.15am and had just returned to work after an hours break. Dressed in Khahi shorts a dusty grey vest and work boots he apologized to Mrs James for his demeanour. She was equally comfortable in her attire. Mac wondered to himself who was the more petite, Janet or Stella as neither cut above 5 foot or 8 stone. He invited her into to his upgraded tent which with the connections of facilities now included running water, an extension made of timber which constituted a bedroom, a toilet, a fixed cooking facility, and three chairs and a larger rather beautiful table which Chipopa had made him from his home and delivered one day. He offered her a seat and a cup of tea but, as he was learning if something stronger was on offer that would be the preference. Mac looked at his watch and decided since there was but 35 minutes of the working day left he would join her.
They exchanged pleasantries without addressing the purpose of her visit. She asked to see the plans which he happily did then they stepped outside, climbed the incline to the site. He clapped his hands and the waved to his boys to come. They smiled wide smiles as Mac introduced Ms Stella to them. “Mwapweni mukwai” they said except Mwanja who greeted her with “Dumela Ma” (as his principle language was Setswana) to which she replied “Endita mukwai.” Kabwe then proudly stated that they all spoke English and that Mr Mac had been helping them improve. The other boys nodded graciously at Mac.
For the next twenty minutes Makwe gave a tour of the site saying what would be where, what materials would be used, why certain things were placed where they were – Chipopa added a few points of clarification from time to time. At no time did he make reference to the plans. The knowledge, understanding of relationships, pride and professionalism left Mac speech lees. He had essentially left the project in the hands of Mr Patrik but now realised it was the boys who were the construction crew, project manager, procurement and delivery managers with Mr Patrik there if they needed advice, to pay bills and of course pay their wages.
Mac and Ms Stella left the boys returning to the tent and swiftly finished their drinks. They stood in silence then both burst out laughing at what they had just witnessed. “You are in good and very fast hands by the look of things.” She paused and then said, by way of instruction, that Mr James would pick him up at 4.30 on Saturday afternoon to come for tea at their house.
PAY DAY
All of the boys were from different parts but none too far away. Makwe was more or less local to the village. He attended the Scottish Mission school and was always enlisted when physical strength was required. He was prolific with the young ladies and had sired four children by the age of 22. Chipopa was raised in the village of Munika near Livinstone. His father had worked on the Victoria Falls Bridge in the early 1900’s then worked on railway line under Mr Rhodes Cape to Cairo dream. An elder had taught him about the different types of tree, the different qualities of wood, of craft work, different joints to use, anything to do with wood in fact including making tools. He was the first of Mr Patrik’s recruits. Mwanja was raised in Chobe, a barren land in the north of Bechuanaland but close to Livingstone. Like Chipopa he was quiet and reserved but they met, became friends and tagged along. Musonda was from farther west in Barotseland. He was in fact the oldest of the crew having 6 children by the age of 30. Outwardly he was quiet as well but on a Friday night his heavens would open not to be closed until Saturday morning.
So Friday fell into to two parts with Makwe and Musonda forming one group, Chipopa and Mwanje another. One part went with their small change to the few bars to drink and to chase and charm the ladies; the other two would talk, visit other friends, spend time improving their English reading skills, and with Mr Mac and Mr Patrik’s permission use the site office to experiment with different techniques using materials they had gathered – off cuts of teak, mahogany, ebony, baobab. All four though, would congregate at church on Sunday morning.
SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Without the boys around the building site was flat and empty on this Saturday morning. Mr Patrik was insistent that the boys should work hard for 5 days a week then rest on weekends. He knew that would not be the case but those were his principles. Progress had been rapid and the slab was to put down the following week.
Mac spent the morning washing clothes, tidying up, checking things he had checked countless times before. He had laid out his clothes the night before – long khaki trousers and short sleeve khaki shirt. He didn’t have a great to choose from. His travelling suit had been infested and eaten to shreds with holes in the trousers and sleeves; it was certainly beyond his level of skill to repair this quickly but, other than being annoyed at his stupidity he was comfortable looking like soldier on leave…. which he sort of was. He ironed them as best he could using a stone he had flattened to which he had affixed a handle made of rope. He polished his travelling shoes and after a lengthy shave he was ready.
Mr Gordon James arrived at the appointed hour in this vehicle. They greeted each other . “Lets have one before you enter the fray…” he asked sensing his friend’s discomfort. “Are you nervous?” he asked which seemed a vaguely absurd question to ask someone with the Military Cross and Bar but this was altogether different type of challenge. “Aye, a wee bit”. Mr Gordon James could scarcely hold his laughter as they drained their cups with Mac quickly downing another.
They drove the two miles more or less in silence. Just stick to good manners and the social graces his father had taught him he kept repeating. Other than his mother, a few aunts and cousins… and Janet he had had very little contact with females. When in the barracks in Aldershot or near the Somme he heard his men talk luridly about their encounters he generally faded into the background of the conversation. The same was the case when he worked at the colliery but he was only 16 at the time. He was now 24. He could not work out his presentiment or maybe his nervousness was on account of the inevitability of the final outcome. She had a cheek after all. He didn’t invite her, he didn’t even court her to come. She just turns up and presents herself. The moments indignation passed and he felt the Scotch relax him. “Are you ready Captain??? “. They shook hands and smiled at each other with genuine respect and affection.
AN AWKWARD END TO THE ENCOUNTER…
The two ladies were sat on the balcony as the car drove in. Even though they had only lived there for a little of a year the house and grounds looked mature. A giant Baobab tree dominated the front of the house. The trunk must have had 30 feet in circumference. The house was north facing casting shadows during the day out into the flat barren land that stretched for miles with occasional mountainous ant and termite hills jutting ruggedly some up to 20 feet. Scrubland really. The house was built of timber on a single storey, except for the garret at the front of house that made it look much bigger. The 10 ft balcony wrapped around western and northern sides from where Stella and Jen appeared. “So you made it then” Hannah asked rhetorically. “Ms Janet Wotherspoon Dick from Shotts, West Lothian, Scotland. May I introduce you Captain Hugh Kennedy McKee VC & Bar, from Bothwell, West Lothian, Scotland. What you are both doing here I do not know but I am looking forward to finding out. With that, please come inside, fill your glasses and Mr James will propose a toast”.
“My dear friends. There are many stories to told as to how we have all come to this place today. The Chief has decided our fates and already carried us through many adventures of different sorts. We are all here by His grace to build a future in this beautiful land and with open arms we welcome Jen into our midst. Mac, she is far stronger than you so need not worry about a thing. Hannah and myself instantly loved you both and we pray for a life long friendship. Please raise your glasses to Mac & Jen who will make a wonderful contribution to our new country, will build many new friends and relationship, hopefully a family here and live long healthy lives. To all of us, to the King, to Africa”.
Vela, the housekeeper for the James’s had laid out some snacks, sandwiches, pastries, pies. She was an excellent cook in terms of seeing something once and either recreating it or reinventing it.
Tensions had evaporated after Mr James toast. They all sat, refilled and refilled and refilled their glasses. Hannah had introduced Jen to Gin which worked as a combination perfectly. The source of the copious amounts of alcohol remained unclear but Rajesh was Mac’s prime suspect. Vela created juices from papaya, from melon, from mango, from any type of fruit she could find then served up a variety of chicken dishes with a special type of Pap she had created, lighter and less dense than was traditional. She lived on the “estate” in a small cabin but seemed to be comfortable with her life. Her husband had passed a couple of years ago of some form of flu that had apparently afflicted the world and her two children had gone south to look for opportunities.
Without delving too deeply, the afternoon passed with anecdotes, humour and good grace. Jen enquired as to the progress of the house. Hannah with Gin echoing, repeatedly said “incredible”. Vela, who was aunt to one of the boys – Mwanje from Chobe – was asked and she used the same phrase then added “You will be very proud Ma. You will raise many children in that house.” Silence descended like a lamp had been shattered.
Mac then asked Mr James. “So when are we going fishing?”
LUSAKA 1921
It is not clear if in 1921 Lusaka, relative to the rest of Africa was a hamlet, village or embryonic town. The two main points of focus where the Presbyterian Church, which also included the only school, and the hardware store. “Hardware” essentially included anything you could get your hands on. There was nothing that could be described as a main street. Numerous hamlets, traditional villages surrounded these two central points. There were about 20 families from the UK or other parts of Africa who lived in not particular order or hierarchy but in a short space of time had erected substantial homes in random locations. The majority were seasoned farmers which Mac was abjectly not. He had spent a couple of months prior to his departure working as a farm hand in Perthshire both livestock and arable. This proved to be utterly pointless with hindsight but did tell that farming was not the most intellectually stimulating ways of earning a living.
The total population including local families was probably about 2,500. The landscape was wooly to say least. Each family unit “brewed” something. Some was pure poison, leading to aberrations and violence. Others, beer of some description were enjoyed more socially. Each family unit grew something. In greener areas with a waterhole fruits were aplenty. In the more arid parts, tough tubers fought to see the light of day. Protein came from game or poultry with occasional forays to rivers some distance to bring back fish which was salted and preserved. The family units were either extended, nuclear or combined and it was easy to tell which were which by the layout of the family settlements. Extended were the largest, nuclear the smallest and combined of varying sizes depending on the extent of the polygamy.
For the foreigners, the colonialists, the story was very different. Rajesh was simply one cog in a wheel that regularly brought supplies from Salisbury via Livingstone to the hardware store. There wasn’t a procurement process as such but once a week a truck would be loaded with whatever was available – no 1 priority was Gin and Scotch, then cigarettes, bully beef other canned foods, soap, toothpaste and so on down the scale of necessities. This was a weekly event and attracted most of the colonial population to the unveiling. Building materials were organised under a completely different method with specific qualities and quantities and lead times required. These were specific to an individual and compartmentalized as such. This was a monthly routine. The majority of the orders were c/o Mr Patrik who had quietly assumed a seemingly monopolistic position until he fell foul of himself.
Macs “property” was located on the Eastern side hamlet whereas the James live in the northern outposts. The chuch was more or less seemed to be the centre both geographically and administratively. (Hand Drawn map)
SO HER SHE IS…
She looked pretty much the same in 1921 as she did in 1971 just a few more lines. Hair style went unchanged, the eyes always glistened and her mouth was set to a permanent smile. She oozed energy and positivity and no challenge was enough.
She was born into a family from Shotts which is on the Edinburgh side of a string of mining villages that littered central Scotland. Bothwell, Beath, Balingry, Wishaw, Canbusnethan, New Monkland and others. Her father was John Dick, her mother Janet Wotherspoon (nee McCleary). There seems to be something Scottish about naming children directly after their parents thus our story’s Janet Wotherspoon Dick. She grew up in a hotel in Shotts, the incongrously named Marine Drive Hotel on the high street. It was also a popular pub with pay days spilling out on to the streets generally in good humour. Visiting owners of the mines always stayed at the the Marine Drive providing a regular source of income. There were three siblings to make up the family, eldest inevitably John Dick, and elder sister Agnes and a younger brother James (Jimmy).
She was 18 when the war broke out. Mac was just 16. They went to elementary school together and in spite of the age difference enjoyed walking, talking, laughing. She taunted him about how sensible he was endlessly talking about his work at the colliery. At the age of 15 he was in charge of the paying the workers, the single most important job at the colliery. He dare not be anything but meticulous. His father was Presbyterian, disciplined, stern, humourless. He played the piano at services and extolled the spiritual value of vocal training.
Janet’s family were very much more secular given the environment they lived in. Whilst Mac’s father never openly displayed it there was a sense of disquiet when his son said he was meeting with his friend after church on a Sunday. Even the hardest of men could be broken by someone making him laugh – a rare occurence but something Janet did with ease.
Both in their owns ways were products of their environment; Mac a serious, studious, working class young man, never penurious but ever conscious to be frugal; Janet, more liberal, open, energetic, charming the hotel guests from all walks of life – it didn’t matter to her from whence they came.
Perspective 1.
(Extracts from the 104 page manuscript will insert verbatim in order to characterize certain aspects. This one is the only paragraph in the whole text that makes reference to Mac’s domestic life.)
“At this point Macs wife should be brought into the picture. Every married man has his own ideas as to what a wife should be and some have strong views about other peoples wives as well. Mac only had one idea. His courting days started when he was in his teens in his home village. His love and affection remained constant to this one girl throughout his absence in the army and during further absence ib Africa and it has never deviated. The best wife in the world who has been an inspiration through Mac’s life and has made anything worth doing well worth while doing. No more need be said. The family, a son, a daughter have similiar affection for their mother.” It finishes “But now to return to business.”
THE WEEKS PASS BY…
The weeks passed by in a mix of excitement and frustration the former at seeing structure built, the latter due to materials being delivered late or wrongly delivered. The boys were quite phlegmatic about this but Mac fretted, got angry as if trying to bend the will of time. He was not normally an impatient man but just expected promises and commitments to be fulfilled. His time during the war had turned a previously disciplined individual up a notch or two. At root was his feeling that he was letting Jen down and every set back reinforced this notion. She on the other hand was firmly in the boy’s camp.
The proposal of marriage, whilst a foregone conclusion was as perfunctory as would be expected from stoic Mac. After a visit to the site. Whilst refreshing with Gin and Tonic Mac asked simple “have you thought about a date for the wedding”? No proposal, no bended knee. Whilst Jen was not surprised, she was a little disappointed. This was a once in a lifetime moment and she just felt he could have tried a bit harder. She chose not to address this for fear of embarrassing him but realised at this moment that pragmatism rather than even the slightest glimmer of romance was going to be the order of day in their union.
She had in fact discussed this matter with Stella who discretely had also spoken to her husband about the same, who in turn had spoken to Mac. They discussed the timeframe relating to making the house habitable. They had no material possessions as such. Chipopa had already been commissioned to make a bed, dining room set, kitchen cabinetry and other smaller furnitures. The project delays had been a blessing in this sense and he and Mwanje set about the task of sourcing and treating timbers in a radius of about 50 miles from town. The principal timber to be used was baobab simply because it was easier to work with as opposed teak or mahagony or ebony which would be used for detailing. One mature baobab tree would provide much of the material required.
They estimated, given delays that by the end of May 1922 the house would be significantly complete although inconveniences would still be entertained. As such the date of 6th June was decided upon. Although a long treck, Mac was insistent that the wedding would take place in Cape Town, partly as a venue for a honeymoon and partly to procure household items which would otherwise take months to obtain. He also had a number for war colleagues in the city who he would enjoy sharing memories with. It is also Gods own city. The four of them would drive in Mr James vehicle which they estimated would take four days. The newly married’s would then take the train back north to Livingstone, in itself a 2 1/2 day adventure.
Mac proposed this plan to his soon to be wife who was elated, and any sense of disappointment dispelled. She felt her undoubted powers of organization would be put to test and felt light at the prospect.
28th MAY 1922
THE GREAT TREK
The distance from Lusaka to Cape Town is about 2,000 miles by road if only 1,450 miles as the crow flies. Mr James poured over maps measuring distances, assessing the quality of the roads and estimating how many hours could be accommodated each day given that three members of the party could legally drive and a blind eye turned to the other. The conclusion was reached that 300 miles could be accommodated per day using what either he knew or had been informed were the best possible roads. So, 7 days. The road between Harare and Salisbury was the worst but he was very familiar with this stretch. The one he was most concerned about was the area between Kimberly and Calvania which was not only the longest but also the one about which he had least information. In order to be in Cape Town by the 5th June they would need to depart on 30th May which they duly did.
The month of May for Jen had been the most hectic, invigorating month she had ever experienced. Occasional days at the hotel when it had been full were long and rewarding but in the service of other people. This was all about her. The wedding arrangements were made by telegram which made her presence at the Post Office a daily occurrence. She started with the church and duly found the Presbyterian Church in New Gardens, the Minister being John Andrew Cluse. From Mac she appointed a witnesses being a fellow soldier Sidney Earnest Wilkie. Mabel Rose Harriet Foster was the other witness. She had been instrumental in Jen’s arrival. There was only one choice for a hotel being the Cape Heritage Hotel and arrangements were duly made for accommodation and a reception for about 40 people. All of these invitees had to be contacted. Although risky, she sent measurements to a gown maker for a simple wedding dress. Given her frame, there was little danger of it being too small and she had an unerring ability to look measured and relaxed in more or less anything. The gown maker, Mrs Westerhausen, also took care of flower arrangements.
Over and above Jen had also taken charge of the furniture making for the house; not making the furniture but helping Chipola with some design ideas and they were beautiful. The dining chairs and tables were made from baobab but inlaid with a strip of teak and on of mahogany in a simple but elegant design. Side tables were solid pieces of baobab but used the natural grain of the wood to create patterns. She was making extensive lists of items that would need to be purchased in Cape Town – bed sheets and pillows, kitchen utensils, pots and pans, cutlery and crockery in fact pretty much everything.
Early in the morning of 30th May the intrepid party set off with Mr James as the driver on roads he was very familiar with. As anticipated it took just over three house to reach Chirundu, the ferry crossing point across the Zambezi. By 11.00am they ventured through Matabeleland and south east towards Salisbury arriving after 4pm at a guest house near to the Polo Club where Mr James was a regular guest. Bathanwe, the manager arranged simple but excellently prepared chicken curry, Gin of course and they retired early to their respective bedrooms.
The following day they set out across the Savannah, littered with acacia trees and vast termite piles some reached as high as 20 foot. Mac was the designated driver for the day. The terrain was turgid, the achingly hot, dustblowing small storms were the road was less good. They all had there faces covered as the windows needed to stay open. They consumed a gallon of water on the journey to Bulawayo. The occasional zebra was seen along with some ostriches. They reached the top of the plateau that looks down onto the town. The huge vista in front of them was breathtaking but none of them were interested given the level of discomfort they were all enduring. Yes, this had been hard work and only another 5 days to go.
They spent the night in Bulawayo all of them almost to tired to eat drink but a good wash improved their spirits. And so they went on the following morning heading south into South Africa. As they climbed the High Veldt the air became clearer and the atmosphere less oppressive. The destination for the third leg was Pietersburg then a relatively short journey to Johannesburg.
The formal records of population show around 200,000 inhabitants living in the city limits. The actual number was of course much higher with about the same number of itinerants dwelling in make shift accommodation. The scarred landscape was alive with small and larger enterprises digging deep into the orange coloured soil. The roads were all well maintained and the Central Business District was rife with major construction projects.
A large number of substantial buildings had already been constructed including the Carlton Hotel on the corner of Eloff and Commissioner streets. Bellmen greeted the guests as they entered an atrium of opulence the likes which Jen had never seen before. The public areas were festooned with art works, gold leaf, marble flaws immaculately turned out-staff. The rooms likewise were elaborate, all with telephones and an early form of air-conditioning. The bath was so big Jen feared she might drown but they all took a long soak with a glass of wine that had been provided by the hotel. There was even a hand written note from the General Manager.
They went for dinner all feeling decidedly under dressed, ate well then slept for a 9 hours before heading on their way to Bloemfontein. They ruefully concurred that a ‘rest’ day should have been built into their journey and Johannesburg would have been it. As they drove through the Western outskirts of Johannesburg the portends of things to come were glaringly obvious with rows of corrugated iron dwellings. The smellgave lie to the fact that there is no sanitation, presumably very little water. Mac was moved by what he saw. “You don’t treat people like that” he muttered to himself over and again.
They were still 5,000 feet above sea level as they crossed the southern part of the High Veldt and the Karoo. A new railway line had just been completed from Bloemfontein to Cape Town and they contemplated taking up this opportunity. The vote was 2 – 2 split clearly on gender lines. The toss of a coin fell in favour of the males. Kimberly followed Bloemfontein then to Calvinia with the final leg to Cape Town drawing closer but seeming to get farther and farther away.
What gold was to Johannesburg, diamonds were to Kimberley. It started with random finds of bright shiny stones then turned to diamond rush with thousands of speculators descending on the town in a matter on months. Tiny plots were purchased resulting in what is known as the Big Hole the largest hand dug excavation in the world. They drove past the big hole which had been drained of all its resources in the space of 10 years in the late 19th century but at the same time shaped the history of the country by the introduction of Mr Cecil Rhodes and De Beers into the story. It was another sobering experience for Mac, who although stoic and awkward was a very compassionate and human man.
CAPE TOWN
6th JUNE
Unbeknownst to the assembled gathering the 6th June, the day of the wedding, would become an auspicious day in the future, historically and personally. This was of course the date in 1944 that saw one of the most momentous military operation in history with the invasion on 5 fronts, (Gold,Juno, Sword, Utah and Omaha) in what was to be known as D-Day. It was also the day on which Mac & Jen’s son,son was born in 1959. He was named Gordon, after the best man to the wedding with a middle name of Kennedy for no known apparent reason but surely not after John Fitzgerald Kennedy whose flame was not quite lit in 1959. It was also the day that Mac & Jen’s sons wife became late at the tender age of 42. Marjorie was her name, an effervesant, always smiling being much loved by her primary school pupils and colleagues. A disease of the spleen put paid to her. Jen, who outlived her son, was there throughout along with Majorie’s brother, a moribund figure who held a high up position in the Church of Scotland but did nothing to bring any levity to the passing. That was all in the future however.
Today was a day of apprehension, joy and celebration. There were 40 guest mostly made up of Mac’s fellow former soldiers who had taken up the offer of relocating to “develop” the “colonies”. Mac had clearly drawn the short straw in being offered land in the under develop north of the African Empire whilst his colleagues were scattered across the lush and sophisticated Garden Route in the Republic of South Africa. Some wore fatigues, others morning suits which was Mac’s chosen attire.
Jen was resplendently beautiful in her white gown with a small bunch of peonies in her hair. It was simple long-sleeved dress with double pleats at the front. Some last minute worked had to be done to accommodate her tiny frame. There was no issue with décolletage but the waist had to be pinned in order to avoid the appearance of a sack. Her bridesmaids, Hannah and Ms Mabel Rose Harriet Foster somewhat incongruously chose to abandon tradition and wore scarlet knee length dresses with yellow cummerbunds but also wore a tiara of peonies.
The church was small but large enough to accommodate all the guest. The service was long and very dull with Mr…. preaching about “the duties of a wife”, his Dutch inflexion grating on the ears. When it came to the “you may kiss the bride” part, Mac did not know quite what to do. He had never done this before to anyone but his apprehension was taken away by Jen who reached up grabbed his pulling his head down fully a foot and kissed him square on the lips. His celebration, both arms extended upwards resembled a sportsman scoring a goal, taking a wicket or winning a tennis match. The deep joy on his face afforded a spontaneous rounds of applause from the gallery. It was if he had lost his virginity in front of 40 people; that will come later but will not be dwelt upon.
The Cape Heritage Hotel was but minutes away from the church and so the column was formed to procession. The function room was lavishly decorated in a blue and white scheme but the first assembled on a wide covered balcony to imbibe champagne or fine red or white wine or fresh local juices – lime, orange, pineapple – and picked upon delicate finger foods – scrimp, grenouille, biltong encrute, mini scotch eggs and Macs favourite, one bite pork pies. Music was performed by a local troupe who surpassed themselves all afternoon with the quality, variety, understanding of the guests and sensitivity to the occasion. In particular was a local trumpet player called Mr Makutsi whose solo renditions of traditional and well known tunes had some in tears. He held and pitched high notes that reverberated around the building. It later transpired he was friendly with Ms Mabel Rose Harriet Foster but it seemed as if his skill surmounted any hint of indiscretion or apology.
THE BEST MAN
Gordon James was an avuncular, easy going, self confident man some 10 years older than Mac. He also hailed from the central belt in Scotland but to west side near Hamilton. he had obtained a degree from Glasgow University in Accountancy which gave him no pleasure but taught him the fundamental rule of balance. Every equal has an opposite, about equilibrium and on further reading about Karma. He was not philosophical in anyway. Maybe being born as a Libra informed or imparted to him in the man he was to become.
He was neither religious nor polemic. He had come to Africa before the Great War at the invitation of the offices of Mr Rhodes to assist in overseeing the great railway construction. He married Stella before they departed in 1913. Other than the lack of regular supplies little changed or affected the way of life in Southern Africa. He lived in an area near Johannesburg that would later become Sandton. As the Great War progressed so more and more white workers in the railways enlisted leaving a supervisory gap of gaping proportions. Mr James’ solution to this was to promote ‘non white’ people to fill this void which of course was met with ridicule, accusations of him suffering from consumption, siring spurious children and dementia.
Having no particular affinity for the ‘Rhodes’ people or for the work involved or for the misogany, but having been paid well for 3 years Mr James disappeared.
Today, was the first time Mr James had laid eyes on some of the guests for 5 or 6 years. Although being a vast continent the ‘colonial’ sphere was very small. Why they chose to settle in what was not even then Northern Rhodesia had everything to do with being as far away as possible from colonialists and missionaries. The idea of returning to dank, drab, dirty Hamilton was certainly not appealing either. They love the vastness, the enormity the wilderness in the cradle of humanity to ever want to leave.
“Ladies and gentlemen. We have all come varying distances to be here to celebrate of Hugh ‘Mac’ and his sensational choice as a wife Janet, ‘Jen’. Some have come from Johannesburg, some from Durban, some from Windhoek, some from Salisbury but the greatest, most intrepid traveller is of course ‘Jen’ herself. The 7000 mile one way trip from mid Scotland to Lusaka is a story in its own right which may or may not be told in its entirety at a later date. So lets start by raising a shot glass to Shotts, Jen’s birthplace.
“I have not known Mac for long, less than a year in fact. He is entirely modest about his role in the Great War but I did come across a Victoria Cross and bar whilst we were moving him into his newly built home now known as Kabulonga in the town of Lusaka. I never questioned him about these important awards as I knew modesty would forbid comment.
“He is a man of great humility, great courage, great application of logic to issues and problems. That may present him as insular, isolated, sometime indifferent but he is none of those things. Yes he is made of steel that is hard to penetrate but he is intense, compassionate, despises injustice and believes, as do I, that all men and women are born equal. His opposite on the scale is Jen who is avuncular, loving, tender but also, in a slightly different way that all people are born equal.
Some of you may not wish to hear this but we are merely guests in another peoples country. “
A great hubub awoke from the more bellicose (and drunk) quarters of the room but Mr James continued.
“History reveals many things. Science reveals many things. Religion perverts many things by means of multiple transmogrifications. I, and without wishing to compromise my friends of recent acquaintance, believe we should treat our hosts with respect, endeavour to help where required, suggest our beliefs where we we think they may be beneficial – education, reading, writing – but honour and try to understand their traditions. The KhoiSan, the Xhosa, the Ndebele, the Mashona, the Bemba, the Zulu to name but a few have oral traditions dating back centuries. These should be respected and cherished.””
Well…that was a bit of an unintended digression” he said as the room froze in time.
“May we raise our glasses and propose a toast the the bride and groom. To Mac and Jen”
Applause and celebration was provided by the ambivalent – the majority. Dark, bellowing rumblings eschewed from the seat fencers whilst obscene, threatenting swipes emanated from the disquieted members of the assembly.
DINNER
The food was not elaborate but fitting to the purpose. Seared Marlin with vingrette and crouton, baked mutton with pommes frites and broccoli and mango creme brullee, wines from Stellenbosch and finest Cape cured Brandy. The cake was something of an afterthought but was intended as a chocolate fondant sponge withe creme Anglais. People generally were too drunk to notice the cake had sunk and the custard was burnt. These people liked to drink !!
The quiet sound of ruffled voices had developed quite quickly into boisterous tales some of which were amusing, others merely boorish. The loudest and most prolonged by sound effect inevitably arose from war time exploits. Mac became unusally animated when he overheard a tale that was patently a gross exaggeration at best, a downright lie at worst. “How do I know what you are saying is rubbish… because I was there.” The small, rounded man with ginger hair and beard to whom Mac had addressed his remarks excused himself from the room and by all accounts did not return. The fine whisky had redded his nose and addled his brain and was found later in the evening splayed out beneath a bush.
A first dance is the tradition at most weddings but Mac and Jen had scheme hatched that they knew would bring tears to peoples eyes. They did not collaborate on much but Mac vocal training, Jen’s power to entertain (and she could sing) was then coupled with Mr Makutsi, the trumpteer who could pick up a refrain in a matter of seconds. They found a small moment of peace in the garden and with a five minute discussion had laid out their plan.
Gordon James stood and clinked glasses. “Ladies and gentlemen. Once again I bring you the bride and groom. As is there wont, they have not told me what lies in store. So over to the newly weds.
Mac, towering 15 inches over Jen held her and together they bowed and curtsied to their guest. “We have prepared a little arrangement with the assistance of Mr Makutsi and his sister, Violet who is an accomplished violinist, viola, fiddle player. Some of you will know this song intimately and we expect you to give it the respect it deserves and join us in this celebration.”
Violet played the opening refrain for a couple of stanzas before Mac harmoniously melded in.
Oh, the summertime is coming And the trees are sweetly blooming And the wild mountain thyme Grows around the blooming heather
Will you go, lassie, go? And we’ll all go together To pull wild mountain thyme All around the blooming heather Will you go, lassie, go?
The guest were shocked, stunned that something so elegant and carefully crafted could be offered to them. Jen took up the chorus line and encouraged everyone to join. She and Mac held hands and smiled longingly at each other as the decibels increased at which point Mr Makutsi chose to raise his bar and went on a 2 minute trumpet solo accompanied by his sister in what sounded like a well rehearsed routine not something of 5 minutes in the making.
I will build my love a bower By yon clear and crystal fountain And on it, I will pile All the flowers of the mountain
The final chorus went on two, three, four, five times at the end of which the joy and love that exuded from the room was embraced by all. All the wait staff, chefs and cooks, housekeepers tried to find a way to be part of this. Mac took it upon himself to invite each and every employee of the hotel who was working that day to be greeted by himself and Jen. For some it was a gentle handshake, for others who they had been served by it was a full embrace.
And we’ll all go together To pull wild mountain thyme All around the blooming heather Will you go, lassie, go?
THE FOLLOWING MORNING
Whilst joy was being spread thickly on the ground Mac and Jen quietly and with dignity left the room, the sounds of Mr Makutsi and Violet instruments engaging with each and every guest and employees who were allowed to stay. The book is of course closed upon what happened next suffice to say that by 7am Mac and Jen, looking and dressing in the most casual of attire were on the main balcony of the hotel, looking up towards Table Mountain and down towards the Hout Bay at the confluence of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans drinking fresh coffee and eating banana bread and blueberry muffins.
The sky was cobalt blue. They sat in a deep state of contentment, occasionally touching hands, occasionally stretching and yawning and laughing. The employees who served them all said “thank you rah, thank you mah”. They tried to respond accordingly but had worked out that a response of “ngiyabonga” or “ke a lebogo” seemed to well appreciated.
By 8am most of wedding guests who stayed over at the hotel had arisen. There was a grave danger that with the amount of red wine and malt whisky coursing through the veins of both the men and women that an impromptu party might unleash itself. Gordon James, who was not averse to drinking at any time of day made the observation that a breakfast drink after a night before made one loquacious without the bombast and belligerence.
Mac and Jen had no idea what they were to do that day, the first day of their lifetime together. They knew they had obligations to fulfill but given it was a Sunday, maybe go to church, go to the beach, go on a hike but none of these fitted the mood.
A vehicle rolled up at the port cochere of the hotel. Out strode Mabel Rose Harriet Foster resplendent in traditional Zulu wear with Note, the trumpeter on her arm. Jen pinched herself for believing they looked truly beautiful. Mabel was not old but looked haggard and sun beaten her brown skin wizened and wrinkled but still young in spirit. Note, carved, crafted, sinewy as he was elegant seemed like a deity.
Hand in hand they walked the steps to join the gathering. This comprised 6 couples and 2 singletons excluding Mac and Jen.
Feeling something was awkward Jen immediately stood and strode towards Mable Rose Harriet Foster and embraced Note. Her head bearly reached his chest so he had no option but to lift her up and spin her in a circle. He put her to rest and she, in a less elaborate manner embraced her dear friend and co-conspirator.
Some, as an elixir, stuck with champagne, others restrained, others carried on where they had left of with Gin and Whisky acting as chasers.
A STORY TOLD BY MABEL ROSE HARRIET FOSTER
At around 11am the day was meandering nowhere.
Mabel Rose Harriet Foster clinked her glass and invited the assembled gathering if they would be care to be entertained by a story she had put together. There were murmurings of acceptance to the idea. So she began.
“So the question is how the heck did Ms Jen get here. Look at her. She is 4ft 11ins, weighs 80lbs. She has only ever lived in Schotts which is a tiny village between Edinburgh and Glasgow in Scotland. She was born and raised in the Marina Hotel in the center of the village and enjoyed being the center of attention when she young, less so as she developed.
From what I have been told she performed relatively well at school, excelled at the piano and arts, hated science subjects including maths, but mostly loved history and geography. She would create images in her head of places she knew not where they were.
She was one year older than Mac but they used to walk to and from the same school ‘accidentally’ bumping into each other on the tracks and wasteland that separated them.
When he was 15 years old Mac left her life, not entirely, but was recruited by his father to join him working the mines. Jen was stunned by the effect this had on her. Each day they had walked, talked, laughed, shared hopes and fears. Now it was somewhat void.
From time to time they would bump up but seldom meet up. Mac, her Mac had been promoted beyond his years to oversee the payroll for the entire mining staff, a job potentially far more dangerous than mining for coal. One mistake and the threat of strike was likely even if made in good faith. He was merely 15 years of age and this was 1913. Understandably, Mac became very intense.
The separation became even wider when war broke out 18 months later. Well under the age to sign up Mac, at 6ft 3inches, as fit as a whippet, somewhat dour but dedicated and determine was quite easily able to talk his way around the age limit. He served the best part of four years in northern France with two trips of two weeks each in the middle of 1915 and 1917. He had exchanged occasional letters with Jen but these were brief, on the basis he explained “that I cannot put into words the horror of what is happening”. Her responses were longer and more entertaining trying to entertain a bit of levity into the discourse.
Mac was sick with flu for most of the first visit home and they only saw each other twice. The second visit was all together different spending hours together mostly walking in the hills and vales surrounding their homes. They also returned to playing golf, sometimes 36 holes in a day. As a working class sport in Scotland, youngsters were encouraged to pick a club at an early age, both males and females. As such they were reasonably proficient and gradually improved with each round. Most of their conversations were neutral not wanting to visualize the last 18 months nor look forward to the future which they both understood might be ephemeral.
When his two weeks were up, Mac couldn’t bring himself to say farewell and the next they saw of each other was in November 1918. The seed however had been sown that would come to full fruition in June 1922 in the beautiful city of Cape Town.
I had first met Jen when I stayed at the Marine Hotel in Shotts for a week in 1919. I had relatives in the area and had come to put some of their affairs in order. They were farmers who had passed from the Spanish Flu that decimated so many communities across the world. The task was to find a purchaser for the farm that was principally a dairy farm. From the proceeds of the sale I was to receive 50% whilst the other 50% was to be given to a nearby orphanage. Their two sons were estranged so it was important to transact the business quickly and discretely.
I was the only guest at the time and the early shoots of spring were evident as were the northerly gusts of wind that buffeted the town and landscape. In the evening Jen would cook dinner for me and asked if she could join me rather than sitting on a stool in the kitchen. We had long meandering conversations and even if I was 10 years older than her she was a conversationalist and story teller of great good humour and erudition.
There was a piano if the corner of the room, an upright type which I caught her playing one morning when I came for breakfast. After we had eaten she would play an eclectic mixture of melodies all without sheet music.
On the third night we had freshly culled fillet steak with neep’s and roast potato’s and Jen’s father provided a bottle of red wine in exchange for the same meal for him and Jen’s mother. For the first time Jen mentioned Mac.
She told me “I have loved him ever since I was old enough to even have a vague idea of what love was. Yes, he is awkward, reticent, under-stated but he has great dignity and somewhere inside, a soft side.” I asked where was he now. “He is set on going to Africa where, as a soldier of distinction, he has been offered free land to develop agriculture. He is now somewhere in Ayrshire supposedly learning about arable farming which I don’t understand as I can see no similarities between cold and bleak, sometimes warm and radiant Ayrshire and a barren wilderness in Africa. He mentioned some place called Rhodesia which I can’t find on any map in the library. I can understand, after what he went through in the war, that returning to routine in the mines would not be something he would choose to do. He is set upon this but I love him and cannot think clearly.”
My dear girl. I can help you. You will be taking a great risk but your fortitude will see you through of that I have no doubt. She asked me what I meant.
If you really want to spend your life, however short or long, with this man I can help you. The only thing preventing you from doing this is money which I have and will have much more in the next few days. I live just outside Cape Town which is the most beautiful city in the world. We, my late husband and I, developed a vine yard in a place called Paarl. He passed two years ago and much to the distaste of many I now have a friend who is KhoiSan, a gentle, fair skinned genus. He is known as Mr Makusti by everyone but me. He is Jacob Solomon Oliver Makutsi to me.
We need to keep this a secret between you and me, before all hell breaks loose and you are sent to an infirmary or other form of institution.
I left on a Saturday having concluded my business to my lawyers satisfaction with completion expected by the following Friday. My share, less one cow, would be around £13,000 with a similar amount being disbursed to the “McBride Orphanage” a few miles away. No publicity was allowed under the terms of the sale.
I gave Jen a telegram address to keep me up to date with developments. We shared an all enveloping hug and new it would not be long before we saw each other again.
So, the trigger to put our plan into action was Mac’s departure for Africa at the beginning of 1921. He did tell her face to face what his plans were, but it was done with an embarrassing disquietude. She saw him off to at the station to Edinburgh. He had no idea she would track him down anywhere in the world.”
THE FAREWELL… OF SORTS
Mabel Rose Harriet Foster went back to Paarl, much richer, but also in the knowledge that she was a facilitator. Unbeknownst to Jen, she had given her lawyer instructions to place £5,000 to an escrow account which would cover her travel expenses and some. Did she see herself as a match-make or could the whole proposal fall flat in front of her?
Jen was also in a dilemma as to whether to tell he parents or just disappear without trace. On the advice of Mabel Rose Harriet Foster’s lawyer, who had informed her of Ms Foster’s largesse, recommended the least she should do was to leave them with a letter.
“Mama, Papa. As you may have gathered I have been friendly with a man from a nearby village for some years. I do love this man and will follow him where ever he may go. He is now in somewhere called Rhodesia which is in Africa somewhere.
The guest who stayed with us a few weeks ago, a Ms Mabel Rose Harriet Foster (who provided the freshest fillet steak I have tasted coupled with your delicious wine) – well – we became friends.
She, for reasons that are not relevant, came into to some unexpected funds and has provided me with the opportunity to realise my dream of finding and retaining the man I love.
I will have left Shotts and my home at the Marine hotel by the time you read this. I will be on a train to Edinburgh, then to London, then to Southampton then on the Union Castle Line steamer to Cape Town which is in South Africa.
You have given me a wonderful life, in spite of the appalling circumstances which we have lived through. You know the person I am referring to and I intend to build a new life, in a new land with him. He is a proud, fine young man.
I, in know way mean to hurt you by my actions, but know that you would not approve if I told you of my plans.
I love you and thank you for everything and somehow will keep in touch.”
EXTRACTS FROM HER VOYAGE.
And so it was to be. Mr Andrew Buchanan, Ms Foster’s lawyer, purchased the relevant tickets to Edinburgh, to London, to Southampton to Cape Town and gave them to Jen in an elegant series of pouches, all clearly marked. He took the time to meet her a Waverley station and could see why his client had put so much faith in Ms Jen. “Keep your resolve my dear. Things will be difficult from time to time but just keep your resolve with the man you are going to meet. I will be in touch with Ms Foster from time to time and I will always ask after you or if you need any advice of a legal matter do not hesitate to contact me or if you need to contact your parents I have a very good telegram service which Ms Foster and I use to communicate. God speed Ms Jen”.
With that he departed and she suddenly felt very alone. After a few moments of panic she took Mr Buchanan’s advice and kept her resolve. She busied herself with finding the seating compartment she had been assigned and making herself comfortable. About 30 minutes before the scheduled 10.00am departure time she was alone but she was joined by three travelling companions just before the train left. The two middled aged gentlemen were involved in sports development. The precise nature of of what they did never became clear through out the 8 1/2 journey. The third person was a very highly strung woman in her 40’s who did not appear comfortable with her circumstances covering her eyes with a cloth only being removed when she visited the restroom.
Jen joined the two gentlemen, a Mr Philips , an Englishman from Devon and a Mr Fitzpatrick who was from Belfast, for a very enjoyable luncheon. When se told them that her two brothers, Jack Dick and Charlie Dick played football for Heart of Midlothian and Partick Thistle respectively, her stock rose enormously their perception. Other than that, she had decided not to discuss her forthcoming voyage with anyone passing the time telling of the exploits of her hotel guests, whilst listening to the two talking about the conference they had just attended.
The passsage through the lowlands of Scotland, through mining districts in Northumberland and Yorkshire, through the flats of Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire then to the outskirts of London and finally arriving at Kings Cross Station on time at 6.30pm. The enormity of the station compared favourably with Waverley Station in Edinburgh and she found herself in a queue for a taxi which she had never done before. Mr Buchanan had told her what to do and she executed his instructions perfectly.
She had no idea of The Savoy Hotel and what it represented iconically as one of the best hotels in the world. Mr Buchanan had booked and paid for the accommodation and had made arrangements for a fellow lawyer in knew in London to settle any extras. “Is that your only luggage Madame” the bellman asked looking down at a rather forlorn mid-sized weather worn leather suitcase. “Indeed it is. I prefer not to be encumbered unnecessarily. I will going shopping tomorrow if you could recommend where I might go.
She checked in as if by second nature and was escorted to her on the second floor by Gregor the bellman who, it transpired, hailed from Aberdeen. He told her that he would be working tomorrow morning and to come and find him when she was ready to leave.
The room was resplendent and a far cry from the Marine Hotel in Shotts. The was an envelop beside the bed which was addressed to “The indefatigable Ms Jen”.
“I hope you enjoy your stay at this marvelous hotel. I have friends who come in very useful from time to time and I always stay here when in London. If its good enough for me I hope its good enough for you. Order anything you wish from room service if you don’t want to sit on your own for dinner but, I would thoroughly recommend having breakfast in the restaurant. You will staying here tonight and tomorrow night but need to leave at 10.00am to connect to the next step of your adventure from Waterloo Station to Southampton docks. Enjoy yourself and God Speed. Andrew”.
Indulge she did. She bathed in a deep bath with types of fragrances. A gin followed by a half bottle of wine, fresh scallops, a rack of lamb with fondant potato, broccoli and an assortment of chocolate deserts. She hauled herself up on the large and sank into the deep soft mattress and fell asleep immediately.
After breakfast, which equally sumptuous as her dinner she went out on to the rotunda at the front of the hotel. “Ms Jen” she heard and there was Gregor not dressed in his uniform. “Only if you wish it, but I asked my boss if I could change my shift to the afternoon, such that I might assist and accompany you on your expedition this morning.” She replied it was very kind of him and that would gladly appreciate his company and help. “I am looking for a department store that sells everything but most clothing, accessories, cosmetics. I am going somewhere quite far away where it is hot most of the time.” This intrigued Gregor who had recognized a mischievousness in her. ” The place we will go is called Liberty’s.
Three hours later they were sat in the tea room beside a brand new larger suitcase which was immaculately packed by Gregor. They had laughed a great deal, with Ms Jen trying on different hats and necklaces and shoes and dresses and Gregor giving his seal of approval or otherwise. He had a nice line in similes.
He tried to probe her about where she was going and why she was going which, without appearing disingenuous she did not answer because she was not entirely sure herself. Realizing the line of question was not going to answered he did get her pledge that she would write to him once she knew the answers.
Back at the hotel, she bade Gregor farewell, thanked him, tipped him generously and reasserted he pledge.
It was a fine spring afternoon that took her from The Savoy down onto the embankment along which she walked down to the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben and Westminster Abbey. Little did she know that some 33 years later she would be sitting inside the Abbey as the guest of the Queen.
She was specially touched by the Chef de Cuisine, Francois Latry and the American Bar manager Ada “Coley” Coleman came to greet her as she was having her breakfast. “Your reputation proceeds you for one so young”.
The journey from The Savoy to Waterloo Station then onto Southampton was without incident save for the inconvenience of two suitcases. With one she could manage perfectly adequately without assistance but with two, she needed help which was never far away. After the extreme luxury of her two previous nights, The Dolphin Hotel – comfortable, well appointed, gracious and generous service – was a well needed bump of head. She wondered briefly what other forms of accommodation lay ahead, indeed, what tomorrows night sleep would be like in an 18,000 tonne vessel made of steel.
