Southern Rhodesia

Southern Rhodesia(Laura Weber) PART 1 THE BEGINNING OF A FARMING FAMILY’S HISTORY OF SOUTHERN RHODESIA.

Harry first arrived in Southern Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, about l888, as a pioneer settler. He was a man of means, as he had inherited money. His background dated back a long way in English history to families of landowners and farmers. He had the natural gene bred in him, and to become a farmer was all he had ever desired. Therefore, he could think of nothing better than to acquire land in a country like Rhodesia, close to home as he was born in South Africa, in Grahamstown in the Eastern Cape. Besides he knew Cecil John Rhodes, was urging men like him to come and invest in Rhodesia. The prospects were good to start a new life.

He toured the whole of Rhodesia on horseback prospecting not for gold but for the soil that grew the sweet grasses for grazing cattle and the smaller animals that he wanted to fill his farm with a mixture of livestock. He found the kind of virgin land he was looking for in Matabeleland. He was not interested in acquiring gold mines, or obtaining permits to stake claims for minerals and other mining ventures.
When he decided where he wanted to purchase the land he met with the big chief of the area. They got down to discussing the business of buying land. Concessions and deals agreeable to both parties were signed on a piece of paper which Harry filed away for future reference should the need ever arise. In the contract Harry set aside several acres for the chief and their families, which would enable them to always remain on the land, also used for crop and cattle farming. This relationship worked in harmony between the families over the generations.

By the time of the Ndebele uprising, the farm was under cultivation, as Harry was already busy planting crops and buying cattle, reliable and hardy herds for breeding. He was also experimenting with sheep new to the area.

With a bit of adventure in mind he decided to go to Fort Rixon and join in the fighting there. On his way he met up with a Sgt.O’Leary, who had lost his way. Harry took a short cut through the bush which got them to the top of a small kopie (hill}. Hidden by the boulders and rocks, the two men took pot shots at the fighting below and quite enjoyed the experience, as they did not seem to hit anyone. The rebellion did not last long and everything went back to normal. Harry had made friends with O’Leary who was on his way to join the Rhodesian Police force. They remained friends for years.

After several years the farm developed and prospered as Harry was a perfectionist, therefore efficient at every undertaking he got himself involved in. He lived in an ox wagon and a couple of huts, and started building outer structures, barns, a dairy, and lastly he erected fences and pens for the collection of animals etc, hoof and feathered sorts. By the time he had finished all the outside work, he realized time was passing him by, as he had a bride waiting patiently in Cape Town for him to come and claim her. He got busy, constructing a homestead, which he designed. At last the house was ready for occupation, but before he could go, a friend died due to poor health, whilst staying on the farm to recuperate from an illness. That part of Matabeland had a very healthy climate, the weather was always mild. Under the circumstances Harry could not arrange to send him back home to South Africa in a coffin for burial, so he arranged with the parents to send a tombstone. After a touching ceremony at the farm, the first cemetery came into existence, and grew to accommodate the family, relatives and friends over the years. Harry of course had a fence erected with a little white painted wicket gate.
Among the many outdoor buildings he constructed, was the best lavatory in the district a “his and hers.” The décor inside consisted of large wooden seats and lids to match, windows for air, a rack for bum paper (the son’s special name for toilet rolls when they were teenagers, mainly to tease their just so mother), a shelf for newspapers or farmer’s weekly to browse through for information. He planted a brilliant pink bougainvillea over the roof, which never leaked as no rain could pierce through the abundance of the thick wild growth of this magnificent plant.
He wanted a future wife and children going by the many bedrooms he had added. When everything was ready and the house finished and made spic and span and in working order, he left for Cape Town. He was not unduly worried about the timing; he had arranged a marriage with Norah Beatrice, the daughter of his friend Charles Henry. The long engagement did not present a problem as everyone was aware that Harry wanted to settle first, before he took a wife into the wild bush.

Once given the go ahead Norah went on the biggest shopping spree, for her trousseau, as Harry told her to get what she so desired, no expense spared. Norah was almost consigned to the old maid’s shelf by her friends, she was 30 yrs. old by the time Harry arrived in Cape Town. He arranged 48 ox wagons to cart all the goods they had bought for the journey back, to the farm, Included was beautiful Cape furniture, chairs and small tables, display cabinets, a dinning room suite. Bedrooms had to be furnished accordingly. Kitchen ware, and hundreds of trunks filled with the most delightful of things for a new home. Last of all but not least, night pots for under the beds.

In the beginning, once the newly weds had become accustomed to each other and the honeymoon days were over, Harry had to get back to the business of farming. Norah began to feel very homesick for friends and the full busy social life in the Cape. Overcome with loneliness she decided to pay all the farming community wives a visit. She would set off in her mode of transport, with Ned the donkey and a very nice looking cart, which Norah managed perfectly well. Dressed in her most fashionable attire, as if to attend a soiree in Cape Town, Norah would arrived well groomed and immaculate, with her pearls and diamonds on display to have morning tea. This gesture of goodwill was a terrible error of judgment on her part, simply because she never realized that wives were part of their husband’s labour force in a marriage partnership. It was quite unheard of in the district to have morning tea lounging around in silk and satins. The farmer’s wives would feel frantic when they saw her arriving as they were always dressed in any old rag, wearing rubber boots, busy trying to get eggs from the hen houses, the dairy had to be cleaned after milking and the produce off to market to catch the special goods-mail train before midday. She was dubbed the Duchess of Albany.
Norah was definitely not cut out to be a farmer’s wife. This state of affairs did not worry Harry as he rather liked a glamorous looking wife, it made a big change from the dress code adopted by the wives round the district. She never thought of working in the dairy, milking the cows or churning the butter, Harry had someone to do that. Certainly Norah did not relish the idea of collecting eggs; she sniffed in distaste at the smell issuing forth from the hen house. Digging in the garden was not her idea of enjoyment but meandering through the path ways with a basket, clipping off the heads of dead roses was. Thank goodness she had a servant, called Joseph “a Jack of all trades” whom she treasured and looked after. Joseph was a rather cunning old Ndebele, who really appreciated his new mistress, in his eyes a perfect specimen of a white lady, unlike any other he had ever seen or let alone had contact with. Joseph had never had a boss who had ever said thank you to him for a job well done. She greeted him every morning, with a large mug of steaming hot sweet tea and slices of thick homemade bread and butter. She always enquired after his wives health (he had two). The beautiful clothes she had no more use for were given to them, but never looked quite the same, as the wives wore those up market clothes, (bought from Garlic’s in Cape Town} every day for years to work in and even slept in. And what they couldn’t wear was dished out to the other women in the village. They had a system going of sharing in the clothes.

Joseph put himself in charge of the orchards, vegetable and flower gardens, the hens, turkeys and ducks, and an extra job as watchman, to open the gate to let visitors in. Duties included keeping Ned the donkey and cart always clean and at the ready. Joseph was a very busy man as he also made himself responsible for keeping the grounds around the homestead. The secret to Joseph was that he really loved to work and keep busy. He was indispensible and such a gem to the whole family. His great pride and joy were his different coloured uniforms he wore for each occasion. But the best thing ever in his life was the white uniform he wore which had a red sash, when duties took him into the drawing-room to serve his mistress and her guests tea on a silver tray. Farmers never went out at night to visit as early morning rises were essential especially during harvesting season. Sunday was usually set aside for a luncheon, and then Joseph would be the happy recipient of a basket full of delicious goodies from the table to take home for treats.

Norah proceeded to give birth to five children in quick succession and found it very difficult to cope. Old Joseph was beginning to enjoy having such a kindly mistress, who did not nag at him all day long. He in turn wanted to help her, so he said his nephew Moses was a very experienced nanny to many of the young children in his charge at the village, as he was liked by the parents because he was responsible and handled the children with great care. Norah imagined that the village was more or less like a well run municipal town along the Garden Route in the Cape. It turned out to be a very happy arrangement, and both men eventually died of old age on the farm.

Harry took over farm management and classes schooling them the way he was taught, so the boys had a hard task master to cope with. The boys loved it, and they in turn became determined to be good farmers which was part of their second nature and inherited genes.

Once order was restored, duties and arrangements were divided into who would do certain things. Norah took on the post of English teacher. Her children learnt to speak Ndebele and Shona before their own language. The traditional and cultural grooming and table manners, and the correct way to address and respect their elders were Norah’s department. Moses was installed as the general, of outdoor recreational studies, a sort of Ndebele scout master ideally suited to the African bush.

Norah felt the burden lifted from her shoulders.

The boys loved the bush and the lessons Moses taught them was how to use their instincts to cope and survive in the bush. Among some of the things they had to learn which the boys considered as exciting new adventures, were tracking wild game and their habitats, bird life, the different sounds of the animals, and the species of wild fowl and birds. They learnt the different noises, of the wind rustling in the grasses and trees or animals or humans. Moses would instruct the boys to stand still, silent and listen. He put his hand over one ear, and wriggled his other hand’s fingers, as his signs and signals to what he could hear. The boys would do exactly as he did, which was of great importance when tracking. Above everything else he taught them how to respect the bush and what it had to offer. They were taken out at night to get to know and distinguish the other noises, like a foot tread of someone walking silently to poach small game, or setting a trap which was absolutely forbidden. That they had to keep alert and listen was a very essential part of their training. The boys learnt survival. Generations later this kind of bush tactics was adopted and taught to the Selous Scouts.
Norah’s yard began to fill up with wounded animals and birds rescued from their forays into the forests. The boys had an overwhelming desire to heal and protect.

Quite by accident while Norah was out scouting with the children, they found the old ruin, not far from the homestead. It was a lovely area, kind of rocky with small forested bushy trees, wild plants, and slightly terraced walls built a long time ago. The children would dig out small treasurers, like bits of different coloured glass, which they saved and put into little boxes to be taken out and admired on a rainy day, their collection of dead butterflies, and bird’s eggs that they found on the ground, and scattered tiny shiny coloured stones, and other small objects which the traders had left as rubbish once upon a time ago.
Norah and the children spent lovely summer days at the old ruins. She made a delicious assortment of her famous cup cakes, bread spread with thick butter, and home-made jam, made with the fruit from the orchard. At the end of the day, happy and exhausted they would pile into Ned the donkey and cart to ride home in comfort.

Norah began to feel better about life as a farmer’s wife. Harry bought her a spanking new American Ford car, which caused quite a sensation in the district. She was able to visit her friends in town, and take up bridge, as the district started to fill with more farmers and other jobs in the offing and a good railways service.

Harry would not drive the car, but eventually his sons persuaded him to try it out. Apparently he was in control of the driving, nothing to it he told his watching sons, until he reached the gate. He put his feet down on the floor boards, and took his hands off the wheel, and shouted whoa there, whoa there, as if he was holding reins in his hands. He was so used to driving ole Ned the donkey and cart, he got into a panic and crashed into the gate. After that incident Harry declared his dislike of any motorized vehicles, especially cars and much preferred Ned the donkey. Norah became his driver, as she really was an expert behind the wheel and loved taking off in the car with Harry beside her.

The farm prospered and the children were suddenly adults. And then tragedy struck the family. World War 2 started, and two of their sons immediately joined up to fight for their Mother country, England. Charles their second son, died in l943 at an army training camp in Salisbury. The official report stated he died from an accident whilst cleaning his rifle. However, as in a small farming district there are always many stories and theories and gossip doing the rounds and it inevitably caused a great deal of distress to the family. Her sister-in-law Poppy made a special trip from Portuguese East Africa to stay and comfort Norah by arranging to gather as many friends to conduct a séance session, held in the smoking room. The smoking room needs a description, as it was the most popular place in the homestead where the family gathered every afternoon when the men came in from work, tired and hungry, to discuss the day’s schedule and work routine over cups of tea. Indeed a very happy hour, as the boys would also discuss what was on the list of the village entertainment that week.

The séance promptly started at 8, and all children under the age of 12 were banished to the bedroom. Lying in bed with only candles to light the bedrooms, it was very quite and ghostly. The candles in turn flickered in the night breeze, casting shadows and images of monsters, big and small on the walls. “What if Charles came into this room by mistake instead of the smoking-room,” said one of the girls. By now this last utterance scared the girls into hysteria, they all jumped out of bed squealing and screaming in terror, and ran down the passage, thus making the wooden floor boards creak horribly, just as if it was Charles’s foot steps behind them.

All too soon the halcyon days of life on a Rhodesian farm, especially for the children, was disappearing as everyone started to grow up and concentrate on farming. Hard work was evident as most farmers were now competing and modernizing their produce to suit exporting to Europe, as well as their local markets.

Harry divided the farms between his sons and each boy chose an area suited to what they wanted to do with the land. It was an amicable arrangement. Harry passed on to his children and grandchildren a wonderful legacy to carry on what he had started.

But dark days however were fast approaching over the horizon, which put a country backward and into disarray down the path of economic bankruptcy which still continues to day.

GUKURAHUNDI (NDEBELE GENOCIDE)
The Bulawayo Chronicle reported on Saturday February 12th that the Minister of State (defense) in the Prime Minister’ office, had said that 5 Brigade was going to operate in Matabeland for a long time and are here to stay. There is no remorse shown in that statement.

NAMES ARE NOT MENTIONED FOR PERSONAL REASONS.
In l980 a farmer in Matabeland was asleep in his homestead, when early one morning he was woken up by the rumblings of what sounded like distant thunder. He looked at his watch and saw that it was 2.30. Good he first thoughts were that a summer storm was on its way. The farmers could do with some seasonal rain, which would bring forth new grass for grazing the cattle. He decided to get up and wait for the rain to hit their area. He stood on the stoop (verandah). A couple of minutes later he began to realize that something was wrong with the whole scene. No flashes of lightening, the rumblings were too smooth and steady.

Beginning to feel apprehensive now to the signs of danger, he soon realized that the rumble was the rhythmic purr of motor engines, and by the sound, a convoy of trucks, moving very slowly to cover the loud noise. He now had misgivings that a stealthy operation was in progress. He felt a cold trickle of fear begin to take hold. The dimmed headlights were definitely eerie and disturbing plus the muted engines of the trucks.
There was talk of trouble, but he had not listened, as he just put it down to gossip via the bush telegraph, as people and farm workers could tell fascinating tales.

To get a better look he hurried to put on his running shoes and sprinted to the road. His farm bordered one of the main roads from Bulawayo to beyond, many other areas. Just in time, the trucks were quite close now, so he hid in the road side ditch was deep enough for good cover, and waited for the trucks to pass. He could not see much as the trucks were covered up, but he did get a glimpse that there were only two men per truck in the front.

He waited for the convoy to pass until it was well out of sight, and then made a move to get back to the farm. So trouble was brewing between the Ndebele and the Shona, the two main tribes. There was a lot of mistrust and antagonism from past history, between them which had never been forgotten so hatred continued down the generations. “I must be more vigilant” he thought to himself, from now on take more notice of the whispers to what is being said. “Maybe we are facing another tribal war which will result in a great many problems for all of us. The terrorist war that the country had been in was not so far away either and it could open old wounds again”. Several hours later that day the trucks returned speeding by the farm, obviously emptied of its load. He knew exactly where the convoy had been as the timing and the hours indicated that of the burial grounds and old disused mines.

A couple of months passed before he heard the trucks again, in the early hours of the morning, so thoroughly alerted to the same sounds as before, he hurriedly got dressed and made for the ditch to get a better place to hide, well out of sight. The trucks were moving very slowly, but he waited for the last truck, and then made a move. He jumped onto the back, as he had sussed out the situation, and safe timing of how long he could investigate. He undid the flap, poised to get inside the back, in gasped and crouched in horror at what he saw, “Oh God what a terrible picture of hell.” Lying there were dead bodies, flung haphazardly in piles on top of each other. No one could surely dish out such punishment or cruelty, showing no regard for such inhuman respect for the dead. As far as he could ascertain, the killings must have taken place at dusk on the outskirts of town, several hours ago. It was like a nightmare scene, he would remember for ever. In shock he closed the flap and literally fell off the back of the truck. He rolled into the ditch and lay there, gasping for breath, shivering in agony, suffering the panic of mental and physical pain. He had been through the 2nd World War, and a terrorist war, right here in his own country, seen the after math of burnt out villagers at the hands of their own people, but nothing had prepared him for the terrible sight at what he had just seen to day.

He went to talk to old Moses who had first worked for his mother. In his old age he had come over to settle on his farm. Moses was well into his nineties and had looked after him and his brothers as children. He spoke to Moses in Ndebele about what had happened at the trucks. “Hush picaninny (a name given to all children in Africa) do not say anything. It is very dangerous, as I hear the terrible stories. Do not tell anyone of this, not even God can protect you. I have heard the talk of strange little men with snake eyes which look right through you, but you cannot look back. I know when the trucks pass, there has been a killing.”
The following morning after a restless night deciding on what course of action to take, he went to see Moses again. In the best of times the general conservations about life on the farm, were easy visits. Moses had salted dried meat hanging from the roof of his hut and he would pick a stick and chew on it whilst talking. Moses said “I knew you come and I know what you are going to say.” “Moses I am going on a trek into the bush to find out what is going on. You and I know this land more than any strangers, as we have hunted for game up near the places where they are burying the dead. I want you to take care of the missus. You might be old in age, but not your mind. You still have the power within to sense danger.”

The farmer was accustomed to what he was setting out to do. In the 2nd World War, he had joined the Long Range Desert Group, operating in Egypt. They had a formidable reputation for desert warfare, and were so successful at carrying out assignments, they became known as the Desert Rats. In l944 they were seconded to General Tito’s resistance army in Europe. Here in his own backyard he was in his own territory. He informed his wife he was off on a hunting trip as he needed meat for the workers. His wife was used to her husband as a man of few words, not the best conversationalist, a rather silent man, but nevertheless a good person to get to know. She answered in kind “Take care love.”

The previous night he had poured over the maps and areas of which route he would take. Once decided he left the farm the next morning, and took the jeep straight to a place where he could hide it under thick brush, a good cover. He then set off on foot, as silence was now essential and had to be strictly adhered to, as he could not afford to make any mistakes. He knew he would be in great danger if he erred in judgment.
It took him all day to investigate the burial ground and old disused mines, and deep holes and newly heaped mounds. He did not like where he was, and what he was seeing, a sense of suffering and unease invaded him and he wanted to cry for the dead buried here. By late afternoon he made for a resting place that they used in days gone by. A small spring bubbled from an outlet of rocks, the sweet water clear and cool to drink. He settled himself in a good cover for the night, in a narrow crevice among the grass and wild plants which grew there. He did not light a fire, only a torch if necessary, as he could not afford to be seen even by a poacher who happened to pass, probably to trap small game or a rabbit.

Early the next morning he was up and walking. It was the start of a beautiful day, as only Africa can be. Feeling energized after a surprisingly good sleep that night, he decided to try a different route, a more forested remote area with thick dense bush. He was suddenly alert to the sound of talking and laughing. He instantly crouched as he did not want to be seen. He had to get a better view. He crawled through the brush to get closer and saw buildings being erected. They must feel pretty sure about their location, from the designs it looked like an army camp. He did not see any signs of an outpost or anyone doing sentry duty. The camp was well hidden, so he was able to inch his way right up to the fence, without being detected as he was at the back of the camp. Taking a good look at the various people working inside the fence, definitely soldiers and the instructors with “snake eyes” that Moses had described to him were actually Asians. “This is a new development and a very undercover operations going on here. They must be using the border post between Zambia and Zimbabwe, as it is very long and uninhabited forests between the two countries, easy to slip in and out without being detected. He had to get out of here and back to the farm.” Luck was on his side as there were no patrols around to worry about, but their security also had to remain invisible and secret.

Once back at the farm, he discussed the whole trip with Moses who begged him not to even whisper about what he had uncovered. “Life is never going to be the same for us Picaninny, look after your family.”
Exhausted he had a long hot bath, a hearty supper, and took his wife to bed with him. Sometime later he fell into a dreamless sleep with his arms protectively enfolding her from an uncertain future.

1981.
The farmer and his wife were having their usual cup of tea at approximately 9 am, talking and relaxing. Farmers tend to get up early in the morning and then come in for a quick tea break. Suddenly he heard a sound, not normal for that time or the right place, maybe a click? Standing up he looked toward the gate, and saw two soldiers with guns slung around their shoulders. He knew immediately by their very stance, they had come with the intent to kill them all. Her told his wife to run and hide somewhere, the soldiers would never think of looking. He shouted for Moses,” go to the nearest farm for help.” Cattle ranchers are miles apart, and this could take old Moses hours to walk to the nearest farm. But he silently set off, ducking not to be seen. The farmer stood to meet his attackers approaching up the driveway and tried to stall them, to give his wife and Moses time to getaway. He thus waited for death to overtake him with his dog by his side growling and trying to protect him.

She hid in the ornamental duck pond, an idea cover as her surrounding was rocks and weeds and long grass. She felt her heart thumping against her ribs, and in a ghastly kind of silence, the pain that was aching within her, she heard the guns being emptied into her husband, and the dog’s frantic barking turned to soft whimpers and then nothing. “Who said dogs don’t go to heaven” passed through her mind. What a thought especially when her whole life could be wiped out at any moment. The guns had stopped, she knew then her husband was dead.

She heard the shuffling of feet in the yard and around the house, and knew they were looking for her, round and round they went poking at everything with their guns, speaking in Shona, a language she spoke as well as Ndebele. There are no words to describe what she must have felt, waiting to be discovered in the duck pond. She could only feel deep sorrow, and weeping silently she lay for hours in the midday sun, tears and sweat pouring off her like water. Devastated and mourning her husband, not daring to make a sound, it seemed like an eternity, before she heard the whirring sound of the helicopters flying in and landing on the front lawn. The soldiers must have disappeared into the bush.
She lay crying for help to let the paramedics know where she was, because by the time the rescue team had arrived she was paralyzed with the fear that had overtaken her as she had been hidden for over 4 hours not daring to make a sound. When she was whisked away in the copter, she vowed never to go back to the ranch again and she never did.

Moses died soon after the tragic murder of his picaninny; it is said of a broken heart. Plus the long walk to get help was just too much for him.
ZIMBABWE THE LAND INVASIONS. (Stories of incidents on farms.)

The end of an era.
The War Vets and their associates the Youth league arrived unannounced and informed the family in no uncertain terms that their days were numbered and that they would be given notice at a later date, when to pack up and go. In the meantime they were hungry and would have to be fed from the farm. The Vets gave an immediate order for 30 head of cattle to be slaughtered.

The youth brigade was instructed by their general in charge to stay outside the gate and fence. They entertained the farmer and his family by running up and down the fence chanting war songs, and what they were going to do to the white farmers. Drugged on weed and home brewed beer supplied by someone who arrived in a very dilapidated bakkie with a fresh load every other day to keep them energized as a force to be reckoned with, the farmer took his wife and children to safety.

On the other farms there was such a demand for food, i.e. mainly cattle, the farmers had to set up a system to hide their herds, as the orders from the vets started to become increasingly frequent and unreasonable. Arrangements were made for the Cold Storage Commission to buy what they could, conditions of payments over a period suitable to both parties. The vets always stayed in sight and sound of the homesteads.

On another smaller farm, the vets just about depleted the cattle herd, and when this was pointed out, the vets then attacked the dairy herd, (they wanted meat not milk.) Next on the menu that they turned their attention to were the smaller yard animals, which were the sheep, pigs, ducks, hens, turkeys, including the tame barnyard pigeons where they had homed for generations. The farmer tried to oblige the vets by shooting on target the animals, to ensure a quick merciful death. His wife was on the verge of a nervous breakdown due to the terrible butchering going on in the yard.

Once the wild boar den was spotted down at the corn field, their fate was sealed. The vets and the youths proceeded to commit genocide against them. Within a couple of weeks the boar were completely annihilated. The wild boars had taken up resident down at the field ever since the farmer was a boy. The orchard nearby was demolished for fire wood to keep the stew pots continually blazing. It was handy to have the fruit trees so close to where they were camped.

Most Rhodesian white farmers were conservationists, and rather treasured the wild game on their lands which they took great pride in seeing to their survival.

The vets and the youths were like a marauding army with a voracious and unnatural lust for meat, and nothing could appease this style of wanton eating. Next on the menu of extinction were the smaller game and guinea fowl.

It was noted by one tearful farmer’s wife that they loved to chase rabbits, catch and play soccer with them, amid delighted whoops and kick the poor helpless creature to death. The youths entered the house one day, and turned those boots “weapons of mass destruction” on her, because she spoke to them about their cruelty towards god’s creature. An elderly and petite woman, they left her for dead, but somehow she survived the ordeal. The human spirit when faced with such adversity finds the will and resolute to carry on regardless of their own injuries. Her husband was frail and ailing and worn down by anxiety and was already suffering from a slight stroke that had taken its toll on his health.

The marvelous irrigation system was broken down and carted off in pieces, together with the reservoir and windmill which had been smashed by banging holes all round the walls to put it out of use. What was the sense to all this?

On another farm the War Vets arrived, but the elderly farmer had been expecting them for months, so he had wasted no time in selling off his thorough bred herd and maize to the markets. His children left and had gone to look for employment in South Africa. The official in charge of the group was a quite spoken Ndebele, informed him that they only wanted to take away his land, but the farmer could keep the house and gardens. However, he was instructed to remain inside the area now allotted to him. Permission was granted to use the road but only in his truck. He was not allowed to walk outside on the road.

Although in his late seventies, the farmer was still agile and healthy and took a great deal of pleasure working in the vegetable garden, admiring the colours of greens, reds, white onions, and root vegetables growing in profusion in neat rows. He also built a small hen house. The excess vegetables he took to friends who ran a small hotel. They were very grateful because of the farm invasions the markets were running short of fresh produce.

A couple of months passed in this little paradise of peace, when 6 women appeared at the gate with large buckets, demanding in no uncertain terms “We want food, you must feed us, we are hungry,” they chorused. His arable land had been taken from him, but it seemed they were unable to feed themselves or grow anything. If word got around that he was the new soup kitchen, the hordes from the surrounding villagers would descend on him. “I am too old now to feed the multitudes.” He left and spent the last of his years living in a small flat his son built for him in their back garden, in a suburb in Johannesburg. He did get to see and play with his grandchildren, his one consolation.

No one has ever claimed the land or any of the farms, and they lie fallow and destitute, the once blooming green field teaming with vitality and life are now silent.