THE KWA-ZULU NATAL OUTP ST - BSAP · [email protected] P. O. Box 804, Linkhills 3653 031 762...

Copyright © 2019 BSA Police Support Unit Association 1

THE KWA-ZULU NATAL

OUTP ST

MAGAZINE OF THE BRITISH SOUTH AFRICA POLICE

2020 Edition 101

Copyright © 2019 BSA Police Support Unit Association 1

Rogan standing next to his beloved Morris Minor “ Winston”.

COmmiTTEE mEmbErS Of THE KWAZULU NATAL brANCH Of THE bSAP rEgimENTAL ASSOCiATiON: 2012 - 2020

Designation ContaCt e-mail/Post Box tel/CellChairman Phil Graham [email protected] 082 567 6720

Editor Barry Woan [email protected] 039 312 2028083 443 0533

Secretary Des Howse [email protected] P. O. Box 804, Linkhills 3653

031 762 1010083 440 6740

Treasurer Ethne Ayrton-White [email protected] 031 762 4753084 506 7393

Member David Lynn [email protected] 033 032 0518078 385 1100

Member Peter Gatland [email protected] 082 614 7608

Widows Co-ordinator Patricia Manning [email protected] 031 761 5130084 715 6355

station memBeRs in CHaRgestation ContaCt e-mail/Post Box tel/CellDurban North Jimmy Stewart [email protected] 083 627 7520

Durban West Des Howse [email protected] P. O. Box 804, Linkhills 3653

031 762 1010083 440 6740

Durban South Gerry/Marie Bowker [email protected] 031 916 1815072 048 0988

South Coast Barry Woan [email protected] 083 443 0533PMB Alan Bennett [email protected] 072 286 3393

Banking Details

Account Name: BSAP Regimental Associationbank: Nedbank, Hillcrest, Code: 198765

Account No: 1338108638ref: Include your name & type of payment (eg. subs/dinner/donation/sponsor/etc).

Copyright © 2019 BSA Police Support Unit Association

Rogan Drummind Taylor served as a National Service Patrol Officer 902410 with the Support Unit Mounted Troop between 1977 and 1978. During this time he was badly wounded in a landmine incident whilst transporting horses to a forward base.

Rogan has spent most of his career as a practising pastor in the United States.

He presently resides with his wife, Caroline in Paducah Kentucky. His four children Brett, Amy, Nicole and Emma are all married with their own children, Miles, Nora and Addlynn.

Rogan paints in his spare time and one of his examples is featured on the front cover of this magazine.

WHO IS WINSTON?

Copyright © 2019 BSA Police Support Unit AssociationCopyright © 2019 BSA Police Support Unit Association2 3

barry WoanmEmOrAbiLiA COLLECTOr

It’s time to clear out that old trunk/box that’s been sitting in the garage all this time, taking up space, gathering dust and never opened - turn it into cash!!!!

I am willing to pay above a fair price for BSAP memorabilia, including uniforms,

badges, buttons, Outposts, books, kit and equipment.10% and more of all monies paid will be passed onto the Natal Branch of the

BSAP Regimental Association as “commission”.

Please contact: barry WoanCell: 083 443 0533 | Email: [email protected]

bSA POLiCE mEmOrAbiLiA

Ps: today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.Was it worth it?

outpost sponsorship:Please sponsor your magazine to help us reduce costs, at only R25,00 per page.Pages can also be sponsored in memory of a loved one/member. Your support will be much appreciated. We sincerely thank those members who have sponsored the magazine over the years. 09 22 32

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I am happy to announce that the Association has secured the services of a Graphic Designer, who will design and collate the material for the Outpost before sending it to the printers.

(It should be said that your committee battled, for some time to produce the Outpost, before having to turn for help to our current designer).

By going this route, we will, hopefully, ensure that future editions of the Outpost are produced regularly and on time.

Having said that, I would encourage all members of the Association to contribute articles and stories of “Our days in the Force.”

Without these stories and anecdotes we would be unable to produce the OUTPOST,

thus ending a proud tradition.Just because you are reading this edition in

another country or province, it doesn’t follow that you can’t tell us of your experiences.

For those of you that are not confident of your story-telling ability, we would happily offer our editing and compiling service (free of charge!!)

In this edition, we have excluded the Obituaries, as there has been a two-year gap between editions, and obituaries have been published in other Outpost publications and in the electronic media.

I would like to thank all those who have helped produce this long-overdue edition and to those who have submitted articles that are the life-blood of the OUTPOST.

ENJOY!!!!

Chairman

Greetings everyone,I would just like to

reiterate and enforce on what our Chairman has said. Huge apologies for this forced delay but I feel some explanation is due.

For months prior to his retirement our

previous acting Chairman and Editor, Trevor Wilson made enquiries about a successor to his role as Editor and when no one came forward, Peter Huson and i decided jointly to put our nomination forward. Sadly soon afterwards Peter advised that he just could not continue because of severe personal pressures and knowing his situation, I fully understood. Peter and I made a good team as I was the data collector and he the computer wizard… we even produced a book “Motoring Memories of the BSA Police” together. On my own I floundered and despite this notification we as

the committee could find no one to fill Peter’s boots, data was collected but no action… I then was also heavily involved in the production of the book “Black Boots” which has now been published.

The Chairman and I had a discussion and it was muted that because we could not source a volunteer from within that we should out source. I suggested the small company that we used for our book and hey presto we are in business.

I would like to thank all for their patience and those who have contributed to this edition and reiterate what our Chairman said and keep the stories and reports coming in.

Finally a huge thanks to Lora for once again for coming to my rescue with her expertise, professionalism and tolerance.

Enjoy the read.

Editor

REPORT FROM THE CHAIRMAN

KWA-ZULU NATAL ANNUAL LUNCHEON 24 September 2019 KWA-ZULU NATAL ANNUAL LUNCHEON 24 September 2019

REPORT FROM THE EDITOR

Phil GrahamBarry Woan

Standing: Phil Graham, Terry LeaverSeated: Hazel Williams, Penny Hogg, Ian Hogg, Liza Leaver and Adele Graham

Standing: Des Howse, Trish Howse, Alan Bennett, Denis Moran, Ethne Ayrton-White, Dave LynnSeated: Janice Mackenzie, Bill Braine, Anne Braine, Maddy Lynn


Eighty members and guests gathered on the public holiday Tuesday 24 September 2019 at the Club de Vie Restaurant at le Domaine Estate, Hillcrest, for the KZN Association Annual Lunch. The numbers were lower than 2018 Lunch as it appeared that a number of members had decided to take the opportunity to make a long week-end of it.

The catering team once again provided a very enjoyable meal appreciated by all (presumably, as no complaints were received!).

Our Guest Speaker, Terry Leaver (ex-RAR) gave an interesting talk on Mozambique. Our MC this year was Bill Braine who acquitted himself well with Reply Speaker John Haswell being his usual entertaining self.

The Chairman, Phil Graham, presented Meritorious Service Awards, made by the

Constitutional College of the BSAP Regimental Association, to Trevor Wilson and Barry Woan, whilst Des Howse was made an Honorary Life Vice President of the Association.

We missed Hilary Squires this year but were glad to see a number of ‘out of town’ members, including the ‘Margate Mob’ who never miss a Lunch.

Wendy Udal and Gaile Thompson provided very attractive table decorations whilst a well-run raffle helped to swell the Association’s coffers.

It was pleasing to see many of our widows at the Lunch, a number of whom expressed their appreciation at being included.

A most convivial afternoon with members meeting up with old squad mates and relaxing in the company of friends and colleagues.

Those who attended were:Ethne AYRTON-WHITE, 7923 Bill & Ann BRAINE, Denzil & Pam BRADLEY, 8308 Rob BRISTOW,6785 Roger BROWNLOW, Joyce BUNTON, 6030 Robin & Pauline CLARK, 5826 Nigel CUERDEN,

Joy DAVIS, 8878 Tony & Cindy DEWHURST, 6817 Keith DOUCHE & Maureen McLEMAN,WP71 Louise FORD, 7543 Pete GATLAND, 6805 Phil & Adele GRAHAM, Bridgette HADAR,

Shelagh HAMILTON, Laurette HARDIE, Gordon HASSLEWOOD (P/R) & Judith STEADMAN,6187 John & Yvonne HASWELL, 5874 Garth HATTON, 7832 Terry & Olga HEMMING, Nowell HILL,

5428 Ian & Penny HOGG, 7229 Des & Trish HOWSE, 5958 Dick ISEMONGER, 9131 Ken JOUBERT,7033 Derek & Megan KERR, 7639 Jock KNOETZE, Terry & Liza LEAVER, 6872 David & Maddy LYNN,

WP 158 Patricia MANNING, Felicity MACAULAY, 6019 Sakkie McKAY, May MESSINA, 6759 John MILLER, 7302 Dennis MORAN & Janice MACKENZIE, 5794 Jack & Muriel PARKER, Peter SHATTOCK (P/R) &

Marlene CAMPS, 5842 Derek & Doris STARR, 8842 Jimmy STEWART,WP73 Shirley SWIFT & Colin BURNESS, WP303 Jacqui SHORT, 5760 Malcolm & Jean TORRANCE,

Lindsay TORRANCE, 5948 Tony & Wendy UDAL, June Vincent, 6467 Butch & Hilary VON HORSTEN,Jim & Suzanne WARE, 6233 Courtney WALTON & Barbara HISCOX, 6486 Mike & Hazel WILLIAMS,

5661 Trevor & Linda WILSON, 5268 Malcolm & Daphne WILTSHIRE, 8157 Barry WOAN.

24 September 2019

BSA POLICE ASSOCIATION ANNUAL LUNCHEON LE DOMAINE, HILLCREST

The bagpipe escourt

Phil and Trevor Wilson

Robin Clark

Guest speak Terry Leaver

Terry Leaver receiving his gift from Phil

Rob Bristow

Trevor Wilson proposing a toast John Haswell

Phil Graham

Phil and Barry Woan

Bill Braine Phil and Des HowseThe “Piper”


On Sunday 17th February 2019, Durban South Station held their Bring & Braai at the Mills Bomb Shell Hole, Warner Beach commencing at 11h00. Marie Bowker aided by Jock Knoetze as usual put on a well organised affair by supplying the fires, salads, bread rolls, cutlery and crockery, which were suitably accompied by an excellent bar service provided by friendly Moth representitives.

This was the largest gathering for this station for many a year as nearly 50 were in attendence and who enjoyed good weather and excellent commraderie.

Well done Marie and Jock.On a sad note, Gerry is still bed bound but

making progress after his serious stroke. We all wish him and Marie all the very best for the future.

February 2019 - Member in Charge Station - Marie Bowker / Jock Knoetze

BSA POLICE BRING ‘n BRAAI DURBAN SOUTH STATION

Pauline Clark, Keith Douche

Standing: Pauline and Robin ClarkSeated: Ethne Ayrton-White, Shelagh Hamilton, Joyce Bunton, Doris Starr

Standing: Shirley Swift, Jean Torrance, Lindsey Torrance, unknown, Colin Burness

Seated: Malcolm Torrance and Louise Ford

Standing: Gordan Hasslewood, Judith Steadman, Marlene CampsSeated: Suzanne & Jim Ware and Terry & Olga Hemming

John Miller

Marlene Camps and Peter Shatttock

Marilyn and Howard Davies, Barry Woan and Alan Bennett

Sakkie McKay, Alan Brantfield, Howard Davies, Pete JeweSeated: Margie and Alan Anderson

Chris Russell, Phil Graham and Des Howse

Happy group of revellers

Those who attended were:Jock Knoetze, Tony Clark, Ken Joubert, Phil Graham, Colin Kerr, Des Howse, Alan Bennet, Chris Russell,

Barry Woan, Sakkie McKay, May Messina, Joy Davis, Yolanda Clelland, Malcolm Dale, Marie Bowker, Peter Shattock, Marlene Camps, Howard & Marilyn Davies, Allan & Jackie Branfield, Gibb & Nerina Hendry,

JA Mazmillsaw, Allison Bone, Jill Lavender, Dave & Denise Owen, Eddie & Jill de Beer, Chris Driver, A.J. Anderson, Ronnie Winter, Trevor Wilson, Betty De Witt, George Taylor, Courtney Walton, Barbara Hiscox,

Norlle Hill, Shuley Swift, Colin Burness, Peter Dewr, Stretch Hughes, Mike Joyce, Buddy & Janet Charsley, Colin Evans, Nigel and Di Johnson.

ANNUAL LUNCHEON CONTINUED...


South Coast Station, hosted by Barry Woan, held their Christmas Luncheon at Cinder City, Moth Shell Hole, Sea Park on Saturday, 23rd November, attended by 81 members, friends and family. As usual a superb luncheon was presented by Brian and Jay heading the Moth team, with the usual raffle and much fellowship.

On a sad note, we bid farewell to Linda

Franklin and Nigel Triggs who were soon to leave our shores to start a new chapter in their lives in the UK. Farewell my friends.

Thanks to all those who attended and in particular to Ian Hogg and his son Richard (all the way out from Australia), our secrtetary Des Howse and a huge contingent from PMB and Durban.

23rd November 2019 - Member in Charge Station Barry Woan

BSA POLICE CHRISTMAS LUNCHEON SOUTH COAST, KZN

Marlene Camps and May Messina

Chris Russell and Sakkie McKay

Chris Driver and Jock Knoetze Alan Bennet, Marilyn & Howard Daviesand Pete Dewe

Happy gals

Mike Joyce Courtney Walton Chris Driver and Jock Knoetze

Jill Lavender and Alison Bone

Joy Davis and guest

Margi and Alan Anderson

Marie and Jock KnoetzeMembers seated on the verandah

Stretch Hughes, Rick Wentzel, Fred Potgieter

Sandy McKenzie, Derek Lowe, Jacqui Short, Mike and Linda Ashwin, Jackie Lowe

Members seated inside the hall

Another inside shot

Barry Woan addressing the guests

BRING ‘N BRAAI CONTINUED...


Our last gathering held at the Europa Cafe La Lucia was attended by 7 members, with apologies from Des Howse, Pieter Cloete, Phil Graham and Peter Shattack.

We have been experimenting with alternating our usual coffee days with drinks at

Virginia Airport, Wings Club and are hoping to facilitate a Bring ‘n Braai later in the year.

6th November 2019 - Member in Charge Station Jimmy Stewart

BSA POLICE COFFEE MORNING DURBAN NORTH

Linda Franklin and Nigel Triggs

Left to right: 5268 Malcolm Wiltshire, 5931 Alan Cunningham, 5666 David Wright, 8842 Jimmy Stewart, 10083 Norman McNarry, 7184 Chris Russell and 8215 Malcolm Webb.

John Haswell

Some of the prize for the raffelTony Clark (RAR) and Nigel Auld

CHRISTMAS LUNCHEON CONTINUED... CHRISTMAS LUNCHEON CONTINUED...

Keith Douche and Mike Lambourn

Enjoying the sunshine

Courtney Walton, Barbara Hiscox and Shaun Walton

Barry with May Messina

Buddy Charlsley

Melanie and Stretch

Myles and Trish Cunnison

Shirley Swift, Colin Burness, Nerina and Gibby Hendry

Those who attended were:8157 Barry Woan, 6019 Sakkie McKay, Fred Potgieter (RR ARMY), May Messina (widow), Tony Clark (RAR), 9131 Ken Joubert, 8679 Brian and Rose Goddard, WPO 465 Sue and Thys Moolman, Johan Ven Den Berg (SA ARMY), Rob and Ann Armitage (SA ARMY) Henry and Lorraine Arlow (PR) 8934 Nigel Triggs and Linda Franklin, 7706 Chris Driver, 9593 Nigel Auld, 5945 John Foulis, John Jackman (Army) Margeret Le Roux (Guest), 8966 Derech and Jackie Lowe, 110707 Mike and Linda Ashwin, 8526 Des Niemandt, WPO 303 Jacqui Short, Alan and Margie Anderson (RIC ARMY), 8432 Arthur and Sandi McKenzie, 6484 Hazel and Mike Williams, 8194 Rick Wentzel, 8212 Ali and Anne Barr, 8594 Hugh and Denise Temple, 8180 Neil and Margquerretha Sands, 7026 Stretch and Melanie Hughes, 6233 Courtney Waton and Barbara Hiscox,Evon Culchie and Vivian Knoper (Guests) Shawn Walton and Leane Opperman (Guests), 7616 Myles and Trish Cunnison, 6230 Buddy Charsley, Peter and Marlene Shattock (PR) Richard Maxwell (Rhod Army), 5774 Dave and Denise Owen, WPO Shirley Swift and Colin Burness, Noelle Hill (RLI Widow), 7790 Mike Lambourn, 8332 Chris Cummings, David Thurself (Guest) 7382 John Gray, 7959 Ray and Geri Hoggins, Dalton and Julie Cornwell (PR),Chalres and Engela Cary (cadet C 282), Joy Davis (widow), 6187 John and Yvonne Haswell, 5156 Peter Gibson and Kathy Mumford (widow), 8181 Malcolm Dale, 6817 Keith Douche, 7229 Des Howse, 5428 Ian Hogg, 11075 Richard Hogg (Australia)


The arrival of George Readings and his family on holiday from Australia and the release of the recently published book “The Black Boots” gave good excuse to hold drinks and a boerie roll at the Woanery.

The Support Unit commonly referred to as the BLACK BOOTS first held a Reunion at Midmar Dam in 1988, attended by 81 former members including two OC’s, Jimmy Collins and Ian Hogg, 2nd in Command Fred Mason, Supt Sakkie McKay and Unit Chief Inspector Pat Deasy (all the way from Ireland). The gathering was such a success that we thought another should be organised and so the Unit Social steering Committee set the scene for another held on the 6th and 7th of October here on the South Coast.

The venue chosen was the Moth Shell hole Cinder City at Sea Park (the home of the South Coast luncheons). The itinerary included a social get together and a supper held at a local Portuguese Restaurant for some, whilst others

chose a braai at a local Bed and Breakfast.

Registration at 09h00 on Saturday morning saw 114 sign in with all seated for welcoming speech by Barry Woan at 11:00am.

Speeches followed with former OC Ian Hogg telling all about his first meetings with the Askari Platoon when he was Member In Charge Nkai and the admiration he held of them when quelling a disturbance. Much later his honour at been made Officer Commanding the Support Unit consisting of twelve Companies of well trained and effective Para Military Policeman. Ron Rink and Brian Goddard read

22 January 2020 6th and 7th October 2018

GATHERING AT THE WOANERY SOUTH COAST, KZN SUPPORT UNIT REUNION SOUTH COAST, KZN

Left to right: George Readings, Brian Goddard, Michelle Brent, Butch Von Horsten, Barry Woan, Sakkie McKay, Ali Barr, Darroll Brent.

Roll of Honour flanked by Support Unit wreaths

Barry Woan opening proceedings

Ian Hogg “our Seniour Trooper”

Brain Goddard

Rob Rink Rob Bristow Sakkie McKay reading from the Roll of Honour


out messages from those who could not attend, and Rob Bristow talked on behalf of GC/CID and SB who worked alongside the Unit. Sakkie McKay read out the names of all those who lost their lives to the reply of NDIRIPO PAMWEYA (PRESENT IN SPIRIT) from those attending.

The Last Post was played by a bugler, organised by former SAS Officer Colin Praine who was present and flanked the bugler by another BSAP/SAS veteran Ken Joubert. “The Lament“ was played by former BSAP member Ian Denholm (Bagpipes) on pipes that survived the Battle of Delvile Woods in the 1st World War. The Roll of Honour was framed and mounted on a huge easel and flanked by two beautiful wreaths made by Rose Goddard, May Messina and Ann Barr. Joy Davis made all the serviette rings and the corsages for the ladies. All men wore the Support Unit reunion golf shirts.

Members, after Grace was read by Lindsay Mason, settled into a sumptuous lunch prepared by the Moths Team with Wine correctly labelled with the Support Unit badge

on the bottles (designed by Derek Rausch) and paid for by Ron Rink and Derek Rausch. Many assisted with sponsorships including the huge marque from Duncan “Porky” Paul. For which the steering Committee were eternally grateful.

A great time was had by all and when we packed up later the afternoon most made their way to the Woanery to watch the Rugby and start the “After Party“ which lasted well into the early hours of the next morning.

Many travelled from far afield with Alan and Lesley Hadfield, Mike Stewart and Kiwi O Brien travelling from Australia, Pat Deasy from Ireland, Chris and Trish Cox from Zambia, Clive and June Hoy from Botswana, Bill Prentice from USA, Alex Frazer and Tony Rosenfels from Zimbabwe, Jim Blain from Cape Town, Hans Hoffman and Mike Clayton from Port Alfred and stacks from Durban PMB, Johannesburg, Bloemfontein, Pretoria and elsewhere. A great time was had by all with many memories and stories bringing laughter and in some instances tears.

Farewell my friends, we will meet again.

REUNION CONTINUED...

Marlene Capms and Lindsey Mason

Chris and Trish Cox

Barry, Sakkie, Kevin Woods and Derek Rausch

Marnie DuPrees, Alex Frazer, Mike Clayton

Ian Denholm

Ian Denzer, Ian Hogg and John Tingle

Kevin and Connie

A bugler flanked by Ken Joubert and Colin PrainGroup in the tent Gus Alberson

Sam Crouser and Bill Prentice


During the weekend of 20th - 22nd September 2019, the BSAP Transvaal Association held a very successful 130th Anniversary of the BSA Police in Johannesburg, attended by over 260 former members from all over the world.

Jim Hutchison, all the way from USA and Ron Kaagman from New Zealand accompanied Steve Acornly, Peter Quick, Peter Braes and others from the UK.

A large contingent from our Natal branch included Dave Lynn, Butch Von Horsten, Courtney Walton, Ken Joubert, Barry Woan, Mike Lambourn, Ant Crossley amongst others.

Staunch support also came from the Western and Eastern Cape including Andy Wood, Colin Fitch, Digby Pocock and others.

The three day affair commenced at midday on the Friday with a welcoming speech from the Transvaal Chairman, Doug Hay followed by registration and memorabilia sales. This

meet-and-greet gathering where old and new friends shared a beer and natter set the tone for the weekend.

On the Saturday morning all gathered, decked out in blazers and ties with most wearing headgear and were formed up on Parade by Mike Lambourn, former Depot Chief Inspector, and later marched onto the parade square. The ceremony included welcoming speeches, unveiling of the statue and Blessing thereof, placing of wreaths and march off to the regimental music played by the local pipe band.

The afternoon session was a casual affair at the Shellhole with entertainment from none other than John Edmonds and festivities lasting late into the evening.

The Sunday brought upon the Official Luncheon attended by over 150 guests with many a stirring speech, much camaraderie, handshakes and hugs.

An absolutely fantastic event professionally

20th - 22nd September 2019

BSA POLICE 130th ANNIVERSARY JOHANNESBURG

Main Parade with flag bearer, David Holmes, Derek Rausch in number one uniform, John Sutton in early period uniform and Parade Commander, Mike Lambourn taking command of the parade.


orchestrated by the Transvaal committee from beginning to end. Although the committee was all involved, hats are raised for the incredible involvement of Derik Rausch and Robby Bristow.

BSA Police Memorial Statue unveilled at the Official 130th Reunion Parade held at Dicky Fritz Shellhole, Edenvale,

Johannesburg.

The front of the parade showing Derek Rausch (left), Dave Holms (hidden by the flag) and John Sutton

Rob Bristow addressing the crowd by talking of the significance of such an event and the roll the BSA Police Association still has to play in the years to follow.

BSAP Pistol and Rifle Teams Pretoria 1973

Detective Training Course 2 of 1971.

A BLAST FROM THE PAST

ANOTHER BLAST FROM THE PAST

L to R, Standing: Ian Chalk, Alec McFarlane, Dave Toddun, Pete Huson, Bob Armstrong, Trevor till, Nigel Argyle, Dave Arnold, Al Trubi, Brian Nightingale, Don Hollingworth, John Fletcher. Front Sitting: Joan Fletcher, Syd Bristown (Compol), Mrs Bristow, Jerry

Day, Dr. Bell, and Peter Bell (Staff Officer to Compol).

I can spot three Kwa-Zulu Natal residents, Brian Perkins, George Mitchell And Dennis Wyatt.


President’s office chair and had a walk through the helicopter. The ‘chopper’ could also land on water in the event of an emergency. We also visited the house that the Nixon family lived in during his youth.

In the evening, being American

Independence Day we wondered down to an open air area where many were enjoying a picnic evening with music and a fireworks display. It was a lovely warm evening and so enjoyable.

It was a very hot morning, but Will, Natascha and Nobby enjoyed some amazing sites in this huge city of Los Angeles. Sites visited included

the Mexican shopping area and home, Wells Fargo where Will worked at one time, the Red Arch, the Catholic Cathedral, Biltmore Hotel, a huge (many floors) beautiful library, tower building and the famous Walt Disney building.

And soon we were on our way to Cabo San Lucas in Mexico to spend a week at the magnificent Grand Sol Mar resort. Best explained in pictures! The visit also included boat cruises, wonderful eating areas with Mexican music and dancing, and lazy days next to the pools!

In both the USA and Mexico there were super occasions of chatting whilst enjoying good food at various venues and indeed at Will

In April, Will Cornell invited my wife Natascha and I to be with him and Karon at their home in Los Angeles, and to spend a week with them at a really super resort in Mexico. With much excitement we accepted their invitation. Then came the matter of

obtaining US visas. This had to be done ‘on line’ and was an exercise that we knew would save ‘a few bob’, if we did it ourselves. The visit to the Consulate was an experience of security at a new level, but worth it when we were issued with 10 year visas.

29/6/18. We departed for Los Angeles via Dubai. On arrival Will was there to take us home to Yorba Linda, a few hours’ drive from L.A. He and Karon have a comfortable home in lovely, very tidy surrounds.

Some of the places we visited in California included the Tucker Wild Life Sanctuary. Karon had worked at the sanctuary for many years and clearly knows much about birds and wildlife in general.

We visited the Fullerton Museum to see a display of old movie posters that certainly brought back memories of our youth. We enjoyed super visits to Parks and places to eat and relax.

Will plays tennis frequently with a group of ‘senior’ friends and I had the pleasure of meeting them for tennis and a social chat over a cup of coffee.

On July 4, we went to the Nixon Museum where we spent a good many hours. The museum and surrounds were truly fascinating and a remarkable display of history with much to see and read. We took turns sitting in the

By Nobby Clark

USA MEXICO TRIP

Natascha, Will & Karon

At the Fullerton Station to go to L.A. there was a brick!!!Well Done Will !!! We are Everywhere!

Walt Disney Building


and Karon’s lovely home. We got to meet family of Will (again), and Karon - and friends that they have spent time with over the years. Not forgetting, for Will and myself memory chats concerning our careers in the British South Africa Police, and those with whom we had

worked and maintained contact. Will has an amazing collection of BSAP information in terms of Outpost Magazines and in general.

He is active in regard to meetings at the University. He has won awards for photography concerning nature and wildlife.

The Red Arch

An Example of Will’s fantastic Photography.

Lazy days next to the pools.

Pool, beach and Sea!.

The Music and Dancing.And the Fabulous Boat Cruises.

THANk YOU WILL AND kARONFOR A FABULOUS HOLIDAY!


I had the urge to travel to the far-east. Thailand caught my fancy and I was extremely fortunate that a good friend had the same yearning and we decided to travel together.

After chatting with friends, who are regular travellers to Thailand, we poured over books they loaned us, planning where we wanted to go and what to see. We all agreed that an “organised trip” was not the way to go.

We settled on the Northern Thai province of Chiang Mai as our first stop and on the 7th of May, we set off at 18.10hrs on our long flight from Durban to Chiang Mai via Jo’burg, Doha and Bangkok, arriving at our destination at 11.00pm the next evening. Before our flight we had looked up accommodation on the internet and booked two nights and a taxi to a small hotel (Cozytel Hotel) in the ‘old city’ of Chiang Mai as our initial base. This accommodation proved to be so comfy and convenient, that it was our base for our full nine night stay in Chiang Mai.

Next morning we set off on foot to explore the town and soon found ourselves in a street-side tourist agency where, after pouring over

pamphlets and listening to the agent expound on sites and places we should see or visit, we booked for a Northern Thai evening show that included a meal.

That evening we were collected at our hotel by a taxi that took us to the Northern Thai Cultural Centre, where we were warmly greeted and shown to our ‘cushions’ – we had a fantastic meal of multiple Thai dishes whilst watching stage shows of northern Thai traditional dancing

Next morning saw us walking the streets

By Courtney Walton

VISIT TO THAILAND again, visiting the markets where we tried local cuisine from the various street venders.

The next day we hired a local Tuk Tuk driver with a private car and visited the town of San Kanphaeng which is renowned for silks and cottons, then on to Tham Meuang, a famous limestone cave accessed via ‘naga stairs’ that was claimed to have been used by Buddha. The cave itself is massive and considered a shrine with offerings left by the faithful.

Early the following morning, we were again collected by our driver and taken to Pongyaeng Elephant Camp, near the town of Mae Sa, north of Chiang Mai, where we thoroughly enjoyed an elephant ride. We then visited an orchid

nursery and the famed Siam Insect Zoo / Butterfly farm before attending a display of elephant abilities which included ‘football’; darts and painting at the Maese Elephant Sanctuary.

The next day we visited the ‘golden’ Wat Phrathat doi Suthap on the hill overlooking Chiang Mai. Access to the temple is via a long arduous climb up stairs. Footwear has to be removed at the Wat entrance and females must cover their shoulders and are expected to wear suitable clothing. It is also forbidden for females to touch monks. The climb is well worth the effort and temple and views of the city from the top are stunning. If one wishes to buy souvenirs, there are several stalls at the bottom of the stairs and prices are very reasonable but, like the whole of Asia, stall owners are open to bargaining.

Apart from their religious significance, temples are a major viewing attraction in Thailand for their architecture alone, never mind their beauty and they are well worth visiting.


• Singh Tea Estates who are also owners of the Singh Brewery the Golden Lion being their emblem.

• The Black House structures and collections of items depicted the ‘black arts’ and the basic sexual and earthly needs of the people of a past era. Our driver was very reluctant to enter the

premises “due to the evilness” of the displays. A lot of the exhibited items made me think of the ‘Viking era’.

The area of Chiang Rai, to the north of Chiang Mai, on the edge of the ‘golden triangle’ is famous for two stunning structures. We were fortunate enough to get up to Chiang Rai with a local Tuk Tuk driver who we hired. One can join a guided tourist group but your viewing time and movements are governed by the group and guide. A private operator is at your beck and call as he will stop where you want, wait for as long as you take and their cars are clean and well cared for with air conditioning that works.

Our visit to Chiang Rai included The White Temple, The Blue Temple, Singh Tea estates, the Black House and the Hot Springs:-

• The White Temple and surrounds cover several acres which are spotlessly clean and a sight to behold and photos don’t do it credit. All buildings and structures are white, gold or silver with walkways of white granite chips. Monks with straw brooms constantly sweep and pick up fallen leaves.

• The Blue Temple is again beautiful and spotlessly clean.


• Thawesesin Hot Springs, south of Chiang Rai, was a soothing stop where we were able to soak our tired feet in the warm run offs. The geyser where it blows from the ground is boiling hot and sprays a good sixty feet into the sky. Some local venders cook quail and chicken eggs in the ‘well’ which has piping hot water, these eggs are sold to locals and tourists.

We had nine brilliant days in Chiang Mai, walking the streets both day and night, visiting various markets, chatting with Thai venders, bargaining for items of clothing and souvenirs, eating local dishes in cafes or from street venders. Never once did we feel threatened, the Thais are extremely helpful with a gentle nature

One tip I can pass on is to look out for which food establishments the school children stop at for their lunch. One can get wholesome and non-expensive meals at these places.

We decided to move on and booked a flight to Trat via Bangkok for our onward holiday on the island of Koh Kut. (Aka Ko Kood).

Before our departure we stopped in at a Massage Parlour with ‘blind’ masseurs that we had spotted on one of our walks, Thailand is full of massage parlours, some good and some bad but this proved to be an excellent decision, we both had a fantastic and relaxing massage and felt ready for the island.

TO BE CONTINUED....

By Gus Albertson

By Barry Woan

VISIT TO PERTH AUSTRALIA

SOUTH COAST FISHING TEAM TEAM SMELLY FINGERS

George Readings, Gus Albertson and Bob Packer.

Standing from Left: Luke, John Alport, Frank Moxham (Rhod. Artillery), Andrew Hiscox (Local Margate Per Shop Owner) Kobus Erasmus And Courtney Walton (BSAP). Sitting from Left: Tony Clark (RAR), Alan Anderson (RIC), Barry

Woan (BSAP), Richard Phillips and Sakkie Mckay (BSAP).

Brenda and I recently had the chance to travel to Australia, our first trip there, to visit our daughter, Sharon and her family. Whilst there, we took the opportunity of travelling to Perth to see other members of our and friends.

It was a special occasion to meet up with longtime friends and former Black Boots, George Readings, who has been there for many a year and Bob Packer, recently relocated from the South Coast of Kwa-Zulu Natal to be nearer both his sons and their families. Bob has had a

particularly sad beginning to the new chapter in his life with the passing of his wife Kim soon after their arrival in Australia. R.I.P. Kim.

We chose Kozi Bay for our annual Group “away” fishing trip and what a good choice it was. The camp recommended to us is called Shengeza and is situated some 17kms from Manguzi which unfortunately was still a three quarter hour drive to the water’s edge. That was the only downside. The Camp is owned and run by Luke, an experienced fisherman, boatman and camp facilitator. Luke handled all the

cooking, driving us to the water’s edge and boat skipper duties all himself - what a host. The Camp is “off the grid” and runs on solar backed by generator and they have their own borehole. Accommodation is comfortable and one wants for nothing. Fishing both in the lake and sea was tough with only a few sizable fish being landed. However a great time was had by all.


The B

lack B

oots

PROJECT TEAM MEMBERS:

FREDRICK ‘FRED’ CHARLES MASON attested into the BSA Police on 15th December 1958 as a Constable. After several postings in Matabeleland and Victoria Provinces and rising through the ranks quickly, Fred was posted to the Support Unit as a Supt. in mid-1976. As a Field O� cer he immediately

made his presence felt and was instrumental along with Supt. Tom Naude in setting up the very successful Forward Base concept. Later promoted to Chief Supt. and assumed Second in Command of the Support Unit. Awarded the MLM and Long Service Medal. He was highly respected and admired by the men under his command and became the longest serving Senior O� cer in the history of the Support Unit.

BARRY ROBERT CHARLES WOAN joined the BSA Police on the 26th December 1968 having served as a Cadet from January 1968. He was a member of PATU and the Sub Aqua Units in Bulawayo before being promoted and posted to the Support Unit in September 1974. Served as a Troop and Company

Commander. Was wounded in action and awarded the MLM and 10 year service medal. Along with Brian Goddard he is the longest serving junior o� cer in the Support Unit. Retired as a Lance Chief Inspector.

BRIAN MICHAEL GODDARD attested into the Force on 28th September 1971 and served in Matabeleland District before volunteering for the Support Unit in September 1974. Quickly gained a reputation as a reliable, hardworking and brave section leader and later promoted to Troop Commander. Was

wounded in action. Retired as a Lance Inspector.

SHAUN TERENCE HODGSON joined the Force on the 1st January 1979 as a direct entrant into the Support Unit. After training he was posted to Echo Company and served as a section leader where he exhibited a cool, calm and e� ective style of operating. He was later promoted to Section

O� cer and as Second in Command of the Company. Shaun was a founder member of the project team and worked tirelessly before his untimely death following a short illness.

Patrol O� cer - Mounted Unit 1980Acknowledgment Richard Hamley “The Regiment”

Askari Platoon

The Black Boots

HOW TO ORDER:The much awaited book on the Support Unit is now available from

BARRY WOAN: Tel: 083 443 0533 | E-mail: [email protected] cost: R895 excluding postage.

Mart Botha of Cape Town happily receiving copy.

Tony Rosenfels of Zimbabwewith his book.

Project team; Brian Goddard, Sakkie McKay and Barry Woan at a book signing.

A project team led by the late Fred Mason began collecting information pertaining to the history of the Support Unit some eight years ago which has culminated in the production of a 535 page, hard covered, high gloss coffee table size book weighing about 2,3kgs.

The book covers the history of the Support Unit from it’s early beginnings as far back as 1898 and includes actions in the 1st and 2nd World Wars, the Malaya Campaign, disturbances in Northern Rhodesia and Nyasaland ending in the Rhodesian conflict.

The book contains many stories written by the men themselves together with photographs and other statistics.


CHAPTEr ONESeptember 1962.

Return Railway tickets from Lancashire in hand, I travelled to Rhodesia House in London for an interview to join the British South Africa Police located in, what was then, Southern-

Rhodesia. On arrival, I was interviewed by Colonel Walker, my name sake but no relative who, having noted I was educated (of sorts) at a British Grammar School, appeared, from the onset, extremely keen to have me sign on the dotted line. This despite my answer when he enquired if I ‘was a horse-man’, that the nearest I’d come to riding a horse was an ‘assisted, hand-led, donkey ride on Blackpool beach’.

Undeterred, the interview progressed until he asked if I possessed a ‘Dinner’ Jacket. He didn’t appear put off when, in a weak attempt at humour, I answered , “No, but I own a Blazer with mashed potato, carrot and gravy stains on it which, I was sure, could be successfully dry cleaned “.

September the 23rd, 1962, much to the relief of my widowed mother, I joined 5 rather anemic looking lads, I’d surmised were either ‘on the run’, ‘unloved by their parents’, or ‘looking for adventure’, anywhere in the world, away from the ‘Land of Mud’. Excitedly we boarded a plane destined for Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia - the first squad of Police Recruits (10/62) to make the journey to Rhodesia by airplane.

On arrival at Salisbury Airport we were met by a muscular, tanned and immaculate, Staff Sergeant, who looked like an understudy from a Tarzan Movie. Our V.I.P travel status swiftly ended as we were unceremoniously loaded into the back of a five ton truck and freighted

to Morris Depot then sentenced to spend the following six months confined during basic Police training.

After completing my first three months ‘basic’, I was proud at the depth of knowledge, I’d gained since my arrival in Rhodesia. I’d learned it was possible to be out of bed by 5.30am for Physical Training, I was able to complete a cross country run, was taught to ‘Equitate’, all before breakfast. Less than a month later standing to attention before the Depot Chief, Inspector Trangmar, ‘charged’ with ‘missing the 11pm Saturday curfew deadline’, and fictionalising a tale of bravely defending myself against a savage attack by three hooligans —the ‘Orang u Tang’ leaned backwards in his chair, smiled gently at me and said,“ Oooooh! Constable Walker-you always try don’t you ?”, (This rather took me by surprise, because it was the first occasion we’d met ) Then, after smiling broadly again, he shook his head and ‘sentenced’ me to two “Behind the Guard” Punishment Parades. I had a sneaking feeling, despite my Oscar deserving performance, the result of my entire ‘interview’ was pre-determined , and already a ‘fait accompli’.

I’d also beaten the odds and proven it was possible to survive for 6 months consuming inedible food, courtesy of the Depot Canteen, that it was not permissible to head-butt an opponent during unarmed combat and I’d personally experienced which end of a horse bit, which end emitted spluttering farm-yard noises and, I’d learned from our Equitation Instructor we must always first sponge out a horse’s nostrils and eyes, before moving onto its dock. (Having subsequently witnessed many sexual deviants and dogs, experiencing obvious enjoyment, sticking their noses up each other’s rear ends, I could never quite understand why horses apparently don’t share this pleasure).

I also learned it was unwise to expect

By Graham Walker - DEPOT/ INYANGA

BSA POLICE MEMORIES OF A RHODESIAN POLICEMAN 1962 - 1980 compassion or sympathy if one had the misfortune to fall off a horse. The closest to voiced concern one could expect was “Who bloody well gave you permission to dismount?” –thereafter, the unfortunate rider would be instructed to remount, sometimes facing the horses arse, ordered to ‘cross both stirrups’, and then sentenced to ‘bump trot’, for the remainder of the ride. The end result was a prize winning set of gonads the colour and shape of squashed, overripe figs.

If you were unfortunate enough to be allocated a foolish equine, with its pea brain pre-programmed to canter or gallop, when it discovered you’d ‘lost’ control of both reins and stirrups, your only option was to cling double handed to the pommel, and face the likelihood of serious injury. I’d long since discovered, not to expect any sympathy from my squad-mates, even those who, up until that point I’d believed were close friends, because to do so would have resulted in serious disappointment. Most had suffered similar punishment, and were devoting all their efforts to remain mounted.

Meanwhile our guardian, protector, a.k.a the equitation Instructor, midst any such crisis, remained totally relaxed and impassive, and whilst witnessing an unannounced exit would, archetypically comment, just as the ‘rider’ was about to ‘exit stage left, ‘ - “Send me a fukkin post card when you get there!”.

My knowledge of Criminal law was now extensive. To my surprise, I’d learned consensual sex means ‘both’ parties have to be in agreement. There’s a fine line drawn between ‘cuddling’, and holding someone down to prevent them from escaping. I could now stand to attention, salute, fire a rifle and pistol, throw a grenade, swim, run, jump, march, ride a horse, disable or overpower a person, without the use of a half brick, or a bicycle chain and, much to my surprise, I’d learned if evidence of any physical torture preceded the recording of a ‘Warned and Cautioned Statement’, or ‘Charge-Sheet’, for some remote legal reason, neither would be accepted by the Courts.

Finally, our big day arrived. After a week’s

preparation to perfect starched khaki tunics, spit-polished leather belts & braces, boots, cap straps, gleaming brasses, second world war rifles oiled and brassoed to assembly line perfection, our Batmen multi-tasked, rushing around with dusters and boot-polish, whilst hatching last minute plans, knowing this would be their final opportunity to steal any of our remaining possessions that they had overlooked during our internment. All this activity culminated in the much rehearsed ‘Depot Passing Out Parade’. The ‘Cherry on the Cake’ for this, our biggest moment, was the musical accompaniment from our revered Police Band.

After an hour and a half standing, marching, and performing ragged firearm gymnastics under the African Sun, at last the parade ended. Disappointingly, when they presented the awards, they forgot to call out my name, it was quite obvious there must have been an administration error ‘cos I was not selected as the ‘Top Squad Recruit’, or Second, or Third .......Finally, 21 sweat soaked, mentally

Graham preparing for his passout parade.


exhausted, Recruits shared tea, sticky buns, and had first time introductions to the proud parents of ‘Rhodie’ Squad-mates, many of whom would remain lifelong friends.

Hands were shaken, humour shared with Instructors, including those who, during the preceding 6 months, had made tortuous insults such as - “You’re bloody anemic-you look like a nun’s c*nt in August”- “ You’re in crap order-like a bloody Arab’s P.K (toilet) in the middle of the mango season” or, “ The last time I saw a pair of legs like yours, they had a message tied to them”-”You’re like a Bloody Maltese Bishop peeping out of a Bell Tent” or, “You’re like a Dog’s Cock in a Coal Bucket” ( The last two I still can’t visualise). For five long months, at the end of each day’s training, as the 10pm bugler sounded a ruptured ‘ lights out’ serenade, I’d collapse in a ‘mosquito netted twilight zone’, lie in a sweaty dilemma, wondering what in hells name possessed me to choose Rhodesia, and commit three years of my life to the British South Africa Police. Then, just before drifting into an exhausted sleep, I’d imagine confronting, and ‘twatting’ the Instructors who’d heaped insults on myself and my favourite squad mates.

March, 1963, the end of my Depot Training Course almost in sight I was, according to debatable Police standards, fully trained, and ready to release into the outside world as an ‘Ossifer Ov Ze Leeur’, a saviour of young females or, if old, those that were extremely wealthy and generous.

One giant step towards civilization was the move to Driving School, where reportedly discipline was lax, there were no curfews, and we could start to enjoy life again, learn to drive, be allowed to inflict torture upon the battered old fleet of Landrovers, Matchless 500 scramblers, and B.S.A 650 roadbikes.

Spontaneous laughter would erupt daily during driver training, almost always at some unfortunate’s expense. Frequently the rider of a scrambler motor-bike, learning the technique of ‘clutch control’, would, whilst navigating a deep mud and water filled ditch lose complete

control, release the clutch, simultaneously twist the handlebar throttle grip, become airborne, shoot forward, and end up in a crumpled, mud caked heap. Then, to add insult to injury, would be sentenced to spend the remainder of the lesson, resembling an ersatz ‘tar-baby’ (of Brier Rabbit fame), cleaning his ‘chocolate coated’ bike.

Immediately before my transfer from Depot, I was instructed to submit in writing, in descending order of preference, details of 3 Police Stations where I would ‘most like to be posted’.

I’d recently met a girl-friend who, as an added incentive (as if I needed one) insisted on ‘going Dutch’ whenever we dated. (Ah yes!), whenever I reminisce about this dear girl, I recollect there were only two things about her I didn’t like: - firstly, she had a lousy sense of humour, and secondly, she couldn’t take a punch).

I was reluctant to leave Salisbury because I always enjoyed Saturday night’s entertainment at Brett’s, and Le Coq-D’or Nightclubs. I’d worked on a plan to complete some unfinished business at The Duthie dance hall with a couple of the local ‘duckies’ (Rhodesia’s equivalent of teddy-boys). I was active in the Police Boxing Team and, because I was totally ignorant of any location in Rhodesia more distant than then nearby ‘Mermaid’s Pool’ I chose, in order of preference, :- (1) “Salisbury Central” (2) “any Salisbury suburban Station” or, (3) as a result of many recommendations from my Rhodesia born Squad Mates, “Umtali “.

Five weeks later, after carefully considering my wishes, and as proof of his inherent kindness, momentarily redirecting his thoughts away from his first afternoon whisky, The Depot Commandant momentarily concentrated, remembered how to record his signature legibly, then with a single stroke of his Police issue ball-point pen, authorised my freight ‘Second Class’, via Rhodesia Railways to Umtali, for immediate onward transmission to the ‘One Horse Town’ of Rusape. (At this stage I feel it relevant to say, if God had wished to give the

Planet Earth a Colostomy, the exit point he’d have chosen would have been Rusape). It was at this dreadful location I unproductively whiled away the tedium, which allowed the Rhodesia Railways Police sufficient time to locate, and return, my issue .303 rifle, (forgotten in my haste to exit the grimy, soot caked, carriage).

CHAPTEr TWO:During the three weeks I remained at

Rusape, I noticed the Station Member in Charge would frequently run around the camp gibbering and shrieking and, it appeared, losing his mind. As none of the Station Staff saw fit to make adverse comment, I began to think this was accepted as the normal behavior of a District Police Inspector. Invariably, the cause of these extraordinary outbursts was the camp labourer ‘Bombadori’, and almost always the screams would be followed by an unsuccessful chase around the Police Camp. To allow the reader some insight of Bombardori’s unique abilities, the day prior to The Officer Commanding District’s annual Inspection, after being instructed to “tidy the Police station surrounds’” he obediently collected every loose item of rubbish from the camp, stuffed his findings into a recently requisitioned and unused, anodized dustbin (deliberately kept pristine, pending the Inspection), poured paraffin onto the contents, then set them on fire. The end result was a blackened and buckled bin that was relegated from its position d’honour on the Charge Office verandah, and hidden somewhere behind the Station Lock-Up.

On the Saturday morning preceding Monday’s Inspection, I was awakened by a chorus of shrieks which appeared to come from the Station Tennis Court (I realised this could only be the Member I/C having another one of his ‘turns’). This time his screams coincided with a shower of airborne rocks flying in several directions, quite a few reached and bounced off the tin roof of my sleeping quarters. It was only sometime later, when I considered it safe to venture outside, I discovered, instead of applying a lime-wash/

water mix , and using our manually operated ‘ Line Marking Trolley’, our innovative labourer, had ‘marked out’ every white line of the Station Tennis Court, by using half bricks, stones, and large lumps of concrete.

Without any doubt, Bombadori’s ‘piece de resistance’ (and I kid you not), was when he planted an entire crop of vegetable seedlings in the ‘Boss’s’ garden, upside down. He’d carefully covered all the leaves with soil, watered the garden, and left the roots exposed to the sun.

In deference to the old man, although I guessed he must have been a septuagenarian, he’d propel himself by means of a weird arthritic scuttle, rather like Quasimodo on steroids, and somehow always manage to outsprint the Boss - then, similar to a carbon copy of Harry Potter (no deliberate pun intended) - ‘Poof!! ‘- he’d simply vanish.

Although we were assisted by the olfactory abilities of the ‘Station’ Dog, who would reluctantly break into his routine of testicle licking (his own) and join in the manhunt, assisted by several African Police who openly boasted of their proficiency as trackers, somehow Bombadori would manage to remain hidden for the remainder of the day, presumably in some secret place known only to himself, and, no matter how many times he was sacked, dismissed, threatened with a huge variety of punishments, torture, castration, or even death , without fail he’d report for work the following morning at precisely 8am, for another inevitable, gigantic, bollocking. During this disciplinary process, he’d display true deference and regret, sadly looking downwards, by using one of his big toes to scratch a small hole in the sand, and alternate between picking his nose and inspecting the inevitable errant bogey stuck to his fingertip. It was only after the Boss, puce faced, had reached verbal exhaustion Bombadori would be given, yet another, ‘ Final Warning’

CHAPTEr THrEE:My 3 week internment at Rusape came to

an abrupt end one fateful Monday morning


when I was collected and chauffeured by an overweight and, I discovered shortly into our journey, odorous African Sergeant, who drove me to my ultimate destination. After an hour of enjoying the progressive uphill transition through scenic, mountainous countryside, we arrived at a group of stereotype, early 1950’s, Government style, brick buildings. It was only then, with sinking heart, I realised ‘this was it’, we’d arrived at Inyanga, which was to be my work-place, and home for, at least, the forthcoming year.

I was shell-shocked---- ‘ convinced there’d been some mistake’. This wasn’t Salisbury, Umtali, or any of those places I’d requested, - This was Inyanga in the Mountains - location of post-card beauty, peace, tranquility and, for myself and two other heterosexual, and randomly selected, white Constables, the unrequested ‘opportunity’ to live, in Buddhist Monk solitude, and undertake the impossible task of enforcing, and maintaining, Law and Order to Inyanga District, (which extends over an area, approximately the size of Wales).

It was a location of loneliness, isolation, and a place where, if the slightest opportunity occurred to revert to normal social behavior or, if there was any circumstance that allowed us to contrive, or create a humorous incident, it was seized upon by both hands. (I immediately started to work on the finer points of a cunning plan to dispose of the Depot Commandant)

With only emergency diesel powered generator electricity, ergo no TV, the reception on our portable, battery operated second hand radios frequently faded into obscurity, or remained silent for long periods, devoid of any sound other than static crackling. Our entertainment was restricted to darts, cards, ogling well worn , partially discolored, ‘vintage ‘tit bits’ ‘blighty’, and other much mishandled, magazines or, by using a hand held mirror conducting anatomical self-examinations of our ‘nether regions’, to ensure no ticks, or other ‘nut devouring stowaways’, were feasting or bloating on our blood, or most frequently, becoming alcoholically “rat arsed’ then, at

the conclusion of each evening meal, grossly exaggerating, details of our real, or imaginary, romantic conquests.

Two wood burning stoves provided adequate heat for all our cooking and ablution needs. Lighting was courtesy of four paraffin primus lamps, all well past their ‘best sell by dates’. The Inyanga telephone exchange was ‘manned’, and eavesdropped 24/7, by a geriatric, widowed, telephonist, who would absent mindedly lick the grey 5-o’clock shadow above her lips, coquettishly twist the elastic garter that transformed her hair into a ‘ road kill look-alike’, squint myopically, flutter her eyelashes and, on those infrequent occasions I was unable to escape her attention, would corner me, pinch my (facial) cheeks, and affectionately refer to me as ‘her skatty’ (which I took to be a term of endearment) .

Her official telephone voice would quiver with excitement, each time she intercepted, eaves dropped, and contributed background asthmatic wheezing, to outgoing / incoming , official and private, phone calls, all relayed via ‘her’ party-line telephone exchange.

The population of the agriculturally cultivated section of Inyanga District, included a small group of, (according to earlier Police reports) , “anti-social tobacco farmers” who , by virtue of their half inch foreheads and closely mal-aligned eyes were, we guessed , possibly incestuously related. Having been briefed by ‘the Boss’ the farmers had previously been described as “ Somewhat suspicious of and uncooperative to Police”, one morning, accompanied by my enthusiastic, but cretinous, ‘ albatross’ African constable, Tafrinyika, I was dispatched, via the station Matchless Scrambler on a ‘Farm Patrol’, for the purpose of “showing a Police Presence” and, if possible, to attempt to improve Police/Farmers’ relationships.

After a long and dusty ride I arrived at the first of the farms and was met by a woman?? Dressed in a shapeless black ‘jilbab’, (some years later I believe I spotted her ‘alter ego’ featuring in ‘Wrestle Mania). She, after a few embarrassed giggles, snorts, and gestures,

indicated her husband (the farmer) was working in a nearby tobacco field somewhere adjacent to the farmhouse. As I wobbled on my motorbike, very slowly, along a foot track which now alternated between red soil and loose yellow sand, my balancing efforts were made virtually unsustainable by ‘Bollock Brain Tafrinyika’ who, despite repeated orders to sit still, would frequently half stand, to look over my shoulders, or lean from side to side, in his attempts to be the first to spot the farmer.

As we reached the closest field, a pack of ‘bloody orrible’, yellow fanged, ‘Baskerville type ‘ dogs burst out of a cloud of dust and surrounded us. As there was absolutely no chance of escape, there was only one available option which we took and both fell off the bike. Fortunately the dogs must have been fed, and thankfully showed far more interest in attacking Tafrinyika rather than I but, in the nick of time, he was saved from certain death, when a loud voice shouted... “Voetsak!!” (Bugger Off). The dogs immediately scattered and reassembled around a huge ‘cryptid’ who, with battered shotgun resting across both thighs, was seated impassively in a patch of shade by the side of the track and, by using a large wooden splinter, was picking the remains of a recent meal from irregular gaps between his teeth.

Not wishing to alarm the dogs I ‘froze’, discreetly broke wind several times, darkened a small area at the front of my shorts, then walked slowly towards the Farmer , right hand extended until, having observed the size of his hands, I withdrew my offer of a handshake, and obeyed his ‘invitation’ to “Sit Jong”.

Following the direction indicated by his Boerewors (an Africa Spiced Sausage) sized index finger, I parked myself just close enough to hold a conversation. Every move I made was suspiciously followed by thirteen yellow eyes (One of the dogs was missing one). At this point, Tafrinyika had retreated to what he considered was a safe distance, and was leaning against the largest, easily scalable, tree. He stood frozen as ‘ the Cyclops dog ‘ slowly slunk

up to him, sniffed his arse then, with his single eye misting up, wobbled unsteadily back to his observation post.

After a long chat in broken English (mine not his), I convinced the farmer “We were simply on a routine patrol and, if he ever had any issues with his workers, or the locals, or there were any crimes committed that required Police presence, I’d be happy to return to sort matters out for him”. As my composure, and confidence, slowly recovered, I gradually relaxed. His dogs appeared to have lost interest in me, or possibly didn’t recognise me under the thick coating of dust, but the ‘Cyclops Canine’ kept licking his lips, and maintained his unblinking gaze on Tafrinyika.

Our chat covered many topics which included some local issues and, by partially feigning an interest in agriculture, and having what he perceived was a captive audience, the farmer went into great detail to educate me of the qualities required to be a successful Tobacco Farmer. Further encouraged, he continued talking until my shorts had dried out then waxed poetic , onto his second favourite subject, which was complaining about “the problems he had due to some of the local “blaady ka**irs stealing”. After we’d finished four of my cigarettes, and half a bottle of his warm Mazoe Orange/Saliva Cordial mix, we parted on amicable terms.

Just before leaving, I asked if he’d like to bring some of the other farmers and their families, to the Police Station for Beers and a Braai and, spotting a possibility of some future humour , convinced him the Boss could “Praat Afrikaans Lekker”( speak Afrikaans well ) although , regrettably, he was slightly deaf but , I emphasized , I was certain he’d be delighted to meet all the Farmers . Although initially he looked uncertain, I managed to convince him The Boss “ Woz a good Ou”, gave him my name and phone number , he put ‘his mark’ on my torn and dirt smeared ‘Visit Sheet’ , and I left in a cloud of dust, self-satisfied with my days work .

That evening as I reported my progress to the


Boss, he expressed delight, but voiced concern about my Braai (Barbecue) invitation. It was only after I’d assured him, “there would be no problem ‘cos ‘we’ would purchase all the meat , make the ‘Sadza’ ( Stiff Maize Porridge) , and handle the entire event at the Single Quarters” , he visibly relaxed . At the end of my report I emphasised “although the farmer looked quite formidable he was, in reality, very friendly but, unfortunately, was slightly deaf “.

Two days later I received a phone call from the farmer , who advised he intended to visit Inyanga Village Store that morning” To stock up”. He asked if it would be O/K if he ‘popped into the Police Station to see me’. After the Boss had given his permission , I phoned the farmer back and confirmed he was most welcome to visit but ,once again, told him not to forget that although the boss could speak Afrikaans , he should make allowance for the fact, that he was slightly deaf .

Within the hour he’d arrived at the Station. My two Constable mates, who I’d earlier advised of my subterfuge , were absolutely certain “I was about to drop Deep in the Shit” and , having both evolved from long lines of cowards, beat a hasty retreat from the station offices .

As this was our second meeting there was no escaping the farmer’s handshake. Mentally consoling myself all physical injuries would be covered by the Police Medical Health scheme, I accepted his greeting. As he crushed my hand I managed to suppress a girlish scream , but couldn’t conceal an involuntary rictus , ( which I think he mistook for a smile ) then , nursing bruised fingers, I accompanied him into the Boss’s office.

As they greeted, and shook hands, I confess I experienced a degree of sadistic pleasure as I watched the Boss’s facial expression change then, after agreeing to brew up a pot of ‘tea for two’, I left them chatting away in Afrikaans.

From the safety of my office, which was located at the opposite side of the main Charge Office, I could hear the volume of their conversation steadily increasing. The louder the

one shouted, the louder the other replied (there was still no sign of my two, cowardly, Trooper mates).

Eventually, when the farmer emerged, he was smiling, but wiggling one finger in his large hairy ear he looked at me and said “Yirrrer!” (An expression of surprise or discomfort). Some minutes later, when the boss appeared, he was alternating between rubbing both ears, and gently massaging his right hand. He gracefully thanked me for the introduction , but insisted “ because he considered it essential to maintain the relationship I’d established , in future I should carry on the good work , but always deal with the farmer personally”.

The day before the scheduled Braai, the farmer phoned to apologise, “regrettably, himself and the other farmers couldn’t make it, ‘cos they were in the middle of Tobacco Reaping, and were working around the clock” but, he insisted, he would be sending me some (vleis) meat”.

The following morning his ‘Boss Boy’ arrived driving the Farm ‘bakkie’ (pick-up), with a large ‘ Ram/Goat ‘ which stood immobilised, each leg roped separately to the four corners of the open back. When we met at the front of the station, he delivered what was obviously a well-rehearsed ‘spiel’, something like, “Eieeesh!! (Shit! or some similar expression of surprise)... The Boss told me this-e goat is Special for you—‘Baba’ (Father!!), but “Haau!” (An expression of surprise, disbelief, sometimes satisfaction or, I later established whilst inflicting ‘justifiable legal punishment’-of Pain). He continued, The Boss said “You must be ‘the very one’ to take it off the Bakkie, otherwise you can’t-e have it “...Although I couldn’t put a finger on any specific reason for concern, I started to feel vaguely uncomfortable.

Sometime later, despite the assistance of four of our strongest Constables who, I’d promised , would each receive a share of the carcass, by the time we’d managed to unload the crazy ruminant off the back of the vehicle , I’d been stamped on, kicked, butted, bruised, and crapped on . My socks and shorts were filthy,

the toe cap of one shoe was concave, and my shirt was torn....Throughout the entire struggle the driver remained straight-faced.

Some weeks later, when we met on my next patrol, the farmer admitted the Boss Boy had related ‘the unload process ‘ to him in great detail but, he wanted to hear my version. Holding onto his Willy as I explained, the tears rolled down his stubbled cheeks and, only when I’d finished the story, he confessed the Ram” was the meanest ‘Bliksom’ (Lightning or Bastard) on all the farms, and he “sommer (really) knew we’d have a hell of a job unloading it”. He then admitted it was “Blaady Old, Blaady Stroppy, and Bladdy Tough”, which were the main reasons he’d donated it to us, rather than slaughtering it and using the meat as rations for his own labourers. During the following months we became quite friendly and he would frequently phone me for a chat and always ask when I was coming to visit him at the farm but, although enjoying all subsequent patrols to the farming area , I never quite forgot or forgave, and frequently during drunken ‘think-tanks’ at the Single Quarters, I sought advice, picked brains, and spent considerable time calculating revenge which , happily for him, never occurred.

CHAPTEr fOUr:After receiving the benefit of 4 weeks

‘practical policing’ at Inyanga, my first ‘serious’ case, was a multiple ‘Sudden Death’ Investigation that occurred in Zimbiti Tribal Trust Land, approximately an hour’s drive from the Police station. The driver of an open backed 3 ton truck ,loaded with 44 gallon Drums of Diesel , had apparently lost control of his vehicle , swerved off the road , and flipped over the side of a 20 metre cliff.

At the time of the accident several of his labourers, who’d been sitting in the open-back area of the truck as it somersaulted, were thrown into the path of the rolling drums (each weighing approximately 450 lbs). Those who escaped death suffered, serious injuries and, by the time I’d located and arrived at the scene of

the accident, had already been ferried to a local clinic, for onward transfer to one of the District Hospitals. The two remaining unfortunates were well and truly dead, having been crushed by the rolling drums.

Hesitantly I examined The first corpse, it being the first deceased I had experienced, apart from a couple of the Depot Instructors ( only joking) , and Bombadori ( not joking ) who, I believe, although physically alive , were basically brain dead. Rigor Mortis had already set in, and the poor lad had somehow ended up bow legged, with a long tuft of grass protruding from the clenched arse of his trousers. One of the drums had obviously rolled over him, struck him beneath his chin, doubling the normal length of his neck. Although genuinely sympathetic (I couldn’t help thinking, with his bowed legs, grass tail, and long neck, he looked a dead ringer of the Cartoon character The Road Runner “(Beep! Beep!”). During our efforts to put him into a body box, I carried his ‘top end’ and noticed, unsupported, his head swiveled around to almost face backwards. The second deceased was virtually unrecognizable, reduced to a mish-mash of broken bones and blood.

During the Inquest, which was my first appearance at Court involving a death, I was asked by the Magistrate “ How I knew the ( first) deceased was dead”---Never having been taught the answer to this specific question during Law Lectures , or having dozed off during the lesson , which should have been along the lines :- “ I physically examined the deceased, confirmed he was not breathing, had no pulse, and Rigor Mortis had already started to set in “ I replied, “ Well, ‘Your Worship’ As I helped to put him into the body box , his head moved around in a circle “, ( to illustrate this I indicated the movement with my hands ) , - I couldn’t understand why the Magistrate blanched and appeared a trifle upset by my answer. It was only sometime later I was taken to one side by my patient and long suffering Boss, who politely explained how to correctly deliver evidence if it involved physical


examination of a deceased, and how to confirm a death had occurred.

CHAPTEr fiVE:The ‘Railways Motor Service’ Single Quarters

housed a solitary R.M.S Driver, who managed to alternate between a state of total inebriation, and being completely pissed. His favorite joke, which I heard him repeat on several occasions, was:-

(Question): “How many Alcoholics does it take to change a light bulb?”—

(Answer): “Two - One to hold the bulb, and the other to drink enough booze until the room starts to spin around“.

Living nearby the Station were a small contingent of Internal Affairs staff and their wives , the proprietor of the Tiny Angler’s Rest Pub, and his wonderful lady , so tall and pencil thin she was affectionately nick-named’ Olive Oil’ , ( Popeye’s Cartoon Girlfriend ) plus several, long retired, -ex Colonial Army Officers, who clung to faded memories of their Military Status, by regularly polishing the Brass Plaques they’d screwed to their garden gates . All were similarly engraved with their House Names , their Christian name Initials, Surnames and, in much larger and more elaborate print, their former Army Ranks ( Colonel/General etc.,) - plus, and certainly not to be ignored , Inyanga was populated by approximately half a million indigenous Africans, and 20,000+ migrant black workers. One of the Internal Affairs District Officers , our good friend , Charlie Holloway , lived in the same street as the aforementioned -ex Officers, and had duplicated their aesthetic Gate Plaques but, much to their chagrin, in large print under his name he’d engraved ‘ Corporal’.

The R.M.S Driver earlier mentioned was a delightful guy, affectionately known by all the locals simply as ‘Tom’. He owned a pristine Rover ‘P4’ Sedan; the driver’s door was artistically monogrammed in Golden Italic writing as “The White Lady”. It was Tom’s pride and joy and, during his off-duty

hours , he’d devote almost all his leisure time, a half consumed beer clutched tightly in his left hand, a further two ‘frosty’s’ within easy reach and , with cleaning cloth in his free hand would polish each inch of his proudest possession .

One morning he phoned me at the Station, and asked “If I’d like to buy ‘The Lady’ for 25 Pounds. Realising he must be joking (‘cos it must have been worth 30 times that amount) I asked why he was selling it - He paused - then repeated his offer, but added one condition, “I could buy it, but I’d first have to arrange some method of winching it out the river”- Later that evening sobbing, after magically making half a dozen beers vanish, he recounted the fateful event. The previous rainy evening, whilst returning to the R.M.S Single Quarters, ‘Shit Faced’, after a particularly heavy evening on the booze, as he approached the narrow ( single car width) bridge 100m from our Station, he noticed, much to his surprise, “there were now three bridges side by side “ . Being unsure which one to choose, he closed one eye, and decided he recognised the left side one. Regrettably this decision was incorrect, ‘cos he drove nose first, over the side of the chosen bridge, into the river. The mangled wreckage of his once beautiful car, eventually retrieved, was a total ‘write off ‘, and later, too much wailing and gnashing of teeth, was sold to a shifty eyed dealer as scrap. That evening we boosted Rhodesia Brewery’s profits by devoting several ‘final farewell toasts’ to Tom’s best friend.

Located a mile from our Police Station was a small General Purpose Village Shop, a ‘ Double Fuel Pump’ Garage/ Repair business , a ‘Multi-purpose’ Church-Hall which, every second Sunday, doubled as a Cinema, often showing vintage, flickering, black and white movies. (Frequently, during the ultimate ‘cowboy chase scene’, the horses would gallop off the screen and, to add to the excitement of the audience , the chase would continue uninterrupted , and the villain would receive the hero’s well aimed bullet, and take his last breaths on a side wall ,or the ceiling. All this, plus a few

vacant, neglected cottages, and a further three, occupied by recluse, slowly decomposing, pensioners, comprised Inyanga Village, owned virtually intoto, by local entrepreneur, businessman, landlord, accident recovery service, Police single quarters informant, and part-time projectionist, Doveton Kennedy .

Being, by nature, a compassionate man , well aware of our enforced celibate status, if ever any eligible females booked either of his two ‘holiday cottages’, Doveton would phone us, well in advance of their arrival, and brief us re their personal details. Late one Friday afternoon he phoned and advised us two pretty young ladies, had suffered a vehicle breakdown, the spare parts necessary to make repairs to their car would only be available, (-ex dealer stock in Umtali), the following Monday and, courtesy of his breakdown truck, both girls were en-route, and would remain for the week-end, in one of his cottages.

Our much rehearsed plan went into action like clockwork. Two empty suitcases were thrown into the boot of Cst T’s car and, leaving ‘wheelie’ (skidding tyre) marks on the Station driveway; we sped off to the village.

On arrival we parked inside the cottage garden , disembarked, stretched, groaned, readjusted the position of our ‘ meat and two vegies’, all as a part of our efforts to convey an impression we’d finalised a long and arduous journey then, as one of the girls appeared at the front door , after we’d exchanged greetings , I mentioned, if they were still in the process of moving out , there was absolutely no need to hurry . She was quickly joined by her friend, and both were visibly dismayed as, maintaining a straight face, I lied “ Mr. Kennedy must have made a mistake, because we booked this cottage weeks ago, he’d confirmed our booking in writing, and we’d paid our deposit”.

Sad faced, they apologised, and as they were about to reenter the cottage to repack their clothes, by pretending to be the gallant gentleman I wasn’t, I insisted they remain in the cottage , and ‘ not to worry, somehow we’d try to make an alternative plan, and pop

around to advise the situation later’ . They were just ‘Soooo’ grateful until, suddenly, our well-rehearsed plan came to naught, when my mentally challenged, back up man and co-conspirator allowed one of his suitcases, which was clearly empty, to fall open.

Because both girls were so relieved, and didn’t display any anger, I swiftly seized the opportunity, and truthfully explained who we were, decided against any attempt at ‘One Liner’humour and, as an alternative, invited them to the Single Quarters for drinks and dinner that evening.

The dinner proved to be a great success, aided by one of our ‘not quite right in the head’ batmen ‘Cisco’ who, uninvited, and as we were finishing dinner and drinks, knocked on the dining room door, then entered, wearing my Blazer, white shirt, Police Issue tie, and Riot Hat with a chicken feather pinned to its side, and with a ‘waiters napkin’ draped across his arm. He stood to attention, cleared his throat several times until he had everyone’s attention, then serenaded both girls, by singing, “I think you’re awfully sweet, why because I looove Youuuuuuuu”, (under our drunken supervision he’d practiced this routine for many months, and as he sung the final word of each line, could make his lower lip protrude like an open drawer, and wobble like a jelly). Both women were star struck and, as he made his exit bowing whilst simultaneously reversing out the room, I excused myself, followed his Cheshire Cat smile into the kitchen and, once out of sight of the cheering audience, and much to the enjoyment of our other two ‘Batmen’, Misheck and Sixpence, gave him a halfhearted flick around the ear for using my Jacket and Uniform without permission.

Having shared the dinner and their company for the entire week-end, we made a tearful farewell (mine), and two days later, via the R.M.S Road Service, we received two crates of beer, delivered by Tom, quite surprisingly unopened, accompanied by a letter, containing lots of Love and Kisses from the girls, which stated “their unplanned week-end as our guests


at Inyanga, had been the highlight of their entire holiday”. After their emotional farewell, myself and Cst T moped around for a couple of days firmly believing we were in love (with the girls, not with each other) and Tom, who joined us for dinner the following evening, confirmed he was firmly in love with the generous share of the two crates of beer he managed to get down his neck.

CHAPTEr SiX:Although there were three small ‘Tourist

Hotels’ in our area, these were located several kilometres from Inyanga Police Station, as such, they could only be visited if the journey coincided with , a bi-monthly , ‘Official Police Inspection’ .

In a short time, as ever spent scheming, and during periods of acute loneliness, by means of combining inherited cunning , and bribing the Government telephonist, Mrs. ‘S’, with a Family size block of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut Chocolate, she became a willing accessory to our next plan and, by reciting verbatim from the ‘type written script’ we’d composed and pinned to the wooden front panel of her telephone exchange , she relayed the occasional bogus ‘emergency’ phone call to the Police Station.

These calls were usually received by either the ‘On Duty African Sergeant Major’, or answered directly by ‘Senior White Constable’ T. Several were a tad exaggerated , or occasionally concocted reports of incidents , such as vehicles stranded in the mud , minor road accidents involving a single vehicle or, advised vague details of domestic disputes suspected to possibly have involved violence , plus any other circumstance three desperate minds could modify , or create , to warrant a Police presence .

Thankfully, there was never any suspicion voiced when, ‘as good lads’, we scrambled ‘unselfishly’ to take turns to volunteer for ‘extra duties ‘ , and it remained unnoticed that , over a six month period , the majority of the reported incidents had, by pure coincidence,

occurred in the near vicinity , or in the general direction of, the ‘Inyanga Mountains’, ‘Rhodes Inyanga’, or ‘Troutbeck-Inn’ hotels. To assist us in our selection of days to visit, some friendly employees of the Hotel’s Management or staff would tip us off whenever any unescorted, eligible females made advance bookings, or arrived unannounced at their hotels.

These evening sojourns, helped keep us almost sane , and provided a few hours much needed relaxation , which always included beers at the Hotel , often a free dinner courtesy of the Management plus, very occasionally, the possibility of a bonus opportunity to chat up, any female guest who, if she showed even the remotest enthusiasm, would be offered a completely free ‘ Police Escorted Package Tour ‘ the following evening, all inclusive of an invite to the Inyanga Single Quarters for dinner and drinks, the promise of a nocturnal ‘Land-Rover adventure through the bush’ and, if she ‘Hit the Jackpot’, the rare privilege of sharing a room overnight with a Real Rhodesian Policeman.

The only props needed for this subterfuge were a Police Raincoat, ( to conceal the ‘ Quick Change’ set of civvy slacks rolled up to knee height ) , a short sleeved shirt, short socks worn under our Police Uniform Stockings , spit polished civvy shoes hidden in the Raincoat pockets, a dab or two of underarm deodorant, Brylcream, a Comb, and ----Sigh !! ---- “No Peace for the Wicked--Bloody Duty Calls again”.

There was never any problem recruiting willing African Police accomplices as, by virtue of the ‘ Rhodesia Tribal Drum System’, they were already well aware of our subterfuge , and most were happy to volunteer ‘for extra duties, ‘cos during the period we spent at the Hotel imbibing, and hunting , they’d take advantage of their break to escape the drudgery of their wives, families, or girlfriends and, without doubt, benefit from multiple invitations from the local nubile ladies to “Jig-Jig” (a.k.a. hide the boerewors) which, they told us, were invariably on offer and usually accepted as fair

trade, for the honour of a Police visit .The ‘ Official Police Incident Reports’

subsequently completed, almost always detailed profuse verbal thanks for all the help and assistance from the “Wonderful B.S.A Police“. (Ashamedly, on a few occasions these were from fictitious or un-named, beneficiaries), most resulted in eventual back-pats from the boss, accompanied by “Well Done Lads, keep up the good work” (which, of course, we modestly accepted). Finally, and for posterity, each incident was recorded in the Station Police Occurrence Book as a ‘No Further Police Action Necessary’ entry.

CHAPTEr SEVEN:It was Easter, a ‘long week-end’ Public

Holiday, which traditionally presented an opportunity for most of the local labour force to embark on a 96 hour alcohol marathon. This Christian festivity included those who worked at Aberfoyle Estates, a large Tea Plantation located on the Eastern border of Inyanga, adjacent to P.E.A (a.k.a. Mozambique), and an approximate four hour drive from our station.

Being particularly demanding manual work at the Tea Estates, according to the business managers, there were not many of the “lazy locals” who chose employment, and the labour force was mostly courtesy of migrant workers from Mocambique, Malawi, and other adjacent countries. To minimize factional violence, and by using an element of common sense, these groups had been segregated into separate compounds, each occupied by Africans who originated from the same villages, tribes ,or countries.

During Easter Saturday afternoon a telephone call made to the station advised there had been multiple murders which had occurred at two of Aberfoyle ‘compounds’. As I’d drawn the ‘short straw’, and was duty-bound to respond to any ‘ week-end call outs’, accompanied by an African Sgt and two Constables, armed with a W.W.2 pistol , two Greener Shotguns, Wooden Batons, Hand-cuffs and Leg irons , with two body boxes

precariously strapped together onto our Landrover roof, we drove and slid through the torrential rain, that had already reduced the red mud ‘roads’ into a quagmire.

After four long hours of ‘cross country’ skidding and sliding, we arrived and reported to the Offices of the Aberfoyle Plantation Manager, who re-directed us to the scene of the carnage. There we found five ‘Hacked and Mangled’ bodies laid out under the trees, plus several groups of injured labourers, from various compounds, many missing miscellaneous portions of their bodies. Most of the injured were swathed in bloodied bandages, mercurochrome, and sticky plasters. A pile of Panga’s, Axes, Knob-Kerries (Wooden Clubs) and other weapons were stacked outside one of their communal huts.

Realizing it was necessary to make haste by the swiftly decomposing ‘ floppies’, we swiftly established once the combatants had become ‘sufficiently lubricated’, several had armed themselves and ‘gone walk about’. At some point en-route to wherever, they’d crossed paths with other nocturnal wanderers, and a series of battles had raged. In traditional Afro style they were, relatively unconcerned about the deaths or injuries ,both inflicted and received but , being covered point-blank by two shotguns, and having been advised by the Sergeant “I was the official representative of ‘King Georgi “ , they showed ‘true repentance and apologised in unison “ Haau!-Sorry Ngosi “. This response I was already quite familiar with, ‘cos it was regularly repeated and ‘passed down the line’ , by most earlier arrestees , who had explained to their friends, “ it could be used as a panacea , if said politely to the White ‘Marungu’ and, would often be accepted as an excuse and forgiveness for any criminal behaviour, or crime committed” .

Three of the main aggressors admitted, with what appeared to be considerable pride, responsibility for murdering some of the deceased (there was some dispute about the exact numbers dispatched). They identified the weapons they’d used, their admissions


were enthusiastically substantiated by several ‘witnesses’ (some, I later established, had been miles away when the dirty deeds were committed). None of those injured wished to make any formal complaint of assault. The 3 ‘murderers’ were arrested, cuffed, and they and the bodies were loaded onto and into our Landrover, as well as a further two vehicles loaned by the Tea Estates. My Sergeant, assisted by the Tea Estate ‘Police’, rounded up several additional witnesses, and ensured those who couldn’t initially fit into the three vehicles, were guarded overnight, in make-shift cells.

None of the witnesses appeared reluctant to testify , especially when they learned they would either accompany me in the Landrover, or be collected the following day , would in both cases be driven to the Police Station and , during their stay ‘as our guests’, until all statements were recorded, and a docket completed for court , would be housed in ‘Open’ Police Cells , would continue to receive their full wages from A.T.E , plus free Prisoner’s Rations, and a daily witness allowance ,compliments of ‘King Georgi’, for the entire period they remained ‘as our guests’, until the eventual Court appearance.

There was almost a holiday atmosphere as we crammed witnesses and murderers into the Landover and, on several occasions, during

the return journey to Inyanga, I had to order them to stop singing, and order them to forewarn us if they felt they were about to vomit, needed to ‘park a pint’ (have a Pee) or ‘strangle a darkie’ (have a Poo). When the case eventually went to court the Magistrate concluded ,at the time the crimes were committed , virtually everyone, witnesses, victims and accused’s , were quite obviously totally drunk, most of their testimonies were judged to be either false or seriously inaccurate , no one could agree who had struck the first blows and, because all three aggressors bore numerous injuries from the fracas, and were possibly acting in defense at the time the fatal blows were struck, charges were dropped or reduced.

TO BE CONTINUED....

Hello Barry,

I don’t really know if this suggested little item has any merit but I know previous editors have included amongst the articles and jokes small items that have some universal appeal, words of wisdom, etc.

Sadly my eldest son died suddenly in Hout Bay earlier this year (heart attack) but the month before he died he posted the remarkably prescient snippet below on his face book page...

I should add that we used this at his remembrance service and many people who were there or have heard about it since have commented on it and said it resonated with them.

I am certain that he did not originate this and it may be quite well known but none of us had come across it before. If you have a small space for the four lines somewhere between articles that needs to be filled it might be helpful?

Best Wishes,

Malcolm Wiltshire (5268)

Paddy died. His will provided £40,000 for an elaborate funeral.

As the last guests departed the affair, his wife Colleen turned to her oldest and

dearest friend. “Ah well, Paddy would be pleased”, she

said.

“You’re right,” replied Mary, who lowered her voice and leaned in close.

“So go on, how much did this really cost?” “All of it ,” said Colleen. “Forty thousand.”

“Aw No!” Mary exclaimed, “I mean, it was very grand, but £40,000?!!!”

Colleen answered, “The funeral was £6,500. I donated £500 to church. The whisky, wine

and snacks were another £500. The rest went for the Memorial Stone.”

Mary computed quickly.

“For the love of God Colleen, £32,500 for a Memorial Stone?

How big is it?”“8 carats.”

A LETTER FROM MALCOLM

Life is Short. Time is fast.

No Replay, no rewind.So enjoy every moment

As it comes.

Malcolm Wiltshire


And it was that in the land of MATPROV there dwelt one MAC who was known as PATUIC.

And MAC spake unto his Lord saying, “Lo, the time hath come that I may depart this work. I beseech thee, send another into my place”

So his Lord consulted with his brothers, who were great in the land, and who wore the clanking sword and the tinkling spur and whose brows were bound with gold.

And many wineskins were emptied by the great ones for such is their custom and they spake one to another saying “Who shall inherit the title of PATUIC?” And they cast lots, for it was not their custom to make decisions, and the name of OW EN was cast.

And in the fullness of time did OW EN come into his place, and he calleth his servants saying “Gird up thy loins and let us tally the weapons and the arrows that flieth from them, for perchance rust and moth hath corrupted them and haply thieves have brake in and stolen them”

So OW EN and his servants took the tallies and the tablets wherein much should be written, and was the tally taken – and lo, there was one less and did this weapon bear the mystic number 7137

And OW EN searched the tablets and the

storerooms, but the weapon was not.

So OW EN journeyed unto PETER, that humble man who dwelt in the House of Weapons and laboured that Lord HOLLI might be glorified, and OW EN spake unto PETER and saith, “I pray thee, give unto me the weapon of the number 7137”.

And PETER searched and saith, “Verily the weapon is not here. This weapon was in the charge of MAC and is now thine. For both he and thee hast control over these weapons, and giveth them unto them that pleaseth three, even as thou wisheth, for I but labour to make them whole to glorify the Lord HOLLI”.

And OW EN saith “The weapon is not. I have searched in the high and the low places, but found it not”. And PETER and OW EN lamented and tore their clothes and beat their breasts saying “Woe is us, we are undone – for if the weapon is not, then shall our necks be bared to the sword.”

Then saith OW EN “I will send heralds into the uttermost parts of the land which is called MATPROV, and will command all Memberics to look unto their weapons that 7137 may be discovered. And I will send my servants each one into those places close by that they also may seek”.

And so it was done, and did the servants look, yet the weapon was not.

By Peter South

FN RIFLE 7137

Again and again did OW EN and PETER confer, and did they cause all manner of search to be made, and the moon waxed and waned many times, yet the weapon was not.

And PETER and OW EN called upon the gods to curse the name of MAC for the tablets showed not whence 7137 was.

So it came to pass that OW EN saith to PETER,”The weapon is not. Now will I go unto my Lord the great DON, and he will sign the tablets for thy death and the death of MAC and like even mine also”.

So OW EN went to the Lord DON and told him what had transpired. And the Lord DON waxed wroth, and his face turneth like unto the glowing fire, and did he fall upon the ground, and did foam cometh from his mouth, so great was his wrath.

And he shouted, saying “Bringeth to me my sword, for I am of the mighty that weareth the clanking sword and the tinkling spur – and I charge thee straitly that shouldst not the weapon be found before many days have passed, then shall the necks of PETER and MAC be under the sword. And OW EN fled from the presence of the Lord DON.

And there came to PETER on the sixth day of the week, one of the tribe of Ham, yea even DUBE.

And DUBE saith unto PETER, that humble man, “Behold here is my weapon which I

keepeth by me at the place where I labour, even SOURS TOWN. I have been to the fight and I know that thou requirest it, that thou mayest look into its heart.

And PETER looked and, and lo the weapon bore the mystic number 7137.

And PETER grew faint and saith, “How camest thou by this, and why hast thou kept it, for it shouldst dwell with others in this place”.

And DUBE answered and saith, “Lord I have had this for six moons, and it was given to me by one of the tribe of PEE AR, and he saith naught to me that it should dwelleth with thee. I have been to the fight many times and therefore it stayeth with me.

So it came to pass that OW EN and PETER rejoiced exceeding and each saith one to the other, “Rejoice with me, for I have found the piece that was lost”. §

And OW EN went up unto the place wherein the Lord DON dwelt and told him the glad tidings.

And the Lord DON rejoiced and consumed much wine as is the custom of the great ones, and communed with himself saying, ”Verily shall my lips be sealed concerning all that has transpired for if my brothers, the other great ones, shouldst hear of it, then too shall I be put to the sword”.

§ Luke, Chapter 15, Verse 9

Characters in order of appearance:MAC Noel Mackenzie (outgoing i/c PATU training Mat Prov)OW EN Dave Owen (incoming i/c PATU training Mat Prov)PETER Peter South (Armourer Mat Prov)LORD HOLLI Don Hollingworth (S.O. Armaments)LORD DON Don Rowland (Supt PR & S Mat Prov)DUBE Constable Dube (BSAP Sauerstown and PATU)

Provincial ArmourerB.S.A. PoliceBulawayo

Member in ChargePATU TrainingMatabeleland Province7374

Ref: Rifle FN 7137


5308 S/O Malcolm Bard, a very keen trials rider, wrote of the machine in 1959: “Starting is easier than the standard machine which is notoriously bad, but the valve lifter should be used and the manual ignition control retarded halfway, or the engine kicks back hard and painfully. The handlebars are very wide and the advantage of this is doubtful. They have been developed for racing and give improved leverage but for Police purposes make the riding position uncomfortable on long journeys and rather sloppy in appearance.

It is a 500 c.c. single which is basically a scrambles machine, but with modifications which have converted it from a very hot racer into a fairly docile all-rounder. The frame is stronger, having been designed to take far greater shock and vibration. The suspension is much firmer giving a harder ride but greater ability to absorb uneven surfaces at speed. With the harder suspension it is exceedingly difficult to bottom the rear springing, and African Police pillion passengers have already confirmed the improvement in comfort.

The front wheel is slightly bigger than stan¬dard, with a narrower tyre which gives better steering in mud. A wider four inch tyre is fitted to the rear wheel, the spokes of which are of heavy gauge. Both tyres are of Trials Universal type, which are the regulation pattern for reliability trials in most countries. They have a block tread which gives very good traction on all soft surfaces, particularly mud. The engine is a de-tuned racing type. The cooling fins are all of light alloy and are larger than standard, giving better cooling under load. To de-tune the engine the compression has been lowered by the addition of a plate at the base of the cylinder. The lowering of compression makes an engine far more flexible and easy to manage; also it can he used with standard petrol.

Thus we have a very efficient piece of machinery to play with; but even though it is just about the best money can buy, it is far from foolproof and cannot drive itself, so its performance depends to a large extent on the rider. A good rider will be able to take it more or less anywhere under the most horrible conditions—but a bad one will bend it just the same.”

It is of interest that all the B.S.A. Police scramblers were hand assembled in the competitions department of Associated Motor Cycle works in Plumstead, London, who manufactured Matchless and A.J.S. motorcycles.

In 1959 Sergeant Gerry Winchcombe who has recently returned from leave in England tells us that while over there he took the opportunity of paying a visit in June to the Associated Motor Cycle factory at Plumstead, Loudon. He was made most welcome by the Director in charge of Publicity Mr. J. M. West O.B.E. Mr. West expressed interest in the articles in the series “Don’t Drop It” appearing in “The Outpost”, one of which was open on his desk at the time. Sergeant Winchcombe was shown the organisation of the works and the distribution machinery. Taken on a tour of the factory, Sergeant Winchcombe was introduced to Freddie Neil a pre-war trials rider of great repute, now in charge of the Competition Department, where trials machines are prepared. It was in this department that a recent batch of Matchless Scrambler machines ordered by the British South Africa Police for use at the more rugged district stations was prepared. These machines are truly competition models, but with modifications ordered by the B.S.A. Police. Mr. Neill follows the fortunes of the machines prepared by his department with great interest and mentioned to Sergeant Winchcombe that that in¬terest includes the

By Malcolm Bard

MATCHLESS SCRAMBLER 1962 - 1980

machines specially prepared for this Force.In the course or his tour Sergeant

Winchcombe was able to watch a Matchless machine assembled from scratch to completion. He was very impressed by the production procedure which is most definitely not on mass production lines. Many of the employees are

real craftsmen of the old school who may turn from the manufacture of, say, a batch of 25 Matchless pistons to the manufacture of a small -batch of some completely different component for the A.J.S.

Sergeant Winchcombe’s verdict; “The most interesting and instructive day of my leave”.

The much maligned Matchless 500cc single cylinder “Scrambler” in the window of Rhodesia House, Strand, London.


During my service which was from 1957 until 1977, I experienced a few incidents which scared me, saddened me and some, which other people thought were hilarious.

During the 1960s I was stationed at the Bulawayo Traffic Branch, alongside some members who became life long friends. One was Stan McMillan, who had been in the Cadets with me and who, along with Mike Horner, spent a period of leave with me. We drove to Durban, three of us, in my then new Mini 850 - quite unthinkable these days!

ON CALLI was crewed with Stan McMillan one day,

we were in an Austin Westminster when we received a radio call to the effect that a CMED recovery vehicle had been dispatched to Gwelo, but it was now no longer required in Gwelo, and, would we catch up with this vehicle and send it back to Bulawayo. The vehicle had left CMED, - ‘’just a few minutes ago’’. Stan was driving, we went out on the Gwelo Road, past the Cement factory, past Eric Glasby’s garage, beyond the turnoff to Llewellyn Barracks, no sign of the vehicle. .We then received a call, which was to the effect that there was a serious/

fatal accident on the Vic Falls Road, since we were at that time the Duty Traffic car, we scrubbed the CMED chase, turned round to return to Bulawayo. Stan was driving , we were really out of our area, so to speak and would take a bit of time to reach the reported accident.At around 75-80 MPH we approached Glasby’s Garage, the road was quiet but a car exited the garage and approached the road - it stopped (it was a Hillman) and I could see the driver was a European female. I saw her look to her left, towards Bulawayo and then turn and look towards us, maybe at, +-100 yds, I could see her quite clearly , - she drove out across the road in front of us!

Clearly we were going to collide with the Hillman, Stan didn’t apply the brakes, I don’t think he even took his foot of the accelerator, the Hillman slid past/under the offside wing/headlight and we swept past. I was rigid, I looked across at Stan who was as white as chalk and got the impression he was holding his breath - nothing was said for several seconds - we continued on our way.. Later, Stan said he thought we had missed her rear bumper by, maybe, three inches. if, we had stopped and confronted her, I think we would have beaten her to death!

The Police at Bembesi stopped and redirected the CMED vehicle.

Amen.

The young man mentioned in the following was, Bruce Yates, although at the time I met him I did not know that. With the help of Bob Rankin (UK) and Dave Ward (in Canada) I have identified him. Like myself, Dave W, remembers him well and like myself was struck

by how young he was. Dave went to his funeral and met his mother. I mentioned in a previous email that some things I experienced saddened me, this still does.

‘’During the 1970s I was sent down to the, ‘’Lion & Elephant Hotel’’, situated where the

By Dave Owen

MORE... By Dave Owen

REMINISCENCES OF A TRAFFIC POLICEMAN road from Beit Bridge to Fort Victoria crosses the Bubye River. I was to be the M.i/c for a month, of a unit of GSU. Based near the, ‘’Lion & Elephant’’ was a detachment of GSU, (General Service Unit).

Their job was to clear the line of rail (B/Bridge to Fort Vic) each morning at first light, looking for any signs of interference or for signs of explosives under the ballast.

I have never really figured out why some members if this unit were not in the Army and others in the regular Police Reserve? There was a teacher and, a technician from the the PTC? There were two Portuguese nationals, it was reported that they did not know how to use a toilet? - they stood over it, with predicable results. I was assured they had been, ‘’disciplined and re-educated’’ by some members and I need not speak to them. Someone once described the GSU personnel as, (‘’the things you found when you lifted large rocks,’’ little green things’’ that scuttled about trying to hide!’’).

The day started with coffee or tea, and then GSU personnel were trucked down to sections of railway line that they then cleared. We arose in the dark but line clearing was at first light. After clearing the line and return to camp, breakfast was supplied

During the time I was with the GSU no train ever came from the South travelling North. The rail lines were Red with rust! The only train we saw was a train that had stopped to the North of our position. Smoke was reported to be pouring from the Loco! I took a group of the brighter men to investigate. We found the train; smoke was coming from one of the electric traction motors.

I directed my group to do a clearance patrol around the area just in case the Loco/smoke had attracted the attention of gooks. I spoke with the driver, who reported the motor had overheated, he was cooling it by blowing air onto it - the Loco was equipped with a powerful blower and the air could be directed onto the traction motors. He was armed with a .303 rifle - that was IT. He was alone and in charge of

equipment worth - well, A LOT.!!After a time he said he would try to reach

the top of the gradient which had contributed to the overheating. If he could drag the train to the top, he would be able freewheel down into Beit Bridge. The train got to the top and disappeared south, it was the only rail traffic we saw during my stint.

I am not sure if the cooks were regular Police Reserve or came with the GSU detachment, but whoever, they did a good job. Shortly after I arrived a cook asked me if we could have more eggs. Each man was supposed to have an egg a day. Rations in the main came from Fort Vic, weekly I think from memory. They would send one egg for each man. The trouble was, that in the loading, during the journey down on the back of an Isuzu truck and unloading, eggs were broken.

I contacted Q. Rep. Ft. Vic, I was told, - that in the past they had sent down plenty of eggs, knowing that accidents could happen, but - they had discovered that previous Mi/c/s had ‘’sold’’ the surplus eggs to the,’’ Lion & Elephant’’, to offset his/their bar bill.

Despite the reputation of the BSAP, -we did have some real Skates in our ranks.

During the month I was there I had to travel to Beit Bridge on occasion, I think one reason was to return the six cylinder Land Rover I had, in exchange for a regular one. We had received really Urgent radios regarding the return of this vehicle. Quite why it was so urgent I never discovered.

On one trip back from the Bridge in a door-less Land Rover, I was armed with an Uzi. I possibly had my issue FN but being alone that would be useless if I was to drive and try to return some sort of fire. I had cocked the Uzi when I turned off the B/Bridge/Bulawayo Road onto the Fort Vic Road and left it on the passenger seat pointing out through the open doorway. I had driven for some time when the Uzi fired - one round?

I stopped and examined the weapon, I found a, ‘’BSAP Number’’ had been stamped into the body and the impressions of this stamping had


produced raised impressions inside the body. When you cocked the weapon the breech block went back and stopped, giving the impression it was cocked, but actually it was stopped by these stampings. Vibrations, time and the return spring pressure on the breech block eventually released it and, it fired - scared the hell out of me at the time. I reported this happening to Pete South, our Mat. Armourer - he said it was Salisbury’s fault!

On a return trip from the Bridge one day I came across a Police Land Rover stationary in a lay- by. I stopped, a young P/O was with the vehicle on his own. I asked what the problem was; he said the vehicle had, ‘’stalled’’. The road was straight and level and I could not see how

the vehicle could have, ‘’stalled’. I checked the fuel gauge, it indicated ‘’E’’. (Not, as Dirk Botha used to say, for, ‘Enough’). This Land Rover was equipped with dual fuel tanks and when I switched to the other tank, the gauge indicated, ‘’Full’’. This young P/O did not know about the dual tanks.

He went on his way. At the time I was struck by how young he was, he would have looked quite at home in a school blazer. After I returned to Bulawayo, I heard he had been killed in an ambush. He was so young and inexperienced; I was immensely saddened by the news of his death and still am. I have since discovered he was, Bruce Yates. R.I.P.

I was appointed PATU Insp. for Matabeleland. I don’t know why because I knew bugger all about training PATU. But that was the BSAP.

I arrived at the Bulawayo Drill Hall one day, our officer. John Duguid was my 2 I/C, and he greeted me with, ‘There’s ’’Good News and Bad News!’’ - What’s the Bad News I asked? They are sending you to Mt. Darwin for a month, so you can see the conditions our Mat. PATU sticks have to put up with when they arrive at the, ‘’Sharp End’’. I asked - and the Good News? I’M NOT GOING, was the reply followed with a big grin.

I was briefed -: you have to take ALL your provisions with you, there are no catering facilities that can/will cater for you! i.e. 30+ rat packs. This of course was rubbish - you have to wonder.

I arrived at Mt. Darwin; nobody appeared to know who I was and what I was there for. I was given the job of Driver, along with Mike Kettle. Ferrying PATU sticks, BSAP and SAP, out to their patrol areas and later collecting them.

We had new Bedford RM trucks, recently arrived from Port Elizabeth. They had been driven up in the care of a young chap called Miller. Mr. Miller gave me a briefing on these trucks, he had a very poor opinion of the SAP, and so I have to conclude he was from the trucks’ supplier. He explained that the vehicle could not move after start up for some time, this was because the brakes were held OFF by either vacuum or air pressure (can’t remember which). When the pressure/vacuum was achieved, the brakes released, the vehicle could move. He told me that, no matter how often he told the SAP drivers this fact; they still persisted in starting up, revving like hell and trying to drive away. He also explained that the pressure/vacuum tanks should to be drained each morning as water collected in them.’’ (Which makes me think it was air pressure)’’

Vehicles moving through that countryside were really mine sweepers and I eventually found a mine which, took off the front nearside wheel, broke my rifle into pieces, ruined my hearing, left ear, and I have had back trouble ever since. Nothing new in this, as many before

By Dave Owen

AND THIS ONE!…

me and after had the same experience. When the mine went off, a PATU stick from

Mat. was in the area led by the well-known personality and Bizley shot, John Muldoon. John knew what I was doing, he apparently came up on the radio and said, ‘’ That’s ‘’Brave Dave’’ gone!’’

A *Doctor, a youngster, who I knew from the Mpilo Hospital in Bulawayo, was choppered in, he looked after an SAP member who had broken his ankle after jumping off the truck and another who had been sitting with his rifle between his legs and near his face, he almost lost his nose!

Back in Bulawayo, a specialist told me the, ‘’*Doctor’’ should have treated my ear/s, which could possibly have saved my hearing, but, weeks later this was too late.

Another job I was given at Mt. Darwin was to escort a chap from SB, out into the bush, where he would, ‘’bury’’ some bodies, male and female that had been killed whilst running with terrs. They were all youngsters. He had a spade and a jerrycan of petrol! That was it. A scratch stick was gathered together and we drove out of Mt. Darwin for a short distance and then turned off the main road and into the bush for a short distance. The SB chap indicated an area, we did a 360 clearance patrol and he started digging. Our job was to guard him, not dig.It was ludicrous, after very short time he stopped, the earth was like rock. He then gathered the

corpses together, and poured the contents of the jerrycan over and around them. I watched.

He took out some matches and standing next to the bodies, struck a match!! Of course there was a huge WHUMP, the vapour ignited, he was enveloped in flame and jumped around like a mad puppet - still have to laugh, what an idiot! Of course the fire did very little to the bodies and so we helped him throw a shallow covering of earth over them and left.

Going back to the broken rifle, Mat. Armoury contacted me and had a stiff moan about bits that were apparently missing. When the FN broke in half, springs and other bits flew all over the wrecked cab. I had gathered as many as I could. I was led to believe they had very few spares?

Later, back in Salisbury on my way to Bulawayo, I saw Dave Perkins who told me I had been very lucky, re the mine. He said the mine protection on the RM trucks was really basic and was being improved all the time.

In the end there was nothing special about PATU operating in Mashonaland, I think the Mats sticks were in a way, more independent. In every respect Mashonaland had more of everything, I mentioned this xxxxxxxxxx? Who said, ‘’Dave, you are TOO far out of town!’’


Dick Ismonger, a staunch member of the Kwa-Zulu Natal Association for

many years and a great supporter of station functions here in Natal. Thank

you Dick.

Dick and African Constable in early days with a trusty Landrover 1966.

District patrol at Kraal BSAP 1966.

And here, with a BMC Mini Moke, a great town run-about but absolutley unsuitable for district work.

LAW Of mECHANiCAL rEPAirAfter your hands become coated with grease, your nose will begin to itch and you’ll have to pee.

LAW Of grAViTyAny tool, nut, bolt, screw, when dropped, will roll to the least accessible place in the universe.

LAW Of PrObAbiLiTyThe probability of being watched is directly proportional to the stupidity of your act.

LAW Of rANdOm NUmbErSIf you dial a wrong number, you never get a busy signal; someone always answers.

VAriATiON LAWIf you change lines (or traffic lanes), the one you were in will always move faster than the one you are in now.

LAW Of THE bATHWhen the body is fully immersed in water, the telephone rings.

LAW Of CLOSE ENCOUNTErSThe probability of meeting someone you know INCREASES dramatically when you are with someone you don’t want to be seen with.

LAW Of THE rESULTWhen you try to prove to someone that a machine won’t work, IT WILL!!!

LAW Of biOmECHANiCSThe severity of the itch is inversely proportional to the reach.

LAW Of THE THEATEr & HOCKEy ArENAAt any event, the people whose seats are furthest from the aisle, always arrive last. They are the ones who will leave their seats several times to go for food, beer, or the toilet and who

leave early before the end of the performance or the game is over. The folks in the aisle seats come early, never move once, have long gangly legs or big bellies and stay to the bitter end of the performance. The aisle people also are very surly folk.

THE COffEE LAWAs soon as you sit down to a cup of hot coffee, your boss will ask you to do something which will last until the coffee is cold.

mUrPHy’S LAW Of LOCKErSIf there are only 2 people in a locker room, they will have adjacent lockers.

LAW Of PHySiCAL SUrfACESThe chances of an open-faced jelly sandwich landing face down on a floor, are directly correlated to the newness and cost of the carpet or rug.

LAW Of LOgiCAL ArgUmENTAnything is possible IF you don’t know what you are talking about.

brOWN’S LAW Of PHySiCAL APPEArANCEIf the clothes fit, they’re ugly.

OLiVEr’S LAW Of PUbLiC SPEAKiNgA CLOSED MOUTH GATHERS NO FEET!!!

WiLSON’S LAW Of COmmErCiAL mArKETiNg STrATEgyAs soon as you find a product that you really like, they will stop making it, OR the store will stop selling it!!

dOCTOrS’ LAWIf you don’t feel well, make an appointment to go to the doctor, by the time you get there you’ll feel better. But don’t make an appointment, and you’ll stay sick.

NATURAL LAWS...


Peter passed away in Durban on 29th November 2019 after a short but painful fight with cancer.

Pete served from 10th January 1967 until 1st May 1980 mostly within the CID and Special Branch Departments,

retiring as a Detective Inspector on 1st May 1980. He has lived most of his civilian life in Natal and has been a staunch member of the Kwa-Zulu Natal Association for many a year. Whenever possible Peter would attend the annual general meeting, Station functions and the Regimental luncheon, bringing to those

events his humour and zest for life.He is survived by his daughter and son.

OBITUARY7677 PETEr fAirHUrST dEWE

Pete Dewe, Peter Biddulph and Winston Hart.


The Kwa-Zulu Natal Branch of the Association supports the Transvaal Branch whole-heartedly in this worthy initiative and has previously made donations in this regard.

dATE ArEA TimE PLACE fUNCTiON

15 Jan Durban North 11h00 Europa Coffee

morning

23 Feb Durban South 11h00 Mills Bomb MOTH

Shellhole Braai

18 Mar Durban North 11h00 Wings Club Coffee

Morning

19 April Durban West 11h30 Augusta Estate Braai

20 May Durban North 11h00 Europa Coffee

Morning

24 May South Coast 11h00 MOTH Shellhole Lunch

15 July Durban North 11h00 Wings Club Coffee

Morning

19 July Inchanga Day 11h00 Inchanga Village Braai

16 Aug Durban South 11h00 Mills Bomb MOTH

Shellhole Braai

16 Sept Durban North 11h00 Europa Coffee

morning

24 Sept Annual Lunch 12h00 Le Domaine

Restaurant Annual Lunch

18 Oct Durban West 11h30 Augusta Estate Braai

18 Nov Durban North 11h00 Wings Club Coffee

morning

28 Nov South Coast 11h00 MOTH Shellhole Lunch

PROPOSED SOCIAL CALENDAR 2020



iNCOrPOrATiNg:

■ DEFENSIVE DRIVING

■ HANDLING EMERGENCIES

■ SKID PREVENTION/CONTROL

■ ANTI HIJACK MEASURES

■ GENERAL MOTORING SAFETY

■ DRIVING FOR ECONOMY

■ HOW TO TUTOR A LEARNER

A COMPREHENSIVE MOTORING MANUAL FOR ALL MOTORISTS.

HigHLy rECOmmENdEd by the director: road Traffic inspectorate, whose endorsement appears on the back cover.

This book is for every motorist, whether they drive a 2 wheeler, an 18 wheeler or anything in between. It is for both novices and “old hands”.

Even very experienced drivers can learn something new from it – or at least refresh their memories. The chapters on Handling Emergencies (which covers many different emergencies), Anti

Hijack measures & General Motoring Safety could well save lives.You owe it to yourself and your loved ones to get every driver in the family not living in the same

household their own copy to read and study. It is a reference book which should be read cover to cover and re-read and referred to from time to time.

The author holds four Advanced Motoring certificates, 50+ years of driving experience, four years of attending and investigating the causes of accidents, plus over a decade of experience in training

others to advanced level. Research has been ongoing for more than 20 years.

In S.A. it is available direct from the author on e-mail: [email protected] for R185 which includes postage & packing (this avoids the unfavourable exchange rate & customs duty) – or internationally from

www.Amazon.com or www.Barnes&Noble.com and other online sites.Go to www.Bookfinder4u.com & enter the book title to get a full list of sites with comparative prices.

http://www.dontdieontheroad.com gives more info on the contents of the book and links to buy the book online.

Standing: Jimmy Stewart, Bridgette Harker, Garth Hatton, John Miller, Jock Knoetze, Tony DewhurstSeated: Felicity McCauley and Patricia Manning, Jacqui Short and Cindy Dewhurst

Standing: Courtney Walton, Noelle Hill, Hillary and Butch Van Horstan, Ken Joubert and John HaswellSeated: Barbara Hiscox, Joy Davies, May Messina, Barry Woan, Sakkie McKay

KWA-ZULU NATAL ANNUAL LUNCHEON 24 September 2019

Standing: Maureen McLeman and Keith Douche and Laurette HardieSeated: Muriel Parker, Wendy and Tony Udal, Jac Parker, Dick Isemonger

Standing: Rob Bristow, Pete Gatland, Mike Wilshire, John Haswell, Derek KerrSeated: Linda Wilson, Megan Kerr, Yvonne Haswell

KWA-ZULU NATAL ANNUAL LUNCHEON 24 September 2019

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THE KWA-ZULU NATAL OUTP ST - BSAP · [email protected] P. O. Box 804, Linkhills 3653 031 762...

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