Moving Moments
Chapter 7
Karryings on in Kitwe
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| Al, Mom, Rose, Rob in the garden at 668n Rodean Drive All dressed up to return to Falcon |
For the six years that I was at Falcon, I lived a
dual life. There was my life at boarding school which was as described in the
previous chapter. At Falcon one had to work hard, keep one’s head down and stay
out of trouble. Then there was my life during the school holidays, which were
brief but treasured times. We would sit at school and dream of our few weeks of
freedom, every three to four months, which we would look forward to with great
anticipation.
Of course Mom and Dad no doubt looked forward to
having us home too, so we were allowed more freedom than we probably should
have been. Even July our house servant would be delighted to see “Baas Alan and
Baas Robbie”. He would fuss around and offer us slap up breakfasts when we
deigned to make an appearance in the mornings. It was always nice to be back
together as family again.
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| Dad's new job involved helping the Zambian mines to go metric |
We were able to enjoy our lovely new home at 668
Rodean Drive. Al and I discovered a little muddy stream in the dambo behind our
house, filled with frogs. We would make depth charges, using a type of fire
cracker called a flash bomb. Once a flash bomb was lit it couldn’t be put out.
So we would pack mud around flash bombs, light them and then drop them in the
water where we suspected a frog presence. There would be a gratifying “Whump!!”
a surge of water and then we would wait for frogs to float up on their backs.
More about these frogs later.
We had always wanted a pool and had still not
managed to reach that status in life. We could now claim extra leverage as we were
having to suffer at Falcon and argued that we deserved a pool at home “like all
our other friends”. Eventually Dad succumbed to the whining and he decided to
install an in ground pool with a plastic lining. He made us promise that we
would maintain it and keep it clean. No problem, said we smugly. He hired some
labor who dutifully dug the hole. Next in were the metal sheets which formed the
outside perimeter and finally the plastic lining. Dad had built a little pump
house and we were off to the races – it was time for the big fill up. Well for
the first few days everything was great, but relatively soon it became clear
that we had a leak. This was a horrifying prospect as how do you find a leak in
a plastic lined pool? Suffice to say that we decided that it had to be in the
stitching in the plastic lining. It became necessary to apply glue to the stitching,
underwater. One would need special skill for that wouldn’t one? Not if you have
Scottish blood and two sons who had nagged you into doing something you didn’t
want to do in the first place. So Al and I got the job of spending hours on end
diving underwater with goggles on and a tub of glue and meticulously covering
every stitch on the lining. That took the edge off the enjoyment of the pool,
but it was to be a source of, great fun and games once we eliminated the leak,
which we eventually did by sheer volume of glue on the seams.
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| Rob and Al Cheap labor to fix pool leaks |
When one has a pool one always has friends who will
come over uninvited and free-load in the pool. What we found was that the frogs
were our best customers in this regard, especially the bull frogs. They would
come and plop into the pool at night and then set up a raucous cacophony as
they competed for female company for miles around. Eventually, much against the
grain of course, Al and I would get out the pellet gun and a flash light. One
of us would shine the light on our victim and blind him and the other would pot
him with the pellet gun in the back of the head, execution style. We would
carry out a string of such executions and then use the pool net to scoop them
out and toss them back into the dambo from whence they’d come. Unfortunately
the dambo had an endless supply of bull frogs so we never quite got on top of
the bull frog problem.
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| Al got interested in music again at 668 Rodean Drive |
Fairly early in our time in Kitwe I came across Phil
Hodgson. It turned out that he was at Falcon too, but in Tredgold House, so our
paths never really crossed at school, but we connected at home. Phil was a year
older than me. He was a large, awkward, gentle giant and I was more or less a
puny little pipsqueak, so we made a good team. He had a younger brother Mark,
who also eventually went to Falcon too and became part of our gang over time. Phil
and I became inseparable and there was hardly a day that went by in the
holidays that we weren’t hanging out together.
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| Cheryl with dog Candy, |
One evening when I was 14 my folks had a party at
home. They were inviting some families over who we hadn’t got to know yet. I
was expected to put in an appearance. I’m not sure where Al was. I hung out in
my room for a while, plucking up the courage to go and be sociable. I eventually
bounded up the stairs in my bell bottom trousers and purple shiny shirt
complete with large winged collar, looking for all the world like a flower
power child. The only thing I lacked was long hair, but I was doing my best. As
I entered the room I noticed a young girl who quickly got my attention. I think
she was wearing one of those bloomer type dresses which made girls look
pregnant but for some reason were very fashionable at the time. The girl was
introduced as Cheryl, thirteen years old and the daughter of Daphne and Toby
Tobin. She was at school in Lusaka at the Convent and back home for the
holidays. There was something about Cheryl that caught my attention. She would
become part of the group of young people, home for the holidays that would hang
out together over the years. I had my eye on her from then on, but it would
take me seven years before I plucked up the courage to make a move on her and
help her to see that what she needed most in life was me. There was a lot of
water had to go under the bridge before that was to happen.
In those days one could drive a small motorbike at
the age of 15 in Zambia. There was a 50cc model called a Mobylette. Phil and I
both got one and Al got a 65cc Honda. We would zoom all over town making our
social rounds. This might include playing squash or tennis in the mornings and
then in the afternoons we would go round and visit wherever we felt the action
was at other young folk’s homes. We’d stop long enough to have a couple of
smokes, listen to some music and catch up on the gossip. On the weekends there
were normally “sessions” at a local club where a live band would play music. We
would hang out in agonies of uncertainty waiting to see which girls turned up
and then trying to figure out who was taken and who wasn’t. Inevitably there
were never enough girls to go around. Young guys like us would have no option
but to sit around and drink and it wasn’t uncommon for fights to break out.
Nevertheless this was the highlight of everyone’s social life for the week.
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| Artist's impression of #668 Rodean Drive. Note the round pool, the object of our skiing attempts. |
One of the things we would do when circumstances
were right, was to go water skiing occasionally at a local dam. We all achieved
a certain level of skill but it was never a big thing for us. One time Al,
Phil, Mark and I were hanging out at our house around the pool, when we hit on
the idea of waterskiing in our pool using one of our Mobylettes to provide the
power. So we went and found a couple of planks in the garage, made some foot straps
and then found a piece of rope which we tied to the back of Phil’s Mobylette.
The idea was that we would just ski around and around the pool. The time had come.
We were ready. I was in the water, skis attached and Phil was set to get me up
out of the water with a good strong pull from his motorbike. Phil let out the
throttle, the bike reared up on its back wheel and the next thing it landed in
the pool with a great splash and went straight to the bottom in a sea of
bubbles. After the initial shock of seeing Phil’s bike at the bottom of the
pool, we sprang into action. We got the bike out of the water and dried off and
it started just fine. Our big problem was that the pool now had a thick oil
slick floating on the top. We knew this wouldn’t impress Dad, so we went to
work with detergent, doing an oil spill cleanup. We poured in tons of detergent
and then swished it around until all evidence of oil was gone. Fortunately Mom
must have been out somewhere so we were safe on that front. We swore July to
secrecy and waited for Dad to get home and see if he noticed anything. Fortunately
he never did. We kept that secret from Mom and Dad for many years before we
fessed up about that.
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| July heading out for a date. He was a very snappy dresser |
We were always on the lookout for something fun and
different, and so too were other’s like us. Some of our favorite haunts were both
found on the Mufulira road, about 30 kilometers away. The first was Rodwin’s
Resort which was a smallish dam with a bit of a café restaurant. There were
boats and canoes for rent and the best thing was they had a “foofie slide”. It
took off from a platform on a large anthill on the side of the dam. One would
take off and have an exhilarating ride over the water and eventually one would
drop into the water and swim the pulley back for someone to have the next turn.
The one time two other Falcon guys, who were Al’s age, Peter Elder and Mark
Revill were with us. They decided doing one at a time on the foofie slide was
too tame, so they decided to try doing a double up with Mark holding onto Peter’s
legs. All went well until Peter felt the full weight of Mark’s body on his
hands. He couldn’t sustain his grip and let go almost as soon as they left the
platform. They came down on the sides of the anthill in a heap of bodies and
scraped themselves up rather dramatically as gravity took its course and
carried them to the bottom of the anthill. No one ever tried that idea again.
They also had a little mini zoo at Rodwin’s. Once Kev Cornish and I were
walking by a baboon which was tied to a post with a chain. Suddenly the baboon
lunged at me and grabbed me, knocking me off my feet. I was down on the ground frantically trying to
get away from the baboon and his big teeth, but the baboon had a firm grip on
my foot. Kev, who has always been the tough guy, grabbed me under the armpits
and pulled me out of range of the baboon and his chain. I’ve always been a bit
cautious with baboons ever since that time. Maybe I’d made the mistake of
looking him in the eye and he didn’t like my attitude or I wasn’t showing him the
respect he felt he deserved.
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| August 2014 view of the Kafue Rapids Dry season - so the river is down |
The other place we visited quite often on the
Mufulira road were the Kafue Rapids. The Kafue was quite a major river in the
area, especially in the wet season. We had found a spot which was where the
river rounded a bend and then proceeded to drop down through some pretty wild
rapids. We would jump into the river above the rapids and then let the current
take us down through some of the rapids and then exit before they got too wild.
It was a lot of fun, but of course the element of risk made it more so. I have
an idea that Mark Hodgson got carried all the way down one time and emerged
alive, but that was probably the grace of God more than anything that spared
him. I had a pathological fear of crocodiles, but we reasoned that “crocs don’t
live near rapids” so we never gave them a thought.
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| Lower end of the Rapids We avoided this end if we could |
Nev was in Johannesburg and had married Maureen in
December 1964. He was pursuing his studies vigorously, so we never saw him in
Zambia in those days. He had made the change to civil engineering, was winning
some nice scholarships and by the end of October 1967, Janine their eldest was
born, making me an uncle by age 15, and he was about to embark on his
engineering career with Grinakers.
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| Rose, was beginning to engage in mission work in the Kitwe area |
Rose, though had returned from UK having
completed her nursing training. She had spent some time in Johannesburg doing
her midwifery training and then had returned to live with us at 668 Rodean
Drive and was nursing at Wusikili, the large African hospital in the township
in Kitwe. Rose had been remarkably consistent with her religious transformation
and was actively talking about becoming a missionary. She was actively taking
lessons in Bemba, the predominant local language. She didn’t attend the
Anglican church, which was our traditional church. She was now mixed up with a
bunch of Brethren, who all seemed to be cut out of the same extremist cloth. Rose
used to love being with her two “little brothers” and would often slip us some
extra pocket money. She never lost an opportunity to encourage us to go to
church with her which we steadfastly resisted. She did say to me on more than
one occasion, “Rob, when you are ready to go to church and take God seriously,
make sure you go to a church that preaches the gospel”. I always shrugged those
comments off, but never forgot them.
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| Cheryl at age 14. She hasn't changed a bit |
Sport was always quite a big part of our time in
Kitwe. Squash and tennis were probably our staples. Mom had a very good friend
Margo Oosthuizen who had her own tennis court in her garden. We would go and
play there. Janet Yates, another friend of Mom’s had two sons Stuart and
Cameron. Janet made it her mission to try and get the teenagers off the streets
in the holidays by organizing tennis tournaments. Stuart and Cameron both went
to Peter House, an upmarket boarding school in Rhodesia. Peter House and Falcon
were arch rivals in every sphere, as we competed for recognition as being the
top school in the country. So we had a healthy rivalry with Stuart and Cameron
and their Peter House buddies. This was a good thing as we were determined to
beat them at every turn, which meant we entered every tournament Janet Yates
could come up with, which had the desired effect of keeping us productively
occupied. It was at these tournaments that we met some other girls who have
been lifelong friends. Lindsey Armstrong was one of these and Steph Baird another
one. I tried on numerous occasions to get Cheryl to play tennis, but she
resisted every effort. I thought she was just playing hard to get but the truth
of the matter is that Cher doesn’t have a sporting bone in her body and she was
just not interested.
Talking about playing hard to get, Phil and I were
hitting a brick wall in our efforts to get to know Cheryl better. As part of
our daily social routine we would ride around on our Mobylettes and visit
whoever might be around. One of our regular stops was the Tobin residence at
Hertford Avenue. We would be politely received by Daphne Tobin, Cheryl’s Mom.
She would offer us tea and cake and chat pleasantly with us, but Cheryl was
seldom there. We used to suspect she and her friend Lucy Winchester were hiding
out in her bedroom, but we could never verify that. That, along with the fact
that Cheryl had a couple of other boyfriends over the years, kept me out of the
picture for many a year. My only consolation in retrospect was that fortunately
for me, Cher ultimately saw the light and I beat out the competition which has undoubtedly
been the best thing to have ever happened to me.
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| Lucy Winchester - was also one of the gang of teens who hung out in the holidays |
Life was beginning to move on again. Al finished
school in 1967 at “M” level (Form 5 or grade 10) and set off for university in
Durban to do civil engineering at the University of Natal. This meant that Phil
and I were now even more dependent on one another and our friendship was
cemented further. Eventually our Falcon days were over and we all had to begin
to make big decisions about our careers and futures. Having graduated from
Falcon at the end of 1969, Phil decided to go to the University of Natal in
Durban and do a Commerce degree. I was only 17 and had no sense of direction,
other than I was ready to get out of school and live the wild life for a while.
So in 1970 I persuaded Mom and Dad that I needed a year off to get my mind
straight and figure out what I wanted out of life. Amazingly they agreed and so
it was that Anthony Haile, another Falcon friend, and I decided to go overseas
and explore Europe together for a few months.
Anthony Haile and I had been dorm mates for six
years and were firm friends. However what we had not allowed for was that
Anthony and I were very different personalities. He and I had never really
discussed what we wanted to do in Europe. It turned out that we had completely different
visions.
Anthony’s Dad drove us as far as Bulawayo and from
there we had decided to hitchhike to Cape Town to catch the Union Castle line
ship over to UK. Hitching is always an adventure, but we made it to Cape Town
in one piece and boarded the ship. The cruise to UK was uneventful excepting on
the night before we docked in Southampton I got spectacularly plastered by
drinking a whole bottle of brandy, so much so that I ended up chasing fellow
passengers around the deck with a fire extinguisher. I had the crew trying to
restrain me, but I eventually made my escape to my cabin where I collapsed
until the next morning. I was definitely
suffering from alcohol poisoning as I had the shakes for three solid days. I
have never been able to stomach brandy ever again since that time. This is probably a good thing.
We were being hosted by Anthony’s uncle and aunt in
London. I don’t think they were terribly impressed with this rather hungover
friend who Anthony had brought into their home. We had planned that when we got
to London we would plan our European travels. Anthony wanted to do bus tours
and I wanted to hitchhike and take our chances every day with what we would
find and see. Eventually we could not agree so we split up. It was a sad day as
we had been good friends for six years. I was wild in those days and didn’t
want anyone cramping my style. I had come to Europe to experience life and I
was determined to do it.
I spent a few weeks in Earls Court, a very popular
area for Southern Africans in those days. Mom had crocheted me a brightly
colored hippy poncho which I wore around London with great pride. I was stopped
often by Japanese tourists requesting a photo as I really looked the part. I
eventually set out for Europe on my own by ferry. I made my way to Holland with
the idea that I’d hitch around from there. Europe was full of youngsters like
me in those days. Flower power was all the rage and long hair, bell bottoms and
bright colors were the look to have. I eventually hooked up with another young
American guy and he and I travelled around Holland and France for a couple of
weeks. He had long disheveled hair and seemed to be spaced out a lot of the time.
Maybe he had fried his brain with LSD. I never could quite figure him out. One day
we were hitchhiking in Southern France when a brightly colored VW Combi came by
with flowers painted all over it. They stopped to give us a ride. There were
four American guys in there. The bottom line was that they needed help with gas
and we needed rides. So we decided to stay together. We lived very simply and
very cheaply. They taught me that one could live on bread, wine and vitamin
pills. We would sleep in farm fields and wash up in local village fountains. I
later figured out that I had lost 15 pounds in the few weeks I was with those
guys.
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| These picks are used by the Picadores in weakening the bull's neck muscles in bull fighting - a very brutal sport |
One of our stops was in a small Spanish town which
was having a bull festival. We agreed to park the Combi and split up for a
couple of hours. I could see that all the action was at the local bull ring so
made my way up there to see what was going on. It was a stinking hot day, so
like a good red blooded Rhodesian I was wearing a pair of the best shortie
shorts one could find. I walked into the bull ring and peered over the wall. In
the ring were about half a dozen bulls and a bunch of young guys doing their
best to dazzle them with their capes. The next thing I noticed a bunch of young
guys talking around me. They seemed fascinated by my shorts and were obviously
making derogatory comments. The next thing they grabbed me with great gusto and
threw me over the wall into the bull ring to face the bulls. Well I discovered
that given sufficient adrenaline I could scale walls with no problem. I vaulted
the wall and charged out of there never to return, much to the mirth of my tormentors.
I think I was the highlight of their day. I eventually found my buddies and we
ended up spending the whole day into the evening enjoying the festival. We met
a bunch of local girls and we hung out for the evening dancing in the streets.
They had no English, we had no Spanish, but we all spoke a smattering of French.
By around midnight the girls took us to one of their homes where an old lady
was woken up to prepare us a meal. That was such a great experience of
hospitality. We left that little village the next day marveling at the
friendliness of the local folk who had no reason to, but had welcomed us so
warmly into their homes.
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| Dad was Captain of the Zambian Rifle Team |
I had arranged to meet my Mom in London and so had
to leave my buddies in Spain and I made my way back to London to meet up with Mom.
Dad was there shooting at one of his Bisley shoots. Mom and I had arranged to visit
Oberammagau to see the Passion Play which only happens every 10 years. It was a
bit of a shock connecting with Mom as I had become so used to living on next to
nothing and Mom and Dad seemed to be living so lavishly. So Mom and I did a coach
tour of part of Germany and Austria and I got eased back into civilized life
again. I think if I’d stayed with the American guys I may never have recovered
my normality again, as we had been living pretty close to the edge. Now with
hindsight, I think God had kept me out of any serious trouble, much as I seemed
determined to go looking for it.
I had held out for the possibility of spending the
whole year overseas, but by the time I had finished with the trip with Mom I
was actually ready to return home and begin to live normally again. I caught
the next available Union Castle ship back to Cape Town. I arrived in Cape Town
with R20 to my name, wondering how I was going to get back to Kitwe. As it
turned out I had met a guy on board by the name of Jeff, who was working on
contract in Kitwe and was driving a car back home. He offered me a ride which
was a great piece of good fortune which I regretted somewhat over the next four
or five days that it took to get home. Jeff’s feet stunk like something I have
never experienced. I survived the trip only because I had no option but to do
so. I’m not surprised the guy couldn’t find a wife.
When I got home, July was the only member of the
family around. He was pleased to see me. He and I made a deal. I would not
bother him as long as he produced food for me and did my laundry when needed.
This turned out to be a winning formula for the month or so until Mom and Dad
got home. The day before they returned July and I tidied up the place and Mom
and Dad were impressed by how well July had taken care of me.
I had done the big overseas trip. Been there done
that. In the course of it I had discovered no deeper insight into my life than
I’d had previously. I took the easy way out and decided that I would follow in
the footsteps of my two brothers and my Dad and become an engineer – this despite
a very obvious lack of practical aptitude on my part. I applied to the
University of Witwatersrand in Johnannesurg and was accepted based on my school
marks. I found a job for a few months to save up a few bucks and waited out the
rest of the year until I could get on with my future. I was now impatient to
get back on my track. I was being left behind by my friends and I was tired of
foolish living. Little did I know that I still had a ways to go before I was
finished in that department?
