Stories

Safer to Join the Commando

Posted on March 30, 2020 by Cape Rebel

Click on the image to listen to the podcast

From The Lady Who Fought
by Sarah Raal

‘See that you are here at nine o’ clock tomorrow morning,’ were the last words of the Commandant.

When I walked away, contemplating washing the clothes of the filthy Tommies, I was furious. I had to think of a way out of this predicament. Escape seemed the only way of avoiding this business of washing the clothes. Yes, I had to escape from the camp, but how? Even though there wasn’t yet a clear opportunity open to me, I was firmly resolved to teach that women’s Commandant a lesson.

I went to my tent, and came across two of my friends there. I did my very best not to give any indication of my true feelings – I thought it would be unwise to give them too much detail, if I wished to obtain their assistance. Had I done so, they would have been afraid of the punishment they might receive if they helped me to escape. So I spoke to them about the impossibility of camp life, the terrible treatment, and the ghastly food we had to put up with, and in this way I led up to the suggestion that we three should attempt an escape.

I suggested that one of them should go and request a pass, for herself and her two sisters, to fetch wood in the mountains. I would disguise myself, so that I could pass for one of the sisters, for I was not allowed even a step outside the fence.

Well, no sooner said than done.

They went and requested the pass, while I did the rounds – swapping and borrowing – to get hold of a kappie, spectacles, a sack, and an axe. We tried to keep everything very quiet. Nothing must become known – the stakes were too high. I still think that if they had known about the punishment awaiting me at nine o’ clock the next morning, they would never have dared help me. Before we left, we had to try and get together a few pieces of bread, and whatever else could be obtained, and to conceal them carefully.

I cannot describe the anxious moments I experienced when we began walking through the camp, closer and closer to the first guard. It was customary for the girls and women to go and fetch wood, but this time it was different. My heart was beating in my throat. It felt as if the guards must be aware of our plans. Even the manner in which they looked at us, which on other days we would have ignored, now looked suspicious.

The first guard read the pass, and looked us up and down a few times. What a relief when I heard the words: ‘All right, you may go.’

There was a second guard to get past, but he looked less suspicious and, as soon as he saw our pass, he let us go – with a warning not to go anywhere near the ridge, as there were some Boers up there. Poor creature, little did he know that that was precisely what we wanted to hear. We were then so eager to get away that it was difficult to walk on in a composed manner, every now and then making as if we were picking up wood, and acting as if that were our only concern.

No sooner were we over the first rise than we threw away our sacks and axes, and ran towards the ridge where the Boers were supposed to be. By the time we were halfway there, my companions were ready to give up the attempt. We had run as fast as we could, and were desperately tired, but I kept on at them not to give up. For myself, I had only to think of having to report to the Commandant at nine o’ clock the next morning to bolster my determination to carry on.

Eventually we reached the foot of the ridge.

By then we were so exhausted, we fell down like three weary horses trying to regain their breath. We were lying there, resting, when we heard a voice from somewhere up on the ridge: ‘You must flee, the English are coming.’

We were paralysed with fear, but soon realised – with relief – that these were Boers, even though they were wearing khaki. They helped us up and over the ridge, and the rest of the Boers – shooting – forced the English back. Risking life and limb, we fled over ridges and through ditches, until that night we reached the farm Ribboksfontein. Mr and Mrs Van Heerden welcomed us heartily, and could not stop talking about the daring exploit we three girls had accomplished successfully. Miss Van Schalkwyk stayed there, for her parents had not yet been taken captive, and she planned to return to them from there.

I will never again feel as tired as I did the night we escaped from the Springfontein camp. If ever a bed was welcome and sleep overpowering, it was then. When I awoke with a start the next morning, I was a different person.

I was taken with Miss Jacobs, one of the friends who had escaped with me, to my brothers at Touwfontein. Their surprise at seeing us was something to behold. They were shaving when we arrived and, with their faces still covered in shaving soap, they stampeded towards us, kissed us, threw their hats in the air, and shouted: ‘Welcome!’

They interrogated us about everything that had happened, and there seemed to be no end to their questions. Then came the serious debate about what was to be done with us, as the situation was looking none too rosy. Almost all the houses had been razed to the ground, food was scarce, and things were unlikely to go smoothly.

At first, it was thought that the two of us girls should go and stay wherever there was a house still standing, but in the end it was decided that it would be far safer for us to join the commando than remain alone on a farm, as everyone in the area had been captured, and herded off to concentration camps.

Miss Jacobs and I remained together for a while, but then we separated, each of us wanting to be with our brothers.

That is how I came to join Commandant Nieuwoudt, under whom my brothers were serving. General Hertzog joined out commando for a time and, seeing him at first hand, I could only marvel at his courage, his determination, and his unselfish love for his country and his people.

Veiliger om by die kommando aan te sluit

Posted on March 30, 2020 by Cape Rebel

Klik op die beeld om na die podgooi te luister 

Uit Met die Boere in die veld 
deur Sarah Raal

 

“Sorg dat jy môre om nege-uur hier is,” was die laaste woorde van die kommandant.

Toe ek wegstap en die gedagte by my opkom dat ek die klere van die vuil Tommies moet was, was ek woedend. Ek moet egter begin om oor iets van meer belang te dink, naamlik hoe om van hieraf weg te kom. Ja, ek moet uit die kamp uit wegloop, maar hoe? Al was daar nog nie ’n oop kans nie, het ek vas besluit om daardie vrouekommandant ’n goeie les te leer.

Ek het by die tent aangekom en twee van my vriendinne daar gekry. Ek moes my uiterste bes doen om niks van my gevoelens te laat merk nie. Ek het gedink dit sou onwys wees om hulle al die besonderhede te vertel as ek hulle hulp wou gebruik. Hulle twee sou bang gewees het vir die straf as hulle my help om weg te loop. Gevolglik het ek begin praat oor die onmoontlike lewe in die kamp en die treurige behandeling en kos waarmee ons tevrede moes wees, en algaande die voorstel gemaak dat ons drie moes wegloop.

Ek het voorgestel dat een van hulle ’n pas moes gaan vra, vir haar en haar twee susters, om hout te gaan haal in die berg, en dan sal ek probeer om my so te vermom dat ek kan deurgaan as een van die susters – want ek mag mos nie buite die heining van die kamp gaan nie.

Wel, so gesê, so gedaan.

Onderwyl hulle die pas gaan vra, het ek rond en bont geruil en geleen om ’n kappie, bril, sak en ’n byl in die hande te kry. Ons het probeer om alles darem stil te hou. Niks moes rugbaar word nie, want die gevaar was te groot. Ek dink nou nog dat as hulle geweet het my straf wag die volgende oggend om nege-uur op my, hulle nooit sou gewaag het om my te help nie. Voor ons vertrek moes ons skelmpies ’n paar stukkies brood en wat daar te kry was, vat en versigtig wegsteek.

Ek kan nooit beskrywe watter angstige oomblikke ek deurgemaak het toe ons deur die kamp begin stap het en nader en nader aan die eerste wag kom nie. Dit was ’n gewoonte dat die meisies en vrouens gaan hout haal. Maar dié keer was die anders. My hart het in my keel geklop, want dit voel mos nou asof die wagte weet wat ons van plan is om te doen. Selfs die manier waarop hulle na ons kyk, waarvan ons ander dae nie eens notisie sou geneem het nie, lyk nou agterdogtig.

Die eerste wag het die pas gelees en ons so ’n paar maal op en af bekyk. Wat ’n verligting toe ek die woorde hoor: “Goed, gaan maar deur.”

Nou volg die tweede wag om verby te kom. Hy het minder agterdogtig gelyk, want sodra hy ons pas gesien het, het hy ons laat deurgaan met die waarskuwing om nie naby die rantjie te gaan nie, want daar is Boere. Arme skepsel, net wat ons graag wou gehoor het. Ons was toe al so gretig om weg te kom dat dit ’n moeilike taak was om bedaard aan te stap en so nou en dan te maak of ons hout optel en asof ons in niks anders belangstel nie.

Skaars was ons agter die eerste bult of ons gooi sakke en byle weg en begin na die rantjie toe hardloop waar die Boere veronderstel was om te wees. Toe ons so halfpad was, wou my twee maats met geweld tou opgooi, want ons het gehardloop so hard as wat ons kan. Maar ek bly hulle moed inpraat so al wat ek kon. As die gedagte by my opkom dat ek die volgende ogggend om nege-uur my verskyning voor die kommandant moet maak, dan praat ek weer ’n slag met hulle. So het dit aangehou totdat ons eindelik aan die voet van die rant gekom het.

Ons was toe ook so uitgeput dat ons soos drie flou perde daar neergeval en probeer het om ons asem terug te kry. Terwyl ons so rustig gelê en rus het, hoor ons ’n stem uit die rant êrens sê: “Julle moet vlug, die Engelse kom.”

Ons het ons lam geskrik, maar ons het gou besef dat dit Boere is, hoewel hulle kakie gedra het. Hulle het ons toe die rant uitgehelp, en die ander klomp het op die Engelse teruggeskiet. Ons het vir al wat ons werd was oor rante en deur slote gevlug tot ons dié aand by die plaas Ribboksfontein aangekom het. Mnr. en mev. Van Heerden het ons met alle liefde ontvang en kon nie genoeg praat van die waagstuk van ons drie meisies nie. Daar het mej. Van Schalkwyk toe ook agtergebly, want haar ouers was nog nie gevang nie, en sy sou vandaaraf na hulle toe teruggaan.

Ek sal seker nooit weer so moeg kan word as ek daardie aand was toe ons uit die kamp weggeloop het nie. As ’n bed ooit welkom was en slaap oorweldigend, dan was dit toe. Toe ek die volgende oggend wakkerskrik, het ek ’n ander mens gevoel.

Mej. Jacobs, een van my vriendinne wat saam weggeloop het, en ek is toe na ons broers op Touwfontein weggebring. Die verrassing om ons te sien onder sulke omstandighede, was vir hulle byna ondraaglik. Hulle was net besig om te skeer toe ons daar aankom, en met gesigte vol seep het hulle ons bestorm en gesoen, hoede in die lug gegooi en geskreeu: “Welkom!”

Toe ons onder kruisverhoor gekom het, kon hulle maar net nie genoeg uitvra nie. Maar toe moes daar beraadslaag word om te besluit wat met ons gedoen kan word, want dinge lyk maar nie alte rooskleurig nie. Die huise is byna almal afgebrand; die kos is skaars, en dit sal seker nie te vlot verloop nie. Ons besluit toe dat ons twee meisies maar sal gaan bly waar daar nog ’n huis staan, maar die end van die saak was dat ons twee toe maar by die kommando aangesluit het, daar dit baie onveiliger was om alleen op die plaas te bly, want al die mense in die buurt is al gevang en na die konsentrasiekampe geneem.

Ek en mej. Jacobs het nog so ’n tyd bymekaar gebly, en toe is ons ook uitmekaar – want elkeen van ons wou by ons broers bly.

Dus sluit ek by kommandant Nieuwoudt aan, onder wie se afdeling my broers is. Generaal Hertzog kom toe vir ’n tyd lank na ons kommando toe, waar ek meer as een keer sy heldemoed, sy vasberadenheid en sy opofferende liefde vir land en volk bewonder het.

What is more, you will die here

Posted on March 30, 2020 by Cape Rebel

Click on the image to listen to the podcast

From The Lady Who Fought
by Sarah Raal

 

After the servant had gone, the Commandant said I must prepare to go with them. They would be leaving early the next morning. I asked them what would become of my belongings.

‘Oh, we’re taking them,’ he said.

‘Yes, but then you must give me a receipt for them.’

He agreed to this and gave me a receipt for £1,090, and they burnt the spider. I was very excited, and thought to myself: ‘Toe maar, Khakis, now you can struggle to get the sheep out of the mountains – I’ve got my receipt’. I hid the receipt in the hem of a large handkerchief. Luckily they knew nothing about the other money I had on me. Soon I was all packed and ready, for in truth there was almost nothing to pack. The furniture didn’t belong to me, and my possessions amounted to just a few things.

They asked me when my brother was likely to come, and I said I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t turned up yet. By dusk there was still no sign of the brother who, of course, was never intended to arrive.

Suddenly the Commandant came into the house, and I could hear from his footsteps that something had gone badly wrong. He entered the living room, absolutely livid, and, with flaming eyes, he sought me out. The moment he saw me, he came right up to me, almost poking my eyes out, so close was the finger he pointed in my face. He spat out the words: ‘You traitor. I’m going to send you to prison with severe punishment.’

I maintained my innocence, and asked him what had happened. He paid no attention, and continued to abuse me terribly. I was a liar, a traitor, a cheat, he was going to put me in prison, and so on. He also wanted to take back the receipt he had given, and said I wouldn’t get a single penny. I could see that sweet talk would get me nowhere now, and I was becoming heated at all the abuse he was heaping on me. So I told him that I had placed no value on the receipt he had given me, anyway, and that I had already burnt it.

I was actually extremely curious to discover what had happened. I called Tryn, and found out from her that my brothers had sent a letter back. How they could have done such a foolish thing, I cannot – to this day – understand. In any event, they said in the letter that they would come that evening and teach the Khakis a lesson. On the servant’s return, the Khakis took my brothers’ letter from him, and that was that. I knew now that my fate was sealed. I could expect only the worst, and prepared myself for Springfontein prison and its rice water.

That same evening we trekked to the neighbouring farm of Vlakfontein. The next day, the Khakis joined battle with the Boer patrol, including my brothers. I could see nothing, but clearly heard the sounds of battle. I sat there, afraid that my brothers might die in the skirmish. They were such a small group, but at least they were sheltered in a good ridge. Late that afternoon, three wounded Khakis were brought back to the convoy. I knew nothing of the outcome of the skirmish, and only later asked an officer about the fighting. He answered bitterly: ‘You ask as if you don’t know. It’s all your hellish doing. You’ll pay for it. We’ve shot all your people dead.’

‘Where did you bury them?’ I asked.

‘Bury them? We left them for the wild animals and the vultures,’ he answered.

On hearing this shocking news, I turned quietly and climbed back into the wagon tent. Dark shadows were already creeping over the plains, and a feeling of loneliness, homesickness and yearning slowly overcame me. If only it would get dark, I could give vent to my feelings in tears. Later that night, I lit my little lamp, simply to sit and contemplate what might lie in store for me. The soldiers repeatedly lifted the canvas and asked why I was not asleep. I sat in silence.

It was a night of distress and fear. Here I was, alone in this huge convoy, and somewhere nearby lay my brothers, possibly dead or badly wounded, and I couldn’t even be near them, to give them some water or attend to their wounds. What would my dear mother think if she knew? And then again, where were she and my dear father? Perhaps also already dead in a camp, where our people were dying like flies – so we heard. And on top of that, my own situation – with the depressing prospect of imprisonment that awaited me. In this fashion I sat and worried the night away, until dawn.

Early the next morning, I heard women’s voices next to the wagon. I peered out to see who it could be, and was almost speechless with surprise. There stood none other than Mrs Metz and Mrs Jacobs, with their children. They had been taken captive the previous day at Touwfontein, another farm in the same district, and that night they had been brought on foot to the convoy. My heart went out to them, they looked so thin and exhausted from the long walk.

The next day they sent us to the station at Jagersfontein, and there – without food or water – we sat in an open truck, baking in the hot sun, and in this fashion we travelled to Springfontein. On arrival there, we were sent straight to the camp. They put me in a tent with Mrs Jacobs. This would not be for long, I thought to myself, as I still had to go to prison; and I expected to be fetched at any moment. A few days went by, with me expecting to be hauled off to prison, but nothing happened. I began to take courage and to think they had forgotten about me. In the meantime, I keenly observed all aspects of camp life. It was too much for me, and I realised that I would never be able to endure it – the wretchedness was indescribable. The death and suffering of people, and the terrible conditions they experienced, would either drive me insane or be the death of me.

Notwithtanding that things were so awful in the camp, there was nevertheless a section of our people who, unconcerned at the plight of their fellow-Afrikaners, continued to live happily and pleasurably. I was astonished to see that Afrikaner girls, not from the camps, but those who lived nearby, rode about with English officers and had fun with them, quite clearly without the slightest concern for what was happening on their doorstep.

A few more days went by in this fashion, and nothing happened to indicate that they intended sending me to prison. I decided to risk a visit to the Commandant. I had heard that my mother was in the Bloemfontein camp, and I hoped to make my way there. I was, however, afraid, for I was already on the blacklist and could not afford to step further out of line. I asked for an interview with the camp Comandant, and was escourted to his office. When I told him my story, he pointed to a letter on his table and said: ‘Oh no, there will be no permission for you. You betrayed us and caused some of our people to be shot. I know all about you. You will stay in this camp, and not once will you step over the perimeter. What is more, you will die here!’

‘That’s what you think,’ I thought to myself. We would see.

He asked me how many brothers I still had on commando. I said four, and he then began abusing the burghers. ‘Those savage Boers, they don’t fight, they just go around plundering, robbing and stealing.’ My blood grew hotter with each further abuse. Why could I not give vent to my feelings?

So I blurted out: ‘No! They are brave men, but what are you? You’re a women’s Commandant. It’s a scandal. There’s neither skill nor honour in being a women’s Commandant.’

This was too much for him. He jumped up, grabbed me by the chest, shook me a few times, and said: ‘Insult me, and you’ll find yourself in prison … you traitor!’

He turned around, suddenly, when someone from behind him grabbed his hand. It was a Mr X, the Commandant’s secretary. I was more than dumbfounded when I recognised him as one of my teachers during my first years at school. This so-called secretary asked the Commandant to keep calm, and to proceed more gently. Whether these words had any effect, I cannot be sure, for my punishment followed immediately.

I could choose between fourteen days in prison on rice water, or fourteen days doing the camp guards’ washing. I thought for a moment.

‘So, what do you say?’ shouted the women’s Commandant.

‘I’ll do the washing,’ I said calmly.

For I had, by then, already begun to make plans for an alternative solution.

 

Wat meer is, jy sal ook hier vrek

Posted on March 30, 2020 by Cape Rebel

Klik op die beeld om na die podgooi te luister

Uit Met die Boere in die veld 
deur Sarah Raal

 

Ná die jong weg is met die brief, sê die kommandant vir my ek moet klaarmaak om saam te gaan – vroeg die olgende môre sou die laer vertrek. Toe vra ek vir hom wat dan sal word van al die goed.

“O, ons vat dit,” sê hy.

“Ja, maar dan moet jy my ’n bewys gee daarvoor.”

Hy stem toe in en gee my ’n bewys vir £1,090, en die spaider verbrand hulle. Ek is hoog in my skik en dink by myself: “Toe maar, Kakies, sukkel julle nou maar om die skape uit die berg te kry; my bewys het ek.” Dié versteek ek in die soom van ’n groot sakdoek. Gelukkig weet hulle niks van die ander geld wat ek aan my het nie. Ek is nou ook klaar ingepak, want daar was ook byna niks om te pak nie. Die huisraad behoort nie aan my nie, en verder maak my besittings maar net ’n paar kleinighede uit.

Hulle vra my wanneer die broer nou eindelik sal kom, maar ek verstaan ook nie waarom hy nog nie opgedaag het nie. Dit is later al skemer, en ons wag nog op die broer wat nooit sou kom nie.

Meteens kom die kommandant die huis ingestap, en aan sy stap kon ek hoor dat daar iets verkeerd is. Hy kom ook die sitkamer in, briesend kwaad, en met twee oë wat vlam van woede, soek hy my. Sodra hy my sien, kom hy tot vlak voor my en steek amper my oë uit soos hy sy vinger in my gesig druk, met die woorde: “You traitor. I’m going to send you to prison with a severe punishment.”

Ek hou my ewe onskuldig en wil weet wat nou gebeur het. Hy steur hom egter nie aan my nie en gaan voort om my uit te skel vir al wat hy kan. Ek is ’n leuenaar, ’n verraaier, ’n bedrieër, en hy gaan my in die tronk stop, ensovoorts. Hy wil ook die bewys wat hy my gegee het, terug hê, en sê dat ek geen pennie sal kry nie. Ek wis dat mooipraat nou niks sal baat nie, en het toe al begin warm word vir al sy skeltaal. Ek sê toe aan hom dat ek geen waarde aan die bewys geheg het nie en dit al klaar verbrand het.

Ek is egter baie nuuskierig om te weet wat gebeur het. Ek roep vir ou Tryn en vind by haar uit dat my broers weer ’n brief terug geskryf het. Hoe hulle so iets kon doen, kan ek nou nog nie begryp nie. In elk geval, in die brief sê hulle dat hulle die Kakies dié aand sal kom opdons. Met die terugkom het die Kakies die brief by die jong gekry, en toe was die gort gaar. Ek wis toe my lot was beslis, ek kon maar die ergste verwag en my klaarmaak vir Springfontein se tronk en ryswater.

Dieselfde aand trek ons nog daarvandaan weg tot op die buurplaas Vlakfontein. Die volgende dag raak die Kakies daar slaags met die patrollie Boere waaronder my broers is. Ek kon nie sien nie, maar kon goed hoor hoe hulle skiet en veg. Ek sit met die vrees dat my broers miskien in die geveg sal omkom; hulle is maar ’n klein klompie, maar het darem ’n goeie rant waarin hulle kon skuil. Laat die agtermiddag bring hulle drie gewonde Kakies die laer binne. Van die verloop van die geveg weet ek nog niks. Ek wag toe maar en vra naderhand aan ’n offisier wat betrokke was by die geveg. Ewe bitsig sê hy: “Jy vra nog asof jy nie weet nie. Dis deur jou helse werk, en jy sal daarvoor boet, maar ons het jou mense almal doodgeskiet.”

“Waar het jy hulle begrawe?” vra ek weer.

“Begrawe? Ons het hulle daar laat lê vir die ongediertes en aasvoëls!” antwoord hy.

By die hoor van dié skokkende tyding het ek maar stil omgedraai en weer in die tentwa geklim. Donker skaduwees kruip al oor die vlaktes, en ’n gevoel van eensaamheid, heimwee en verlange maak hom nou stadig van my meester. Wanneer dit donker word, kan ek tog in trane ongehinderd uiting gee aan my gevoel. Later in die nag steek ek my lampie aan, om maar so te sit en peins oor wie weet wat alles nog met my mag gebeur. Elke keer lig een van die soldate die seil op en vra waarom ek nie slaap nie. Dan sit ek maar net so en gee geen antwoord nie.

Dit was ’n nag van kommer en angs. Alleen in die groot laer, en hier in die nabyheid lê my broers miskien dood of swaar gewond, en ek kan nie eens by hulle wees om hulle ’n bietjie water te gee of hulle wonde te verbind nie. Wat sou my ou moeder sê as sy moes weet? En dan weer, waar is sy en my vader? Miskien ook al dood in die kamp, waar ons mense so doodgaan, soos ons hoor. Daarby nog my eie toestand, met die treurige vooruitsig van tronklewe wat op my wag. So het ek die nag deur gesit en my bekommer, totdat die lig van ’n nuwe dag oor my gebreek het.

Vroeg die volgende môre hoor ek vrouestemme langs my wa. Ek loer uit om te sien wie dit kan wees, en raak byna stom van verbasing. Daar staan niemand anders nie as mev Metz en mev Jacobs met hul kinders. Die vorige dag is hulle op Touwfontein, ook ’n plaas daar in die buurt, gevang. Hulle is die nag te voet hier na die laer toe aangejaag. In my hart het ek met hulle gesimpatiseer – hulle het so uitgehonger en gedaan gelyk van die ver loop.

Die volgende dag stuur hulle ons na Jagersfontein se stasie toe, en daar, sonder water of kos, sit hulle ons in ’n oop trok, en by dit in die kokende, warm son daarby, en so is ons na Springfontein. Toe ons daar aankom, is ons sonder versuim sommer reguit kamp-toe. Hulle sit my toe by mev Jacobs in die tent. Dit sal seker nie vir lank wees nie, dink ek, want ek moet mos nog tronk-toe en ek verwag net elke oomblik dat hulle my sal kom haal. ’n Paar dae gaan egter so verby, en daar gebeur niks. Ek begin moed skep en dink dat hulle van my vergeet het. Intussen het ek die lewe in die kamp goed gadegeslaan, maar dit was vir my te oorweldigend. Ek besef dat ek dit nooit sal uithou nie; die ellende is onbeskryflik. Die sterfte en siekte onder die mense, sou my mal of dood maak.

Nieteenstaande die treurige toestande in die kampe, was daar nogtans ’n deel van ons volk wat, onbesorg oor die lotgevalle van hulle mede-Afrikaners, gelukkig en plesierig bly leef het. Dit het my verbaas om te sien dat Afrikanermeisies, nie van diegene in die kampe nie, maar wat in die omgewing gebly het, wat ewe plesierig met die offisiere rondgery het, met blykbaar nie die minste besorgdheid oor wat in hul onmiddellike omgewing aangaan nie.

Nog ’n paar dae gaan so verby, en daar gebeur niks wat lyk of hulle nog ’n tronkplan met my het nie. Ek besluit toe om dit maar na die kommandant toe te waag. Ek het gehoor my moeder is in Bloemfontein se kamp, en my plan is nou daarheen. Ek is egter maar skrikkerig, want ek is reeds op die swart lys en moet dus net in my spoor trap. Ek vra toe om die kampkommandant te spreek, en iemand neem my na sy kantoor toe. Toe ek my storie klaar vertel het, wys die ou na ’n brief op sy tafel en sê: “O nee, vir jou is daar geen verlof nie. Jy het ons verraai en ons mense laat doodskiet. Ek weet alles van jou af. Hier in die kamp sal jy bly, nie eens ’n voet van jou oor die lyn nie; en wat meer is, jy sal ook hier vrek!”

Ek dog by myself: “Dis wat jy dink, maar ons sal sien.”

Hy vra my toe hoeveel broers ek nog op kommando het. Ek sê toe vier, en toe begin hy op die burgers skel. “Die wilde Boere, hulle veg nie; hulle gaan net rond om te plunder, te roof en te steel.”

By elke skelwoord het my bloed ook warmer geword, en ek dink toe by myself: “Waarom kan ek ook nie uiting gee aan my gevoelens nie?”

Toe sê ek: “Nee! Hulle is dapper manne, maar wat is jy – ’n vrouekommandant, en dit is ’n skandaal. Dit is nie ’n kuns of eer om ’n vrouekommandant te wees nie!”

Dit was vir hom te erg. Hy spring op en gryp my aan die bors, skud my so ’n paar maal en sê: “Jy beledig my, en ek sal jou in die tronk laat stop … jou verraaier!”

Meteens draai hy hom om toe iemand van agter hom aan die arm vat. Dit was ’n mnr X, die kommandant se sekretaris. Ek was meer as verstom toe ek hom herken as een van my onderwysers gedurende my eerste skooljare. Die sogenaamde sekretaris vra toe die kommandant om kalm te bly en sagter te werk te gaan. Of dié woorde enige uitwerking gehad het, kan ek nie juis sê nie, want dadelik volg my straf.

Ek kon kies of ek veertien dae in die tronk op ryswater wou lewe, of om vir veertien dae die kampwagte se wasgoed te doen. Ek dink so ’n rukkie.

“Toe, wat sê jy?” skreeu die vrouewagter.

“Ek sal die wasgoed doen,” sê ek ewe kalm.

Want ek het toe al klaar begin planne beraam om ’n ander uitweg te kry.

 

My Brothers were not Far Away

Posted on March 30, 2020 by Cape Rebel

Click on the image to listen to the podcast

From The Lady Who Fought
by Sarah Raal

 

With no fixed destination, we chose a direction and trekked away from the farm and the railway line. It was a slow business and the going was difficult. The oxen, which had been inspanned in no particular order, would not pull together. We moved in the direction of Toomfontein. Across the plains, behind the mountains, came Sam with the flock of sheep. At Toomfontein, we waited for them to catch up with us; and I told Sam to trek from there to Vlakfontein, where we would meet up again and make further plans.

At Vlakfontein we rested and camped for about three weeks. It was far from my brothers, and it was not easy taking care of all the sheep.

To my great joy, my brothers got leave to join Commandant Nieuwoudt’s commando. This meant that they were much closer to me, and were able to afford me some protection, while I could assist them with clothing and other provisions. For greater safety, and to be closer to them, I trekked from Vlakfontein to Boomplaas, a farm about eight miles away, and about six miles from where my brothers were stationed.

I stayed at Boomplaas for about six weeks, hoping the war would soon be over, for coping with the sheep had become very difficult. It was a large flock, and the wild dogs and jackals were a menace. Also, I felt neither at home nor at ease there. I had a peculiar dread of the big mountains with their deep, dark ravines full of baboons. This was the farm where a battle had taken place in 1848. The officers’ graves there, and the ghost stories that were told, made the place even less attractive to me.

Dear old Tryn and the others remained loyal to me, and continued to sleep with me in the house. I also had my faithful dog, and the revolver my brothers had given me, so I was at least reasonably protected.

A strange thing happened one night while I was staying there. As usual, we locked up the house and went to sleep, but at about eleven o’clock we heard something. Nero, my dog, also heard it, and ran growling from one window to the next. I patted and coaxed him so that he wouldn’t bark. Tryn was afraid, and came to my bed, wanting to know what was going on. Suddenly Nero barked loudly and jumped up against the door, and the next thing I knew Tryn was sitting beside me in bed. She wouldn’t listen, however much I tried to calm her down, and refused to leave my bed. She insisted that I fire a shot for some kind of reassurance, otherwise she wouldn’t budge. There was nothing I could do, so I fired a shot through the door, and we sat quietly and listened. When it was all dead quiet again, and nothing had happened, Tryn went, fetched her bedding, and made her bed right next to mine. Thus we spent the rest of the night, without sleeping at all.

Early next morning, we were anxious to see what had been going on. To our astonishment, we found the kitchen door wide open, with the whole lock sawn off, and some of our things stolen from the pantry. So it was a petty thief that had given us such a fright.

It was now my sixth week at Boomplaas, and the experience of the previous night had made me even more afraid of the place. I saw a lot of my brothers. They passed by on their way to blow up the railway line, or when they went out scouting, and they would usually pay me a visit.

The morning after the theft, I received a message that my brothers would be coming for supper the following evening. Next morning I was up and about early, to get everything ready for their arrival, and to prepare a good meal for them.

By afternoon everything was more or less ready, and I went to sit and work in front of the window in my room. I became so engrossed in my needlework that I didn’t notice a group of horsemen arriving, and only when they reached the yard did I see that the place was crawling with Khakis. I got such a fright that I simply jumped up to go outside, but before I could do so the English troops came storming into the house and started searching all the rooms. After a while they stopped, but only after they had stolen what they wanted – that night I did not even have a slice of bread to eat.

I began to worry less about what was going on at the house. My real concern was what would happen that evening when my brothers arrived, as planned. They knew nothing about the enemy, and would therefore ride in, relaxed and ignorant of the danger awaiting them. I had to make a plan. I had to warn them. But how?

The English officers came in, sat in the living room, and called for me. I quickly warned Tryn to say nothing. She was to know nothing of any Boers, nor was she to be able to understand them if they spoke to her. I was still conspiring with Tryn when one of the English again came to tell me that the Commandant wished to see me.

When I entered the living room, it was full of English soldiers, laughing, chatting and smoking. I had to do everything in my power to control myself. My nerves almost got the better of me. I was afraid, shy and angry, all at the same time. Then the interrogation began.

‘What can you tell us about the Boers? Where are they? Do you see them often?’ And so on. My interrogator spoke in a quiet and friendly manner, and it did not seem as if he was going to handle me too roughly.

I said to him: ‘Look, it’s tea time. Let me first make tea, then I’ll come and sit down, and tell you everything.’

My purpose, of course, was to play for time, so as to get my plans in order. When I left the room, one of them went and sat down at the piano, and began to play Home, Sweet Home. It was played so sadly that a cold shiver went down my spine at the sound of the well known melody. Naturally, he was thinking of his home, but what about mine? I preferred not to hear it, so I closed the door behind me. After a while the tea was ready, and Tryn took it into the living room. I also went in and stood next to the piano while the playing continued. By now I had a reasonably coherent story in mind. The piano playing stopped, and the Commandant again asked me what I could tell them. I said I knew next to nothing about the Boers, and that I never saw them. But, I told them, there was a patrol of burghers in the area.

‘Where? Where?’ they interrputed me.

I said I didn’t know – they never stayed in the same place. I told them that a younger brother of mine was with the burgher patrol, and that he didn’t want to carry on fighting. He knew they would never be able to defeat the enemy, and things were so scarce. I was to let him know when an English force arrived, as he wished to give himself up, and be sent to one of the camps.

‘But,’ he asked, and here he almost caught me out, ‘how would you know where he is if they never stay in the same place?’

‘Oh, that’s easy,’ I answered. ‘I write to him often. The letter is placed under a special stone he knows about. He comes and fetches it there, and also leaves one for me.’

I said I was anxious that he should go in under protection, and would like to get my horse and saddle ready, to get a message to him. I could write to him now, and a young servant could deliver the letter.

The Commandant looked at the others, who seemed to me to be very sceptical, and not at all keen on the idea. I approached him, took him by the arm, and in a pleading voice, a half-cry I made sound as pathetic as possible, I begged him to please save my young brother. He spoke to the others again, then said to me: ‘All right, write to him in English. Then show it to me, and I’ll see.’

I took some writing paper, went and stood next to him at the piano, and wrote. I was shaking like a leaf and could hardly write – so afraid was I that my plan would backfire. But when the officers started chatting again, my courage returned, and I became less timid.

I wrote the following note on the first page of the writing pad: ‘Dear Brother, I promised to let you know. An English force has just arrived. Try to come over at once. Sarah.’

Unobserved, I lifted up the first page without tearing it off, and wrote on the second page: ‘There is a large English force here. They’re looking for you. Be careful. Don’t come tonight. I’ve been captured.’

I held out the writing pad so he could read it. My heart was pounding like a hammer in my throat. What would happen to me if he lifted the first page and saw the second? At that moment I could not speak. He finished reading and said: ‘All right, then, you can send it.’

Ever so carefully I tore out the two pages together, put them in an envelope, and sealed it in front of them. Only then could I begin to breathe normally again.

Once the servant had left, everything would be all right – he knew where to find them. Tryn had put him through his paces. He knew the story of the stone post office, and would betray nothing if anyone interrogated him.

The officers all went outside together to watch the servant leave with the letter, and ordered the guards to let him pass. Little did they know that he was riding straight to the Boer patrol.

Suddenly I felt free, and able to relax again. I knew my letter would reach its destination quickly and unharmed. The servant knew the veld, and my brothers were not far away.

My broers is nie ver weg nie

Posted on March 30, 2020 by Cape Rebel

Klik op die beeld om na die podgooi te luister

Uit Met die Boere in die veld
deur Sarah Raal

 

Met geen bepaalde bestemming in gedagte nie, trek ons nou maar sommer in ’n rigting, om net van die plaas en die treinspoor af, weg te kom. Dit gaan maar stadig, en ook met baie moeite. Die osse wat sommer enige manier ingespan is, wil nie gelyk trek nie. Ons volg maar die rigting na Toomfontein. Agter die berg langs, oor die vlakte, kom ou Sam met die trop skape aan. Op Toomfontein wag ons toe, totdat Sam dié middag met die vee aankom. Daarvandaan laat ek hom na Vlakfontein toe trek – daar sou hy my kry, en dan kon ons weer verdere reëlings tref.

Op Vlakfontein het ek toe weer omtrent drie weke lank, stil en rustig gebly. Dit was nog egter ver van my broers af, en daarby het dit ook maar moeilik gegaan met die klomp vee, wat moes opgepas word.

Tot my grootste vreugde, kry my broers verlof om by kommandant Nieuwoudt se laer aan te sluit. Nou is hulle baie nader aan my, en hulle kon my dus ook beskerm, terwyl ek ook meer vir hulle kon doen, wat betref klere en ander benodighede. Om nog veiliger en nader aan hulle te wees, trek ek van Vlakfontein af, Boomplaas toe, ’n ander plaas ongeveer agt myl daarvandaan, en omtrent ses myl vanwaar my broers gestasioneer was.

Ek het toe ses weke lank op Boomplaas gebly, met die hoop dat die oorlog gou sou eindig, want die boerdery met die skape het baie moeilik begin word. Dit was ’n groot klomp goed, en die wilde-honde en jakkalse het ook nie weggebly nie. Ek het ook glad nie tuis en op my gemak gevoel nie. Ek het ’n eienaardige vrees gehad vir die groot berge met die diep, donker klowe vol bobbejane. Die grafte van offisiere wat daar was, en die spook-stories wat vertel is, het die plek nog minder aantreklik gemaak. Dit is die plaas waar die slag van 1848 plaasgevind het.

Ou Tryn hulle het my getrou bygestaan, en het ook nog steeds by my in die huis geslaap. Dan het ek ook nog my getroue ou hond gehad, en ’n rewolwer wat my broers my gegee het, sodat ek darem taamlik gewapen was.

’n Eienaardige ondervinding het my te beurt geval, onderwyl ek nog daar gebly het. Ons het, soos gewoonlik, die hele huis toegemaak, en gaan lê. Omtrent elfuur, hoor ons iets. Nero, my hond, het dit ook gehoor en draf knor-knor van die een venster na die ander. Ek paai hom net dat hy nie moet blaf nie. Ou Tryn het ook geskrik, en is hier vlak voor my bed, en wil net by my weet wat aangaan. Meteens gee Nero ’n harde blaf, en spring teen die deur op; en toe ek weer sien, sit ou Tryn langs my in die bed. Hoe ek ook al probeer om haar vrees weg te praat, sy hoor niks, en van uitklim uit my bed is daar geen sprake nie. Sy sê ek moet eers ’n skoot skiet, om sekerheid te kry, anders klim sy nie uit nie. Ek kon niks anders doen nie, en skiet toe maar ’n skoot deur die deur, en sit toe weer stil en luister. Toe dit weer alles stil is en daar niks te voorskyn kom nie, gaan ou Tryn haar beddegoed haal en kom lê vlak voor my bed. So het ons die nag deurgebring, sonder om te slaap.

Vroeg die volgende môre, is ons uit om te kyk wat aangegaan het. Tot ons verbasing, vind ons die kombuisdeur wyd oop, met die hele slot uitgesaag. Verder vind ons ook dat ’n klomp van ons goed uit die spens gesteel is. Dus was dit maar net ’n gewone dief wat ons so die skrik op die lyf kom ja het.

Dit was toe die sesde week dat ek hier op Boomplaas was, en die gebeurtenis van die vorige nag maak my nog skrikkeriger vir die plek. My broers sien ek dikwels. Hulle moet hier verby, as hulle die spoor gaan opblaas, of uitgaan op verkenning. Dan kom hulle gewoonlik by my aan.

Die oggend ná die stelery, kom van hulle my sê dat hulle die volgende aand by my kom eet. Die volgende oggend is ek vroeg uit, om alles vir hul koms reg te kry, en ook vir hulle ’n lekker ete voor te berei.

Teen die middag is alles omtrent klaar, en gaan ek in my kamer voor die venster sit, en werk. Ek raak so verdiep in die naaldwerk dat ek nooit opmerk dat daar ’n klomp perderuiters aankom nie; en eers toe hulle op die werf is, merk ek op dat dit wemel van die Kakies. Ek skrik so dat ek sommer opspring om uit te gaan; maar voor ek nog buite kom, storm hulle die huis in, en snuffel al die vertrekke deur. Naderhand gee hulle pad, maar nie voordat hulle my beroof het, sodat ek dié aand nie eens ’n stukkie brood gehad het om te eet nie.

Ek bekommer my egter toe maar min oor wat toe aan die gebeure is. My enigste kwelling is wat vanaand sal gebeur, as my broers kom. Hulle weet niks van die vyand se bewegings nie, en sal dus houtgerus en onbewus van die gevaar, hier aangery kom. Nee, ek moet ’n plan maak. Ek moet hulle waarsku. Maar hoe?

Die offisiere kom in en sit in die sitkamer, en laat my roep. Gou waarsku ek ou Tryn om niks te sê nie, sy weet niks van die Boere af nie, en sy kannie verstaan as hulle met haar praat nie. Ek was nog besig met ou Tryn, toe is daar al weer een, om my te sê dat die kommandant my wil sien.

Toe ek by die sitkamer instap, sit dit vol Engelse, en hulle lag, gesels en rook. Ek doen alles in my vermoë om myself te beheer. My senuwees wil met my op loop gaan; ek is bang, skaam en kwaad, alles deurmekaar. Toe begin die ou met sy kruisverhoor.

“Wat kan jy ons van die Boere vertel? Waar is hulle? Sien jy hulle dikwels?” en so aan, gaan die ou voort. Hy praat egter in ’n sagte en vriendelike toon, en dit lyk nie of hy my te hard gaan behandel nie.

Ek sê toe aan hom: “Kyk, dis tee-tyd; ek gaan eers gou vir julle tee maak, dan kom sit ek en vertel julle alles.”

My bedoeling is egter om tyd te wen, om my planne agtermekaar te kry. Toe ek uitstap, gaan een van hulle voor die klavier sit, en begin so treurig Home, Sweet Home speel. ’n Koue rilling gaan langs my ruggraat af, by die aanhoor van die bekende ou melodie. Hy dink natuurlik aan sy huis, maar wat van myne? Ek wil dit liewer nie hoor nie, en druk die deur toe. Ná ’n rukkie is die tee klaar, en ou Tryn neem dit in, en ek gaan ook in, en gaan langs die klavier staan terwyl hy nog speel. Ek het my storie nou taamlik agtermekaar. Hy hou toe op met speel, en vra my weer wat ek hulle kan vertel. Ek sê dat ek van die Boere omtrent niks weet nie. Ek sien hulle nooit. Maar hier is ’n patrollie burgers …

“Waar? Waar?” val hulle my sommer in die rede.

Ek weet nie waar nie. Hulle bly nooit op een plek nie. Ek gaan toe voort en vertel hulle dat ’n broertjie van my by die burgerpatrollie is. Hy wil nie meer veg nie, want hy sê hulle sal die vyand tog nooit wen nie, en alles is al so skaars, en dat ek hom moet laat weet sodra ’n Engelse laer hier opdaag, want hy wil maar liewer kom oorgee, en ook kamp-toe gaan.

“Maar,” vra hy, en hier vra hy my amper vas, “hoe weet jy waar hy is: hulle is dan nooit op een plek nie?”

“O, dis maklik!” antwoord ek. “Ek skryf baie vir hom, dan word die brief onder ’n klip op ’n sekere plek gesit, en hy ken die plek. Dan kom kry hy dit daar, en pos weer vir my ook een.”

Ek wil natuurlik baie graag hê hy moet onder beskerming gaan, en bied dus my perd en saal aan. Dan kan die kleinjong die brief wegbring, voeg ek nog verder by.

Hy kyk na die ander, en dit lyk my hulle is baie huiwerig en teensinnig. Ek loop nou nader na hom toe, neem hom aan die arm, en met ’n smekende huilstem wat ek so pateties moontlik maak, soebat ek hom om tog asseblief my ou broertjie te red. Hy bespreek dit toe weer met die ander, en sê toe aan my: “Goed, skryf maar vir hom in Engels, dan gee jy dit hier dat ek sien.”

Ek neem die skryfpapier, en kom staan by hom langs die klavier en skryf. Uit pure angs dat my planne nog miskien sal misluk, bewe ek so dat ek skaars kan skryf. Hulle raak nou weer aan die gesels, en dit gee my weer moed en maak my minder onseker.

Ek skryf op die eerste vel papier die volgende briefie: “Dear Brother, I promised to let you know. An English force has just arrived. Try to come over at once. Sarah.”

Onopgemerk, lig ek die eerste vel papier op sonder om dit af te skeur, en skryf op die tweede een: “There’s a large English force here. They’re looking for you. Be careful. Don’t come tonight. I’ve been captured.”

Ek hou nou die skryfblok na hom toe, sodat hy kan lees. My hart bons soos ’n voorhammer in my keel. Wat word van my as hy daardie eerste vel papier oplig en die tweede sien? Op daardie oomblik, kon ek nie een woord sê nie. Hy lees egter klaar, en sê: “Dit is goed, stuur dit maar.”

Ewe versigtig, skeur ek die twee velle saam uit, sit dit maar voor hulle in ’n koevert en lak dit toe. Toe begin ek weer normaal asemhaal.

As die kleinjong net eers weg is, dan is alles reg. Hy weet waar om hulle te kry. Ou Tryn het hom voorheen goed touwys gemaak. Hy weet ook van die klip-storie, en sal niks verraai as iemand hom vra nie.

Die offisiere gaan saam uit om die kleinjong te sien vertrek, en gee ook bevel aan die wagte om hom deur te laat. Weinig wis hulle, dat hy nou reguit na die Boerepatrollie toe gaan.

Ek leef en beweeg weer sommer vry en gemaklik. Ek weet dat my brief gou en sonder letsel sy bestemming sal bereik. Die kleinjong ken die veld, en my broers is nie vêr daarvandaan af nie.

 

Popular Taxes

Posted on March 30, 2020 by Cape Rebel

Click on the image to listen to the podcast

From ‘The Budget’
In Jurie Steyn’s Post Office
by Herman Charles Bosman

 

‘All the same, in the days of the Republics, you would not find a burgher doing a thing like that,’ Oupa Bekker went on, shaking his head. ‘Not even in the Republic of Goosen. And not even after the Republic of Goosen’s Minister of Finance had lost all the State revenues in an unfortunate game of poker that he had been invited to take part in, at the Mafeking Hotel. And there was quite a big surplus, too, that year, which the Minister of Finance kept tucked away in an inside pocket throughout the poker game, and which he could still remember having had on him when he went into the bar. Although he could never remember what happened to that surplus afterwards. The Minister of Finance never went back to Goosen, of course. He stayed on in Mafeking. When I saw him again, he was offering to help carry people’s luggage from the Zeederberg coach station to the hotel.’

Oupa Bekker was getting ready to say a whole lot more when Jurie Steyn interrupted him, demanding to know what all that had got to do with his post office.

‘I said that even when things were very bad in the old days, you would still never see a postmaster running in the sun with a letter in a cleft stick,’ Oupa Bekker explained, adding, ‘like a Mchopi.’

Jurie Steyn’s wife did not want any unpleasantness. So she came and sat on the riempie bench next to Oupa Bekker and made it clear to him, in a friendly sort of way, what the discussion was all about.

‘You see, Oupa,’ Jurie Bekker’s wife said finally, after a pause for breath, ‘that’s just what we’ve been saying. We’ve been saying that in the old days, before they had proper post offices, people used to send letters with Mchopi runners.’

‘But that’s what I’ve been saying also,’ Oupa Bekker persisted. ‘I say, why doesn’t Jurie rather go in his mule-cart?’

Jurie Steyn’s wife gave up after that. Especially when Jurie Steyn walked over to where Oupa Bekker was sitting.

‘You know, Oupa,’ Jurie Steyn said, talking very quietly, ‘you’ve been an ouderling for many years, and we all respect you in the Groot Marico. We also respect your grey hairs. But you must not lose that respect through … through talking about things you don’t understand.’

Oupa Bekker tightened his grip on his tambotie-wood walking-stick.

‘Now if you had spoken to me like that in the Republican days, Jurie Steyn,’ the old man said, in a cracked voice, ‘in the Republic of Stellaland, for instance …’.

‘You and your Republics, Oupa,’ Jurie Steyn said, giving up the argument and turning back to the counter. ‘Goosen, Stellaland, Lydenberg – I suppose you were also in the Orighstad Republic?’

Oupa Bekker sat up very stiffly on the riempie bench, then.

‘In the Orighstad Republic,’ he declared – and in his eyes there gleamed for a moment a light, as from a great past – ‘in the Republic of Orighstad, I had the honour to be the Minister of Finance.’

‘Honour,’ Jurie Steyn repeated sarcastically, but not speaking loud enough for Oupa Bekker to hear. ‘I wonder how he lost the money in the State’s skatkis. Playing snakes and ladders, I suppose.’

~

All the same, there were those of us who were much interested in Oupa Bekker’s statement. Johnny Coen moved his chair closer to Oupa Bekker, then. Even though Orighstad had been only a small Republic, and hadn’t lasted very long, still there was something about the sound of the words ‘Minister of Finance’ that could not but awaken in us a sense of awe.

‘I hope you deposited the State revenues in the Reserve Bank, in a proper manner,’ At Naudé said, winking at us, but impressed all the same.

‘There was no Reserve Bank in those days,’ Oupa Bekker said, ‘or any other kind of bank either, in the Republic of Ohrighstad. No, I just kept the national treasury in a stocking under my matress. It was the safest place, of course.’

Johnny Coen put the next question.

‘What was the most difficult part of being Finance Minister, Oupa?’ he asked. ‘I suppose it was to make the budget balance?’

‘Money was the hardest thing,’ Oupa Bekker said, sighing.

‘It still is,’ Chris Welman interjected. ‘You don’t need to have been a Finance Minister, either, to know that.’

‘But, of course, it wasn’t as bad as today,’ Oupa Bekker went on. ‘Being Minister of Finance, I mean. For instance, we didn’t need to worry about finding money for education, because there just wasn’t any, of course.’

Jurie Steyn coughed, in a significant kind of way, then, but Oupa Bekker ignored him.

‘I don’t think,’ he went on, ‘that we would have stood for education in the Orighstad Republic. We knew we were better off without it.

‘And then, there was no need to spend money on railways and harbours, because there weren’t any, either.

‘Or hospitals. We lived a healthy life in those days, except maybe for lions. And if you died from a lion, there wasn’t much of you left over that could be taken to a hospital.

‘Of course, we had to spend a good bit of money on defence, in those days. Gunpowder and lead, and oil to make the springs of our old sannas work more smoothly. You see, we were expecting trouble anyday from Paul Kruger and the Doppers.

‘But it was hard for me to know how to work out a popular budget, especially as there were only seventeen income-tax-payers in the whole of the Republic. I thought of imposing a tax on the President’s state coach, even. That suggestion was very popular with the income-tax-paying group, but you’ve no idea how much it annoyed the President.

‘I imposed all sorts of taxes afterwards, which nobody would have to pay. These taxes didn’t bring in much in the way of money, of course. But they were very popular, all the same. And I can still remember how popular my budget was, the year I put a very heavy tax on opium. I had heard somewhere about an opium tax. Naturally, of course, I did not expect this tax to bring in a penny. But I knew how glad the burghers of the Orighstad Republic would be, each one of them, to think that there was a tax they had escaped.’

Oupa Bekker was still talking about the measures he had introduced to combat inflation in the early days of the Orighstad Republic when the lorry from Bekkersdal arrived in a cloud of dust.

Oupa Bekker left then, for he was expecting neither correspondence, nor a milk-can.