Searching Queen's Cowboys

Searching for the Queen’s Cowboys

Travels in South Africa Filming a documentary on Strathcona’s Horse and the Anglo-Boer War

Tony Maxwell Copyright © 2010 Tony Maxwell All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Maxwell, Tony, 1943- Searching for the Queen’s cowboys : travels in South Africa filming a documentary on Strathcona’s Horse and the Anglo-Boer War / Tony Maxwell. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-0-9683256-1-2 1. Maxwell, Tony, 1943- --Travel--South Africa. 2. South Africa-- Description and travel. 3. South African War, 1899-1902. 4. South Africa-- History, Military. I. Title. DT1738.M38 2009 916.80466 C2009-905986-X

Book design: BookDesign.ca Printed in USA

Published in 2009 by BRATONMAX P O Box 146, Red Deer, Alberta Canada T4N 5E7 www.bratonmax.com

2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Contents

1 Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys ...... 15

2 London ...... 37

3 Africa ...... 49

4 Pretoria ...... 68

5 Mpumalanga ...... 94

6 Lydenburg ...... 114

7 Politics and Wars ...... 140

8 Kruger’s Legacy ...... 159

9 Wolvespruit ...... 188

10 Isandlwana ...... 212

11 Rorke’s Drift ...... 240

12 Spion Kop ...... 252

13 The Hunt For De Wet ...... 272

14 Magersfontein ...... 291

15 The City of Gold ...... 315

Searching for the Queen’s Cowboys 3 For my parents Thelma and Frank Maxwell

4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Acknowledgements Travel has always been a very important part of my life. The excitement of discovering new and unfamiliar places often coupled with the kindness and hospitality extended by old friends and complete strangers are experiences not to be missed. There are so many people who have encouraged and helped Brad and I in our quest for the Queen’s Cowboys that it’s hard to know where to start. First and foremost we are grateful to Darryl Crowell of the Museum of the Regiments, Brian Tulty of Lord Strathcona’s Horse (Royal Canadians) for their advice and assistance. To our four front-cover troopers, Jesse Bargholz, Mike King, Ray Scherger and Shawn Thirwell of the Mounted Forces Association of Canada our thanks for your help. We appreciate the assistance of Stuart Neil, the Queen’s assistant press secretary, in securing permission to film on the west terrace of Buckingham Palace. In South Africa we owe a special thank you to Ernst Marais, Johan Wolfhardt, Herman Labuschagne, Jeff Davidson and Peter and Kathy Steyn for their friendship and support. We owe a debt of gratitude to Marion and Alastair Moir of Cottonwood Tours and our Boer commandos, Willie and Ryno Roeloffze, Stephan and Gerrie van der Merwe and Noel Jones; Rita and Andre Britz of the Val Hotel and Johan Hattingh of the Museum of the Boer Republics. Also, to the dozens of South Africans we met on the Internet and to those we met in person who did not wish to be mentioned, we are grateful for your help and companionship when both were needed. My personal thanks to Carl Hahn for his editorial skills and Jim Bisakowski for his book designing expertise. Finally to my wife Wendy and my son Brad for their almost unlimited patience and understanding in my search for the Queen’s Cowboys.

Searching for the Queen’s Cowboys 5 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS INTRODUCTION When my son Brad and I went to South Africa to film our documentary “The Queen’s Cowboys,” I had in mind to write an arti- cle about our experiences searching for the battlefields and graves associated with Strathcona’s Horse and the Anglo-Boer War. But it turned out to be a lot more complicated than I expected. To understand why the Strathconas went to South Africa in the first place, it was necessary to explain what the South African or Anglo-Boer War was all about and why it involved Canada. Then, to understand the reasons for the war, it was necessary to explain in some detail the history of South Africa and so on. South Africa is a complex society. Many, if not all, of its problems are rooted not only in its past but also in its most recent history. During our travels we met a number of people who in one way or another, were able to shed some light on these problems. At the request of some, I have changed their names and situations to preserve their privacy so they were able to speak freely. After we returned from South Africa, a friend asked what I thought was the biggest problem facing that country. I immediately thought of the most commonly stated problems: AIDS specifically, disease in general, “Big Men” and government corruption, racial tension, climate change, poverty, to name just a few. But on reflec- tion I decided that the biggest long-term problem that faced, not only South Africa but the whole of the continent, is population explosion. During our travels around South Africa we were astonished, dismayed and sometimes alarmed at the size of the shanty towns that had sprung up outside even the smallest communities. Euphemistically called high-density, low-income areas, these cardboard, plastic and corrugated iron slums, which are home to

Searching for the Queen’s Cowboys 7 hundreds of thousands of people, lack even the most basic services and are subject to high levels of crime and the despair of unemployment and poverty. And I could be talking about any community, not only in South Africa, but anywhere on the African continent. The obvious solution is for governments to encourage a measure of birth control before the situation gets totally out of control (if it hasn’t already). It is discouraging to see aid agencies making heroic efforts to feed starving people in places that are already unable to feed the people even in good times, without making some effort to slow down population growth. Given the looming certainty of climate change and the decreasing levels of food production in southern Africa, this is a problem that needs immediate attention. I am reminded of the Malthusian prediction that populations cannot grow beyond their, ultimately limited, capacity to feed themselves. Jacob Zuma, leader of the African National Congress (ANC), is now South Africa’s third black president. His checkered political career, which was all but written off when he faced allegations of rape and corruption, was saved when the charges were dropped. He has, unfortunately, many of the characteristics common to a number of Africa’s “Big Men.” He has no formal education, he spent 10 years imprisoned on Robben Island and is well known for his dancing at political rallies and, regrettably, for his favourite song, Lethu Umshini Wami (Bring Me My Machine-gun). Obviously, the majority of voters see him as a refreshing change after the law- yerly Mandela and the overseas-educated Mbeki. For the sake of South Africa, I hope they are right. History was always a hands-on experience for me growing up in South Africa, a country with a violent and turbulent past. (Some have unkindly said that even today, nothing much has changed.) This meant that no matter where one lived, it would not be far

8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS from some battlefield where the issue of the day was settled with arrows or assegais, musket balls or modern cartridges. It’s probably true that one should not dwell in the past, but as the heroes and villains of history have shaped the world we live in, we should at least pay some attention to their stories. After all, it is their memories that we have to interpret if we are to have any idea of what may lie in our future. I was born in a small town outside Johannesburg in what was then the province of the Transvaal, and grew up during the ’50s and ’60s in a white, English-speaking, middle-class family. Our neighbourhood was not very different from the average middle- class suburb in any North American city of reasonable size. Our homes were mostly single-level, ranch-style dwellings, often with beautiful, well-tended gardens and the occasional swimming pool. But, unlike most North American middle-class homes, we had burglar bars on every window and alarm systems on all outside doors. Despite the odd burglary, it was usually safe to walk about our neighbourhood during the day or night, and my parents had no qualms about my little sister and me walking or cycling to school every day. In the northern suburbs of Johannesburg, where I lived for most of my teenage years, violent crimes such as armed robbery and murder were rare and usually made front-page headlines. However, just a few miles away in the black townships, robbery and murder were daily events and almost never made the newspapers. The reason our white islands of safety could exist in a country that had one of the most violent societies on earth, was largely the government’s apartheid policy. Among the many laws introduced to enforce apartheid (the Government preferred to call it separate development) was one which restricted the free movement of blacks around the country. This law, which prevented large numbers of unemployed blacks moving from the rural areas to the cities,

Searching for the Queen’s Cowboys 9 where they would likely turn to crime to survive, kept us whites safe in our homes and suburbs. The panoply of laws and restrictions that apartheid imposed on blacks also created no end of problems for typical, middle-class families such as ours. (Most whites preferred not to think of the problems it caused for the blacks.) We had to make sure our black servants, usually a garden boy (even if he was fifty years old, he was still called a boy) and housemaid were legally registered and possessed passbooks which confirmed their employment and their right to be in the city. Woe betides them if they ever left home without it. Blacks stopped by a police patrol (this happened more often to our garden boy) would be arrested if they were unable to produce the required pass. For a black male, this could mean up to three months’ hard labour on a farm, followed by deportation to his rural homeland. We were usually informed by our housemaid if our garden boy, Enoch or Isaac or Moses or Joshua, had been arrested. (Biblical names were all the rage, usually adopted because we whites couldn’t pronounce African given names.) If our garden boy was arrested for not carrying his pass or for violating any other apartheid regulation, my father would have to go immediately to the local police station to secure his release before he disappeared into one of the rural gulags. I have always given credit to my parents for going to extraor- dinary lengths to rescue our servants from the byzantine world of apartheid laws. On one such occasion, they spent two days driving our garden boy, Moses, to his government-assigned homeland near Pietersburg in the northern Transvaal to secure some official stamp in his passbook. I remember my father’s amused contempt for the apartheid apparatchiks who had chosen Pietersburg as Moses’s homeland, especially as he had been born in Nyasaland (Malawi)

1 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS in Central Africa. “It’s just as well they don’t bloody know where Nyasaland is,” he remarked with a smile. “I would hate to have to drive all that way!” Sometimes, apartheid wasn’t always the problem. Friday was usually payday for domestic servants and on many occasions my father would have to drive our housemaid to her home in Alexander Township. This was so she would not have to run the gauntlet of footpads, known locally as tsotsis, who lay in wait for blacks carrying home their hard-earned wages. Of course, my mother would have to go along, as any lone white male in a car with a black female passenger ran the risk of being stopped by the police and charged under the Immorality Act! It would be reasonably accurate if I said that most English- speaking white South Africans were uneasy with the ever-growing apparatuses of the apartheid system. While most agreed with restrictions on the movement of blacks from rural areas into the cities, others were equally uncomfortable with laws that separated black families and imposed harsh punishments on those whose worst crime was trying to find work to support their families. One of the main objectives of the Afrikaner-based Nationalist Party (Nats) when it came to power in 1948 was to find a solution to the mostly Afrikaner “poor whites” problem. This problem, which had its roots in the Anglo-Boer War, reached massive proportions during the depression era. The Nats’ solution was to introduce the Job Reservations Act, which reserved a wide range of low-level, largely unskilled occupations for poor whites who, in turn, became mainstay supporters of the Party. The Nats constantly warned against the swart gevaar (black danger) which they assured us would, if it were not for their vigilance, overthrow the white man and drive him into the sea. British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan’s speech to the South African

Searching for the Queen’s Cowboys 1 1 Parliament in February 1960 warned of “a wind of change” blowing through the continent and the inevitability of black majority rule. If Harold thought his dire warnings would scare the dour Afrikaners or Boers who watched impassively from the government benches in Parliament, it proved that, like his predecessors 60 years ago, he seriously underestimated the determination of the Boers. On the other hand, Harold’s speech scared the hell out of us English- speaking South Africans. Even though most of us were second- and third-generation South Africans and had never set foot in the United Kingdom, we nevertheless considered ourselves British South Africans. Afrikaners mocked this divided loyalty when they called us souties (salties), which in ribald fun claimed that, as we stood with one foot in South Africa and the other in Britain, our private parts hang in the sea and become salty! Perhaps because we did not wish to think about the alterna- tives, we believed government propaganda that claimed the blacks were happy and content with their lot. Our mistaken assumptions that all was well in the black shanty towns were shaken to their core on a Monday morning in March 1960. A police detachment had opened fire on thousands of blacks protesting the passbook laws in a township called Sharpeville. Though many such police actions had taken place before, the high death toll of 69 shot dead and 180 wounded grabbed headlines around the world. We began to realize that perhaps all was not well in our paradise. While the tragedy of the Sharpeville Massacre may have encouraged some white families to make tentative inquiries about life in Canada or Australia, most preferred the ostrich “head in the sand” approach to the looming problems that faced the country. While state-enforced apartheid’s prime function was to separate blacks and whites, there also existed a degree of separation between the English- and Afrikaans-speaking sections of the

1 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS population. Although Afrikaans, one of two official languages, was a compulsory subject at school, neither I nor my friends could claim a working knowledge of the language when we graduated. The commercial world of South Africa in those days was dominated by the English-speaking sector of the population, while most government employees, including the police, railways and the army, were Afrikaners. I had no genuine Afrikaans-speaking friends, other than the odd anglicized Afrikaners who attended the same English medium schools and usually spoke Afrikaans almost as badly as I did. It was only during the fortunately rare interschool rugby matches that we had occasion to face Afrikaners on the sports field. To say that the Afrikaner players were huge would be a classic understatement. For most of our side, victory consisted simply of avoiding injury during the match, a result we achieved by staying as far away from the ball as possible. There was never any question of winning; our sole object was survival! Military service was compulsory in South Africa so, just before my 18th birthday, I received my call-up papers ordering me to report to the Drill Hall in Johannesburg. I was pleased to find that I had been drafted into my father’s old regiment, the Transvaal Scottish. Along with hundreds of other draftees, I journeyed to the Afrikaans town of Potchefstroom to begin basic training in an environment where English was seldom, if ever, spoken. The few English-speaking Transvaal Scottish recruits happily shared barracks for the first month, after which, to our dismay, we were reassigned to other barracks which consisted almost entirely of Afrikaner recruits. In company with one other Transvaal Scottish draftee, we found ourselves the only English-speaking recruits in an Afrikaans- speaking medium machine gun platoon. As we moved our gear

Searching for the Queen’s Cowboys 1 3 into their barracks, we feared the worst but, to our surprise, were greeted in a friendly manner. Within hours, we felt right at home and in a few days, had made many new friends. Most of the Afrikaners spoke excellent English but, rightly so, were resolved that we should learn to speak Afrikaans equally well. In any event, as most of the military training was conducted in Afrikaans, we soon picked up a degree of fluency that surprised even us. I was delighted to find that most of my new companions had more than a passing interest in the history of the Boer War, and many a long night on guard duty was enlivened with thought-provoking discussions. I met recruits who were the direct descendants of famous Boer generals. They told me stories of their grandfathers and grandmothers, of battles and concentration camps and, from that time on, I began to look at the history of the Boer War in a new light. Most English-speaking South Africans believed that the Anglo-Boer War was fought by Britain to force the Boer government to grant voting rights to the growing English population of the Transvaal. We would have bristled at the suggestion that Britain was only interested in taking over the gold mines of the Boer Republic. During my schooldays, the education system which not surprisingly, was divided into separate English and Afrikaans syllabuses, had done little to correct national prejudices about the war. Feelings about the Boer War have always run deep in white South African society and, as I discovered in later life, still do to this day.

1 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS 1 Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys

he sun rose at 6:30 that morning and did little to dispel the Tcold wind that blew over the highveld of the Transvaal in far- away South Africa. It was July 1, 1900 and the men of B Squad- ron, Strathcona’s Horse, saddled their horses as they got ready to escort a column of supply wagons. Trooper Angus Jenkins from Red Deer, Alberta, stamped his feet to keep warm, buttoned up his tunic against the cold and draped a bandolier of cartridges across his shoulder. At last, the order came to mount up and B Squad- ron trotted out to take up their positions protecting the right flank of the column as it followed the railway line towards the town of Standerton. About five kilometres from camp, B Squadron crossed a spruit (stream) near Smith’s store and came under fire from Boer commandos hiding near a deserted farmhouse. The sharp cracks of incoming rounds prompted the troopers to greater efforts as they sought cover and returned the fire. One of the men shouted,

Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys 1 5 “Jenkins is hit!” a call that prompted an officer to crawl to the side of the wounded trooper. The round, which had struck Jenkins’s bandolier, deformed on impact and opened a gaping wound in his chest. Despite the officer’s frantic efforts to bandage the wound, Jenkins died and passed into history as the Strathconas’ first battle casualty in the war in South Africa. The Anglo-Boer War was the first large-scale modern war between one of the most advanced military powers in the world and a small, rather backward nation of European descent. The war occurred at the same time that developments in military technology were changing the face of the battlefield forever. Both sides were quick to take advantage of these developments but, to the surprise of the watching world, the Boers were often quicker off the mark than the British. Fortunately for the British soldier, the red tunic had given way to khaki and the single-shot Martini-Henry rifle was replaced with the Lee Metford which, in turn, was soon replaced by the superior Lee Enfield. Regretfully the British War Office elected not to supply the new Enfields until the older Metfords were worn out, putting economy before lives. The war also saw the introduction of the machine gun recently developed by Hiram Maxim. Fortunately, at the time neither side was able to figure out how it could be used effectively. Unfortunately, by 1914, the Germans, the British and the French had it figured out. The Maxim Nordenfeldt, a 37mm quick-firing gun also made its first appearance on the battlefield. Called a pom-pom by British soldiers (who could be forgiven for wondering why the Boers had them while they didn’t), this new weapon fired thirty, one-kilogram shells a minute to a maximum distance of three kilometres. Unfortunately for the British army, their buyers had turned it down, in contrast to the Boers, who thought such a weapon might indeed

1 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS come in handy. The Boers also purchased advanced Creusot field guns from France, as well as Krupp field guns and the superb Mauser rifle from Germany, all of which added to the bewilderment of British soldiers who were on the receiving end. The Mauser rifle was indeed an excellent example of German military technology. Its fine and exact sights gave it a range of more than 2,000 metres and accuracy unequalled in military rifles of the day.

Boer commandos going on watch. Glenbow Archives NA-919-46

The greatest advantage the Mauser had over the British Lee Metford and Enfield was the speed and efficiency with which the Mauser magazine was loaded. The British rifle was loaded by inserting one cartridge at a time through the open breech into the magazine. This was a time-consuming and cumbersome task during

Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys 1 7 training but a nightmare while lying prone on the veld behind a small anthill, as Mauser rounds kicked up the dust around you. By contrast, the Mauser was loaded by inserting a five-round clip or charger into the rifle’s open breech where, with one press of the thumb, all five rounds were inserted into the magazine. In this war of the riflemen, the deadly efficiency of the Mauser was to dominate the battlefield in the early stages of the war, until an eventual shortage of ammunition forced the Boers to use captured British weapons and ammunition. A close examination of wartime photos of Boers on commando revealed that many did not carry the new Mauser, but instead preferred the much older, single shot Martini-Henry rifle. Their choice of this rifle, which had been the standard military rifle for the past quarter century, simply reflected a personal preference for a weapon they were familiar with and trusted implicitly. Unfortunately, the Martini-Henry, which fired a heavy calibre lead bullet twice the size of the Mauser round, caused many of the severe wounds treated by British battlefield surgeons. This sometimes led to accusations that the Boers were using “dum dum” or expanding bullets, which were banned by the Geneva Convention to which both sides were signatories. Boer forces were also quicker off the mark with their use of the field telephone in the early stages of the war, while the British relied (if that’s the right word) on signal flags, heliographs and mounted messengers. Resistance by the British army hierarchy to new developments, whether in tactics or weapons, cost them dearly in the early stages of the war. The origins of the Anglo-Boer War can be traced back as far as the Great Trek when, around 1830, Afrikaner settlers or Boers (which essentially means farmers), left the Cape Colony to escape British rule – a rule they felt interfered with their way of

1 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS life and other homely traditions such as owning slaves. Known as Voortrekkers, these migrating Boers journeyed into the hinterland of southern Africa and, after fighting many battles with African tribes, settled the Orange Free State and the Transvaal. Around 1850, Britain eventually recognized the Republic of the Orange Free State and the Transvaal or South African Republic, hoping to restrain the constant frontier wars between the Boers and their African neighbours, but otherwise left the republics to their own devices. But that all changed when, in 1869, diamonds were discovered at Kimberley on the borders of the Orange Free State. Britain’s renewed interest in the republics, coupled with the perceived threat posed by the Zulus on the Transvaal and Natal borders, eventually led to its annexation of the Transvaal. However, Boer opposition to this imposition of British rule grew and finally, in 1881, the Transvaal rose in rebellion. Boer commandos laid siege to the few British garrisons in the Transvaal and then, to the surprise of the British, inflicted a humiliating defeat on a numerically superior force at Majuba Hill on the Natal border. Unwilling to fight a full-scale war, the British government of William Gladstone restored the Transvaal’s independence and hoped for the best. But that hope was short-lived. In 1886, the discovery of vast deposits of gold on the Witwatersrand in the Transvaal changed everything. Attracted by reports of the fortunes being made, men flocked to the Transvaal from all over the world. Of course, the president of the Transvaal, Paul Kruger, and his government were delighted with the new revenues that flowed into their usually-depleted state coffers. However, they were unnerved and not a little apprehensive at this sudden influx of foreigners or uitlanders (pronounced “eight lunders”) as they were called, into their republic. Fearing their way of life and

Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys 1 9 independence was at stake, the Transvaal government refused to grant the vote to the uitlanders. In reality, this was of little importance to most uitlanders, who were more concerned with making their fortunes than they were interested in local politics. The refusal of the Transvaal government to enfranchise the uitlander population (which clearly threatened to outnumber the Boers) was seized upon by the new British government of Lord Salisbury and unscrupulous individuals who sought to achieve their own ends. One such individual was Cecil John Rhodes, the son of an English country parson. Rhodes had traveled to South Africa for health reasons, but soon found himself embroiled in the midst of the Kimberley diamond rush. Displaying a natural ability in the hurly-burly of the diamond diggings, it was not long before he had amassed a sizable fortune. As his wealth grew so did his vision of Africa, united from Cape to Cairo under the British flag. The discovery of gold in the Transvaal added to his fortune, which he put to work through his British South Africa Company, adding Rhodesia to his personal dominions. By 1895, Rhodes, encouraged by British Colonial Secretary Joseph Chamberlain, advocated the overthrow of the Transvaal government by force and the addition of the republic to the British Empire. Against all advice, Rhodes secretly assembled 500 volunteers and police from Rhodesia in neighbouring Bechuanaland. Commanded by his old friend, Leander Starr Jameson, this force was held ready to ride to Johannesburg to support a possible uitlander uprising. Rhodes, who had received word that the much-vaunted uitlander uprising would not take place, tried to contact Jameson to call off the raid. (I think he realized the mining community was too busy making money to be involved in his crazy schemes.) Jameson, who either did not receive the message or foolishly decided to

2 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS ignore it, went ahead and led his force into the Transvaal. A popular story of the time suggested that the two men detailed to cut the telegraph wires took some time off to celebrate in a local bar before they carefully cut down a length of fencing wire and buried it in the veld! Jameson and his band of merry men got to within ten miles of the gold-mining town of Johannesburg where, after a short, sharp engagement, they were ignominiously rounded up by Boer commandos and imprisoned. Those in Britain and South Africa who contemplated war with the Transvaal should have taken note of the speed and efficiency of the Boer reaction to the raid, but the lesson went unlearned. The raid, or rather its failure, coupled with the non-existent uprising in Johannesburg, was an acute embarrassment to the British government, which denied all knowledge of this “illegal invasion of a sovereign state.” The fiasco cost Rhodes his job as premier of the Cape Province and provided many European countries, especially Germany, with an opportunity to tweak the tail of the British lion! The next step in the British government’s underhanded plans to annex the Transvaal was the dispatch to the Cape of the arch imperialist, Sir Alfred Milner. Milner shared the dreams of Rhodes and Chamberlain for a South Africa united under British rule. These dreams brought him into direct conflict with Johannes Paulus Kruger, the fourth-term president of the Transvaal or South African Republic and a hero to Afrikaners all over South Africa. Now over 80 years old, this larger than life Boer leader, who had taken part in the Great Trek and proven himself repeatedly both in politics and numerous wars with African tribes, was now fighting for the future of a country he loved. Milner kept up the pressure on Kruger with messages to

Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys 2 1 London pleading the cause of the downtrodden British uitlanders whom, he claimed, were “calling vainly for Her Majesty’s government to come to their aid.” Sure they were! Eventually at a conference in Bloemfontein supposedly called to resolve their differences, Kruger, to Milner’s displeasure, offered concessions. Milner dismissed them out of hand and hastily ended the conference, leaving Kruger to sorrowfully proclaim, “It is our country you want.” How right he was. Milner’s next step was to persuade the British government to send a force of 10,000 troops to protect the frontiers of the Cape and Natal and to bolster the 9,000 troops already in South Africa. The Secretary of State for War, Lord Lansdowne, as he made ready to dispatch the requested troops, appointed one of Britain’s leading soldiers, General Sir Redvers Buller VC, to command all British forces in South Africa. The governments of the Transvaal and the Orange Free State reacted with dismay and foreboding as they realized a war with Britain was inevitable. They were convinced their only chance for victory lay in the rapid defeat of the forces arrayed against them in Natal and the Cape before General Buller and the reinforcements arrived. Kruger believed that a string of early victories would weaken British resolve to fight and could also encourage the Cape Boers to rush to the aid of the two republics. He was mindful that in 1881, when the Transvaal rebelled against British occupation, the British government negotiated a settlement which left the Republic to its own devices. Paul Kruger had every reason to believe it would happen again. President of the Republic of the Orange Free State Marthinus Steyn, although opposed to war, would not abandon the Transvaal in its time of need and, at Kruger’s urging, pledged his support in the coming conflict. I think Steyn also realized that once the

2 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Transvaal was part of British South Africa, he would be next. After all, although it had no gold, diamonds were still to be found in the Orange Free State! On October 10, 1899, the tiny South African Republic dispatched an ultimatum to the greatest military power on earth demanding the withdrawal of British troops from the Cape and Natal borders and the recall of troops already on the way to South Africa. This ultimatum gave the British government until 5 p.m. on October 11 to respond; not surprisingly, the British government ignored the ultimatum. Chamberlain was delighted at the news of war; Lord Lansdowne claimed that his “soldiers were ecstatic.” Even the British public, which rallied around the flag and booed anyone who was pro-Boer, believed the war would be over by Christmas. Officers whose regiments were not among the first to go to South Africa took reduc- tions in rank if it got them to the front before the war was over. President Steyn appealed to both Milner and Kruger to avoid war, but to no avail. Peace was dead; the dogs of war were loose. In Johannesburg, thousands of miners and their families crowded onto trains leaving for Natal or the Cape, often compet- ing for track space with trains carrying Boer commandos to the borders. Black mine workers in their tens of thousands, who could not afford the train fare, walked hundreds of kilometres to their tribal homelands. For the first time in 13 years, the richest gold mines in the world were silent. Gusts of wind raised swirls of dust in the silent streets of Johannesburg. Lonely thugs lounged against the shuttered shops and boarded-up businesses searching in vain for someone to rob, but it was no use; the city was deserted. The South African Republic was at war. Dispatched to assume command of British forces in South Africa, General Buller sailed for Cape Town, while Boer commandos

Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys 2 3 swept into Natal and the Cape Colony. As was often the case, the British army seriously underestimated the fighting capabilities of the two Boer Republics. Within a few weeks, and despite having won two minor battles, British forces were besieged in the towns of Mafeking, Kimberley and Ladysmith. During a single week in December, subsequently dubbed Black Week by the British press, efforts to relieve the sieges resulted in three humiliating defeats at the battles of Stormberg, Magersfontein and Colenso. Shortly after the news of Black Week had broken, Queen Victoria met with the Canadian High Commissioner in London, Donald Smith, the Right Honourable Baron Strathcona and Mount Royal. “Donald,” she said, “We need a regiment of your western Canadian cowboys to help us fight the Boers!” Lord Strathcona replied in the affirmative and immediately set about organizing just such a regiment. Now, there were not many men in Canada who had the political clout and money to raise what was virtually a private regiment in a sovereign nation. However, Donald Smith was one of those men. He was one of three entrepreneurs who, in 1888, undertook the construction of Canada’s first transcontinental railway, the Canadian Pacific. My favourite photo of him shows a small man in a black frock coat, top hat (Paul Kruger would have approved of his dress) and bushy white beard hammering in the last spike, which completed the transcontinental railway. It goes without saying that he was an enormously wealthy and influential man. Lord Strathcona believed the British army needed a hard-riding, straight-shooting regiment of Queen’s Cowboys, who understood the art of concealment and who could find their way across the vast open veld of South Africa. Strathcona also believed that western Canada had just the men he wanted. Following discussions with the Colonial Secretary, Lord Strathcona cabled Canadian

2 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Prime Minister Wilfred Laurier and advised him that he intended to raise and equip, at his own expense, a mounted regiment for service in South Africa. Not a bad day’s work, even for Donald Smith! His offer was speedily accepted and under the command of a former North West Mounted Police officer, Colonel Sam Steele, recruitment commenced.

Colonel Sam Steele. Glenbow Archives NA-2382-2

Named for its benefactor, the newly formed regiment, Strathcona’s Horse, had no problem recruiting three squadrons of mounted troopers: one squadron in Manitoba and Saskatchewan, another in Alberta and the third in British Columbia. True to his word, Lord Strathcona outfitted Strathcona’s Horse with the best equipment available: the new Lee Enfield rifles, Colt revolvers, uniforms, distinctive Stetson hats, saddles and all the accoutrements

Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys 2 5 of a cavalry regiment. On March 16, 1900, after a brief training period in Ottawa, the Regiment moved to Halifax where 28 officers, 512 men and 599 horses embarked on the SS Monterey bound for Cape Town, South Africa. As is often the case with men going off to war, their greatest fear was the war would be over before they got there. They need not have worried on that score! Memories of South Africa and the Anglo-Boer War were definitely not on our minds when my family, which consisted of my wife Wendy and our son Brad, settled in Alberta. We chose to live in Red Deer, a small city of nearly 90,000, equidistant between the major cities of Edmonton and Calgary. My wife and I managed a regional tourist association, a task which often required travelling to both Edmonton and Calgary. It was on one such trip to Calgary that my son Brad and I noticed a statue in a small downtown park whose uniform immediately brought back almost forgotten memories of the Anglo-Boer War. We parked the van and walked to the base of the statue. Standing on a granite plinth was a four-metre high figure of a trooper mounted on a horse; he was wearing a Stetson hat, a bandolier across his chest and carried what was unmistakably a Lee Enfield rifle! A small plaque on the plinth confirmed the statue was erected to commemorate Calgarians who had served in South Africa during the Anglo-Boer War. I was eager to know more about that soldier on horseback. Who was he and what regiment did he represent? A phone call to the Museum of the Regiments in Calgary confirmed that the mounted trooper represented a western Canadian regiment called Strathcona’s Horse, which had served in South Africa during the Anglo-Boer War. I must confess that, although I had heard of Lord Strathcona and the Canadian Pacific Railway, I had no idea he had raised a mounted regiment that fought in South Africa. I was aware that

2 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS both Canada and Australia sent troops to aid Britain but, when I researched my collection of books on the Boer War, I found little reference to Canadians. My father, who unfortunately was ill at the time, did recall that Canadians soldiers had played an important role at the battle of Paardeberg, one of the first major British victories of the war. However, as I pursued the matter further with Canadian friends, I came to realize how little they knew about this period in their history, let alone Canada’s involvement in that war. During one of our road trips around Alberta, the idea of a documentary film on the Strathconas was born. To help us put together even the most rudimentary script we needed a lot more information, so we turned to what had now become the most important tool available to researchers: the Internet. Our research revealed that Strathcona’s Horse, disbanded on its return to Canada in 1901, was reformed in 1909 as Lord Strathcona’s Horse (Royal Canadians), a serving armoured regiment that is currently based at Canadian Forces Base Edmonton! A visit to the Museum of the Regiments provided a wealth of information on the Strathconas, plus an opportunity to meet with the then curator of the Museum, Warrant Officer Darryl Crowell. Darryl was very helpful and assisted our project by putting us in touch with Warrant Officer Brian Tulty who was serving with the regiment in Edmonton. Brian had recently returned from a trip to South Africa, during which he and several other members of the Regiment visited some of the graves of Strathconas who had died in South Africa. Unfortunately at this time my father, who was always interested in and supportive of our idea, passed away. His influence and encouragement was not wasted, as shortly after his death Brad and I started work on the story we wanted to tell. We discovered websites in South Africa that were devoted to the Boer War, and my

Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys 2 7 knowledge of Afrikaans improved as I struggled with chat rooms and forums devoted to the war. Through this new medium, Brad and I contacted people who shared our interests and who provided us with information on battlefields, gravesites and the situation in South Africa with regard to safety in rural areas. The media in Alberta were interested in our documentary and, through newspaper and magazine articles and interviews on the CBC, we were contacted by several families whose grandfather or great-grandfather had served in South Africa. Unfortunately, the hoped-for wealth of letters and photographs on the Strathconas did not materialize, so instead we turned to museums and archives in Canada, South Africa and Britain in search for additional material on the Strathconas.

Brad and I with our new camera

By now Brad and I realized we would have to journey to South Africa to locate and film the various battlefields and graves associated with the Strathconas. We had drawn up a tentative shooting schedule for the trip to South Africa and debated whether we

2 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS should rent or buy the video equipment. Preliminary inquiries quickly convinced us that the cost of equipment rentals, complicated by our admission that we were taking the equipment to South Africa, was too high for our budget. Anyway, we reasoned, it made more sense to take equipment that we both owned and knew to be reliable. To raise money for the video equipment, I sold some of my professional still cameras and, combined with a raid on our sav- ings, were able to buy a JVC DV500 digital video camera. It was a middleweight camera when compared to the industry standard Betacam, but it had enough professional features to do the job we required. We added a few lights, radio mikes, a professional tripod with fluid head, plus a half dozen batteries, charger and transformer (South Africa is on 220 volts) to a growing pile of equipment. Travel to South Africa was either safe or dangerous, depending on whom you asked. In the many years since I had last visited the country, momentous changes had taken place: the apartheid regime had been voted out of existence and an African National Congress (ANC) government was in power. I believed it was neither safe nor too dangerous and that, with a degree of caution and common sense, we would manage. A week or so later I received a phone call from Harare in Zimbabwe, telling me that my aged aunt had been murdered in her home. The crime seemed worse, if that was possible, when we were told that my aunt had been strangled with an electric cord by robbers in search of food. The ineptitude and apparent lack of interest exhibited by the Zimbabwean police did little or nothing to allay our fears of robbery or worse in South Africa. The neighbour in Harare who discovered her body, told us that he had to drive to the police station to fetch a constable as the local police dispatcher confessed they did not have a police car in working order!

Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys 2 9 As our filming schedule would take us to remote places far removed from the possible aid of local authorities, we resolved to seek local advice wherever possible and agreed not to venture too far off the beaten track unless we had reasonable assurances it was safe. Well, it seemed like a good resolution at the time. However, as our plans progressed, and to dispel my wife’s (and my own) fears, we contacted Internet friends in South Africa for their advice on some of the locations we had planned to visit. Acting on one of the suggestions received, we visited websites operated by the South African Police Services and several private security organizations for information on crime in South Africa. What we found did nothing to boost our confidence. We learned that nearly 44 per cent of carjackings took place between 6 p.m. and 9 p.m. and that some 70 per cent occurred at the gates or in the driveways of private homes. The staggering number of carjackings, the websites indicated, resulted from the security systems built into modern cars which had made the theft of unattended vehicles nearly impossible. Growing crime trends, we learned, included well-organized truck hijackings and the theft of ATMs using forklifts or front-end loaders, an enterprise which had increased by over 200 per cent over the past three years. The only good news was that overall violent crime was down by three or four per cent, but this was offset by a scary 25 per cent increase in arrests for driving under the influence of alcohol or drugs. We were sorry we had asked! Over the previous few years, we had been in contact with Herman in Mpumalanga, who was the webmaster of an Anglo- Boer War website, which was of great assistance to us in our research. It was thanks to Herman that we were able to contact Ernst and Johan in Pretoria, who kindly offered to meet us on our arrival in Johannesburg and to help ease us into the country so to

3 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS speak. Also on his advice, we contacted Marion and Alastair, who operated a tour company in Lydenburg, and requested their help in finding the many locations associated with the Strathconas in their area. As they had previously conducted WO Tulty and other members of the Strathconas regiment around the Lydenburg area during their earlier visit to South Africa, they were familiar with many of the locations we were interested in. As our research progressed, we began to piece together the story of Strathcona’s Horse, from the recruiting drive in western Canada to their arrival in South Africa. We found interesting anec- dotes in local museums, including the story of Angus Jenkins who was from the Balmoral area just west of Red Deer, only a kilometre or so from where Brad lived. (You will recall we met Angus Jenkins at the start of this chapter). Angus was a young man of 22 whose thirst for adventure prompted him to travel to the Pincher Creek area in southern Alberta where he worked as a cowpuncher on a local ranch. Our research in the Canadian Archives in Ottawa turned up copies of his Agreement for Military Service in South Africa, together with his Medical Report. According to the latter, Angus was a strap- ping 1.8 metres in height, weighing in at 75 kilograms, in excellent physical health and with a scar below his left ear as his only distin- guishing mark. His Military Service Agreement confirmed that he was born in Fredericton, New Brunswick, which left us to presume that at an early age he had moved out west with his parents to Red Deer, Alberta (or the Northwest Territories as it was called in those days). Described as a “tall well-made man,” Angus Jenkins’s undoubted skills as a horseman and possibly with a rifle must have made him quite a catch for any Strathcona’s Horse recruiter. Recruiters were, in fact, overwhelmed by the response. Until this time, most of the recruiting for Canadian units intended for

Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys 3 1 the Boer War had taken place in eastern Canada and the cowboys, ranchers, miners and policemen of the west felt left out. It was no surprise then that, in a matter of days, recruiters in Alberta, Manitoba and British Columbia filled their requirements for three squadrons of roughly 162 men each and a headquarters’ staff of about 54. From the list of recruits, one can only assume that life in the North West Mounted Police offered little in the way of excitement. Only this could account for the large number of men who left the force to fight for Queen and country. However, this was of great benefit to the regiment, as it provided a core of disciplined officers and men who proved their worth time and again on the distant veld of South Africa. Hampered by the need to earn a living, work on the script and our search for photos for the documentary progressed slowly, though we were in constant contact with museums and archives in Canada, South Africa and Britain. Unfortunately, not all had digitized their photographic collections so we often bought photos based solely on cryptic descriptions such as “Boers on horseback.” Occasionally this led to an exciting discovery, but usually it did not. Costs too had begun to mount. Each 8x10 photo bought from a museum or archive cost us somewhere between 30 and 200 dollars, plus the postage. We realized early on that many museums often had the same photos in their collections, so we always tried to obtain reproductions from the least expensive sources. This was not always the wisest decision as the old adage, “You only get what you paid for,” applied! When the Strathconas left Canada, they were accompanied by a photographer named Steele but, unfortunately, he was no relation to the commanding officer, Colonel Sam Steele. To the everlasting regret of historians, Colonel Steele, for some unknown reason, took a dislike to Steele the photographer and, shortly after

3 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS their arrival in Cape Town, sent him packing back to Canada. The result of this unfortunate decision was that, apart from an excellent series of photos taken on the ship going to South Africa and a few taken on arrival in Cape Town, we could find no proven photos of the regiment on active service.

Officers, Strathcona’s Horse enroute to South Africa. Library and Archives Canada PA-210511

This is not to say that such photos don’t exist; they may well lie buried in an attic on a prairie farm or unidentified in a poorly catalogued collection of a small museum. Though photography had been around for some time, it was only in the late 1890s that the development of the portable Kodak roll film camera brought it within reach of the ordinary man. Well, perhaps not the ordinary man, but well within reach of the officer class. Though Colonel Steele would have frowned on it, I fondly hope that at least one or two of his officers may have smuggled a Kodak into the field and that these rare images are just waiting to be discovered!

Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys 3 3 Once the regiment’s tour of duty in South Africa was up and they were on their way to England, photographers again appeared and began recording the Strathconas for posterity. One of these photos, which we discovered early on, showed the regiment receiving their Queen’s South Africa medals from King Edward VII on the west terrace of Buckingham Palace. Right away we realized that a transition sequence would work well, provided of course we could get permission to film in the Palace grounds! For the uninitiated, a transition sequence is a favourite of documentary filmmakers. It involves fading out an old black and white image while, at the same time, fading in a current matching color image. A nice trick, but it requires matching up a present-day scene almost exactly with an image taken, in our case, over one hundred years ago! As we had already decided to break our flight to South Africa by spending a few days in London visiting the National Army Museum, I immediately sought permission to film at Buckingham Palace. After nearly three months of e-mails and letters going back and forth to Stuart Neil, then assistant press secretary to HM the Queen, we were finally granted permission. However, it had come with the proviso that if the Queen was in residence at the time, permission would have to be withdrawn. All we could do was hope that she would be out when we called! When we planned the London stopover, we thought the Imperial War Museum would be our best source for the research material and archival photographs we were looking for. However, we soon discovered their collection did not pre-date the First World War, and the British army’s own museum, the National Army Museum, was the place to start looking. I began researching their collection on the Internet and quickly realized that, given the sheer volume of material available, we would need the best part of a day in their research rooms.

3 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS We were also trying to find out what had happened to the Royal Palace Hotel, which housed the officers of Strathcona’s Horse during their time in London, and the Kensington Barracks, where the men were quartered. Eventually, we discovered both landmarks had long ago been torn down and, in the case of the latter, replaced by, what else, a shopping centre! To our disappointment, and despite our best efforts, we were unable to find original photos of either the hotel or the barracks. When we booked our flight to South Africa via London, we knew that one of the greatest problems we could face was the pos- sibility of lost or “misdirected” (as they prefer) luggage. My father, who was an airline pilot for many years, had a favourite saying: “Air travel is wonderful. You can have breakfast in New York, lunch in London and your baggage in Beirut!” To avoid this potential problem, we divided our equipment into three bags of checked luggage, hoping not to lose everything should one, or even two bags, be “misdirected.” In the event we were missing a tripod, lights, reflec- tors or even our weighty transformer, all would not be lost; but we could not afford to lose the camera, batteries or charger – then all would be lost! These last items, we decided, would have to be carried onto the aircraft as cabin baggage. We had packed our video camera, lenses and batteries into two camera bags which, we knew from past experience, would fit under the seats in front of us. Arriving at the airport on our day of departure and having checked our bags and cleared immigration, we entered the pre-boarding security area. The security person checking carry-on luggage insisted that our bags must fit through a hole in a clear plastic screen that was placed in front of the entrance of the X-ray machine. Blind Freddy could see the bags were too big or the hole was too small. I noticed that at the adjacent X-ray machine, when a bag was too big (and almost all were),

Lord Strathcona’s Cowboys 3 5 the screener simply lifted the plastic screen up and pushed the bag through. I pointed out this new and innovative technique to our security person but she crossly retorted, “It is not allowed!” Well, we argued and pleaded and supervisors were called. Finally they decided that (and this is true), if we unpacked the bags and individually passed the contents through the hole in the screen, then scrunched the bags up and passed them through, their legal requirements had been met. Of course, once through, we were at liberty to repack the offending bags and proceed to our gate. Now for days I had coached Brad that in Africa things were done differently. I told him that on occasion he would see things done which, to our North American minds, might seem a little strange, perhaps even a trifle silly or quite possibly stupid. All he did was look at me and grin!

3 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS 2 London

fter a suitably uncomfortable flight, we arrived in London in Athe early morning. Managing on pure adrenalin, we breezed through the formalities then struggled upstairs and down corridors as we searched for the train to Victoria Station. Up until now we had moved our luggage with the aid of an airport baggage trolley or two, but that advantage, perhaps not fully appreciated at the time, was now lost to us. In desperation, we had developed a technique which involved moving a few pieces at a time to a location within our sight before returning to retrieve the rest of the load and so on. I think you’ve got the idea. Our efforts were observed with some amusement by the local natives who, I’m sure, thought they were watching one of those outlandish reality TV game shows. Finally, one of the locals, bolder than the rest and no doubt moved to pity by this display of unnec- essary effort, pointed out the rack of baggage trolleys thoughtfully provided by British Rail. We were too tired to even pretend that we had known they were there all along!

L o n d o n 3 7 Fortunately the train to Victoria Station was nearly empty. This enabled us to make use of two large army kit bags to combine the niggling weight of a half dozen bags and containers into two backbreaking loads. At least we were mobile enough to negotiate the obstacle course of stairs, sloping passages and escalators, while we searched for the Underground and the Circle Line which eventually took us to Earls Court. I considered three important requirements when I selected our hotel in London. Price, price and price. The result was a small hotel, probably built shortly after the Roman invasion, located just off Earls Court Road. The room was laughably small and the bathroom even smaller. When the second bed was activated (it was a sofa bed), one could not enter the bathroom without climbing on the bed itself! However, it met my three requirements and was close enough to the Underground to be considered convenient. Despite our jet lag, the adrenalin continued to flow and we lost no time making our way to Earls Court Road and the nearest pub. While we were no longer bowed under the full weight of our baggage, we had to get used to the idea that wherever we went, the video camera, our still cameras, our passports and airline tickets went as well. After an excellent pub meal of bangers and mash, washed down with a pint or two, we returned to our hotel hoping to get a good night’s rest before tackling the National Army Museum in the morning. Unfortunately, due to the effects of jet lag and the seven-hour time difference between Calgary and London, we were unable to fall asleep until the early hours of the morning. The next day, despite feeling like death warmed up, we managed an early morning start to our research at the National Army Museum in Chelsea. Fortunately, because we had booked our time in the research library before we left Canada, the librarians expected us and were most helpful producing the photographs and

3 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS documents we had requested. We made photocopies of photos to take with us to South Africa and placed orders for others to be mailed on to us in Canada. By mid-afternoon our time in the research library was up so, until the museum closed, we were free to enjoy its spectacular collection of military artifacts from the many wars the British army had fought around the world We walked all the way back to Earls Court, where we planned on enjoying a genuine Indian curry restaurant we had seen on the Earls Court Road. Good choice for Brad, but not so good for me. Now don’t get me wrong, I like curry, but Brad likes curry that fights back. Curry so hot you cannot use plastic utensils and the plates must be made of asbestos. The Indian proprietor was delighted to have two white men (well, one anyway) who appreciated the art of the truly hot curry. Brad selected the Volcanic Death by Fire dish with rice and a fire extinguisher on the side, while I opted for the Wimps dish with rice and cold mashed peas. I was barely able to eat mine, while Brad, encouraged by a supportive crowd of Indian patrons, thoroughly enjoyed his. A good night’s sleep helped and early the next day we went for a walk around Earls Court. Known as Kangaroo Valley when I lived there many years ago, it was home to travellers from all over the world, with most coming from Australia, New Zealand, Canada and South Africa. In those days we congregated around the Overseas Visitors Club (OVC) and, between trips to the Continent and around Britain, worked in its bars, restaurants and kitchens. It was an enjoyable time of my life and I made many friends who, I am pleased to say, are still my friends today. I pointed out to Brad the locations of the various bed-sitters I had rented and the notorious Springbok House, where I experienced one of those events that are only supposed to happen in nightmares!

L o n d o n 3 9 In those days, it was seldom possible to plan the departure date of a trip so it coincided with the end of the monthly bed-sitter lease and the arrival of the weekly pay cheque. This usually meant that a friend had to be persuaded to allow you, often in exchange for a small cash consideration, to spend a few nights on the floor of his room prior to your departure. Of course, landlords took a dim view of this practice and the landlord of Springbok House was the worst of the lot, threatening to expel any tenants who sublet floor space in their room! I was about to leave on a trip around Britain and had to spend my last two nights in London on the floor of an Aussie friend’s room in where else but Springbok House! Now my friend Mick and I worked at the OVC and usually started work around 7 a.m. As I was the earlier riser, I sneaked to the bathroom for a quick shower before dressing for work. The communal bathroom was just outside our door so, dressed in a brief pair of underpants, I grabbed my small black hand towel and told a half asleep Mick that I was off to have a shower. Ten minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom to discover the room door was locked and that no amount of gentle knocking could rouse Mick. The awful realization dawned that Mick, probably still half asleep, and believing I had already gone to the club, had hurriedly dressed and left for work. I did not know anyone else in the building and, unable to approach the landlord, had no alternative but to walk the three city blocks to the Club where I hoped to find Mick. My predicament had an air of unreality about it and I fully expected to wake up and find it was all a dream, but this did not happen. In a forlorn effort to preserve some dignity, I tried wrapping the hand towel about my waist, but discovered it was not large enough to achieve any useful purpose. Having no choice, I crept down the stairs of Springbok House and counted myself lucky not to have encountered either the landlord or any tenants. On the sidewalk

4 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS however, I was not so lucky and met dozens of people making their way to work. Surprised at how cold the concrete sidewalk was on my bare feet, I hurried along as fast as I could clutching the both ends of the towel and ignoring the astonished looks and barely concealed grins. At one stage I was matching pace with an English gentleman in a dark suit, complete with briefcase and umbrella. To my further embarrassment, he took one look at me and hurriedly crossed to the other side of the street. It was the longest three blocks I have ever walked in my life. Despite using a side entrance of the Club, I was unable to escape the notice of friends and fellow employees. Unlike the reserved British people I had met on my walk, they gave vent to all sorts of unseemly hoots, laughter and ribald comments. I glared at Mick, who stopped laughing just long enough to give me the key while I borrowed a spare pair of chef’s trousers and jacket before setting out for Springbok House. I realized that, in order not to hear of this incident again, I would have to cancel my trip around Britain and move permanently to Outer Mongolia! While in London, we had hoped to secure permission to film on the west terrace of Buckingham Palace. Fortunately, when I phoned Stuart Neil, the Queen’s assistant press secretary, he confirmed that the Queen was not in residence and directed us to report to the police officers at the main gate at 4 p.m. We were delighted, as this enabled us to film an important location in the Strathconas story, plus the mid-afternoon time frame freed up most of the day which we devoted to sightseeing. On a previous trip to London, Brad and I had visited most of the tourist attractions but, as any Londoner will tell you, there is so much more to see and experience. To quote Samuel Johnson, “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.” On that particular trip, we had

L o n d o n 4 1 reserved tickets in Canada to attend the Ceremony of the Keys in the Tower of London. The ceremonial locking of the Tower for the night, an event which dates back hundreds of years, was something well worth seeing. While waiting on the Embankment for the ceremony to begin, we stared across the Thames at the cruiser, Belfast, moored on the opposite bank. We both agreed one day we would visit that venerable warship. That day had finally arrived! The only surviving big-gun warship in Europe, HMS Belfast was built in 1938, appropriately enough, at the Harland and Wolff Shipyard in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Displacing 11,500 tons and mounting 12 six-inch and eight, 4-inch guns, this fine old lady of the sea served her country for 32 years before her retirement to her mooring in the Thames. During the Second World War, the Belfast was assigned for duty in the North Atlantic, where she played a key role in the battle of North Cape, which ended with the sinking of the German battle cruiser Scharnhorst. Belfast also led the naval bombardment off Normandy in support of the D-Day landings and last fired her guns in anger during the Korean War. We bought our tickets at the head of the gangway and walked onto the deck of the Belfast. I had always imagined that everything on a relatively modern fighting ship would be huge, but I soon came to realize the ship’s strength lay in its compactness. Free to go where we liked, we ducked through the heavily armoured bulk- heads and made our way down through nine decks to her massive boilers and engine room located well below the ship’s waterline. We stood inside her massive, triple six-inch gun turrets, each of which we were told fired a 112-lb shell a distance of 14 miles. We messed about with the light anti-aircraft guns, explored the magazines and got some idea how difficult life must have been for her crew when we visited the cramped mess decks, ship’s galley and sick bay. The highlight of our tour was the plot, the nerve centre

4 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS of the ship when she was in action. The Imperial War Museum, which operated the ship as an interactive museum, had recreated the battle of North Cape with red “action stations” lighting and dramatic sound recordings of shouted orders. Punctuated by the crashing salvos of the Belfast’s main guns, it was very impressive! It was mid-afternoon when we walked over Tower Bridge and took the Underground to Green Park, arriving outside the Palace in time for our appointment. A police officer checked our names off a list, escorted us across the gravelled forecourt, past scarlet sentries and up to an ornate doorway. The door opened as we reached it and a liveried footman showed us to a small waiting room. We were inside Buckingham Palace and we would be lying if we said we weren’t feeling pleased with ourselves! Dressed in a dark suit and conservative tie, Stuart Neil walked into the room and welcomed us to the Palace. He led us out a side door and around the back of the Palace to an ornamental stone façade with heavy wooden doors that led to the garden. Prolonged knocking brought the face of a policeman to a spy hole in one of the doors which then opened, allowing us to enter the rear of the Palace. We walked around another corner and there, in front of us, was the wide expanse of steps that led up to the West Terrace. I took out a copy of an original photograph which showed the Strathconas filing up the Terrace steps where, under the proud gaze of Lord Strathcona, King Edward VII presented the Regiment with their Queen’s South Africa medals. It was an eerie feeling when we compared the photo taken over a hundred years ago with the sunlit scene before us. Nothing had changed. The stonework of the terrace balustrades, the Palace windows, even the brass lugs in the steps that held the red carpet in place were unchanged. “At least the policeman has gone,” joked Brad, pointing out the London bobby who stood at the foot of the

L o n d o n 4 3 steps in the photo taken as the Strathconas received their medals. Moving carefully around the droppings left on the lawn by Canada Geese, we set up our camera and tripod and, after much manoeuvring, succeeded in duplicating the one hundred-year-old photo in our camera’s viewfinder.

Strathconas receiving their medals at Buckingham Palace. Glenbow Archives NA-2235-9

We filmed the terrace from various angles and different positions, but knew the first take had captured the scene exactly as we wanted. We packed up our gear and, chatting away with Stuart, made our way back to the garden entrance. “Did you know the Prince of Wales is the colonel-in-chief of the Lord Strathcona’s Horse Regiment?” Stuart asked. I replied that I was aware of this. “I’m sure,” he continued, “The Prince would be most interested in your project. Unfortunately he is away in Scotland at the moment

4 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS otherwise I may have been able to arrange a meeting.” Reaching the Palace gates, we again thanked Stuart for his help and walked out past the Queen Victoria Monument and into St. James Park. As we rested on a park bench and gathered our thoughts, we both agreed that a meeting with the Prince of Wales as the regiment’s colonel-in-chief would be a sound move. “Do you think he would consent to doing an introduction to the documentary?” Brad mused. It was a bit too much to hope for I thought, but we agreed to give Stuart a call the next morning to see if we could get that ball rolling. That evening, we decided to go on a tour that explored a subject which has continued to arouse interest the world over, although it took place over 100 years ago in the East End of London: the Jack the Ripper murders. There are many groups that conduct tours of the narrow East End streets where the Ripper plied his grisly trade, but none have the stature of the Jack the Ripper Walk conducted by Donald Rumbelow. A quick phone call confirmed that he was conducting a tour that evening, so we deposited our heavy equipment at our hotel and took the Underground to Tower Hill. As we exited from the station, we noted where the tour started and, as we had an hour or so to wait, went off to find something to eat. It was sometime after midnight on August 31, 1888, in the fog shrouded slums of Whitechapel in the East End of London, that a reign of terror began, the likes of which had never before been seen in England. A drink-raddled prostitute, Polly Nichols, was found brutally murdered in a filthy back lane known as Bucks Row. Her manner of death shocked even the hardened policeman called to the scene by the man who discovered the body. Knife wounds to her throat had almost severed her head, her abdomen was cut open from side to side and her vagina showed signs of a frenzied, savage stabbing! Clearly this was the work of a lunatic – but a

L o n d o n 4 5 clever lunatic as no one in the surrounding tenements had seen or heard anything. That was how Donald Rumbelow, standing in Bucks Row, introduced a large and by now, very quiet group of tourists to England’s most famous serial killer, Jack the Ripper. A former City of London police sergeant and the author of the best-selling book, The Complete Jack the Ripper, Donald Rumbelow is one of the leading experts on the Whitechapel Murders. He led our group from one grisly murder scene to another through the now dark streets and alleys of the East End, which were, in some parts, little changed from the time of the Ripper. His knowledge of Whitechapel in the 1880s, enabled us to understand and, at times, feel the fear that must have gripped the population increasingly frustrated at the inability of the police to catch the murderer. Both Brad and I were doubly interested to learn that the Metropolitan Police Commissioner at the time of the Ripper murders was none other than Sir Charles Warren. Twelve years after the murders he would be brought back from retirement to command a British force in the disastrous attack on Spion Kop in South Africa. It would seem that he knew as much about military strategy as he knew about good police work – nothing! Our Jack the Ripper Walk ended close to The Ten Bells, an East End pub where possibly the murder victims and even the Ripper himself, may have enjoyed a pint! Unwilling to break a time-honoured tradition, we joined many of our fellow Jack the Ripper buffs and raised a glass or two as we debated the true iden- tity of the Whitechapel murderer. The following morning, a phone call confirmed that our British Airways flight from Heathrow to Johannesburg did not leave until early evening, which left the morning free. First off, I called Stuart Neil and expressed our gratitude for all he had done

4 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS for us and confirmed our interest in following up on his suggestion of a meeting with the Prince of Wales. Stuart replied that he would see what he could do and asked that we contact him on our return to Canada. After breakfast, Brad and I walked to the Earls Court Underground and, while reminiscing about our last visit to London, the story surrounding our one-night stay at the local youth hostel came up. We had stayed at several hostels around Britain and, it must be said, saved a lot of money that we didn’t have. However, our night at the Earls Court Hostelry proved to be a night to remember! We were accommodated quite comfortably in a large room which contained a dozen beds. All the beds except two were occupied by us and other travelers. Everyone it seemed was tired, so by 10 p.m. the lights were out and we were all fast asleep. But that, unfortunately, was not to last! Around 1 a.m., two drunks came into the room, turned on the lights and, amid an unbroken stream of loud, foul language, discussed their drunken exploits and depraved activities. I looked up from my lower bunk ready to protest, but the sight of these two Neanderthals confirmed the adage that discretion is the better part of valour. One brave soul did speak out, but he was soon put in his place by a stream of abuse and threats of violence. Hoping that they would eventually go to sleep, we kept quiet, but were buoyed by the thought of the monumental hangovers they would have the next day. As we shouldered our bags to leave the next morning, I noticed a huge pairs of boots belonging to one of our drunken revellers and decided to take one of them with me. Just in case he is reading this, or maybe someone is reading it to him, I want him to know the missing boot is in the cistern of the women’s toilet downstairs. I hope he had a hopping good day!

L o n d o n 4 7 By noon, we were on our way to Victoria Station and the express train to Heathrow. After checking in (no plastic sheets with small holes or other silly devices this time), we took turns guarding the baggage while the other wandered the huge shopping and dining complex that filled the departure lounges at Heathrow. A few hours later, we boarded our flight and settled down to an excellent dinner of roast beef and a fine burgundy while our British Airways 747 climbed over the English Channel and set a course for Africa.

4 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS 3 Africa

n many respects I was returning home, but I would be less than Ihonest if I did not confess to feelings of trepidation mingled with excitement. Africa was and still is a continent undergoing great changes, some for the better and some for the worst. When I left South Africa all those years ago, it was for a three-month vacation in company with four Eng- lish lads who were returning to Britain by driving a Willys Jeep overland from Johannesburg to Liver- pool. At least that was the idea. Loaded down with far too much equipment and an unsound vehicle, we Four English lads and a Willys Jeep in the northern Transvaal made it as far as Victoria

A f r i c a 4 9 Falls in Rhodesia, where our grand expedition ground to a halt. A local mechanic who examined our Jeep said, unkindly I thought, “If this was a horse, we would probably have to shoot it!”After nearly a month’s delay in Victoria Falls, we finally managed to legally sell the Jeep and, after a garage sale to dispose of surplus equipment, our group decided to travel independently to Britain. Two left to hitchhike up Africa and two chose to fly. I chose to remain in Rhodesia for a few months to earn enough money to buy a motorcycle when I reached England. It took three months and, as soon as I had enough in the bank for a Triumph motorcycle, I set out to hitchhike up Africa to Britain, living proof that ignorance is bliss! The wind of change had already whistled down most of Africa and was now swirling around the northern border of Rhodesia in the form of terrorist, or freedom fighter, (depending on your point of view) incursions. My parents came up from South Africa and, between efforts to dissuade me from what they considered a foolish and dangerous enterprise, gave me my first ride of the trip from Bulawayo to Kariba on the Great North Road. As their car drove away leaving me at the side of the road, I must confess that I experienced feelings of fear mingled with excitement about the journey ahead. It took me three long months plus a host of experiences – some good, some bad, and one or two downright frightening – to make my way from Rhodesia to Britain. I believe I owed my life to two black cigarette salesmen in Zambia who intervened on my behalf with the “Jeunesse,” a group of teenage thugs belonging to the ruling political party. I soon got so used to secret policemen wanting gifts, not-so-secret policemen demanding bribes and drunken soldiers, not sure what they wanted until they saw your wristwatch, that I became blasé. I was turned back at Nimule on the border between Uganda and the Sudan as I did not have an invitation to their

5 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS annual war, an event that continues to this day! I felt genuinely sorry for the Egyptian soldier who was slapped around by his officer when he let me hold his AK47 rifle. I am also humbly grateful to the hundreds of Africans of all colours and religious beliefs who went out of their way to help this crazy white man, who wanted to do everything on the cheap. Over 25 years had gone by since I made that journey and, yes, I did get that motorcycle in London; not the Triumph I dreamed about, but another English thoroughbred, a Norton. But the love affair did not last; the Norton was too big and too powerful and therefore too dangerous for me. I traded her in for a smaller, much more economical Czechoslovakian machine, a Jawa, which carried me over 5,000 miles on a three-month journey around Britain. But that’s another story! Back on our British Airways flight, I awoke at 4 a.m. and, checking our position on the route map on the TV screen in front of me, discovered that we were flying over the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I looked out of the window but, apart from the strobe light of our aircraft briefly illuminating the wing, could see nothing below but a sea of inky blackness. As I stared into the darkness, the thought occurred to me that in the sleeping villages in the jungle some 10,600 metres below little had changed in the last hundred years. I concluded that, if the explorer Henry Morton Stanley was to return today, he would not see anything different from what he saw when he explored the Congo in 1877. Though perhaps he may have wondered about the rutted tracks that were once roads, or the remains of collapsed bridges, or telephone poles that had no wires, or streetlights where there was no electricity. As an airline pilot my father, who flew all over Africa in the ’50s and ’60s, was fond of saying that after the Belgians granted independence to the Congo, some Congolese were glad the Belgians

A f r i c a 5 1 had gone, just as many did not know they had gone, and the vast majority had no idea the Belgians had ever been there! But jokes aside, it is hard to think of the Democratic Republic of the Congo as anything but a cruel joke on its peoples. Take the name, Democratic Republic. Hell, the place heads the top of a very long list of the least democratic countries in Africa. I am constantly amazed whenever the term, “democratic, one-party state” is used to describe some tin-pot dictatorship, where the leader of the loyal opposition is either in jail, in exile, or dead and yet no one in the West laughs. Of course no one laughs because that “democratic, one-party state” probably has oil, platinum, diamonds or something else First World countries want. As long as it’s black Africans inflicting misery on other black Africans, well that’s all right! The overwhelming tragedy of the corruption that forms the basis of the problems of Africa today has its root causes in colonialism, tribalism and the indecent haste by colonial powers, encouraged, nay forced, by do-gooder nations, to grant independence under almost any circumstances. Of course, once independence had been granted, the do-gooders usually walked away with self- satisfied smirks and paid no further attention to the hell on earth they had unleashed on innocent Africans. Almost without fail, they usually managed to place the most unsuitable kleptomaniac or megalomaniac in the country in a position of power, perhaps only to prove the dictum, “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Most African countries with agrarian economies are generally ignored unless they possess large reserves of fossil fuels or the minerals sought by First World countries. These resources then are usually exploited by multi-national corporations, working hand in glove with the ruling family, tribal elite or military government that rules the roost. Invariably the people are left out of the equation

5 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS and the kleptocracy in power devotes itself solely to the task of robbing the country blind. Fortunately, “Big Men” such as self-styled Emperor Jean- Bedel Bokassa of the Central African Republic; Field Marshal and President for Life, King of Scotland and Heavyweight Boxing Champion Idi Amin of Uganda; and General Joseph Mobuto of the Congo are long gone. However, while the West and perhaps the Eastern bloc may have laughed at their funny ways, I’m sure the folks in those unlucky countries did not find them funny at all! It has been nearly half a century since some 50 African countries achieved independence. Unfortunately, nearly 95 per cent are either military dictatorships or one-party states. As fraudulent elections keep the “Big Man” firmly in power it is not surprising that, since 1950, of 150 heads of state who allowed elections, only six were removed through the ballot box. Some have been in power for-ever. Until his recent death, Omar Bongo of Gabon was the record holder. During his 42 years in power he had amassed a huge fortune, estimated at 9 billion dollars, while his countrymen suffered in grinding poverty. Similarly Jose dos Santos of Angola has been in power for 30 years and everyone’s favourite, Robert Mugabe, has been ruining Zimbabwe for the past 29 years. Either the people of these countries are very happy with the way things are or, more likely, they just don’t know how to get rid of their “Big Man.” Kenyans, who are no strangers to rulers who won’t go away, describe these “Big Men” as “Wa Benzi.” Roughly translated, this means People of the Benz or Mercedes Benz, which pokes fun at the mode of transport most favoured by Africa’s dictators. Some independent African countries not exploited by power- hungry and ambitious politicians seeking to enrich themselves suffered instead from ill-advised experiments based on foreign ideolo- gies in the name of African socialism. At the height of the Cold

A f r i c a 5 3 War many newly-independent states, seduced by promises of aid from both the East and the West, quickly learned how to play both sides of the fence. Invariably the aid, if it ever came, had strings attached, and the few benefits there were seldom trickled down to the people. Bribery and corruption in government was commonplace and mismanagement of finances, coupled with the sheer incompetence of many officials, destroyed the economy and raised prices to an unaffordable level, allowing unemployment and crime rates to soar. Democracy, according to the ancient Greeks, will not work in any country that did not have a sizable, stable, well-informed middle class – a situation that is nonexistent in most African countries. This lack of a stable middle-class has usually left the reins of power, including control of the police and the army, firmly in the hands of the ruling party. This precluded any hope of a change of government other than by a coup orchestrated by the police or, more usually, the army. It is estimated there are some 3,000 ethnic groups living in sub- Saharan Africa speaking as many as 800 different languages. This huge diversity, largely ignored by the European powers during the colonizing scramble for Africa, resulted in many of the “new” colonies dividing ethnic groups and sometimes, inadvertently merging tribes that were bitter rivals. As long as the colonizing power remained in control, peace was usually maintained but, once individual countries achieved independence, simmering ethnic rivalries often exploded into the intertribal bloodbaths that have plagued Africa for over 50 years. Colonizing powers often tended to favour one tribal group over another, preferring to recruit into their colonial forces the more martial tribes. Unfortunately, if they did not win a post-independence election, these tribes could be relied upon to follow the Maoist dictum, “Power comes out of the barrel of a gun!”

5 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS The old colonial powers are now being replaced by a form of neo-colonial exploitation that sees massive land grabs orchestrated by mostly Middle and Far Eastern countries. These countries are negotiating deals to lease or purchase outright vast tracts of agricultural land, some as large as 4,000 square kilometres, for the production of food or bio-fuels exclusively for their own use. The problem is that many of the African countries involved are often unable to adequately feed their own population, and it is unlikely that any of the profits from the leasing or sale of land would ever trickle down to the people. These unhappy reflections were dispelled by the dramatic sight of the rising sun as it peeped over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the unbroken green canopy of jungle far below our aircraft. According to the TV screen route map, we were over the western edge of Zambia and about to fly over northern Botswana. I glanced away from my window just long enough to place my breakfast order, while I watched for a glimpse of the mighty Zambezi and Chobe Rivers which form the borders between Zambia, the Caprivi Strip (Namibia) and Botswana. My efforts were finally rewarded by the sight of the silvery gold colours of the Zambezi and the Chobe, as they snaked through the surprisingly green sandveld, the main vegetation in this part of Botswana. As the flight attendants cleared away the remains of our breakfast, the aircraft began its slow descent into Johannesburg. The fasten seat belt sign was on as we flew over Pretoria, circled to the east of Johannesburg and approached the Oliver Tambo Inter- national Airport from the south. Previously known as Jan Smuts International, then Johannesburg International, the airport was finally renamed after Oliver Tambo, the former President of the ANC, by the new South African government. This was in contra- diction to their original policy of not naming airports after politicians. Welcome to the new South Africa.

A f r i c a 5 5 The airport is located in Kempton Park, about an hour’s drive from downtown Johannesburg (where no one goes) and a similar drive time to the northern suburbs (where everyone goes). Brad and I were not going into Johannesburg and instead hoped to meet Ernst and Johan somewhere in the arrivals terminal. To our relief, all our bags appeared on the carousel and, after clearing immigration and customs, we made our way out into the terminal. The huge number of people milling about the terminal surprised us so we wheeled our two trolleys towards a less crowded area, where I left Brad to guard our luggage while I tried to find our two guides. In our email communications with Ernst and Johan, they suggested that in order to find them in the crowd (which they obviously expected), Johan would be dressed as a member of a Boer commando during the Anglo-Boer War. Although armed with this knowledge, I was still not sure what to look for as I made my way up and down the terminal. I spotted them within minutes. As soon as I saw Johan’s wide brimmed hat with turned up side and rosette in the colours of the old South African Republic, his homespun jacket and Ernst’s flowing beard, I knew I had found our friends. We exchanged greetings and, with their help, made our way to the Avis booth to complete the paperwork for the car I hired for our time in South Africa. I also rented a cellular or mobile phone: a prime safety requirement, as well as an essential item if we were to make accommodation bookings and travel arrangements while on the road. In the meantime Ernst returned to Pretoria to pick up his family and, leaving us in the capable hands of Johan, arranged to meet us later in the day. We took delivery of an almost brand new, mid-sized Ford car with lots of trunk space for our gear. Then, with Johan sitting where I thought the driver usually sat, we headed out into the mid-morning traffic on what was to me, the wrong side of the

5 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS road. Now when I learned to drive in South Africa many years ago, traffic drove on the left; the same rules applied when I lived in Britain and Australia, so I did not think it would take me too long to re-adapt. The fact that we were not involved in an accident shortly after leaving the airport was, I believe, due in large part to divine intervention and not to rapid adaptation. “Traffic is always bad this time of the day,” Johan offered helpfully as he tightened his seat belt, while I signalled a left turn by turning on my wind- shield wipers. It took me most of the day to get used to the idea that, unlike North American cars, the turn indicators on right- hand drive cars are located on the right of the steering column and the wipers on the left. I would caution anyone driving near an international airport on a sunny day to watch for cars with their wipers going; it means they are about to turn. Warming to his role as tour guide, Johan pointed out the sights while I struggled to cope with traffic that moved at such a speed that I could be forgiven for thinking I had inadvertently driven onto the Kyalami Grand Prix Racetrack! Half a dozen near misses later, we finally joined the R21 highway and headed north to Pretoria. I must confess I was not sure where we were going but, as Johan was definite in his directions and I was still getting the hang of driving on the wrong side of the road, we went along for the ride. Just south of Pretoria, we turned off into the small village of Irene. This picturesque community, with its deep-shaded streets lined with oak and poplar, lay nestled just off the busy highway and is a veritable oasis in this heavily industrialized area of the highveld. Irene was unfortunately one of the sites chosen by the British during the Anglo-Boer War for the location of one of their 31 concentration camps. We pulled over to the side of the road and parked directly behind Ernst Marais and his family. Clearly this was something they wanted us to see. We left the car and walked

A f r i c a 5 7 with them into a pleasant garden of green lawns and shade trees and row on row of stone monuments that bore the names of a few men, but mostly the names of women and children. This beautiful cemetery is the final resting place of the more than 2,000 that died in the Irene camp between November, 1900 and the end of the war in May, 1902. When the Irene camp was declared a national monument, official records suggested that only 1,149 people had died in the camp. However, a nameplate discovered on site indicated that 2,156 graves existed in the cemetery. As many of the graves were unmarked, the exact toll may never be known. Towards the end of 1901, a second camp was established nearby for black people, but no records of the number of deaths nor the location of their graves have ever been found. An encyclopaedia defined a concentration camp as, “A camp where non-combatants of a district are accommodated, such as those instituted by Lord Kitchener during the South African War.” The stated purpose behind establishing these camps was to remove to a place of safety the women and children left behind on the farms while their husbands and sons were on commando. While that was the official British reason, Afrikaners saw it a little differently. They believed the camps were part of Lord Kitchener’s scorched-earth policy which called for the destruction of farms, the burning of homes and the slaughter of all livestock in rural areas that supported the commandos. Both scenarios were probably quite true and, even today, are the subject of heated discussion and much bitterness. In the beginning the camps served as places of refuge for the Afrikaner families who had surrendered to the British. However, because of the scorched-earth policy, the army rounded up thousands of Boer women and children made homeless when their

5 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS farms were burned and deposited them in the camps. Conditions in most of the camps were appalling. Tens of thousands of Boer women, children and their black farm labourers died of diseases such as dysentery, measles and enteric fever. The situation was made worse by overcrowding, poor diets, almost nonexistent sani- tation and inadequate medical facilities. While many Afrikaners would not agree, this was not a deliberate policy of extermination. It was simply a result of the monumental incompetence of the British army when it came to matters of health and hygiene, whether it applied to their own soldiers or civilian detainees under their control. To illustrate this point it is worth considering that during the war in South Africa, over 13,250 British soldiers died of disease and a further 31,000 had to be inva- lided home. Only 5,774 soldiers died as a direct result of enemy action or accident. However, nothing will ever excuse the criminal neglect and shameful treatment accorded to the Boer and black populations by the ill-suited and often incompetent superinten- dents and staff in command of the camps. Various authorities have placed the total number of Boer women and children confined in camps between November 1900 and May 1902 at around 120,000. To the everlasting shame of Britain, it is estimated that 26,663 women and children died in camps under the control of the British army, a death toll of almost 22 per cent. When rumours of the camps and the appalling death toll reached Britain, they prompted a visit to South Africa by the humanitarian and pacifist Miss Emily Hobhouse. She visited a few camps while in South Africa but, on specific orders from Lord Kitchener, was not allowed to travel further north than Bloemfontein. Nevertheless Emily, not one to be cowed by the commander-in-chief, visited several camps north of Bloemfontein and even managed to visit a camp as far away as Mafeking. When she returned to Britain,

A f r i c a 5 9 she published her report on conditions in the Bloemfontein Camp, which the British authorities and Lord Kitchener both considered to be a model example of the camp system. Her description of the squalid and overcrowded conditions in the camp at Bloemfontein horrified her British readers and many were moved to tears by her story of little Lizzie van Zyl who, because her father had neither surrendered nor betrayed his people, was treated so harshly that she died of malnutrition. It is not surprising that many in Britain doubted the validity of her report and, only after the dispatch of the Fawcett Commission and its subsequent findings, was the accuracy of Emily Hobhouse’s account finally confirmed. Public outrage in Britain blamed the authorities for the operation of the camps, the lack of foresight and planning when it came to disease prevention, the lack of adequate food supplies and the absence of medical facilities and staff. Following publication of the Fawcett Commissions report, Emily Hobhouse decided to return to South Africa. However, on her arrival in Cape Town in October 1901, Lord Kitchener ordered that “bloody woman” not be allowed to land and she was sent back to Britain immediately. Emily Hobhouse’s next visit to South Africa was not until 1913, when she was invited to attend the unveiling of the Women’s Memorial in Bloemfontein, erected to commemorate the women and children who had died in the camps. On the way to Bloemfontein, she became seriously ill and was unable to continue her journey. In ill health and disillusioned by her treatment in British newspapers, she retired to a small cottage on the coast of Cornwell, purchased for her through a collection organized by Boer woman in South Africa. She died in May 1926 and, in October of that year, her ashes were interred in a niche in the Women’s Memorial in Bloemfontein, a ceremony attended by many thousands of grateful South Africans.

6 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Lloyd George, the future Prime Minister of Great Britain commented in 1901, “When children are treated in this way and are dying, we are simply ranging the deepest passions of the human heart against British rule in Africa.” We realized the grim history of the Irene camp played an important part in the story of the Boer War as it related to the Strathconas’ experiences in South Africa. As many, if not all, of the Strathconas’ troopers were of farming stock; the idea of destroying a man’s farm and the forced detention of his wife and children because he was away fighting for his country must have been abhorrent. Moved by our experience, we set up our camera and, for the next hour or two, tried to capture on video the beauty and the sadness of the Irene Garden of Remembrance. As we drove out of Irene towards Pretoria, I asked Johan about the farmhouse Doornkloof which, until his death in 1950, was home to the famous Boer general and one time prime minister of South Africa, Jan Christiaan Smuts. I was not surprised when he did not suggest a visit and instead changed the subject. In the late 1950s I had an opportunity to visit Doornkloof. As I walked up the stone steps of the house, the general’s wife, Isie Smuts, came out onto the stoep (veranda) and invited me inside. I followed her into what was a simple and surprisingly spartan home. She showed me the bedroom that was used by the Oubaas (Old Boss) as Smuts was known and I recall my surprise at the smallness of the room, the single window and the simple iron bed covered by a grey blanket. Following the end of the Second World War, my father often flew the Oubaas from Pretoria to Cape Town and back. Smuts, he said, was the only high-ranking dignitary who would come up to the cockpit to share his flask of coffee and chat with the pilots. Unfortunately not all South Africans had fond memories of the Oubaas.

A f r i c a 6 1 Soldier, statesman and philosopher, general and later field marshal, Jan Smuts and his equally famous contemporary General Louis Botha were considered to be among South Africa’s most remarkable leaders, yet neither were ever fully understood by their fellow Afrikaners. Their exploits during the Boer war were the stuff of legends. Smuts in particular, showed a talent for guerrilla warfare that kept thousands of British troops occupied as they tried to corner his commando. He was especially famous for his raid deep into the Cape Province reaching as far south as Malmesbury and within sight of Table Mountain. One of my favourite stories involves a handful of his commandos who, riding within sight of the Atlantic Ocean at Lamberts Bay northwest of Cape Town, encountered a British warship lying anchored close inshore. The commandos immediately dismounted and opened fire with their rifles. Their shots had no effect on the warship’s armoured sides, but once the ship’s crew realized what was happening and brought one of the naval guns to bear, the Boers beat a hasty retreat, taking with them the proud boast that they had fought the only naval engagement of the war. Botha and Smuts shared the unique distinction of being at one time the sworn enemies of Britain and yet, in 1910 when the Union of South Africa was formed under British dominion, Botha became the first prime minister of a united South Africa. Following the outbreak of the First World War, Botha and Smuts sided with Britain and, at that nation’s request, agreed to attack German forces in what was then, German South West Africa. To many Afrikaners, the outbreak of war between Germany and Britain presented an ideal opportunity to throw off the yoke of British dominion. Rebellion was in the air and thousands of Boers flocked to the banners of celebrated Boer War generals such as De Wet, Hertzog and Beyers. But much hinged on the actions of

6 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS the “Lion of the West,” the revered Boer General Koos De la Rey. Following an inconclusive meeting with Botha in Pretoria, De la Rey journeyed to Johannesburg whether to foment rebellion or to counsel peace, no one knows to this day. In a peculiar twist of fate, a small band of murderous robbers known as the Foster Gang had terrified Johannesburg by success- fully evading every effort by the police to bring them to justice. One evening after a particularly daring hold-up, the police set up roadblocks on all major roads leading in and out of the city. My father often pointed out to me the exact spot where General De la Rey ordered the driver of his car not to stop when they were flagged down at a police roadblock. It is possible that De la Rey thought Botha had ordered his arrest and, unwilling to take that chance, decided not to stop. As the car swerved around the barrier one of the police officers shouted a warning then raised his rifle and fired. The bullet, which hit the road behind the speeding car, ricocheted and hit De la Rey in the back of the head. He was killed instantly. Without De la Rey’s leadership the rebellion lost its momentum and the rebels were rounded up by the fledging Union Defence Force, an action that forever earned Smuts and Botha the animos- ity of a large part of the Afrikaner population. Smuts commanded the South African forces during the campaigns in German South West Africa and German East Africa and, in March 1917, was appointed to the British War Cabinet. He went on to become a privy councillor and, in 1918, was largely responsible for establishing the Royal Air Force. Then in 1919, following the sudden death of Louis Botha, Smuts became prime minister of South Africa, a post he held until 1924. By the start of the Second World War he was appointed to the rank of field marshal in the British army and, following the end of that war, played a leading role in drafting the covenant of the United Nations. Unfortunately

A f r i c a 6 3 these achievements were not appreciated by a majority of his Afrikaner countrymen. In 1948 Smuts’s United Party lost the general election to the National Party under the leadership of Daniel Francois Malan, an event which signalled the start of South Africa’s slide into apartheid. As we drove north from Irene towards Pretoria, my thoughts of what might have been were interrupted by the sight of the Voortrekker Monument which dominated the western horizon. This massive granite building that towers 40 metres above its base on Monument Hill was built as a national shrine to honour the memory of the Voortrekker heroes of the Great Trek. The Voortrekkers were groups of Dutch-speaking farmers or Boers from the eastern frontier towns of Graaf Reinet, Grahamstown and Uitenhage in the Cape Colony. Dissatisfied with British rule, taxes and the “liberalism” (for which, read “opposition to slavery”) of the colonial administration, they saw in the wild, largely unexplored hinterland to the north an opportunity to establish their own way of life, free and independent of British domination. Reconnaissance expeditions sent out in 1834 and 1835 reported that the lands in the central highveld and along the Vaal River were fertile and largely uninhabited. Bolstered by their courage, a strong Calvinist faith and under the leadership of Andries Hendrik Potgieter, the Voortrekkers packed their household goods, agricultural implements and muzzle-loading guns (known as roers) into wagons drawn by teams of oxen and set out for the interior. The challenges that faced them were formidable. To the west of their route lay the inhospitable wastes of the Kalahari Desert, while to the east the tsetse fly and malarial mosquito held sway in the lowveld and the bushveld. Undaunted they pressed on through treacherous terrain, crossing the present-day Orange Free State and eventually the Vaal River, overcoming all manner of obstacles

6 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS as they struggled to leave behind all vestiges of British influence and control. As the Voortrekkers left the Cape Colony on their journey to a new life, the results of another exodus that had taken place some ten years previously was still being felt in the hinterland of southern Africa. The Zulu king Shaka who had welded the Zulu army into one of the most formidable fighting forces in southern Africa had a problem with one of his generals, a man called Mzilikazi. Known as “The Great Abstainer,” Mzilikazi would have done well to abstain from keeping some of the cattle his impi (regiment of Zulu warriors) had captured while raiding one of the unfortunate tribes who lived within reach of the Zulu army. As all cattle rounded up in this manner traditionally belonged to Shaka, “The Great Abstainer” was in serious trouble. When Mzilikazi heard that Shaka had dispatched an impi to recover the cattle and to extract a suitable revenge, he gathered his followers and headed north into the Transvaal. Though he was on the run, Mzilikazi and his warriors were still Zulus and well versed in the battle tactics developed by Shaka. As a result, their passage through the hinterland was marked by devastating raids on the local Sotho clans – raids which resulted in the capture of women and cattle and the wholesale slaughter of the men, but for those lucky few chosen to bolster Mzilikazi’s fighting force. Known as the Matabele, which means people of the great shields, this offshoot of the Zulu nation dominated the interior of southern Africa until 1835, when the arrival of a new migration in the form of the Great Trek shook the foundations of their empire. As a result of Matabele raids on their villages, most of the local tribes were destitute and welcomed the arrival of the Voortrekkers or Boers, hoping that they might provide some protection against the impis of Mzilikazi. The Boers were understandably reluctant to

A f r i c a 6 5 engage in hostilities with the Matabele and, based on the favourable reports of hunters, traders and missionaries who had visited Mzilikazi, believed that an amicable deal for land could be worked out. Indeed the Matabele king, secure in his great kraal (village) at Mosega, enjoyed the visits of small parties of white men who sought his permission to hunt or trade and who bribed him with presents. Unfortunately, it was a small hunting party of Boers who discovered what happened to those who failed to observe the correct protocol. Potgieter alarmed by further attacks on isolated parties of Boers, ordered his followers to fall back across the Vaal River into the Orange Free State. Acting on the advice of his generals, Mzilikazi dispatched an army of 3,000 warriors to kill the Boer interlopers. The Matabele surrounded Potgieter and 35 of his followers in their laager atop a small hill, later named Vegkop (Battle Hill). Confident of their prowess as warriors but lacking experience against concentrated volleys of musket fire, the Matabele hurled themselves at the circle of wagons only to suffer grievous losses. Failing to overwhelm the defenders, the Matabele were forced to withdraw, leaving 450 warriors dead on the slopes of Vegkop. The Boers lost only two men. Following up on his success, Potgieter then led a commando of 107 Boers and local Baralong tribesmen, who had no love for the Matabele, on a raid to destroy Mzilikazi’s great kraal at Mosega. The resulting slaughter spelled the end of Matabele power in the Transvaal and Mzilikazi led what was left of his army into the sandy wastes of Bechuanaland and eventually north into what would later be known as Rhodesia. The ghosts of thousands of slaughtered Sotho tribesmen must surely have watched his departure and danced with glee. When he returned to the Boer encampment Potgieter was dismayed to find that many of his followers, encouraged by the reports of a Voortrekker named Piet Retief who spoke of a green

6 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS and pleasant land ready for the taking, were now determined to trek east across the Drakensburg Mountains into Natal. Potgieter warned them about the dangers of encroaching on Zulu territory, but to no avail. By 1838, the remainder of Potgieter’s followers had crossed the Vaal River and established the first Voortrekker town in the Transvaal, which they named Potchefstroom (stream of chief Potgieter). Other Boer leaders, who did not always see eye to eye with Potgieter, moved further afield and established other towns such as Ohrigstad in the eastern Transvaal. Driven by a common desire to avoid any trade through British ports, they sought to establish a workable trade route to the port of Lourenco Marques in Portuguese East Africa. Unfortunately such a route had to pass through the lowveld. Though a pleasant enough region in winter, during the summer it was rife with malaria and the dreaded tsetse fly, which killed men, horses and cattle in unacceptable numbers. Eventually Ohrigstad had to be abandoned for a new town site located on the escarpment, high above the diseases and searing heat of the lowveld. The Voortrekkers named this new town Lydenburg (Town of Suffering), in remembrance of their desperate times in Ohrigstad. Despite the constant bickering among the various Boer fac- tions and the constant threat posed by tribes such as the Bapedi, the fledgling South African or Transvaal Republic came into being. New towns such as Pretoria and Rustenburg appeared on the map, and leaders such as Paul Kruger and General Piet Joubert came to the fore, while throughout the new republic the solitary figures of the gold prospectors were seen in ever-increasing numbers. The sound of hammer and pick in the remote valleys of the eastern Transvaal and the telltale specks of alluvial gold in the prospector’s pan held the greatest promise for the future of the Republic.

A f r i c a 6 7 4 Pretoria

e drove into Pretoria, turned west along Church Street and Wparked in front of a modest single-story dwelling that was once the home of the president of the South African Republic, Paul Kruger. The gateway to the house is flanked by two stone lions and leads directly off the street onto the stoep (veranda or porch) where Kruger often met with members of the Volksraad (Parliament), foreign guests or any burgher who wanted to talk to the President. The stone lions were a birthday gift to Presi- dent Kruger from Barney Barnato, a Johannesburg mining magnate. The Strathconas arrived in Pretoria late at night on October 14, 1900, six months into their service in South Brad in front of Paul Kruger’s house in Africa. They camped Pretoria

6 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS in the suburb of Arcadia amid rumours that they might soon be returning to Canada. Unfortunately for those who longed to see family and friends, new orders arrived from Lord Roberts instruct- ing Colonel Steele to be prepared for further service in the field. While these preparations were underway, many Strathconas visited the sights of the Boer capital, including the former home of the Boer president. High on a flagpole in front of the house, the old flag of the Zuid Afrikaansche Republiek (South African Republic) fluttered in a gentle breeze. Known as the Vierkleur (Four colours), this was the flag chosen to represent the Republic on its formation in 1857. The Vierkleur was adopted from the Batavian tricolour of red, white and blue horizontal bars, with a green vertical stripe at the inner end. The flag was hoisted by sentries at sunrise and struck at sundown up to the day President Kruger was forced to abandon the capital to the advancing British forces. The interior of the house was much as Paul Kruger would have remembered it. Dignified, conservative and functional and yet, like the man himself, it recognized progress and embraced it whenever necessary. It is not surprising that Kruger’s home was one of the first houses in Pretoria to have had a telephone and electric lights installed. To say that Paul Kruger was an unusual man would be a classic understatement. Reviled by his enemies both at home and abroad as being resistant to change, Kruger spent much of his life defending his beloved Republic against the perceived threat of British imperialist expansion. Born in 1825 into a dour Dutch Calvinist family in the Steynsburg district of the Cape Colony, Stephanus Johannes Paulus Kruger was 11 years old when his family joined the Great Trek. He fought alongside his father at the Battle of Vegkop and, shortly after that, accompanied his family as they followed the breakaway Boer

P r e t o r i a 6 9 leader Piet Retief on his ill-advised trek into Natal and the inevitable clash with the Zulus. Eventually the Kruger family returned to the Transvaal, and Paul settled down in the Rustenburg area with his wife who, unfortunately, died of malaria four years after they were married. Five years later he married his second wife Gezina du Plessis who bore him 16 children and remained his constant and devoted companion until her death in 1901. Kruger, like most Boers of the time, was a keen hunter and an excellent shot. On one occasion while hunting a rhinoceros his gun exploded and shattered his left hand, blowing his thumb off. Realizing the wound had to be cleaned and the dead flesh removed, he sterilized his hunting knife in a fire and removed the damaged tissue himself without any form of anaesthetic. Asked later how he did it Kruger replied that he managed to persuade himself that he was operating on someone else’s hand! In 1877 when the British first annexed the Transvaal, Kruger threw his support behind the Boers in their struggle to regain their independence and twice visited Britain in forlorn attempts to negotiate with the government of Benjamin Disraeli. On his first journey to Britain he was accompanied by the state attorney general, Dr. Jorissen. Kruger, who had never seen the sea before, stood at the ship’s rail at dusk staring intently into the gathering night. When Jorissen asked him what he was looking for, Kruger gruffly replied that he was waiting to see the ship uitspan (set up camp) for the night! Despite his almost complete lack of a formal education, Paul Kruger was an excellent judge of character and possessed a natural intelligence and keen sense of humour. Once as commandant- general, he was called on to pass judgment on a burgher who had provided aid to a group of fellow citizens in their failed attempt to overthrow the government of the Republic. The accused, thinking

7 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS to throw the court into confusion, pleaded that one side of him supported the rebels, while the other side supported the government. Kruger, maintaining a sombre expression, sentenced the left side of the accused to a heavy fine and the confinement of the left leg in the stocks until the fine was paid. He then thanked the right side for its loyal support of the government. In 1881 the Boers rebelled against British authority and, at the Battle of Majuba, handily defeated the forces sent against them. Once again Kruger played an important role in negotiations with the British government, which eventually led to the restoration of the Transvaal’s independence under British sovereignty. The honeymoon would last for three years until 1886, when an event took place in the Transvaal that changed the future, not only of Kruger’s republic but of all southern Africa forever. The discovery of gold on the Witwatersrand (Ridge of White Waters) is attributed to an Australian prospector George Harrison, who found the rocky outcrop where a gold-bearing reef broke the surface of the veld. Harrison’s discovery changed the face of the Transvaal. Gold miners and fortune seekers from around the world flocked to the Witwatersrand, which eventually became the richest goldfields in the world. The spreading fame of the new goldfields drew speculators and wealthy capitalists from the diamond diggings in Kimberley, all anxious to increase their already considerable wealth at the expense of others. Men like Cecil Rhodes, Alfred Beit and Barney Barnato soon bought up claims for a fraction of their true value, while behind them came the outlaws, prostitutes and tricksters who saw in the fledging Johannesburg an opportunity to reap a bonanza of a different sort. The burghers of the Transvaal watched this unseemly mass of humanity pour into their beloved Republic with nothing short of profound dismay and foreboding. Of course they saw nothing

P r e t o r i a 7 1 wrong in selling their surplus farm produce at exorbitant prices to this ungodly lot. Neither did the Transvaal government, which from the sale of concessions and business taxes saw, for the first time in living memory, substantial revenues flow into the coffers of the Republic. Kruger visited Johannesburg on a number of occasions. He was usually well received by the mining community – except perhaps when concerns were voiced over the government’s sale of “concessions” to various companies, which then exploited the mining industry. The most controversial issue centred around the Dynamite Concession, which was viewed by the concessionaires as a glorious opportunity to swindle a naïve Republic and rob the mining industry blind. Occasionally, the Volksraad (Parliament) discussed the politically thorny question of granting some sort of franchise to the uitlanders (foreigners), as the burgher community called the miners, merchants and criminals in Johannesburg. The Volksraad was divided on this issue but, as the uitlanders never raised the issue with Kruger on his visits to Johannesburg, they were content to let sleeping dogs lie. Unfortunately, the issue was also being discussed by businessmen and empire builders whose true motives had nothing to do with obtaining the vote for the miners and more to do with wresting control of the Witwatersrand goldfields from Kruger and his beloved Republic. Cecil Rhodes and his plotters in Johannesburg, the so called Reform Committee, petitioned the British government to take action to relieve the suffering of the uitlanders that did not have the vote. The British government, not taken in by Rhodes’s duplicity, did nothing. Perhaps beginning to believe their own wild exaggera- tions, Rhodes and the Reform Committee laid plans for the violent overthrow of the Republic. The failure of the resulting Jameson

7 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Raid and the lack of support it engendered on the Witwatersrand proved to anyone paying the slightest attention that the so called “Helots” groaning under the yoke of Krugerism were not interested in rebellion. In reality they were far more concerned about the continued profitable operations of their mines and business enter- prises than the vote. The resulting international outcry over the Jameson Raid cost Rhodes his position as premier of the Cape Colony and served to direct his attentions further north of the Transvaal, to the lands of the unsuspecting Mashona and Matabele tribes, which would eventually become Rhodesia. The failed Raid also provided Kruger with the moral high ground, and for the next few years, international support lay with the South African Republic. The Volksraad eventually made some concessions regarding the enfranchisement of the uitlanders but, by then, a new and even more dangerous enemy of the Republic had appeared in the form of the British High Commissioner for South Africa, Sir Alfred Milner. Now the negotiations were no longer about the vote, but more about creating a unified South Africa. Brad and I had set up our camera equipment on the street and, in the viewfinder, duplicated as closely as possible an old photograph that showed President Kruger sitting on his stoep with one of Barney Barnato’s lions in the foreground. The photo taken a year before the outbreak of the war clearly shows the sadness in the eyes of the old president. Like an old lion that sees the jackals gathering, Kruger must have realized that, with the forces arrayed against him, time was running out for the Republic. Just around the corner from the old president’s house is Church Street Cemetery. Surrounded by beautiful jacaranda trees, it is the location of the Helder Akker (Heroes Acre), the final resting place of many prominent South Africans including Paul Kruger, as well

P r e t o r i a 7 3 as a number of Boer War graves. We had gone there in search of three Strathconas; Trooper Davis, who came from New York, USA; Trooper De Vere Hunt from Millarville, Alberta and Trooper Frank Elliott. The latter was the Strathconas’ acting Regimental Sergeant Major, who was broken to the ranks by Colonel Steele for insolence to an officer shortly after the regiment arrived in Cape Town. As these were the first Strathcona graves we had seen in South Africa, we were pleased to find them in good condition and the surrounding grounds well looked after. Anxious to take advantage of good light, we set up our camera and recorded some footage of their headstones before we were able to relax and take time to read the inscriptions. It was sobering to find the three men all died of disease, presumably contracted within the short period of time the Strathconas were in Pretoria. After we packed up our camera gear I wandered around the lines of graves and was surprised when I came on the grave of Morant and Handcock. Yes, that is grave in the singular – the men were buried one on top of the other! This strange occurrence probably resulted from their unsavoury reputations in the eyes of the commander in chief of the British army in 1901. If you haven’t already guessed it, this grave is the final resting place of “Breaker” Morant, the Australian hero of the major motion picture of the same name. While the motion picture was perhaps not the most accurate portrayal of Harry Harbord Morant, it served to draw attention to some of the darker deeds that marred the closing months of the Anglo-Boer War. Harry Morant was born in England around 1864 and migrated to Queensland, Australia in 1883. He worked on a number of cattle stations gaining a countrywide reputation as an expert horseman and horse tamer, hence his famous nickname of “Breaker.” Unusual for the time and for the man himself, Morant was also well known

7 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS for the bush ballads he wrote and published in the Australian magazine, The Bulletin. Always the adventurer, Morant had enlisted in the South Australian Mounted Rifles for service in South Africa. He fought with some distinction in several major actions including Diamond Hill and Bergendal. But when the Boers changed their tactics to those of guerrilla warfare, Morant joined a number of his fellow Australians in a newly formed regiment known as the Bushveld Carbineers, where he was promoted to the rank of lieutenant. The Carbineers operated in the Northern Transvaal around the town of Pietersburg, where Boer forces were increasingly active. The British formed a number of irregular units comprised of colonial, British and South African soldiers with reputations for a lack of discipline, excessive drinking, hard riding and straight shooting. Despite these faults they were well able to take on the Boer commandos and beat them at their own game. Unfortunately with the Bushveld Carbineers, disquieting rumours had arisen about the alleged executions of Boer prisoners. Given the savagery of the guerrilla war, acts of reprisal were carried out by both sides but, as rumours were now backed up by complaints from other members of the Bushveld Carbineers, the British army had to launch an investigation. Finally in October of 1901, four Australian and two British members of the Bushveld Carbineers were arrested. The Court of Inquiry dismissed the charges against the two British Carbineers and one of the Australians, but ordered that Morant and two fellow lieutenants, Handcock and Witton, be tried by courts-martial in Pretoria. From the evidence given in the subsequent courts-martial, there was little doubt the three were likely involved in the illegal execution of a number of Boer prisoners. They may also have been responsible for the murder of a Reverend Hesse, a German missionary who had complained about

P r e t o r i a 7 5 such matters to British authorities. An Australian officer Major James Thomas, who before the war was a solicitor in Tenterfield in New South Wales, was appointed to defend Morant, Handcock and Witton. The defence’s main argument was based on a belief amongst irregular units that orders, approved at the highest level, sanctioned the summary execution of captured or surrendered Boers caught wearing British uniforms. There is little doubt that, officially or unofficially, such an order did exist. Numerous instances of executions having taken place are recorded in memoirs written by members of both sides. General Smuts made mention a few cases he encountered during his invasion of the Cape when wounded Boers, left for the attentions of British army doctors, had their wounds dressed before being shot for wearing British uniforms. Though he also spoke of circumstances where their use of captured uniforms enabled them to escape capture and, on occasion, take an unsuspecting British patrol by surprise. It may seem odd to the reader and perhaps a little suspicious that the Boers wanted to obtain British uniforms and equipment. It must be remembered that in the latter stages of the war the clothing and equipment the Boers originally went to war with had long ago fallen to pieces or, as was the case with their Mauser rifles, rendered useless from a lack of ammunition. It was standard Boer practice to disarm and unclothe any prisoners they took and, without the facilities to detain them, send them off barefoot in their underwear to make their way back to their own forces. A few members of Smuts’s commando, complaining that the ragged clothing they wore did nothing to hide their private parts, were delighted when they found mealie (grain) sacks which, by adding holes for their head and arms, made a suitable campaign dress. At first their companions had laughed at their bizarre outfits,

7 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS but after finding a newspaper which confirmed the British were indeed shooting Boers found wearing British uniforms, most lost no time in finding their own sacks. If the British authorities thought that, by appointing an obscure solicitor from Australia to defend Morant, Handcock and Witton, they would have no trouble securing the convictions they obviously wanted, they were sadly mistaken. Major Thomas was like a ter- rier with a bone; his constant objections and penetrating questions rattled the prosecution, who were no doubt used to a more subser- vient defence. Unfortunately for the three Carbineers and despite his best efforts, Major Thomas could not find any tangible proof that an order sanctioning the execution of captured or surrendered Boers ever existed. Even his bold move to call Lord Kitchener as a witness for the defence, who would have been aware as to whether such an order had ever existed was, not surprisingly, disallowed. Given that Lord Kitchener was in the delicate process of negotiating with the Boers to end the war, it stood to reason that any leniency shown to soldiers accused of shooting surrendered Boers would not be a great opener for peace talks. It must be said too that colonial soldiers, and this includes Canadians, New Zealanders, South Africans and Australians, were not held in particularly high regard by the upper echelons of the British army and, dare it be said, were often considered expendable. Although acquitted for the murder of the missionary, Hesse, Morant and his co-accused were sentenced to death for the murder of Boer prisoners. Morant and Handcock were shot at dawn in the courtyard of the prison in Pretoria. Witton, the youngest of the three, had his sentence commuted to life imprisonment. He served three years of his sentence in a prison in England before he was released. In the best Australian tradition, Breaker Morant’s last words

P r e t o r i a 7 7 to the firing squad were, “Shoot straight, you bastards! Don’t make a mess of it!” The headstone on the grave in Pretoria read: “To the memory of P. Handcock and Henry H. Morant, 27 Feb. 1902. He that loseth his life shall find it.” The grave is in a beautiful setting, surrounded by tall, stately trees and well-kept lawns and is especially well looked after, reflect- ing the kind and loving care of fellow Australians living in South Africa. We drove to the centre of Pretoria and parked on the west side of Church Square. We were immediately besieged by a crowd of African youths clamouring for the opportunity to look after our car while we were away. It is common practice in South Africa to pay someone to guard your car while parked on a public street, a custom that lies somewhere between a protection racket and blackmail. On Johan’s advice, we appointed the largest and mean- est applicant as our designated guardian and, paying him half of what he demanded with a promise to pay the rest on our return, we shouldered our gear and walked to the centre of Church Square. The Square, founded in 1855, was the original site of the town market and, following the construction of the Gereformeerde Kerk (Dutch Reformed Church) in 1857, it was renamed Church Square. Dominating the southern side of the Square is the Ou Raadsaal (Old Council Hall), which was constructed some ten years before the outbreak of the war and was the seat of government for the South African Republic until the occupation of Pretoria by British forces in June of 1900. The Raadsaal and several other impressive government buildings, including three massive forts built to defend the city, were made possible by the economic boom brought about by the discovery of gold on the Witwatersrand. It was from the Raadsaal that

7 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS the Transvaal government ordered the gold in the state treasury be loaded onto a train and, together with President Kruger, moved to safety in the eastern Transvaal. The eventual fate of this gold was never satisfactorily established and the resulting legend of the missing Kruger Millions, as it became known, has excited treasure hunters to this day.

Kruger’s statue and the “Ou Raadsaal” in Church Square, Pretoria

We had in our possession an old photograph taken shortly after the occupation of Pretoria, showing Lord Roberts reviewing British troops in Church Square. As the Raadsaal is prominent in the background of the photo, we positioned our camera to duplicate, as closely as possible, the original scene. The Square has changed greatly since 1900 with the addition of landscaping, lawns and stately palm trees. In the centre of the Square and flanked by the

P r e t o r i a 7 9 statues of four armed burghers, there is a statue of Paul Kruger on a massive pedestal. To the amusement of dozens of Africans who were lounging about on the lawns and park benches, we had to move the camera at least half a dozen times before the scene in the viewfinder and the photo clicked; we had our shot! Afterwards, we made our way back to where we had parked the car and, as we settled our account with our appointed vehicle guard, we were immediately surrounded by dozens of young Africans also demanding payment for their role in the vehicle protection racket. For the first minute or so the demands were accompanied by smiles but, as soon as they realized that only the appointed guardian was going to get paid, the smiles disappeared and the demands grew ugly. At Johan’s urging, we quickly climbed into the car and pulled away from the curb. Some of the more energetic “guardians” chased us while pounding on the back of the car but, after half a block, they gave up the chase. I must confess that both Brad and I were a little unnerved by the rapidity with which the situation changed from smiles to rage. “You must understand the desperation of many people in this country,” Johan said, “The job situation is terrible and many of those young blacks have no skills and even less chance of finding work. I know of dozens of skilled blacks, and whites too, who haven’t worked for years and not for want of trying. You guys must be very careful,” he continued. “Car hijacking is a growth industry around any major town, so you need to keep your wits about you and pay attention to what’s going on around you.” As we neared our next destination, the State Model School, Johan changed his train of thought and directed me to a parking area. Sensing my concern he smiled and said “It’s OK, this is a much safer area.” The angry desperation we witnessed over the parking protection racket in Church Square was symptomatic of

8 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS the huge problems facing South Africa. Problems that include an economy unable to provide adequate employment for an expanding black population that is well educated (by African standards) and rightfully demanding the “better life” promised by politicians. Coupled with a creeping corruption in political circles and government departments, it is little wonder the country feels “let down.” Whites too are not faring well in the new South Africa. The government policy of affirmative action which replaces whites with blacks may sound like “just desserts” to overseas liberals, but the realities of replacing competent personnel with often incompetent but politically-correct people only serves to make matters worse. Things simply do not work as well and everyone suffers. The State Model School, an otherwise unremarkable building, would have remained obscure but for one remarkable occupant captured by Boer forces in Natal. Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill, son of Lord Randolph Churchill, had resigned his commission in the British army and, after failing to win a seat in Parliament, managed to arrange an appointment as correspondent for the British newspaper the Morning Post. Churchill travelled to South Africa on the Dunottar Castle, the same ship that carried General Buller, the newly-appointed commander of British forces in South Africa. Eager to get into the fray before it all ended, Churchill rushed to the Natal front where he was invited by an old army friend Captain Haldane to accompany a patrol in an armoured train to scout the railway line towards Ladysmith. The fact that the armoured train, confined to a single railway line, was noisy and vulnerable to ambush did not seem to bother those in authority. The Boers, however, were no doubt delighted at the opportunity it presented. They allowed the armoured train to steam past their concealed positions then, blocking the railway line with boulders, patiently awaited its return.

P r e t o r i a 8 1 The returning train was allowed to pass the Boer positions before they opened fire. The frightened civilian engine driver speeded up around the next bend and crashed into the boulders, which derailed the front three trucks. This left the engine, which was in the middle of the train, and the two rear trucks containing two companies of infantry still on the railway line. While Haldane’s infantry returned the Boer fire Churchill, perhaps forgetting his status as a journalist, ordered the wounded placed onto the engine’s tender, then directed the engine driver to clear the line by butting the derailed trucks out of the way. As soon as the line was clear the engine driver, unwilling to return for the last two trucks, headed down the railway line while the two companies of infantry ran alongside using the engine and tender as shelter from the Boer rifle fire. As the engine picked up speed, it soon outdistanced the running soldiers, so Churchill jumped off and ran back up the railway line urging the soldiers to greater efforts. Unfortunately, they were all surrounded and quickly taken prisoner by the Boers. A well-known photo taken shortly after his capture showed Churchill standing apart from other British prisoners dressed in what appeared to be a uniform of sorts. This, together with the Mauser pistol he carried and his actions which enabled the escape of the train engine, made it impossible for him to convince the Boers that he should be treated as a non-combatant and released. His imprisonment, along with other British officers in the State Model School in Pretoria, was a galling experience for Churchill, who was soon planning to escape. The School was not designed to be a secure prison and Churchill, in company with Haldane and another officer, discovered that a small window in an outside toilet, if forced open, provided access to an outside lane and freedom. Churchill was first out, but something had alerted the guards and, with his companions unable to join him, he was forced to

8 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS make his escape alone. He had no maps or compass nor could he speak Afrikaans, but he did have courage and was determined to get back to the war. He walked in an easterly direction most of the night, following a railway line which he hoped would eventually lead him to Lourenco Marques in Portuguese territory. Eventually, he managed to jump aboard a slow moving goods train and stayed hidden until daybreak when, unwilling to risk detection on the train, he jumped off, concealing himself in a patch of bush until nightfall. Unable to find another train, he walked all night, and by daybreak he was exhausted, hungry and thirsty. When he realized he was in a coal mining area, he threw caution to the winds and went up to the first mine house he encountered. He was in luck. The mine manager, who was of British extrac- tion, fed him and hid him down a mine shaft until the hue and cry died down. After a few days in hiding, the rested and refreshed Churchill was carefully hidden in a goods wagon containing wool and was soon on his way to Lourenco Marques. The story of his dramatic escape made headlines in Britain where people, disheartened by the events of Black Week, needed a hero and Churchill fitted the bill. Exploiting his newfound fame he convinced General Buller, against army regulations, to give him a commission in the South African Light Horse while continuing to act as a war correspondent. Churchill’s fame and fortune, along with his future career in politics, was assured, and he had the Boers to thank for that! Our next stop was Melrose House. We parked around the back and joined Ernst and his family seated in the garden terrace of the Tea Shoppe located in the old stable complex of this historic home. Over a cup of tea, Ernst told us something about the history of Melrose House. It was named after the famous Melrose Abbey in Scotland and was built in 1886 for a wealthy Pretoria businessman,

P r e t o r i a 8 3 George Heys. The house was requisitioned by Lord Roberts as his headquarters during the British occupation of Pretoria. When Roberts returned to Britain, Melrose House became the headquarters and principal residence of Lord Kitchener, and it was here that representatives of the Boer governments signed the Treaty of Vereeniging, which ended the Anglo-Boer War.

Melrose House, Pretoria

After tea, Johan, Brad and I walked about the garden and, from just across the street, we duplicated the famous photograph of Melrose House that showed two British soldiers on guard at the front gate. The interior of the house is a fine example of the transition from Victorian to Edwardian styles of design and architec- ture and is characterized by outstanding examples of stained glass windows, ornate ceilings and fireplaces, furnishings and bric-a-brac

8 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS that belonged to the Heys family. The dining room, which is surprisingly large and bright, has as its centre piece a massive Burmese teak table surrounded by 12 ornate chairs standing on magnificent deep red Turkish Smyrna carpet. Despite the impressive appearance of the dining room, it was not possible to forget the historical event that took place here at five past eleven on the evening of Saturday, May 31, 1902. A number of attempts had been made from March 1900 onwards to bring the war to a close but, until April of 1902, nothing much had happened. On this occasion, the Boer commanders in the field and representatives of the Boer Republics had agreed to meet with Lord Kitchener and Sir Alfred Milner in Pretoria. The meeting took place in Melrose House where the British representatives initially rejected the Boer proposals and, instead, presented their own conditions for peace. After much discussion during which Kitchener, to Milner’s displeasure, often sided with the Boer delegation, it was agreed the Boer commanders could choose 60 representatives (30 from each Republic) to meet in Vereeniging on May 15 to discuss the terms for ending the war. Following the Vereeniging meeting the Boers appointed five delegates who returned to Pretoria to continue negotiations. Finally, on May 27, these delegates returned to Vereeniging with a firm proposal for peace. General Smuts, who had been given safe conduct from his commando in the Cape Colony to attend the peace talks, was greatly disturbed by the near starvation and poor physical condition of many of the Boer representatives. It must have been obvious to many of the Boer leaders that the scorched earth policy and the crippling lines of blockhouses had finally brought the commandos to their knees. It is not surprising then that, following a three- day debate which must have been acrimonious at times, the Boer

P r e t o r i a 8 5 representatives voted 54 to 6 in favour of accepting the conditions for peace. Ten Boer leaders, including De la Rey, Botha and De Wet, were sent to Melrose House in Pretoria where, in the presence of Kitchener and Milner, the Peace Treaty of Vereeniging was signed. Following the signing, the embarrassing silence was broken by Lord Kitchener, who looked around the table and said, “We are good friends now!” It was late afternoon when we said good-bye to Johan and Ernst and, thanking them profusely for their help and advice, made our way to our car. We were impressed with the generosity shown to us by our new-found friends, who had met two strangers at the airport and guided them around Pretoria, actions which demonstrated the South African tradition of courtesy to visitors – a tradition we encountered time and again during our stay in the country. On our own for the first time, we set out to find the bed and breakfast we had booked before we left Canada. After a few minutes’ driving around we found the street we were looking for and, in short order, the bed and breakfast. This was the first time we had driven around a suburban area and could not help but notice that most houses were surrounded by high walls, security fencing and steel gates that bore security company signs promising an armed response to an unauthorized entry. Our bed and breakfast was no different. Fortunately the gates were open and, assuming our entry was authorized, we drove up to the house. That was as far as we went. Two huge black dogs, equipped with the most spectacular array of gleaming white fangs I had ever seen, rushed out to greet us. As firm believers that discretion is the better part of valour, we remained in the car until their frantic barking attracted the homeowner. A petite, attractive woman appeared from nowhere and, with

8 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS a wave of her hand, reduced the salivating jaws of death to meek, puppy-like friendliness. “Oh, they won’t hurt you,” she said. “Come and make friends with them!” Feeling somewhat like Christians being prompted to enter the Roman arena, we gingerly left the protection of our car and approached the now silent dogs. Of course our host was quite right. The dogs, which were about the size of small lions, were the slobbering epitomes of friendship and would have licked us to death if our host had not dismissed them with another wave of her hand. Welcoming us to Pretoria, our hostess – “Just call me Hettie” – led us to one of three small, self-contained apartments that faced out onto a wooden deck overlooking a small garden. We were given a set of keys, an electronic gate opener and instructions to let her know when we wanted breakfast. Evening meals were by prior arrangement only, so Brad and I drove back into town to where I had seen a promising-looking restaurant. It goes without saying that despite the comfortable beds, excitement and jet lag ensured that neither of us slept well that night. Breakfast was a hearty affair with fried eggs and tomato, boerewors (Boer sausages), chips (fries), toast and coffee. Hettie bustled about making us feel most welcome while extracting a promise from us to be back before dark in time for sundowners with her and some new guests she was expecting. We drove to our first destination, the South African Archives, where we searched through their photographic records on the Boer War. The collection was huge and, even though it was not very well catalogued, we managed to find some useful photos for the documentary. By midday it was obvious the custodian was tired of us, so when he informed us the Archives would be closed for the rest of the day, we were neither surprised nor disappointed, as it provided a perfect opportunity to visit the Pretoria forts.

P r e t o r i a 8 7 Following the Jameson Raid, the government of the South African Republic, now flush with revenues from the gold mines, decided to do something about the security of the capital city of Pretoria. They engaged a French military engineer to design four forts to be built at strategic points around the city. The German firm of Krupp was awarded the construction contract and by 1898 the forts, named Klapperkop, Schanskop, Wonderboom and Daspoortrand, were accepted by President Kruger on behalf of the government. I was not sure what remained of Wonderboom, Klapperkop or Daspoortrand, so we decided to visit Fort Schanskop, supposedly the best preserved. Following their construction, each fort was manned by 30 men of the Staats Artillerie (State Artillery), the only uniformed regiment in the Boer forces. The Staats Artillerie were trained by officers of the German army and, as a result, were well organized, disciplined, wore German-style uniforms and marched with the goose step. Originally the forts were armed with French 155 mm Creusot fortress guns, famously known as “Long Toms”; however following the outbreak of the war these were removed and used by Boer forces in the field. The Pretoria forts were not one of the Boer government’s better ideas. They were hugely expensive tactical white elephants that did nothing to contribute to the Boer credo of mobility. It is not surprising then that none of the forts saw action and, given the huge preponderance of artillery enjoyed by the British forces, were all wisely abandoned before Lord Roberts reached Pretoria. Our visit to Schanskop brought back memories of my high school days. Two friends and I had heard of a rumoured escape tunnel that led from an underground storeroom in the fort to a cave, which supposedly exited in a valley about 800 metres from the fort. As access to the storerooms inside the fort had long been

8 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS blocked by debris, we entertained visions of Mauser rifles waiting to be discovered and began a search for the cave exit. We discovered a cave in the right location, but after crawling a few metres into the tunnel, found that it had been dynamited. Despite our best efforts, we were unable to shift the mass of fallen rock. Almost two years later, I chanced on a newspaper report which described the discovery during the restoration of the fort of a previously unknown tunnel and storeroom found to contain rifles dating back to the Boer War! On our return to the bed and breakfast we noticed two more cars in the driveway, and within minutes Hettie appeared and invited us to join her and her guests for sundowners in the garden. Sundowners are the South African custom of having drinks with friends as the sun goes down; of course, this tradition may start well before the sun goes down and can continue until well after the sun has disappeared! The new guests were Erica and Frikkie from Tzaneen and Marti and Ben from Pietersburg, both towns in the Northern Province. Erica and Frikkie owned a cattle ranch near Tzaneen, while Marti and Ben both worked as security guards in a shopping centre. Both couples appeared to be mismatched. Erica, was quiet and demure, while Frikkie was the life and soul of the party; Marti on the other hand was more like Frikkie: she was blonde, buxom and self-assured and flirted outrageously with Frikkie. Ben of course, was more like Erica; he was quiet and seldom spoke unless spoken to, but was, I thought, the more intelligent of the two men. Both couples were unsure of us to begin with but, after allowing me to struggle along in broken Afrikaans for a while, they switched easily to English and we got along well. Frikkie told us his farm had been in his family for over a hundred years and, after hearing about our film on the Boer War, he mentioned that his

P r e t o r i a 8 9 great-grandmother had been removed off the farm by the British and placed in a concentration camp near Pietersburg. Fortunately, he told us, the farmhouse was never destroyed, as it was used as the officer’s mess for an Australian unit posted to the area. The conversation soon turned to the problems in Zimbabwe, as it appeared that both couples had friends still trying to farm in that unhappy country. “I have no doubt in my mind the same thing will happen here,” Frikkie said. “Just look at the reaction of the government here. Not one bloody word is said against Mugabe. He’s invited to state functions and treated like a head of state instead of the bloody thug that he is. And they call themselves war veterans. Those lazy bastards never heard a shot fired in anger. Hell, most of them weren’t even born when the Chimurenga was in full swing.” I was surprised to hear him use the Shona word for the Rhodesian war and got the impression that he may have been more involved than he let on. “Ask Ben,” he said, “He was in the Rhodesian police, in the PATU (Police Anti-terrorist Unit) in the Fort Vic area and stayed until the bloody end. Now these wonderful people have to work in a shopping mall keeping the kaffirs from stealing everything that isn’t nailed down.” A frown of concern crossed Hettie’s face as she glanced at us watching for our reaction to the use of the word kaffir, a derogatory term for a black in South Africa. We said nothing to betray our thoughts and waited for the conversation to continue. I wanted Ben to talk about his experiences so I asked him whether he had thought of joining the police force in South Africa. They all laughed at this suggestion and Ben quickly replied, “Actually I did and reached the rank of sergeant in charge of a police station, but then one day, through this affirmative action, I was replaced by a black constable. That was it, five years down the drain. I honestly don’t think he could even read or write properly.”

9 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS “That’s the whole problem in this country,” Frikkie said, “Hell man, now they want to change the name of Pretoria to Tshwane. How bloody stupid is that? The country is going to hell and all they can think of is to remove the name of the Boer who founded the city. Whites are being replaced simply because they are white; the government doesn’t care whether the kaffir can do the job or not. It’s very difficult for us to get anything done in a post office or any government department. It’s like the blind leading the blind. God alone knows what will happen when Mbeki’s gone and Zuma takes over. A split in the ANC may be good news for the country or it could be just the opportunity radical elements are waiting for.” Saved by the call to dinner, we went into the dining room. I sat next to Hettie as I wanted to get some advice for our journey the next day to Lydenburg in Mpumalanga province. Advice came from all sides. Don’t stop for anyone, even if it’s a policeman. (I couldn’t see how that would be a wise thing to do, though I had read of instances where car hijackers had posed as policemen). Don’t stop at the side of the road to sightsee unless there are a lot of other cars stopped. (Cars driven by whites I presumed; but, as we planned to stop at the side of the road to film, this was not useful advice for us). Don’t drive at night if you can avoid it. (Good advice as many cars in South Africa are not in good condition and headlights are often not working. Indeed, the other little extras that we take for granted such as brakes and steering, may also not be working). The advice, though well-meant, grew more and more depressing so I changed the subject and asked Hettie what her husband did for a living. “He is an airline pilot” she replied. “He’s over in Europe right now, but I expect him back in a few days.” Brad asked Hettie whether she was afraid to be on her own while her husband was away. “Yes,” she replied. “Sometimes at night I hear a noise and I am frightened. But my dogs Swart and Donder (black and

P r e t o r i a 9 1 thunder) sleep in the bedroom and they make me feel safe.” “Tell them about your carjacking,” Marti said. We looked expectantly at Hettie. “Well,” she began, “about two months ago, I drove my husband to the airport to pick up his afternoon flight to Cape Town. After I dropped him off, I was driving away from the terminal and slowed to let a car merge into my lane. The next thing I knew my passenger door was opened and a black jumped into the car. I know I should have locked all my doors when I dropped off my husband, but it was a beautiful sunny afternoon and the airport was crowded with people. I just never expected anything could happen there.” “What did you do?” Brad asked. “I shouted at him,” she said. “I don’t usually swear, but I screamed at him to get out of my car! Then I saw the gun in his hand; he was holding it low so passersby couldn’t see it and I decided it would be best if I kept quiet. He worked the door opener and two more blacks climbed into the back. The first black, the one with the gun, told me to drive out of the airport. Nou was ek vreeslik bang! (Now I was very frightened!) I drove for about three blocks then I slowed down as I approached a red robot (traffic light). One of the kaffirs in the backseat punched me on the side of my head, called me a white bitch and told me not to stop. I knew then that they would rape and kill me if I stayed in the car so, while the car was moving slowly, I quickly opened my door and fell out of the car.” The retell- ing of this terrifying experience was too much for Hettie, who burst into tears and left the room. Erica broke the silence. “Hettie was very lucky,” she said. “The driver of the car behind, a black businessman had seen the hijacking and was calling the police on his mobile phone when Hettie jumped out of the car. When he stopped his car and ran to help her,

9 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS the hijackers got her car going and drove away before the police arrived.” “They never caught the bastards,” said Ben, “Though they did recover the car a few days later after a botched robbery attempt. The funny thing was that they never found the gun that Hettie carried for protection; it was still wrapped in a cloth under her seat.” “When I drive anywhere these days,” Marti volunteered, “I put my revolver between my legs. I like the hard feel of it there and I can reach it in a split second.” She glanced at Frikkie who smiled approvingly. It was getting late so Brad and I said goodnight to the group, pleading an early start in the morning. We saw Hettie on our way out and made arrangements to have coffee and rusks (Boer bis- cuits) delivered to our room early in the morning as we planned to leave well before breakfast. Shortly after falling asleep I was awakened to the sounds of the moans, groans and banging’s of energetic lovemaking coming from the room next door. The walls were obviously not soundproofed so I got out of bed. Walking to the window, I drew the curtain aside and could see a couple standing on the stoep outside, looking at the garden. The man struck a match to light a cigarette and I could see that it was Erica and Ben. Now I began to understand something about the relationship of this odd foursome!

P r e t o r i a 9 3 5 Mpumalanga

e left Pretoria on the N4 and headed east into a beautiful Wsunrise, pleased we managed to leave the city without getting lost and that, at last, our search for the Queen’s Cowboys had begun. We planned, over the next two days, to slowly make our way towards Lydenburg, where we’d arranged to meet up with Marion and Alastair, our hosts and guides to the battlefields that figured so prominently in the story of the Strathconas. The countryside was spectacular. The grasses of the highveld were bathed in the golden rays of the rising sun, and the dips and valleys were covered with a gentle mist. Small African villages dotted along the highway were marked from a distance by columns of smoke that rose from early morning cooking fires. The roadside itself was already crowded with Africans, singly or in small groups, walking purposefully to goodness knows where. From my early years in South Africa, I was familiar with the many interesting places along this road and looked forward to revisiting them and sharing them with my son. Fifteen minutes outside Pretoria, we passed a small sign at the

9 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS side of the road that marked the turnoff to the site of the battle of Diamond Hill. This was one of my favourite Boer War battlefields, as its layout made it easy for a novice historian to follow the course of the action. As it was also one of the closest major battlefields to Johannesburg, my father and I had often tramped over its valleys and rocky outcrops as we refought the battle. Essentially Diamond Hill, or Donkerhoek (Dark Corner) as the Boers called it, was typical of the uneven struggles that eventually convinced the Boers that pitched battles with the British army were not the way to go.

Diamond Hill and the British cemetery

Brad and I drove to the small cemetery located on the edge of the battlefield, parked the car and walked through the long grass still wet with dew, to a point from where we could see the sweeping panorama of Diamond Hill. The battle began when Lord Roberts marched out of Pretoria at the head of a column of 14,000 men and 70 guns and confronted Botha and De la Rey, who had 6,000 men and 23 guns. The Boers were drawn up over a wide front that covered most of the eastern end of the Magaliesberg mountain range

M p u m a l a n g a 9 5 blocking the British line of advance on the eastern Transvaal. The British narrowly avoided a trap set by the redoubtable De la Rey and concentrated their best efforts to turn the flanks of the Boer positions. The outcome was inevitable and after two days of fighting the Boers withdrew under the cover of darkness leaving behind, according to the legend, a grieving Boer father refusing to leave his young son who had been shot in the head, but was still alive. We were never able to discover the fate of the young boy. Once, when I visited Diamond Hill with Jeff, a friend who shared my interest in South African history, we climbed to the top of the ridge that marked the forward Boer positions. As we stood there looking down the valley towards the British lines, my attention was drawn to a cleft in the rocks which would have made an ideal firing point for a Boer marksman. I lay down in this position and, scratching around in the dirt, soon uncovered a handful of empty cartridge cases, three unfired rounds and finally, half a dozen of what looked like rusted steel ball bearings. The cartridges were marked 8 mm and dated 1896. They were clearly for a Mauser rifle. Further efforts in the dirt eventually uncovered the badly damaged and rusted remains of the bolt action and trigger guard from what we later identified as a Mauser rifle. As we sat there and thought about this find, Jeff noticed the head of an exploded shell wedged between two rocks only a few metres from my Boer marksman’s position. We later identified the shell head as coming from a 15-pounder, breech loading field gun, commonly used by the Royal Field Artillery. This gun could fire shrapnel shells, which contained about 200 steel balls. A time fuse detonated the shell in the air above its target, blasting the steel balls onto the unfortunates below. We managed to extract the shell head from its rocky embrace and began to understand the reason for the smashed rifle, the rusted steel balls and the ultimate fate

9 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS of the Boer marksman. The remains of his rifle, the shrapnel balls and the cartridges went to a local museum, but I was able to keep the shell head and one of the cartridge cases. These two relics now reside in a display case in my study and often remind me of that unknown Boer marksman who met his end on that rocky ridge overlooking Donkerhoek. Brad and I returned to our car and headed towards the dorp (village) of Cullinan which enticed us off our route with promises of a hot breakfast and a much-needed second cup of coffee. Many years had gone by since I last visited Cullinan and I had forgotten how pleasant it was with its jacaranda and oak tree-lined avenues, the stone miners’ cottages and beautifully restored, turn-of-the- century buildings. Cullinan Square, located in the heart of the village, is decorated with eight exquisite murals painted by Italian and possibly German prisoners-of-war during the Second World War. The murals, which depict scenes of the Union Buildings in Pretoria and the Great Trek, had been covered over in the inter- vening years and were only rediscovered in 1993. The prisoners of war were housed just outside Cullinan at the Zonderwater Camp. The camp housed mostly Italian prisoners captured during the campaigns in Somaliland and Ethiopia and, later, during the North African campaign. The camp, which eventually housed some 63,000 prisoners, was an outstanding example of what can be achieved by the intelligent and humane treatment of captured soldiers. As many of the prisoners were illiterate, efforts were made to teach them to read and write, and many thousands learned a trade. The postwar Italian government recognized the efforts of the South African forces when it awarded the Camp Commandant, Colonel Prinsloo and three of his officers, the Order of the Star of Italy. It was a pleasant change to hear about a good prisoner-of-war camp commandant!

M p u m a l a n g a 9 7 We found a café near the centre and were soon enjoying an artery-clogging country breakfast of grilled boerewors, sheep’s liver and bacon, eggs and pan-fried potatoes, countless rounds of toast (we had declined the fried toast) and a bottomless cup of coffee, all served by an attractive Afrikaans waitress. What more could a traveller want! Of course, Brad had made the obvious association with the name, Cullinan. It was back in 1902, I told him over breakfast, when an enterprising and geologically savvy prospector bought the farm Elandsfontein from the Prinsloo family. Because of the existence of kimberlite ground on the farm and the number of alluvial diamonds found in local rivers, Cullinan was convinced that a diamond pipe existed somewhere on the property. In 1903, he discovered the pipe and formed the Premier Diamond Mining Company. In 1905, so the story goes, a mineworker alerted the surface manager, Frank Wells, to a large shiny object high on the wall of the digging. Wells is supposed to have extracted the object with his pocketknife and taken it over to the mine office where the unimpressed staff, convinced it was not a diamond, threw it out of the window! Fortunately, Wells retrieved the object which, under closer scrutiny, turned out to be a 3,106-carat diamond, the largest gem diamond ever found. What’s even more incredible is a belief among geologists that the diamond represented only a small part of a much larger gemstone. Named the Cullinan diamond, the stone was exhibited to pro- spective buyers for two years in a London bank then, in 1908 it was cut into nine large faceted diamonds known as “The Stars of Africa” and 96 smaller gemstones. The two largest faceted diamonds in the world, both cut from the Cullinan, are to be found in the Imperial Sceptre and the State Crown of Great Britain. All the other seven large diamonds from the Cullinan are part of the Crown Jewels or are owned by the British Royal Family.

9 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS About 50 kilometres out of Pretoria we passed the small town of Bronkhorstspruit, and I couldn’t resist telling Brad the legend of the soldiers’ peaches. In December 1880 during the First Anglo- Boer War, the burghers of the Transvaal, chafing under the British annexation, rose to throw the British out of the country. Small Imperial units in Potchefstroom and Pretoria were besieged, but not before requests for help had been sent to scattered garrisons in places like Lydenburg and Middleburg. In response to these requests, Colonel Anstruther marched to the relief of Pretoria at the head of a column of 246 men of the 94th Regiment of Foot. He had been warned of possible action against him by Boer forces but, like many British officers of the time, he was dismissive of the Boers as an effective force. (If I had a dollar for every time a senior British officer thought that, I would be a rich man!) It was a beautiful summer morning as his column neared the town of Bronkhorstspruit; the band was playing a lively march, “Kiss Me Mother, Kiss Your Darling,” while the soldiers ate peaches they had picked at a farm orchard a few miles back. A Boer messenger carrying a white flag galloped up to the colonel and, informing him that a Boer commando blocked his path, ordered him to halt his men while negotiations took place in Pre- toria. The colonel refused and ordered his men to continue their march. The unlucky 94th Regiment was still marching in column when the Boers opened fire. They never stood a chance. Within minutes, 56 of the soldiers were dead and 91 were wounded. Of the wounded, 21, including the colonel, would die later. The dead soldiers were buried at the side of the road where they fell and legend has it the peaches in their pockets grew into fine peach trees which lined the road outside Bronkhorstspruit for many years. We continued on the N11 and passed through Middelburg, named for its central location between Pretoria and Lydenburg, and stopped at the little town of Botshabelo. The town was founded

M p u m a l a n g a 9 9 by two German missionaries, Merensky and Grutzner, who arrived to spread the gospel among the local Africans. Unfortunately Sekhukhuni, the chief of the BaPedi, was not in favour of this attempt to spread Christianity among the local Sotho and the two missionaries, in fear for their lives, decided to build a fort to defend the mission. (Maybe Sekhukhuni knew a thing or two about Christian missionaries?) Finally, in 1865, Fort Merensky was built atop a ridge behind the mission church. Although the fort never saw action and had fallen into disrepair over time, its historical importance was recognized and, in 1961, it was fully restored. We parked the car and walked up a cobblestone pathway to the church the fort protected. The church itself was constructed out of red bricks and had beautiful yellowwood ceiling beams, a thatched roof, ornate gallery and a smooth dung floor. A middle- aged African couple who were visiting the church seemed, as soon as we arrived, to be anxious to leave. The couple were well dressed, but the woman appeared to be frail and in poor health. I greeted them as they passed us, hoping that they might strike up a conversation, but they simply nodded a greeting in return and made their way down to the parking lot. Brad and I found a pathway behind the church which led us up through a forested area to the fort which, if nothing else, provided a grand view over the jumbled hills and valleys and the church below. Our destination for our first night on the road was my father’s favourite camping and fishing destination, Loskop Dam. Constructed in 1930, the dam on the Olifants (Elephants) river created a 30-kilometre-long lake, which today supports a fine game reserve and has some of the best fishing in the Transvaal. It was still early when we arrived at the dam, so we took the 40-minute drive along the tourist route, hoping to see some of the 70 species of mammals the brochure boasted about. However, it appeared that

1 0 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS everything was in hiding, though we did see a few antelope and the departing rear of a buffalo. My earliest childhood memory of Loskop Dam had to do with wildlife, though not of the animal variety. I was about seven years old and, with my father trailing far behind, was making my way through a patch of bush along the lakeshore. I was looking for that special fishing spot, which I knew was always around the next bend, when I came across a large black car with all its doors open, parked under a tree. A white couple were on the backseat of the car, buck naked with the male lying on his back and the female sitting astride him. I stood and stared at this unusual sight and, from their frantic activity, deduced that they were fighting. The blonde female on top saw me and flashed a beautiful smile and left me with an enduring childhood memory of long blonde hair, jiggling breasts and pearly white teeth. As my dad appeared on the scene I apparently said, “They are only play fighting, but I think the lady is winning!” Needless to say I was hurried back the way we came to a spot some distance away which, my dad assured me, was the only place on Loskop where you could really catch fish. I can’t remember if we ever caught any fish, but as I grew older in years and understanding, I came to appreciate how wild life could be at Loskop Dam! Brad and I had reserved one of the self-catering rondavels (round huts with thatched roofs) that overlooked Lombard’s Bay. As we drove up and parked the car, I noticed the African couple we had seen at the church at Fort Merensky were sitting at a picnic table in front of the hut next door. I waved a greeting and the man got up and walked over to us and, shaking our hands, invited us to join them for the inevitable sundowners. We took a dozen Castle beers from our cooler and joined them at their table as the sun set the dam aglow with a golden light.

M p u m a l a n g a 1 0 1 As we sat enjoying the beers and the spectacular sunset, they introduced themselves as Simon and Lydia from Zimbabwe. Their initial responses to my questions were cautious and guarded. However, as the evening wore on and we shared a braai (BBQ) for our evening meal, their comfort level improved and we learned that Simon was a doctor and that Lydia used to be a nurse. Simon expressed a great deal of interest in our documentary and surprised us both with his extensive knowledge of the Boer War. We also noticed that he appeared to be relieved when we told him that we were not connected with any news media and were amateur historians pursuing a dream. Simon told us that he was a surgeon at a hospital in Zimbabwe and, in response to my question about the current political situation in that country, asked that should we ever have occasion to repeat his story, would we please be careful not to use their names or any identifying locations. Naturally we agreed. Simon told us that, after matriculating in Rhodesia, he had attended the University of Fort Hare in South Africa, where he eventually graduated as a general practitioner. On his return to Rhodesia in the late 1960s, UDI (Unilateral Declaration of Independence) had taken place and the Rhodesian bush war had begun. “I could not get a good job in any of the hospitals,” he said, “so I joined the Rhodesian army!” Seeing my surprise he added, “Actually, they were glad to have me and career-wise it provided an excellent opportunity to put my medical schooling into practice. I was encouraged to continue my medical education, and within a year I was assisting in surgery, and by the middle of the 1970s I was a practicing surgeon.” I confessed my surprise that he would join the Rhodesian Army and essentially fight on the side of the white minority government of Ian Smith. “I thought a young educated black would support one of the liberation movements,” I said.

1 0 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS He threw back his head and laughed. “It’s funny to think of Mugabe’s ZANLA (Zimbabwe African National Liberation Army) or Nkomo’s ZIPRA (Zimbabwe People’s Revolutionary Army) as liberation movements. They spent as much time fighting one another as they did fighting the Rhodesian army. Look how Mugabe turned on Nkomo as soon as he achieved power. All Mugabe or Nkomo wanted was enough power to set themselves up for life. Of course, Mugabe won the power struggle and he plans to stay in power forever. Neither side cared about the people they were supposed to be liberating. I’m sure you both know that for every white killed in the war, dozens of Africans died, and most of them at the hands of the self-styled liberators. Even the current power sharing deal with Morgan Tsvangirai is haunted by the ghost of Nkomo. I’m sure Tsvangirai is well aware what can happen to anyone who shares power with Mugabe.” “How did you manage when the war finally ended?” Brad asked Simon. “O.K. really. I mean we saw the writing on the wall long before it happened and I was able to make a smooth transition to civilian life and a good position in a public hospital. That’s where I met Lydia,” he added, turning to his wife. Lydia smiled and said, “I thank God that he met me. He is my rock in these troubled times.” I asked her how the troubled times affected their lives in Zimbabwe. She looked at me closely before replying. “In every way you can possibly imagine. Our hospitals struggle daily with shortages in medicines and equipment failures. Because petrol is in short supply in Zimbabwe, I have seen oxen pulling trucks in some villages. Police cars cannot respond to crimes and ambulances do not run to accidents. Our currency is worthless outside the country, and inside you need millions just to buy bread, if you can find any for sale! Life is a daily struggle for the

M p u m a l a n g a 1 0 3 people. Because of food shortages, we have to queue for everything. Sometimes you queue for hours only to be told it’s all gone, come back tomorrow or next week. Simon, tell Brad and Tony about petrol queues!” “Aah”, said Simon, “Petrol queues! It seems I spend half my life in petrol queues. You see, you never know when a petrol tanker may make a delivery, so you queue in the hope that maybe one will come. You queue based on rumour, optimistic prediction or because your car is out of petrol and you can’t drive it anyway. It’s like a lottery, a Zimbabwe state petrol lottery. Sometimes so little petrol comes in that you get just enough to drive to another station and enter the lottery again. I hire a chap from the hospital to sit with my car in the queue and he sometimes waits a whole day for a tanker that never comes. What is terrible is the corruption; some people have no problem getting all the petrol they want, while the rest of the country goes without.” “Obviously,” I remarked, “corruption is widespread.” “Widespread!” Simon replied. “You can say that again. Mugabe and his cronies invented the word. Now I know you are aware that white-owned farms are handed over to high-ranking politicians, army and police officers and family friends, none of whom could grow so much as a single mealie. But do you know about the diamonds they are stealing?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “Diamonds have been discovered in considerable quantities at Chiadzwa in the eastern part of Zimbabwe. They represent the wealth of the people of the country, but they are being stolen by the army and government officials. Locals who dare to search for diamonds are shot out of hand.” Hoping to change the subject Lydia asked, “Simon, does he know the joke about candles?” Simon smiled and, leaning closer to us asked, “Do you know

1 0 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS what parents say when a child asks what we used before we had candles?” So as not to spoil his punch line, I said I had no idea. Simon laughed, “Electricity, we had electricity!” Lydia’s smile faded and she remarked that a joke like that could get you beaten and jailed if someone reported you to the police or one of the government’s spies. The thought seemed to frighten her so she whispered that she was feeling tired and, thanking Brad and me for a pleasant evening, she asked Simon to help her inside their rondavel. About ten minutes later Simon returned and, for a few moments sat quietly staring out over the darkening waters of the dam. “We would have left Zimbabwe years ago,” he began, “but my poor Lydia has AIDS and no western country, not even Canada, will accept an immigrant with the disease, even if her husband is a good doctor. Lydia contracted HIV some years ago. We have no idea how, probably a prick with an infected needle. We managed to keep it under control, but a year ago she developed AIDS. Zimbabwe has the unfortunate distinction of being one of the most HIV-infected countries in the world. I think it’s something like 25 per cent of the adult population, making a hospital a dangerous place to work. Treatment is almost nonexistent, so we regularly travel to Johannesburg for treatment to keep the disease under control.” He took three more beers out of the cooler and we sat for some time listening to the sounds of the African night. “I love it here,” he said, breaking the silence, “We feel the stress of dealing with the clinic in Jo’burg so when it becomes too much we hire a car and, at least for a day and a night, we find the peace and quiet we need.” He threw back his head, gulped his beer down and stood up abruptly. “Thank you for being our friends and for listening. Whenever I think of Loskop, I will think of you.” He shook our hands, wished us good luck on our journey and walked to his rondavel. Neither of us spoke, probably because of the lumps

M p u m a l a n g a 1 0 5 in our throats, so we sat silently staring out into the night. When we awoke the next morning, Simon and Lydia were gone, but they took with them our best wishes for their future. When I left Rhodesia on my trip up Africa all those years ago, Ian Smith’s Rhodesian Front government, which was petition- ing for the country’s independence from Britain, was thwarted by the British governments’ policy of NIBMAR, (No Independence Before Majority African Rule). Finally, in November 1965, unwilling to give in to what they saw as British interference in the internal affairs of the country, the Rhodesian Front government issued its “Unilateral Declaration of Independence” or UDI from Britain. In response, the British government requested the United Nations Security Council to impose economic sanctions on Rhodesia, hoping to bring the breakaway country to heel. However, to Britain’s dismay, the Rhodesian economy, thanks in large part to South Africa and Mozambique, continued to function and, in some areas, enjoyed a boom! Eventually, a low intensity insurgency began in the rural and tribal areas under the direction of the two liberation movements, ZAPU and its armed wing ZIPRA, and ZANU and its armed wing ZANLA. It’s interesting to note that while both ZANU and ZAPU claimed the support of the two major tribes in Rhodesia, both groups found it necessary to terrorize and kill huge numbers of their so-called supporters. In fact, thousands more rural blacks were mutilated or killed when compared to the relatively low number of rural-dwelling white farmers who were killed. Rural blacks were in a particularly difficult position. Imagine how they felt when at dusk a group of ZANLA or ZIPRA, it would not matter who they were, swaggered into their village. They would beat up or kill the headman, claiming he was a “sell-out” and then spend the rest of the night haranguing the terrified villagers on

1 0 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS the finer points of one man, one vote. Then just before dawn they would leave, forcibly taking with them some of the young men and girls and promising they would return some night to deal with any further “sell-outs.” The next day, a police or army patrol would arrive in the village to inquire into the murder of the headman, only to be met by a wall of silence, and why not? The villagers knew that by nightfall the police or the army would be gone and they would again be at the mercy of the “boys in the bush.” Operating mostly from sanctuaries in neighbouring Botswana, Zambia and Mozambique, the terrorists (or freedom fighters, again, depending on your point of view) enjoyed limited success with attacks on remote farms and unprotected tribal villages. Known as the “Bush War” to white Rhodesians or the “Chimurenga” to the black nationalists, the conflict heated up and, by 1978, more and more white males were being drafted for national service in the Rhodesian Army. Along with the white conscripts, thousands of black Rhodesians served with distinction in the Rhodesian African Rifles and especially in elite units such as the Selous Scouts. The army they joined was small but well equipped for the task and was considered by a former NATO commander to be “the most professional and battle-hardened army in the world at that time.” The extensive use of land mines by both ZANLA and ZIPRA made it essential for the Rhodesian army to develop and build its own mine-proof armoured vehicles. The results were amazing. The VW Beetle was the donor vehicle for the Leopard mine and ambush protection vehicle, while Land Rovers and five ton diesel trucks were used to build the Kudu and Crocodile armoured cars, all of which provided some degree of protection from land mines and ambushes. The air force, which played a crucial role in the war, was equipped with De Havilland Vampire jet fighter bombers and

M p u m a l a n g a 1 0 7 English Electric Canberra bombers bought from Britain in the 1950s. Later acquisitions included eight C47 Dakotas which were adapted for paratrooper operations and general transport, and 12 Hawker Hunter ground attack fighters. The fact the air force did such an outstanding job with aircraft that were 25 to 40 years old says much about the skills of both the pilots and the maintenance units. Thanks to some innovative sanctions-busting operations, the air force managed to obtain a variety of piston-engine, light attack aircraft, which proved to be invaluable in counter-insurgency operations. The most valuable additions to the air force by far were the outstanding French-built Alouette III helicopters. Some of the Alouettes were configured to serve as troop carriers while others, designated as K Cars, were equipped with 20 mm cannon, which provided devastating fire support for troops on the ground. The army developed Fire Force, a tactic that involved the use of the Alouette helicopters as gunships and troop transports to pursue fleeing insurgents and to insert blocking forces in their path. The Rhodesians pioneered the formation of special tracking units such as the Selous Scouts, named after a famous turn-of-the- century, big-game hunter, Frederick Courteney Selous. The Selous Scouts enlisted numbers of “turned terrorists,” whose unrivalled tracking and counter-insurgency skills made them one of the most hated and feared units in the Rhodesian Army. The greatest problem the Rhodesians faced was the fact that the advantage of surprise lay almost completely with the opposing forces. Hit-and-run tactics employed by ZIPRA and ZANLA on the white and black farming communities disrupted rural life, and their widespread use of land mines made any form of travel unsafe for civilians, both black and white. To counter the increasing intimidation of the rural black population, the government set up

1 0 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS protected villages with armed guards throughout most of the tribal areas. However, these largely unsuccessful initiatives, coupled with the fact that it was no longer safe for trains or motor vehicles to travel without armed escorts, resulted in a serious drain on available army and police manpower. The collapse of the Portuguese government in 1974 and the resulting withdrawal of Portuguese forces, which up until then were fighting their own nationalist insurgencies in Angola and Mozambique, left the Rhodesian government in a difficult situation. The 1,200-kilometre border with Mozambique was now open to the forces of Robert Mugabe and, within months, large training camps were set up just across the border in Mozambique. This did not deter the Rhodesian forces who, amid screams of international condemnation, began to cross the borders more often in “hot pursuit” of fleeing insurgents. While neither ZIPRA nor ZANLA were able to stand up to the Rhodesian forces in open battle, their tactics began to have a disheartening effect on both the white and black populations and many began to consider leaving the country. My parents, who were living in Rhodesia at that time, had a theory that terrorists wouldn’t attack a single car, preferring instead, to wait for at least three or four cars travelling together. Fortunately, they never had to put this theory to the test, though they did mention one occasion when, returning to Salisbury one night during a Military escort, Rhodesia violent windstorm, they saw

M p u m a l a n g a 1 0 9 a large branch lying across the road and had to brake hard to avoid hitting it. As they did so, they saw a black object the size of a man’s fist roll in front of their car. My father, who was driving, gripped the steering wheel and waited for the grenade to explode. Fortunately, it turned out to be one of several pine cones the wind was blowing across the road from some trees around a deserted farmhouse. My parents later confirmed that it was this incident that brought home to them the realization that it was time to seriously consider emigrating. Despite the deteriorating security situation, every time government forces faced ZANLA or ZIPRA insurgents, the Rhodesians emerged victorious. Despite a shortage of weapons and equipment, the Rhodesians were able to strike at terrorist training camps far across the borders in Zambia and Mozambique, but a decisive victory eluded them. The white population, tired of the continuing call-ups and the immense strain the war was placing on the country as a whole, encouraged Ian Smith’s government to consider an “internal settlement” with moderate African nationalist parties who were not involved in the war. The “internal settlement” did not include either Mugabe’s ZANU party (mostly Mashona) or Nkomo’s ZAPU party (mostly Matabele), both of which remained banned terrorist organizations in Rhodesia. Nevertheless, the Rhodesian government pressed ahead and a party led by a moderate black politician, Abel Muzorewa, a United Methodist Church bishop, won the election and he became prime minister in June 1979 of the new Zimbabwe-Rhodesia. Unfortunately, overseas support for the “internal settlement” was not forthcoming and the bush war with ZANU and ZAPU continued unabated. Headed by the recently elected Margaret Thatcher, the British government influenced by the objections of Kenneth Kaunda of Zambia and Julius Nyerere of Tanzania and

1 1 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS ignoring the fact that both countries were nothing more than one- party dictatorships, withheld recognition of Zimbabwe-Rhodesia. This was despite the fact that British observers had pronounced the elections to be free and fair. International pressure, particularly from the United States, was exerted on Prime Minister Vorster of South Africa to persuade Bishop Muzorewa and Ian Smith to agree to attend a peace conference at Lancaster House in London. By now, both sides in the conflict realized they were at a stale- mate and, after much arm-twisting, an agreement was reached that eventually led to Britain temporarily resuming control of Zimbabwe-Rhodesia while all-party elections took place. Under the command of the British appointed temporary governor, Lord Soames, Commonwealth forces arrived in Rhodesia to monitor the elections and to oversee the gathering of ZANU and ZAPU forces in designated assembly points throughout the country. At midnight on December 28, 1979, a cease-fire came into effect. Most Rhodesians, both black and white, hoped that Muzorewa would be re-elected, but it soon became obvious that this would not happen. Thousands of armed ZANLA terrorists remained at large and had a free hand to intimidate the rural black population and influence the outcome of the elections. Lord Soames was aware of this and, despite issuing several warnings to Mugabe and his ZANU party for voter intimidation, he took no further action and refused to disqualify ZANU from taking part in the election. Though the elections were widely condemned by many international observers as being fraudulent, international recognition of Mugabe and his ZANU party was hastily approved, allowing the world to now wash its hands of the Rhodesia problem and turn its back on Central Africa. International indifference taught Mugabe that elections could be rigged, opposition parties could be disbanded, jailed or worse, and that, once elected, he could stay in

M p u m a l a n g a 1 1 1 power indefinitely and the world would do nothing. Mugabe, who could now count on the coerced backing of the Shona people, formed a shaky coalition with Nkomo and his ZAPU party who represented the minority Ndebele-speaking peoples. This uneasy coalition did not last and before long rumours began to circulate of a rebellion in Matabeleland led by Nkomo’s ZIPRA forces. Incidents of violence and intimidation against ZANU representatives in the western areas intensified and, as the legally elected leader of Zimbabwe, Mugabe was able to order some of the old Rhodesian forces into the field to put down this civil war between the opposing parties. Not convinced the military action was being prosecuted with enough vigour, Mugabe withdrew the regular forces and sent in his infamous North Korean-trained 5th Brigade who, for the next three years, brutally suppressed the Ndebele peoples of western Zimbabwe. I’ve heard it on good authority that in central Matabeleland alone, 20,000 villagers were massacred and their bodies dumped down disused mine shafts. Catholic missionaries living in Matabeleland reported that hundreds of villages were burned to the ground while the world press were effectively prevented from visiting the areas of unrest. The world was catching a glimpse of the dark side of the new Zimbabwe leader! His position secure, Mugabe abolished the position of prime minister and assumed the mantle of executive president of Zimbabwe, gaining additional powers in the process. These he used to good effect, easily winning elections despite international accusations of massive ballot box fraud and voter intimidation. Almost at once, things began to fall apart in Zimbabwe with his appointment of incompetent cronies to positions of power and influence. He pursued a vigorous campaign against homosexual- ity and blamed unnatural sex acts and the British government for

1 1 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Zimbabwe having one of the highest HIV AIDS infection rate in the world, while ignoring the fact that most AIDS victims were heterosexual. In a move the economy could scarcely support, he intervened militarily in the civil war in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and ignored international accusations that his army was looting the mineral wealth of the war-ravaged DRC. As things went downhill for the economy, and in an attempt to shore up his flagging popularity, he turned his attentions on the remaining white farmers. Promises of fair compensation for confiscated farms went out of the window and self-styled “war veterans,” the majority too young to have fought in the liberation war, occupied the farms amid scenes of bloodshed and intimidation. The process was self-defeating as most of the “war veterans” knew nothing about farming and were simply out to grab what land they could. The results were plummet- ing food production and a deepening economic crisis, which scared away tourists and whatever was left of international investment. In a few short years, Robert Mugabe transformed Zimbabwe from a country that exported food to an economic basket case with a starving population, decimated by cholera and dependent on international humanitarian aid. Yet, despite his brutal repres- sion of ordinary black Zimbabweans through the use of torture and starvation to further his political aims, many African countries, most notably South Africa, have refused to publicly condemn his actions. Their unqualified support of his regime has continued to be a source of great unease among white South Africans.

M p u m a l a n g a 1 1 3 6 Lydenburg

e were on the road just after sunrise and, after a quick break- Wfast in Middelburg, headed east to the town of Belfast where we met up with Marion and Alastair. After a cup of coffee at the tourist rest stop where we had met them, we bundled our camera gear into their van and set off to meet some Boers, or at least the descendants of Boer fighters. During our correspondence with Marion and Alastair, we had asked if they could arrange for us to meet up with half a dozen or so Afrikaners who could dress up as Boers and, complete with horses and rifles, re-enact a few scenes of the Boer War for our camera. Naturally they came through, and we drove to a farm where the re- enactors awaited our direction. They were a great bunch of fellows, with names like Roeloffze, Van Der Merwe and Jones. (Jones? Yes Jones; many Uitlanders and English South Africans fought on the side of the Boers.) For their part in the documentary, we got them to ride up to a line of trees where they dismounted, leaving their horses in the care of a horse holder while they crept up to a ridge from where they observed the enemy.

1 1 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS We began filming right away, even though we intended to run through the sequence a few times. However, as filmmakers will tell you, sometimes the first take is often the best take. Well those filmmakers probably checked out their re-enactors more carefully, as luckily for us, just before the second take, Brad noticed that one or two of the “Boers” were wearing modern wristwatches! After we had finished filming, we stood around and chatted while Brad wrote down the names of the re-enactors. Again, the fact that one of their numbers had an English or, to be more correct, a Welsh name, came up for discussion. Of course, many Englishmen, Welshmen, Scotsmen and Irishmen as well as Europeans fought on the side of the two Republics. Most would have lived in the Transvaal or the Orange Free State for many years and their loyalty, not unnaturally, was to their neighbours, friends and adopted country. Not surprisingly, a large contingent of non-South Africans, often estimated at 2,000 men, offered their services to the Boers. This group of volunteers included Irishmen, Americans (often of Irish descent), Dutch, Germans, Italians and Frenchmen. Many, especially the Irish, joined for the opportunity to fight the British, while most of the others were adventurers, foreign army officers looking for active service experience, or idealists who opposed what they saw as the mighty British Empire bullying two tiny Republics. Whatever their reasons, this foreign legion served the Boer forces well, with many laying down their lives in its service. One of the best known was Comte Georges Henri Victor Villebois de Mareuil, who once commanded a regiment in the French Foreign Legion. Although one of the most experienced foreign military officers who offered his services to the Boers his advice often given to generals Joubert and Cronje, was largely ignored. Paul Kruger for his part, once bluntly told foreign volunteers that

L y d e n b u r g 1 1 5 while the republics did not really need their services, he nevertheless appreciated their support! Villebois de Mareuil commanded a force of about 100 Germans, Frenchmen and a handful of Boers who set out to attack and destroy a bridge over the Modder River at Boshof mistakenly believing it was lightly defended. Unfortunately, as often happens in war, a force of six battalions of infantry, 1,000 mounted troopers and 22 guns under the command of General Lord Methuen had just moved into the area and surprised Villebois de Mareuil. The handful of Boers, who clearly read the writing on the wall, escaped before they were surrounded and left the less perceptive foreign volunteers to fight it out. Their heroic defence lasted until Villebois de Mareuil was mortally wounded and they were forced to surrender. Methuen, true to his sense of noblesse oblige, had the Comte buried with full military honours. Another outstanding character, even among the host of colourful characters who served with the Boer forces, was an American, a self-styled “Colonel” John Fillimore Blake. Often dressed in a cowboy outfit, he had graduated from West Point and served as a lieutenant with the U.S. Cavalry in the American West before offering his services to the Boers. To his credit, “Colonel” Blake managed a tough outfit and, unlike most foreign volunteers, he served until the end of the war. With our profuse thanks for their help, we took our leave of our re-enactors and set out with Marion and Alastair to visit the battlefield of Bergendal. After many months of planning, and so many years of research and more dollars than I care to think about, we were at last about to walk on a battlefield that was part of the Strathconas history in South Africa. It was just over a hundred years ago that Strathcona’s Horse, as part of Lord Dundonald’s Mounted Brigade, acted as scouts for

1 1 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS a major force under the command of General Buller. Buller’s force marched north from Standerton to join Lord Roberts’s force advancing east from Pretoria. The two columns joined forces just east of Belfast and advanced on the Boer positions near Dalmanutha, a small village on the railway line. Buller was ordered by Roberts to use his force of 8,000 men and 42 guns to attack and turn the Boer flank. Buller was preparing to carry out this order when he received a report from the 19th Hussars claiming they had discovered the Boer flank on a rocky outcrop at a place called Bergendal, nine kilometres east of Dalmanutha. In fact, the Hussars had made a mistake and the position they faced at Bergendal was not the flank but the centre of the Boer defences. Luckily for Buller, General Botha, expecting that the British would try to turn his flanks, had concentrated his heavily outnumbered forces on either end of his defensive line, leaving his centre only lightly defended. The rocky outcrop discovered by the Hussars was located well forward of the main Boer defences, and was manned by 74 men of the Transvaal police force known as Zarps (Zuid-Afrikaanse Republiek Polisie). Unaware of the strength of the defenders, Buller preceded his attack with a three-hour bombardment from his 42 guns. Unable to retreat from the doubtful shelter of their rocky outcrop, the Zarps could do nothing except dig in and wait for the bombardment to lift. For the defenders, the three hours must have seemed like a lifetime but, when the guns finally fell silent, those Zarps left alive crawled out of their shelters determined to take their revenge on the British. Buller and Roberts watched as two battalions of the Rifle Brigade advanced over 1,500 metres of open ground towards the Boer position. The troops were hunched over as though they were advancing into a driving rain as the Zarps opened a steady volume

L y d e n b u r g 1 1 7 of rifle fire which quickly grew into a hammering crescendo, deci- mating the British infantry. Angered at the losses they had suffered trying to take a position which, they were assured, was manned only by the dead; the infantry gave vent to a scream of fury and rushed forward, driving the few remaining Zarps from their rocky fortress. The Boers, seeing the centre of their line give way under the British assault, lost heart and by nightfall most of the Boer positions had been abandoned. During the battle, the Strathconas were positioned on rising ground about a kilometre from the rocky outcrop held by the Zarps. Although not involved in the action, they were under constant fire from Boer rifles and artillery throughout the day, which resulted in the wounding of four troopers.

Boer monument at the battlefield of Bergendal

1 1 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS We left Marion and Alastair’s van parked at the side of a road and walked to the positions the Strathconas occupied during the battle. From there, we could see the spire of the monument that stood over what was left of the rocky outcrop that was so bravely defended by the Transvaal policemen. We drove to the monument and walked among the shattered boulders and tried to imagine the hell on earth those men suffered. We also looked out over the 1,500 metres of open ground the Rifle Brigade had to cross while under heavy fire and realized that in any battle, suffering was seldom limited to one side only. We visited a nearby farmhouse that was used as the Boer headquarters during the action. It was unusual to be able to visit a farmhouse that existed during the war, as so many were destroyed by the British in their efforts to deny the Boer commandos shelter. A black family now lived in the old house and were only too pleased to show us around, taking great delight in pointing out the bullet holes still visible high up on the stone walls. As we walked back to the van, I asked Marion and Alastair whether they had ever heard of the “Ghost Soldier of Dalmanutha.” I was surprised to hear they had never heard of him, so I recounted the story as I best remembered it. On October 13, 1900, shortly after the battle at Bergendal, an action took place at Geluk (Good luck), which resulted in the deaths of half a dozen soldiers and an officer of the 8th Hussars. The British dead were buried in a small military cemetery near the Dalmanutha railway station. A story that was an annual feature in Johannesburg newspapers claimed that, on the night of October 13 every year, train drivers refused to stop at Dalmanutha because of the “Ghost Soldier” who patrolled the gravel road that ran from the siding to the old military cemetery. According to the papers, over many years, and always on the night of October 13, railway

L y d e n b u r g 1 1 9 employees would encounter a man dressed in the khaki uniform of a British officer who, as he approached them out of the darkness, pointed to a bullet hole in his forehead. No one, according to the papers, ever stayed around to find out what the apparition did next! While I was living in Johannesburg many years ago, my friend Jeff and I, intrigued by this story, journeyed to Dalmanutha arriving, of course, on the afternoon of October 13. To our surprise, we discovered the old military cemetery not far from the station and almost completely hidden in a dense tangle of eucalyptus trees and long grass. Some rudimentary brush clearing soon uncovered the graves of several British soldiers, including an officer of the Hussars. The officer’s headstone, in the form of a stone cross, read: “Lt P.A.T. Jones, Adjutant 8th Hussars, Killed in Action at Geluk, 13th October, 1900.” Wondering whether this could be the final resting place of the “Ghost Soldier of Dalmanutha,” we set up our tent in a copse of trees a little way down the road and eagerly awaited nightfall. Despite a warm day the night was cool and, to our delight, a low mist had gathered in the hollows, making it the perfect evening for the “Ghost Soldier.” After dark, Jeff and I wandered up and down the track between the cemetery and the station for hours and, apart from a heart-stopping encounter with a bemused donkey and an owl whose hoots set the scene so wonderfully, we did not encounter the “Ghost Soldier.” Perhaps he remained in the shadows of his graveyard looking on in amusement at the two idiots walking back and forth for half the night when they could have been asleep in their tent. Failing to meet the “Ghost Soldier,” Jeff and I visited the sta- tionmaster and asked him about the story of the “Ghost Soldier.” He shook his head and replied, “No such thing! We have been told by Kaserne (South African Railway Headquarters) there is no such

1 2 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS thing.” And that was all he had to say on the subject. We told him we wanted to clean up the cemetery and asked if we could borrow a few shovels and rakes. He led us to a storeroom where their tools were kept and, as he opened the door, he said with a wink, “Our soldier would appreciate that.” Marion and Alastair were intrigued by this story and needed little urging to drive the back roads in search of Dalmanutha station and the cemetery. We found the railway line and, after clambering over a few barbed wire fences, suddenly walked right into the cemetery! I was amazed at the changes that had taken place over the years. The eucalyptus trees had grown wild and the whole area was again covered in a dense growth. There was no sign of the station, the buildings were gone and the track Jeff and I had walked up and down all those years ago was barely visible. Lieutenant Jones and his six companions were still there, and I could only hope that since the intrusion of the station and its railway workers had gone, they had at last found the peace they so richly deserved. After the battle of Bergendal, the Strathconas led the advance of Buller’s force in an easterly direction, following the railway line towards the town of Waterval Boven (Top of the Waterfall). From this lofty position, a small patrol of six Strathconas, commanded by Lieutenant Leckie, was astonished to see over 1,800 British prisoners-of-war walking along the railway line in the valley below. The retreating Boers, unable to take their prisoners with them, had no choice but to open the prison camp gates and release the detainees. Cheered by the good news, the British army soon had the released soldiers back in service. Whether this cheered the newly-freed prisoners was not recorded! After a look at the Elands River falls, the waterfall that gave Waterval Boven its name, we retraced our steps to the Badfontein Road, which Buller’s command followed on its advance to

L y d e n b u r g 1 2 1 Lydenburg. As always, the Strathconas were in the lead and, as Colonel Steele and Captain Cameron galloped over a wooden bridge over the Crocodile River, a Boer lying hidden beneath the bridge fired up through the planks at the officers crossing above. Fortunately for them and their horses, he missed and was captured almost immediately. Lydenburg, which lay atop a high ridge of the Drakensburg Mountains, dominated the Badfontein road as it wound across the plain below. Botha’s commandos had fortified the Witklip Pass at the northern exit of the Badfontein valley and positioned artillery, including one of the famous “Long Toms,” to prevent Buller from taking Lydenburg. To test the determination of Botha’s burghers and the strength of his position, Buller ordered Lord Dundonald’s Mounted Brigade, including the Strathconas, to carry out a reconnaissance in strength. Three kilometres down the Badfontein road the Mounted Brigade encountered a hail of long-range rifle fire, which forced them to shelter in a donga (dry river bed) until nightfall offered a safe withdrawal. Wisely, Buller ruled against a frontal assault and decided to wait for General Hamilton, who was advancing on Lydenburg over the longer but less heavily defended Dullstroom road, to turn the flank of Botha’s position. However, to discourage Botha from removing burghers from the Witklip Pass to reinforce the Dullstroom road approaches, he held his position and continued to threaten an attack. Buller’s right flank was dominated by yet another ridge of the Drakensburg Mountains. This was a constant worry to Colonel Steele, who placed pickets on the ridge to keep the Boers from occupying the high ground. It wasn’t long before an officious staff officer ordered Steele to recall the pickets, an action that was to cost the Strathconas dearly.

1 2 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS The next day, Steele secured Lord Dundonald’s permission to re-establish the pickets and ordered Sergeant Logan with a section of men to reoccupy the ridge. As the gallant sergeant and his troopers reached the crest of the ridge they were attacked at close quarters by a large force of Boers. They fought back desperately, but to no avail. Sergeant Logan and Troopers West, Jones and Wiggins were killed and Trooper Garner severely wounded. In a great stroke of luck for Garner, an army surgeon, who was out shooting game on the ridge, came to his aid and dressed his wounds. Colonel Steele immediately dispatched two more troops to occupy the ridge and possibly help Sergeant Logan, but they were too late. A fierce battle then took place amongst the boulders on the ridge and Sergeant Brothers and Trooper Cruikshanks were killed. It was the worst day of casualties for the Strathconas during their tour of duty in South Africa. The following day the Boers occupying the ridge brought up a few field guns and, from the position where Sergeant Logan and his party were killed, began to shell the camp. Buller immediately ordered the Gordon Highlanders and the Kings Royal Rifles to retake the ridge and, ably supported by the howitzers of the Royal Field Artillery, eventually drove the Boers from the heights.

Sergeant Logan’s grave on the Dullstroom road

L y d e n b u r g 1 2 3 The construction of the Kwena dam on the Crocodile River required moving the small British military cemetery, which contained the graves of the Strathconas killed on the ridge, to higher ground close to the Dullstroom Road. We returned to the town of Belfast and, taking the Dullstroom Road to the relocated cemetery, followed the same route taken by General Hamilton when he advanced on Lydenburg. We were not long on the road before we spotted a white stone cross that stood taller than the long brown grass surrounding the small cemetery. The white cross, which marks the final resting place of Sergeant Logan, was surrounded by the graves of the five other Strathconas as well as those of several British soldiers who died retaking that fateful ridge. At the base of the cross, which marked the grave of Sergeant Logan, the inscription read: “To the memory of Sergeant A.E.H. Logan, eldest son of Maj. Gen. Logan, Madras Staff Corp.” Alastair had kindly arranged for the grass inside the cemetery to be cut before our visit, a thoughtful gesture that made it easier to film the final resting places of these brave men. Unfortunately, this kind gesture also revealed the extent of the vandalism inflicted on the headstone of the grave of Sergeant Brothers; why his grave was the only one singled out for desecration was beyond us. Our search of the regimental rolls revealed that on joining Strathconas Horse, Sergeant Logan and Troopers Jones and West gave their home addresses as Folkstone, Pontrellis and Nottingham in England. Trooper Wiggins gave his as Rocksbury in the USA and, to our surprise, Trooper Cruikshanks gave his address as Red Deer, NWT. Sergeant Brothers, who gave his home address as Arthur, Ontario, was living in the Yukon at the time and had travelled 950 kilometres over the ice to Skagway to enlist. The loss of these brave men in just one day must have had a profound effect on the

1 2 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Strathconas who, up to now, had managed by good luck and skilled leadership, to avoid heavy casualties. Hamilton’s flanking attack finally forced the withdrawal of Botha’s forces from Witklip Pass, and the road to Lydenburg was opened. The Strathconas, in company with the South African Light Horse (SALH), led Buller’s force up the undefended pass and occupied the town. Botha withdrew half of his force to a new defensive position atop another mountain pass known today as Long Tom Pass, leaving the rest of his burghers and most of his guns to withdraw in a northerly direction towards the town of Kruger’s Post. We retrieved our car from the coffee shop where we had left it that morning and, following Marion and Alastair in their van, headed for Lydenburg and their home where we were to spend the next two nights. After an excellent meal and anticipating a long drive the next day, we retired early. Lydenburg, which means “town of suffering” in Afrikaans, was founded in 1850 by one of the Voortrekker leaders, Andries Pretorius, after the forced abandonment of his original settlement at Ohrigstad due to the devastating effects of the malarial mosquito. During the constant struggles that took place between the various republics established by Voortrekker leaders throughout the Transvaal, Lydenburg figured prominently making and breaking alliances, first with this republic then with another, before they finally joined the Transvaal Republic in 1860. Lydenburg played an important part in the Transvaal Republic’s efforts to establish a trade link to Delagoa Bay and, until the development of the railway, lay astride the only viable route. In 1873, the discovery of large deposits of alluvial gold in the area propelled Lydenburg onto the international stage and brought fortune hunters to the eastern Transvaal from all over the world. During the Anglo-Boer War and even today, many small mines

L y d e n b u r g 1 2 5 continued to operate in the area. After the British annexation of the Transvaal in 1880, a small fort named Fort Mary after the commanding officers wife was established in Lydenburg and garrisoned by a detachment of Imperial troops. It was from this detachment during the First Anglo-Boer War that the ill-fated column under the command of Colonel Anstruther marched to its disastrous end at Bronkhorstspruit. Before setting out the next morning, we visited the Lydenburg museum and gardens where we filmed the memorial to the casualties suffered by Strathcona’s Horse during the Boer War. The memorial was unveiled in 1998 by visiting members of the present- day Lord Strathcona’s Horse Regiment (Royal Canadians). We headed out of town on Highway R37, which crosses the formidable mountain range known as the Mauchberg between Lydenburg and Spitzkop. The highway follows one of the routes suggested by the old Transvaal government for the proposed road to Delagoa Bay. The discovery of gold in the area emphasized the need for easier access to mining supplies, so in 1871 work on the road began. Most of the construction was done by pick and shovel so it was not until 1874 that the first ox wagon arrived in Lydenburg from Delagoa Bay. As any transport rider would have told you, this was no easy route. The mountain passes were so steep that a span of 16 oxen pulling a wagon had to be doubled and even trebled to get a wagon up the pass. On the return journey, the descent into the lowveld was so precipitous that wagons often had to be unloaded, then low- ered down with ropes. Once at bottom of the pass the transport rider’s troubles really began. Malaria took its toll on the men, lions competed with the tsetse fly to take their toll of the oxen, and crocodiles awaited both man and beast at all the river crossings. Definitely not your typical Sunday drive!

1 2 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS The mountain track to Spitzkop had not changed much when, on September 8, 1900, the Strathconas moved out of Lydenburg and cautiously made their way over the Mauchberg to the top of the pass, where Botha’s commando awaited their arrival. Despite heavy rifle and artillery fire from the Boers, including two Long Tom field guns, the Strathconas, in company with the SALH, assisted the infantry in driving the Boers from their positions and occupied the pass. Today, the top of Long Tom Pass is a popular rest area whose main attraction is a full-scale replica of a Long Tom Creusot field gun. We stopped for a break and a cup of coffee while we took the opportunity to inspect the Long Tom replica. The Long Tom was indeed an impressive field gun. Its barrel was just over four metres long, hence its nickname; it had a bore of 155 mm and fired a 42-kilogram shell a distance of 11,000 metres. Despite being originally designed for fixed defensive positions, the Boers had no choice but to take these formidable weapons into the field with the commandos. The Staats Artillerie, who manned and fired these guns, surprised the British with their skill and ingenu- ity. Particularly impressive was their ability to detach the gun from its carriage and, with the aid of a derrick, move it three metres to the rear where another set of wheels helped distribute its considerable weight of 7,620 kilograms. Despite these innovations, it still required one or two teams of oxen to pull a Long Tom into position. This left us to wonder how the Boers ever got two of these mon- strous guns to the top of this pass. Even today, speculation is rife regarding the ultimate fate of these Long Toms. Rumours abound regarding the various sites in the lowveld where retreating Boers are supposed to have buried a Long Tom in an effort to keep it out of British hands. Consequently, there is never a shortage of amateur and professional historians ready to dig up any likely site at the drop of a slouch hat.

L y d e n b u r g 1 2 7 Replica of a “Long Tom” Creusot field gun

To the best of my knowledge there were only four Long Toms bought by the Transvaal Republic, for the forts around Pretoria. At the start of the war, three of the guns were used on the Natal front and in the siege of Ladysmith and the fourth on the western front. During a raid on Boer positions by the defenders of Ladysmith, one of the Long Toms was damaged and had to be sent to Pretoria for repairs. This required the machining of a new breechblock and shortening the barrel by half a metre. In a rare display of Boer humour, this gun was nicknamed “Die Jood” (The Jew) and dispatched to the siege of Kimberley. With the collapse of the Natal and Cape fronts, the Long Toms were withdrawn as Boer forces retreated into the Transvaal, finally bringing all four guns together for the first and last time at the battle of Bergendal. Despite the presence of these formidable guns, the Boer artillery was hopelessly outnumbered by the

1 2 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS 42 guns that accompanied Buller’s forces with the inevitable outcome. Following the battle of Bergendal, two of the Long Toms accompanied Botha and his commando to Lydenburg and then to the top of Long Tom Pass, while the other two guns headed north with another commando. Forced to retreat into the lowveld, Botha destroyed one of his Long Toms at Komatipoort and, a month later, the second gun was destroyed at Kruger’s Post north of Lydenburg; both actions were necessary to prevent the guns falling into British hands. The two surviving guns continued to harass British columns in the north-eastern Transvaal until April 1901, when both were destroyed to prevent their capture by British forces. The British, as you can imagine, were keen to lay their hands on one of these famous, or infamous, artillery pieces, as they believed the psychological effect on the Boers of “losing one of their guns,” would be devastating. The reality was that the Boers were refining their guerrilla warfare tactics and had come to the conclusion there was no place in the new style of warfare for such heavy, cumbersome weapons. The British were nothing if not per- sistent; they salvaged the remains of the Long Toms the Boers had destroyed and built a makeshift but unserviceable Long Tom for the edification of Lord Kitchener. This cobbled together gun was eventually sent to England on the good ship Oratava in June 1902, where it eventually disappeared. Despite extensive efforts by historians, no trace of its whereabouts has ever been discovered. I have always believed that a small Boer commando had sailed secretly to England, recovered the Long Tom and, even now, is dug in on some remote mountain in the Scottish highlands, waiting patiently for an unsuspecting column of British troops to come marching by! Following our coffee break on Long Tom Pass, we continued on to Spitzkop, passing through an area of unique rock formations

L y d e n b u r g 1 2 9 known as the Devil’s Knuckles. It was here the Strathconas closed with Botha’s rearguard and forced them to abandon several tons of supplies and a wagon that contained the derrick for a Long Tom, its sights and a considerable quantity of its ammunition. The deep gorges and steep ascents and descents of the narrow track made it a dangerous business to pursue the Boers too closely. Ambushes by the Boer rearguard were frequent, but the goal of capturing one of the Long Toms was a major incentive. Once when the Strathcona’s were within a kilometre of the retreating Boer guns, one of the Long Toms turned and the Staats Artillerie gunners coolly opened fire with case shot, scattering their pursuers and forcing their retirement. It was September 11 when the Strathcona’s finally reached Spitzkop, capturing over 150 wagons abandoned by the retreating Boers as they turned north towards Pilgrim’s Rest. Exhausted by their fighting advance over the Mauchberg, the regiment set up camp alongside a stream in a pleasant meadow in the shadow of Spitzkop. This break, after weeks of continuous fighting, provided an opportunity for a little rest and recuperation and a resupply of horses and equipment. Before the arrival of the Strathconas, the area around Spitzkop was the site of several small gold mines, such as the Glynns- Lydenburg mine, then abandoned because of the war. Many Strathcona troopers were from British Columbia and, having had previous experience in the operation of small gold mines, didn’t take long before they got parts of the Glynns-Lydenburg mine back into production. Unfortunately, news of their mining operations soon reached the Provost Marshal, who had several officers, NCOs and men arrested and charged with looting. The would-be miners were lucky that General Buller had a soft spot for Canadians. They were all let off with a reprimand, but ordered to turn over any gold

1 3 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS recovered to the Provost Marshal. It was rumoured that not all the gold was turned in and that a sizable quantity eventually made its way back to Canada! It was midday when we arrived in Spitzkop. Fortunately, it did not take long before we found the pleasant meadow alongside a stream where the Strathconas camped all those years ago. Unfortunately, we were not as lucky in our search for Glynn’s Lydenburg mine. Despite our efforts, we were unable to find the original mine site, but eventually did discover in the Pretoria Archives an excellent photo of the mine taken shortly before the war broke out. During the 10 days the Strathconas spent at Spitzkop, a rumour arose that the war was almost over. President Kruger had left the Transvaal and gone into exile in Europe and most of the major towns in the two republics were in British hands. Boer forces were scattered and it was believed General Buller was returning to England. So it must have come as a surprise when the regiment was ordered to lead an attack up the precipitous Burghers Pass to clear the enemy from the town of Pilgrim’s Rest. It took two days of hard fighting to dislodge the Boers from the Pass before the Strathconas finally entered Pilgrim’s Rest, forcing the enemy, who feared being outflanked, to withdraw. The area around Pilgrim’s Rest and the Burghers Pass is spec- tacularly beautiful; the views from the top of the Drakensburg escarpment as it drops almost 1,000 metres to the lowveld below are breathtaking. The Mac Mac falls, so named by President Kruger because of the number of Scottish miners in the area during the gold rush, must have provided a scenic backdrop to the Strathconas camp prior to the assault on the Pass. The town itself dates from 1873 when a prospector, Alex Patterson, discovered a rich find of alluvial gold. Known locally

L y d e n b u r g 1 3 1 as “Wheelbarrow Alec” because he carried all his belongings in a wheelbarrow, Patterson did his best to keep his find secret but word eventually got out and a few months later the Pilgrim’s Rest area was officially proclaimed a goldfield. At the time, it was the greatest gold rush in South African history and, until the last mine closed down in 1940, it produced over 17 million pounds sterling worth of gold and boasted of a single gold nugget that weighed over six kilograms. Prospectors liked the Pilgrim’s Rest area. Its location on top of the escarpment ensured it was healthy, cool and pleasant. A large number of small streams provided the running water essential to the gold recovery process. This process was similar to that used in the California and Klondike gold rushes. The miner would create a “race” by diverting a clean flowing stream down a gentle slope and through a sluice box into which shovels of crushed gravel were fed. The sluice had a “Venetian Ripple” for the first half of its length, which was a series of wooden slats laid crossways to trap the heavier particles of gold washed down by the water. To trap the finer particles, a coarse blanket or corduroy belt was laid over the bottom of the final length of the sluice, which then washed the residue into a small dam, where the finest gold particles would sink into the mud on the bottom. All the miner had to do then was pan the mud to recover the remainder of the gold. Water was essential to gold mining, so it was not surprising when a prospector, John Swan, began work on excavating a “race” to divert a small stream to his mine. That he had discovered gold was never in question. He spent lavishly in town and used small nuggets of gold to pay the men he hired to dig the race. Swan’s race became the talk of Pilgrim’s Rest. It wound for a kilometre or two around hills, and locals swore that at times it appeared to

1 3 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS run uphill. There was a great deal of interest in its final destination, which would reveal the location of Swan’s discovery, a subject of much speculation. To everyone’s dismay, a speculator who secured the rights to land that blocked the progress of Swan’s race added insult to injury by offering Swan an 80/20 partnership, with Swan receiving the smaller share. Swan refused to negotiate and left Pilgrim’s Rest, cursing the speculator and all his descendants to eternal damnation. Even today, the initial course of Swan’s race may still be traced and many fortune hunters have tried to follow it to its logical conclusion, but to no avail. After leaving Pilgrim’s Rest, John Swan ended up in the goldfields around Barberton where he contracted a fatal dose of malaria. Legend has it that on his dying bed he whispered to a friend that it was the richest find in Pilgrim’s Rest and, no matter how hard they look, they will never find it! And they never did! A few fortune hunters who had the wisdom to realize they would never succeed as miners opened trading stores, saloons, hotels and brothels and often ended making greater fortunes than most of the miners. Others became transport riders and drove ox- wagons, carrying goods and supplies from Lourenco Marques to the goldfields and the town of Lydenburg. The huge difficulties faced by ox wagons on the route from Spitzkop to Lydenburg over Long Tom Pass, led to the establishment of Burghers Pass as the route of choice to Lydenburg. This new route, now known as the “Old Transport Road,” was pioneered in 1875 by a successful Pilgrim’s Rest miner, Alois Nelmapius and his grandly named Lourenco Marques and South African Transport Service. However, the fancy name did not prevent the closure of the company in 1876 because of attacks by the Pedi chief Sekukhuni and his warriors. It was not until 1879 during the first

L y d e n b u r g 1 3 3 British annexation of the Transvaal that Sekukhuni and his warriors were defeated and the route again opened for transport riders and their wagons. Because of the debilitating heat of summer, the “Old Transport Road” was mostly used in the dry winter months between May and September, when river crossings were low and mosquitoes not so active. The many dangers faced by transport riders on those epic journeys, often required travelling in groups for mutual protection. Lions were a constant threat and, unless oxen were safely enclosed in a scherm (thorn bush enclosure) at night with watch fires burning, they would be stampeded into the bush and a few killed. It was not unusual to have whole wagons abandoned because of the loss of trek oxen to lions. It was reported that prides of lions no longer interested in going after harder-to-catch wild game, preferred to lie in wait for transport wagons and an easy meal if they success- fully stampeded a few oxen out of a flimsy scherm and into the dark bush. They developed a technique that required a few lions, usually males, to go upwind of the scherm, let the oxen get their scent and then give vent to a few fearful roars. This usually panicked the oxen, which would stampede out of the scherm and into the jaws of the rest of the pride lying in wait downwind. One of the most notorious areas for lions in those days was around Pretorius Kop in the present day Kruger National Park. It was said that lions sometimes snatched sleeping men from around their campfires and, on one notable occasion, in broad daylight attacked oxen yoked to a wagon! Despite attacks by lions or crocodiles at river crossings, plus the odd ambush by Pedi warriors who didn’t know they had been defeated, the greatest danger that faced both man and beast was disease. Malaria was rampant in the lowveld and the dreaded tsetse

1 3 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS fly wiped out more horses and oxen in a matter of days than all the lions and crocodiles put together. The immense mental strain caused by personal responsibility took its toll on transport riders who, apart from owning the wagons and oxen, often had to finance the purchase of the trade goods in Lourenco Marques. Tales of men who went mad and disappeared into the bush or who took their own lives were common and often repeated around campfires to put the fear of God into newcomers. A group of transport riders told the story of how, one evening as they sat around their campfire, they heard someone shouting in the distance. They built up their fire and yelled back to make sure the stranger found their campsite. The shouts came closer, and as they waited to welcome the stranger and to discover his reason for wandering in the bush at night, the shouts passed their campsite just beyond the light of their fire. One or two men leaped to their feet and fired their rifles into air, unable to understand how anyone could not see their fire or hear their shouts. As the plaintive calls grew fainter in the distance, the men wondered whether the passing stranger was even of this world. Needless to say, no one slept well that night. A newcomer to the transport business was a young Englishman, Percy Fitzpatrick. On his first wagon journey to Lourenco Marques, Fitzpatrick was the least experienced of a party of transport riders camped near Pretorius Kop. A dog belonging to one of the men had given birth to a litter of six pups and, as five of the better looking pups were already claimed, Fitzpatrick was left with the runt of the litter, which he named Jock. Fitzpatrick and Jock were inseparable and made many journeys from Lourenco Marques through the lowveld and up the dramatic mountain passes of the Drakensburg to Pilgrim’s Rest and Lydenburg. In later years their adventures hunting for the pot, getting lost in the sea of bush and having close

L y d e n b u r g 1 3 5 encounters with lions and crocodiles had become favourite bed- time stories of Fitzpatrick’s four children. In 1905 a close friend, Rudyard Kipling, persuaded him to write a book on his experiences with Jock and in 1907, the greatest dog story in the English language, “Jock of the Bushveld,” was born. Fitzpatrick went on to the Witwatersrand where he became active in the planned Uitlanders revolt and the ill-fated Jameson Raid. He was arrested and sentenced to two years imprisonment, but was granted an early release due to ill health. He turned his energies to the gold mining industry and, with a great deal more success this time, became a partner in a major company and Chairman of Rand Mines. He was knighted for his services to the British government during the Boer War and, returning to South Africa after the war, he assisted Smuts in forming the Union of South Africa. When his eldest son was killed in France during the First World War, he conceived the idea of the two minutes silence on Armistice Day, a tradition that was acknowledged and adopted by King George V. The memory of Fitzpatrick and his dog Jock is kept alive by a steady stream of visitors (encouraged by the book) who follow the route taken by this famous pair as they trekked backwards and forwards from Lourenco Marques to Lydenburg. A series of “Jock of the Bushveld” wayside markers enables the visitor to find the location of many of Jock’s adventures and, sadly, also the place of his death near Kruger’s Post, where he was mistaken for a canine chicken thief and accidentally shot. Declared a National Monument in 1986, the town of Pilgrim’s Rest is a popular tourist destination. It contains many fine old buildings such as the Royal Hotel and the Anglican Church, both dating back to the days of the gold rush. In fact, parts of Pilgrim’s Rest must look the same today as they did when the Strathconas

1 3 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS rode into town. We found a parking place on one of the side streets and set up our camera in front of the Royal Hotel where many of the senior officers with the column had been billeted. We filmed a few scenes that included the façade of the hotel, the surrounding buildings and the tree-lined streets. Later, we retired to the porch in front of the hotel for a cold Castle lager and were delighted to find the interior painstakingly restored and furnished in the style of that era. The Royal is again a fully func- tioning hotel, offering comfortable accommodations in beautifully- restored rooms at reasonable prices. Like the men of Strathconas Horse, we left Pilgrim’s Rest in a westerly direction, following the old road to Lydenburg down the ominously named Robbers Pass. During the gold rush days, this was the route the mail coaches took carrying small shipments of gold to Lydenburg and Machadodorp – an event laden with tempta- tion for the less successful inhabitants of Pilgrim’s Rest. We cleared Robbers Pass safely and, shortly after passing the small community of Kruger’s Post, Marion and Alastair suggested we stop at a wayside rest area for a cup of tea and a break from driving. Since leaving Pretoria, Brad and I had noticed several rest areas alongside the road and often remarked that they appeared to be disused and sometimes almost hidden by long grass. The rest area we stopped at was no different and, in response to my question, Alastair confirmed that many motorists, concerned about the risk of having their cars hijacked, avoided stopping at the side of the road. In fact, we hadn’t been there five minutes before a passing farmer stopped and, after inquiring if all was well, suggested that we didn’t stay there too long! It was a timely reminder for both us that, while we had relaxed and allowed Marion and Alastair to take good care of us, we would be on our own the next day and would have to pay more attention to our surroundings.

L y d e n b u r g 1 3 7 South Africa is a beautiful country and it was easy to be lulled into complacency by beautiful scenery and historically-interesting places, but terrible things can and do happen – a quick look at the daily papers was sufficient proof of that. Nevertheless, it’s not easy to be constantly on guard and to view with suspicion, what may simply be a friendly gesture. As we drove southwest to Lydenburg, Marion told us of the Strathconas long march to Lydenburg and then on to Machadodorp, where the Natal Field Force was to be disbanded. On the Strathconas arrival in Machadodorp, General Buller, who was returning to England, had expressed a wish to say farewell to the regiment. Buller had a high regard for the Strathconas and for Canadian troops in general. No doubt this was because of his positive experiences with them during his service in Canada in the 1870s with General Wolseley and the Red River Expedition. Buller addressed the assembled ranks of the Strathconas and, praising their outstanding service and devotion to duty, he promised to pass on his compliments to Lord Strathcona. Buller sailed for England and a hero’s welcome – at least from the British public. The British government, on the other hand, influenced by his detractors in the army, was less than welcoming. When Lord Roberts returned to England a few months later, he received an Earldom and a gratuity of 100,000 pounds, and was appointed commander-in-chief of the army. Buller received nothing. The British public, outraged by this shabby treatment of their hero, demonstrated in Hyde Park, but to no avail. Buller’s problems, which began long before the outbreak of the Anglo-Boer War, stemmed from his association with General (later Field Marshal) Sir Garnet Wolseley’s “Ashanti Ring,” as the coterie of officers who served under Wolseley was known. Wolseley was the pre-eminent British general in the latter half of the nineteenth

1 3 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS century and had seen action in almost every campaign from the Crimea to the First Boer War. The phrase “All Sir Garnet,” meant that everything was under control and proceeding as planned. His huge popularity with the British public was boosted by Gilbert and Sullivan’s operetta “The Pirates of Penzance” and its beloved music- hall song “I am the very model of a modern Major General.” These tributes, together with British Prime Minister Disraeli’s declaration that Wolseley was “Our Only General,” did nothing to endear him to the “Indian Ring” of officers who served under Lord Roberts. As Wolseley’s influence began to decline around the turn of the century, the ascendancy of the “Indian Ring” did not bode well for Buller and other “Ashanti Ring” officers. The one aspect of Buller’s military career that will always over- shadow any criticism was the respect and affection he was shown by ordinary soldiers who served under him. His enemies must have been infuriated by the loud and prolonged cheering that greeted Buller at any military ceremony, while the main functionaries had to be content with polite clapping. Eventually he retired and, in 1905, three years before his death, a statue of Buller on his horse was erected in Exeter, an honour unprecedented in England for a living general. The next day, just before the regiment boarded a train for Pretoria, they were ordered to turn their horses over to the 6th Dragoon Guards. This was a distressing event for the men who had formed deep bonds of affection for the mounts which had carried them to safety on many occasions. The Dragoon Guards were for their part very pleased, as the Strathconas horses were considered to be some of the finest in the country. However, to the delight of the men, a number of the horses did not take kindly to their new riders and Colonel Steele had to send a few Strathconas over to “See to it that the horses were on their best behaviour!”

L y d e n b u r g 1 3 9 7 Politics and Wars

arly the next morning we left for Hoedspruit where we’d Earranged to meet our Internet friend Herman for lunch. We followed the R36 northwards and, driving through the spectacular Abel Erasmus Pass, entered Northern Province. The road passed through the J.G. Strijdom Tunnel as we wound our way down the steep escarpment and entered the bushveld. “Who was J.G. Strij- dom?” Brad asked. I replied that he was one of the six Nationalist party prime ministers who ran the country until multiracial elections took place in 1994. When I grew up in South Africa political discussion dominated conversation. In other countries it was usually the weather, but in South Africa it was politics. As a young boy I sat and listened to the political discussions that took place between my parents, between my father and my grandfather and between adult visitors to our home. As a result I was very familiar with the recent political history that eventually led South Africa down a long, dark road. Following the end of the First World War, South Africa experienced the same financial and political problems that plagued most

1 4 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS of the world. A drop in the price of gold resulted in huge layoffs of white and black miners on the Witwatersrand and, coupled with the dispossessed white farm labourers known as bywoners who flocked to the cities in search of work, the seeds of revolution were sown. By 1922 white and black mine workers competed for the same unskilled jobs while the mine owners, to bolster falling profits, sought to employ blacks at much lower rates of pay in jobs once reserved for whites. Johannesburg exploded as 20,000 poor whites, most of them Afrikaners, went on strike and arming themselves, occupied defensive positions in the city as well as the towns and mines along the Witwatersrand. Fighting soon broke out and my grandfather, who was a surgeon at the Queen Victoria hospital in Johannesburg, attended to hundreds of wounded soldiers and strikers. I recall him speaking of one fellow who was brought in, alive and talking, with a bullet hole in his forehead and a corresponding exit wound at the back of his head. He was astonished that this man was still alive. Finally, a closer examination revealed he had been hit in the forehead by a deformed bullet, probably a ricochet, which travelled between the skull and the scalp before it exited at the back of his head. Curiously, the strikers marched under a Communist Party banner that read, “Workers of the world unite and fight for a white South Africa!” Not a slogan the Party would subscribe to 50 years later. The Rand strike, as it was called, now became a civil insur- rection with the avowed intention of overthrowing the government. Smuts, who was prime minister at the time, declared martial law and called in the army to crush the revolt. After three days of bloody fighting, with 230 strikers killed, hundreds wounded and thousands jailed, the revolt was over. But Smuts, by siding with the mostly British mine owners, alienated the Afrikaners who now threw their support behind the fledgling National Party led by General Hertzog.

Politics and Wars 1 4 1 Afrikaners, now painfully aware of their second-class status and, caught as they were between the British-led economic elite and the black majority, voted out Smuts and installed Hertzog as prime minister. Despite its best efforts, the new government could do little against entrenched British economic interests which, coupled with a crippling drought and the effects of the 1929 worldwide depression, brought the country to its knees. Eventually, Hertzog was forced to form a coalition government, merging his National Party with the South Africa Party led by Smuts to form the United Party. The rising tide of right wing nationalism in Europe, particularly in Germany and Italy, reached South Africa and a hard-line faction of Afrikaner nationalists, led by Daniel Malan, broke with Hertzog to form a “reformed” National Party. The outbreak of the Second World War and the growing unwillingness of many Afrikaners to side with Britain against Germany allowed the new National Party to gain strength and support throughout the country. The Ossewa Brandwag (Ox-wagon Guard), an Afrikaner based pro-Nazi organization, attempted to disrupt war efforts against Germany by deto- nating bombs in many South African cities. However the arrest and detention of its leaders (many of whom later went on to promi- nence in the Nationalist government) and the looming defeat of Germany led to its demise. Finally in 1948 the Nationalists, under the leadership of Malan, defeated the Smuts government by raising fears of the emergent Swart Gevaar (Black Danger) in South Africa and promising a solution to the racial dangers posed by the drift of huge numbers of unemployed blacks to the cities. By the early 1950s it was obvious to Malan that the National Party had to develop a plan to solve South Africa’s racial problems. For help he turned to Hendrik Frensch Verwoerd, then the minister of Native Affairs. A deeply religious man with an

1 4 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS impressive scholarly background, Verwoerd was, prior to his min- isterial appointment, the editor of the pro-Nazi newspaper Die Transvaler – a newspaper that was either vilified or praised (depending on your point of view) for its editorial decision to ignore the 1947 visit of the British royal family to South Africa. As minister of Native Affairs, Verwoerd began the philosophi- cal theorizing, and the eventual implementation, of a plan he saw as the logical answer to the problems caused by a rapidly expanding black population. This plan, now infamously known as apartheid, called for the separate development of South Africa’s blacks, coloureds, Indians and whites in areas specifically set aside for each racial group. Verwoerd’s plan also ensured a lower standard of education for blacks, which he believed would best suit them for their economic status in the new South Africa. This gave rise to his famous statement, quoting from the scriptures, that blacks were destined only to be, “hewers of wood and drawers of water.” Finally, in 1953, Malan retired and handed the reins over to Johannes Gerhardus Strijdom. Strijdom immediately set about turning the Union of South Africa into the Republic of South Africa. He did away with the tradition of flying the South African flag together with the Union Jack. He officially recognised Die Stem as the only national anthem; he removed “OHMS” (On Her Majesty’s Service) from official government mail and finally appointed a fellow pro-republican, C. R. Swart, as the new governor-general. These measures may seem petty, but to most English-speaking South Africans, it was a case of death by a thousand cuts. Then in 1958 Strijdom died and Hendrik Verwoerd became prime minister. An increased majority in parliament encouraged Verwoerd to push for a referendum on the issue of becoming a republic and, in October 1960, 52 per cent of white South Africans

Politics and Wars 1 4 3 (not just Afrikaners) voted in favour of the republic. 1960 was a year of momentous events which aroused the fears of white South Africans and brought greater unity than ever before amongst white voters. Macmillan gave his “Wind of Change” speech in Cape Town and the Sharpeville Massacre took place. Violent protests followed and, fearing a black uprising, the government declared a state of emergency and issued banning orders against the African National Congress (ANC) and the Pan African Congress (PAC). A few months later, while Verwoerd was attending the opening of the Rand Easter Show in Johannesburg, a white farmer, David Pratt, walked up to him, called his name and fired two shots from a .22-calibre pistol at point blank range into Verwoerd’s face. The assassin was overpowered, disarmed and arrested. Verwoerd, who was still conscious, was rushed to hospital where he was immediately operated on and the two bullets removed. He went on to make a full recovery and, less than two months later, was back at work. The would-be assassin, described by acquaintances as a “socialite and farmer,” turned out to be a father of three who suffered from epilepsy. At his trial he was declared to be mentally disordered and committed to Pretoria Central Prison. The turning point for the country came a year later when Verwoerd attended the Commonwealth Prime Ministers Conference in London. The hostility, particularly from Canada and the Afro- Asian countries, convinced him of the futility of remaining in the Commonwealth so, a week later, South Africa resigned from the world body. Finally on May 31, a deeply significant date that coincided with the end of the Anglo-Boer War and the formation of the Union of South Africa, the country became a republic. Responding to the new political landscape, the major black political parties formed military wings to pursue the so-called armed struggle. The ANC’s Umkhonto we Sizwe (Spear of the

1 4 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Nation) and the Pan African Congress’s Poqo, led to increasing acts of sabotage against soft targets such as power lines, rural post offices and railway lines. In 1962, Verwoerd appointed B. J. “John” Vorster as minister of Justice with sweeping powers to arrest and detain for up to 90 days persons suspected of illegal activities. If anyone knew how to put a stop to the black resistance movement, the Afrikaners believed, it was John Vorster. In his younger years, Vorster was a member of the Ossewa Brandwag and, as a result of his activities, spent most of the war years interned in a detention camp. During this time he became close friends with another detainee, Hendrik Van den Bergh, who would one day head the South African Police Security Branch and eventually the notorious Bureau of State Security (BOSS). Their close collaboration soon bore fruit. One afternoon in July 1963, a dry-cleaning van drove up to the door of Liliesleaf Farm in Rivonia, an area some 20 kilometres north of Johannesburg. Unsure what to make of this unscheduled visit, the occupants of the farm were taken by surprise when armed police and several police dogs sprang from the van and quickly detained the entire high command of Umkhonto we Sizwe. The resulting Rivonia treason trials, as they became known saw top leaders of the ANC such as Nelson Mandela and Govan Mbeki sentenced, not to death as they expected, but to life imprisonment on Robben Island. By the mid ’60s, international sanctions encouraged the development of self-sufficient industries within the country, a move which brought an era of unparalleled prosperity to South Africa. Job reservation programs ensured that the majority of poor whites, regardless of skills, were fully employed. Often sanctions, such as the international arms embargo, had the opposite effect. This particular embargo led to the formation of Armscor, the Armaments

Politics and Wars 1 4 5 Corporation of South Africa, which not only manufactured all the weapons required by the South African Defence and Police forces, but went on to become, and still is, one of the major suppliers of advanced weapons systems to dozens of countries around the world. The Nyala mine-resistant vehicles used by Canadian forces in Afghanistan are an excellent example of its success. On September 6, 1966, Verwoerd’s luck finally ran out. As he entered the House of Assembly in Cape Town and took his seat, a uniformed parliamentary messenger, Dimitri Tsafendas, approached him. Tsafendas drew a knife from beneath his jacket and, in full view of Minister of Justice John Vorster and other members of Parliament, stabbed Verwoerd four times in the chest. After a violent struggle Tsafendas was subdued by members of the House and arrested by security guards. Subsequent investigations revealed that Tsafendas, a prohibited immigrant from Mozambique with a history of mental problems, had already been ordered out of South Africa by the Department of Internal Affairs. Questions were raised in the press as to why Tsafendas was allowed to continue working in Parliament despite his illegal status and mental health problems. Unsatisfactory answers from the minister of Justice gave rise to a still ongoing conspiracy theory that Verwoerd was murdered to heal a rift between the hardliners of the Ossewa Brandwag faction and reformers that threatened to split the National Party. Even though most people thought he was insane, Tsafendas was committed to trial, found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment. He served nearly 30 years in Pretoria Central Prison before he died in a psychiatric ward at the age of 81. Balthazar Johannes “John” Vorster was elected by the National Party to succeed Verwoerd as prime minister. Despite his extremist credentials, Vorster surprised his supporters when he alienated the hardliners in the National Party by pursuing diplomatic contacts

1 4 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS with African countries. He allowed black diplomats to live in white areas and recognized Chinese, Korean and Japanese businessmen as “honorary whites.” In continuing his policy of conciliation with the western powers, he supported the United States by refusing to recognize Rhodesia as a sovereign state and played a major role in forcing Ian Smith to accept majority rule in Zimbabwe. Though he may have encouraged liberal tendencies abroad, his domestic policy was, with the full support of Hendrik Van den Bergh’s security organization, BOSS, one of ruthless suppression of any opposition to the government. Well into the mid-’70s, the seemingly unlimited prosperity that began during the Verwoerd era continued with South Africa’s economic rate of growth being topped only by that of Japan. In an effort to make the policy of independent black homelands (or Bantustans as they were derogatorily known) work, Vorster poured millions into their development and the creation of jobs for the impoverished blacks forced to settle in these tribal areas. Shortly after his appointment as prime minister, Vorster had warned that a rising tide of black unemployment would eventually pose a greater threat to the country than any outside invasion from the north. But events north of South Africa were moving rapidly in a direction that spelled trouble in the near future. In April 1974, the overthrow of Marcello Caetano in Portugal by a military coup led by General Antonio de Spinoza precipitated the rapid withdrawal of Portuguese forces from their overseas provinces of Angola and Mozambique. Anxious to rid themselves of two African insurgencies and the enormous drain on their economy, the Portuguese government orchestrated an indecent rush to independence for both provinces. This guaranteed that Angola and Mozambique would spend the next 30 years engaged in endless civil wars while the Eastern and Western blocks armed and encouraged

Politics and Wars 1 4 7 their particular champions. These events took the South African government completely by surprise. Suddenly they were faced with two newly-independent countries that bordered South Africa with regimes that, while in various stages of collapse, were willing to play hosts to the ANC and, a growing threat to South West Africa, SWAPO (South West Africa People’s Organization). South Africa’s most immediate threat came from the build up of SWAPO forces safely ensconced just north of the Kunene River, which formed the South West Africa (SWA) border with Angola. Fortunately for South Africa, control of Angola was being fought over by a variety of liberation movements whose names bring to mind the liberation movements hilariously depicted in the Monty Python movie, “The Life of Brian!” The main players on the Angola stage were the MPLA (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola), armed and supported with Cuban troops by the Soviet Union, and the FNLA (National Liberation Front for Angola), armed and supported in a half- hearted manner by the United States and UNITA (Union for the Total Independence of Angola), who took whatever they could get from anyone. It came as no surprise to anyone that the MPLA was rolling up the other liberation movements and was poised to take over Angola, a situation that neither the United States nor South Africa wanted. The catalyst for South African intervention was a series of attacks launched against the massive Ruacana Calueque hydro-electric scheme on the Kunene River, a vital source of electricity and water to SWA. Initially South Africa and the United States provided small arms to both UNITA and FNLA. However, in addition to Cuban troops, the Soviets also supplied MPLA with large consignments of mortars, field guns, rocket launchers, armoured cars, plus a number of T34 and T54/55 tanks. Both South Africa and the United States

1 4 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS were under no illusion that, unless direct military assistance was provided at once to UNITA and the FNLA, the MPLA would emerge victorious. The United States representative Henry Kissinger and the CIA encouraged the South African Defence Force (SADF), in conjunction with its UNITA and FNLA allies, to cross into Angola to attack the forces of the MPLA. From the start the South African government denied all involvement in Angola, so it was quite some time before anyone finally realized the extent of the fighting. Initially the SADF easily drove back the MPLA and captured much of southern Angola, but were dismayed at the effectiveness of Soviet-supplied weapons such as the BM 21 rocket launcher. These initial battles were the wakeup call that prompted the South African government to throw a lot of money and effort into the development of weapons systems that would give the SADF a clear advantage in the expected wars along the country’s borders. The Ratel and Eland armoured fighting vehicles and the Rooivalk (Red Hawk) helicopter gunship were prime examples of the innovative technology that came to the fore, but the greatest success came in the development of the G5 field gun as an effective coun- termeasure against the BM 21 rocket launchers. These developments came just in time as the Soviets moved 55,000 Cuban troops into Angola and backed them up with some of the most advanced weapons and tanks in the Soviet arsenal. In what was the largest land battle in Africa since the Second World War, the SADF attacked the MPLA and Cuban forces at Cuito Cuanavale and inflicted a decisive defeat on the Soviet backed liberation movement. Politically however, the offensive had begun to run out of steam. The Americans, up to now covert backers of the South African operations, bowing to pressure from the Organization of

Politics and Wars 1 4 9 African Unity, which was anxious to see the MPLA in power, had begun to move towards a political settlement. Without American support, South Africa had no option but to withdraw its forces and, by August 1988, the last South African soldiers had left Angola. About this time South African intelligence had become aware of the work of a Canadian, Dr. Gerald Bull, whose innovative ideas for the development of a new type of field gun had been rejected by Canada and the United States. He was invited to South Africa and played a major role in the development of the G5 field gun which, using an innovative “base bleed” technology was capable of firing a shell further and with greater accuracy than any other weapon of its kind. The special artillery shells required for the G5 were initially manufactured in Canada and, by means of falsified end-user certificates, were smuggled to South Africa through various countries in the Caribbean. It is rumoured that a crate of these shells broke open on the dock of a small Caribbean island and the “cat was out of the bag.” Bull was subsequently arrested by the FBI and prosecuted for breaking the arms embargo on South Africa. However, the intervention of the CIA, which was well aware of Bull’s dealings with South Africa, ensured that he received a light sentence of eight months. Interestingly, this did not stop the United States government from allowing South Africa to export an estimated 300 G5 guns and Ratel armoured cars to its then-ally in the Middle East, Saddam Hussein of Iraq, who was embroiled in a war with the then-US enemy in the Middle East, Iran. At this time South Africa was facing a possible oil shortage due to the imposition of an oil embargo, and the arms deal with Iraq ensured a good supply of oil for the next few years. Hoping to attract recognition and financial support from the western powers, Bull continued to work on his dream

1 5 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS project of building a gun big enough to shoot a satellite into orbit. Unfortunately, when recognition did come, it came from Saddam Hussein. Bull moved to Baghdad and, under Iraqi direction, began working on a “super gun” designed to fire a shell almost 300 kilometres! This posed a direct threat to Israel and, it is rumoured Mossad, the Israeli Intelligence Agency, warned Bull to abandon his project. He refused to heed the warning and, in March 1990, while in Brussels, Gerald Bull was assassinated by persons unknown. While the SADF successes in Angola were keeping SWAPO at bay, things on the home front were deteriorating rapidly. In June 1976, to the surprise of both the government and the ANC, the students of a Soweto High School rose in violent revolt against the imposition of Afrikaans as the official language of instruction in their school. Over-reaction by the police resulted in a bloody confrontation with students, which in turn provoked an orgy of violence and anger that swept across the country. In response, the Vorster government mobilized huge police reserves and, for a time, succeeded in putting down student unrest. In response to the crackdown, large numbers of dissatisfied, politically aware black youths flocked to the ANC banner and left the country to undergo training in the ranks of Umkhonto we Sizwe. The death of Steve Biko in police custody increased the flow of recruits to the training camps, and Justice Minister Jimmy Kruger’s remark about Biko’s death, “It leaves me cold,” did nothing for public opinion both at home and overseas. Sporadic outbreaks of student rioting, now fully aided and abetted by the ANC, continued unabated, seriously affecting the economy and worsening conditions in the black townships. Vorster reacted by imposing strict curfews and detaining hundreds of student leaders. However, none of these measures succeeded in the long run and simmering student unrest was always just below the surface.

Politics and Wars 1 5 1 In 1978, after 12 years in office, Vorster resigned as prime minister and was elected to the honorary position of state president. His peaceful retirement did not last long as he was soon implicated in the Muldergate scandal. He, together with a cabinet minister, Dr. Connie Mulder, was implicated in a scheme to use a secret slush-fund to buy the support of the Citizen newspaper, an influential South African English-language daily. A court of inquiry concluded that Vorster was guilty of corruption and he was forced to resign the presidency. Broken in spirit, he never fully recovered and died in 1983 at the age of 67. Pieter Willem Botha, a long-time supporter of the National Party and its apartheid policy, became the next prime minister. His authoritarian style of leadership earned him the nickname of die ou krokodil, (the old crocodile), though to his friends he was simply “P.W.” Appointed minister of Defence in 1966, Botha was a strong supporter of the SADF and played a major role supporting the military actions in Angola. He was largely responsible for the dramatic increase in defence spending, including the development of a secret nuclear weapons program in collaboration with Israel. His style of leadership and determination to retain control over South West Africa did not endear him to the overseas opponents of apartheid, though in many respects Botha was less oppressive than his predecessors. He relaxed the Group Areas Act which prohibited non-whites from living in certain areas, he legalized interracial marriage, did away with the ban on multiracial political parties and granted limited political rights to coloured and Indian South Africans. In 1984 under a new constitution, Botha became South Africa’s first executive state president with greatly increased powers. In August 1985 Botha gave a speech that was widely expected to announce major reforms to the apartheid system. Dubbed the

1 5 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Rubicon speech from his reference to “crossing the Rubicon,” he made no real concessions and rejected demands that the policy of apartheid be abolished. This rejection led to the imposition of further economic sanctions by the western powers, which caused the value of the rand to drop sharply. However, Botha was willing to compromise on what he saw as the non-political aspects of apartheid and he moved to abolish the very unpopular pass laws that restricted the movements of blacks around the country. Most importantly, he allowed government representatives to hold limited talks with the ANC and, in July of 1989, he even had a secret meeting with Nelson Mandela. These liberal leanings, if they can be termed that, led to dissention within the ranks of the National Party and resulted in the formation of the breakaway far right Herstigte (Reconstituted) National Party (HNP). Finally, in September 1989 after suffering a stroke, Botha gave in to internal party bickering and stepped aside as leader of the National Party, though he sought to remain state president. However, at a party caucus meeting, he was replaced by Frederick Willem de Klerk. After assuming power, de Klerk came to the conclusion that while the government could crush the revolt in the townships in the short term, the apartheid policies of his government would eventually have to be replaced with a policy of limited power sharing between the various races. In his opening address to parliament, he surprised a lot of people by unbanning the ANC, the PAC and the South African Communist Party, and by releasing some political prisoners and suspending the death penalty. A few days later, he announced the release of Nelson Mandela and the start of talks between the government and the ANC with the objective of dis- mantling apartheid and paving the way for democratic elections. Many members of the National Party were totally opposed to

Politics and Wars 1 5 3 de Klerk’s reforms and broke away to join the new HNP. Others joined the ultra right-wing Afrikaner Weerstandbeweging (AWB) or Afrikaner Resistance Movement led by Eugene Terreblanche, while Zulu nationalists flocked to the Inkatha Freedom Party under the leadership of Chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi. Despite this opposition, nearly 70 per cent of whites voted in favour of a negotiated settlement with the ANC. As talks between the government and the ANC continued in an on-again, off-again manner, the security situation spiralled out of control and a cycle of murder and intimidation made normal life all but impossible in the African townships. The relaxation of many of the restrictions on movement around the country and along the borders had allowed a massive influx of weapons from neighbouring countries like Zimbabwe and Mozambique. Armed with AK47 rifles and handguns, gangs of ANC supporters clashed with rival gangs of Inkatha supporters (secretly aided and abetted by the government) as they battled for control of the townships. As is always the case in situations like this, the vast majority of peaceful township dwellers were caught in the middle. During negotiations, which lasted from 1990 to 1994, nearly 15,000 people were killed in township violence as compared to only 5,500 during the previous five years when the government was actively suppressing political unrest. These tragic losses forced the negotiating parties back to the table, only to have the talks again on the brink of collapse when prominent ANC activist Chris Hani was assassinated. An outpouring of rage and frustration in the black townships threatened to engulf the country in a further wave of violence. Fortunately, contrary to the intentions of the assassins, disaster was narrowly averted by Mandela’s ability to calm his followers, which left no doubt that he would be South Africa’s next president. Despite continued opposition from Inkatha and the AWB, de

1 5 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Klerk and Mandela persevered and in 1993, both received the Nobel Peace Prize for bringing about a peaceful end to apartheid in South Africa. Finally, the ANC and the National Party were joined by Inkatha and, having reached agreement on a new constitutional future for South Africa, the first genuinely inclusive election was held in February 1994. The ANC won 63 per cent of the vote, the National Party 20 per cent and Inkatha 11 per cent. On May 10, 1994, Nelson Mandela was inaugurated as president with Thabo Mbeki and F.W. de Klerk as deputy presidents. Over the next few years, Mandela attempted to redress some of the injustices perpetrated during the apartheid era by appointing Archbishop Desmond Tutu to head a Truth and Reconciliation Commission. The TRC provided a forum where victims of political violence could receive a hearing and the perpetrators could give their side of the story and request amnesty from prosecution. Many doubted that the process would work but, in retrospect, it played a major role in ensuring a peaceful transition to democracy in South Africa. de Klerk served for two years as deputy president but became increasingly disenchanted with politics as stories began to circulate about his possible involvement in “dirty tricks” during the pre-election struggles with the ANC. At the same time he was increasingly under attack from the more conservative elements in his party for what was termed “the most disgraceful sell-out in history.” After his retirement from politics in August 1997, South Africans were surprised when de Klerk made public his intention to divorce Marike de Klerk, his wife for nearly 40 years, and marry his mistress, Elita Georgiades. His revelation of his secret love affair with Mrs. Georgiades, the wife of a Greek shipping magnate with interests in South Africa and a long-time supporter of the National Party, scandalized the country and provided much fodder for the

Politics and Wars 1 5 5 tabloids. With their divorces finalized, de Klerk married Georgiades in a private ceremony before leaving on honeymoon for England and Ireland, where he entered into negotiations on his forthcoming autobiography. The wronged woman in this affair, Marike de Klerk, tried to pick up the pieces of her life only to be tragically stabbed and strangled to death two years later in her Cape Town apartment, apparently by a black security guard; a victim of the country’s burgeoning crime rate. de Klerk is a hero to some South Africans and a despicable traitor to others. It is unclear whether he ended apartheid because he believed it to be wrong or because he believed his government could not continue in the face of mounting international opposition and sanctions. In January of 2000, de Klerk published his autobiography, “The Last Trek – a new beginning,” and established the F. W. de Klerk Foundation, which is active in the promotion of peace, democracy and development in emerging societies. He and Elita live on a farm outside Paarl in the wine-producing area of the Cape and will soon be producing their own wine. Like de Klerk, Mandela also had to endure marital problems, though his were of a more damaging and embarrassing nature than de Klerk’s relatively mundane affair with another woman. In 1958, Mandela married Winifred Madikizela, despite her father’s objections that he was too old and too committed politically to be much of a husband. Prophetic words indeed for, a few years later, Mandela was sentenced to life imprisonment on Robben Island. During his long imprisonment, Winnie Mandela, known as the “Mother of the Nation,” emerged as a leading opponent of the government and was frequently jailed or exiled to remote parts of the country. Things began to go wrong when she openly advocated the “necklacing” of suspected government collaborators and opponents of the ANC. “Necklacing” is the term used to describe the

1 5 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS barbaric practice of forcing a car tire around the shoulders of the victim, pouring petrol on them and setting them on fire. In a speech reported around the world she said, “With our boxes of matches and our necklaces we shall liberate this country.” Kangaroo justice at its very worst. Living in Soweto, Winnie Mandela surrounded herself with a gang of thugs and murderers, nicknamed the Mandela United Football Club, claiming them to be her bodyguards. Their brutal oppression of the local inhabitants of Soweto came to a head when she and certain members of her “football club” were charged with the murder of Stompei Moketsi, a 14-year-old boy who had enraged the “Mother of the Nation.” Shortly after the release of Nelson Mandela from prison, Winnie Mandela was charged with assault and kidnapping and sentenced to six years in jail. However, her sentence was appealed and subsequently reduced to a fine. Relations between the famous couple cooled and they were eventually divorced in 1996 on the grounds of her adultery with members of her infamous “football club.” Changing her name to Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, she went on to hold various posts in the new government, but was dismissed following allegations of corruption. This put an end to her ambitions to run for the deputy presidency of the ANC, and in 2003 she was convicted, along with her broker, of numerous charges of fraud and theft in relation to a funeral insurance scheme. However, despite these obstacles to her political career, she has re-emerged as a member of the ANC’s national executive committee and has secured a place on the ANC’s electoral list for the upcoming elections. Mandela recovered from his marital disappointments and, on his 80th birthday, married Grace Machel, the widow of Samora Machel, the former president of Mozambique who was killed in an air crash some 12 years earlier.

Politics and Wars 1 5 7 After Mandela’s retirement, the new president, Thabo Mbeki, led the ANC to an overwhelming majority in an election. This was despite his inability to cope with the two major problems that faced the country: an epidemic of violent crime and an HIV-AIDS problem that afflicts over 10 per cent of the population. Mbeki’s ostrich-like “head-in-the-sand” approach to the AIDS problem has drawn furious international criticism and heated exchanges between him and Mandela. Unfortunately, HIV-AIDS continues to plague South Africa and is, undoubtedly, one of the greatest problems facing the country. Mbeki’s term as president was further marred by his lack of decisive action against the appalling crime wave that plagued South Africa and his unwillingness to speak out against the despotic rule of Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe. Despite these problems, the economy of South Africa continues to dominate all of Africa south of the Sahara. The country is almost completely self-sufficient in agriculture and, in fact, exports large quantities of specialized products, including fruit and some of the world’s best wines. The mainstay of the economy though, is still mining. Apart from gold and diamonds, the country has considerable deposits of coal and a host of valuable minerals such as platinum, manganese, vanadium and chrome. The only resource missing from the treasure trove is oil. Mbeki’s growing lack of support within the ANC eventually led to his ouster as party leader and his replacement by Jacob Zuma. As party president, Zuma is clearly in line to be South Africa’s next president in the May 2009 elections provided he is able to shake off the various charges of corruption and fraud that still dog his political ambitions.

1 5 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS 8 Kruger’s Legacy

istracted by the scenery as we began our spectacular descent Dinto the lowveld, we were jolted back to the real world when, rounding a sharp bend, we encountered cattle milling about in the centre of the road. Fortunately, I had noticed a number of small African villages close to the road and, half expecting just such an occurrence, kept my speed well below the limit. Cattle on the road are just one of a number of problems a motorist in the rural areas has to keep in mind. Children playing at the side of the road, cyclists in the middle of the road, farmer’s wagons all over the road, not to mention goats, chickens, dogs; the list is endless. On quiet roads, the locals sometimes forget that cars can suddenly appear out of nowhere and are justifiably indignant when forced to make way for the motorist who always seems to be in a hurry. The very air seemed to change as we descended the massive ramparts of the mountains into the valley of the Olifants River. It carried a strong smell of wood smoke, made all the more notice- able by an increase in temperature and the appearance of marula, mopani and acacia trees. We were in the bushveld! Our destination

Kruger’s Legacy 1 5 9 was the town of Hoedspruit (Hat Creek), where we were to meet with our Internet friend, Herman. We had been in contact with Herman for over a year and were indebted to his in-depth knowledge of the Boer War and his seemingly endless lists of contacts, which made our search for the Queen’s Cowboys very much easier. As it was lunch time, Herman suggested the Sleeper’s Restaurant, which, if you haven’t guessed it, was located in the old railway station. We chose a table on the stoep (veranda) where we could hear the birds singing and enjoyed an excellent lunch. Herman told us about the town of Hoedspruit. It was founded, he said, in 1869 when a pioneer, after a long and dusty trek down the escarpment, had thrown his hat into the Sandspruit River and, remarking that this was far enough, decided to stay. The town is an important stop on the Selati Railway from the copper mining town of Phalaborwa to Kaapmuiden on the Komatipoort-Pretoria railway and is the gateway to numerous game lodges, private game reserves and the famous Kruger National Park. By mid-afternoon we regretfully had to take our leave of Herman as Marion had booked us into the Kruger Park for a few days of “R & R.” We drove south from Hoedspruit to Klaserie passing a number of private game reserves including the Timbavati Reserve, founded by a group of conservationists who owned farms on the western boundary of the Kruger Park. Timbavati of course, is famous for its white lions. The first confirmed sighting of a white lion was in the Timbavati area in 1938, but the first photograph proving their existence was not taken until the 1970s. Unscrupulous hunters saw these rare creatures as trophies and, fearful for the safety of the three known white lions, local conservationists organized “Operation White Lion,” which resulted in their capture and re- location to the safety of the Johannesburg Zoo. Although there are currently no white lions in Timbavati, the recessive gene which

1 6 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS caused this unusual phenomenon still exists in many of the prides of lions in this region. The founding of the Kruger National Park began as far back as 1896, when Paul Kruger convinced the Volksraad of the Transvaal Republic to declare the area around the Sabie River as the Sabie Game Reserve. This novel idea did not find much favour with the hunting and cattle-ranching fraternities, which at that time, included just about everyone in the Transvaal. Unfortunately for the fledging game reserve, the Anglo-Boer War had broken out and both sides in that conflict viewed the remaining wildlife pri- marily as an additional source of food. After the war ended in 1902, the British reinstated President Kruger’s far-sighted dream and appointed a Scotsman, Major (later Colonel) James Stevenson-Hamilton of the 6th Inniskilling Dragoons as its first warden. A year later the colonial administration declared the Shingwedzi area in the north-eastern Transvaal a game reserve and placed Stevenson-Hamilton in charge of both. An ardent conservationist, Stevenson-Hamilton spent the next few years leasing, and later incorporating, all the privately owned cattle farms that lay between the two areas into the reserves. When the First World War broke out in Europe, Stevenson- Hamilton rejoined the British army and served for the duration of the war. Fortunately for the game reserves he survived that slaughter, but on his return to South Africa he became aware of the enormous pressure on the government to have the reserves de-proclaimed and opened for farming. He lobbied the government to resist the pressure and, fortunately, in 1926 found an ally in the then minister of Lands, Piet Grobler. Grobler, who was a direct descendant of Paul Kruger, convinced parliament to resist the farming lobby and instead proclaim both of the reserves as the Kruger National Park.

Kruger’s Legacy 1 6 1 This spectacular wilderness area stretches for 350 kilometres along the Mozambique border, from the Komati River in the south to the Limpopo in the north. It covers an area of nearly 20,000 square kilometres with an average width of 60 kilometres and is home to 147 species of mammal including Africa’s famous “Big Five”: lion, leopard, elephant, rhino and buffalo. Stevenson-Hamilton retired in 1946 and in his honour the Sabie Bridge rest camp was renamed “Skukuza,” his Shangaan nickname, which means, “He who turns everything upside down.” The Kruger Park generates over R250-million annually and accommodates close to one million visitors each year, of whom some 80 per cent are South Africans. They stay overnight in any one of 26 rest camps and travel throughout the park during the day in their own cars on 2,600 kilometres of paved and gravel all- weather roads, with most of them adhering to the strictly enforced low speed limits. Visitors may not venture off road, nor are they allowed to get out of their vehicles except in rest camps, or spe- cially-designated picnic areas. They may enter the park during daylight hours through any one of nine entrance gates and must be safely ensconced in their rest camp at sunset. Ever since Paul Kruger put forward the suggestion to set aside an area for the protection and conservation of wild life, there have been those who have called for its deregulation. Unfortunately, even today this priceless heritage is under constant assault. Since the transition to majority rule, many have voiced concerns that the park is a luxury, reserved for wealthy South Africans and overseas visitors. To the thousands of Africans living around its boundar- ies, it represents ample grazing opportunities for their cattle and a valuable food source in the abundant wildlife. One can only hope that the revenues generated by the Kruger Park will continue to appeal to the new South Africa, even if the wisdom of preserving a

1 6 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS priceless heritage eludes many of those now in government. My love affair with the Kruger Park began at the impressionable age of seven when, after work one Friday afternoon, our family loaded up our Morris Minor in Germiston and set out to visit the “game reserve.” We arrived at Numbi Gate at about 11 p.m. and joined the queue of cars waiting for the sunrise opening, spending an uncomfortable night crammed into my “pup” tent alongside the car. As dawn broke, we piled our primitive camping equipment back into the car and, after purchasing a three-day pass, drove into the reserve. Scarcely 300 meters from the entrance gate we encountered our first herd of impala antelope. We joined a queue of about five other cars (all first-timers like ourselves) and used up two rolls of black & white film until the impala, bored with all the attention, strolled off into the bush. It took us two days to see our first lions and, had it not been for the car ahead of us who spotted them, we probably would have missed them. Spotting game, we eventually learned, was a skill which required constant vigilance, a slow-driving speed, and an appreciation of wildlife habits and habitat. We were initially amused, then angered by the number of impatient motorists who raced around trying to cover as much ground as possible and then later complained that there were no lions in the Kruger Park. I’m sure that the impala, zebra and wildebeest wished that were true. We saw only one elephant on our first visit to the game reserve, and it was an encounter that none of our family will ever forget. We were on the gravel road between the Skukuza and Lower Sabie rest camps when, as we drove up out of a donga (dry water course), we came face to face with an elephant standing in the middle of the narrow road. The elephant, which did not appreciate this sudden intrusion on his daytime reverie, curled his trunk between his forelegs (always a bad sign) and charged our Morris Minor. My

Kruger’s Legacy 1 6 3 dad rose to the occasion and rapidly reversed along the road, down into the donga, up the other side and a good 100 metres further for good measure. The elephant, which was rapidly closing the gap between us, followed us through the donga and up the other side, when, suddenly growing tired of this game, he shook his massive head and sauntered off into the bush, no doubt chuckling to himself. During some 27 visits to the Kruger Park over the years, I learned that elephants were unpredictable and should not be approached too closely – a fact that dozens of motorists often learned the hard way. One of the most distressing aspects of my many visits to the park was the stupid behaviour of that small, but highly visible, minority of hare-brained idiots who have to show off in front of friends and girlfriends. As the hard-pressed staff of game rangers could not be everywhere, the National Parks Board appointed a number of private citizens as Honorary Rangers. I was fortunate to be included in this august group and able to play a small part in protecting the wildlife and assisting park visitors. Brad and I entered Kruger National Park at the Orpen gate and, in the company of half a dozen other cars, set out on the 40-kilometre drive to Satara camp where we were booked in for the night. Shortly after entering the park, we joined a long queue of cars that were being detained by an officious elephant that had The elephant blocking the stationed itself in the middle of Orpen-Satara road the road, preventing travel in

1 6 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS either direction! This giant of the bushveld, who was thoroughly enjoying the chaos he was causing, would wander off the road to pick some tasty tidbit off a tree, allowing a few cars to slip by before sauntering back to his post blocking traffic. Gradually we made our way to the head of the queue and, before finally slipping by, managed to take some good photographs of this magnificent, if somewhat overbearing, pachyderm. We arrived in Satara camp just before closing time and checked in at the camp reception. We drove around the camp until we found our rondavel, a thatched circular hut which contained two beds, a washroom and toilet. It was exactly as I remembered Kruger Park, and it felt a lot like coming home. We were having a little difficulty getting our fire in the braai pit started, because I was trying to get it going the “boy scout” way. Our neighbour in the adjoining rondavel spotted our problem and came over with half a cup of paraffin which solved the problem in no uncertain way. He introduced himself as Des from Johannesburg and we chatted for a while. We were soon joined by our neighbour from the opposite side, who introduced himself as Anil, originally from Durban, but now also living in Johannesburg. Des and Anil obviously knew each other and invited Brad and me to join them later for a beer. While Brad and I were standing around our fire trying to grill the boerewors (farmer’s sausage) without burning it, a lion began to roar. It was electrifying! The powerful roars brought all activity in the camp to a standstill, as hundreds of visitors thrilled to the sound, which was soon joined by an answering chorus from other lions. It sounded as though they were just outside the camp fence, though a lion’s roar can carry up to 10 kilometres if the wind is right. While the lion chorus was soon over, it certainly made for a memorable first night in the Kruger Park.

Kruger’s Legacy 1 6 5 It turned out that Des and Anil worked as installation techni- cians and occasional trouble-shooters for a large computer firm which, although based in Johannesburg, had branches in most South African cities. Apparently both were keen conservationists and took every opportunity to visit game reserves wherever their jobs had taken them. Cold Castle lagers in hand, we settled into folding chairs around their fire pit. “Did you hear the lions?” Anil asked, “Wasn’t it great? Satara is in the middle of the best lion country in Kruger you know, except possibly for Skukuza,” he added. “So you’re here making a movie I understand?” Des asked. I explained about the documentary we were making on Canadian soldiers in the Anglo-Boer War. Replying to their questions, I told them that I was born in South Africa and had lived in Johannes- burg for a number of years. We chatted about various places in Johannesburg and I was not surprised to discover that Des and I had attended the same high school, though many years apart. I mentioned that the last time I visited South Africa the government of P.W. Botha was in power and Nelson Mandela was on Robben Island. “So, what do you think of the new South Africa?” Des asked. I replied diplomatically that we had only just arrived and were still trying to get a feel for the place but were very interested in hearing what they thought. “Ha,” said Anil, “You don’t want to get us started.” I replied that we would very much like to get them started. “Don’t get us wrong,” Des interjected. “I think I can speak for both of us when I tell you we love South Africa and are honestly glad that apartheid has gone. I mean, in the old days we could never have sat around this fire drinking beer with Anil.” We raised our Castle lagers and toasted the fact that we could all sit around and drink beers with Anil. “Your turn Anil,” Des said. “Apartheid affected you more than it did me.”

1 6 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS “Actually,” said Anil, “apartheid helped me get on in life. It taught me that I needed to work harder than the next man if I was to get ahead. This has always been the way anywhere in the world with Indian migrants. We are like black Jews,” he said with a smile. “My ancestors were brought by the British to South Africa around 1860 to work on the sugar cane plantations. I think they thought the blacks were too lazy for the job. I remember my grandfather telling me how his father had cut cane and dodged snakes somewhere north of Durban. My great-grandfather also knew Mahatma Gandhi and worked with him as a stretcher bearer for the British on Spion Kop. Maybe Tony, I should be in your film about the Boer War!” I changed the subject by asking him whether he was better off now that apartheid was gone. “My answer is yes and no,” he replied, “some things are better; I live in a good neighbourhood and have many white friends and we look out for each other. I earn good money, have a beautiful wife and my kids go to good schools. Yes, that part is good.” “What about the bad parts?” I asked. “Ha, the bad parts,” Anil replied, “I’m sure you know about the crime; it’s killing the country. White, black, Indian, no one is safe anymore. The cops can’t cope so it’s up to private security firms to protect our houses and families from the skelms, and often they can’t cope. Ask Des about his latest break-in.” We looked expectantly at Des. “You might not believe this,” he began. “My wife and I used to live in Yeoville. You know the area Tony, up on the Berea ridge?” I nodded that I did. “Well,” he continued, “the house belonged to my wife’s parents, who sold it to us when we got married. We lived there until the ANC took over and things went from bad to worse. Hell, we had Nigerian drug dealers living next door to us at one time! Finally we saved

Kruger’s Legacy 1 6 7 up enough to move to Parktown, a more upscale and safer area, or so we thought.” He took a long sip of his beer and continued, “In all the time we lived in Yeoville we were never broken into, but our first year in Parktown, despite the high fences, steel gates and burglar alarms, we were burgled four times. Each time I increased the security. I added razor wire, bought a guard dog, electrified the fences and hired a security company that promised an armed response, but still we were hit.” Anil laughed and said, “Des has supplied more TV’s to the townships than any department store. Tell them about your latest robbery. Tony, this will give you an idea of what we are up against.” Des continued, “About two months ago my wife and I came home from an early dinner. It was just turning dusk and as we drove up our street, and I could hear our burglar alarm ringing like crazy. My two eight-foot-high steel gates were lying in the road and a five-ton truck was backed into our driveway. I stopped the car and phoned our security company. They told me one of their cars was already on its way. I could see a number of blacks loading stuff from the house into the truck, but I felt sure they would be armed and I would be dead if I intervened. About 30 seconds after we pulled up, the truck suddenly roared down the drive and sped off down the road at about the same time as a security car arrived from the opposite direction. Perfect timing I thought!” “I’ve got to pee,” said Des, as he stood up and walked unsteadily to his rondavel. I asked Anil if this was a typical robbery in Johannesburg. “Oh yes,” he replied. “They get more professional every day. You see they know how long it takes for a security car to arrive, so they use a big truck and tow-chains to pull your gates down and the burglar bars off windows. There can be as many as 10 guys working together and they will clean out your valuables in two minutes flat and be on the road before security arrives.”

1 6 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS “Are they usually armed?” Brad asked. “Oh definitely; guns are very plentiful,” Anil replied, “And the security car drivers know this, so they try not to get to your house while the skelms are still there.” “They have it down to a fine art,” said Des as he rejoined us with four more beers. “Their timing is usually very good, but in my latest case the security guys found a frightened piccanin (small child) hiding in a bedroom cupboard. He must have missed the all aboard signal.” “Do you get any help from the police,” I asked, looking at both Des and Anil. “Oh they try,” Des responded, “but I think it’s largely beyond them. This affirmative action nonsense has got rid of most of the experienced senior officers, who were mostly white, and replaced them with people who haven’t a clue what they are doing.” “Do you think there is any corruption in the police force?” I asked. They touched their beers together and laughed. Des leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “Everyone is corrupt in one way or another and you can make a lot of things happen with a good bonsella (gift). Say you are stopped by a traffic cop for example, you may be asked for a bonsella. I suggest you pay it and save yourself the time and trouble of having to go down to the cop shop where you will eventually have to pay bonsellas to all the cops if you ever want to go home.” “I can think of a few First World countries that are no different,” laughed Brad, “but what about corruption in the government itself?” “Aah! It’s Africa,” said Anil. “Government corruption is a fact of life. You see, there’s no large middle class such as you have in Canada to keep an eye on the politicians, so once they’re elected and on the gravy train, they won’t get off. When they have to hold

Kruger’s Legacy 1 6 9 elections, they will either rig the votes or take over by force and the country becomes a dictatorship!” We sat for a while drinking our beers and staring into the fire. Somewhere out in the darkness we heard the thin, high-pitched cry of a jackal above the sounds of the African night, alive with crickets, frogs and a myriad of noisy insects. We decided to call it a night and, thanking Des and Anil for their hospitality and good conversation, we left them sitting around their fire as they opened up another pair of Castle lagers. I was up at 5 a.m. as I wanted to be amongst the first cars out of the camp gate when it opened at 6 a.m. Brad had declined my invitation to join me, so I left a note telling him where I was going and what time I expected be back. After a quick shower, a cup of coffee and a few rusks, I was the third car out of the gate. I was pleased when the first two cars headed north, making mine the first car along the road towards the Orpen gate. Although I was retracing our route from yesterday, I wanted to spend an hour or so at the Nsemani Pan, a water hole I had spotted on our way to Satara. Nsemani Pan is typical of hundreds of water holes found throughout the Kruger Park. Ideal locations for game viewing, these natural water holes or pans are often fed artificially from a borehole pumped by a windmill or, in some cases, a diesel engine. As the park is subject to periods of drought and the game cannot migrate as it did hundreds of years ago, a system of artificial water holes is essential to the survival of many species. Wherever a water hole is close to a road, a strategically located viewing area allows visitors to observe the water hole without having to leave the safety of their cars. On the seven-kilometre drive to Nsemani, I hoped to see some of the lions we had heard the night before, but my luck was not in; however, by way of compensation, I did come across a splendid

1 7 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS herd of zebra grazing right next to the road. By approaching very slowly, I was able to drive right up to them – so close in fact that I removed the telephoto lens on my 35-mm camera and switched to a shorter focal length lens. Satisfied that I had a few good zebra photos in the bag, I continued on to Nsemani where I turned off the road and drove about 200 metres to the viewing area. I parked the car, switched off the engine and wound down the window to enjoy the sounds and smells of the bush. Having finished the cold remains of my coffee and the last rusk, I watched as a small family of impala nervously made their way into the open area surrounding Nsemani Pan. Water holes are dangerous places for most animals, so the impala paused frequently to sniff the air and twitch their ears as they strained their senses to detect any danger lurking in the surrounding bush. They quickly drank their fill and bounded up the slope into the relative safety of the trees. A few moments later the stillness was broken by the noisy arrival of a family of Guinea fowl, which scurried about the parking area looking for tidbits dropped by careless visitors. In the distance I heard the drawn-out call of the Grey Lourie, “Go-way, go-way,” which, according to the hunting fraternity, alerts game to the presence of danger, hence it’s more common name, Go-way Bird. I had been sitting at the water hole for three-quarters of an hour and, apart from a small group of zebra and wildebeest gathered in the tree line at the far side of the pan, nothing much had happened. I changed my camera lens to my big telephoto hoping to get a few photos of the zebra and wildebeest when they came down to drink, but they spent most of their time just watching me. Two cars arrived in the viewing area and parked close by. I was annoyed by their presence and resented the intrusion into what I unreason- ably considered my private corner of the bushveld.

Kruger’s Legacy 1 7 1 “Het jy iets gesien?” one of the men shouted. I gestured with upturned palms and shrugged my shoulders indicating that I hadn’t seen anything. Clearly they didn’t consider zebra and wildebeest worth looking at. They opened their doors and visited between cars, all the while talking and laughing loudly while one of the men had a long pee next to his car. Many years ago when I held an appointment as Honorary Ranger, this sort of behaviour would have earned them a good dressing down and a substantial fine. But no sooner had they arrived when, with a roar of engines and a cloud of dust, they were gone to blight some other area of the park with their presence. To my surprise, the zebra and wildebeest were still milling around the far side of the waterhole staring in my direction. I decided to give them one last chance to be enshrined in my photo album, when they suddenly took off and disappeared into the bush. Realizing that they probably wouldn’t return, I was about to start the car when a movement close to the side of my car caught my eye. There was a large male lion standing just metres away smelling the patch of ground where the man had peed. The lion seemed to grimace at the scent and walked quickly away passing right in front of my car before disappearing into the bush. As I reached for my camera, another male lion walked past on the opposite side of the car and, giving me a long stare, followed his companion into the bush. Both were gone in seconds and although I sat for another 10 minutes, I did not see them again. When Kruger Park came into existence back in 1902, the warden, Stevenson-Hamilton, concerned at the small numbers of impala, zebra, buffalo and giraffe, instituted a predator control policy which had hundreds of lions and leopards shot on sight. In reality, the scarcity of game animals was more likely a direct result of the uncontrolled activities of hunters during the Boer War.

1 7 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS However, as a steadily increasing number of visitors to the park expressed their desire to see lions, Stevenson-Hamilton, realizing the value of the large cats as tourist attractions, put an end to the predator control program. Today park rangers put the number of lions in Kruger Park at somewhere between 1,500 and 2,000 animals. Impala, zebra and wildebeest I’m sure will tell you this is far too many, but given that the park has an area of close to 20,000 square kilometres, it is easy to see why spotting lions is not an everyday occurrence.

Brad outside our rondavel in Satara When I arrived back at Satara camp Brad was up and had breakfast on the go. He mentioned that Anil and Des had left earlier for the northern reaches of the park and wished us both “bon voyage” and good luck with our documentary. Over breakfast, we had a look at our map and decided to head east from Satara to link up with the Gudzani Road, which runs in a north-south direction

Kruger’s Legacy 1 7 3 roughly parallel to the Lebombo Mountains, which form the easterly boundary of the Kruger Park. Once on the Gudzani Road we planned to head south to the N’wanetsi picnic area, where we planned a picnic lunch. The road east from Satara ran through knob thorn and marula savannah, open country which provided good game viewing opportunities. We saw a number of giraffe and, as we turned south on the Gudzani Road, two truly magnificent cape buffalo bulls. The spread of the horns on the largest of the pair would certainly have made the pages of Rowland Ward’s “Records of Big Game”! Both well past their prime, the two old gentlemen were out on their own, driven from the herd by younger bulls. They would spend the last of their days wandering the bush, their companionship offering mutual defence against lions, the only predators capable or foolish enough to take on these 4,000-kilogram giants. Following our picnic lunch at N’wanetsi, we continued on to the Sweni Dam and a parking area that looked out over the water. We spent about 10 minutes watching the dam and, as it was midday and the sun very warm, we realized that most animals would be resting in the shade and not moving about much. We decided to move on and drove out of the parking area, up a gentle rise and stopped about two car lengths from an enormous elephant standing in the middle of the road. I have no idea who got the greatest fright, the elephant or us, but common sense prevailed and I quickly reversed back down the rise and into the parking lot. When we looked back up the elephant had moved off the road and into the bush. We cautiously drove back up the rise hoping to get another glimpse of this magnificent creature, but the elephant had disappeared into the bush. We continued our journey south turning off on the Lindanda Road, as I wanted to show Brad the Lindanda Memorial, which

1 7 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS marks the location of one of the most dramatic events ever to have taken place in the long history of Kruger Park. In the early days when the future Kruger Park was still the Sabie Game Reserve, Stevenson-Hamilton realized the need for additional staff to patrol the new reserve and to put a stop to poaching. As he needed men who could ride and shoot and who had a working knowledge of life in the bush, he took a close look at the recently demobilized troopers of a locally raised regiment, Steinacker’s Horse. Under the command of Colonel Ludwig Steinacker, this regiment of some 300 men was raised by the British during the Boer War to patrol the border between the Transvaal and Portuguese East Africa. Probably one of the most unusual commanding officers of irregular forces in the British army, Colonel Steinacker was of German nationality and, so history records, stood a little over one and a half metres in his boots. Affectionately known as “Old Stinky” to the men of his command, Ludwig Steinacker saw himself as the “Napoleon” of the lowveld. He went around in uniforms of his own design that included silver spurs, naval style frock coat, heavily braided epaulettes and sword, all of which would not be out of place in a Gilbert and Sullivan opera! Despite the eccentricities of its commanding officer, Steinacker’s Horse was made up of men who were outstanding shots and excellent horsemen, and whose knowledge of the bushveld was unequalled in the Transvaal. Stevenson-Hamilton chose two former members of the regiment, “Gaza” Grey and Harry Wolhuter, appointing them to his staff as game rangers. To suddenly find themselves protecting wild animals rather than hunting them was quite a change for both men, but it says a lot for their adapt- ability, as they went on to serve the cause of wildlife conservation for many years.

Kruger’s Legacy 1 7 5 Known to local Africans by his Swazi name of Lindanda, Ranger Harry Wolhuter was returning from a patrol to the Olifants River area. Riding his horse, he was accompanied by a half a dozen black game guards, a string of donkeys carrying supplies and camp equipment and three “Boer” dogs which guarded the camp at night. The water-hole they arrived at was dry and, as it was it was late in the afternoon, Wolhuter decided to ride ahead to the next water hole, accompanied by Bull, one of the dogs. Darkness descended very quickly and soon he was following the rough trail dimly illuminated by a canopy of stars. While on patrol with Steinacker’s Horse during the Boer War, he had often ridden this trail at night to avoid the summer heat and was confident that he could find the water hole and start a fire to guide in the rest of the patrol. As he rode along, he heard something running in the grass nearby and assumed it was a number of reedbuck, which were common in the area. Suddenly he became aware that the noises in the grass were made by two lions running alongside his horse. Realizing they intended to attack his horse, he dug in his spurs and made a valiant attempt to escape, but the lions were too close. As his horse responded to his spurring, he felt an enormous blow on his back as one of the lions jumped onto the horse’s hind- quarters. The frantic bucking of his mount dislodged the lion but also sent Wolhuter flying out of the saddle and onto the back of the second lion running alongside. This beast immediately grabbed Wolhuter by the right shoulder and began dragging him towards a nearby patch of bush, where presumably, the lion planned to dispatch and eat its prey! As he was carried along with his face pressed into the mane of the lion and the back of his legs dragging along the ground, Wolhuter tried digging in his spurs to slow the lion’s progress, but this angered the lion which shifted its grip on

1 7 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS his shoulder adding to his extreme agony. He tried calling to Bull but realized that his dog had probably followed the escaping horse, not realizing that he was no longer on it. As the slow progress towards a certain and painful death continued, Wolhuter remembered the sheath knife on his belt. He was not very hopeful that it might still be in the sheath as it had often fallen out on less strenuous occasions. He manoeuvred his left hand around his back and was relieved to find the knife still in its sheath. He carefully pulled the knife out and began to consider whether he would be able to reach a vital spot on the lion. He felt carefully along the animals shoulder and stabbed it twice where he thought the heart to be. The lion let out a roar and released its hold on Wolhuter who immediately stabbed it again in the throat. Judging from the gush of blood he believed he had severed its jugu- lar vein. To his intense relief Wolhuter heard the lion move off through the grass and, despite the pain in his shoulder, managed to get to his feet. Unsure as to whether he had seriously wounded the animal and fearful of the return of the second lion, he looked about for a tree that he could climb using only his left arm. After a few unsuccessful tries he found a suitable tree which had a fork in its branches about three metres off the ground. Securing himself to the trunk with his belt in case he lost consciousness, Wolhuter rea- lised that a determined lion could probably climb high enough to get at him but his growing weakness from loss of blood ruled out any further attempts to find another tree. Resigned to stay where he was, Wolhuter struggled to remain conscious so he could listen for the arrival of his patrol and warn them of the presence of the lions. From his perch in the tree Wolhuter could hear the struggles of the wounded lion and what finally sounded like its death

Kruger’s Legacy 1 7 7 moan. However, his relief was short-lived as he became aware of the approach of the second lion. It did not take the lion long to discover Wolhuter in his refuge and, on reaching the base of the tree, it reared up against the trunk and began to climb up. To Wolhuter’s intense relief his dog Bull rushed out of the darkness barking furiously at the lion which broke off its attempt to reach him and instead tried to catch the dog. Each time the lion tried to climb the tree the dog’s frantic barking distracted it to the point where it eventually withdrew a short distance, probably hoping Wolhuter would climb down from the tree. Wolhuter knew better than that and his patience was eventually rewarded by the sounds of the approaching patrol. At his shouted warning they fired off a few shots to drive off the lion and soon had a large fire burning. As they were desperately short of water, Wolhuter decided they would continue on to the next water-hole, where he knew of an old hut from his Steinacker days and where one of his game guards could wash and dress his wounds. The march to the water hole was agonizing for Wolhuter and was made even more fearful when the patrol realized that the second lion was following them. Fortunately Bull emboldened by the presence of the other two dogs, was able to keep him at bay. The next morning Wolhuter sent two game guards back to the scene of the attack to look for his rifle and the dead lion. They returned later that day leading his horse which they found wandering near the trail and carrying his rifle and the skin, skull and the heart of the lion to show him where his knife had penetrated the organ. Now unable to walk, Wolhuter had his game guards make a litter from poles and blankets and the patrol set out on a five-day march to the nearest medical help at Komatipoort. The wounds soon turned septic and Wolhuter, in great pain and with a raging

1 7 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS fever, lapsed in and out of consciousness. The doctor at Komatipoort, who lacked the medical facilities that Wolhuter required, sent him by train to Barberton Hospital, though even there, doctors did not hold out much hope for his survival. Fortunately they not taken into account the incredible toughness of the man and his will to live and, within two months of the attack, Wolhuter was back at work in his beloved game reserve. The Lindanda memorial is a series of stone tablets which mark the locations of the initial attack by the lions, the spot where Wolhuter was seized by the lion and, set in a concrete cairn, the skeletal remains of the actual tree he climbed to escape the second lion. Visitors stopping at the memorial site are not allowed to get out of their cars. However, I do not think that anyone once having read the description of the attack on the various tablets would feel very much like leaving the safety of the car. That evening, when we stopped for the night at Skukuza rest camp, I made a point of finding the Stevenson-Hamilton Memorial Library where Wolhuter’s story is on record, to show Brad the wall- mounted glass display case which contains the actual skin of the lion and the knife that Wolhuter used to save his life on that desperate night over 100 years ago. Shortly after leaving the Lindanda Memorial, the road passed through the Metsi Metsi area, Ranger Wolhuter’s lion skin which is linked to another famous on display in Skukuza inhabitant of the Kruger Park who

Kruger’s Legacy 1 7 9 was probably born just before Ranger Wolhuter retired. His name was Tshokwane and he was a member of the Magnificent Seven, a grouping of the seven most impressive bull elephants carrying tusks of over 50 kilograms each that could be found in the park. Tshokwane was the only member of this select group that I had personally seen and photographed on one of the earlier visits my father and I had made to the park. The day we saw him he was busy demolishing a Marula tree close to the road and, apart from a brief glance in our direction, he ignored us and went about his business doing what elephants do. Sadly, Tshokwane died in 1998 from wounds he received in a fight with another elephant. He was one of the last of the Magnificent Seven but unfortunately, as his tusks were broken off before he died and never recovered, he did not join the rest of the Magnificent Seven in the Elephant Hall at Letaba rest camp. The largest of the Magnificent Seven elephants was named Mandleve, which is Shangaan for “One with the torn ear,” because of a large chunk missing from his left ear. This enormous but docile elephant was born around 1937 and spent most of his life wandering about the Skukuza area with occasional forays into the Sabi Sabi Game reserve on the park’s western boundary. Mandleve was found dead in 1993 and his tusks, the heaviest ivory ever recorded in Kruger Park, weighed in at 69 kilograms for his left tusk and 73.5 kilograms for his right tusk. Both tusks have a place of honour in Letaba’s Elephant Hall. Brad and I continued on our way to Skukuza rest camp, stopping briefly at Leeu (lion) Pan, a popular water-hole on the main road, hoping to see lion. After about 15 minutes we were getting ready to leave when a truly magnificent elephant appeared at the far side of the water hole and began feeding on grasses at the water’s edge. Unfortunately he was too far away for our cameras, but we

1 8 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS were able to get a good look at him through the binoculars. While we both knew that the original Magnificent Seven were no more we were considerably heartened at the sight of what we believed could be the founding member of a new Magnificent Seven group. Skukuza is the largest of all the rest camps and offers accommodation for some 600 visitors, plus a wide range of facilities, though some say far too many, which include a nine-hole (18-tee), par-72 golf course, restaurants, bank, post office, shops and swimming pools! By the time we had booked our rondavel for the night and, after driving around the camp for what seemed like half an hour looking for it (remember real men don’t ask for directions), we had about an hour before the camp gates closed for the night. As early evening is prime game viewing time, we decided to take a drive along the Lower Sabie road. We had no sooner left the main gate of the camp when we encountered a long line of cars stopped at the side of the road. “Maybe they have seen some impala?” Brad suggested helpfully. I began to think he was right and was getting ready to pull out and overtake the line of cars when I caught sight of three elephants walking purposefully down the middle of the road towards us. They were too close for photos or for comfort for that matter, but there was nothing we could do except sit and watch them walk right by. They passed so close by that Brad could have wound down his window and touched one of them with his outstretched arm. Fortunately he didn’t, and the trio disappeared into the bush behind us. Excited by this encounter we continued our drive, turning off onto the Lower Sabie road along the Sabie River, one of the few perennial rivers in the park. The road winds through a spectacular riverine forest of huge sycamore fig, marula and mahogany trees with numerous ompads or short detour roads that offer unob- structed views of the river.

Kruger’s Legacy 1 8 1 Despite the lateness of the day, which is usually a good time for game spotting, we did not encounter much in the line of Big Five viewing, though from one of the ompads we saw the broad backs of a number of elephant as they fed in the tall reeds along the river. We arrived back in Skukuza minutes before the gates closed at six. After a good meal, we wandered over to the reception area and took a look at the game spotting board. This interesting service is found in the reception areas of most camps and provides up-to- date information on local game sightings made by visitors that day. As we stood looking at the board, a ranger came up to the board to add a few items. “En wat het julle mense gesien vandag?” he said in Afrikaans, asking what we had seen that day. I replied that we had seen elephant on a few occasions, including a particularly large bull at Tshokwane. “Ah,” he replied in English, having realized from my poor Afrikaans that we were English-speaking, “That was probably Duke. You were very lucky to see him.” He went on to tell us that Duke was one of the largest elephants in the Kruger Park and that he was generally found in the Lower Sabie-Tshokwane area. He told us that he had encountered Duke on a few occasions while on foot patrol and, “Fortunately, his temperament is as peaceful as he is large.” In reply to Brad’s question about the unusual name for an elephant, the ranger said that the elephant was named after one of the original rangers, Tom Duke, who was based in the Lower Sabie area between 1903 and 1923. It’s not often that the opportunity to talk to a ranger presents itself, so Brad and I sounded him out on the question of poaching, a subject that we had often discussed during our drive through the park. He was a little dubious about us at first, having noticed the video equipment we were carrying. “Are you guys reporters or something?” he asked. We explained who we were and what we were doing in South Africa. “So long as you are not recording anything,

1 8 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS we can talk. Really though, you should contact our public relations people.” I explained that we never went anywhere without lugging the video equipment. “We just can’t take the chance of having it stolen, so it goes wherever we go.” This seemed to satisfy our ranger, saying as he led the way to an outdoor patio, “Net so lank as julle die biere koop, dan kan ons gesels,” which roughly translated meant: keep the beers coming and we will talk. He told us that most of the serious poaching over the past 20 years had come from Mozambique. “It was particularly bad during the war between Frelimo and Renamo. So many of the people were starving that it was a case of poach or die. We understood their problems, but it was the poachers who were after our elephants and our rhino that we disliked the most. They were doing it for the money and though they took all the risks when compared to the middle men and the final sellers, they made very little profit.” Brad asked whether the end of the fighting in Mozambique had improved the situation. The ranger confirmed that things had improved with regard to ivory poaching, though there was still was, and probably always would be, a certain amount of poaching for food. I asked him about the problem they were having with refugees crossing from Mozambique into South Africa via the Kruger Park. He laughed, “It’s the refugees who have the problem. They have to run the gauntlet of our lions who have got used to people and probably got to like people, if you know what I mean,” he winked. He continued, “Our mapoisas (game guards) have found whole groups of refugees treed by lions who were waiting for the weaker ones to fall to the ground. I must say that over the past few years the attitude of some of the prides living along the border has changed. There was a time when they were scared of people, but not anymore; they have definitely become quite stroppy (aggressive).”

Kruger’s Legacy 1 8 3 While he was talking, two attractive young women wandered out on to the patio and sat at a table nearby. He noticed them looking in his direction and decided that they would make better company. “Well I must circulate,” he said as he rose to leave. We finished our beers and, on our way out through the lounge area, passed our ranger friend struggling to understand the two attractive Italian tourists who apparently did not speak much English. The next morning, after having slept in a little longer than planned, we had a hurried breakfast and drove to the Lower Sabie rest camp, where we checked in for our last night in the park. Once settled in to our rondavel, we drove out of the camp to try to find a few lions for Brad. In one of those quirky things that sometimes happen, Brad turned on the car radio for the first time since we left Johannesburg and the song that was playing was Bruce Cockburn’s Wondering Where the Lions Are!” Taking this to be a good omen, we headed up the road towards the Mlondozi Dam where, according to the game spotting board at the camp, visitors had seen lions earlier that day. From the elevated viewing platform at the dam we could see hippo and a variety of buck, but no sign of any lion. As we drove away from the dam, we were surprised by the appearance of two magnificent sable antelope that crossed right in front of us and then obligingly posed for photos right at the side of the road. Unfortunately, our desire to see a lion was not fulfilled and, due to the rapid approach of dusk, we had to return to Lower Sabie camp. Our rondavel was located in a semi-circle of four rondavels with four correspondingly numbered parking spaces provided close to each entrance. There were three cars using the parking area; two were correctly parked in their spaces, but the third was parked in the centre of the two remaining spots effectively blocking us out. It was a large, showy, black Cadillac, which I correctly

1 8 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS deduced belonged to the rondavel alongside our unit. In response to my knock, the door was opened by an attractive young Indian girl who, when I explained the problem, called her father to the door. I pointed out that his car was taking up two spaces, one of which was mine. He appeared to be a little annoyed, “Is there no where else you can park?” he inquired looking about. “No,” I replied, getting a little annoyed, “You are using two spaces and I insist you park your car properly in the space provided.” A female voice from inside the bungalow distracted him and he entered into a shouting match in Hindustani with a woman who I presumed was his wife. Whatever she said obviously changed his attitude. “I am so sorry,” he apologized, “It’s that stupid driver of mine. I will get him to move the car right away.” I thanked him and walked back to our car to await developments. About two minutes later a young Indian fellow arrived and moved the Caddy into its allotted space. As we were unloading our gear, the young man apologized for taking up half our space, but in his defence told us that his boss had instructed him to park that way so his car wouldn’t get scratched! We chatted for a while and he told us that he worked in a furniture store his boss owned in Johannesburg and that one of his many duties included driving the family around. “I don’t like him or his wife; they are always shouting at me,” he confided, “but I do like his daughter and she likes me.” We opted to eat in the camp restaurant that night, mainly because while we were checking it out one of the cooks confirmed that I could special order boerewors and pap. Now boerewors and pap, which is simply farmer’s sausage and a stiff porridge made of corn meal covered in meaty gravy, is not considered haute cuisine in South Africa, but it is high on my list of favourite foods. South

Kruger’s Legacy 1 8 5 Africans, like many other nationalities, prefer to eat late, so with an hour or two to spare, we purchased a few cold Castles and walked to a grassed area in the camp where a few benches, surrounded by giant fig trees, overlooked the Sabi River. The sounds and smells of the bush as night is falling is one of the wonders of Africa that I will always treasure. The chirping insects and croaking frogs, interspersed with the occasional owl and the muffled grunts of hippo in the river, were coupled with a gentle breeze that drove away the heat of the day. We sat there enjoying our beers and watched the sunset’s last glow disappear from the night sky. Suddenly a piercing scream from the tree directly above us nearly caused two near fatal heart attacks! It took me quite a few seconds to realize what it was. “Don’t panic,” I said to Brad as I laughingly recovered from the fright, “It’s a nag apie, a bush-baby. That’s the sort of bloody awful cry they have. Scared me to death the first time I heard it. It didn’t do too badly this time either!” The nag apie (a tiny primate) did not shriek again; apparently it was quite satisfied with the results of its first effort to scare the living daylights out of us. After an enjoyable meal of boerewors and pap, a meal which brought smiles to the faces of the black waiters not used to serving what they considered to be fairly low grade fare to white visitors, we took a walk around the camp to stretch our legs. As we returned to our rondavel, we caught sight of the daughter of the owner of the Cadillac and his driver walking arm in arm. “I imagine the old man and his wife have retired,” said Brad with a smile. We planned to leave Kruger Park the next day, so we gathered together our maps and shooting scripts and made sure the camera batteries were fully charged. Just before bed I decided to have a quick shower, so I took soap and a towel plus my torch (flashlight, but you knew that) and walked to the men’s showers. It’s never a

1 8 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS good idea to walk anywhere at night without a torch as there is no way of knowing what may have crawled or slithered under the camp fence! Also, as in my case, the camp lights were out. Fortunately, the water was still hot and I enjoyed a long relaxing shower. Having turned the torch off as the batteries were running down, I was towelling off in my cubicle when I heard whispered voices come into the shower area. When I recognized the accents as belonging to the Cadillac owner’s daughter and his driver, I had a pretty shrewd idea as to what they had in mind. The furtive flashes from his torch indicated they had found a dry cubicle and the sounds of them dragging benches into the cubicle presumably to make a bed, indicated a degree of initiative that I found commendable. As they prepared for an enjoyable evening I managed to sneak out quietly, not wishing to disturb their plans. We were amongst the first cars through the camp gate the next morning hoping that we might see lions before we left the park. Our route took us on the Gomondwane Road to our planned exit from the park at Malelane gate. It was about a four-hour drive and, as can sometimes happen in any game reserve, we hit a dry spot and saw very little in the line of watchable wildlife – that is until we were about 10 minutes from the exit gate. The gods must have sensed our disappointment and to make amends, provided a herd of six white rhino right next to the road. We watched these incredible animals for nearly half an hour before they gradually moved further and further away from the road, until at last, they finally disappeared into the bush.

Kruger’s Legacy 1 8 7 9 Wolvespruit

t was close to midday when we left Kruger Park and joined the IN4, headed east to the border community of Komatipoort. To explain the purpose of this side trip, we have to go back to April 1900, when the SS Monterey carrying the Strathconas arrived in Cape Town. The voyage from Halifax took 25 days and, as far as troopship travel went in those days, it was quite uneventful. Unfor- tunately, the voyage did not go nearly as well for the regiment`s horses. Recently purchased in the Prairie Provinces, the horses, unaccustomed to the damp sea air, developed respiratory problems and died in alarming numbers. When the regiment arrived in Cape Town, they had lost 173 out of the original 536 horses loaded on board ship in Halifax. To make matters worse, a further 44 horses were discovered to be suffering from glanders and had to be destroyed. One of the troopers remarked to a friend, “If any more horses die, we will have to change our name to Strathcona’s Foot!” The disappointed regiment was relegated to a camp site on a windswept dustbowl inappropriately called Green Point Common

1 8 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS while they awaited the arrival of their remounts. The tedium of their stay on Green Point Common was only relieved, if that is the right word, by tremendous thunderstorms, which quickly turned the dustbowl into a sea of mud. Even training with the newly-arrived Maxim machine gun and the Vickers-Maxim quick- firing cannon became boring and the regiment longed for action. Their spirits were raised when they received a telegram from Lord Roberts advising the Strathconas not to be disappointed at their delay in Cape Town, as he had very important work for them to do. The excitement this message generated soon gave way to despair as days turned into weeks and nothing happened. Finally on May 24, orders arrived and A and C Squadrons sailed for Durban, and four days later, B Squadron sailed on the Columbian and Wakool for an undisclosed destination somewhere north of Durban. Sailing aboard the Wakool, Colonel Steele was issued sealed orders with instructions not to open them until the two ships reached their destination. A surprise passenger aboard the Wakool turned out to be Roger Casement, the British Consul in the Portuguese territory of Angola. He had spent some time in Lourenco Marques, keeping an eye open for shipments of arms and ammunition bound for Pretoria. On June 2 the ships reached their destination, Kosi Bay, about 500 kilometres north of Durban, where they were joined by two British warships, HMS Doris and Monarch. Here Colonel Steele opened his orders, which were written and signed by Sir Alfred Milner, the British High Commissioner for South Africa. The orders emphasized Milner’s concerns, amply supported by reports from Roger Casement, that the Boers were receiving supplies of arms and ammunition through the port of Lourenco Marques. The orders revealed to Colonel Steele an ambitious plan hatched by Lord Roberts and General Buller for the Strathconas

Wolvespruit 1 8 9 to mount a raid from Kosi Bay north into the Transvaal to destroy the rail bridge at Komatipoort, cutting the Boer railway line to Lourenco Marques. The plan was for B Squadron to hold the destroyed bridge until reinforcements, in the form of A and C Squadrons, arrived from Eshowe in Zululand. I am convinced it was the Strathconas lucky day when the following morning dispatches arrived which cancelled the operation, claiming that the Boers were aware of the plan. Nevertheless, it was a great disappointment for B Squadron when their ships turned around and returned to Durban. The aborted plan to destroy the rail bridge at Komatipoort is a subject of much discussion amongst historians in both Canada and South Africa. Paramount in any discussion is the role the enigmatic diplomat Roger Casement may have played in the affair. Despite being knighted by the British government for his 18 years of service as consul in Africa and South America, Casement always considered himself an Irish patriot. In a letter he had written to a friend, he confirmed his admiration for the Boers and his distaste for British policy in South Africa. His opposition to British rule in Ireland came to a head with the outbreak of the First World War. As the self-appointed Irish ambassador, Casement travelled to Germany where he attempted to recruit an “Irish Brigade” from amongst Irish prisoners-of-war held in German camps. When that failed, he accepted a consign- ment of weapons destined for Irish patriots who hoped to overthrow British rule. Casement shipped the arms to Ireland, blissfully unaware that the British were reading German naval signals. When the ship was intercepted by the Royal Navy, it was scuttled by its crew and the arms were lost. Unaware of this development, Casement sailed for Ireland in a German submarine and, shortly after he landed, he was captured by British forces.

1 9 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Charged with treason and espionage, Casement was stripped of his knighthood and, following a highly publicized trial, was sentenced to death. There was a huge public outcry, both in Ireland and Britain, against his sentence so, possibly in an effort to discredit Casement even further, the British government selectively released copies of Casement’s diaries. Known as the “Black Diaries,” these writings outlined in detail Casement’s many homosexual affairs, considered a crime in most countries at that time. Despite many claims that the diaries were clever forgeries, they did much to turn many of Casement’s prominent supporters against him. It is interesting to note that the diaries are still classified by the British government as top secret, and are not likely to be released until the year 2020. But none of this helped Roger Casement. He was hanged at Pentonville Prison in London in August 1916, and his body buried in quicklime in the prison yard. Eventually, in 1965 his body (or what was left of it), was exhumed and returned to Ireland where he was buried with full military honours in Glasnevin Cemetery in Dublin. During the first year of the Boer War, a number of Irish volunteers fought for the Boers and, as they had entered the Transvaal through Lourenco Marques, it is likely that Casement was aware of their presence. Many of these volunteers were active in the Irish nationalist movement and, after the Boer War, went on to fight in the Dublin Easter Rising of 1916. It does not require any great stretch of the imagination to conclude that it was most likely Roger Casement who informed the Boers of the plan to destroy the rail bridge at Komatipoort. We left Komatipoort and heading west on the N4, stopped in Nelspruit to gas up our car. While the attendant filled the tank, I wandered into the petrol station office. A white man behind the

Wolvespruit 1 9 1 counter greeted me and we began chatting. I asked him about H. L. Hall, one of the largest citrus farms in South Africa, which I remembered from childhood visits to the area. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “The new government handed it back to a local tribe which claimed it was their land despite the fact that the Halls had farmed it since the 1920s.” Warming to his subject he continued, “As soon as the blacks had control, do you know what they did?” Answering his own question, he continued, “nothing, absolutely nothing! Not wishing to actually have to work, they let tons of fruit rot while they looked on waiting for some sort of bloody miracle to occur.” “Well,” I asked, “did a miracle occur?” He laughed, “Yes I suppose it did. A private company took over the farm from the tribe, paid them an annual rent of one and a half million rand and got things working again. To the tribe I suppose that was a bloody miracle!” I paid for the petrol and walked out to the car, giving a bonsella to the attendant who was wiping the windows. He asked where we were from and when I told him he said we must be sure to return to Nelspruit in 2010. I asked why 2010 and he replied that a new soccer stadium, the Mbombela Stadium, was being built in town for the 2010 World Football Cup. I thanked him for his invitation and we rejoined the N4 with Waterval Boven as our next destination. The town of Waterval Boven (Above the Waterfall) sits perched near the Elands River falls on the edge of the Drakensberg escarpment. Its sister community, not surprisingly named Waterval Onder (Below the Waterfall), lies in the valley below. Together, the two communities are central to a major tourism area offering some of the finest climbing and trout fishing in South Africa. Back in the 1890s, this escarpment formed a major barrier to the construction of the railway line from Lourenco Marques to Pretoria. The railway, constructed by a Dutch company, the Nederlandsch-Zuid

1 9 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Afrikaansche Spoorweg-Maatschappy, surmounted this seemingly impassable barrier by digging a rack railway tunnel which, in combination with special locomotives, lifted trains from the lowveld onto the highveld and vice versa. The tunnel, which is now a national monument, has since been bypassed by new rail lines using easier gradients and electric traction to solve the problem. We continued south on the R36 towards the highveld town of Carolina. It was in this area on November 7, 1900 that a force consisting of units of the Royal Canadian Dragoons, Canadian Mounted Rifles and D Battery of the Royal Canadian Field Artillery was involved in a running fight with nearly 3,000 Boers from the Carolina, Middleburg and Ermelo Commandos. The Canadians, attached to a larger British force under the command of General Smith-Dorrien, were engaged in the unpleas- ant task of burning the farms of Boers who were fighting with the commandos. Smith-Dorrien, thwarted in his endeavours by a number of unexpectedly tenacious Boer commandos, was forced to withdraw to the town of Belfast. The task of holding off the Boers until the column was safely away was given to the Canadian Mounted Rifles, which consisted of three 30-man troops with a Colt machine gun, as well as two 12-pounder field guns of the 84th Battery. The rolling hills and rocky kopjes of the Leliefontein area provided ample cover which the Boers used to their advantage. The Canadians were forced to fight desperate, small-unit actions to avoid being overrun and possibly losing the two field guns. The bravery of Sergeant Holland manning the Colt machine gun and the skilful actions of the Canadian troopers allowed the safe withdrawal of the British force to Belfast. The bravery of the men involved was recognized by the awarding of Victoria Crosses to Sergeant Holland and two of the troopers. Casualties on both

Wolvespruit 1 9 3 sides were mercifully light, though the Boer Generals, Fourie and Prinsloo, were killed leading their men in action. Brad spotted a signpost to the monument commemorating the deaths of the two Boer Generals, so we parked the car and walked the 500 metres into the veld to pay our respects to these brave men. We were quite moved when we discovered that the monument had been erected by none other than Smith-Dorrien himself who, in tribute to a brave enemy, was present at the unveiling in November 1927. I was looking forward to our arrival in the town of Carolina. Many years ago, while in my final year at high school, I spent a few days in the area getting over a broken romance. I came to like the small Afrikaans town with its friendly people and cafés, where juke boxes played nothing but country and western music by Roy Orbison, Jim Reeves and Patsy Cline. If I hear an old recording of “Walkin’ After Midnight” or “Have You Ever Been Lonely,” I am instantly transported back to that bittersweet time over three cold winter days in Carolina. Unfortunately, present-day Carolina was a bit of a disappointment. Gone were the small cafés and their juke boxes; the once neat, clean streets were full of litter and there was a menacing air about the town. As it was a Sunday, the banks were closed, so we began looking for an ATM. The first one I tried had pieces of wood jammed into the card slot rendering it useless. The second was located in the dingy foyer of a bank, out of sight of the street. As I walked inside and up to the machine, I became aware of three black males loitering in the shadows just inside the doorway. Startled I blurted out, “Damn! I forgot my card” and, lying through my teeth, continued, “I’ll be right back!” Sensibly deciding to leave our banking needs until another day, we filled up with petrol using the last of our rands. I should mention that, as most service stations

1 9 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS in South Africa do not take credit cards, it is essential to keep a certain amount of ready cash on hand for petrol. While Strathcona’s Horse was in Carolina, they too experienced a few problems. Ordered by Lord Dundonald to reconnoitre the town, C Squadron was met with rifle fire from Boers hidden behind stone walls and in buildings on the outskirts. The Strathconas managed to drive the Boers out of the town, while British officers searched public buildings for documents and arms. It was late afternoon when the order was given for the squadron to withdraw but, unfortunately for three troopers, the order went unnoticed. As dusk began to fall the three, noticing the increasing numbers of armed townspeople on the streets and the complete absence of any other Strathconas, realized the seriousness of their predicament. To their credit, they resorted to the only weapon they had left, bluff. In what must have been an excellent piece of acting, they managed to convince the town’s people that they were part of the advance party of a larger force that had surrounded the town. Aware that dawn would reveal the full extent of their deception, they managed a very early departure, but were nevertheless pursued for some distance before they reached the safety of the main column. It was while the Strathconas were in the general area of Carolina that one of those incidents occurred that would always be a source of discomfort for Canadian historians. The diary of a member of Strathcona’s Horse stated that troopers of the South African Light Horse (SALH) were fired upon from a farm house flying a white flag. The SALH, he wrote, accompanied by “Canadians,” possibly Strathconas, attacked the house and captured six Boers. The writer claimed the six were tried in the field and hanged from nearby trees. While the writer admitted he did not actually witness the

Wolvespruit 1 9 5 event, he claimed he was nearby and had, “some knowledge of the perpetrators.” Whether this event actually took place is open to conjecture, but unfortunately, rumours have persisted. We drove around Carolina and managed to find the old hotel mentioned in accounts of the battle that was fought as the Strathconas entered the town. It was in front of this old hotel that the Boer commandos tethered their horses before the battle. By establishing this important location, we were able to follow the course of the battle and secured good footage for our documentary. Satisfied that, at last, something had worked out in Carolina, we headed south on the R36 to Ermelo, where we planned to spend the night. Usually, before we arrived in a town where we planned to spend the night, Brad would call ahead on our mobile phone and make a reservation. On this occasion, we were so busy discussing goodness knows what that we swept into Ermelo quite unprepared. Brad spotted the vacancy sign first, so we turned off and stopped in front of a set of wrought iron gates, which led to a nice looking ranch-style house set in a beautiful garden. As with most houses, the property was surrounded by an efficient-looking razor wire fence that must have been 2.5 metres high. At least we did not see the ubiquitous pair of ferocious dogs! I pressed the buzzer at the gate and, after telling the distorted voice on the intercom that we were looking for accommodation, we were admitted. We drove up to the house and, on walking to the front door, I was greeted by an attractive black woman who was obviously very pregnant. Not entirely sure whether she was a housekeeper or the owner, and not wishing to offend, I simply inquired about the accommodation offered by the vacancy sign. She invited me in and showed me a very nice self-contained room that opened out onto the garden and, as the rate she quoted was reasonable, I accepted

1 9 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS at once. She introduced herself simply as Angel and invited us to join her and her husband on the terrace for sundowners. We were unpacking our gear when I answered a knock at the door and met a well-dressed black man who introduced himself as Benjamin, “Please, call me Ben; I’m Angel’s husband.” We followed him out onto the terrace and joined Angel, who was seated at a patio table and chairs, next to a small swimming pool. It was a beautiful evening. The setting sun tinted the few clouds in the sky subtle shades of pink and cast long shadows across the garden. Angel rang a small bell and a black servant, dressed in white trousers and jacket, appeared. I was disappointed that he did not say, “You rang, Madam?” but, nevertheless, we were happy to place an order for two cold Castle lagers! In response to my compliments on their house and garden, Angel replied that it had taken them nearly two years to complete the renovations and, turning to Ben, said shyly, “Now that we have a baby on the way, we have to think of the future.” The drinks arrived and we answered the usual questions about our trip and readily accepted their invitation to join them for dinner. During the course of our conversation over dinner, Ben mentioned that he was in the medical field and, after asking us a few questions about health care in Canada, told us that he and Angel were in the final stages of immigrating to Canada. I expressed my surprise that they would want to leave such a beautiful home that they had obviously put so much work into. Ben caught me completely off guard when he replied, staring at me quizzically over his glasses, “Tony, why do you think it is only white doctors who want to immi- grate?” I delayed my reply by taking a long thoughtful sip from my glass of wine, “Well Ben, many South African doctors in Alberta expressed concerns over the high rate of crime.” “Come on man,” he snorted, “You’ve seen the fences around

Wolvespruit 1 9 7 our house. We’ve been broken into three times in the last two years and ours is probably the most secure house in the street! I can assure you that we blacks are far more likely to be victims of crime than whites; but I’m sure those doctors in Alberta expressed concerns over a lot more than crime, am I not right?” Without giving me a chance to reply, for which I was grateful, Ben continued, “Crime is almost the least of our worries. The real problem is the steady erosion of everything that makes this country different from the basket cases up north. Our politicians have forgotten their promises of honest government and are now up to their arses in corruption at all levels. Everyone is on the take; people are dismissed from jobs which are handed over to family members and political cronies who not only rob the country blind, but bugger up whatever they are supposed to be doing!” “Please excuse my language,” Ben added as he glanced at his wife, “I get angry when I think about what is happening. I love this country and, after all the years we fought apartheid, it’s tragic to see us going down the same road as the rest of Africa. I have to think of my family’s future.” We sat in silence for a while, each with his or her thoughts. I tried to lighten the mood when I mentioned the corruption scandals that were almost a daily occurrence in Canada, but Ben coun- tered by saying that those scandals were being investigated and the guilty punished, while nothing of the sort ever happened in South Africa. Angel skilfully changed the subject by asking about the Queen’s Cowboys. The discussion then turned to South African history and I was impressed with Ben’s knowledge about the Boer War. I said as much, and was quite moved when he replied softly, “It’s our history Tony, yours and mine. It’s a great shame it has all come to this.” While we were having breakfast the next morning, their cook

1 9 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS told us that Ben had already left for work and that Angel sent her apologies as she wasn’t feeling very well. I left a short note thanking them for their hospitality and an invitation to contact us when they got to Canada. We were following in reverse order the route the Strathconas had taken during their advance with Buller’s force north from Standerton to link up with Lord Roberts on the Pretoria to Lourenco Marques railway. Despite the passage of time, it was still possible to find many of the actual locations mentioned in the Strathconas’ regimental diary. One such place was the town square in Amersfoort, where the regiment camped on a cold night in August 1900. We filmed the town square and a fine old Dutch Reform church that must have witnessed the Strathconas occupy the town then defend their occupation against an early morning Boer counterattack. The church also saw, unfortunately,

Carman Miller, Painting the Town Red: Canada and the South African War 1899- 1902 Canadian War Museum and McGill-Queen’s University Press, Montreal and Kingston 1993, page 316

Wolvespruit 1 9 9 the subsequent looting and destruction of the town by troops of Buller’s command, which probably accounted for the studied lack of interest shown by the local Dominee (clergyman) for our project. Almost a good day’s march southwest of Amersfoort stands a prominent hill known locally as Perdekop (Horse Hill). This prominent landmark, which overlooks the old main road (R23) and railway line from Durban to Johannesburg, was the start line for Buller’s force as it prepared to move north into the Transvaal. Even today, it is still possible to see the remains of trenches and lookout posts on Perdekop’s broad, grassy flanks. After filming some of the more prominent of these remains, we joined the R23 and drove northwest, through Standerton, towards the tiny hamlet of Val where we had booked into the Val Hotel for two nights. It was dusk as we passed through Standerton, still 45 kilometres from our destination, when one of the scariest experiences of our whole trip took place. I had noticed in my rear-view mirror an unbroken line of what at first I thought were cars, but which turned out to be mini-buses of the type most frequently used in South Africa as taxis. Despite the fact that I was travelling close to the speed limit, the first five or six taxis rapidly closed the gap and, one after the other, passed our car with spaces of less than two metres between each overtaking vehicle. I reduced our speed so as not to impede these crazed drivers whose skills were better suited to the start of the Indianapolis 500 than a public highway! Every taxi that passed us was jam-packed with black passengers. Brad estimated there were at least 20 passengers in one taxi; not bad for a Mazda that seats a maximum of 15! But the worst was yet to come. The main body of taxis had now caught up with us and, driving within a metre or two of our rear bumper, were determined not to allow us to delay their hell-bent race to God knows where. I would have pulled off the road and stopped had it

2 0 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS been possible, but the gathering darkness and the occasional lack of a shoulder on the road made this impossible. They were so desperate to overtake our vehicle that one, unable to join the line of taxis overtaking on our right, took to the shoulder on our left and, in a shower of gravel and sparks, only just missed our wing mirror. Oncoming cars were either forced off the road or, in one incredible instance; an oncoming pickup truck was overtaken by a taxi driving on the shoulder on the opposite side of the road! I thought nothing could top this reckless stupidity, but seconds later we were treated to the terrifying sight of a faster taxi overtaking a slower taxi that was already overtaking us! I was determined not to be involved in the horrific crash I believed must surely be the outcome of this mad race. I concentrated on staying in my lane and allowed the taxis to get by, hopefully avoiding being part of the head-on collision that I expected at any moment. Brad, who was doing our navigating, told me that our turnoff to Val was about one kilometre away on our right. This was not welcome news as it meant that I would have to move over into the oncoming traffic lane to make the turn. I considered not making the turn and, instead, staying on the road until things quietened down. Unfortunately, the line of headlights behind us indicated this was a long way off and besides, I was drenched in sweat, exhausted by the ordeal and anxious to get off that road. When we thought we were about half a kilometre from the turn, I put on my right turn flasher and, as soon as a space sufficient for our car appeared between overtaking taxis, I moved into the oncoming traffic lane. This manoeuvre was greeted by a blast from a few taxi horns, but I stuck to my guns and accelerated trying to match their speed while we desperately searched the darkness for the turnoff to Val. We spotted a road turning off to the right and, unable to slow down, I swerved into the turn, narrowly missing a fence line on the grass

Wolvespruit 2 0 1 shoulder as I struggled to regain control of the car. We pulled off to the side of the road and, still shaking from the ordeal, watched the line of taxis stream by on the main road 100 metres away. We were unsure whether this was indeed the turnoff to Val, but at least we were off the main road and at the moment that was reward enough for us. As it turned out luck was on our side; not only had we escaped the suicidal taxi drivers of Mpumalanga, we were also on the right road for our destination, the Val Hotel in Val.

Val Hotel I first read about the tiny community of Val and its remarkable hotel on the Internet while doing research on the action at Wolvespruit. During the Boer War, Val was an important station on the Durban to Johannesburg railway line, and the Val Hotel often hosted generals of both sides as the fluid nature of the war allowed.

2 0 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS The hotel itself is a single-storey building with a corrugated iron roof and a wide stoep in front and is a fine example of the type of building common in South Africa prior to the turn of the last century. We knew at once that we were going to enjoy staying there. We were met at the front door by Rita who, with her husband Andre, had bought the old hotel in 1994 and had turned it into a charming guesthouse with a cozy pub, lots of fireplaces and comfortable guestrooms. Not only were Rita and Andre our hosts for the next few days, but I had also called upon Rita’s knowledge of local history to assist us in finding the location of the Strathconas action at Wolvespruit. Wolvespruit (Wolf Creek) was most likely named after hyenas which were often referred to as wolves by the Voortrekkers. Rita showed us around the public rooms of the hotel pointing out a number of pieces of furniture that had belonged to Paul Kruger’s family. She also told us that in June 1901 the hotel had hosted a meeting between representatives of the Republics of the Transvaal and the Orange Free State to decide whether or not to continue the war. It was quite something to stand in the same room where leading figures of the two republics such as Generals Botha, Smuts, De Wet, De la Rey, Hertzog and President Steyn of the Orange Free State debated the course of the war. It was a classic indication of how little control the British had over the rural areas if so many Boer leaders were able meet with seeming impunity in an area supposedly under British control. Possibly because of that impunity, the Boer leaders agreed to continue the war. The beautifully-restored public rooms of the old hotel created an atmosphere that breathed history. When Rita showed us to our rooms, we were delighted to find that this careful attention to historical detail was carried through to the large, old-fashioned double beds, Victorian dressers and lace-curtained windows. I was

Wolvespruit 2 0 3 particularly taken with a very old riempie (leather thongs stretched over a wooden frame) chair that stood against the wall facing my bed. I asked Rita about it. “That chair belonged to my great- grandmother,” she replied, “In fact that was the chair the British soldiers sat her in when they carried her out of her house before they burned it down!” That night as I lay in bed waiting for sleep to come, I kept an eye on the riempie chair in fearful expectation of seeing a grey-haired old lady sitting there pointing an accus- ing finger at me and saying, “Verdomde rooinek, wat doen jy hier!” (Damned Englishman, what are you doing here!) Shortly after the Strathconas had left for South Africa, Lord Strathcona raised an additional troop of 50 men under the command of Lieutenant Adamson to act as replacements for the inevitable losses due to sickness and injury. When the replacement troop arrived in Durban, the main body of the regiment was already serving with General Buller’s force and was engaged in securing the railway line between Standerton and Heidelberg. The replacement troopers, who had set out from Durban to join the regiment, were temporarily attached the SALH. On July 5 1900, they took part in a search for Boers in an area north of Val, known locally as Wolvespruit, where they were fired upon by what appeared to be a small party of Boers. Lieutenant Adamson led his troop in pursuit of the Boers and, within minutes, found himself under fire from a much larger force than he expected. He gave the order to retire but, in the ensuing melee, three men were wounded. Sergeant Richardson, seeing that one of the wounded men had lost his horse, rode back on his already wounded horse and under heavy fire, picked up the wounded man and carried him to safety – an act that earned him the Victoria Cross. Rita had consulted with a number of local historians in an effort to establish the likely site of this action that resulted in Canada’s

2 0 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS first Victoria Cross of the Boer War. The following morning Rita had to drive her daughter to Pretoria, but was willing to guide us to the most likely location of the action. After breakfast, we followed Rita and her daughter in their little red car which, traveling at a good pace over dirt roads was frequently invisible in the billowing clouds of dust. Fortunately, Rita had to confirm directions with a local farmer giving us a chance to pull up alongside her car. “This is where I have to leave you guys,” Rita said, “All you have to do now is follow the road for a few kilometres, take the first farm road on the left and drive up to the farm house. Ask for permission to climb the ridge behind the house then follow the ridgeline to the end and you will find yourselves looking down on Wolvespruit. Good luck!” she said, disappearing in a cloud of dust. We pulled up to a rather dilapidated farmhouse surrounded by a high barbed wire fence. No one came out to question our arrival and, to our relief, we could not see any guard dogs. The gate through the fence was locked so we could not approach the house. Finally, in response to our shouts, a black woman emerged from a hut in a nearby kraal (cattle enclosure). When I asked if we could get permission to climb the ridge, she just stared at us and went back inside the hut. Not quite sure whether she had understood our request, we decided to go anyway and locking the car, we set off up the slope of the ridge. We followed a cattle track to the top, passing a dead snake trampled by their hooves. I called a warning to Brad to keep an eye on the ground and to avoid thick patches of grass. I should point out that this was the only snake we saw during our entire time in South Africa, despite walking for many miles through the veld to remote and often overgrown graveyards. Obviously snakes are a vastly overrated danger if the simplest precautions are followed. There were no trees of any description on the ridge, only long

Wolvespruit 2 0 5 dry grass and rocky outcrops to mark our progress. After about an hour’s walk, we reached the end of the ridge which overlooked a wide valley with a small stream running along its length. We stopped to take a break and moved over to a patch of rocks partially hidden by long grass where we could sit and enjoy the view. “These rocks have been laid by hand!” Brad exclaimed. He was right; searching through the long grass, we discovered dozens of low stone walls or skanses which would have provided excellent cover for riflemen firing into the wide valley. We had found Wolvespruit.

Sergeant Arthur Richardson with his Victoria Cross. Glenbow Archives NA-1159-1

It did not take much imagination to see the Strathconas advancing in extended order up the valley. It must have been cold. July is the middle of winter on the highveld and the horses’ breath would have steamed in the crisp air. They responded to the crackle of shots from Mausers

2 0 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS firing from hidden positions on the slopes and in the valley before them by dismounting and advancing on the Boers until a rising crescendo of fire convinced them of their error. We watched their scrambling retreat to the horses and saw riders fall. We watched as Sergeant Richardson turned his wounded horse and rode back, ignoring the heavy fire. We saw him dismount and lift the wounded Corporal McArthur onto his saddle and ride slowly back up the valley to safety and into history. Arthur Herbert Lindsay Richardson was born in England and immigrated to Canada when he was 19 years old. He joined the North West Mounted Police and was posted to Battleford, Saskatchewan, where he served until he joined Strathcona’s Horse in February 1900. In one of those strange quirks of fate, he fell down the hold of the ship and broke his leg, an injury that detained him in Cape Town while the regiment left for Natal and the front. His recovery, coinciding with the arrival of Lieutenant Adamson and his troop of replacements, enabled Richardson to join them in their journey to link up with the regiment. A shy man, Arthur Richardson was uncomfortable with the fame and recognition the Victoria Cross brought, and spent much of his life avoiding public attention. On his return to Canada, he rejoined the North West Mounted Police, but due to ill health and the death of his wife in 1916, he returned to England. Living in virtual obscurity, he worked as a track layer for a local tramway in Liverpool until his death in 1932. His whereabouts were known to so few people that an impostor was able to pass himself off as Arthur Richardson VC for almost nine years before he was exposed. Today, Arthur Richardson’s Victoria Cross is on exhibit in the War Museum in Ottawa. The area north of Val was also the location of the skirmish that resulted in the death of Trooper Angus Jenkins as described

Wolvespruit 2 0 7 in my opening chapter. While on our way back to Val, we searched for the possible location of this action by looking for Smith’s store, Wachout Spruit and the rocky kopje as described in the regimental diary. We saw a likely looking kopje and, next to a modern bridge over what we determined to be Wachout Spruit, we discovered the remains of a much older bridge. We decided to shoot some footage and, while we were setting up our camera, a farmer’s bakkie (small truck) pulled up. The driver, a white man, asked in Afrikaans if we were O.K. I thanked him for his concern and explained that we were filming the remains of the old bridge. He parked his bakkie off the road, and as he walked over to us, I noticed that he carried a holstered sidearm on his belt. “Hierdie is n gevaarlike stopplek,” he said by way of a greeting. I replied in English that we had no idea the area was dangerous. “Ag, julle is souties,” he replied as he smiled and extended his hand in greeting, “Hannes.” We exchanged greetings. To be called souties or soutpiels, which means salty penises in Afrikaans is, as you will recall, an old Afrikaner joke about English South Africans. Hannes was likely in his late 50s, a tall, well-built man with a deeply tanned, weather-beaten face and a bone-crushing hand- shake. We explained that we were filming a documentary on a Canadian regiment that fought in the Anglo-Boer War. “We call it the Tweede Vryheids Oorlog (Second Freedom War) you know,” he said with an easy smile, “We Boers always seem to be fighting for something. Right now we are fighting to stay alive.” He helped us carry our equipment back to the car and, I have to admit, made me feel a lot safer. Ever since arriving at that deserted farmhouse earlier that morning, I could not shake off an uneasy feeling that the peace and quiet of the countryside may be hiding a darker reality. I asked Hannes about the deserted farmhouse and what he meant about fighting to stay alive and he, in a manner reminiscent

2 0 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS of a Sherlock Holmes movie, fished around in his pockets and produced a box of matches and an old pipe, which he lit with deliberate care. Wreathed in a cloud of smoke he looked directly at me and said, “Do you know that over 1,800 farmers have been murdered in attacks on isolated farms?” I replied that I had heard something about it, but had assumed that attacks on farms took place mostly in Zimbabwe. “Well, I can assure you it’s happening here right now,” he said, “And it’s not just the attacks, it’s the fear of attacks that is driving many farmers off the land.” I replied that surely this was a matter for the police. He laughed, “The police! Our farmers association complains regularly but nothing is done. No one comes in response to emergency calls; no one follows up our complaints. Nothing is done. Nothing.” “Do you think this is a deliberate effort to drive farmers off their land?” “I’m damned if I know,” Hannes replied, “Why would the government do that? They must know what happened in Zimbabwe; get rid of the farmers and the country will starve, so what’s the point of doing that, I ask you.” Standing there, I wished there was something useful that I could say, but I couldn’t think of anything. Once Hannes became aware that I was South African born and now living in Canada, his whole demeanour towards us changed and the atmosphere grew distinctly chilly. By this stage of our journey we had learned that many white South Africans felt betrayed by fellow countrymen who “gapped it” overseas. This left South Africa short of doctors and other essential personnel, not to mention a decrease in the numbers of whites believed essential to maintain some sort of stability in the country. I must admit that I felt guilty, living as I did in a country that was safe and enjoying many privileges that were increasingly being denied to South Africans of all races.

Wolvespruit 2 0 9 It is common knowledge that crime statistics in South Africa are amongst the highest in the world. This is especially distressing as most of these statistics are generated by the government, which has a vested interest in downplaying the facts. Government statistics report some 18,000 murders a year, an incredible burden for a “developing” country. Matters were not helped by the com- ment made by the minister of Safety and Security, who suggested that, “People who complain about crime should leave the country!” Well, Mr. Minister, they are, and South Africa is the poorer for it. One might have expected that then-Prime Minister Thabo Mbeki would have hauled his errant minister over the coals for speaking without thinking, but nothing of the sort happened. The most reliable statistics for murder on an international scale are those collected by Interpol. Their figures placed South Africa, with a murder rate of almost 50 persons per 100,000, just behind Colombia in South America, which had a murder rate of nearly 60 persons per 100,000 of population. However, it is only fair to take into consideration the fact that Colombia is in the midst of fighting a low-intensity civil war! To truly understand the fear that affects all South Africans it is a useful exercise to compare the country with Mexico, considered by many North Americans to be a moderately dangerous country to visit, which has a murder rate of only 13 persons per 100,000. There seems to be a general agreement amongst South Afri- cans of all races, that once the euphoria of a democratically-elected government had faded into history, things stayed pretty much the same for a while, then slowly began to deteriorate. On assuming power, the ANC government was surprised by the poor state of the country’s economy. This was largely due to years of international sanctions and overspending by the Nationalist government, and was one of the major reasons that prompted the government’s move towards democratic change.

2 1 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS As a result the ANC government was unable to deliver on many of its pre-election promises and, coupled with its hasty replacement of whites employed in the public sector with largely unqualified blacks, it precipitated a sharp decline in the efficiency and quality of vital services. This in turn led to the exodus of quali- fied white and some black civil servants, doctors, engineers, etc., who, fearing the gradual erosion of their standard of living, sought greener pastures abroad. It is interesting to note that between 1994 and the present time, close to 700,000 mostly skilled whites have left South Africa. These problems were further exacerbated by the increasingly- desperate poverty and declining job markets experienced by dis- advantaged blacks and whites. (The unemployment rate amongst young black males is estimated to be as high as 90 per cent!) The situation was made worse by the large-scale immigration of illegal refugees and migrants from surrounding countries such as Mozam- bique, Zimbabwe (which, it is estimated, has provided over three million refugees), Zambia and as far north as Nigeria who are forced to turn to crime in order to live. Township anger over crime, unemployment and rising prices recently exploded into xenopho- bic violence, forcing thousands of foreigners to flee to the safety of refugee shelters and local police stations. Brad and I returned to the hotel at Val to a traditional South African dinner of boerewors and pap that Rita had prepared for us in response to my expressed desire for boerekos (Boer food). A perfect ending to an interesting, successful, depressing and thought- provoking day.

Wolvespruit 2 1 1 10 Isandlwana

unrise the next day found us retracing our route on the R23 Sback to Standerton fortunately, without an escort of mini-bus taxis! Standerton is a typical highveld town which, 30 years ago, enjoyed a prime location on the old Johan- nesburg to Durban road. This was before the new freeway system relegated it and many other similar communities to what could best be described as off-the- beaten-track status.

Grave of Trooper Jenkins, Standerton

2 1 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS We were in Standerton to find the Garden of Remembrance and the final resting place of Angus Jenkins from Red Deer, Alberta who died in the skirmish at Smith’s Store. Directions from a local petrol station got us to the cemetery and, after a brief search amidst memorials and headstones dating back to the Anglo-Boer war, we located his grave. The plain grey granite headstone read: “In Memory of Trooper Angus Jenkins, Strathcona’s Horse, Killed at Watervaal on Canada Day, July 1, 1900. The Regiment’s first battle casualty.” Angus Jenkins was posthumously awarded the Queen’s South Africa medal along with two clasps for the Orange Free State and Natal. To date, we have not been able to discover the whereabouts of his medal. We retraced our route from Standerton to Perdekop and then on to Volksrust, (People’s Rest), a small agricultural community established around 1888 and supposedly named for the commandos that rested in this area after the Battle of Majuba. As we left Volksrust, the N11 highway began its steep descent down the escarpment to the lowlands of KwaZulu Natal. Off on our right we could see the looming bulk of Majuba Mountain dominating the spectacular Laingsnek Pass. The battle of Majuba was a sad day for British arms in South Africa and a spectacular victory for the Boer forces of the Transvaal. Though it ostensibly marked the end of the first Boer War, the outcome of this battle sowed the seeds for the second Boer War, 18 years later. In 1877, the secretary for Native Affairs in Natal, Sir Theophilus Shepstone, with the connivance of the British government, rode into the Transvaal with an escort of Natal Mounted Police. Taking advantage of the Republic’s financial woes and its disunity in the face of a possible Zulu invasion, he hoisted the Union Jack in Pretoria, annexed the Republic to the Crown and

I s a n d l w a n a 2 1 3 appointed himself administrator – all without a shot being fired in anger. Needless to say, the Boer Volksraad was not happy with this development and bided its time waiting patiently for an opportunity to reassert its independence. In 1879, the British army destroyed the military might of the Zulus and unwittingly removed one of the greatest threats to the independence of the South African Republic. Less than two years later, on November 11, 1880, a minor incident over the payment of a wagon tax in Potchefstroom ignited the spark of rebellion. The British were totally unprepared for what quickly followed. Boer commandos laid siege to a number of British outposts all over the Transvaal and effectively bottled up the 1,800 or so troops stationed in the Republic. A force led by General Sir George Pomeroy Colley marched from Natal towards the Transvaal border with the intention of defeating the Boer forces gathered in the area and relieving the besieged garrisons in the Transvaal. His underestima- tion of the fighting skills of the Boers and the unimaginative tactics employed by his officers, not to mention the soldier’s splendid red coats, led him to suffer serious reverses at the battles of Laingsnek and Schuinshoogte. Colley withdrew to his camp at Mount Prospect and appeared to be waiting for the reinforcements he knew were on their way. Meanwhile, negotiations were taking place between the British government and the Transvaal rebels with President Brand of the Orange Free State acting as intermediary. Colley, who was aware of these negotiations, was authorized to agree to a ceasefire provided the Boers did not resume their offensive. Then, in a surprise move, he set out one night taking a composite force of 550 riflemen and marched about eight kilometres to the southern slopes of Majuba Mountain, which dominated the Boer positions at Laingsnek. There, with a force of about 350 soldiers, having left the rest behind

2 1 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS to guard their return route, Colley and his men, cold and weary in the predawn darkness, clambered to the top of Majuba. What Colley hoped to achieve is unclear. He was not in a position to fight a protracted battle; he had no artillery support and his resupply route could easily be cut by a Boer flanking attack. It is generally thought that Colley, misjudging his opponents again, believed that the Boers on seeing British troops in command of the highest ground in the region would pack up their wagons and head back for the Transvaal without any further shots being fired. How wrong he was. The top of Majuba is like a shallow basin and it’s impossible to see down the slopes of the mountain until one is standing on the rim. Colley gave no orders to prepare defensive positions, though a supply of picks and shovels had been carried to the top. In fact as dawn broke, his soldiers, making no effort at concealment, showed themselves to the Boer encampments far below yelling insults and waving their rifles. No one, of course, had given any thought to the fact that the slopes of Majuba consisted of a series of terraces which afforded an attacker with plenty of cover in the form of dead ground. The Boers, instead of being dismayed by Colley’s initiative, immediately launched a three-pronged attack up the slopes of Majuba. Using the cover provided by the terraces and displaying an excellent understanding of the principles of fire and movement, they soon reached positions just below the rim of the basin. The deadly accuracy of their rifle fire steadily drove the defenders from the rim and into the centre of the basin where they suffered heavy casualties and were forced to surrender. Amongst the 92 British dead lay the body of General Colley, killed instantly by a single bullet to the head; the Boers by contrast, had only one fatal casualty.

I s a n d l w a n a 2 1 5 The two reverses of Laingsnek and Schuinshoogte, coupled with the defeat on Majuba and the death of Colley, forced the British government into peace negotiations. On March 6, Colley’s second in command, Sir Evelyn Wood, met with Boer General Piet Joubert in O’Neill’s cottage at the foot of Majuba. Negotiations, which included Presidents Kruger and Brand, resulted in independence for the Transvaal. The memory of Majuba would live on as a rallying cry from the Boers and a cry for vengeance from the British.

Our bungalow at Buller’s Rest Lodge, Ladysmith

It was late afternoon when we drove into Ladysmith, a town made doubly famous by its protracted siege during the Anglo-Boer War and a world-famous singing group, Ladysmith Black Mambazo. We had booked in at Buller’s Rest Lodge, a much-recommended bed and breakfast located atop a ridge with spectacular views of the town and in the distance, the outline of Spion Kop. The whitewashed thatched cottages, sparkling blue swimming pool and

2 1 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS spectacular gardens encouraged us to spend a few days in the area visiting the numerous Boer and Zulu War historic sites. Ladysmith was named after Juana Maria de Los Dolores de Leon, the wife of the one-time Governor of the Cape Colony, Sir Harry Smith, who married this high-born Spanish beauty while he was serving with the British army in Spain during the Napoleonic Wars. Despite this romantic association, Ladysmith remained a quiet community on the transport route from Durban to Johannesburg until October 1899, when the outbreak of the Anglo-Boer War changed everything. Following the death of General Penn Symons at the battle of Talana Hill, the commander of British forces in Natal, General Sir George White, despite a minor a victory at the battle of Elandslaagte, lost all confidence in his ability and, ignoring Buller’s advice not to be trapped north of the Tugela River, withdrew to the town of Ladysmith. Dominated in every direction by a series of kopjes, the town was not the ideal location from which to withstand a siege. General White’s force of 12,500 officers and men joined the 8,000 or so black and white civilians in the town and settled down for what all believed would be a short stay. It was just as well they had no idea that it would take General Buller numerous attempts, thousands of casualties and nearly four months to relieve Ladysmith. It is often debated as to what the outcome might have been if Boer forces had not laid siege to Ladysmith and instead, as many of the younger officers such as Louis Botha urged, had pushed on for Durban before the expected British reinforcements arrived. Unfortunately for the Boers the counsel of the aged Commandant General Joubert prevailed. The highly-mobile commandos made no use of their greatest military asset and instead dissipated their effectiveness and enthusiasm for the war in a protracted waiting game camped on the kopjes surrounding Ladysmith. General

I s a n d l w a n a 2 1 7 Joubert, it must be remembered, was the Boer commander who disallowed an attack on a retreating British force with the admonition, “When God extends a finger, do not take the whole hand!” An excellent dinner in the main lodge at Buller’s Rest, followed by a few drinks in the bar surrounded by an interesting collection of Zulu and Boer War memorabilia, got us in the right frame of mind for our planned excursion the next morning to the battlefields of the Zulu War. I made my first visit to the battlefield of Isandlwana with my friend Jeff in the early 1960s. At that time not many people had heard of the epic battle, though most had some recollection of the subsequent defence of Rorke’s Drift. I remember my father telling me over the dinner table one evening about the heroic actions of the handful of British soldiers beating off the attacks of thousands of Zulus from behind makeshift barricades built out of biscuit tins – a story made all the more interesting by the fact that the defenders won an unprecedented 11 Victoria Crosses. Jeff and I did some basic research on the Zulu War and set out to explore the battlefields. We did things in reverse order of the battles, by visiting Rorke’s Drift first. At that time there were no luxury lodges with expensive tour guides, so we were very much on our own. I do recall that the missionary at Rorke’s Drift was not very welcoming and singularly unhelpful, so perhaps an expensive tour guide would have been worth it. We had a look around, took a few photos and left feeling a little disappointed. Isandlwana soon dispelled that feeling. We arrived in the early afternoon just as a summer thunderstorm was gathering, and the sight of the hill, silhouetted against the dramatic cloud formations, evoked thoughts of the dark events that took place here nearly a century ago. If there was anyone in attendance at the battlefield that day,

2 1 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS the thunderstorm had driven them away. In fact, we did not see a soul the rest of the day, and we did not need to. The whitewashed stone cairns, interspersed with regimental monuments, marked the burial places of groups of soldiers and roughly illustrated the course of the battle. We spent the remainder of the day walking amongst the rocks and wet grass trying to make sense of this very complicated battle. I remember being quite surprised at the extent of the action, which was only evident once we climbed the steep slopes of Isandlwana and could see white cairns of stones stretching far into the distance. Gathering darkness and the absence of any authority encouraged us to pitch our tent just beyond the saddle of the hill, on what we later learned was the start of the so-called Fugitives Trail, the route followed by the few survivors in their desperate flight from Isandlwana. I must confess that we were a little apprehensive about spending the night on a battlefield which had been soaked with the blood of thousands of soldiers, both Briton and Zulu. Being young men with vivid imaginations, we were acutely aware that, if there were such things as ghosts, this was indeed the right sort of place to find them. When it was totally dark and our small campfire provided the only light, it was easy to imagine the scenes of horror that unfolded that day in January 1879, when everything that could go wrong went wrong for the British Army in Zululand. Thanks to popular literature and Hollywood, Zululand and the Zulu people are synonymous with images of thousands of plumed warriors carrying large ox hide shields and gleaming assegais, bearing down on wagons filled with peaceful white settlers whose only crime was their intent to steal Zulu land. This certainly was the view of Sir Bartle Frere, the British high commissioner to South Africa, who saw the Zulus and their martial way of life as a major impediment to the expansion of British Natal.

I s a n d l w a n a 2 1 9 The Zulus, whose name means “people of heaven,” were but one tribal group amongst a number of small tribes descended from the Nguni peoples who migrated south from eastern Africa over a thousand years ago. These tribes, which inhabited the rolling hills and forests of the coastal area of south-eastern Africa, roughly between the Tugela and the Pongola Rivers, were pastoral by nature but with a definite martial streak. Their inter-tribal skirmishes, fought largely over cattle and women, were limited by nature and not particularly bloody, but this all changed when, in or around 1812, Shaka became king of the Zulus. Sometimes described as a black Napoleon, Shaka, who exhibited a natural aptitude for military tactics, set about transforming this loose collection of minor tribes into one of the most feared military nations in Africa south of the Sahara. He did away with the traditional notion of warfare which, at that time, consisted of both sides hurling insults and a few throwing spears at each other, before retiring to drink beer and glare at each other from opposite hillsides. To ensure the superiority of his warriors in close quarter battle, Shaka introduced a short stabbing assegai with a heavy broad blade 45-centimetres long, called the iKlwa, from the sound it made when it was withdrawn from an opponent’s chest. A further innovation was a larger, heavier shield that was used to hook the opposing warrior’s shield away, exposing his ribcage for the fatal thrust. He drilled his warriors mercilessly, doing away with their cumbersome sandals and raising them to a level of fitness that made it possible for them to jog close to 50 kilometres in a day and fight a battle at the end of it. The first tactical change he made was to train his warriors to fight like the African buffalo. He placed his older, more experienced men in a compact body at the center of two envelop- ing arms of younger, fleeter-footed warriors. The center body of

2 2 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS warriors acted as the chest and head of the buffalo, while the encircling younger warriors were the horns – a tactic that often led to the virtual annihilation of an opposing tribe. The whole Zulu way of life revolved around a warrior’s obliga- tion of military service to the king. It began at the early age of six when a young Zulu boy was sent out with other youngsters to herd cattle. It was a task heavy with responsibilities. Cattle represented the wealth of the village and the king and had to be protected from all manner of predators, and woe betides the herd boys who did not return all the cattle safely to the kraal at night. By the time the herd boys reached the age of 12, they had developed excellent survival skills and a physical prowess that would serve them in good stead in their next role as udibi boys to the fighting warriors. This meant carrying the extra supplies, sleeping mat and spare assegais for a warrior, often a father or older brother, when they went to war. When they reached their late teens, the young men were either formed into a new regiment or used to swell the numbers of a regiment of a similar age grouping, a system not unlike the British army of those days. Also like the British army, the Zulus understood the importance of the esprit de corps engendered by the regimental system and went to great lengths to encourage competi- tion between the various regiments or iButho as they were called. Each iButho served the king as directed. They could be called upon to construct a new royal kraal, participate in great hunts for wild animals and perform on ceremonial occasions, or go to war. They trained constantly for war. The iButho lived for the day when they could “wash their spears in blood,” an important stage in the development of a regiment and a step along the road to semi-retirement and permission to marry. Each iButho fought in conjunction with other similar-aged iButho as an amaButho, with a number of different aged amaButho making up the impi or Zulu

I s a n d l w a n a 2 2 1 army. Each newly-formed iButho had its own name and carried shields made of largely black or red ox hide. However, as the unit gained battle experience, or in recognition of outstanding bravery, the king could give permission for an iButho to carry shields that contained whiter ox hide until the iButho carried the ultimate accolade, a nearly white shield. A pure white shield was, of course, reserved for the king. The existence of this new and powerful force had a profound effect on the history of southern Africa for the next two centuries. Under the leadership of Shaka, the Zulu army ranged far and wide, expanding his kingdom and sphere of influence to include lands as far south as the borders of the Cape Province and east and north into areas that later became the Orange Free State and the Transvaal. Raids by the Zulu army provoked a mass exodus of the minor tribes that inhabited these areas and set them on a frantic journey which became known as the Mfecane. The fleeing tribes of refugees collided with one another, robbing and plundering and in turn, adding to the overall sense of panic that gripped southern Africa. It was on one of these military raids into the interior that one of Shaka’s generals, Mzilikazi, decided to hold onto some of the captured women and cattle. Fearful that Shaka had become aware of his deceit, Mzilikazi fled with his followers into the vastness of the interior where he hoped he would be beyond the reach of the Zulu army. The advance of Mzilikazi and his warriors, who became known as the Matabele because of their large shields, caused a further panicked exodus amongst local tribes. Though Shaka never did catch up with his errant general, Mzilikazi did run afoul of the Voortrekkers who dealt him a severe defeat at the battle of Vegkop, and forced his further retreat into what would later become Rhodesia.

2 2 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS The small pocket of English settlers now established around Port Natal (present day Durban) lived in constant fear of a Zulu attack. This was despite the fact that Shaka had never actually threatened the settlement and, instead, had welcomed those who plucked up the courage to visit his royal kraal at KwaBulawayo (Place of the Killing). The settler community petitioned the British government to declare Port Natal and the surrounding area British territory, but Britain was not interested in acquiring more territory, particularly territory that contained large numbers of Boers and Zulus. Sometime around 1828, Shaka was assassinated by his half-brother Dingane who, on assuming power, purged any pro- Shaka elements in the army and amongst minor Zulu chieftains. Notwithstanding his best efforts, it was clear to all that Dingane was no Shaka. What he lacked in personal charisma and discipline was compensated for with a cunning and devious nature, which ultimately led to his downfall. His problems began in earnest when the first wave of Voortrekkers from the Cape descended from the high passes of the Drakensberg Mountains into the green and pleasant land adjoining the north-western boundary of Zululand. Believing they could peacefully negotiate a land deal with the Zulu king, an advance party of 69 Voortrekkers or Boers, under the leadership of Piet Retief, traveled to the royal kraal at Mgungundhlovu (Place of the Elephant) to seek Dingane’s permission to settle on the land between Zululand and the Drakensberg Mountains. Uncertain how he should respond to this request, Dingane, stalling for time, requested that the Boers retrieve some cattle stolen by a local chief – a request more in keeping with a wish to test the fighting ability of the Boers than a real desire to recover cattle. The Boer’s easy defeat of the cattle thieves dismayed Dingane and,

I s a n d l w a n a 2 2 3 prompted more by irrational fear than lucid thought, he decided to murder Retief and his small band. To achieve this he had to separate them from their guns. Dingane lulled them into a false sense of security by making his mark on a document which ceded the lands below the Drakensberg to the Boers, and then he invited them to a celebration of their new friendship at the royal kraal. Courtiers persuaded the Boers that it was inappropriate to bring guns into the presence of the king and convinced them to stack their weapons outside the kraal. Seated near Dingane, Retief’s party was enjoying the spectacle of dancing warriors when Dingane leapt to his feet and yelled to a group of warriors standing behind them, “Bulala amatakati” (kill the wizards). Retief and his men were seized and dragged outside the royal kraal where they were clubbed to death. Realizing that the die was cast, Dingane dispatched his warriors to slaughter the Voortrekker invaders. Scattered about on the banks of the Buffalo River, the Boer families, blissfully unaware of the fate that had befallen Piet Retief and his party, were taken completely by surprise. In the time it took to organize any cohe- sive defence, hundreds of Boer men, women and children were slaughtered around the present day areas of Weenen, Bloukrans and Moordplaas (Murder Farm). Stunned by the unexpected hostility of the Zulus and the loss of their leader Piet Retief, the Voortrekkers were undecided whether to stay and fight, or return to the Cape. Fortunately for the survivors of the Retief trek, another party of Voortrekkers, led by Andries Pretorius, descended the Drakensburg passes. Unable to choose a new leader from within their own group, the remaining Retief Boers appealed to Andries Pretorius, to take up their cause. For the Voortrekkers, it was a very good choice. Appointed leader, Andries Pretorius gathered

2 2 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS together a commando of about 470 men and, with 64 wagons, crossed the Buffalo River into Zululand. An exceptional leader with a sound grasp of military tactics, Pretorius chose his position for the coming battle with great care. Reaching the banks of the Ncome Spruit he drew his wagons together in the traditional Boer laager, utilizing the protection of the steep river bank on one side and a deep donga on the other. He ordered the wagons lashed together with trek-chains, leaving one wagon free to provide an opening for his horsemen and sited two small canons to cover the open ground. Fully aware that the Zulu army would outnumber his commando by at least 25 to one, Pretorius knew he had to convince his men that they could not lose. To instil confidence, he gathered them together in prayer and made a “covenant” with God, promising that if they were granted victory over the Zulus, they would build a “church of the vow” and that their descendants would forever commemorate the victory as the day of the covenant. Bolstered by their belief that God was indeed on their side, the commando primed their roers (muskets) and settled down to await the Zulus. They did not have to wait long. Dingane had dispatched about 12,000 warriors under the command of one of his most able generals, Ndlela kaSompisi, to punish the invasion of Zulu territory by Pretorius and his commando. At dawn on December 16, 1838, Ndlela launched his impi at the Boer laager, confident that a massive frontal assault would overwhelm the firepower of the defenders, enabling his warriors to vault the barricaded wagons and come to grips with their enemy. The blast of musket fire from the laager stunned and dismayed the Zulu attackers, both in the sheer volume of the sound and the hor- rendous injuries that felled the front ranks. Despite the shouts from their indunas (chiefs) to press home the attack, the Zulus fell back

I s a n d l w a n a 2 2 5 or went to ground in a desperate attempt to avoid the continuous hail of lead from the Boer muskets. Prevented from being deployed in an effective manner by its very size, the Zulu impi was forced to attack in closely packed ranks, which suffered greatly from the Boer guns. Ndlela urged his indunas to attack again and again but, as the piles of dead hindered the attacking warriors, the legendary courage of the Zulu warrior began to fail. Eventually, leaving some 3,000 warriors lying dead around the laager and choking the Ncome River, the Zulu impi began a dis- orderly retreat that even the exhortations of Ndlela and his indunas could not stop. Pretorius immediately sent out his horsemen who pursued the fleeing Zulus, inflicting further casualties. The blood from the dead and dying warriors turned the waters of the Ncome red, giving rise to its name of Blood River. Sheltered by their laager, none of the Voortrekkers were killed and only three were wounded, including Pretorius himself. The present-day site of the battle is marked by 64 replicas of Voortrekker wagons cast in bronze and set out just as they were on that fateful day which, thereafter, was commemorated as the Day of the Covenant or Dingane’s Day until 1995, when the commemoration was changed to the Day of Reconciliation. As for Zululand, it was plunged into turmoil. Though Dingane still ruled, his authority as Zulu king was seriously challenged by his half-brother Mpande. The fact that the Voortrekkers had seized large tracts of land and 40,000 head of cattle as compensation for Zulu treachery did nothing to improve Dingane’s popularity amongst the Zulu people. Realizing that his life was in danger, Mpande fled with thousands of his followers across the Tugela River and sought an alliance with the Boers. Although not willing to get involved in another war, the Boers realized that with Dingane gone and Mpande king, their chances of peaceful co-existence with the

2 2 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Zulus would be much improved. The promise of armed support from the Boers bolstered the courage of Mpande’s followers and drew additional support from some regiments of the Zulu army unhappy with Dingane’s lack of leadership and their defeat by the Boers. Mpande’s forces invaded Zululand and, in a battle that lasted nearly all day, decisively defeated Dingane’s wavering supporters and forced him to flee with a handful of retainers, north into the Lebombo Mountains. Unfortunately for Dingane, this was Swazi territory and they had too many memories of Zulu raids in the past to offer him any protection. Not surprisingly, he was murdered by Swazi warriors when they discovered his hiding place. The Boers, pleased with the outcome, “crowned” Mpande king of the Zulus and returned to their new land of Natal, leaving him to rebuild his shattered nation. Although Mpande was no nation builder, he ruled Zululand for 32 relatively peaceful years and succeeded in reuniting the Zulus while retaining the military system developed by Shaka. Unfortunately for Mpande and the Zulu nation, he had two sons, Mbulazi and Cetshwayo. It is said that Mbulazi was Mpande’s favourite, but the more war-like Cetshwayo and his warriors handily defeated his brother and his forces at the battle of Ndondakusuka, ensuring that when Mpande died in 1872, Cetshwayo would be king. The British, in the mean time, had changed their minds about Port Natal. In 1842 a British force landed and the whole of Natal, including Pietermaritzburg, the capital of the newly formed Boer Republic, was declared British territory. Not surprisingly, the Boers did not take this lying down and defeated the British at the battle of Congella. But, as was to be the pattern for the future, a larger force was dispatched from Cape Town and Natal became British once again. In response to the death of Mpande and Cetshwayo’s

I s a n d l w a n a 2 2 7 accession to the Zulu throne, and mindful of the Boer diplomatic victory with their “crowning” of Mpande, the British dispatched Theophilus Shepstone, the colonial administrator, to “crown” Cetshwayo as their king of the Zulus. Cetshwayo was well satisfied with his relationship with the government of the Great White Queen. This was because he had no idea of the double-dealing and conniving methods her ministers employed as they hatched their schemes in the colony of Natal. Foremost amongst these was Henry Howard Molyneux Herbert, the forth earl of Carnarvon and recently appointed colonial secretary. Carnarvon was instrumental in the introduction of the British North America Act, which conferred self-government on the Canadian Federation. He thought it would be a jolly good idea if the same could be done for South Africa. He appointed Sir Henry Bartle Frere to the post of high commissioner for South Africa with a mandate to bring about the unification of the various colonies, independent countries and African kingdoms in a confederation of states under British domination. Unfortunately for Carnarvon, the idea did not wash in Whitehall, so Frere was left to his own devices to find a way to achieve his master’s aims. Well aware of the anxiety felt by the British colonists in Natal and the Boers in the Transvaal over the growing military might of the Zulu king Cetshwayo, Frere realized that the subjugation of the Zulu kingdom would meet no local opposition and would be a positive step towards the unification of South Africa. Frere was also aware that the Ninth Cape Frontier War had been fought to a successful conclusion by General Frederic Augustus Thesiger, the Right Honourable Lord Chelmsford, and that his forces were at his disposal. All he had to do now was provoke a war with the Zulus. He did not have long to wait. A small party of Zulu warriors

2 2 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS had crossed the Buffalo River into Natal to retrieve two adulterous wives who fled to Natal with their lovers. As adultery was a capital offence in Zululand, the women were caught, dragged back across the Buffalo River and speared to death. Outraged, the governor of Natal sent messages to Cetshwayo demanding the return of the guilty warriors to face justice. Cetshwayo apologized, saying that it was customary to execute adulterers and instead offered compensation, which the gover- nor refused. A month or so later, a further incident occurred that involved two surveyors who were detained and harassed by Zulu warriors when they strayed into Zululand. As far as Frere was concerned, these incidents provided sufficient justification to force Cetshwayo to capitulate or fight. To Frere it did not matter which, as he was convinced the final outcome would be the same. About the time that these border incidents occurred, a boundary commission had been appointed by the governor of Natal to rule on a land-ownership dispute between the Zulus and Boer settlers. To everyone’s surprise, the commission ruled in favour of the Zulus. Unable to overturn the decision, Frere invited chiefs repre- senting Cetshwayo to attend a meeting with colonial officials on the banks of the Tugela River, ostensibly to hear the commission’s ruling. The meeting took place on December 11, 1878 under a huge, shady fig tree on the Natal side of the river. The Zulu chiefs were well pleased with the favourable ruling of the commission and, relaxing after a hearty lunch, were quite unprepared for the bombshell delivered by Frere’s representatives in the form of an ultimatum addressed to Cetshwayo and the Zulu people. The ultimatum, cleverly hatched by Frere and his supporters, listed a series of demands that the Zulu king could not possibly accept, thereby guaranteeing that war was inevitable. Given until the January 11, 1879 to meet these demands, Cetshwayo made a

I s a n d l w a n a 2 2 9 number of attempts to reopen negotiations, but all were rebuffed on the orders of Frere. The fig tree under which this shameful act was performed lasted for many years, but has since fallen and the stump is now a national monument alongside the main highway. Lord Chelmsford had used the time well making his preparations to fight the Zulu army. He had at his disposal the 24th Regiment, the Buffs, the 13th and 90th Light Infantry, the 80th and 88th Regiments together with a Naval Brigade, mounted colonial volunteers and various units of the Natal Native Contingent (NNC), drawn from refugee Zulus living in Natal. He planned to invade Zululand with three separate columns. The right flank column, commanded by Colonel Charles Pearson, would invade along the coastal route. The centre column, commanded by Colonel Richard Glyn, which Chelmsford accompanied, thereby effectively superseding Glyn, would cross the Buffalo River at a mission post called Rorke’s Drift. The left flank column, commanded by Colonel Evelyn Wood, would invade from a point 60 kilometres further north of Rorke’s Drift. Each column was assigned two battalions of regular infantry, a battery of field guns, detachments of mounted colonial troops and units of the NNC. In order to move this huge force up to the borders of Zululand, Chelmsford and his transport officers had assembled close to 2,500 wagons, over 25,000 draught oxen and thousands of civilian wagon drivers, voorloopers (who led the teams of oxen) and a host of black labourers. In putting together this veritable transport armada, Chelmsford denuded the whole of Natal and a sizable portion of the Transvaal of all available wagons, oxen and their owner-drivers, pushing hire costs to levels unprecedented in the history of transport in South Africa. The arrival of the summer rains added to his problems. The previously dry dusty plains were now seas of thick, sticky mud. Dry dongas flowed with water and the rivers were in

2 3 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS full-flood, making progress very difficult. Clearly the centre column was the main force invading Zululand. Chelmsford assigned the 1st and 2nd Battalions of the 24th Regiment of Foot to this column. Both battalions were experienced campaigners. The 1/24th had been in South Africa for over three years and had served with distinction in the Ninth Cape Frontier War against the Xhosa, while its sister battalion, the 2/24th had only recently arrived from Britain. Both battalions were considered experienced units of the British army and were armed with the recently introduced Martini- Henry .577/450 Mark 2 rifle. The Martini-Henry, at that time, was probably the best infantry rifle in the world. Though only a single shot, lever-operated weapon, it fired a heavy calibre lead bullet which was a real man-stopper at up to 500 metres and came equipped with a deadly 56-centimetre bayonet, descriptively called a “lunger,” for close-quarter battle. In 1879, the 24th Regiment still wore the famous high-collared red tunics made from thick serge material and trimmed at the cuffs and collar with green facings; their brass Sphinx collar-dogs were reminders of the Regiment’s service in Egypt. The tunics, along with the navy blue trousers with a red stripe down each leg and the black boots and leather gaiters, were totally unsuitable for the African climate. Their headgear was the white cork tropical sun- helmet which the troops stained brown with coffee or tea, possibly in an effort to camouflage their appearance. Though, when you are wearing a red tunic against the green grass background of Zululand, why worry about a white helmet! To make matters worse, life in the army at that time was particularly hard for the common soldier. While flogging had been abolished in the Royal Navy 10 years previously, it was still permissible in the army while on active service and records indicate that, during

I s a n d l w a n a 2 3 1 the Zulu war, it was imposed on at least 500 occasions for offences such as drunkenness, theft, insubordination and sleeping on duty. In addition to the 24th Regiment, Chelmsford was accompanied by N Battery of the Royal Artillery, equipped with six, seven- pounder, rifled, muzzle-loading guns. For cavalry, he had a squadron of Imperial Mounted Infantry and a variety of colonial units including the Natal Mounted Police, Natal Carbineers, Newcastle Mounted Rifles and the Buffalo Border guard, all in all amounting to just over 100 troopers and officers. Like most colonial troops, they were looked down upon by imperial officers, but their scouting ability, combined with their riding and shooting skills, made them invaluable to the column. Their value to the column would have increased 100 fold if Chelmsford had just once taken their advice! The bulk of Chelmsford’s force consisted of around 1,200 warriors of the 3rd Regiment of the Natal Native Contingent (NNC) and about five troops of mounted black troopers. These black aux- iliary regiments were raised in Natal from various local native tribes, including some disaffected Zulus who had fled from Cetshwayo’s rule. These units, which were led by white colonial and imperial officers, were given the barest minimum of training and only one in ten was issued a Martini-Henry rifle. The rest carried their own spears and shields and tied red cloths about their heads so they were not confused with real Zulus. As one would imagine, none of these measures contributed to their self-confidence which, when it came to confront- ing Cetshwayo’s impis, was pretty shaky anyway! In contrast, the mounted black troopers of the Natal Native Horse (NNH), many of whom were from Basutoland and therefore traditional enemies of the Zulu, were excellent horsemen and better trained and armed than the NNC. Trundling along behind the troops was the most unlikely

2 3 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS weapon in Chelmsford’s arsenal, the Congreve Rocket Battery. This weapon consisted of two troughs into which rockets with explosive heads were laid, their fuses lit and the troughs pointed in the direction of the enemy. The rockets would shoot skywards with an almighty shriek and plunge into the massed body of the enemy killing hundreds and creating huge amounts of alarm and despondency. Well, that was the theory and, as we shall see, it fell far short of the mark. When the ultimatum expired on January 11, the three columns invaded Zululand with Chelmsford’s centre column crossing the Buffalo River at Rorke’s Drift. The mission station at the Drift had been turned into a makeshift hospital and storage depot for the column and, to their extreme disappointment, a company of the 2/24th was detailed to guard the post. When the crossing of the Buffalo River failed to produce the predicted attack by the Zulu army, the column attacked the nearby kraal of a local Zulu chief and easily defeated the small number of warriors defending their homes. Convinced now that the capability of the Zulu army had been exaggerated by the colonial officers, Chelmsford was most concerned that he would not be able to get them to fight. This feeling of invincibility amongst Chelmsford’s staff officers manifested itself the next day. Major Dunbar and a company of the 2/24th were detailed to provide an armed escort for some black labourers who, in advance of the main column, were improving a section of road across a stream. An experienced officer, Dunbar was unhappy with the strategic location of his camp and when Chelmsford and his staff rode by, he requested permission to relo- cate to a more secure position. This prompted Chelmsford’s senior staff officer Colonel Crealock to remark loudly to all the staff officers present that if Dunbar was afraid, they had better replace him with someone who was not.

I s a n d l w a n a 2 3 3 This gratuitous insult infuriated and deeply embarrassed Dunbar who promptly tendered his resignation. Reluctant to lose a good officer, Chelmsford managed to persuade Dunbar to withdraw his resignation; however the damage had been done. There was not an officer in the column who did not understand that caution was now officially equated with cowardice – an accusation that was anathema to a Victorian military officer.

Isandlwana battlefield

Chelmsford had selected the eastern slope of a prominent hill, located about 16 kilometres from Rorke’s Drift, as the location of the next encampment. The soldiers of the 24th were quick to notice that the shape of the hill, known to the Zulus as Isandlwana, bore an uncanny resemblance to the sphinx on their regimental badges. Those less superstitious may have considered this to be a good sign, while others may have seen it as an evil omen portending disaster. Such thoughts were soon dispelled by the disciplined urgency

2 3 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS of establishing a tented camp. Hundreds of white bell-tents were erected in neatly dressed rows; the wagons, which continued to arrive until well after dark, were either parked behind their respec- tive units or relegated to the wagon park. Although Chelmsford had been warned by colonial officers of the need to establish some sort of defensive arrangements, it was obvious the general did not consider the Zulus a force to be taken seriously. In any case he planned that most of the wagons would eventually return to Rorke’s Drift for more supplies. The morning of January 21 dawned bright and clear. Chelmsford, anxious to reconnoitre the track further and to establish a location for the next camp, dispatched some of his mounted troops and warriors of the NNC under the command of Major Dartnell to carry out this task. By mid-morning, Dartnell’s force, which had traveled about 16 kilometres from Isandlwana, encountered small numbers of Zulus on the hills overlooking the track. However, when the Zulus were pressed too closely by the mounted troopers, they disappeared into the surrounding valleys. Moving in pursuit, the reconnaissance force suddenly encountered a small impi of about 1,500 Zulus. Falling back to a defensive position on an adjacent hill, Dartnell dispatched a messenger advising Chelmsford of the presence of a large force of the enemy. It was dark when the message reached Chelmsford at the Isandlwana camp. His reaction was immediate. He would leave before first light taking six companies of the 2/24th, four guns of the Royal artillery, a detachment of the NNC and, accompanied by most of his staff, they would join Dartnell in attacking what he felt sure was the main Zulu army. How he thought a relatively small force such as this would fare out in the open against a Zulu army estimated to number between 20,000 and 25,000 warriors, he never did say.

I s a n d l w a n a 2 3 5 Military historians are divided on the question as to whether the Zulus encountered by Dartnell deliberately revealed themselves in the hopes of enticing the British to split their forces. If it was a deliberate ploy on the part of the Zulu general, Ntshingwayo, then it succeeded brilliantly. Chelmsford’s early morning departure left the camp at Isandlwana under the command of Colonel Pulleine, the recently appointed officer commanding the 1/24th. Before he left, Chelmsford cancelled the return of the wagons to Rorke’s Drift and ordered Colonel Durnford and his 250-strong NNH detachment, together with the Congreve Rocket Battery, up from Rorke’s drift to reinforce the camp. Although Henry Burmester Pulleine had spent part of his army career in an administrative capacity, he had commanded troops in action during the Cape Frontier Wars and was a sound, reliable officer, well able to follow orders. Unfortunately, it has never been clear whether he ever received specific orders from Chelmsford regarding the defence of the camp. Pulleine’s problems began around 7 a.m. when mounted pickets patrolling ridges to the north-east of the camp spotted a large force of Zulus just beyond one of the ridges. As Chelmsford had left the camp in a south-easterly direction, this was clearly not the Zulu impi he was looking for. Officers who galloped out to confirm the sighting brought back reports that the pickets had opened fire on a massive Zulu army manoeuvring just beyond the ridges. Pulleine brought the camp to a state of alert and dispatched a messenger to Chelmsford with a note that read, “Report just come in that the Zulus are advancing in force from left front of camp.” Chelmsford and his staff were fin- ishing breakfast when Pulleine’s message arrived but Chelmsford, convinced that the message was an exaggeration and that the main Zulu force lay before him, continued his advance to link up with Dartnell.

2 3 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS At Isandlwana, Pulleine, confused by reports that the Zulu forces were manoeuvring in a south-easterly direction away from the camp, believed that the camp was not in any imminent danger and stood the troops down. About this time, Durnford arrived at the head of his NNH with the Rocket Battery struggling along behind. Conferring with Durnford, Pulleine discovered to his chagrin that technically the NNH officer was his superior and offered to hand over command of the camp. Durnford told Pulleine that he had no intention of assuming command and said that he intended to attack the Zulus advancing from the north-east who were now being engaged by the pickets and a handful of mounted infantry. He asked Pulleine to send a rifle company of the 2/24th towards the north-east to “support me if I have to fall back,” and galloped off leading his 250 NNH and the Rocket Battery to take on the Zulu army. What no one in the camp realized was that the battle of Isandlwana had been underway for over three hours. Ntshingwayo had launched his force, which numbered around 25,000 warriors, in the traditional formation of the head and chest of the buffalo with the fleeter-footed regiments forming the encircling horns. Given the huge numbers of warriors and the distances the encircling horns had to run, it literally took hours for the battle to develop. Unfortunately, it appears that Pulleine was unaware that the constantly appearing and disappearing Zulu forces were actually the horns of the attacking warriors who were surrounding the camp. Not realizing the gravity of the situation, he had dispatched rifle companies from the1/24 to outlying positions that, despite the awesome firepower of the Martini-Henry, would be impossible to hold against the vast numbers of warriors that would soon descend on the camp. Durnford, once he realized the magnitude of the attacking

I s a n d l w a n a 2 3 7 force, unfortunately gave in to his desire for heroic action and chose to engage the Zulu left horn in a series of futile holding actions instead of immediately returning to the camp and organizing a close-in defence. Forced to withdraw by the rapidly advancing Zulus, Durnford’s troopers were unable to help the men of the Rocket Battery who, after firing one futile rocket, were cut down by the exultant warriors. Short of ammunition, Durnford’s mounted troopers retreated to the camp, leaving the unfortunate rifle company of the 2/24th sent to assist in their withdrawal to face the rapidly closing Zulu right horn without any support. After a brief struggle, the company was annihilated. The two guns of the Royal Artillery battery had been in action from the very beginning of the attack, giving support to the extended lines of the rifle companies. The devastating volleys of rifle fire and exploding shells slowed, and at times halted the onrushing Zulus but, despite their heavy losses, the warriors, urged on by their indunas, pressed home their attack. Running out of ammunition and without the protection of laagers or fortifications, the widely dispersed companies of the 1/24th were quickly overrun as the left horn and main body of the Zulu impi entered the camp. A large number of civilian wagon drivers, military camp staff and unattached soldiery joined the numbers of NNC and NNH officers and men fleeing in the direction of Rorke’s Drift. Unfortunately, they now encountered the right horn of the Zulu attack which had circled behind Isandlwana, and were forced to retreat cross-country towards the Buffalo River, nearly eight kilometres away. Most of the survivors who reached the doubtful safety of the river were mounted; men on foot stood little or no chance evading the stabbing spears of the Zulu right horn. By 2 p.m. it was almost over. Durnford had retreated to the camp where, surrounded by a few of his NNH, they fought to the

2 3 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS last. Isolated groups of the gallant 1/24th stood back to back holding off the Zulus with fixed bayonets until, out of ammunition and outnumbered, they were overwhelmed. Zulu legend tells us that the last survivor was a soldier who climbed high up the face of Isandlwana and, sheltering in a small cave, held out for hours until he was finally shot dead. Chelmsford, despite having received numerous messages that the camp was under attack, refused to believe that he had missed the main Zulu army. It was only when a desperate rider from the camp confirmed the awful news that Chelmsford ordered his force to make their best speed towards the camp. He was heard to mutter, “But I left over 1,000 men to guard the camp!” Chelmsford’s force did not reach the camp at Isandlwana until after dark. Dismayed by the ominous red glow in the sky from the direction of the post at Rorke’s Drift, they had no choice but to spend a fearful night huddled amongst the wreckage of the tents, wagons and the thousands of dead that covered the battlefield.

I s a n d l w a n a 2 3 9 11 Rorke’s Drift

t Rorke’s Drift that morning the men of B Company 2/24th, Astill unhappy at being left behind to guard stores and a hospital while their comrades went off to fight Zulus, went about their duties. At midday the post commander, Major Spalding, rode off to the town of Helpmekaar, about 20 kilometres away, to hurry up some overdue reinforcements. He left the post in the charge of two officers, Lieutenant John Rouse Merriott Chard of the Royal Engineers and Lieutenant Gonville Bromhead, who commanded B Company. Spalding instructed Chard, who was senior to Brom- head by a few months that he would be in command of the post while he was away. Shortly after lunch a dishevelled trooper rode into the post shouting that the camp had been taken by Zulus. General disbe- lief greeted this messenger but soon other riders who had managed to escape the camp, confirmed the awful news. Fearful that a Zulu attack was imminent, Chard and Bromhead briefly considered placing the hospital patients on wagons and trying to make for Helpmekaar, but realized that a faster moving Zulu impi would soon

2 4 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS overwhelm them in the open. They immediately set about fortify- ing the post by building defensive breastworks out of the stores of biscuit boxes and bags of mealies (maize), linking the stone hospital and storehouse buildings with the stonewalled cattle kraal. The walls of the hospital and storehouse were loop holed and each man was issued 70 rounds of ammunition. The post was encouraged by the appearance of 100 NNH troopers who had escaped from Isandlwana, but their hopes were dashed when the troopers refused to stay and galloped off towards Helpmekaar. Their flight was too much for the post’s small NNC force, causing them to desert en masse, which left Chard and Bromhead with 134 men and 20 hospital patients to fight off the Zulus. The unexpected departure of the NNC so thinned the ranks holding the defensive perimeter that Chard began piling up more bags of mealies to build an inner redoubt which the defenders could fall back on as a last resort. The warriors of the uThulwana Regiment, which missed taking part in the attack on Isandlwana, urged their commander, Dabulamanzi kaMpande, a royal prince and half brother to Cetshwayo, to allow them to cross the Buffalo River into Natal to attack farms and the post at Rorke’s Drift. Despite Cetshwayo’s clear instructions not to invade Natal, Dabulamanzi, certain that his position would save him from Cetshwayo’s wrath, allowed his indunas to lead the attack on Rorke’s Drift. Just after 4 p.m. the first wave of about 500 Zulu warriors hurled themselves at the barricades seeking the prestige of overwhelming the defenders before the rest of the impi arrived. The shattering volley fire from the Martini-Henrys broke up their attack and forced the warriors to fall back, leaving dozens of dead and wounded around the barricades. As the rest of the impi arrived they too were hurled into the fray but, despite the increased number

Rorke’s Drift 2 4 1 of warriors, they made little progress against the steady fire of the defenders. As darkness fell, the attacking Zulus were concentrating at the rear of the hospital where rifle fire from the barricades could not easily reach them. From this position they forced the defenders to fall back to a second barricade of mealie bags, leaving the hospital building exposed on three sides. As the Zulus battered at the outside wooden doors, the handful of soldiers defending the hospital retreated from room to room, dragging the hospital patients through holes they hacked in the interior mud walls with their bayonets. Eventually, the Zulus set fire to the thatched roof of the hospital, forcing its defenders to drag as many patients as they could to the doubtful safety of the shrinking barricades. The Zulus continued to attack in waves, but the very size of the impi worked against it by limiting the number of warriors that could assault the barricades at one time. The defenders of Rorke’s Drift were also fortunate that the roof of the hospital, now fully ablaze, provided enough light for accurate and sustained firing to break up the Zulu attacks. As the night wore on, the Zulu assaults against the barricades began to lose their ferocity. Exhausted soldiers took turns resting, slumped against the walls of mealie bags and trying not to think of the renewed attack that must surely come with the dawn. Well before dawn, Chelmsford ordered his force to move out of their temporary camp amidst the shambles of Isandlwana. Understandably, he did not want his command to see by light of day the horrors of their campground. A handful of Chelmsford’s officers delayed their departure hoping to search for a friend who had remained in camp. Those who did regretted their decision. The cold light of dawn revealed a scene that horrified even the hardened veterans. The carnage was made worse by the fact that the

2 4 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Zulus had cut open the stomachs of the dead in what was assumed to be a frenzy of murderous savagery. Actually, it was a Zulu tradition to open the stomach of a fallen enemy to allow the spirit to escape. The swollen stomach of a corpse, they believed, was caused by the spirit of the dead warrior or soldier trying to escape the con- fines of the body. Everywhere they looked they saw dead bodies. Hundreds of Zulus lay in heaps around small groups of red coated soldiers who had run out of ammunition and fought, back to back, using their bayonets in a desperate effort to stave off the inevitable. Camp supplies of sugar, flour, tins of food and torn bedding lay strewn about amidst the debris of tents, wagons and dead oxen. Still tied to their picket ropes, lay dozens of dead horses that belonged to the 24th’s officers who stayed to lead and encourage their men when it was obvious that all was lost. Shocked by the scenes of carnage and fearful of being left behind, the handful of officers made haste to join the departing column, certain that even worse sights awaited them at the post of Rorke’s Drift. As dawn began to lighten the sky in the east, the tired men at Rorke’s Drift stood to at their barricades, fully expecting the Zulu assault to be renewed at first light. As they gazed at the windrows of Zulu dead that surrounded the mission station, their realization as to how close they had come to total annihilation began to sink in. As Chard and Bromhead put them to work, gathering up Zulu weapons and pulling the thatch from the storehouse roof in antici- pation of a further attack, one of the men on the roof raised a cheer. He had seen the mounted troopers of Chelmsford’s column riding up from the Buffalo River. Rorke’s Drift was relieved. Almost at once the search for a scapegoat began. Chelmsford and some of his senior officers, well aware of the likely response of the British people and the government to the disaster at Isandlwana,

Rorke’s Drift 2 4 3 hastened back to Helpmekaar to concoct their self-serving excuses. The unlucky recipient of their concoctions was the colonial officer, Colonel Durnford who, even as he lay dead at Isandlwana, bore the brunt of their malice. I have visited the battlefield of Isandlwana four times now and have read (and sometimes understood) many of the books written about the battle and have decided, to my own satisfaction, how the credit and the blame should be apportioned. Obviously, full credit must go to the warriors of Cetshwayo’s army. They clearly out-thought, outmanoeuvred and, in the final analysis, outfought Chelmsford’s column. Despite their best efforts, Chelmsford and his senior officers must bear the blame for the disaster at Isandlwana. Leading by example, Chelmsford consistently ignored advice from colonial officers. He encouraged an attitude of indifference amongst his officers to the fighting qualities of the Zulu army and instead instilled in them a belief that it would be very difficult to get the Zulus to stand and fight. He gave no clear instructions for the defence of the camp, which was poorly sited from a defensive point of view and spread out too far for the number of troops left to protect it. In fact, by splitting his command and taking off in search of the Zulu army, he was emulating General George Custer’s disaster at the Little Big Horn three years previously. There is no doubt that Chelmsford owed his life, and those of everyone in his command, to the decision by the Zulu general Ntshingwayo to attack the camp and its supplies and not Chelmsford’s straggling column, waddling like a sitting duck across the plains of Zululand. Despite the culmination of errors and poor judgment on the part of Chelmsford and his staff, it is interesting to speculate what could have been done that may yet have saved the day. Rorke’s

2 4 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Drift, I believe, holds the answer. The British soldiers defending the post were outnumbered by their Zulu opponents at a rough ratio of 30 to one, while at Isandlwana, again by rough calculation, the ratio was closer to 20 to one. So it is not unreasonable to conclude that if the defenders of Isandlwana had reacted promptly at the earliest sightings of the Zulu impi and formed a defensive laager with some of the wagons and a good supply of ammunition, the day would have had a very different outcome. Of course, this could not have happened as Chelmsford and his staff had made it abundantly clear that any officers taking reasonable precautions could well be branded as cowards! When news of the disaster of Isandlwana reached England nearly three weeks later, it was made easier to bear by the accompanying news of the heroic defence of Rorke’s Drift, which did much to restore the nation’s faith in the British army. Despite the cover- up initiated by Chelmsford and his staff, it seems that Whitehall was not to be fooled. The general soon became aware that arrangements were being made in England to replace him. Anxious to restore his reputation, Chelmsford gathered an overwhelming force in Natal and made ready to resume his invasion of Zululand. But fate had yet another cruel blow in store for his lordship. Shortly before the invasion began, Napoleon Eugene Louis Joseph Bonaparte, Prince Imperial of France and heir to the exiled Napoleonic dynasty, convinced Queen Victoria to support his plea for a staff appointment in the Zululand invasion force. Prince Louis was appointed ADC to Chelmsford, who was enjoined to make sure that he came to no harm. But no one counted on the headstrong behaviour of a 23 year-old aristocrat who was not used to being told what to do. He managed to attach himself to a small patrol which, in an unguarded moment, was surprised by a number of Zulus. The Prince Imperial was killed and much of the blame,

Rorke’s Drift 2 4 5 perhaps unfairly, fell upon Chelmsford. This was the last straw as far as Whitehall was concerned and Sir Garnet Wolseley was dispatched to South Africa as his replacement. Realizing that time was against him, Chelmsford, with unaccustomed haste, reinvaded Zululand at the head of a huge force that contained 33 companies of Imperial infantry, artillery and two of the new Gatling machine guns. As Wolseley arrived in Durban, the Zulu army bravely attacked the British square at Ulundi and suffered a catastrophic defeat. The military power of the Zulus was broken forever. Chelmsford returned to England, but he was never again to command troops in the field. Cetshwayo was hunted down, taken prisoner and locked up in the castle in Cape Town. His dignified behaviour eventually paved the way for a visit to England where he met Queen Victoria and petitioned the British government for his return to Zululand. He arrived back in 1883, but Zululand had changed. Wolseley had divided the country into thirteen chief- doms, a situation that soon deteriorated into civil war. Cetshwayo, fearing for his life, was forced to seek British protection, but to no avail. Powerless and depressed, he died the following year under suspicious circumstances. Zululand, apart from sporadic faction fighting, was relatively peaceful for the next 20 years or so. However, the development of sugar cane farms by white settlers and Indian traders and the imposition of a very unpopular poll tax, on top of an existing hut tax, sowed the seeds for rebellion. Not altogether surprising, trouble began on January 22, 1906 with attacks on isolated farms and small police patrols, which in turn, led to harsh reprisals by armed police. This fanned the flames of rebellion under the leadership of a minor chief, Bambata, who was to give his name to the last Zulu

2 4 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS war. Bambata managed to draw a few thousand warriors to his cause, but times had changed. Ox wagons had given way to trains, which conveyed hundreds of troops to the borders of Zululand. The single-shot Martini-Henry had given way to the Lee Enfield rifle and a dreadful new weapon appeared on the battlefield, the machine gun. Bambata and his warriors made a last stand in the Mome Gorge in central Zululand, where his death and the defeat of the last Zulu impi, was inevitable. Brad and I drove to Isandlwana from Ladysmith. The sight of that hill shaped like a sphinx brought back memories of past visits; the lonely cairns of white washed stones that marked the graves of hundreds of British soldiers laid out the course of the battle in the drying grass of summer. We bought our tickets at the orienta- tion centre and drove to the car park, appropriately located on the saddle between the mountain and Black’s Koppie, the site of the wagon park during the battle. We walked around in silence, stopping at the memorials erected by various regiments and, for a short way, followed the cairns that marked the flight of the survivors to Fugitives Drift on the Buffalo River. The dead at Isandlwana lay where they fell, undisturbed except by scavengers, until mid-March of 1879, when a large scouting party in search of serviceable wagons visited the battlefield. They buried most of the dead, but left the bodies of the 24th untouched at the request of the Regiment, which wished to bury its own dead. This was not done until the end of June, almost five months after the battle. In all, 52 officers and almost 800 troops, along with some 500 native levies were killed at Isandlwana. The Zulu dead are variously estimated between 1,500 and 3,000 warriors, a calam- itous loss for the Zulu nation, made even more poignant by the line on the memorial to Zulu warriors at Isandlwana, which reads: “They fell in defence of the old Zulu order.”

Rorke’s Drift 2 4 7 In 1964 the film “Zulu” propelled the story of Rorke’s Drift onto the world stage. Directed by Cy Enfield and Stanley Baker, who also played the leading role of Lieutenant John Chard, the film was a huge success and went on to become somewhat of a classic. Despite a number of inaccuracies, the film created aware- ness of a relatively unknown war in the long and frequently bloody history of South Africa, and established a major tourist attraction in KwaZulu Natal. The actual location of Rorke’s Drift is a far cry from the spectacular mountain scenery of the Royal Natal National Park where the film was shot, but as far as battlefields go, the real location is deeply moving and evocative of that desperate action on the afternoon and the night of January 22, 1879. We left Ladysmith early the next morning, travelling first to Dundee then headed south on the R33 some 14 kilometres before turning off on a good gravel road to Rorke’s Drift. The red-roofed stone buildings of the mission lie about half a mile from the original drift (ford) on the Buffalo River and are dominated by the bulk of the Oskarsberg Hill or Shiyane (the Eyebrow) as the Zulus called it. We picked up our tickets and brochures from the orien- tation centre and museum located in the reconstructed hospital and wandered about the dioramas, electronic displays and realistic sounds of battle that make a visit to Rorke’s Drift an unforgettable experience. Close by is the famous Fugitive’s Drift Lodge and one-time home of David Rattray, who was considered one of the finest battlefield guides in Zululand. His vast knowledge of the Anglo-Zulu War and his deep understanding of Zulu culture endeared him to thousands of overseas visitors. The Prince of Wales and his sons, as well as many heads of state from all around the world, were amongst those who were held spellbound by his descriptions of Isandlwana and Rorke’s Drift. In one of those inexplicable tragedies that tear

2 4 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS at the heart of South Africa, David Rattray was shot and killed during what appeared to be a botched robbery attempt at the lodge. It would require at least a day to fully experience the Rorke’s Drift battlefield. Unfortunately we did not have the luxury of time so, after a brief visit to the British cemetery, we retraced our route to Dundee where we visited the Talana Museum located at the foot of Talana Hill.

British cemetery at the foot of Talana Hill

Talana Hill was the site of the first major engagements of the Anglo-Boer War in Natal. A brigade of 4,000 men, commanded by General Penn Symons, had occupied the town of Dundee, but was threatened by two Boer commandos which had taken up positions on nearby Talana Hill. Determined to dislodge the Boers from the heights, Penn Symons, after a brief artillery barrage, dispatched

Rorke’s Drift 2 4 9 his cavalry around the hill to cut off a possible Boer retreat and launched his infantry up the slopes of the hill. Advancing bravely into the teeth of a veritable hail of bullets the infantry slowed and then went to ground behind a low stone wall and a eucalyptus tree plantation. Riding to the front, Penn Symons dismounted and walked amongst his men urging them on but, almost immediately, he was severely wounded. Handing command over to General Yule he mounted his horse and rode back to a field dressing station, but not before he had provided just the sort of heroic example the soldiers needed to carry the hill. One can imagine the infantry’s disappointment on reaching the top of Talana Hill only to discover the Boers had gone. British losses were around 50 dead and over 200 wounded, while the Boers had less than 10 killed and wounded. Penn Symons had hoped that his cavalry would wreak havoc on the retreating Boers but, after losing its way in the surrounding hills, it was trapped by a numerically superior Boer force and compelled to surrender. Confused by the turn of events, Yule believed that the increasing number of Boer commandos in the area, coupled with the arrival of one of the feared Long Tom guns, threatened to surround his force. Penn Symons’s optimism had been replaced with Yule’s pessimism, which gave rise to his decision to abandon Talana Hill and the town of Dundee for the relative safety of Ladysmith. To the bewildered British soldiers who had just carried out a successful attack on a defended position, the decision to withdraw was particularly galling. Particularly as the withdrawal was carried out under the cover of darkness and resulted in the abandonment of huge quantities of stores and the dying Penn Symons to the surprised Boer forces. Having visited the little museum at the foot of Talana Hill, the photographs of Yule’s dispirited men trudging through the rain

2 5 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS towards Ladysmith were uppermost on our minds as we drove back to Buller’s Rest that evening. As we enjoyed a cold Castle lager on the terrace at Buller’s Rest, we could see the outline of Spion Kop (Spy Hill) on the horizon and the jumble of hills that formed the formidable Tugela Line where General Sir Redvers Buller struggled to force the relief of Ladysmith.

Rorke’s Drift 2 5 1 12 Spion Kop

uller’s arrival in Cape Town on October 31, 1899 was marred Bby vague reports of “setbacks” on the Cape and Natal borders. “Surely,” Milner was reported to have said. “Surely, these backward farmers cannot stand against regular troops!” Unfortunately for Milner they could do that and more. In short order, as we know, the towns of Ladysmith, Mafeking and Kimberley were besieged and the bulk of the British army in South Africa was bottled up by these “backward farmers.” It was indeed fortunate for Britain that the Boer generals at that time, Joubert and Cronje, were old men who, lacking the fire of their youth, were content to lay siege to the towns and ignored younger men like Louis Botha who urged a march on Durban! His urgent pleas to Joubert, Los jou ruiters (Let loose your riders), fortunately for Britain, fell on deaf ears. Deciding that the situation was more serious in Natal, Buller ordered most of the arriving reinforcements to Durban and set off himself to take command of the Natal front. He left General Gatacre to contain any Boer advance against Port Elizabeth and General Lord Methuen to relieve Kimberley. Four days later Buller ordered

2 5 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS the disastrous attack at Colenso which, along with Gatacre’s failure at Stormberg and Methuen’s repulse at Magersfontein, culmi- nated in Black Week. General Arthur Fitzroy Hart was impatient. It was 3 a.m. on the morning of December 15, 1899 and he was growing tired of waiting for his officers to get the 5th Brigade on the move. He had given his personal assurance to General Buller the night before that his brigade would cross the Tugela River at dawn and clear the Boers from the heights overlooking Colenso, and he meant to do just that! Hart was typical of many “old school” senior officers in the British army in South Africa. Often singularly lacking in imagination, they compensated by imposing a strict disciplinary regime on the troops under their command and made it a virtue not to take advice, especially from “colonial” officers. And yet they would happily plan an entire attack based on the questionable word of a local black or traitorous white, both of whom were probably in the pay of the opposing forces. Until the outbreak of the Anglo-Boer War, the military experience of most British officers was confined to colonial wars, where the enemy usually carried spears and, unless one did something really stupid, victory was generally assured. The change in tactics brought about by the new magazine-fed, bolt-action rifle coupled with smokeless cartridges and a killing range in excess of 1,000 metres was ignored. The watchword of the day was “Keep the men together, advance as one and rush the Boer positions. Give the Boers a taste of cold steel; that will soon turn them out!” That Buller was a brave man was never in question. He won the Victoria Cross during the Anglo-Zulu War in an action that took place 20 years ago and scarcely 100 kilometres away from where he now faced the Boers across the Tugela River. When he

S p i o n K o p 2 5 3 was appointed to command the army in South Africa, he expressed his misgivings to the secretary of state for war, Lord Lansdowne, saying, “I feel I am more suited to be second in command and not the officer-in-chief command.” How right he was. General Buller’s lack of self confidence was compounded by his genuine concern for the welfare of the soldiers under his command – a rare quality in a British general of the time. He did his best to see his soldiers received at least one hot meal a day, and was genuinely solicitous when it came to their health and well- being. His abhorrence of heavy casualties or the “butcher’s bill” as he called it, led to a degree of caution that often ended up costing more lives than was really necessary. This was most evident in the execution (no pun intended) of what became known as the battle of Colenso. The plan originally called for a wide-flanking move to dislodge the Boers from the Tugela Heights by threatening their rear and cutting possible avenues of withdrawal. To achieve this objective, Buller had close to 18,000 troops concentrated outside Colenso, while the Boer forces, which never numbered more than 7,000 (some contemporary historians put the number at around 5,000), guarded a front of close to 45 kilometres in length. To be fair, Buller had no accurate intelligence on the strength of his opposition, nor did he have a clue as to their dispositions. It would appear that the idea of sending out scouts to reconnoitre the enemy positions simply never occurred to him. It is a reasonable assumption that the defeats at Stormberg and Magersfontein forced Buller to embark on a direct assault rather than the originally planned flanking move. When a heavy artillery barrage from his naval guns failed to draw a visible response from the Boers on the Tugela Heights, he concluded that they had either withdrawn or were in such small numbers as to be of

2 5 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS no consequence. Buller’s plan called for a three-pronged attack. Hart’s brigade was to form the left column and advance towards the river, force a crossing at a shallow drift and assault Boer positions on the Heights beyond. A force of mounted infantry, commanded by Lord Dundonald, was to form the right column and attack a koppie known locally as Hlangwane. The centre column, detailed to advance and occupy the town of Colenso, was comprised of General Hildyard’s brigade, two artillery batteries (12 field guns) commanded by Colonel Long, plus a detachment of six naval guns. As dawn broke, the cloud of dust raised by this advancing army was clearly visible, alerting the watching Boers that the British were at last on the move and that their courage was about to be severely tested. On the left flank, Hart’s brigade marched across the open veld towards the Tugela River in quarter column and in full view of possible Boer positions. They were led by a few nervous black scouts, unsure of what was expected of them and who plainly wished to be somewhere else. Hart, true to his nature, galloped about, keeping the Dublin Fusiliers who led the column in good marching order. He left the route of advance to his black scouts who were now following a wagon track in the hopes of finding the shallow drift across the Tugela. Satisfied that his brigade was in good marching order, Hart returned to the head of the column and, on discovering that his black scouts had decamped, assumed control of the advance. At this point, he inexplicably veered off the wagon track (which was logically headed for a drift) and instead, led his brigade into an area where the river made a wide loop. Utterly devoid of cover and bordered on three sides by the bushy banks of the Tugela, the lay of the land should have given even the most inexperienced officer pause, but Hart marched blithely on.

S p i o n K o p 2 5 5 As Hildyard’s centre column headed up the railway line towards Colenso, the impetuous Colonel Long, anxious to get to grips with the Boers, galloped his guns forward and, almost two kilometres in front of the protective screen of advancing infantry, ordered them into action only 600 metres from the river. The die was cast. From his lofty position on the Tugela Heights, General Botha watched the approaching British forces with a great deal of satisfaction. They were doing exactly as he had hoped.

Boer General Louis Botha. Glenbow Archives NA-919-42

Louis Botha’s rapid advancement to the rank of veg generaal (fighting general) was due entirely to his rapid mastery of the tactics engendered by the long range rifle, modern artillery and the numerical superiority of the British forces. This was his first battle as a commanding general and it had taken all his considerable skills

2 5 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS as a politician as well as a military tactician to convince the dour conservatives of the Boer command that a change in tactics was required if the British were to suffer a decisive defeat. Buller’s shelling of the Tugela Heights proved to Botha that the British, as usual, expected the Boer commandos to be positioned along the crests of the hills. It took almost a day of pleading and cajoling, combined with a direct order from President Kruger himself, to convince the commandos that Botha’s plan to dig in along the bush-covered banks of the Tugela River was sound. Questioning a general’s orders, unthinkable in the British army, was commonplace amongst the Boer commandos. This egalitarian approach to warfare had, as you can imagine, both positive and negative aspects. On the positive side, it avoided heavy casualties when commandos refused to take part in some hare-brained frontal assault; or on the negative, it allowed great opportunities to slip away. The formation of the typical Boer commando was the result of over a 100 years of warfare against hostile tribes, the British and, occasionally, other Boers. Each burgher (Boer citizen), was obliged to provide a horse or horses, rifle, ammunition and food for a week and to be ready to join his local commando when called upon to do so. His commando, which would be named for the town or district where it was raised, could consist of anywhere from 50 to 500 burghers. His officers were elected (not a British army tradition) and, if they proved incompetent, summarily dismissed (definitely not a British army tradition). Botha’s plan was grudgingly accepted and, although nervous about leaving the protection of their hilltop positions, the Boers dug in along the banks of the Tugela, taking great care to camouflage their positions. Many paced out distances beyond the screen of riverside bush and placed small cairns of rocks to mark the ranges

S p i o n K o p 2 5 7 before they settled down to await the British attack. Botha insisted that no one was to open fire until he gave the signal, but the sight of Long’s guns unlimbering out in the open and well within range, proved to be too much for the Boers. The hail of bullets that swept the guns killed or wounded most of the gunners and forced the survivors into the shelter of a donga to the rear of the gun positions. On the left flank, the Boers watched incredulously as Hart’s brigade marched ever so smartly into a death trap. They opened fire as soon as they heard the rifle fire that raked Long’s guns. The Dublin Fusiliers were bent over like old men walking into a heavy hailstorm as they sought to close with an enemy they couldn’t even see. Many went to ground, unable to face the withering fire from over a thousand rifles and the attack disintegrated into small pockets of men trying to stay alive. Buller, seeing the disaster that had overtaken the left column, ordered a staff officer to do what he could to assist Hart, while he galloped off to find out what had happened to Long and his guns. Buller was shocked at the plight of the dead, dying and wounded gunners huddled in the shelter of the donga, but the sight of the 12 field guns abandoned in the open dominated his thoughts and actions. One of his staff officers called for volunteers to “save the guns” and a number of junior officers and men responded. Amongst them was Lieutenant the Honourable Frederick (Freddy) S. Roberts, the only son of Field Marshal Lord Roberts, who would shortly replace Buller as commander-in-chief in South Africa. Boer rifle fire ended two gallant attempts to extricate the guns, killing or wounding most of the volunteers. In the end, only two guns were saved and the field marshal’s son lay dying. Shattered by this experience and the carnage inflicted on Hart’s brigade, Buller called off the attack on all fronts and ordered a general withdrawal.

2 5 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Black Week shattered the British public’s confidence of the in the army, which had now begun, and in the words of Rudyard Kipling, to “learn no end of a lesson.” Questions were raised in the House and inevitably Britain’s premier soldier, Lord Roberts of Kandahar, was dispatched to relieve Buller. The war in South Africa no longer looked like the cake walk the British government had hoped for and the army had expected. An early start the next day took us south on the R103, and down the Tugela escarpment to the small town of Colenso on the Tugela River. We stopped on the crest of the escarpment and mar- velled at the view that General Botha must have enjoyed on that day in December 1899. From this vantage point he could see over 60 kilometres into Natal: the white bell tents of the British army camps carefully laid out at Frere and Chieveley, their transport camps and artillery parks, in fact, everything an opposing general could wish to see. Buller was well aware of Botha’s advantage and, whenever possible, tried to use the cover of darkness in his usually unsuccessful attempts to achieve surprise. We crossed the bridge over the Tugela and drove into the town in search of the historical markers that indicated the positions occupied by Colonel Long’s guns. We had a map to assist us but, as we narrowed down the search area, we became alarmed at the close proximity of a large black shanty town. After having stones thrown at us by a group of hostile youths, we realized that like Colonel Long, we were not in a good position but, unlike the colonel, we were able to withdraw before things got out of hand and returned to the main road. A short way down the road, we turned off to visit the Clous- ton Field of Remembrance. These collections of monuments to the regiments that suffered losses in the battle are located on the low hill where Buller stood in the early morning with his staff and watched the disaster at Colenso unfold.

S p i o n K o p 2 5 9 Buller’s problems in Natal were compounded by a lack of understanding on the part of the British high command of the strategic difficulties he faced on the Tugela in his attempts to relieve Ladysmith. Buller’s despondency after the failure at Colenso, coupled with the loss of Long’s guns and the death of Freddy Roberts, together with the pain from a severe bruising he received from a spent shell fragment, caused him to make the greatest mistake of his military career. Dictating from the saddle, he instructed his cipher clerk to send a heliograph to General White in Ladysmith. The message advised White that he is unable to break through the encircling Boers and suggested to White that, if he is unable hold on any longer, he should fire off all his ammunition and make the best terms he can. Even Buller agreed that it was stupid mistake to send such a signal and that, given sober second thought, he would not have done so. In his defence, he justified the signal as an attempt to jolt General White, besieged in Ladysmith with a force numerically superior to the Boers, into taking action to assist him in breaching the Tugela line. For the rest of Buller’s life, this ill-considered message was used by his enemies in their many and mostly successful efforts to destroy his reputation and military career. To the chagrin of his detractors however, the high esteem in which he was held by the officers and men who served under him was something their petty jealousies could not destroy. Two kilometres further down the road we spotted a barely discernable sign that indicated the turnoff to Chieveley Military Cemetery and the grave of Lord Roberts’s son. The grave, surmounted by a stone cross, bears this inscription: “In loving Memory, Frederick Hugh Sherston Roberts V.C., Lieutenant, Kings Royal Rifles, only surviving son of Field Marshal

2 6 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Lord Roberts and Nora his wife, fell mortally wounded in an attempt to save the British guns at the Battle of Colenso on the 15 December, 1899 and died two days afterwards aged 27 years and 11 months.” The cemetery, which was well maintained, lay in a peaceful grassy glade beneath tall blue gum trees; we were sure that Lord Roberts and Nora would have approved. Seven kilometres further south on the R103, we stopped at Chieveley which was, according to the roadside monument: “The location of the armoured train incident, which led to the capture of the Right Honourable Winston Churchill by Boer forces in 1899.” Many years ago, as an impressionable 10-year-old, I stood with my father in the long grass next to the railway line that had carried the armoured train while he pointed out the ridge where the Boers had located their artillery. On his suggestion, we walked to the top of the ridge where the Boer riflemen had waited patiently for the armoured train as it lumbered up the railway line. My father crouched behind some rocks and, after scratching in the ground, triumphantly held up a Mauser cartridge case, green and encrusted with dirt. I was hooked on history! As we headed in a north-easterly direction on the R74, Brad and I were, for the first time, in an ideal position to fully appreciate the massive bulk of the mountains that formed the Tugela Line. We had no doubt that this was the same view that confronted Buller as he planned his second attempt to relieve Ladysmith. Churchill, back in the field after his dramatic escape, was undaunted by the difficulties that lay ahead. He fired off a dispatch to the Morning Post, assuring his readers in Britain that the curtain was about to go up on a military offensive that they would not soon forget. Prophetic words indeed!

S p i o n K o p 2 6 1 Characteristically, Buller chose to ignore the advice of Lord Roberts, who had just arrived in Cape Town. Probably because he lacked confidence in Buller, Roberts’s advice was to sit tight and do nothing. Buller, however, anxious to restore his reputation after Colenso, and with his confidence buoyed by the arrival of reinforcements under General Sir Charles Warren, decided to try to outflank the Boer positions further west along the Tugela River. Buller’s plan was to launch two simultaneous attacks. The first attack, led by General Lyttelton, was to cross at Potgieter’s Drift, diverting the Boers’ attention while, 10 kilometres further upstream, the second attack, led by General Warren, was to cross at Trichardt’s Drift and break through the Boer defences, eventually entering Ladysmith from the west. The fact that it took almost six days for the British forces to move into position did nothing towards preserving the element of surprise. Not one to waste the window of opportunity provided by the ponderous movement of Buller’s forces, Botha hastily prepared positions to defend against the expected attack on his extreme right flank. Despite his best efforts, he was hampered by the dis- appointingly small number of burghers he was able to divert from the positions facing Colenso and around Ladysmith to assist him in this task. Nevertheless, the ability of the Boers to move rapidly between the various fronts enabled Botha to concentrate his forces at very short notice. General Warren, hampered by poor intelligence, believed that he faced thousands of Boers and moved with a deliberate caution that was of great assistance to Botha and his scattered commandos. Deciding against the planned long-distance flanking attack, Warren instead chose to attack the Boers on the Tabanyama range of hills which faced Trichardt’s Drift where he had crossed the Tugela River. Following an intense bombardment, Warren’s

2 6 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS infantry launched themselves at 3 a.m. in the morning against the Boer positions. But by midmorning, pinned down by accurate Boer rifle fire, the attack was halted and British casualties mounted. Buller, watching from his headquarters at Spearman’s Hill on the south side of the Tugela, was disappointed at the costly failure and urged Warren to greater efforts. In response to a request from Warren to secure his right flank, Buller agreed to allow a night attack on a nearby hill called Spion Kop, provided that the attacking force held the position. Warren detached 1,700 men under the command of General Woodgate, to occupy the hill. This force consisted of the Lancashire Fusiliers, the Royal and South Lancasters, Thorneycroft’s Mounted Infantry (dismounted for the occasion), plus a handful of engineers. Carrying little in the way of entrenching tools, no sandbags, limited supplies of food and water and no idea of what to expect on the summit, they advanced, in pitch darkness, up the 450-metre high bulk of Spion Kop. It was 3 a.m. when the small Boer picket atop Spion Kop was awakened by the terrifying sounds of a British bayonet charge. Having lost only one man to the bayonets, the Boers fled down the mountainside, leaving Woodgate’s force in full possession of the summit. Confirming their success to the forces below with rousing cheers, the victors on Spion Kop began, without much success, to dig entrenchments in the hard, rocky summit in preparation for the Boer counterattack expected at first light. The rousing cheers from Woodgate’s force also alerted the Boer laagers in the valley behind Spion Kop that something was amiss on the hill, but it was the sudden arrival in camp of the fleeing picket that confirmed Botha’s worst fears. He immediately ordered his burghers up the slopes of Spion Kop to retake the hill while he organized artillery fire to pound the British position.

S p i o n K o p 2 6 3 As dawn broke, the top of Spion Kop was shrouded in a thick mist allowing the weary troops some respite from their mostly unsuccessful attempts at digging trenches. As the morning sun burned off the mist however, the awful realization that their efforts at entrenchment were almost 100 metres short of the true crest line of the hill became painfully apparent to Woodgate and his officers.

Tugela River and Spion Kop

Approaching Spion Kop from the south, Brad and I drove through the small community of Winterton, pausing only to pick up a few meat pies for lunch from a small country store. We stopped on the narrow bridge across the Tugela and, with the river flowing strongly in the foreground, filmed Woodgate’s line of advance up Spion Kop. As he leant on the bridge parapet Brad said, “Warren, that name is familiar; wasn’t he the police commissioner in London who failed to catch Jack the Ripper?” “The same I’m afraid,” I replied. The truth was that Warren

2 6 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS wasn’t much good as a military commander in South Africa or as a policeman in London. In an age when many generals were eccentric, Warren was way ahead of the pack when it came to crazy ideas. His wacky notions included the idea that his troops should be “introduced to the enemy” before any fighting commenced and, unfortunately, like Buller, he lacked self confidence and was prone to procrastination. Brad spoke for both of us when he asked, “How the hell did these men become generals?” Our route took us around the east flank of Spion Kop then south on a gravel road which wound its way up to the summit. We paid a nominal entrance fee and, as we parked our car in the small gravel parking lot, we were delighted to see a small herd of eland grazing nearby, though they moved off as soon as we got out of the car. This was my third and Brad’s second visit to Spion Kop and, from the point of view of filming, it was a beautiful day and we were pleased to see that we had the summit to ourselves. To understand the battle of Spion Kop, it is necessary to become familiar with the unusual topography of this hill. The summit itself is very roughly about 350 metres wide, 180 metres deep and is slightly concave in shape. I have heard it described as similar in shape to the rounded end of an egg. While this is somewhat of an exaggeration, it does convey the idea that almost every square metre of the summit can be brought under accurate rifle fire from any nearby vantage point. The day before the attack, Warren, Woodgate, Thorneycroft and other officers had ridden out to take a look at their objective. It must have been a short ride, because they viewed Spion Kop from only one angle. Thorneycroft, for his part, concentrated mainly on the steep hillside and the route his assaulting troops would have to negotiate in the dark. What everyone else was looking at is not known.

S p i o n K o p 2 6 5 One thing for sure, they did not see Aloe Knoll or Twin Peaks, which dominated the eastern edge of the summit, or for that matter, Conical Hill and Green Hill, which rose just 900 metres to the west of the summit. Had any of the generals bothered to use the aerial observation balloon that the army dragged everywhere with them, or sent out scouts to reconnoitre the ground, these “difficulties with the terrain” would not have been such a surprise to the British force atop Spion Kop. Early on that misty morning of January 24, 1900, Woodgate’s force was briefly alone on the summit. Then, Hendrik Prinsloo, commandant of the Carolina commando and 65 of his men, breath- less from their scramble up the hill, reached the crest line while other groups of burghers occupied Aloe Knoll, Twin Peaks, Conical Hill and Green Hill. Immediately, a deadly short-range battle ensued between the arriving Boers and a small number of British soldiers who had moved forward to occupy positions on what they now realized was the true crest of the hill. Without any cover and decimated by enfi- lading fire from Aloe Knoll to their right, the survivors retreated to the dubious shelter of their trenches leaving behind 70 dead, most shot in the right side of their heads. To make matters even worse, Prinsloo, who had carried a heliograph to the top, began signalling coordinates to the Boer guns below which soon began dropping shells on the British positions. Woodgate also had a heliograph but it was destroyed in the first hour of the battle, forcing him to rely on signal flags which, because of the smoke and dust of battle, proved almost useless. The end result was that a vastly superior number of British guns stood idle while a relative handful of Boer guns played havoc on the British trenches on Spion Kop. At an early stage in the battle, a sharp-eyed officer commanding

2 6 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS a few naval guns near Warren’s headquarters spotted what he thought were Boers on the top of Aloe Knoll and sent a few shells crashing their way. “We occupy the whole summit, cease fire immediately!” was the furious response from Warren. On that terse message, the one action that might have staved off the disaster that was unfolding on Spion Kop was stopped by a general who had absolutely no idea of what was going on. The desperate situation of the British force on Spion Kop had grown worse by the hour. While he consulted in the open with his brigade major, Major Vertue, General Woodgate was critically wounded in the head, leaving Colonel Thorneycroft in command. Urgent messages dispatched to Warren informed him of the loss of the most senior officer on the summit and the urgent need for fresh supplies of water and ammunition. Warren responded by sending more troops up Spion Kop, a move which did nothing but add to the overcrowded trenches, already choked with the dead, dying and badly wounded. Unfortunately, neither Warren nor Buller thought to utilize the 10,000 British troops held in reserve to stage a diversionary assault on nearby hills which might have drawn off the Boers engaging the force on Spion Kop. Late in the afternoon, a battalion of the King’s Royal Rifles had, on its own initiative, assaulted the Twin Peaks position just to the east of Spion Kop, driving off the Boers using this vantage point to pour a deadly fire into the British trenches. Instead of realizing that this breakthrough could yet win the day, Buller ordered their withdrawal and the Boers gratefully reoccu- pied Twin Peaks. As darkness fell, the sounds of battle had died down save for the occasional shot and the agonizing screams of the wounded. Both sides were exhausted. The Boers were unaware of the dreadful slaughter they had wrought in the British trenches, just as the

S p i o n K o p 2 6 7 British were unaware of the losses they had inflicted on the attacking Boers. Under the cover of darkness, the Boers, convinced that the British had won the day, began to slip away carrying most of their wounded down the mountainside to the laagers below where the wagons were being packed for the expected retreat in the morning. Left without any clear instructions and surrounded by hundreds of dead and wounded, the discouraged Colonel Thorneycroft, convinced that his force could not survive another day on Spion Kop, had given the order to withdraw. Far below, confusion reigned supreme in Warren’s headquarters as he and his staff struggled to understand what was happening on the summit. Junior officers, including Winston Churchill, were dispatched into the darkness to find out what was going on. They brought back discouraging reports of hundreds of exhausted soldiers and walking wounded retreating down the slopes of Spion Kop. Even at this late stage, Warren could have yet saved the day. Aware of the Boer reluctance to engage in night fighting, he had more than enough troops to reoccupy Spion Kop as well as the adjacent hills which had caused so much trouble for the British positions during the day. But a dashing general ready to seize the initiative he was not. The next day, in pouring rain, the British army of over 20,000 officers and men and 40 guns retreated back across the Tugela to where they had started from 10 days previously. Early the following morning, a few Boers who had cautiously ascended Spion Kop to look for missing friends, found that the British had gone. Their frantic signals to the laagers below were spotted by General Botha who immediately dispatched a strong force to hold the summit in case the British counterattacked. But the only British contingent that ascended Spion Kop that morning consisted of chaplains, medical officers and dozens of stretcher bearers, amongst them an Indian lawyer who had recently arrived

2 6 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS in South Africa, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. Botha ordered his burghers to help in any way possible while stretcher bearers and doctors on both sides began the awful task of dealing with the carnage. Official British casualty reports of the time had given the number of officers and men killed on Spion Kop as being around 243. However, Boer officers on the summit reported counting as many as 600 British dead and around 350 seriously wounded, many of whom they considered beyond any hope of recovery. Boer casualty figures were estimated at 68 dead and 134 wounded. Brad and I got down to the business of telling the story of Spion Kop in less than a few minutes of video. We walked up and down the summit for close to an hour, stopping at numerous graves and monuments with their sad inscriptions: “A Brave British Soldier – Known unto God.” All the while we tried to find the definitive scene that would sum up the story of that tragic day. We kept coming back to the long, rock-covered mound that marked the location of the main British trench, which had become the mass grave of hundreds of unidentified soldiers, buried where they fell. We set up our camera so that the full length of the rocky grave was centred in the viewfinder. Using a photo taken after the battle that showed the trench choked with the bodies of British soldiers, we filmed a sequence that seamlessly transitioned the trench into our present day colour footage of whitewashed crosses, blue sky and waving brown grass. Spion Kop is without doubt one of the most poignant battlefields of the Anglo-Boer War. I first became aware of the heroism and tragedy of that day when, as a young schoolboy, I chose Henry Newbolt’s poem “On Spion Kop” for a class assignment. I must confess my initial choice of the poem was based not on the subject matter but rather on the fact that it consisted of only four lines!

S p i o n K o p 2 6 9 A mass grave marks the position of a British trench on Spion Kop

While Brad packed up the camera gear, I wandered the summit until I found the simple white stone cross that marked the final resting place of Henry Newbolt’s friend, Major Vertue of the Buffs. Vertue, who held the brevet rank of brigade-major to General Woodgate, was also fatally wounded on Spion Kop and was buried where he fell. Newbolt’s simple reminiscence of a friend killed half a world away is a fitting epitaph for all those who died on that January day in 1901. “Foremost of all on battle’s fiery steep Here Virtue fell and here he sleeps his sleep. A fairer name no Roman ever gave To stand sole monument on Valour’s grave.” There are no words that can express the jumble of emotions that are stirred up by a place like Spion Kop; as a result it was a

2 7 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS silent drive back to Ladysmith and our now familiar and comfortable accommodations at Buller’s Rest. After an excellent dinner we retired to the bar where we were fortunate to meet Kevin, a visitor from Ireland who was tramping the battlefields of Natal. Kevin, a retired man in his early 70s, told us that he was the grandson of one of the survivors of General Hart’s debacle on the Tugela River. A born raconteur, he told us of his experiences over the last few days as he attempted to follow the course of Buller’s further efforts to dislodge the Boers from their positions along the Tugela Heights northeast of Colenso. These efforts resulted in a series of battles that included the capture of Hart’s Hill, Wynne’s Hill and finally, in an all-out effort, Pieter’s Hill, which on February 28, 1901 finally led to the collapse of the Boer forces encircling Ladysmith. Ladysmith had at last, been relieved.

S p i o n K o p 2 7 1 13 The Hunt For De Wet

rad and I left Ladysmith on a beautiful sunny morning and Bwith the spectacular scenery of the Drakensburg Mountains unfolding to the southwest, retraced our route past Spion Kop and into the jumbled foothills of the Drakensburg. On a previous visit to South Africa we had spent a few days in the Royal Natal National Park so were able to resist the impulse to again visit the spectacular Mont-Aux-Sources area. The Maluti Mountains, which straddle the border between the Orange Free State and the Kingdom of Lesotho, provided a dramatic backdrop to the rugged, steep mountain slopes, deep, lushly vegetated valleys and the sparkling streams and lakes of the Sterkfontein Nature Reserve. We stopped at a roadside lookout to admire the view and, as we had not seen another vehicle for almost an hour, a much needed bathroom break. Our solitude did not last as we spotted a young black boy toiling up the hillside toward us carrying a cardboard box. When he reached the lookout parking lot, he opened the box and carefully laid out a variety of red clay animal figurines. We tried to speak to him but he didn’t appear to understand English or Afrikaans; however, when asked how much, he drew a R1 sign

2 7 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS in the dust. Brad chose a red clay elephant and I selected a well- crafted rhinoceros which still stands on my desk at home. We paid him R10 for both and I swear his feet never touched the ground as he gathered up the rest of his wares and raced down the hill to a village that was out of sight of the road. Our destination that day was the town of Fouriesburg nestled in the heart of the Brandwater Basin, an area used by Boer commandos to regroup following their defeats by Lord Roberts’s forces. These rugged mountains provided the commandos of Generals De Wet, Prinsloo and Olivier, with a safe haven from which to attack the thinly-stretched British lines of communication. It was only a matter of time before these raids drew British forces into the area to round up the commandos but, as with many things in the war, this was easier said than done. Initially, the British forces advanced on two fronts: General Rundle led a column of 8,000 men from the west while General Hunter, also with 8,000 men, advanced from the north. Together they drove the commandos into the Brandwater Basin where they believed they had the commandos trapped. As it turned out, they were not far wrong. A lack of decisive action on the part of the Boers allowed General Hunter sufficient time to secure many of the mountains passes that led out of the Basin. Disappointed at the lack of initiative shown by his fellow generals and their unwillingness to abandon their cumbersome wagons, De Wet skilfully led his commando, in the dead of night, over an unguarded pass and through the British cordon. Following De Wet’s example, Olivier also succeeded in taking his commando safely through the cordon. Unable to persuade the remaining Boers to break out, Prinsloo had no choice but to negotiate their surrender to the encircling British forces atop a flat- topped hill, known today as Surrender Hill. Legend has it that the

The Hunt For De Wet 2 7 3 surrendering Boers destroyed their ammunition wagons by setting them alight and the intense conflagration destroyed the vegetation so that, to this day, no grass will grow on the site. Not to detract from the achievements of Generals Rundle and Hunter, what really happened in the Brandwater Basin was the Boers divesting themselves of surplus equipment, field guns (for which they had little or no ammunition) and most importantly, of men who had no stomach for the hard times ahead. This left only the most determined and skilled Boers to continue the fight, a group which became known as the Bitter Einders (Bitter Enders). De Wet, the most famous of these, skilfully avoiding all efforts to catch him, crossed the Vaal River and headed for an area west of Johannesburg and the small village of Frederickstadt, where for the first time he encountered the Strathconas. After the Strathconas left the Eastern Transvaal, they were bivouacked in various camps around Pretoria and Johannesburg. Their hopes of an early return to Canada were dashed when they were dispatched, along with a number of British units under the command of Colonel Hicks, to relieve General Barton’s column bottled up in Frederickstadt by De Wet. After a short, sharp action, De Wet abandoned the siege and withdrew, fortunately at no cost to the Strathconas. The next time the Strathconas heard of De Wet was in November 1900, when they travelled by train into the Orange Free State to scout for General Knox’s column, which was in pursuit of this now world-famous guerrilla leader. About this time, it was rumoured, a London newspaper capitalizing on the fame of this renowned Boer general promised its readers that a photo of the elusive De Wet would be found on Page 2 of its evening publication. Readers turning to the page were surprised to see, instead of a photo, a blank space with the caption, “This is typical of De Wet.

2 7 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS He is never where you expect him to be!” The Strathconas travelled by train through Bloemfontein and on to Bethulie on the border of the Cape Colony, where they joined up with General Knox’s column. Knox had instructions to prevent De Wet from crossing the Orange River into the Cape Colony, where the British feared his fame would encourage a general uprising amongst the Boer population. Heavy rains, which made crossing the Orange River impossible, forced De Wet to abandon his plan to invade the Cape and, pursued by Knox’s column, he withdrew in a north-easterly direction. The Strathconas regimental diary describes forced marches in torrential rains, swollen river crossings and bivouacking out in the open without tents or any shelter against the elements. On one occasion the diary records, the Strathconas were hot on the heels of a Boer commando believed to be led by De Wet. It appeared that the commando was headed for a river bridge that Colonel Steele knew to be strongly held by two companies of infantry and, hoping to trap the Boers between two fires, he urged the Strathconas to greater efforts. General Knox however, had other ideas. He decided the nearby town of Rouxville was in danger of attack and, to the disgust of Steele and the regiment, ordered them to break off their pursuit and to take up defensive positions around the town. The sound of distant firing from the direction of the bridge prompted Steele to dispatch Lieutenant Christie and six men to investigate. On his return, Christie reported to Steele that it was indeed De Wet’s commando that had tried to force a passage over the bridge. He further reported that De Wet was then forced to march further up the river where he eventually found an unguarded drift and crossed without much difficulty. It must have afforded Steele some personal satisfaction to send Lieutenant Christie in person to present his report to General Knox!

The Hunt For De Wet 2 7 5 The Strathconas continued their pursuit of De Wet across the south-eastern Orange Free State but, through skilfully-fought rear guard actions, De Wet managed to avoid being trapped by the numerically superior British columns. However, it would be a great mistake to assume that De Wet was always retreating. In reality, his scouts were constantly on the lookout for an opportunity to strike back hard. A Strathcona trooper remarked, “Split a column across a river or send out supply wagons with too small an escort and De Wet will find you. I know we are hunting De Wet, but sometimes I feel he is hunting us!” On a Sunday, just two days before Christmas, a Strathcona patrol scouting a ridge outside Clocolan encountered a rear guard from De Wet’s commando, and Trooper William Ingram was killed. It was late afternoon when we rejoined the R26 headed for Ladybrand. Brad pulled out our accommodation guide and took a look at the available bed and breakfasts. “This sounds good,” he remarked, “It’s called Cranberry Cottage, a charming late 19th century sandstone building with 17 rooms and, get this, Boer fugitives hid in the loft to escape capture and death!” “Sounds just right for us,” I replied, as he called them on our mobile phone and made a reservation. One of the most enjoyable aspects of our time in South Africa was the large number of excellent bed and breakfast accommodations that were available. Many, like the Val Hotel and Cranberry Cottage, were historical attractions in their own right, making it doubly hard to leave the next day. The rates were generally very reasonable and, compared to similar establishments in North America and Europe, much better value for your money. The breakfasts were always very good and, in many cases, an excellent evening meal was also available. A good guide book and mobile phone were all you needed to overcome any booking difficulties caused by an uncertain travel schedule.

2 7 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Cranberry Cottage, Ladybrand Cranberry Cottage more than lived up to our expectations. Our accommodation was in a delightful stone cottage separated from the main house and surrounded by a well-established garden and a pond populated by a busy family of ducks and assorted wild birds. We were checked in by two attractive young ladies who, it turned, out were the daughters of the proprietor. I could see that Brad was impressed by Cranberry Cottage right away! We stowed our equipment in the garden cottage, cleaned our camera gear and settled back in cane chairs in the lounge garden with our usual cold Castle lagers while we awaited the call to dinner. The entry in the accommodation guide noted that Cranberry Cottage, apart from sheltering Boers in the loft, was a gourmet’s delight and offered full course meals and an excellent selection of South African wines. It was no exaggeration. The food was

The Hunt For De Wet 2 7 7 beautifully prepared and presented, and the wine selection for each course was outstanding. Following a hearty breakfast, we took our leave of Cranberry Cottage and, before joining the N8 highway, set out to find a Boer War monument that we were told stood on a koppie on the outskirts of Ladybrand. We drove around for a while before spotting the stone obelisk, which to our disappointment had been vandalized. While we stood there surveying the damage, an elderly man out walking a fearsome-looking dog slowly made his way up the short drive to the monument. As he came up to us, he commented unfavourably on the sort of people who would do this to a war memorial. Of course his comments were in Afrikaans, but once he realized we were English-speaking he courteously switched to English. “Jaap,” he said stretching out a rough hand to each of us in turn. As we sat on the rough stone base of the monument answering his questions about the “Queen’s Cowboys,” he introduced his dog to us. “His name is Wagter; he’s a Boerboel.” Noticing the trepidation on our faces he added, “Ja man, don’t let him see you are frightened. Just let him come to you; he is really just an old softie.” Wagter didn’t look like a softie to me; his thickset body, powerful forequarters, huge scarred head and baleful eyes were enough to scare anyone. Brad commented later that he looked like a lion with its mane cut off! The dog approached me, sniffed my leg, walked over to Brad and did the same, then lay down with his head on his paws and watched us. “You see,” said Jaap, “he likes you!” As neither of us was missing an arm or a leg, I accepted that Wagter liked us. Boerboels are heavy-set dogs of the mastiff breed and have been used in South Africa since time immemorial to guard farms and livestock against predators. They have a distinctive black and tan colouration and

2 7 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS the fully grown male stands at around 70 centimetres at the shoulder and weighs anywhere between 70 and 100 kilograms – a very formidable animal indeed. “He saved my life you know,” Jaap said as he affectionately scratched Wagter’s ears. Jaap went on to tell us how he and his brother, after their discharge from the army at the end of the Second World War, had bought a farm on the Caledon River on the Basutoland border. “We farmed everything, sheep mostly, and then my brother died of cancer. Later I got married and my wife and I raised a daughter, Annetjie. Things were going well for us and then one night, while my wife was driving back from Ficksburg, she was killed in a road accident. After that, Wagter and I farmed alone.” Jaap gazed into the distance. I was intrigued to hear the rest of his story so I broke the silence, “But of course you would have had help working on the farm?” “You must remember that at this time,” he replied, ignoring my question, “de Klerk handed the country over to the ANC and our blacks didn’t want to work on farms anymore, and besides, they were frightened of the skelms who were attacking farms on the border. Our farm was attacked three times in just one year, but I always had my shotgun handy and was able to scare them off. It was two years ago now, one of my black farm workers came to the house one night saying that he was sick. Foolishly I opened the door and went outside to see what the matter was. There were two of them armed with pangas (machetes). My worker ran away. To this day I don’t know if he was with them or was forced to help them. They hit me with their pangas; see I still have the scars.” He pulled up his sleeves and showed us a pattern of angry looking scar tissue on both his forearms. “They would have killed me if Wagter had not heard my screams. I had closed the screen door behind me when I went out

The Hunt For De Wet 2 7 9 of the house, but Wagter crashed right through the screen and flew at them. I almost felt sorry for those bliksems.” Jaap gave Wagter an affectionate scratch behind his ears. “Did you call the police?” Brad asked. Jaap smiled and scratched Wagter again, “Nee my seun,” he replied, “No my son, I was afraid that if the police saw what Wagter had done, they would shoot him! After this my daughter wouldn’t hear of me staying on at the farm, so Wagter and I are now townies.” Wagter turned to look at a woman walking up the road who called out to Jaap that his breakfast was ready. He stood up, shook our hands, wished us a safe journey and with his dog at his heels, walked down the hill. We drove out of Ladybrand and, joining the N8, headed for Bloemfontein. Our meeting with Jaap was still very much on our minds. We had heard stories while in Ficksburg about the attacks on farms along the Lesotho border and the resulting exodus of white farmers from the danger area. Recent statistics released by the South African Police Service indicated that incidents of violence against the farming community had increased by an incredible 24 per cent. Many people, including Jaap, laid the blame squarely on the government for its precipitous disbandment of the commando system which had provided security in many rural areas, and particularly along the volatile Lesotho border. For centuries, South Africa’s more remote farming areas had been protected by the commando system, which like the old Boer military formations consisted of civilians with some military training who could be called upon to assist the police. People we had spoken to generally agreed this was a move on the part of the ANC government to disarm the rural white population. Whether this is true or not, the disbandment of the commandos had left the police largely unable to afford protection to isolated farmers, their families and their employees. According to the minister of Safety and

2 8 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Security, the disbanded commando members would be absorbed into the police reserve, but newspaper reports indicated this had not happened. We also heard stories about large quantities of rifles that had gone missing after being handed in by commando members. These stories along with accusations of corruption in the police force caused widespread alarm amongst the farming community across the country. Many farmers, it was reported in various newspapers, were of the opinion that the ANC government wished to eventually drive them from their land. Shades of Robert Mugabe’s disastrous farm redistribution program in Zimbabwe! While this may sound a little far-fetched to some, it is sobering to see the government’s own statistics revealing that the number of farmers in South Africa has dropped from a high of 58,000 to a current low of 45,000 in just 10 years. One would think that this problem would be of the utmost concern to a government that relies heavily on the farming community to feed its 47 million people. Newspaper reports that dealt with the ongoing crime wave in the country laid much of the blame on the implementation of racial quotas, or “affirmative action” in the South African Police Service (SAPS). These reports claimed this has often resulted in the recruitment of unqualified blacks into the police service. Allegations that experienced white officers were not being considered for promotion has led to a low morale and high attrition rate affecting the capability of the police. The reports also mention that the chronic shortage of essential equipment such as radios, bullet- proof vests and police vehicles, coupled with a top-heavy and inef- ficient administrative staff, contributed to the problem. These problems have led to an unprecedented growth in the private-security industry, which today consists of over 5,000 registered security businesses with four times as many personnel as

The Hunt For De Wet 2 8 1 the entire South African Police force. The large number of South Africans who served in the military during the apartheid era, coupled with immigrants with military and policing experience, has created a huge labour pool that is tailor-made for the security industry. Unfortunately, the ANC government’s policy of “affirmative action” has denied the SAPS access to these thousands of potential police officers to the great detriment of public security and safety in South Africa. The ultimate result is that only people or businesses that can afford it have access to the security and protection to which all South Africans are entitled. It is estimated that there are as many as 19,000 murders, nearly 480,000 rapes and probably millions of robberies in South Africa each year, the vast majority of victims being black. One cannot help wondering why the ANC government is unwilling to make the safety and protection of all its citizens a major priority. We were about half an hour outside of Bloemfontein when I spotted the signpost to Sannaspos. We turned off the highway to visit this unique battlefield which clearly demonstrated the cunning tactics that made De Wet the master of his game. It was March 1900 and Bloemfontein was in British hands. Camped around the city, Lord Roberts and his exhausted troops were recovering from their exertions during the long trek from Paardeberg. De Wet, always on the lookout for a small garrison he could attack, turned his attention to the Sannaspos waterworks, which, despite providing the main supply of water to Bloemfontein, was guarded by only 200 troops. While busy encircling the unsuspecting garrison, De Wet was surprised by the arrival of General Broadwood with 1,800 troops and 12 guns. Broadwood, who had encountered a large Boer force further to the east, was conducting an orderly withdrawal to the safety of Bloemfontein. Never one to

2 8 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS miss an opportunity, De Wet positioned his men in the thick bush that screened the banks of the Koornspruit, the stream that fed the waterworks and awaited the arrival of Broadwood’s column. The General, believing the main threat to his force lay behind him, neglected to send out scouts to check the route through the bush that lay ahead. De Wet allowed the first few wagons and their drivers to pass through unhindered; however, the following wagons were not so lucky. The first thing their drivers saw were bearded Boers with levelled Mausers emerging from the bush, quietly ordering them to Hensop! (Hands up) and dismount. Boer wagon drivers then took their places and Broadwood, seeing the leading wagons emerge safely into open country beyond the bush, assumed that all was progressing nicely. And indeed it was, to De Wet’s satisfaction. Dozens of wagons were commandeered in this manner, including a detachment of nearly 200 British soldiers and seven guns of the Royal Horse Artillery who marched into the trap. Eventually an alert British soldier managed to fire a warning shot and the battle was on. Once he realized what was going on, Broadwood, to his credit, managed to extricate himself from this difficult position but, despite a valiant effort and three Victoria Crosses, he was unable to retrieve the guns taken by De Wet. Lord Roberts immediately dispatched reinforcements from Bloemfontein to assist Broadwood, but they were badly led and dithered about, allowing De Wet to escape with the seven guns and close to 80 wagons loaded with stores. In the final result, Broadwood lost 159 officers and men killed or wounded and 426 taken prisoner. As the Boers had no facilities to hold prisoners, their captives were quickly relieved of useful items of clothing and their boots and sent off to make their own way back to Bloemfontein. Luckily, with our clothing and boots still intact, we too left Sannaspos and made

The Hunt For De Wet 2 8 3 our way to Cherry Tree Cottage, the bed and breakfast Brad had booked in Bloemfontein. Before we left Canada, we had made arrangements to film an interview with Johan Hattingh at the War Museum of the Boer Republics. Johan is a leading expert on the history of the Anglo- Boer War and, in particular, on that most enigmatic of Boer generals, Christiaan Rudolf De Wet. Although Johan speaks perfect English, we had decided to do the interview in Afrikaans, believing that it would add something to the documentary to have English subtitles! “Generaal De Wet was ‘n legende in sy eie tyd (General De Wet was a legend in his own time),” Johan began. “A son of the Orange Free State, he was born in 1854 and, at the age of 27, he fought at the battle of Majuba during the First Anglo-Boer War, later becoming a member of the Volksraad in 1897. When war broke out again in 1899, he served as a commandant in Natal and later as a general with Cronje in the west.” Johan continued, “De Wet’s skill as a guerrilla leader came to the fore during the latter stages of the war. His actions at Sannaspos brought him to the attention of newspaper correspondents, who played no small part in creating the legend of the Boer general they couldn’t catch!” Once our filming was complete, Johan took us on a tour of the museum and its remarkable collection of artifacts and documents relating to the war. I particularly wanted Brad to see the section in the museum that housed the Transvalia Tiles, which once decorated the Transvalia Theatre in Rotterdam in the Netherlands. The Netherlands was a staunch supporter of the Boer cause during the war and these colourful 15-by-15 centimetre tiles depict most of the earlier battles of the war in which the Boers generally prevailed. Over the years, the tiles were papered over and lost to view and were only discovered when the theatre was demolished in the 1960s.

2 8 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS We stopped beneath a portrait of De Wet and Johan remarked, “Of course, he was never caught. Even when most of the delegates at Vereeniging were in favour of surrender, he was still prepared to continue the fight. After the war he, in company with De la Rey and Botha, travelled to Europe where they raised funds for the rebuilding of the country. In 1910, after a few years in politics, he retired to his farm, but in 1914 when war broke out in Europe he rebelled against Botha’s support of Britain and the planned attack on German South West Africa. Of course, as you probably know, the rebellion failed and he spent some time in prison. He died in 1922 and is buried here at the Woman’s Memorial.” We thanked Johan for his help, packed up our equipment and walked out of the museum and, lost in our individual thoughts, walked up the long avenue towards the National Woman’s Memorial. The Memorial, a soaring, 34-metre- high obelisk with a sculpture at its base depicting two Boer women and an emaciated, dying child is a dramatic and moving sight. Erected in 1913, the Memorial commemorates the deaths of the 26,663 women and children in concentration camps. It also recognizes the work of Emily Hobhouse who, at National Woman’s Memorial, Bloemfontein a time when concern in England for the suffering of Boer women

The Hunt For De Wet 2 8 5 and children was nonexistent, organized protests against the brutal treatment of Boer families. Close by was the simple bronze plaque that marked the grave of General De Wet. As we set up our camera to film his final resting place, I picked up a red rose that had fallen from a wreath placed earlier that day and, with an eye to visual enhancement, placed the rose on the bronze plaque. While we were packing up our gear to leave, an elderly man approached us and thanked us for our respectful manner while we filmed De Wet’s grave. “My grootvader was ‘n lid van die generaalse kommando (My grandfather was a member of the General’s commando),” he continued, but realizing we were English-speaking, he switched languages. “Of course, unlike Smuts and Botha, he never made his peace with the English. He saw the outbreak of the First World War as a heaven-sent opportunity to drive you verdomde rooineks (damned English) out of South Africa.” He smiled broadly when he saw we took no offence and led us over to a bench under a nearby tree. He introduced himself as Frikkie, but refused to give his family name. “You two could be spies for all I know,” he answered with a mischievous grin. When I asked him to tell us about his grandfather and his time with De Wet’s commando, he dismissed the question saying, “Oh, he was captured early on in the Magaliesberg; he was asleep when the English found him!” It was obvious that Frikkie wanted to talk about De Wet, so I asked him about the years after the end of the war. “You must know,” he began, “When it looked like Britain and Germany would go to war, we Afrikaners thought this was our chance to take back our country. Our leaders, Maritz, Beyers, Kemp, De la Rey and even our general thought so too,” he said, as he nodded in the direction of the monument. “But Smuts and

2 8 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Botha sided with the English and rounded up all these fine men and put them in prison. Prison for the heroes of our country; I spit on Smuts and Botha!” “Well not all went to prison,” I began. “Maritz joined the Germans in South West and Beyers was drowned crossing the Vaal, and it’s by no means certain that De la Rey supported the rebellion. And even those that went to prison, including De Wet, were freed a short time later.” Frikkie was no longer smiling. He stood up to go and, after shaking our hands, said to me, “For an Englishman you know something of our history. Make sure you tell our story honestly.” I wanted to tell him how much I admired the Boer generals and the burghers who fought to the bitter end, and also that I thought Smuts and Botha were fine, honourable men and that the planned rebellion was a great mistake, but Frikkie was gone. Brad and I walked around the grounds of the War Museum, filming the replica “Long Tom” gun, a Boer War era locomotive and a fully-restored Rice-pattern blockhouse. When I grew up in South Africa, the remains of dozens of stone blockhouses, located haphazardly about the countryside and preserved as national monuments, presented an interesting diversion to a young boy on an afternoon outing. Of course, there was nothing haphazard about the location of the blockhouses. They were part of an incredible project that, towards the end of the war, saw most of the Orange Free State and large parts of the Transvaal divided up into strategic areas by over 8,000 blockhouses. The first blockhouses appeared shortly after Lord Roberts occupied Bloemfontein. Designed initially to protect the army’s thinly stretched supply route from the Cape, they were usually two storeys high, of solid stone construction with a steel entrance door located three metres off the ground. Loopholes in all the walls, a machine gun post on the roof and a formidable trench system with

The Hunt For De Wet 2 8 7 barbed wire entanglements completed the defensive arrangements. Usually sited at vulnerable railway bridges, their effectiveness was confirmed by the fact that no bridge guarded in this manner was ever blown by Boer commandos. When Lord Kitchener assumed command in South Africa, he was faced with the growing guerrilla phase of the war. As Boer commandos shed their artillery and cumbersome wagons, their increased mobility made it even harder for the columns to come to grips with them. It was actually the British high commissioner at the Cape, Lord Milner who suggested extending lines of blockhouses away from the railway lines, effectively dividing the countryside into cordoned off areas that could easily be swept clear of Boers by fast moving columns. At least that was the plan. The first obstacle was the enormous cost involved. The stone blockhouses erected at that time to guard railway bridges took up to three months to build and cost in the region of 800 to 1,000 pounds each. Kitchener called upon an engineer, Major Rice of the 23rd Field Company, Royal Engineers, to design a simple, low-cost blockhouse that was easily assembled by relatively unskilled soldiers. Rice based his design on a corrugated iron blockhouse that was first constructed in the Nelspruit area of the Transvaal. Essentially, his design consisted of two circular, heavy-duty corrugated iron walls, the larger one being four and a-half metres in diameter and the smaller four metres in diameter. These were placed, one inside the other, on top of a circular earthen bank with the half-metre space between the walls filled with hard packed rubble. Loopholes were cut into the walls for defence and a peaked, heavy duty corrugated iron roof protected the men from above. Initial costs were as high as 50 pounds for each blockhouse, but once they were produced in large numbers, this was reduced to around 16 pounds. Typical Rice-pattern blockhouses, usually manned by six men

2 8 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS and an NCO each, were sited at one-kilometre intervals. They were linked with a system of trenches and barbed wire entanglements, festooned with bells and tin cans that acted as alarms when someone tampered with the wire. Kitchener at last, had his blockhouse and, under his direction, the lines began to reach across the countryside – though not to the joy of the poor souls who suffered the dull and tedious task of manning these isolated forts on the veld. One soldier described his six months in a blockhouse as being 99 per cent boredom and one per cent pure terror. The pure terror provided when the Boers chose to neutralise a blockhouse using dynamite bombs thrown through a loophole! With nearly 6,000 kilometres of blockhouses dividing the veld, the commandos had to come up with ways to overcome these obstacles. They tried, without much success, to disrupt the defences by driving herds of cattle through the barbed wire and trenches that separated blockhouses. But mostly they separated into small groups and, under cover of darkness, crept through the lines making use of the natural cover provided by stream beds and dongas that crossed the veld. Of course, more aggressive Boer leaders, such as De Wet, used dynamite bombs to attack and destroy blockhouses, opening gaps that enabled large commandos easy passage through the lines. The blockhouse system hampered the mobility of the commandos as it provided the British with information on their whereabouts every time they attempted to cross a blockhouse line. While the establishment and maintenance of the system came at enormous cost to the British taxpayer, its cost in manpower was equally great. Towards the end of the war over 50,000 troops were involved in blockhouse duty, a figure that was more than double the total number of Boers active in the field at any one time. I have very clear memories as a child of a corrugated iron shed

The Hunt For De Wet 2 8 9 that my grandfather had constructed to house chickens. The corrugated iron he used was of a very heavy gauge and I remember him telling my father that it came from one of the thousands of blockhouses disassembled to serve more peaceful purposes. I spent many hours amongst the chickens, looking up at the sun shining through five small round holes in the roof, which my grandfather told me with a glint in his eye, were probably bullet holes. To a seven year-old, there was no doubt whatsoever!

2 9 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS 14 Magersfontein

arly the next day Brad and I set out to visit two major battle- Efields of the Boer war, Magersfontein and Paardeberg. We took the R48 from Bloemfontein and drove west for 187 kilometres before joining the N12 at Modder Rivier (Mud River), site of one of the many battles fought during the bid to relieve Kimberley. On October 12, 1899, following the expiry of the Boer ultimatum to Britain, Boer forces under the command of Generals Cronje, De la Rey and Prinsloo laid siege to Mafeking and the diamond town of Kimberley and it’s most famous occupant, Cecil John Rhodes. On October 30, General Buller had arrived in Cape Town at the head of an army corps of nearly 40,000 men. Anxious to move on to the Natal front, he was persuaded by Lord Milner, concerned that Kimberley might be forced to surrender, to leave a sizable force for the immediate relief of the city. Command of the Kimberley relief force was given to General Lord Paul Sanford Methuen, 3rd Baron Methuen. Much like Buller, he was a brave man with many years of active service under his belt but, again like Buller, he lacked the necessary cunning and

Magersfontein 2 9 1 imagination that made a great general. Fortunately, he did not appear to lack self-confidence as, on November 21, he led his force up the railway line from De Aar to relieve Kimberley, which lay 150 kilometres to the north. Unlike the mountainous terrain in Natal, the Northern Cape consisted of singularly flat scrub veld, broken only by the odd river and the occasional line of rocky kopjes. In summer it was cold at night, but under a generally clear sky during the day, it was blaz- ingly hot. It certainly did not appear to present any major obstacles to Lord Methuen, who confidently expected to be in Kimberley within the week! His first engagement with the Boers took place on November 23 at Belmont where, at a cost of 75 officers and men to 30 Boers, he succeeded in taking three small hills, only to see the Boers leap onto their ponies and ride away, ready to fight him again at another place of their choosing. The idea of using a combination of reconnaissance and tactics to circumvent a defended kopje was not apparent to him until much later. As a result, two days later at Graspan, the khaki jackets of his soldiers again provided the main defence against Mauser bullets and, again, when the assaulting British forces got too close for comfort, the Boers mounted up and rode away to fight another day. One would have hoped that by now even Lord Methuen would have realized that this was a war of mobility and that his lack of mounted infantry and cavalry would be most keenly felt in the days ahead. But, if it did concern His Lordship, it did not deter him from his stated intent “to put the fear of God into the Boers,” as he led his 13,000-strong relief force north along the railway line towards the next station at Modder River. But things were not going well in the Boer camp either. De la Rey was concerned with their inability to stem the British advance

2 9 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS and was troubled by the unwillingness of some commandos to hold their positions while under artillery bombardment. De la Rey, the austere farmer with no tactical military experience, tried to convince Cronje and Prinsloo that a change of tactics was necessary if Methuen’s advance was to be halted. After falling back nearly 50 kilometres to the confluence of the Modder and Riet Rivers, the Boer commanders had hoped for an opportunity to discuss De la Rey’s proposed tactical changes, but time was not on their side. Methuen wasted no time in closing the gap and by November 27 his forces were at Modder River. However this time the tactical situation was a little different. With no hills to defend the Boer force of 3,500 men, six Krupp guns and three pom-poms was positioned along the banks of the two rivers, which formed a natural trench line concealed by a dense growth of bushes and willow trees. Before dawn the following morning, the British began their advance towards the river, uncertain as to whether the Boers intended to defend the position. Fortunately for the British, one of the concealed commandos lost his nerve and opened fire before the advance was well into the trap. The British went to ground and the long, hard battle of Modder River was underway. By midday the temperature had reached 43C and the troops that lay out in the open suffered from the heat and a madden- ing thirst. The plight of the wounded was even worse. They could expect no help until the tide of battle turned or the concealing blanket of night allowed their comrades to help them to a dressing station. But until then, even the slightest movement to unbuckle a water bottle drew a number of well-aimed shots from the concealed Boer riflemen. The more fortunate amongst them simply went to sleep. Finally by late afternoon, the preponderance of artillery on

Magersfontein 2 9 3 the British side and the skilful manoeuvrings of a few British units that had managed to get across the Modder River threatened the Boer flank and did much to weaken Boer resolve. By nightfall, as the Boers began to fall back, De la Rey’s eldest son Adriaan was critically wounded. As there was no ambulance, the distraught father carried his son 18 kilometres to the town of Jacobsdal, where Adriaan died in his father’s arms. The strain of having fought three major battles in one week had taken its toll on the British as well. Officers and men alike were despondent at their losses and their seeming inability to inflict a severe defeat on the elusive Boers. “I lay out there all day burning in the sun and never once did I see a Boer to shoot back at,” complained one British infantryman. Another spoke of the horrific injuries he saw, “A man was walking about screaming and crying for his mother. He had half his face shot away; thank God the stretcher bearers took him away.” At dawn the following day Methuen, not knowing whether the Boers were still in position, had the artillery fire a few shells into the bush along the riverbanks. The lack of a response confirmed his suspicions that the Boers had departed so he cabled London announcing yet another victory. Not much of a victory considering the stretcher bearers had picked up 460 British casualties and only 80 Boers. The Boers withdrew to the northeast and, bypassing the ridges at Magersfontein, planned to make a final stand at Spytfontein, some 16 kilometres from Kimberley. De la Rey missed the krijgsraad (council of war) that made this decision as he was away tending to the burial of his son at Jacobsdal. On his return he strongly opposed the plan and, cabling his objections to Presidents Steyn and Kruger, called into question the fighting ability of the Free Staters and Cronje’s leadership. Steyn departed at once for the

2 9 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS front, bringing with him reinforcements from Mafeking and a telegram from Kruger, exhorting the burghers to greater efforts. His authority bolstered by this support, De la Rey struggled to convince Cronje to abandon the traditional Boer positions on the crests of the Magersfontein kopjes and, instead, dig trenches in the flat ground in front of the hills. From this position, he assured Cronje, the plain would be swept by flat-trajectory rifle fire which would stop the British advance in its tracks. Cronje finally agreed to this change of tactics and ordered the commandos and their black labourers to dig trenches, while others erected stone cairns mark- ing ranges for the riflemen. They then settled down and waited for the British attack. Lord Methuen had spent almost a week at Modder River while he brought up supplies and reinforcements, including the Black Watch and the Seaforth Highlanders, which were added to General Andrew Wauchope’s Highland Brigade. Other reinforcements included infantry units from Canada and Australia, which were ordered to protect his lines of communication. Although Methuen now had additional cavalry units at his disposal as well as an observation balloon, he had not made any serious effort to find out what sort of defences the Boers had prepared at Magersfontein. However, he had dispatched some cavalry to observe the kopjes more closely, but they were driven off by rifle fire before they discovered the nature of the Boer defences. On December 9, Lord Methuen called his staff officers together to reveal his plan to drive the Boers from their positions on the Magersfontein kopjes. In a scene that must have closely resembled a Monty Python skit, he informed his officers that they would do exactly the same as they had done at Belmont, Graspan and Modder River. Only this time the honour of assaulting the Boer positions at dawn would go to the Highland Brigade.

Magersfontein 2 9 5 On Sunday afternoon, December 10, the British artillery, bolstered by the addition of a massive 4.7-inch naval gun and a new type of shell using a powerful new explosive called lyddite, shelled the Boer positions atop the Magersfontein kopjes. How the Boers, safe and sound in their trenches in front of the kopjes, must have sung the praises of De la Rey who had delivered them from the terror of a sustained artillery bombardment. A soldier of the Black Watch regiment, who observed the shelling from the British positions, remarked to no one in particular, “If they aren’t all dead, they bloody well know we’re coming!” It had been raining steadily when, at 1 a.m. on December 11, the 4,000-strong Highland Brigade, led by General Wauchope, started its slow, sodden advance towards Magersfontein. The Brigade, which consisted of four famous Scottish regiments, the Black Watch, Seaforth Highlanders, Argylls and the Highland Light Infantry, marched in close formation led by the Black Watch. To keep the formation intact, officers walked on either flank holding ropes to guide the men, while in the lead, Andy Wauchope and his staff officers struggled to follow a compass bearing in the pouring rain and pitch darkness. When the first faint light of dawn etched the outline of the Magersfontein kopjes against the skyline, officers anxiously awaited the order to deploy in extended line, but a belt of thorn scrub had hampered the advance and the order was delayed. After the Black Watch had passed through the thorn scrub, their officers, believing they were still some distance from the Boer positions, finally gave the order to deploy in extended order. But it was too late. From the Boer trenches, some only 300 metres away, a veritable hail of bullets slammed into the confused and bewildered ranks of the Highland Brigade. Officers, including Andy Wauchope, now easily distinguishable by their uniforms and the swords they carried, were cut down in the first few minutes of the

2 9 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS battle. On their own initiative soldiers had gone to ground and sought whatever pathetic shelter they could find behind an anthill or small bush in the sometimes forlorn hope that they might survive the day. As the sun rose in the now clear sky the Highlanders, whose kilts did not cover the backs of their legs, suffered untold miseries from sunburn, thirst and the thousands of ants that poured out of disturbed anthills. Many tried to return the fire of the unseen Boer marksmen but, as every movement attracted a hail of bullets, most realized that their survival depended on not attracting attention. Despite the horror of their predicament many soldiers, exhausted by their ordeal of the night before, simply went to sleep. Despite the valiant efforts of the few surviving officers, attempts to turn the Boer flanks, or to clear the closest Boer trenches at bayonet point, were met by a fusillade of shots from the deadly Mausers. The dark kilts and the lighter-coloured gaiters worn by the Highlanders stood out against the background of the veld, attracting the attention of Boer snipers who fired shot after shot at positions where they believed a man may have been sheltering. Unfortunately for the Highland Brigade, it seems that it had not occurred to Lord Methuen that the attack might have failed. As a result, he had no reserves ready to throw into the fray and, with the nearest troop concentrations too far away to be of any use, the Highlanders were left out on the veld at the mercy of the Boer snipers, perhaps in the hope that eventually the Boers might simply go away. The soldiers endured their suffering until early afternoon when, in the mistaken belief that an order to retire had been given, the Highlanders rose to their feet and began to move back towards their lines. The ensuing avalanche of Boer rifle fire turned what had began as an orderly retreat into a rout as the desperate men

Magersfontein 2 9 7 tried to outrun the Mauser bullets. It has been said that more Highlanders lost their lives during that retreat than in the opening hours of the battle. Methuen’s advance on Kimberley was well and truly stalled. The next morning, Boer and British stretcher bearers found over 900 British and 230 Boer casualties, including the body of Andy Wauchope, which was found only 200 metres from the Boer positions. For their part the Boers, now enthusiastic converts to De la Rey’s new style of warfare, had held fast to their positions and any hopes that Methuen may have had that they might simply go away were dashed. The day before the battle at Magersfontein, General Gatacre had ordered a force of 3,000 men to attack Boer commandos at Stormberg who were threatening the railway lines between Port Elizabeth, East London and the Orange Free State. A strong pro- ponent of the night advance and the dawn attack, Gatacre blun- dered about the Stormberg hills in the darkness searching for Boers. Dawn found the British caught in an unfavourable position in a valley with the Boers holding the high ground. The ensuing rout left 100 or so British dead and wounded, and close to 600 soldiers taken prisoner. Methuen’s failure at Magersfontein, Gatacre’s debacle at Stormberg and Buller’s reverse at Colenso all took place within one week – a week that gave rise to a headline that appeared in almost every British newspaper: “Black Week in South Africa!” The British public, astonished, humiliated and angry at the news from South Africa, demanded that the war be prosecuted with the utmost vigour. British Prime Minister Lord Salisbury demanded that secretary for war Lord Lansdowne take immediate and dras- tic steps to redress the situation. As a result, Lord Roberts was recalled from Ireland, appointed commander in chief of British

2 9 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS forces in South Africa and Buller was demoted to command the forces in Natal. Brad and I turned onto the dirt road that led to the Magersfontein battlefield. We paid our entrance fee at the gate- house and followed the road up the kopje to the car park, café and museum. We walked to the summit of the main kopje and the memorial to the Highland Brigade with its poignant inscription: “Scotland is the poorer in men but the richer in heroes.” Retracing our steps, we drove back down the kopje and along another dirt road that led to the Black Watch monument, located in the very centre of the position where so many of that gallant regiment were killed and wounded. Another car was parked nearby and the occupants, two elderly ladies, were standing at the foot of the monument. We greeted them and, a little surprised to see them out in the middle of nowhere, asked them where they were from. “I’m from Edinburgh,” one of the ladies replied with a broad Scots accent, “and my sister here is from London. She’s down there living amongst the sassenachs.” “Oh, don’t mind her,” the other replied, “She loves visiting down south as much the next person. I’m Jean and this is my sister Betty. We’re on our annual holiday and are visiting the place where our grandfather was killed. He was in the Black Watch you know.” We were interested in hearing more about their grandfather, so we invited them to join us for a cup of tea at the café up the hill. While we were waiting for the tea to arrive, Betty mentioned that she and Jean were twins. “It has some bearing on our story,” she added. The tea finally arrived and Betty began telling us the story of their grandfather. “Let’s call him Jock,” she said, “In 1898 he was working on the estate of a very wealthy, titled family as a family accountant. The head of the family, a boring old man, was married to a beautiful young woman nearly 20 years his junior. You

Magersfontein 2 9 9 must remember,” Betty continued, “Jock was a very handsome lad and it came as no surprise to anyone, except perhaps the husband, that they soon became lovers.” “Well, it was not long before she became pregnant,” Jean continued. “Jock, of course, didn’t know what to do, but the young woman, who knew which side her bread was buttered on, broke off the liaison and had nothing further to do with him.” The waitress brought over some more hot water for the tea pots as Betty took up the story again, “Jock was distraught. He was, I believe, very much in love with her and her rejection hurt him deeply. He left the estate immediately and did what a lot of young men do when disappointed in love: he joined the army. The Black Watch to be specific. The Boers came to his rescue, and within a month of him joining the regiment, he was on his way to South Africa. Well, perhaps the Boers did not really come to his rescue for poor Jock was amongst those killed here at this place that none of us in Scotland could ever imagine or even pronounce.” Brad asked the obvious question, “If he was your grandfather as you say, and yet he was killed a few months later, then your grandmother –” “Yes,” Betty interrupted, “You’re on the right track. We’re the twins born to our mother a few months after Jock was killed here at Magersfontein.” The weather had turned very warm by the time Brad and I walked along the still discernable lines that marked the positions of the Boer trenches. The gentle breezes that had cooled the top of Magersfontein ridge were now gone and the oppressive heat of the afternoon gave us a better understanding of the suffering of the Highlanders pinned down in the veld by the deadly Mausers. “It’s far too hot today, even for the ghost of the highland piper,” Brad remarked, alluding to another story Betty had told us over tea. It

3 0 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS seems that over dinner the previous evening the proprietor of the bed and breakfast they were staying at in Kimberley had warned them of a spectral piper who wandered up and down in front of the Boer trenches, piping a lament to fallen Scottish soldiers. We drove to Kimberley and checked into a pleasant bed and breakfast before making the obligatory visit to the world-famous Big Hole, one of the main tourist attractions of the area. Excavation of the hole began in 1871 when an 83-carat diamond found on a local hill called Colesburg kopje, precipitated one of the greatest diamond rushes in South African history. The hill was actually the top of a volcanic pipe formed by molten rock which carried the diamonds to the surface. Not surprisingly, this diamond-bearing volcanic rock is called Kimberlite. When the frantic digging stopped in 1914, men, mostly black men of course, had dug a hole almost a kilometre wide and nearly 250 metres deep and had extracted three tons of diamonds, which helped make Cecil John Rhodes one of the richest men in Africa. But we were not here to explore the diamond history of Kimberley; instead, our interests lay in a place some 45 kilometres southeast of the town on the infamous Modder River called Paardeberg. Early the next morning we left Kimberley on the R48 and, driving into the rising sun most of the way, arrived at our destination. When Lord Roberts and his Chief of Staff Lord Kitchener arrived in Cape Town, they set about organizing a major offensive to relieve Kimberley. At the head of no less than five divisions (about 40,000 men) and, supported by over 100 guns and a cavalry division of 5,000 mounted infantry, Roberts had a force that outnumbered the Boers almost six to one. Amongst his troops was a contingent of a 1,000 Canadian volunteers, the Royal Canadians, all desperately anxious to see action “before the war is over!” They were to get their wish sooner than they realized.

Magersfontein 3 0 1 Although Lord Roberts had his army, what he really needed was a strategy to deal with Boer tactics. Costly frontal assaults on defended positions, which were speedily vacated before the attacking troops could come to grips, had to be avoided. Instead Roberts resolved to use his cavalry, and later mounted infantry, to outflank Boer positions whenever possible – a change in tactics that saved countless lives. Roberts also had to contend with the country itself. February was the hottest time of the year in the Karoo; water was always scarce and the logistical problems of maintaining an army of that size in the field were formidable. Most of the troops and the cavalry horses were not yet acclimatized and, in addition, had to suffer the debilitating consequences of reduced rations and erratic water supplies. Despite all these problems, Roberts believed that his cavalry division, commanded by General John French, was the solution to overcoming the stubborn Boer defences at Magersfontein.

Lord Roberts had originally planned to bypass Kimberley and advance directly on Bloemfontein, believing that if he occupied the capital, the Orange Free State Boers would give up the fight. However, Rhodes, who was bottled up in Kimberley had other ideas. He threatened the officer in command of the town’s defences, Colonel Kekewich, Field Marshal Lord Roberts. that unless Kimberley was Glenbow Archives NA-919-43 relieved immediately he

3 0 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS would surrender it to the Boers. Reluctant as he was to give in to blackmail, Roberts could not afford a public-relations disaster of that magnitude and revised his plans to include the relief of Kimberley. On February 11, Lord Roberts began his invasion of the Orange Free State and simultaneously ordered General French and his cavalry division to bypass the Boer positions at Magersfontein and make a dash for Kimberley. His gamble paid off and, on February 15, French’s cavalry brushed aside scattered Boer resistance and relieved the town of Kimberley. The success of this venture was offset by problems that had developed with Roberts’s transport system. Delayed by the need to allow the thousands of oxen to graze and recuperate their strength, these vast wagon parks were soon under attack by De Wet and his commandos. Unwilling to divert large numbers of troops from his line of advance, Roberts abandoned nearly half of his wagons to De Wet as he continued his pursuit of Cronje and his force of 4,000 burghers and their accompanying wives and children. Nearly two months of inactivity at Magersfontein had sapped Cronje’s initiative and his efforts to evade his pursuers were painfully slow. Despite the fact that many of his burghers had lost their horses to disease and starvation, he stubbornly refused to listen to his younger officers, who urged they abandon all non-combatants and wagons and, with the aid of nearby commandos, make good their escape. In his bid to outrun the British, Cronje had followed the Modder River to ensure a regular supply of water for his commando, his remaining horses and the oxen required to pull nearly 400 wagons. Mistakenly believing that he had outdistanced his pursuers, he utilized his wagons to form a defensive laager at Paardeberg Drift, a crossing point on the Modder River. Given that he was being closely pursued by a force that vastly outnumbered him in both

Magersfontein 3 0 3 men and guns, this was definitely not one of his best decisions. French’s cavalry division, despite having nearly ridden their horses to death in their mad dash for Kimberley, was again on the move and closing rapidly with Cronje’s laager at Paardeberg Drift. On his arrival at the Drift, French joined forces with a British infantry division, the Highland Brigade and the newly-arrived Royal Canadians, commanded by Colonel William Otter. Unfortunately, for the forces that now encircled Cronje, Lord Roberts was taken ill and had remained behind at Jacobsdal with the reserve infantry division. This was unfortunate, because it left Lord Kitchener in charge of the assault on Cronje’s laager. Kitchener, true to form, had obviously learned nothing from the experiences of other British generals in the war against the Boers. He believed in a rapid assault across open ground against a defended position, perhaps seeking to overawe the enemy by sacri- ficing the lives of his soldiers. After all, it had worked in the Sudan – why wouldn’t it work here at Paardeberg? Technically the British force at Paardeberg was under the command of General Kelly-Kenny, but Kitchener, using his position as Roberts’s chief of staff, simply took over. He brushed aside the opin- ions of most of the senior officers who contended that the Boers were trapped and, after prolonged artillery bombardment, would probably surrender. “I will have the Boers out of there by lunchtime and we will con- Lord Kitchener. Library and tinue our advance on Bloemfontein Archives Canada C-051828 before supper,” Kitchener informed

3 0 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS a skeptical group of officers as he issued orders for the attack on the Boer positions. Shortly after 6 a.m. on February 18, the Royal Canadians were ordered to cross the swiftly-flowing Modder River and advance on the Boer positions across an open, undulating plain that offered little in the line of cover other than the odd thorny bush and anthill. About two kilometres from the Boer trenches, the Royal Canadians came under fire and, opening up into extended order, continued their advance until the increasing accuracy of enemy fire forced them to take cover. The advance continued in short rushes, during which some companies got as close as 350 metres from the Boer lines before they were finally stopped by the sheer volume of fire. The Highland Brigade, which attacked the Boer positions from the south, found itself in a dreadfully familiar predicament. Pinned down by Boer rifle fire in the open, it was Magersfontein all over again. By noon, the attacks against the Boer positions had ground to a halt. Kitchener was apoplectic. Determined that the Boer laager be taken at all costs, he galloped around and directly ordered subordinate officers to continue the attacks. One such officer, who commanded a unit of mounted infantry, was so incensed when ordered by Kitchener to, “gallop up to the Boer trench and fire into it,” that, in protest, he dismissed most of his staff and, with only a handful of his men, led a suicidal charge towards the Boer lines. None of them survived. Kitchener’s disregard for the lives of his soldiers was soon demonstrated by the arrival of Colonel Aldworth at the headquarters of the Royal Canadians. He was accompanied by three companies of the Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry with orders from Kitchener to Otter to, “get things moving and finish this business.” Otter found Aldworth’s manner and his insinuation that the Canadians were not up to the job most offensive and told him so. Aldworth,

Magersfontein 3 0 5 who was no doubt blinded by Kitchener’s inability to face facts, then led the Cornwalls and some Royal Canadians in a mad charge against the Boer lines, offering “five pounds to the first man into the Boer trenches!” Heavy and accurate fire from the Boers decimated the charg- ing men and, after a gain of only 200 metres, the attackers were halted and forced to go to ground where they stayed until nightfall. “Bloody Sunday,” as that day at Paardeberg was remembered, proved to be the most costly Canadian engagement of the Boer War, with 21 killed and 63 wounded. It almost goes without saying that Aldworth and his staff were killed along with a large number of the Cornwalls, all for the pointless gain of 200 metres that were abandoned that night. Fortune was definitely not on Kitchener’s side that day. In his haste to throw more troops into the attacks, he had withdrawn the Cornwalls from their positions on a kopje, ironically called Kitchener’s Kop, which was vital to the British encirclement of Cronje’s position. De Wet’s commando, which had remained in the vicinity of the battle, spotted this opportunity and occupied the kopje, a strategic move that opened up an escape route for Cronje. After receiving reports of the casualties at Paardeberg, Lord Roberts roused himself from his sickbed and hastened to resume command. He arrived on the morning of February 19 and, after consultations with his commanders, put a stop to the assaults on the laager and instead ordered that artillery be used to destroy the Boer will to resist. Although attempts had been made to retake Kitchener’s Kop, De Wet held onto this position for three days in the hope that Cronje might have attempted a breakout. De Wet sent one of his men, Captain Danie Theron, who bravely crawled through the

3 0 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS British lines and met with Cronje and his officers in an effort to encourage a breakout. But to no avail. Cronje informed Theron that most of his horses and draught animals had been killed and that his men were unwilling to leave their wives and children behind while they escaped. In the end, less than a hundred burghers took advantage of the opportunity provided by De Wet to escape the British encirclement. The situation in Cronje’s laager had grown more desperate every day. The British artillery bombardment was relentless. The defenders were subjected not only to a continuous deadly rain of shrapnel but also to the almost unbearable stench of the rotting carcases of hundreds of dead horses and oxen. At night the Boers, in an effort to reduce the risk of disease, had thrown the decom- posing carcases into the Modder River. This move unwittingly subjected the British, who drew their drinking water directly from the river, to an outbreak of typhoid that eventually killed more soldiers than all the Mauser bullets in all the previous battles put together. The significance of the approaching date of February 27 was not lost on Lord Roberts, as it marked the 19th anniversary of the battle of Majuba, a defeat for British arms that led to the end of the First Anglo-Boer War. Anxious to take advantage of an opportunity to “wipe the slate clean,” and coupled with reports from deserters that the situation in the laager had grown more desperate each day, Roberts was convinced that the Boers were close to surrender. The night before Majuba Day, six companies of the Royal Canadians, alongside the Gordon Highlanders, the Shropshire Light Infantry and the Royal Engineers, had advanced under the cover of darkness towards the Boer positions. Some units got to within 50 metres of the laager before their movements were detected and a fierce barrage of rifle fire halted their advance. In the darkness and the confusion of battle, four companies of the

Magersfontein 3 0 7 Royal Canadians, in the mistaken belief that an order to retire had been given, returned to their start positions. Fortunately, the other two companies, unaware that the others had retired, had held their positions. When dawn broke the next morning, Boers carrying white flags were seen leaving the laager in increasing numbers. The Battle of Paardeberg was over. Majuba Day would never be the same for the Boers. Lord Roberts, who wore his Kandahar sword for the occasion, took the surrender. He greeted General Cronje, who was dressed in “a shabby green mackintosh and slouch hat,” with the words immortalized in a painting of the occasion, “I am glad to see you. You have made a gallant defence, sir.” Cronje, painfully aware of his failure on Majuba Day of all days, did not reply.

The surrender of General Cronje at Paardeberg. Glenbow Archives NA-5107-23

3 0 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS When he heard the news, Paul Kruger complained bitterly, “The English have taken our Majuba Day away from us.” But worse was the fact that the British had now taken the initiative in the war. Kimberley had been relieved, Cronje had surrendered with 4,000 men, and Roberts, at the head of a seemingly unstoppable force, had begun his advance on Bloemfontein. Like the Boers, we too had to move back to Bloemfontein and, after a brief walkabout on the battlefield, much altered by years of Modder River floods, we rejoined the R48 and essentially followed Lord Roberts’s line of advance on the Free State capital. The Boer forces, commanded by Generals De Wet and De la Rey, twice attempted to delay the British advance – the first at Poplar Grove and the second at Driefontein – but all to no avail. Their decision at a krijgsraad to defend Bloemfontein at all costs was rejected in horror by the townspeople and as a result, on March 13, 1900, British forces entered Bloemfontein unopposed. Lord Roberts could certainly be forgiven for thinking that, bar the occupation of Pretoria, the war had almost been won. Dominated by Naval Hill, Bloemfontein is renowned as the “City of Roses,” and, as the seat of the South African Supreme Court, is considered the third capital of South Africa. It was founded in 1840 by a Boer Voortrekker, Johannes Brits, who named it Bloemfontein (flower fountain) after the fields of wild flowers that covered the landscape in spring. It is indeed an attractive city, with a magnificent collection of old sandstone buildings gracing tree-lined President Brand Street, named for an early president of the old “Oranje Vrystaat.” It’s possible that Lord Roberts too thought Bloemfontein was an attractive city when he first arrived but, as he struggled to deal with critical logistics problems and severe outbreaks of typhoid and enteric fever amongst his troops, he probably changed his mind.

Magersfontein 3 0 9 The legacy of the rotting carcases dumped into the Modder River at Paardeberg was carried into Bloemfontein and had flourished amongst the soldiers camped out in the open amidst a sea of mud and filth. A chronic lack of supplies meant that most were on short rations, without clean water, tents, rudimentary sanitary facilities or even a change of uniform. One newspaper correspondent described the men as looking like beggars in their ragged remnants of uniforms which did nothing to hide their most private parts! Roberts only now began to appreciate the difficulties of maintaining a vast army in a country that had no significant road system and was served, in most part, by a single railway line. The Royal Navy had done its duty and immense supplies of food, equipment, ammunition and fodder, not to mention thousands of additional troops, had arrived in Cape Town with little opportunity to move to the front. Roberts was aware that if the army was to succeed in its efforts to decisively defeat the Boers, he had to dramati- cally increase the number of mounted troops at his disposal. Calls had gone out to Britain and the Empire for mounted troops and Canada’s latest response, Strathcona’s Horse, set sail from Halifax on March 16, 1900, bound for Cape Town. While the British Army Commissariat struggled to solve the supply problem, the Medical Corp battled the disease problem. Both parties had their work cut for them. The Commissariat’s problems were compounded when the Boers, recognizing the inherent weaknesses in the overstretched British lines of communications, destroyed railway lines and bridges, and ambushed and derailed trains. The Medical Corp for its part had to deal with thousands of dead horses and oxen that littered the countryside and polluted dams, streams and rivers with deadly disease. Although troops were under strict orders to boil drinking water, the almost treeless plains around Bloemfontein made it nearly impossible to find fuel.

3 1 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS The army’s use of water carts to bring drinking water to the troops from supposedly unpolluted rivers and streams seemed like a good idea at the time, but it failed miserably in its implementation. The water carts, which originated in India, consisted of large wooden barrels mounted on carts pulled by mules or oxen. The problems arose when soldiers failed to clean out the interiors of the barrels, which soon harboured a disease-laden mould and turned clean water into typhoid soup. British newspaper reports from correspondents such as Rudyard Kipling raised a public outcry for something to be done for the soldiers suffering in far-away South Africa. Hundreds of doctors and nurses, prompted by the publicity, volunteered to go to the aid of the sick and wounded in Bloemfontein. When they arrived however, they were dismayed by the almost complete lack of medical attention available to the sick and wounded and the critical shortages of bandages, blankets and even tents for the field hospitals. Worst of all was the incredible lack of bedpans which resulted in soldiers with acute diarrhoea, many of them near to death, having to foul the area for hundreds of metres around the hospital tents. Amongst the 30,000 troops Roberts had in Bloemfontein, it was estimated that there were some 9,000 cases of the disease – in fact, by the conclusion of the war, of the 22,000 casualties the British army suffered in South Africa, some 13,000 fatalities were directly attributed to disease. Many civilian observers remarked that given the conditions the men lived under, they were surprised the death toll was so low! On our last day in Bloemfontein, Brad and I visited the President Brand military cemetery. As we gazed out over the acres of crosses that marked the final resting place of soldiers who had died of disease, the terrible human cost of the disaster that had befallen the British army was brought home to us. We searched amongst

Magersfontein 3 1 1 the hundreds of British graves for the graves of two Strathconas, Troopers Fernie and McIntosh, who, according to records, had also died of disease and were buried nearby. After a long search in an overgrown section of the cemetery, we eventually discovered the two graves we were looking for, but were disappointed to find that the grave of Trooper McIntosh had been severely damaged by van- dals. The two troopers had died within days of each other; Trooper McIntosh (spelt Mackintosh on his headstone) died on January 28 and Trooper Fernie on January 31, 1901. Vandalism was a problem we had often encountered in both civilian and military cemeteries, as well as on war memorials that ranged in date from the Anglo-Boer War to the Second World War. The extent of the vandalism often depended on the location of the cemetery or war memorial; obviously the more isolated the location, the greater the likelihood of vandalism. As I had mentioned earlier, one of the worst examples of vandalism we had seen on a Strathcona grave was the heavy damage inflicted on the headstone of Sergeant Brothers in the little cemetery at Badfontein. Judging from the deep chips gouged out of the solid granite, it appeared that some individual or individuals had used a heavy metal object, probably a large hammer, in the attempt to deface his memorial. Fortunately, and for reasons we could not fathom, the far more delicate cross that stood on Sergeant Logan’s grave was quite undamaged. As Brad and I left the cemetery, we noticed a group of five blacks with scythes engaged in cutting the long grass amongst the graves. We walked over to where they were working and I asked an elderly black who appeared to be in charge about the vandalism evident on so many of the graves and headstones. The group, delighted by our interest in their cemetery, promptly downed tools and joined us in a rough circle amongst the graves while we

3 1 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS discussed the matter. The elderly man, who was indeed in charge of the work group, introduced himself as Canaan. He said that he had worked for the city since 1969 and had tended graves in this particular cemetery for over 15 years. Many years ago he told us, some Afrikaner youths would deliberately target the graves of British soldiers, smashing the headstones with rocks, but now the damage was being done by young black men. “But why damage the graves of British, Canadian and Australian soldiers?” Brad asked, “After all, they were here fighting the Boers.” The group had nodded their understanding of the question and looked to Canaan for the answer. “Our young people are very unhappy,” he began. “They looked for too much when Madiba (Nelson Mandela) was in charge over de Klerk; we all hoped there would be good money and plenty of jobs with the vote. But now you see how things are. We all have no money.” All heads nodded in vigorous agreement. Canaan continued, “The young men feel cheated and are angry when they come here at night to fight and drink; they want to break things and,” he stood and gestured at the surrounding graves, “they break the houses of these dead people. It is very sad.” “Also they steal stones and iron,” one of the other workers added. Canaan, who did not appear to be too pleased by this new revelation, reluctantly nodded his head in agreement. “They are selling the iron and using the stones for building houses. These are very poor people,” he added, as if by way of apology. “Even some workers and bosses take iron and stones from here to make money,” piped up yet another of the workers. It was evident this conversation was not going the way Canaan wanted, so he abruptly broke up the gathering and led his group back to their scythes and the long grass amongst the graves. Given the immense problems caused by the thousands of

Magersfontein 3 1 3 murders, rapes, armed robberies and car hijackings that plague South Africa on a daily basis, graveyard vandalism is understandably not a major concern to the forces of law and order. Also, the fact that most of the graves and monuments vandalized commemorated long dead white men did not help either. When the Boer War ended in 1902, Lady Minto, the wife of the Canadian governor general the Earl Minto, formed the War Memorial Association, which raised private funds to record and mark the graves of Canadian soldiers in South Africa. Initially, only 180 polished granite headstones, each engraved with the maple leaf and the word Canada, were sent to South Africa. As all of the graves we had seen had similar headstones, we assumed that over time, additional headstones must have been sent over. South Africa’s National Monuments Council, whom we contacted prior to going to South Africa, told us that while most Canadian war graves are in well-maintained municipal cemeteries, others are scattered around the country in over 50 sites, many of them in remote locations. They also mentioned that a few years ago the Council had sent a letter to the Canadian High Commission inquiring about additional financial assistance for the maintenance of Canadian graves. It is our understanding that the paltry sum of $3,000 a year was to be sent for the maintenance and refurbish- ment of the 302 graves of Canadians who died in South Africa. So much for “Lest we forget.”

3 1 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS 15 The City of Gold

t was a beautiful sunny morning when we left Bloemfontein and Iheaded north on the N1 bound for the city of Kroonstad. The N1 was at one time one of the finest highways in South Africa, but poor maintenance had resulted in a growing number of tire- destroying potholes. It was evident that the problem had not gone unnoticed by the Department of Highways as, to our amusement, signs had been erected to warn motorists of badly potholed sections that lay ahead. Obviously erecting signs was significantly less costly than actually fixing the potholes! Founded in 1855, the city of Kroonstad is one of the prettiest communities in the Free State. It has a number of fine sandstone buildings and in front of the colonnaded city hall stands a magnificent statue of De Wet, whip in hand, mounted on a rearing horse. However, we were here in search of the grave of Trooper Ingram, who was killed on December 31, 1900 (some records say December 23) at Clocolan, while in pursuit of De Wet’s commando. Our list of the locations of war graves indicated that, after the war, his body had been exhumed from some lonely kopje on the veld and subsequently reburied in the Kroonstad Garden of Remembrance.

The City of Gold 3 1 5 Statue of General De Wet in Kroonstad

Following a brief search, we discovered the Garden of Remembrance and were pleased to find the cemetery well tended and the military graves in excellent condition. While Trooper Ingram had the unfortunate distinction of being the last Strathcona to be killed in South Africa, we were pleased to see that he now rests in good company, surrounded by the graves of three members of the Royal Canadian Regiment and a trooper of the Canadian Scouts. We filmed Trooper Ingram’s grave from a number of angles as we had plans to incorporate the headstone in a re-enactment scene we were planning to film on our return to Canada. We left Kroonstad, diverting from the N1 onto the R721, and headed north to the town of Parys in search of lunch. Located

3 1 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS on the south bank of the Vaal River, Parys did not appear to offer much in the line of restaurants. Unwilling to forgo lunch, we eventually settled on a small café where we ordered steak sandwiches that contained, unquestionably, the toughest steak in all of Africa! However, the execrable meal turned out to be a lucky break. Two doors down from where we had parked the car, I noticed a small antique shop. Never one to pass up an opportunity to have a look around, I popped in and almost immediately discovered a dust- covered, very old and slightly battered British army bugle that I simply had to have. I purchased this wonderful find and am pleased to say that it polished up beautifully and now occupies pride-of- place on my bookcase. It took us about 45 minutes to drive from Parys to Potchefstroom, the first capital of the Boer republic of the Transvaal. It’s an attractive community with tree-lined streets (one street, appropriately named Oak Avenue, is lined with over 700 oak trees) and a host of historical buildings, many of which date back to its founding in 1838 by the Voortrekker, Andries Potgieter. To me though, Potchefstroom, or Potch as it’s called locally, brought back a mixed bag of memories. More years ago than I care to admit to, a lot of young men, myself included, were ripped from the safe bosom of family and friends and catapulted into the harsh world of the South African army. Potch army camp was the home of that dreaded portion of any soldier’s life, the three months of basic training when, according to military theory, they break you down and then build you up. The corporal instructors were unbeatable at breaking us down; however, their building-up skills needed a lot of work. Despite evoking many fond memories of my time in the army, the main purpose of our visit to Potchefstroom was to search for information on the battle at Frederickstadt. We struck gold at the

The City of Gold 3 1 7 local museum when we were given the phone number of a retired history professor, considered an expert on the battle. When the Strathconas arrived in Pretoria at the conclusion of their deployment with General Buller’s column in the eastern Transvaal, many of them were hopeful that they may soon be going home. These hopes were dashed when they received remounts; clearly their war was not yet over. If the men of Strathcona’s Horse had expected at least a period of rest and relaxation, they were disappointed. A column under the command of General Barton was besieged in the town of Frederickstadt by none other than General De Wet and the Strathconas were ordered to join the relief column led by Colonel Hicks. We phoned the history professor and, after we explained our interest in Frederickstadt, he agreed to meet us the following day over breakfast in a downtown café. A steady rain that had begun falling encouraged us to start looking for accommodation for the night. The Oudrift Riverside Lodge was recommended in our guide book, so we called ahead and made a reservation. The lodge turned out to be even nicer than the guide book suggested, always a welcome occurrence, travellers would agree. During our drive around the town, we had spotted a modern shopping centre constructed around a man-made lake offering a variety of restaurants located on jetties that extended out on the lake. A fish restaurant attracted our attention so we decided to go there that evening for dinner. We were not disappointed. Afterwards, as we strolled along the boardwalk, we noticed a black man walking towards us eating what turned out to be fish and chips out of a paper package. When we were about three meters away he suddenly threw the package on the ground, scattering the contents over a wide area. I was incensed at this extreme act of

3 1 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS littering and said to him, “This is your country now; why did you do that?” Without breaking his stride, he turned towards me and floored me with his answer: “We all need work and it makes work for another man.” The next morning we met the history professor for breakfast. His description of the action at Frederickstadt was, as one would expect from an academic, both detailed and precise. But most interestingly, he viewed the entire engagement from the Boer perspective. A refreshing change, as most Boer War literature available was usually from the British perspective. So, along with the professor, we watched with trepidation the movement of General Barton and his column along the Gatsrand range of hills, where he easily brushed aside our efforts to halt his advance on Frederickstadt. We shared the professor’s elation as a force of nearly 2,000 Boers, led by the legendary General De Wet, joined us in trapping Barton and his column in Frederickstadt. However, despite our best efforts, we were unable to break through the British defences. Then on the sixth day of the battle, 150 of our men managed to seize control of a small stream and railway bridge within the British lines, a small victory, which effectively denied them vital access to water. Unfortunately, the actions of the Scots and Welsh Fusiliers, despite heavy casualties, managed to turn us out of this advantageous position. The next day, Colonel Hicks’s arrival with sizeable reinforcements, including Strathcona’s Horse, convinced us that the battle of Frederickstadt was lost. It was with heavy hearts that our commandos rode away into the vastness of the western Transvaal in search of another British column that might not be so lucky. As he was unable to accompany us to the battle site, the professor had drawn a rough map which showed us how to get to Frederickstadt, or at least to the area where the village was once

The City of Gold 3 1 9 located. He also advised us that once we were there, we should stop at the local trading store for more directions on locating the old railway bridge which marked the site of the battle for the water supply. When we checked out of the lodge later that morning, a fellow guest, who had struck up a conversation with us in the lobby, warned us that carjacking was a major concern for motorists headed north from Potchefstroom. In fact, he told us, there were even road signs that warned motorists of the frequent hijackings that occurred in the area. A little something to make the drive more stressful! The trading store at Frederickstad was a classic example of the old type of store that once serviced the more remote rural areas of Africa for the first half of the last century. The rusted corrugated iron roof and walls and the weathered wooden boards of the stoep in front of the store, contributed to our erroneous impression that the store must have been here during the battle of Frederickstadt. The reason behind the professor’s suggestion to obtain “advice on local conditions” became abundantly clear once we arrived at the trading store. We had no sooner stopped our car when two white men came out of the store; one remained standing on the stoep while the other walked over to us. I must confess I got a bit of a jolt when I noticed he was wearing a sidearm. After I greeted him in Afrikaans and explained the purpose of our visit, he responded amiably enough and invited us into the store for a cup of coffee. The interior was dark and smelled strongly of wood smoke but, as our eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, we were able to make out the smoke-blackened rafters, festooned with all manner of pots and pans, galvanized iron baths, hurricane lamps and wicker baskets. The shelves around the walls were stacked with blankets, tinned goods, paraffin stoves and an assortment of tools. I whispered to Brad, “Take a good look at this. It’s like going back in time

3 2 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS almost a hundred years!” One of the men must have overheard my remark because later, over a cup of strong coffee, he told us that his grandfather had started the store in the 1920s. Together they looked at the professor’s map and, after making a few alterations to the roads he had drawn, remarked that a few years must have passed since the professor’s last visit. We thanked them for the coffee and their assistance and, as they walked us to our car, they advised us that we should be very careful not venture too far into the bush around the old railway bridge. “Bly naby jou motor,” (stay near your car) was their last piece of shouted advice. If we hadn’t been nervous before the shouted advice, we sure as hell were nervous afterwards! I must confess it was with some trepidation that we followed a barely discernable track into a valley where, after some searching, we found the old railway bridge and stream where the Boers had denied the British access to their water supply. We completed our filming as quickly as possible and, although we did not set eyes on anyone during the drive to the bridge, or while we were there, we both agreed later that we felt as though we were being watched. The action at Frederickstadt scarcely took up a page in the Strathconas regimental diary, but it had a profound effect on Private Edwin McCormick, bugler and orderly to the commanding officer, Colonel Sam Steele. Edwin, or Mickey as he preferred to be called, was the youngest serving member in Strathcona’s Horse and Canada’s youngest soldier in the Boer War. He was born in New York in 1884 and, with a letter of permission from his parents managed, at the tender age of 15, to enlist in the regiment as a bugler. In his memoirs, McCormick had written of the battle at Frederickstadt and of his sorrow on discovering a young Boer of a similar age to him lying dead in the veld. Despite the effect this

The City of Gold 3 2 1 tragic scene must have had on McCormick, it did not deter him following his discharge from the Strathconas from reenlisting in the 2nd Canadian Mounted Rifles serving until the war ended in 1902. The Strathconas spent a month in the vicinity of Frederickstadt and Potchefstroom, mostly engaged in protecting supply columns and encampments from the attentions of scattered groups of Boers in the area. It was during this time that the regiment became involved in Kitchener’s plan to burn all Boer farms in the vicinity of any attack by commandos. When the attacks continued unabated, the orders were broadened, authorizing the destruction of all occupied farms especially where it was believed the husband and sons were away serving with a commando. The actual burning of the farm buildings was only part of the process. It was standard practice for the soldiers involved to first loot the farm house and outbuildings, stealing any valuables and food they could find before they set fire to the property. All horses, cattle, sheep and chickens of any use to the military were confiscated and the remaining livestock destroyed. Descriptions exist of soldiers taking all day to bayonet thousands of sheep so as to save the expenditure of ammunition. Finally, to complete the destruction, all fruit trees were cut down; crops were uprooted or, if suf- ficiently dry, destroyed by fire. During the early stages of the farm burning policy, the occupants of the farms, usually only women, children and aged parents, were left to fend for themselves on the open veld. Later in the war, and perhaps out of some shred of misplaced decency, the families burnt out of their homes were loaded onto wagons and taken to the nearest internment camp where, as we have read earlier, many thousands died from disease and malnutrition. Lord Roberts originally intended the policy of farm burning to

3 2 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS punish the local supporters of the commandos who attacked his railway lines. If he believed the punishment of defenceless woman and children would bring a speedy end to the war, he was sadly mistaken. Even Lord Kitchener’s draconian escalation of the policy did nothing to force the Boers to the negotiating table. If anything, it backfired by hardening Boer resolve to continue fighting. A Boer’s farm was central to his family, his sense of community and his religion. It represented years of hard work that spanned generations and provided the only source of economic and social well-being for his family. If he saw his farm standing idle with crops or cattle that required tending, he was sorely tempted to return. In fact, in the early stages of the war, one of the greatest problems any Boer general had to deal with was the tendency of his men to take a few months off from fighting to tend to his farm. However, if his farm had been destroyed, cattle killed or stolen, crops burnt and wife and children locked up in a camp, what else could he do but continue to fight? The small band of bitter einders he fought with became his family, and the continuation of the war, his very reason for existence. Though the suffering of the Boer families whose farms and livelihoods were destroyed was great, many of those who carried out the destruction often suffered from remorse and deep-seated feelings of guilt. I am aware from research into this tragic aspect of the war that a few soldiers from both British and Colonial regiments took a fiendish delight in looting and destroying Boer farms. To these men, it was probably an act of retribution against an enemy whose unseen presence often filled their days, but always their nights, with fear. After we left Frederickstadt, we took a back road that eventually linked up with the N12, the most direct route to Johannesburg. Jo’burg, Jozi, Joeys or iGoli, use any name you like, it is the most

The City of Gold 3 2 3 famous, or most infamous city in all of Africa. A city where both dreams and nightmares can come true. We would be untruthful if we did not admit to feelings of trepidation as we drove towards the city we had been warned about so many times. Our airline schedule allowed us one more day in South Africa – a day we planned to use meeting up with an old friend in Johannesburg and, if circumstances allowed, taking a quick look at the new Jo’burg, which I had not seen since my last visit back in the late 1970s. At that time, the apartheid regime was in full swing under the leadership of Balthazar Vorster and I don’t think any South African, black or white, would then have believed that in less than 25 years, Nelson Mandela would be the country’s president. As we entered the outskirts of the city, its dramatic skyline, confusing network of modern expressways and the astonishing spread of the suburbs into areas which were bare veld only a few years before proved that Jo’burg was still one of the most incredible cities in all of Africa. “Imagine,” I remarked to Brad, “Just 125 years ago, there was nothing here but open, windswept veld until an Aussie came by and discovered the richest gold fields in the world!” The story began when a widow, Mevrou Anna Oosthuizen, wanted a small house built on her farm, Langlaagte, located on a bleak windswept area south of Pretoria known as the Witwatersrand. To assist in the construction she hired a wandering fortune hunter and prospector, an Australian named George Harrison, who showed up one day looking for a job. Harrison, who was not overly fond of work, was hoping to save just enough money to get him back to the goldfields in Barberton in the eastern Transvaal, where he was sure his luck would soon turn for the better. Being a deeply religious woman, Mevrou Oosthuizen

3 2 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS did not allow her hired help to work on Sundays, an arrangement which suited Harrison, who enjoyed walking on his own across the vast solitude of the veld. It was on one of these walks that he kicked up a small piece of rock in which his prospector’s eye detected the glint of gold flecks. Other prospectors had also discovered similar outcrops of con- glomerate or banket rock in the area, but none up to now had indicated any significant gold content. Harrison kept the news of his find to himself but, a few days later, when his partner George Walker showed up, he let him in on the secret. While Harrison continued to work on the house, Walker went prospecting and eventually proved to their satisfaction that they had indeed discovered gold. They took Anna Oosthuizen into their confidence and, between the three of them, drew up a contract which entitled them to the mineral rights on the farm. It was about this time that poor old George Harrison, not entirely convinced of the richness of their find, sold his share for 10 pounds and set out for the Barberton goldfields, where he hoped to eventually strike it rich! As Harrison faded into history his ex-partners prospered. With the need for secrecy gone, the news of their find spread like wild- fire and, within a few months, major gold discoveries were being made all along the Witwatersrand. The peculiar nature of the Witwatersrand reef, which rose and fell like a sinuous serpent, had outcroppings of gold-bearing rock popping up to the surface then disappearing underground and reappearing again, perhaps a mile away. Thousands of prospectors flocked to the Witwatersrand from all over the world, drawn by the promise of riches beyond imagination, but these riches were mostly beyond the pick, shovel and pan skills of the ordinary prospector. Mining the Witwatersrand main reef required an enormous investment in ore-crushing stamp

The City of Gold 3 2 5 batteries, deep-level mining machinery and ultimately, a complicated chemical process to extract the gold. Gold has long been the basis for South Africa’s prosperity, with over a half a million South Africans currently dependent on the industry for their livelihood. During the 125 years since the discovery of the Witwatersrand goldfields, over 4,500 million tonnes of gold-bearing rock have been mined, resulting in the recovery of over 45 million kilograms of gold. South Africa remains the world’s largest gold-producing country and also boasts the world’s deepest mine, the East Rand Mine, which operates to a depth of 3,600 metres. The annual gold production record is currently held by the Freegold mine, which produces around 115 tonnes a year, while the Driefontein Consolidated Mine, at 2,292 tonnes, has produced more gold than any other mine on the Witwatersrand. Despite the advanced technology of the gold mining industry, it is still an enormous challenge to sink a shaft through thousands of metres of solid rock. The South Deep Gold Mine located west of Johannesburg has, at 2,990 metres, the deepest single-drop mining shaft in the world, a record that took nearly seven years to achieve. The logistics of the industry are impressive. Huge quantities of water are pumped from the mines every day, while at 3,000 metres underground, temperatures hover around 50 degrees C, requiring complex refrigeration systems to make working conditions tenable. As we got closer to the city we could see the remains of the yellow mine dumps and slimes dams, by-products of the chemical processes used to extract gold from the crushed rock. They’ve succeeded in growing grass on most of the mine dumps and, when I lived in Jo’burg, there was even a drive-in theatre on top of one of them. However, because of the incredible price of gold these days, mine dumps are fast disappearing, as mining companies reprocess

3 2 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS them for even the smallest traces of the precious metal. It was close to dusk as we followed the N12 south around the city, gradually edging north towards the international airport where we had arranged to meet our friends, Peter and Kathy, in the lobby of the Airport Sun Hotel. As we drove further into the south-eastern suburbs, we began to hit rush-hour traffic (figuratively speaking, I am glad to say). I got Brad to help me with the navigating and also asked him to call Peter and Kathy to announce our imminent arrival. After I left school I worked with Peter for two years in downtown Jo’burg and had managed to stay in touch over the years. I hadn’t seen Peter for close to 30 years and had never met Kathy, though I had spoken to them both by phone on a number of occasions. I was aware that the new South Africa had not been kind to Peter, and it was possibly because of this that I did not recognize him when he walked into the lobby. It was eight years ago that he lost his position through “affirmative action,” and since then, he had not been able to find any meaningful employment. Fortunately for both of them, Kathy’s parents had left them well provided for, in stark contrast to many other friends who have not been so fortunate. After introductions all Downtown Johannesburg, 1976 round, we retired to the hotel

The City of Gold 3 2 7 lounge for a celebratory drink while Peter and Kathy outlined their plans for us. They insisted we return our hire car and travel with them to their home in Sandton, one of Jo’burg’s northern suburbs, where we would join them for dinner, a good night’s rest and the next day a drive around the city. Needless to say we did not require very much persuasion and gratefully accepted their generous offer. Their home was a modern, three-bedroom bungalow on a quiet, tree-lined street, similar to many upper middle-class homes you might find in North America, were it not for the burglar bars on all the windows, high wire fences and signs promising the usual armed response to an unauthorized entry. While the exterior of their home may have appeared to be less than welcoming, Peter and Kathy were excellent hosts. Kathy had prepared a leg of Springbuck venison, which she roasted with spek (South African bacon), along with the obligatory roast potatoes, green beans and, to my further delight, baked gem squash, a South African vegetable delicacy I had not enjoyed for many years. For desert, we enjoyed koeksisters, a honey-saturated deep fried cruller; definitely not recommended for those on a diet! All of this was accompanied by two bottles of an outstanding Cape cabernet, followed by a fine KWV brandy and hours of good conversation and reminiscences. Bright and early the next day, Peter and Kathy first took us to see the Fourways Gardens Estate. A new housing development designed along an African theme, it even had a miniature-game reserve stocked with antelope and a few zebras. We then moved on to one of the spectacular shopping malls that dot the northern suburbs for breakfast. The first thing one notices about Jo’burg are the trees. When gold was discovered, it was bare dusty veld with hardly a tree in sight. This depressing outlook prompted mining magnates or

3 2 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS “Randlords,” such as Barney Barnato, Woolf Joel and Alfred Beit who, while amassing fortunes and building large mansions, transformed the landscape by encouraging the cultivation of hundreds of thousands of trees. This magnificent legacy has transformed the northern areas of the city into one of the most densely-forested urban areas in the world. During breakfast I had expressed a desire to see the downtown part of the city where Peter and I used to work. “You won’t like what you see,” Peter remarked, “but, if you are to understand the changes that have taken place, we’ll make a quick visit after breakfast, though it’s not the sort of place we like to spend any time in.” We started our trip down memory lane along Louis Botha Avenue, through Highlands North, where I went to high school, then Orange Grove, where my family once lived, and then on into Berea and Hillbrow. What was once an upscale residential area with excellent restaurants and discos, Hillbrow was now a shabby, dangerous looking place with tall high-rise apartments sporting peeling paint, broken windows and scary, dark doorways. “Not the sort of place for a breakdown,” Kathy quipped. “It’s become the area of choice for illegal immigrants from most of Africa’s trouble spots. It seems as though every gangster, pimp and drug dealer from Zimbabwe to Nigeria has come to strike it rich in Jozi. One could say that Hillbrow is the area that gave rise to the joke that the safest place to spend the night when visiting Jo’burg is Pretoria!” Having seen enough, we turned into Edith Cavell Street and drove down the hill into the city centre. “It’s called the Central Business District or CBD,” Peter said, “Some say it stands for Crime Belongs Downtown which is probably why most of the banks, insurance companies and all the larger stores have fled to the safety of shopping malls in the northern suburbs. The only big businesses left have hunkered down in self-contained enclaves, complete

The City of Gold 3 2 9 with underground parking, shops, restaurants and security guards to keep the rest of Jo’burg out.” We drove past tall office buildings and retail outlets that were boarded or bricked up; many of which appeared to have been broken into and occupied by squatters. While we were stopped at a robot (traffic light), it was impossible not to notice the strong smell of urine that emanated from gutters choked with rubbish from the dozens of sidewalk stalls that sold food and cheap clothing to the hundreds of aimlessly wandering poor and unemployed. This was not the Johannesburg I remembered. My memories were of a modern city that was once home to the head offices of dozens of major companies, smart department stores, magnificent hotels and fine restaurants. The present reality left me with a profound sense of loss. We drove past the Supreme Court, then headed south along Von Wielligh Street and into Commissioner Street, one of the main thoroughfares of downtown Jo’burg. “Do you remember the Carlton Centre,” Kathy asked, “Take a look at it now.” I remembered the Carlton Centre as a towering, 50-floor office building and the adjacent Carlton Hotel which, 20 years ago, were considered the crown jewels of a dynamic and exciting city. I remembered sitting with my wife in the opulent Koffiehuis restaurant watching the elite of Johannesburg society walk by. “But no more,” Kathy continued. “As downtown grew more dangerous, wealthy patrons stopped coming and the entire complex eventually closed down. As you can see, the whole place is boarded up and squatters are the only residents now.” “Let’s get out of here now,” said Peter, “and take a quick look at the zoo and the military museum in Saxonwold. It’s very much improved since you were here last and I’m sure you will enjoy it.” As we continued along Commissioner Street, headed for the De

3 3 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Villiers Graaff Expressway, Peter pointed out John Vorster Square, the infamous Johannesburg security police headquarters where many of the worst atrocities of the apartheid era took place. It was said that if you walked in wearing handcuffs, you probably would not be able to walk when you left. The detention cells in this building must have echoed with the screams of hundreds of both the guilty and the innocent swept up in the excesses of the apartheid regime. Prisoners whose arms had been broken during interrogation somehow managed to make a rope out of their bedding and hang themselves while others, despite the tight security, managed to escape by flinging themselves out of fifth-storey windows. This method of “escaping” was so prevalent that one newspaper sarcastically suggested that the security police erect scaf- folding over the sidewalks to protect pedestrians from “escaping” detainees. Peter and Kathy had arranged a lunchtime braaivleis (barbeque) at their house so that we could meet a few of their friends before driving us back to the airport for our evening flight to London. We did not have time to enter the zoo, but the sight of the arches of the familiar Boer war memorial with its bronze angel of peace brought back childhood memories of bags of peanuts and candy floss and rides on the backs of Indian elephants. As planned, we stopped for a quick visit to the War Museum, which is located adjacent to the zoo grounds. I recalled with nostalgia the many Sunday afternoons spent with my father walking amongst the tanks, guns and aircraft of a collection that spanned all the wars from the Boer War to the Korean War and even the armed struggle of the Umkhonto We Sizwe against the forces of apartheid. I lost no time in making directly for the ancient, tri-motor Junkers 86, which was my father’s favourite exhibit. This was the type of aircraft he had flown with

The City of Gold 3 3 1 South African Airways after the airline had taken delivery of 17 Ju 86’s purchased from Germany in 1937. Two years later, at the start of the Second World War, he had again flown Ju 86’s with 12 Bomber Squadron, South African Air Force, during the campaign against the Italians in Ethiopia. His favourite story about the Junkers was the amused reaction he had received from RAF brass when, seconded to fly for RAF Coastal Command in Britain, he cited a front-line German aircraft as representative of his multi- engine aircraft experience! The braai was held in their garden on a wide, slasto-tiled patio, beautifully shaded by a magnificent Jacaranda tree. Two other couples joined the four of us for drinks around the pool, while Peter attended to the cooking of boerewors and steaks on a huge gas grill. Peter and Kathy employed two African servants: Amos, a man in his late 40s who tended the garden and “heavy housework” as he described it, and a maid, Ivy, who was an excellent cook and ran the household like clockwork. “Ivy has been with us since we were married,” Kathy had told me, “and Amos joined us about five years ago, when our neighbours immigrated to Australia.” We were introduced to Sandy and his wife Joyce who operated a refrigeration business and Andries and his wife Marie who were medical doctors. “Unlike Peter,” Sandy joked, “none of us can be affirmed out of our jobs!” Job security was clearly very important to whites in their struggle to maintain a safe, secure and reasonably affluent lifestyle. “It’s not the same as when you lived here Tony; there is no safety net just because you are white, nothing between you and living under a bridge in Soweto.” Not surprisingly, Andries and Marie were in the process of emigrating to Australia. “We looked at Canada as well,” Marie confided, “but, although we know of many other doctors who have gone to Canada, the prospect of better weather won out.” I jokingly remarked that there

3 3 2 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS can’t be too many doctors left in South Africa; obviously I struck a raw nerve. “None of us would ever think of emigrating,” Andries jumped in. “We love this country, but what sort of future do you think we have? Crime is rampant and what does the government do? It stops publishing the statistics. AIDS is destroying family life and we have a president who pretends it isn’t happening, or suggests garlic as a cure. Corruption is increasing wherever you look; top politicians like Jacob Zuma and even the chief of police are under investigation. Unemployment amongst blacks and whites is growing out of control and their housing scheme for blacks is 50 per cent short of its target, and what do they do? They change the names of towns and cities: Pietersburg to Polokwane and, for God’s sake, Pretoria to Tshwane. It probably cost millions of rands to change road signs and maps and what for? How the hell do you think it makes us feel?” He answered his own question, “It makes us feel that we are not welcome in our own country. So I say to hell with them; let them go back to their witch doctors!” Peter stepped in with another round of drinks and smoothed things over while I worked on containing my flippant remarks. We had a delightful lunch. Brad and I particularly enjoyed the boerewors, aware that this may be the last time we would eat boerewors in South Africa, at least on this trip. For a while, talk centred on our documentary and the various places we had visited during our filming, but eventually politics of a sort intruded again and Brad and I were pressed to make comparisons between life in Australia and Canada. It seemed to me that emigration was a regular subject of conversation in the northern suburbs of Jo’burg. Perhaps afraid of what I might say next, Peter changed the subject slightly. “We often hear it said that when Mandela was released from prison, you couldn’t find a white who’d ever supported

The City of Gold 3 3 3 apartheid. While it’s true that most of us enjoyed the benefits of apartheid, you must remember that when it came to the crunch, an overwhelming majority of whites supported the referendum allowing free general elections for all races.” (Nearly 70 per cent of whites voted yes.) “Given our past history,” Peter continued, “we were to say the least, a little apprehensive of how things would turn out. Fortunately South Africa was blessed with a man like Nelson Mandela.” This statement brought murmurs of approval all round. “God knows, we could use another Madiba right now,” echoed Sandy. “And that, Tony and Brad, is the crux of the problem. The present government seems to have lost its way. Major problems that affect blacks, even more than whites, such as crime, unemployment and housing, are either ignored or receive only token attention. I can tell you this problem worries people like us. How long will the blacks put up with massive unemployment, kak (crap) housing and a general state of affairs not much changed since the days of apartheid? When the crap finally hits the fan, what will the politicos do? Take a leaf out of Mugabe’s book and start blaming the whites for the country’s problems, then start nationalizing everything in sight to buy some time before everything finally goes to hell in a hand basket?” “It’s always worried me that our black politicians never speak out about the disaster in Zimbabwe,” Andries said. “Maybe they’re thinking that’s a road they may have to travel in the future. Who knows? Ja nee, now you know what keeps many of us awake at night!” I was very sad when I considered the uncertain future that lay before the country of my birth, which also holds the graves of three generations of my forbears. The old South Africa was gone and good riddance, but my old neighbourhood was no longer safe for anyone, white or black, and the walls that separate the races seemed to be

3 3 4 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS growing ever higher. In many respects the new Johannesburg is not dissimilar to most of the world’s larger cities where a small affluent population is surrounded (the word besieged also comes to mind) by a very much larger population of poor people beset with the usual problems of unemployment, inadequate housing and poor health. Harold Macmillan’s wind of change has swept colonialism from Africa, but it has been replaced by corruption and incompetence, and most of Africa’s dreams of freedom and a new beginning are still just dreams. If South Africa is not to become another Zimbabwe, the government desperately needs to act now to restore white confidence in the country. It needs to repeal, or at least moderate affirmative employment laws, prosecute corruption in all levels of government and move effectively to curb violent crime. Hopefully, these measures may discourage the emigration of white and black professionals the country cannot afford to lose. Will this happen? I don’t know. But I am hopeful. As our last day in South Africa drew to a close, Kathy and Peter drove us to the airport. It is always a sad occasion to leave good friends behind, especially when it is uncertain whether you may ever see them again. Nevertheless we exchanged positive invi- tations to visit each other in the next few years and, hopefully, we may do just that. As our British Airways 747 climbed into the darkening sky over Johannesburg, I reflected on the places we had seen and the many interesting people we had met. No question about it, I was grateful that my family and I lived in peace and security in Canada and yet, I must admit, I was also sorry that I was no longer part of the story of South Africa. I had returned to the land of my birth with my son in search of the Queen’s Cowboys and, in tracing their adventures, I believe I had also found something of myself.

The City of Gold 3 3 5 3 3 6 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS Select Bibliography The Author relied largely on his own experiences and historical recollections as well as those of friends and family living in South Africa, Australia and Canada. The following books are suggested as further reading on South Africa and the Anglo-Boer War.

Calderisi, Robert. The Trouble with Africa: Why Foreign Aid Isn’t Working. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006. Carruthers, Jane. Wildlife & Warfare: The Life Of James Stevenson- Hamilton. Pietermaritzburg: University of Natal Press, 2001. Farwell, Byron. The Great Anglo-Boer War. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1976. Godwin, Peter. When a Crocodile Eats the Sun. New York: Picador, 2007. Lock, Ron & Peter Quantrill. Zulu Victory: The Epic of Isandlwana and the Cover-up. London: Greenhill Books, 2002. Lord Strathcona’s Horse (Royal Canadians) Regimental Society. Diary of Lord Strathcona’s Corps: South African War 1900- 1901. Calgary: Bunker to Bunker Publishing, 2000. Meredith, Martin. The Fate of Africa: From the Hopes of Freedom to the Heart of Despair. New York: Public Affairs Books, 2005. . Diamonds, Gold and War: The British, the Boers, and the Making of South Africa. New York: Public Affairs Books, 2007. Miller, Carman. Painting The Map Red: Canada And The South African War 1899-1902. Ottawa: Canadian War Museum. Pietermaritzburg: University Of Natal Press,1993. Moorcraft, Paul & Peter McLaughlin. The Rhodesian War: A Military History. Johannesburg: Jonathon Ball, 2008. Pakenham, Thomas. The Boer War. London: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1979.

Searching for the Queen’s Cowboys 3 3 7 Pretorius, Fransjohan. Life on Commando During the Anglo-Boer War 1899-1902. Cape Town: Human & Rousseau, 1999. The Great Escape of the Boer Pimpernel Christiaan de Wet: The Making of a Legend. Pietermaritzburg: University of Natal Press, 2001. Reid, Bryan. Our Little Army In The Field: The Canadians In South Africa 1899-1902. Ontario: Vanwell Publishing, 1996. Reitz, Deneys. Commando: A Boer Journal of the Boer War. London: Faber and Faber, 1983. Rumbelow, Donald. The Complete Jack The Ripper. London: Penguin Books, 1988. Russell, Alec. Bring Me My Machine Gun: The Battle for the Soul of South Africa from Mandela to Zuma. New York: Public Affairs Books, 2009. Wolhuter, Harry. Memories of a Game Ranger. Johannesburg: The Wild Life Protection Society of South Africa, 1950.

3 3 8 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS About the Author Born and educated in South Africa and following a tour of duty in the South African Army, Tony Maxwell travelled widely in Africa, the Middle East, Europe, Canada and Central America. After completing courses at the New York Institute of Photography and the Australian Film and Television School, he set out for the jungles of Papua New Guinea to film colour footage for a Second World War documentary, Theirs is the Glory. Travelling extensively in the South Pacific, he visited battlefields in the Solomon Islands, Bougainville and Kiribati (Tarawa) while filming the basis for another documentary. Back in Canada he was surprised to discover how little Canadians knew about their country’s involvement in the Anglo-Boer War just over a century ago. Tony and his son Brad studied the history of Canadian regiments that served in South Africa and, being Albertans, were impressed with the story of Lord Strathcona and his regiment of cowboys. Thus the documentary The Queen’s Cowboys was born.

Searching for the Queen’s Cowboys 3 3 9 3 4 0 SEARCHING FOR THE QUEEN’S COWBOYS