British Empire Article


Ramatlabama
by Des and Jill Somerset

Bechuanaland
Border Sign
We were married on the 1st November 1958 at Ramatlabama in Bechuanaland. From Ramatlabama, the nearest evidence of civilisation was Mafeking over the border in South Africa to which one could travel to shop once a week. Fortunately, in Ramatlabama, we had a good borehole so there was water in our taps (not something to be taken for granted, I later found). As we only had three books, we missed having a library of books hugely. Des was still studying Tswana (the country’s language) at night and needed the only lamp we possessed at that stage, I resorted to knitting. This period of our lives we had the tidiest of cupboards. We did not have many distractions to occupy ourselves during the day. There was no phone, no neighbours, no books apart from the three we had brought, and a radio with not much broadcast to listen to. Little did I realise it though but Ramatlabama would be relatively cosmopolitan compared to our next posting.

Even so, I still had so much to learn - wood stoves and their temperaments, irons with no electric cords dangling from them, remembering to order everything necessary for the groceries - the next opportunity to correct this could be anywhere from a week (in Ramatlabama) to up to two months away (in Tshabong).

I found it a difficult time - housebound with only deep sand and game for miles around - so no wandering about, apart from walking over to a small building where the police radio generator room was housed. The only contact with the outside world was through morse code. There were no neighbours, no telephone, no shop (apart from a very small trading store selling paraffin, mealie meal, matches and candles). Our own small radio (with a large G.V. battery - the size of two bricks and rather costly to replace) could only be used for two hours per day. When the borehole produced very little water then a trip down the garden path was required to the bucket loo. Night visits meant carrying a .303 rifle and a torch - as there were leopards and hyenas who lived on the other side of the dune and liked to visit at night times. Later, when pregnant, frequent visits at night became a necessity. It did not help that Des was away for three weeks out of four on poaching patrols.
Bechuanaland
Des in Police Uniform

It was not easy being a colonial wife. The ‘roads’ or 'rough tracks' were a better description, especially when driving in a truck long past its sell-by date. In later years I have been asked many times did I ride a camel. No, I did not - even though I did live at a camel station.

It was a very, very difficult world - very challenging but it was never boring! Food might be boring though as there was no fresh fruit or vegetables. Additionally, ordering food by Morse Code could result in errors and confusion (either in sending or receiving). For example one small tin of baked beans and one small tin of processed peas might arrive instead of the large tins ordered. There was no way of correcting this and mystery butter beans and pumpkins could turn up most unexpectedly.

Bechuanaland
Jill in Police Truck
Ordering groceries by Morse Code or over the police radio had its drawbacks when you required Feminine Articles. On one occasion I asked my husband to buy some when he, along with six delightful police drivers, had to go to Port Elizabeth to fetch much needed new police vehicles. I asked him to buy me new bras and gave him the label and my requirements. His police drivers had never been in South Africa before and accompanied him everywhere. Six of them, all very smartly dressed in heavily starched bush jackets and shorts, hats with a red pugaree around the crown, marched into the large department store with him and came to attention at his side in the lingerie department. The elderly lady was highly embarrassed, found his requirements quickly and he departed with his escort. For any future requirements I wrote to my mother, who was a wonderful help - everything from lingerie to size eight shoes (at times I had to wear high heels) and dresses etc for special occasions. Living in the desert and plunging straight into government parties definitely needed a larger than expected wardrobe.

Des was sometimes away for months on end either due to work or on a condensed language course in Mafeking (Normally A one year Wits University course run by Professor Cole). My only company was often just a young baby and our two dogs. I have to say that I lost hair through stress.

Bechuanaland
Des on Patrol
On one occasion I had to call Des out of Professor Coles’ class using the police radio to tell him the septic tank had overflowed and then having to receive his instructions in how to build or where to find another one. Then came my urgent plea of ‘where do I find rocks and stones’ for the septic tank construction as there was only sand as far as the eye could see. Unfortunately, this request of mine was accidentally broadcast all over the country so it took me a while to live this one down amongst the other colonial servants! At last, Des passed his course with Honours, which meant a double salary cheque and we could go on holiday to the coast and at last spend some time together.

Insects were a constant battle; especially the big beetles that were quite happy to munch on human flesh as well as each other! We called them Stututjane or Corn Crickets. There were also snakes to contend with. On one occasion when I was having a bath one night I saw an Adder slither under my bath. He felt quite at home with the warmth and dampness of the bathroom.

Much of the time I was pretty housebound - thick sand, isolation and game just outside the front door like lion, leopard, wild dog, not the sort of animals that you want to meet when on foot and are alone.

We stored a good supply of tea chests, wooden crates etc together with old newspapers (newspapers were a rare but valuable commodity) for household moves to any new station - often at short notice. The ability to protect one’s china plates, cups and saucers was crucial (only enamel mugs and plates were available locally). These boxes were also important for moving cats - dogs were easy. We once lost two cats who escaped when the truck door was opened somewhere in the middle of the Kalahari desert. However this wasn't as bad as our neighbours who asked the vet for ‘a pill to put their favourite pussy to sleep’ meaning for the journey. They were devastated when later told ‘don’t worry. I’ll bury him for you’ by the local vet.

Oh and of course we needed a tin trunk for storing our ‘better clothes’ including hat, gloves and bags. It had to be roomy enough to store your husband’s helmet (in its drawstring bag). These things were not usually needed on bush stations - (high heels in sand just did not work!) - but they were of course required on the busier and larger stations so needed to be on hand.

Visitors

The new border station had been open for about three months - all was going well except for one trader who, unused to signals and road signs, didn’t slow down for the boom to open. He wasn’t hurt but his car became a ‘convertible’. Otherwise it was pretty peaceful and all was going well.

One afternoon Des came home and informed me the Government Secretary would be arriving to see the new station and his wife would like to meet me for tea. I had no idea who the Govt. Secretary was, or his rank and being very shy I would find this overwhelming. (Fortunately I thought the Govt. Secretary to be a minor position or I would have been tongue-tied and very awkward).

Our stove was a new one with white enamel sides and a black shiny top; wood-burning of course. The temperature gauge puzzled me until, on a trip to Mafeking, I bought a new gauge. Not being much use at baking, I now found out why I had little success. The oven thermometer LIED - it probably was giving the temperature of the kitchen, being summer and very hot outside.

There was a small old prefab house 200m down the road, uninhabited, with a black Dover stove. I asked George, Des’ major-domo, to light the stove there. We then headed down there with a wheelbarrow load of wood, paper and matches and with a camp chair balanced on top holding baking trays of scones and biscuits with me following carrying yet more. Down the dusty stony track with two baking trays clutched in my hands, the inevitable happened! I tripped. The scones and biscuits went flying into the dirt and dust. They were no longer neatly cut, but out of shape and definitely dusty. I picked them up, dusted them off and tried to re-shape them. We made it to the little house and a hot black stove with an oven that worked.

The trip back home was more successful. I was able to avoid the stones and the rocks this time. I set out the plates with the home-made offerings and the tea tray in readiness. The wood stove was hot enough to boil the kettle so I relaxed and looked forward to my visitor - the Govt. Secretary’s wife. We were pretty isolated - Des’ only visitor was usually his O.C. who came down from Lobatse. I had met Captain Lowry’s wife, when on a courtesy visit, I had introduced myself.

The hierarchy in those days took some getting used to. But it all turned out to be the last thing that I had expected. A car arrived - there weren’t so many in use due to the sandy rocky tracks. A very smart constable jumped out and opened the back car door for a lovely friendly lady with a big smile who immediately put me at ease. We chatted away over tea. I apologised for the shape of the scones and biscuits, explained how they had lost their shape, but had been very well dusted. It was a lovely afternoon, friendly, relaxed with much laughter, and she quite understood my predicament.

A phone call came in to say her husband was on the way to fetch her using the same car and driver that had delivered her to our house - but in the back seat sat a smiling man dressed in ceremonial white uniform with plumed helmet. So much for being Govt. Secretary - it was actually the Governor of Botswana himself: Sir Peter Fawcus1. Over the years we met them at Government functions and always felt at ease, which was unusual for me.

Farewell Ramatlabama, Hello Tshabong 1959
Bechuanaland
Kgalagadi District Map
After six months of border policing and the opening of a new border post, Des was transferred to Tshabong in May 1959. Tshabong was the administrative seat of the Kgalagadi district. It was right out in the southwest of Bechuanaland. It was a real Kalahari desert outpost covering 60,000 square miles, complete with 60 camels, a small settlement of Makgalahaadi people and a very large variety of game. There were two small police posts manned by six policemen at each and the main station with twelve men, a District Commissioner and my husband the sub-inspector. A flying doctor visited once a month. Of course there was no electricity but even worse, very often there was hardly any water. Sometimes there was no water at all unless it was brought in from another borehole, but more of that later. So it was goodbye to friends and the handful of shops in relatively nearby Mafeking, and time to get packing, though having not been married for long there wasn’t the largest amount to pack.

The Government provided us with heavy household furniture for the lounge and dining room, five single beds and a kitchen table and chairs, as the average time of posting to a station was two years. Our household goods were packed into five tea chests that we had bought for 3/- each from a local trader near the railway sidings called Mr Roelefse, plus one or two tin trunks we had acquired. When moving day arrived we assembled In the front garden with our quota of mattresses to await the arrival of an empty five ton truck, which was to be our removal van.

By evening there was still no sign of the truck and we had to move back inside, unpacking the necessary bits for supper and a cup of tea. The kettle had been retrieved much earlier in the day. Des’ replacement and his wife kindly welcomed us back into the house for the night and we repeated the performance the following morning. At 4pm the following day the truck was finally heard off in the distance and much scurrying about and final repacking was done. Cats and dogs were rounded up, cats to go in a box and dogs in the front of the truck with us. The truck arrived and was piled high with wooden crates which had obviously come a great distance already, leaving a space of just about one metre wide across the back of the truck. This was totally inadequate for us, with all our household goods, cats, dogs, and our majordomo George with his bed and belongings too!

The wooden crates turned out to contain new camel saddles which had come from India and which we were to take with us. We were to replace the ones currently in use which had all been adapted from horse saddles. The driver cheerfully told us that the saddles were needed in a hurry, and that the small space that had been left on the tailgate was for Des and I to sit. And everything that we had packed; all our clothes, household goods, bedding, George, The two month supply of groceries.... they would all be picked up by the next truck said the driver confidently - it would come through in no more than two months time! I will leave It to you to imagine how I felt about this arrangement. There was over 500 kilometres of ‘road’ which lay ahead, none of it involving any form of tarmac. We had just one metre of tailgate to transport myself, my husband and our entire household to our new home. This was not going to make the grade, especially bearing in mind that I was about four months pregnant with our first daughter at the time.

My rage was quickly translated by Des into some very hot humming phone lines between our location and HQ, and eventually permission was granted to offload the saddles which were to be picked up by the next truck. I had guessed correctly about the time it would have taken for that second truck it finally came through two months later! In fact it turned out in the end that after all that effort by the authorities there had been no need for any hurry at all as the saddles were totally useless - our camels were too fat!

Bechuanaland
Truck Finally Packed
Des’ replacement and his wife kindly welcomed us back in again, and we finally left the following day, boxes piled high and mattresses tied on top. Our first stop was in Mafeking to pick up two month’s supplies. Des drove and the dogs and I had the passenger seat. The African driver and mate, who were both members of the Bechuanaland Protectorate Police, were happily ensconced on the mattresses on top of our possessions. The truck may have been mechanically sound, but passenger comfort was sorely lacking. As the day wore on and we travelled further and further West, the farms were getting further apart; the neat whitewashed buildings with gardens gave way to bare cement homes with no surround of garden or effort at fencing at all. Vegetation comprised of tufts of uninspired looking grass which miraculously did wonders for cattle. Then there were the thorn bushes and flat-topped thorn trees with their huge thorns, and sand, sand and more sand, which was loose and deep. Although it was winter it was still very hot during the day and incredibly dry. The cab of the truck became unbearably hot, and the rubber matting on the floor had long since disappeared leaving a bare metal floor. The screws for the battery cover plate were also long gone and it was necessary for the passenger, in this case me, to make sure that their feet were kept firmly on the plate to hold it In place otherwise sparks would fly. Literally. So with my feet holding a very hot metal plate In position, a large Alsatian puppy on my lap, a Dachshund pup sprawled across my shoulders, and a rather bad case of bad morning sickness and brucelossis, my unborn daughter and myself were very far from being comfortable.

Finally we stopped for a very welcome tea break under a large shady thorn tree. A fire was made and a three legged pot was unearthed from the depths of the truck. We enjoyed our tea out of enamel mugs under the shade of a thorn tree while the dogs stretched their legs and Investigated the interesting smells. While we were busy, Des cut lengths of branches and laid them on the floor of the truck to act as insulation for my feet which brought some measure of relief. The road was fairly straight. If you can call a sandy track a road, but the further West we travelled, the heavier the sand became. This was cattle country as we could see from the large milk cans sitting at the Intersections of the farm roads. There was plenty of grass and a fair few cattle gates that had to be opened and closed, but we didn’t see many cattle. The cans would contain cream to be collected for the creamery in Mafeking - to make Tulip Butter. Des counted 38 farm gates across the road en route to Bray that had to be opened and closed, but it did give us an opportunity to stretch our legs.

By late afternoon we were very relieved when we came to the tiny dorp called Bray which consisted of a shop, garage, post office, a small travellers' hotel and a hospital where my daughter would later be born. Most of the water here was very brackish so there were no lawns or flowers to be seen. There was also a Dutch Reformed Church, and they kindly visited me when I was in hospital after Sally was born, even bringing me flowers, though I have no Idea where they found them. The hotel was a very welcome stop for us weary travellers. George and our two policemen who had so far been perched on top of all the furniture hanging onto whatever was available to them, climbed down. They were covered with dust and twigs. They were glad to stretch their legs and accommodation was found for everybody. After a long, hot bath we went to the little dining room, where the menu was the same for breakfast, lunch and supper. Then we all fell Into our respective beds for a most welcome sleep, with the dogs curled up in the cab of the truck. The menu at the hotel was the same for every meal - goat stew. That may be fine for supper, but I couldn’t bring myself to face It for breakfast the next morning! Fortunately they had some nice home-baked bread for me, and suitably fortified with tea and toast we left on the final leg of our journey.

George and the two policemen climbed back on top and I got back into position in the passenger seat with one puppy on my lap, one across my shoulders, and a foot jamming the battery plate in place.

Throughout the day the road got even rougher and more corrugated and the farms more scattered. As we got closer to Werda - (the farm near the track leading across the Molopo River and up the dune where Des had a small police station and two small houses could be seen) was called Upillo. We didn’t know then that this would later become our home for six months when the borehole at Tshabong dried out, though at least it was only thirty miles from the hospital!

After another very welcome stop for tea under a shady tree (small fire, three-legged pot, enamel mugs) Des, myself and the dogs changed places with the police drivers which meant that we were now up top on the outside, hanging onto the ropes tying the mattresses down with one hand and a dog each with the other. We bounced along the track in relative comfort, ducking the overhanging trees, but needless to say we weren’t always successful in missing the long strong thorns, and we pondered our seating arrangements. On the one hand we now had considerably better padding and I suppose you could say the view was better, you could see even more sand and thorn trees, but on the other hand we were rather scratched and torn! There was also, of course, the added ‘bonus’ that every tree we went under showered us with spiders and other Insects, and we were now on the lookout for snakes and leopards on every branch.

There was very little habitation to be seen now as we carried on West, but at last we saw in the distance the ‘road’ swinging to the right, and a farm on the left. This was the last gate to be opened and then closed behind us, and we now faced 40 miles of desert with no farms or human habitation before we finally reached the small settlement of Tshabong and our new home.

The sand was becoming heavier and heavier and the colours on the undulating dunes kept changing from yellow ochre to a dark shade of orange. There were sparse clumps of grass and thorn trees, ranging in size from fairly small to very large, giving us welcome shade in the middle of the day. Instead of the odd one or two springbok that we had previously sighted, here we came across large herds, running and prancing, a most beautiful sight; grace In action. In the distance we also sighted a herd of grey wildebeest, exciting to see, but lacking the grace and beauty of the springbok; the occasional hartebeest, gemsbok and even hyenas and cheetahs. The top of the truck made for a wonderful viewing platform, when we weren’t dodging the wicked two inch thorns and possible beasties in the trees. Eventually we reached a large, flat salt pan and a long white, flat-roofed building could be seen on the far side of the pan. There was also a small white painted building nearby and two clumps of trees without leaves, through which could be seen the roofs of houses. Tshabong at last!

Bechuanaland
Weekly Meat Ration
Finally, the truck pulled up at the smaller of the two buildings which was surrounded by dormant, leafless, Syringa trees. There was a warm welcoming shout from Charlie, the police officer that Des was going to be relieving. The District Commissioner’s wife, immaculately dressed, had laid out a welcoming tea for us. I have never felt so dirty and disreputable In my life. Sweaty and covered in dust, bloodstained and torn from the thorns and in desperate need of about two bottles of shampoo and gallons of water, to say nothing of clean clothes! I now knew what it felt like to be “something the cat dragged in’’. During tea we discovered that the District Commissioner was away some miles to the North, and wasn’t expected back for several days. Charlie, who occupied the house, said he would be very pleased if I would do his packing for him - an offer I politely declined.

I learned that there was a whole springbok in the freezer, the next week’s meat supply. And in the kitchen was a gleaming new gas stove, which had seldom been used as it was too expensive to run - it seemed a strange thing to have been brought at great expense from Mafeking 300 miles away when camel thorn wood was freely available on site and was wonderful to cook with. But in the corner was an old black three legged wood stove, the fourth leg being a block of concrete, and this stove worked very well despite the fact that the grate had long since disintegrated and as the oven got so hot it was best to bake with the door open. All this over the first cup of tea !

All I longed to do was soak in a bath and go to bed, so as soon as I was politely able to I retreated to the bathroom, armed with a Reader’s Digest, soap, towel and a face cloth. I left Des to point out the difficulties arising from there only being one bedroom in the house, Especially with us moving in and Charlie still being in residence with not a packing case in sight!

The hot water system was very efficient, providing one had water and wood. The latter was in good supply, the former wasn’t, and the system consisted of a fire being made under a 44 gallon drum of water and piped to the house. I used that whole 44 gallon drum of hot water over the next two hours. Eventually I emerged clean, more rested and with the dreaded nausea in abeyance. In the meantime, Des had piled Charlie’s bed and possessions onto the enclosed stoep, Charlie having disappeared. Des then moved our bed and cases into the room. Fortunately for Des, Charlie’s maid cooked supper that night as I hadn’t even considered unpacking the pots and pans and we couldn’t really start to move in until Charlie had vacated. It was marvellous to sink into bed that night - it was soft, it was still, and there was no noise. The dogs were so tired that they just settled down close by and slept with the cats!

Bechuanaland
Cush
We woke to a beautiful breaking dawn, birdcalls, and a chewing noise very close by. The dogs, still only puppies, had found a pair of Charlie’s shoes which had been left behind in Des’s hasty evacuation of the room. Small chewed pieces of leather added to the chaos of tea chests and suitcases piled high in the corners. Gradually we became aware of more distant sounds, voices and the clatter of buckets being filled at the communal taps, the sounds of cattle and goats, and a strange roaring noise which was coming closer. By this time Des had gone to shave and I was convinced that this roar could only be lions and debated with myself whether it was best to dive back under the blankets or hide in the empty cupboard.

Bechuanaland
Camel in Kraal
Before I could make my decision Des came running through to the bedroom to call me to come and look at a camel training session. The young camels were being led at the side of an older camel, which was ridden by a member of the Bechuanaland Protectorate Police and the roaring noise was the protesting of a young camel.

I later learned that lions were regular visitors to the area, and that there was a leopard whose path took it between our house and the outside loo at night. This was a steep learning curve for me, and I also found hyena paw prints out there.

Soon, Des had to go to Mafeking to take a Tswana exam and the truck needed repairing also. So we were off to civilisation - a few shops, a hairdresser, tarred roads, and people! The trip was a long one, all day in our battered vehicle, and even longer In summer when the sand was so hot and loose that the truck frequently got bogged down and had to be dug out. This was one trip when we had to leave our much loved dogs behind in George’s care.

Whilst Des was busy with his exam, visiting HQ and his OC and seeing to the repairs that were essential for the truck, I was having a wonderful time - off to the shops armed with a long shopping list of much needed groceries, not forgetting tins and tins of dehydrated vegetables. I visited the hardware store for all the bits and pieces that are always needed. I was drooling at the window of the electrical store full of lamps that simply turn on with the flick of a switch and the gleaming white enamel stove that with just the turn of a knob gives you wonderful instant, regulated electrical heat! I went to the clothing shop where I bought Des his first winter dressing gown, surprisingly useful for cold desert nights for a house with an outhouse. I had to go to the gun shop for extra ammunition as well as visiting the pharmac and lastly the haberdashers for wool, dress material and patterns. Finally the highlight of the day was a tea party given by a friend. Having spent so much time alone and certainly starved of the company of other young women, this was going to be a memory to savour.

Bechuanaland
Ready for Patrol
The necessary repairs to the truck were completed, necessary being the operative word - nothing not vital to the running of it was taken into account, and this included any consideration for comfort. Purchases were loaded, water and petrol drums were refilled. We left before first light to try and beat the worst of the day’s heat on the journey home. My mind was full of everything I had seen and done, and savouring my precious purchases. Just thinking about baking bread, eating fresh vegetables and even cooking a pound of sausages made me salivate... as long as they would still be edible at journey’s end.

As the day dawned the roads became sandier, farms sparser. As the day progressed we left the farms behind and were truly in the wild with sightings of various species of game, sand, the odd clump of grass, thorn trees and yet more sand. The road shimmered and we sweated in the heat and the truck laboured on. Our water container, a canvas bag hung on the front bumper, kept cool but very dusty.

We were expecting two senior officers for supper that night - visitors were usually a rarity and now we were having a surfeit of people! I knew that I had left a leg of Springbok in the freezer, which shouldn’t take long to defrost in the heat, and we had the rest of the ingredients that we needed for supper with us in the truck so I had plenty of time to work out the menu for the evening. We arrived home at 4pm in good time to make all the necessary preparations. While the policemen and prisoners (The prisoners at the time were local poachers that were occupying “Kings George” hotel with blankets and two meals a day) offloaded the truck, I went to the deep freeze to take out the Springbok. But horror of horrors - There was no springbok! A very worried George informed us that the District Commissioner, our only neighbour, had run short of meat and had “borrowed” it. So Des quickly organised the best police hunter that we had and sent him out with orders to bring a springbok home quickly. “Quickly” turned out to be three hours later, and with the stove roaring away in readiness and our guests due to arrive very shortly, at last we heard the sound of the truck returning In the distance.

The necessities of skinning, cleaning and jointing were accomplished in record time and a leg went into the oven just after our guests had arrived. Our only visitors for months and we nearly couldn’t give them supper! The evening went off well and if anybody realised that the meat was a little underdone, they were far too polite to say...

Tshabong To Tsane - June 1959

Des was due to do a routine inspection of the police post at Tsane, 160 miles north of Tshabong (another camel post consisting of twenty camels), a small village with one borehole. Though only 160 miles away, it took two days’ travel in bottom gear on a very rough track. Roads were non-existent.

The day before we left was spent in baking bread and cakes and packing up our large wooden scoff box with enough food, including, of course a 5lb tin of Klim (powdered milk). No meat - that you had to shoot yourself.

Bechuanaland
Police Bedford Truck
We intended being away for five or six days, four of which would be spent travelling, more like bouncing along, but we still packed enough food for ten days, just in case! Our truck was old, long past its prime and decidedly temperamental, choosing as a rule the most isolated spot. There was only game around and lots of it, ranging from a variety of buck to lions, leopards, hyenas and wild dogs. I forgot to mention a .303 rifle and a shotgun which you never travelled without, which I had to learn to use efficiently - not enthusiastically, but necessary.

We left early the next morning. The back of the truck was full (fortunately it had a strong wire canopy over it) with a 44-gallon drum of dieseline and another 44-gallon drum of water (which one never travelled without), tent, camp beds, blanket rolls, scoff box, to say nothing of two African troopers with their bedding, food etc, and George, major domo to Des, clutching on to our two dogs, his bedding and pots and pans.

Des drove and I had the dubious honour of the passenger seat to myself. There was nothing wrong with the seat in itself - it was sprung, covered and in one piece, but not held down to the base. Every bump we hit, the seat and I flew up in the air, and there were many bumps. Sometimes I managed to manoeuvre the seat with me on top, back onto the base. Regrettably I was not fortunate every time. Sadly the tools were kept in the base - hammer, jack, spanners and puncture outfit - not the comfiest thing to bounce on. I forgot to mention that I was 6 months pregnant and Des had packed sharp scissors and string - in case.

The road was originally an ox wagon trail twisting and turning round bushes and trees. The straightest stretch was no more than 30 yards, except when crossing the one pan where we would have a glorious stretch of 200 yards or more. Despite the hazard of the tools it was rather nice to be bounced in one direction, up and down, instead of up and down and side to side. Poor baby! Somehow she survived. If I didn’t go with Des, it was lonely as he was away three days out of four, and this country with all its game was so interesting. His area covered 60 000 square miles of Crown land, as there were no boreholes or water anywhere and inhabited only by game and Masaswa.

The countryside varied from grassy parkland with tufts of grass and the umbrella-shaped trees (which the camels loved, thorns and all), loose sand and scrubby-looking bushes to sand dunes. Springbok with their twisty horns, white bellies with a dark stripe separating the pale brown of their upper bodies. Brown and grey wildebeest whose hooves churned the ground when in full gallop, the small herds of gemsbok with long straight horns - eland and gemsbok classified as royal game and small duiker and steenbok who loved to shelter under small trees. Royal game were only allowed to be hunted for celebrations on the Queen’s birthday. As there were no shops for hundreds of miles we had to hunt both for us and the camp. As neither of us enjoyed hunting, this was a chore and often the troopers were given this task.

Of course, there were the predators - lions, leopards, cheetahs, hyenas and wild dogs - that would willingly eat us. This made it difficult and somewhat risky leaving the truck when it became necessary to ‘spend a penny’.

Lunch time, sitting in the shade of a tree, making sure no leopard was resting in the branches also watching out for lion who loved to eat them, and us too, I might add. We watched out for snakes, especially mambas. George, Des’ major domo and Troopers Bimbo and Malloi gathered a few sticks to light a fire under the three-legged pot with water for tea and refilled the canvas water bottles which hung on the side mirrors of the truck. Cool, but tasted yuck, but when you are thirsty...

Later that afternoon we made camp for the night. George and our two police troopers helped Des erect our tent, then collected thorn tree branches to encircle the tent (hoping to lion-proof it), and wood for a fire, not only to cook and boil water, but for protection for the three men sleeping outside. The theory is that lions are scared of fire! Our two dogs slept in the back of the truck. The pan we camped next to was Mokalamobedi.

Camp beds erected and the canvas bath placed in position, water buckets heated on the fire, the men retreated after filling the bath and left us to try to rid ourselves of the dust, Des and I taking turns whilst the other sat on a stool holding a .303 rifle in case of a lion or similar predator hoping for supper. We were cleaner, but oh the discomfort of sitting cross-legged, especially being pregnant.

What a relief to wriggle into a makeshift sleeping bag, after making sure the thorn trees enclosing the tent were in place and the men stretched out by the fire. Being pregnant, there were several forays out to ‘spend a penny’, but being a city girl and scared to go out on my own, my poor husband had to be woken to accompany me. But by 4 am, very tired after the twisty bumpy track, he said he was sure I would be safe. On my return I heard a strange noise. Des was convinced it was gemsbok bulls, but in the morning, on going outside, there were lion paw prints all around our tent! Des has often been teased about that.

After breakfast, camp packed up and with the canvas water bottles full, we set off, bouncing along the track. No tent to put up tonight, but sleeping in a rondavel in a fenced-off area. No lions in the camp, and even a bucket loo!

We arrived at dusk and unpacked the truck. George set up our camp beds and table. He, too, was very tired and failed to erect my bed and table locking mechanisms in place. After supper, really tired and bruised, we turned in, not noticing that there were other visitors in the next hut and no vehicles in sight. In the middle of the night, with our dogs sleeping on a blanket in our hut, they were very car-sick.

The police camp had two rondavels and a very small oblong brick building, as well as a corrugated iron shanty for a bucket loo. All we really wanted to notice was where we were sleeping and how far away the loo was. The hut was clean and well-swept, but regrettably we hadn’t noticed it was very old and concave and the step was several inches higher. We were too tired to notice this and it was dark, with only a candle to light us.

The dogs - Tembo, an Alsatian and Brock, a dachshund, usually good travellers, had found two days of bouncing and swerving round trees and rocks and game, just too much. Half asleep, I could only think of using the bucket of water to try and sluice the mess out of the door. Now I really had a mess on my hands and didn’t know what to do. Not having any implements at hand, candle light didn’t help much. Des, by this time had woken up and tried to help but to no avail, so we dropped onto my bed. The legs, not being locked into place, collapsed into the table with our enamel mugs and plates and cutlery and a 5lb tin of Klim. It also gave way and everything now landed in watery mess of dog sick. This gave way to hysterical laughter. Apart from the mess we now had no powdered milk, so it was black tea and dry cornflakes for the next few days.

There was nothing we could do until morning. We erected my bed again and tried to settle down, only to be woken by screams. The prison warder, returning from a party had stumbled through red hot coals of the fire lit behind our rondavel. Not much sleep for us that night!

Next morning our neighbour came over with a concerned look on her face, wondering what had occurred to cause so much hysterical laughter. She and her husband, a homeopathic doctor, and their two girls had flown in a light plane and landed on the pan in front of us. They were looking for ‘Farini’s Lost City’ as described in his book ‘Through the Kalahari Desert - 1886’ by G.A. Farini. Many people had tried to find these remains, but so far had been unable to find any trace. Sand dunes move constantly.

We left George and the prisoners that ‘occupied’ King George Hotel to clean up the mess in our room. The dogs had recovered their good spirits by now.

Sadly our neighbours left and we waved the little plane goodbye and Des left to inspect the camels and the police station. Our life was so isolated that it was good to have folks to talk to. So I wandered around closely followed by Brock and Tembo in the fenced off camp. Nearby I found a small oblong hut and peeking inside, of all things I found a narrow Victorian style bath. A bath I could lie down in! Tshabong the borehole was only giving a trickle of water. If the bath tap was left on all day we collected enough to use for cooking and a stand-up wash and of course clothes, especially Des’ uniform which had to be immaculate.

George and the available prisoners heated buckets of water on the fire, filled the bath to what I considered the correct temperature, and withdrew with an armful of clean clothes. There was no peg or stool to place them on, but the floor looked clean and well swept. And now for a bath, maybe narrow and not long enough to stretch out in. The grubby clothes were in another pile with a towel placed on top.

I hadn’t noticed a window above the bath. It really didn’t matter, except that the village tap was just under the window. When I heard much chattering and looked up to see faces peering in, I leapt up to grab my towel to use as a curtain. Totally forgetting the small legs of the bath were not well spread - the bath only rested on them - balance didn’t come into it. One was supposed to sit carefully in it, not leap up to grab a towel at the side. Fortunately the wall was strong and could take my weight but the clothes got rather wet.

I settled down in privacy until the water felt chilly. Standing up carefully, I pulled the little plug out, hoping that the villagers had finished filling their buckets Sadly I hadn’t checked the plumbing and now my clothes were really wet. Wet but clean, would have to do.

Bechuanaland
Camel Patrol
Des’ inspection went well. A corporal was in charge and making a good job of it. There were eight police stationed there, a radio operator (Morse code!), constables and troopers, camels, prison warder, their quarters, camel saddles (still old converted horse saddles). The only complaint was from the prison warder; the prisoners wanted three meals a day. When questioned they admitted that they ate only every third day when they were free. Food was very scarce, even for us who were able to order every two months from Mafeking. Keeping an eye on the budget meant that tinned food really didn’t make the list very often. Their problem was solved. The same amount of daily rations but divided into three, which proved to be satisfactory.

That night with beds and table erected correctly and dogs contented, we all slept well. Early the next morning packing up the truck proceeded well, and we left for home, a two-day journey of soft sand, occasional rocks and twists and turns.

We camped again at Makalamobedi pan and as we all sat around the fire and Troopers Bimbo and Malloi recounted a previous trip. They had camped in the same place and whilst asleep in their blankets, Bimbo woke up and saw a hyena (who fancied dinner) standing over Malloi. But Bimbo, who had his rifle next to him, lifted it and shot the hyena. Despite all this, we still slept well.

Once home I spent two days in bed. My back was raw and I could not bear clothing touching it.

It was wonderful to see and hear all the game, the countryside, sand and more sand. A crazy trip, being pregnant, but the loneliness was immense. Three weeks out of four Des was away. No people to talk to, no shops, scarcity of water, no electricity, no fresh vegetables or fruit and a battery radio whose expensive battery had to last three months. But I had the tidiest cupboards. As Des was totally without communication, driving a vehicle that constantly broke down, I worried a great deal about him.

Hence my crazy trip, pregnant and all, to accompany him.

Early September 1959

Bechuanaland
Morning Inspection
In addition to the “Flying Doctor” paying us a visit once a month - there was a small medical centre manned by a trained nurse - and checked up on by the Govt. Staff, for which I was very thankful since I was pregnant.

This time he flew in two weeks early to coincide with our baby. (150 miles on very rough roads and a truck that continually broke down) with only my husband to help - need I say more!

Dr van der Heever was based in a small village - Bray, about 100 metres from the Bechuanaland border with South Africa. He also flew to Ponfret, an asbestos mine, and other isolated “dorps”, as well as being the hospital doctor.

Tshabong was on a sand dune with a salt pan in front. So we had forty camels in lion-proof pens near the top of the dune, together with borehole and the landing ground in front on the pan where he landed his small plane about two miles from our house. Just before the Doctor was due to leave, with me as his passenger, Des unhappily told me the truck would not start. (WW2 was only fourteen years earlier hence the broken-down truck) and I had the choice of walking the two miles or riding a camel - perhaps I’d better say - sense of human failure - Plan C? Camels lie down for you to mount, then rise on their back legs first, tipping the rider forward, then rise on front legs and swing you backwards. I was pregnant and wearing a dress in respect of the Queen.

Des was away further South prosecuting a poaching case in the Kalahari Gemsbok Park when our daughter was born in September of that year. He only heard of her arrival when she was two days old. As soon as his case was over he left to drive home the approximately 200 miles over rough tracks, arriving at Tshabong early the next morning - the policemen heard his truck and were running across the pan shouting “Morena you have a daughter!”
Bechuanaland
Des, Jill and Sally

Despite a long difficult birth, our bumpy trips to visit his other stations and one to Mafeking. (When the truck complained loudly it needed urgent repairs). Ventures out at night to visit bucket loo armed with a torch and .303 rifle, (my letters to my Mother mentioned leopard and hyena prints frequently found) being able to run round corners the day the gemsbok bull objected to my use of sjambok when he chased my beloved dog. Despite all the problems, Sally was fine, just suffered from “the three-month cries” as they called it. I might add that I spent a lot of that day sitting under a tree, baby at my side, making a fire and boiling water for tea.

After Sally and I had rested two weeks, Des came to fetch us. It was early summer and hot, Sally in a vest and nappy lying on a pillow in my arms, Des driving and his policeman in the back of the truck. We followed the road between S.A. and Bechuanaland, along the Molopo river - isolated cattle farms - milk cans full of cream waiting to be collected by the butter factory (Tulip butter) in Mafeking.

The truck broke down frequently, between overheating and punctures, leaving it to Des and his policeman while I sat under a tree, Sally on a pillow beside me while I lit a fire under a three-legged pot boiling water for tea. After five or six of these unexpected stops and much tea-making (and learning a new language from my husband) and realising there was no more glue or patches to fix the tyres, we bounced along another five miles before arriving at the next farm. Des and the farmer had met before. Des had arrested him a month earlier for poaching - Sally, bless her, started crying. That relieved the tension and the farmer knew we were in trouble, and came to offer help. Tyre repaired and spare glue and patches, vehicle cooled down (occupants too) and we set off - another five miles before we turned into the gate into Bechuanaland - forty miles to Tshebong.

Bechuanaland
Des and Sally
It was a hot day but at last the truck started. I had asked Des what vehicle would meet us, knowing we had only one - “in what?” his reply was, “not in what, on what”! With that six camels appeared over the dune with three men riding and leading three spares. I’ll refrain from my comments!

On arriving home the borehole was dry and the rainwater tank empty. We drank water from the fridge and wiped Sally down with baby oil. Too tired to go any further that day. I know Des will solve problems in the morning, but I wish I could have a bath, and poor baby having to make do with a wipe down with baby oil.

Next morning Des sent his truck (which was working after a night’s rest) loaded with three 44-gallon drums and instructed his police driver to drive to a tiny settlement (of about six huts) with a borehole to collect water. The water came from an open tank, green and slimy, which I had to drain through a cloth, boil in buckets on a wood stove (middle of summer - 40 0 C) before it could be used. According to letters to my Mother, this village had dysentery and diphtheria.

Bechuanaland
Des, Sally and Camel
Several days later we received a radio message. Mr Koekemoer, his wife and children would be arriving in a caboose, together with a large truck containing the machinery needed to drill a much deeper borehole, and a cow to provide fresh milk!! (I’m so sorry I was out of film.) An arrangement was made; they gave us fresh milk in exchange for Klim (powdered milk).

Bechuanaland
Des and Sallyl
Des was ordered to go out on patrol (the baby was a month old) which meant taking the one and only (highly unreliable) truck providing us with water and meat. I was not well. This was really too much, so I asked Des to take the baby and me to his parents in Johannesburg. Despite the drilling going well, they still needed to drill much deeper and with the truck so unreliable...

Des was granted leave to take the baby and me to Johannesburg where we stayed until he was moved to his other police station almost immediately on his return. It had a borehole with water but it wasn’t long before I had to learn how to build a septic tank. Stone with sand all around provided another headache, when he was away for three months on a language course by Prof. Cole from Witwatersrand University.

Rio Tinto found large deposits of iron ore at Werda many years later - and I couldn’t find even smallish stones and rocks for the septic tank!

Werda (October)
Des stayed with Sally and me at his parents in Johannesburg for a few days before returning to Tshabong to pack up for the move. Leaving so hastily and only taking absolute essentials, he had quite a lot to do. He also had to manage the station and conduct his normal duties on top of his domestic duties.

Late October, Des came back to Johannesburg by train via Mafeking to fetch Sally and me. Medical issues had been sorted out and we had a new home to look forward to - this time one with a working borehole. We even had a new Bedford truck, a working one no less. Our new little elderly house had one bedroom, a lounge/dining room, a large stoep with fine mosquito wire, a kitchen with a black Dover stove (the kind that works), a pantry and a bathroom with an old bath on four legs (the kind that always gave me trouble of some sort). This bath even had a plug that worked and there was no-one to peer through the windows. However, it was a good place to accommodate a snake needing a resting place. The stoep had plenty of room for two single beds, one of which Sally lay on surrounded by pillows during the daytime. The floors were concrete and painted green. They looked nice when polished and were cool for that climate in summer.

Sally was still crying a lot. I think it must have been my stress levels although the weather was very hot. All she wore during the day was a nappy. Sadly no pram rides and no camel rides due to the thick sand.

Des put up a play pen under a thick shady tree, first examining it for snakes close to the chicken run. Yes, we had bought chickens. Food was coming from Bray and now we had fresh eggs - not the powdered kind we had had to use before. Bumpy tracks and whole eggs don’t go well together. Sally loved watching the chickens and learnt to imitate them so well that, hearing one in the house, I was running around thinking one had escaped. My mother arrived for Christmas by train to Mafeking, then by bus to Bray. The bus journey was about 180 miles on a hot day so the tea stop at a farm was most welcome. Goat’s milk straight into the cup was something she hadn’t experienced before. This life for her was very different after living in China with five servants before she and I were evacuated to Canada during WWII. The bus was really a ten-ton lorry converted to carry six passengers only. The rest of the space was taken up by milk cans, drums of petrol and cattle food. It was not built for touring and due to the height, a ladder was needed. She was an amazing woman.

Of course she came armed for Christmas. Sally still has the small white Christmas tree. There was no turkey, but Springbok made a change for her. She was able to stay until mid-January, much to my delight as Des had to leave for Mafeking just before New Year’s Day for a Junior and Senior Tswana language course, staffed by Prof. Cole and four lecturers from Witwatersrand University.

Meanwhile the farmer who lived just over the border which was the Molopo river, (which flooded once in seven years) was happy to sell us cream so we could make fresh butter. The farmers all along this river collected cream and placed it in cans along the road to be collected by the railway bus and taken to the Tulip Butter Creamery. Sadly I hadn’t learnt to speak Afrikaans, but somehow we were able to understand each other. Mum and I, with Des away, started shaking a jar of cream, then spent hours rolling it around on the floor. When you have had to live without butter and fresh eggs, you do daft things. Eventually the jar was placed in an empty 5lb Klim tin which was clipped into an old dressing table mirror holder, and we were able to spin it around, and it worked! Sally’s crying was lessening and she seemed much happier. She loved her time in the play pen watching the chickens and the police moving around the police station close by. Our two dogs would lie close to the play pen and only the policemen would be allowed through the rough gate. I had employed a young police wife - a delightful woman.

My mother had to leave for Johannesburg. Sally and I saw her off on the Railway bus leaving from Bray, before returning home in the police truck.

Game was migrating and we were very short of meat - no option but to buy a goat and ask him to kill it for me. Eventually the police driver found a small herd of springbok when out looking for stones, large and smallish ones, please.

Our home, being equipped for a bachelor for short periods, the septic tank was unable to cope with three adults and a baby’s nappy-washing. It overflowed one night, all around three sides of the house, leaving me an exit out of the front door. I had to go over to the police radio room and ask them to call him out of Prof. Cole’s class as I needed help please. Received my instructions: “depth and width and sizes of stones” - over - “Des there are no stones here, just miles of sand” - over. Tell driver so many miles N then L etc. The whole country could listen to my plight and I was teased over this for a long time.

Police and prisoners dug a trench as Des had instructed and eventually the stones arrived and were placed in position and all in working order. After a day’s work clearing all around outside the home, it made me very appreciative of modern plumbing. The next SOS call to him was a couple of weeks later. (Sorry Prof. Cole to be so disruptive to your class.) The fridge handle is broken and takes me ten minutes to open the door then close it. Can you find a new one in Mafeking? In the middle of a hot summer this really was a problem.

Meanwhile Sally’s food was a problem with no fresh fruit or vegetables, but Purity baby food came to the rescue. Finely grated springbok biltong was the answer. This help came from Dr. v.d. Heever. Biltong was being sent to London Children’s Hospital. It was also good for cutting teeth. I used coarse salt bought in Bray with a good sharp knife and on a board, and lengths of wire to hang the strips - but where, with all that game around? We lost the first few batches, but police kindly came to my rescue with instructions of where to hang it.

At last Des’ three months came to an end and oh, that had been a long and lonely time. Not only was he coming home, but he had passed with distinction and awarded a double month’s salary. Now we could buy Dr. Sippel’s (local G.P. in Bray) Jeep and go on holiday and show Sally the sea!

Bechuanaland
Professor Cole
Prof. Cole had expressed interest in obtaining the Tswana names of vegetation in the Kalahari, a copy of which can be viewed here.

Before we managed to go on holiday, Des had several patrols to do. Sally and I went with him, dogs in the back of the truck with police. Sally was lying on a pillow on my seat and I was sitting on a metal tool box at the side. This time the tool box was well padded. The local Makgalagadi (people of the desert) couldn’t get over her blonde hair and pale skin and insisted on stroking her, never having seen a white child before. (To advance a year or two, the first white child Sally saw, she ran away screaming.)

On one of our trips she wasn’t at all well. We rested all day under a shady tree, sponging her down with cool water, but nothing helped to bring her temperature down. That evening when it was cooler we hastily packed up camp and set out for home about 100 miles away on very rough tracks, reaching home at 3 a.m. and then leaving for Bray hospital. We were told that if her temperature was still 104o F, Dr. V.d. Heever would fly her to Johannesburg. Fortunately it wasn’t necessary. She was kept in hospital for two days, but we never knew what had caused this high temperature.

A week or so later we were able to leave for our holiday. The old Jeep had a home-made cover over the back half for our cases, dogs and our delightful black Tswana maid. Sally and I sat in front with Des.

Our time in the desert was over and we were being transferred to a large Tswana village with an excellent mission hospital, with people, friends and doctors right there. There had been very interesting times in the Kalahari, but it was also very lonely.

Rio Tinto discovered a huge iron ore deposit at Werda recently. Why oh why did I not dig deeper for the septic tank?

Molepolele
Bechuanaland
Bush Camping with Sally
Molepolele was the Head Quarters of the Bakwena Chief, (the paramount Chief of Botswana). Molepolele had a big hospital with a doctor and trained nurses, (and often a monthly doctor’s visit.) The church was run by the L.M.S. Mission and there were several government staff. There were new neighbours and several small children nearby for our daughter to play with.

The District Commissioner was Julian Tennant (an M.A. from Oxford) and there was also a District Officer, Agricultural and Livestock Officers. So several neighbours and Friends!

A message arrived for Julian that the Governor (officially knighted in 1963) and his wife would be arriving and spending a short time staying with him. This was really very unusual, though we were all able to accommodate overnight visitors in pretty rough conditions. So I thought I’d better enquire re conditions of his second bedroom. I noticed no curtains at the window and offered to lend him a pair. The reply was, “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll push the cupboard in front of the window.” The same happened again with regard to the bedding and towels. We wouldn’t meet them again as their visit was a short one to meet Dr Merriweather2, head of the L.M.S. hospital.

The next day they appeared as we were having breakfast and they asked if they could join us as they were hungry. They had quite understood a young bachelor’s inability to cope with visitors (which were just such a rarity - any of us would have been caught out)3.

Yes, the cupboard had been pushed over the window and the edge of spare towels he deemed sufficient to dry themselves. They had a lovely supper prepared by his Tswana housekeeper, but had doubts over breakfast and said a cup of tea would be sufficient, not realising that being a healthy young man with a full day’s work ahead, a cup of tea would not be. Seeing his empty breakfast plate and having met us fairly often and knowing my incompetence with baking, bacon and eggs and toast were produced amid much laughter. They then left to see Dr Merriweather. Only on reading Dr Merriweather’s book Desert Doctor Remembers, did we understand why his need of this visit.

Bush Shopping
Bechuanaland
Sally on Patrol
The first fourteen years of our married life were spent in the Bechuanaland Protectorate, now Botswana, where Des was in the Colonial Police. We were stationed all over the country, sometimes with only one other white, also a civil servant. There was usually a trading store supplying the needs of the local population, but rarely much help to us. Their stores consisted mainly of mealie meal and samp, coarse salt, game traps, hunting knives, blankets, riems, tobacco etc. Life was primitive and one had to learn to be a jack of all trades and be inventive when necessary.

Shopping is such a part of our daily life and most of us don’t give a great deal of thought to buying that loaf of bread or bunch of carrots.

I was broken in gently, so I later learnt. Our first posting was to a border station sixteen miles from Mafeking and the nearest shops, apart from the trading store, with transport through once a week. Fresh bread was a problem, bakery bread that is. For me, making it was also a problem and the wood stove oven worse. Everywhere round it seemed very hot, indeed with the oven the coolest place - only one it its idiosyncrasies.

After six months of this we were transferred to a camel station in the southern Kalahari Desert, two hundred long dusty miles from Mafeking, once again our shopping centre. Supplies were sent through once every two months. Receiving fresh food was a problem with a temperature of 400 C in summer, and a long dusty, bumpy journey. A shopping list had to be prepared in advance, or in an emergency, a radioed list in Morse Code through to H.Q. was sufficient if your radio and the H.Q. radio were both working. To my cost I found the posted list far more reliable. If you forgot anything you might have to wait two months.

Potatoes travelled well but only kept for one month, so after that, butter beans were on the menu. Nutritional values were higher than whether it appealed to your palate in such circumstances. Fresh greens were almost unheard of, great use being made of dehydrated vegetables. Meat was a springbok every week to ten days as needed, providing they hadn’t migrated or Des hadn’t run out of ammunition. When this happened meatless dishes were on the menu. Imagine butter beans, dehydrated peas, pumpkin and maybe dried eggs or cheese. I defy even Mrs Beeton to do much with that.

When we were fortunate to have meat, the buck was cleaned and skinned and hung in a tree, for me to do the rest, armed with a sharp knife and a panga - sheer desperation.

So much for the necessity side, clothing, too, posed a problem. That was usually done on a yearly trip to Johannesburg and that, too, left room for human error.

When Des had to go to Port Elizabeth to collect a consignment of trucks, and our yearly trip to Johannesburg seemed a long way off, I persuaded him to shop for me. He bravely agreed and armed with the requisite underwear label, set off. Arriving in P.E. and having time between visits to the factory and Head Office he headed for a large department store with his African police drivers hot on his heels. They were in their best uniforms - highly starched bush jacket and shorts and slouch hats, and were extremely smart. As he stopped at the counter in the lingerie department, six very smart African constables crowded to attention beside him, much to the consternation of the elderly saleslady, who didn’t really expect to see one man there, let alone seven.

Although this chapter of our lives is now over, it was for all its difficulties, a most interesting time and the happy memories far outshine the times when the truck drivers forgot to bring cans of baby food, or we had no meat, or the borehole dried up. Shopping is such an ordinary occurrence today that the excitement of having a full pantry and not forgetting anything greatly diminished.

Notes
1. When the British Government realised in 1963 that the High Commission Territories were ready to claim independence, they abolished the post of High Commissioner for the three territories and appointed Sir Peter Fawcus as Queen’s Commissioner, with the rank of Governor. He was now directly responsible to the Secretary of State for the Colonies. Constitutional discussions were held with all interested parties and proposals were accepted that a Legislative Assembly should now be formed which would lead to self-government and a ministerial form of Government.

2. Dr Merriweather continued to be a nominated member of the Assembly. Sir Peter asked to speak to him about becoming Speaker, as he could personally no longer be President of the Assembly and that a Speaker be appointed. Dr Merriweather accepted and the following week Sir Peter and Lady Fawcus visited Molepolole, where Sir Peter spent a whole day going through standing orders and parliamentary procedure. It would have been impossible for Sir Peter to have discussed anything over the telephone, as at that time we had a “party line” with everyone listening in!

3. Normally a Governor would not stay with a Junior District Commissioner, but time was short and the Prime Minister, Sir Sereste Khama had proposed that Dr Merriweather be appointed to the job.

Colonial Map
1955 Map of SE Bechuanaland
Colony Profile
Bechuanaland Colony Profile
Further Reading
Botswana: The Road to Independence
by Peter Fawcus

Desert Doctor Remembers
by Alfred Merriweather

Timeline
June ‘57 Joined BPP in Gaborone as Sub-Inspector
July ’57 - Dec ’57 B.S.A. Training Depot in Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia
Jan ’58 - July ’58 Stationed in Gaborone
Aug ’58 - Sept ’58 Stationed in Ramatlabama - opened new border gate between Mafeking and Lobatse
Sept ’58 - Oct ’58 Detached duty - in charge of 30-mile foot and mouth cordon. Quarantine fence at Bray on B.P/S.A border
1 Nov 1958 Married Jill. Returned to Ramathlabama Dec. ‘58
June ’59 Transferred to desert (60 000 square miles) station - Tshabong with two sub-stations, Werda and Tsane, also Kgalagadi game reserve at Tweerivieren. 40 camels at Tshabong and 20 at Tswane. Patrolling done by camels and a very old unreliable truck. (His wife is going to add; No people other than poachers, no electricity, water or shops. Only communication was weekly post and morse code, and a doctor flying in once a month. Truck broken and having to choose whether to walk or ride a camel to the plane, while eight and a half months pregnant, to reach the hospital at Bray.
Oct '59' Des fetched the baby and Jill. The truck broke down 6 times. We met the camel patrol with extra camels out looking for us, but the truck had started again. No, his wife does not ever want to ride a camel. Arrived home to no water but after two weeks when Des was told to go out on patrol, Jill decided to visit his parents in Johannesburg. Water, meat and doctor.
Nov ’59 Des moved to Werda. Baby and Jill joined him later.
Sept ’60 - Sept ’65 Transferred to Molepolole, a large African Village, where we had more normal facilities. Water, hospital, doctors, other Govt. Officers, telephone, dirt roads, not tracks etc. Very good L.M.S . Mission hospital, staff and friends. Apart from a P/O we lacked all of this before. No longer being Crown Land, Des now co-operated with the Bakwana Chief.
Sept ‘65 - ’67 Moved to Gaberone as Platoon Commander in General Service Unit which later became the Police Mobile Unit. Basically they were not employed on Police duties and were trained by British Army Warrant Officers and Sergeants (released from Aden). They did an excellent job and trained raw recruits into proficient soldiers in a very short time. All this was as Independence was looming, ceremonial guards of honour welcoming the Royal party, a busy time. Independence took place without a hitch. Foreign ambassadors. Des escorting Princess Marina.
Nov ’67 - Feb ’68 Three months leave followed by temporary posting to Ghanzi as OC no. 2 district. This was close to the South West Africa border consisting of white farmers placed there by Queen Victoria as a barrier between Bechuanaland and South West Africa. Stock theft was the major problem and the usefulness of bushman trackers, the best of all trackers. They had a small settlement outside our fence.
Feb ’68 - Sept ’68 Returned to Gaberone as our two children were of school-going age.
Sept ’68 Serowe - the Bamangwato Tribal area (home of the Khamas). The newly discovered diamond and copper mines with stations at Palapye, Rakops, Bobonong, Selebi-Phikwe and Serowe. Our two daughters had left for boarding school in Zeerust, followed shortly by our son. Jill drove down every month to see them on awful mud or sand, depending on the time of year in British army Austin Champ. Not much to look at, but even today it ranks as best vehicle ever. Sir Seretse Khama flew up to their house in Serowe, accompanied by his wife. Des had to make sure the paraffin fridge was lit and in working order.
May ’71 Left Botswana - not our choice, but compulsory retirement scheme.


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