I Am Not Old
October 16, 2010
I am not old…..I am 55.
You will however notice that from here on I am going to be cautious when quoting dates unless I am fairly sure when something took place and even then I will probably only quote the year. When I do there will always be the caveat that I could be mistaken and I would really appreciate input from individuals noting errors or things I have forgotten. Bear in mind I did not keep a diary, neither do I have access to files or other records to assist me.
In reality why are exact dates important in this context anyway? The simple answer is they are not. The residue of these recollections remains the same whether they are dated or not.
I will however always remain truthful and accurate in my ramblings as without the characteristics of honesty and integrity this whole effort equals nothing and would be a disrespect to the brave men and women who never went home.
For those of you with the privilege of having historical data at your disposal and photogenic brains, I look forward to your constructive input…….and thank you in advance.
Those who wish to merely gloat and critisise with their brilliance……I suggest you stay away as you may find yourself the subject of a subsequent installment. Remember……I might just know you.
Below is a photo of my best friend Yogi…..gone forever……..the date of her passing is not remembered…..but her love and companionship will never be forgotten.
Yogi
The Quarter Masters Stores……
October 13, 2010
1974……Brady Barracks
Time to find out where we were getting posted to.
Rock and Roll was over and we had all returned to the Squadron HQ at Brady Barracks (alias Headquarters 1 Brigade). The Squadron HQ was a rather dilapidated collection of buildings not too far from the Brigades Warrant Officers and Sergeants Mess, which meant nothing to me but is worth mentioning. Inside the HQ it always smelt of paper and stationery and chemicals used for the Gestetner roneo machine. The ones that had some kind of red waxy paper to type on. This specific machine was hand operated and there was always someone there cranking the big black handle on the side that was the trigger to pick up paper, print, and spew out paper the other side. It only printed on newsprint or at least that’s the quality we got with our precis. In those days this was a very serious piece of kit.
Anyway I am getting side-tracked.
I had been informed that my first posting was going to be to a place called Wankie (yes there were some Wankers there)…..up the Victoria Falls road to an outfit named 1 Independent Company, Rhodesia Regiment (1 Indep Coy RR). I was a little disappointed at first as all my mates or most of them anyway were going to Mukumbura in the North-Eastern border area to lay mines on Cordon Sanitaire. I shouldn’t have worried for two reasons. Firstly I would get more than enough tours to various parts of the Cordon, and secondly it was not too bad at 1 Indep once I got used to arrogant Infantry Officers who had more domestic scandals surrounding them than I care to remember. It was really bad there at one stage and the extramarital shagging that went on in the background was the stuff that legends were made of. Extramarital shagging is fine but not in front of the troops…….and no effort was made to be discrete. One of these people doing the shagging actually had the temerity to call me a dude one day because he had sent me and my crew out as a stop group without the opportunity to get fully prepared…….knobber.
My specific job-title was “Mine-Standby”,a really strange coincidence seeing that 1 Indep was based inside an old mine compound in those days. Wankie was one of the biggest collieries in the world at the time and the army had taken over one of the disused compounds. Dozens of little cottages……better than tents that’s for sure. As the job title implied my mission was to stand-by and wait for a landmine to go off somewhere. I would then be flown out by chopper to sweep the road 2 kilometers either side of whatever or whoever the victim was in case the evil gooks had laid additional mines…..a common tactic.
It was about this time (and before my first deployment) that I realised that our Squadron Quarter Master was a rather nasty piece of work and a tosser to boot. He was a bully who seemed to think that everything in the store belonged to him and that all of the kit belonged on the shelf so he could show it off to the Squadron Commander when he was brown-nosing the boss. There is no place in the field for these possessions of his either. If one of us asked for a replacement first field dressing we were asked for the old one. I could name this individual but I wont. He knows who he is…..an infantry officer, not even a Sapper. And I really hope he reads this because by now he realises that we only saluted his rank and not him. There was actually talk of fragging him amoungst us……hope that woke him up. The other ranks in the stores were OK but he needed shooting. The only time I saw him in the bush was to come and count knives and forks……I jest not with you. Woe betide the Troop Sergeant who was a fork down on his camp inventory when the Major came calling. This was tantamount to treason and equaled the loss of the entire vehicle fleet of the Rhodesian Engineer Corps……including all the Pookies!! I saw his name on an e-mail distribution list the other day so he survived the war staying out the combat zone……brave bugger you have to be to survive in the stores. I think he was impotent too.
Anyway enough slagging off the officers for now……but to be honest some of them really deserve it as you will find out later.
And now it was time to draw my weapon and first-line ammo, pack my kit, and depart on some of the greatest adventures of my life.
A much thinner FatFox9 testing the MMD1...1974 Wankie
Mzingwane Dam Part 2…….Combat Engineer Practical Training Phase
September 24, 2010
It has taken me ages to get back into the blog and my deepest apologies to my loyal followers. I have decided that today I need to clear the training bollocks away and get into the parts of the journey we are on together that will give you a better idea of what it was like to be a Sapper in the Rhodesian and South African Engineer Corps as a fully-fledged Combat Engineer.
Umzingwane Dam…..still Octoberish 1974
During the practical phase of our training there are two incidents and activities that really stand out well and for the purpose of this blog those are the only ones I will recall here…..mainly because I cannot think of any others right now.
The picture below shows an aerial view of Umzingwane Dam…….I have added this to illustrate the first recollection I have of the Dam Phase.
- Mzingwane Dam
Our training camp was situated on the Western side of the dam. The dam wall was on the Eastern side. I have labelled these positions for a good reason. They were to cause me much pain. Note also the Swimming Start Position and read on.
We were of course almost finished with our training at this time and we tended to get a little bit out of hand with the instructors…..taking the piss and forgetting who we were and who they were. There was still the them and us……we were after all National Servicemen and only been in the Army a few months. But the line was becoming fuzzy…….
Anyway this particular evening someone had really pissed Little Hitler off and he was going to have his revenge on us. As it got to darkness he and the other instructors doubled us down to the position marked as Swimming Start Point (they drove down in a Land- Rover). Now I must mention here that doubling in the dark over sharp rocks in those horrible brown rubber “sports” shoes they gave us is no easy task and there was more than one of us who took a tumble which resulted in mumbled curses and more insults being thrown at certain peoples mothers and sisters. At this time we did not twig what the plan was but when we got to the waters edge I started to get a bit of an idea. I was not far out. The instructors parked the Land-Rover so that the headlights shone right across the dam towards the wall (on high beam of course)……all Little Hitler said in a cold voice was “swim until you get to the end of the beams and then swim back”. Jock Pollock…..a Scots instructor said he “wanted to see our burning arseholes in the water“….and we were off. It looked fucking miles…..and it was. They got in one of our Zodiacs we had moored up and followed us shouting abuse and mock encouragement at us all the way. I am a strong swimmer and it shagged me completely……I almost got to the wall that night before the instructors called us all back. I was pissed off because I really wanted to get there. I think they were a little worried in case someone drowned. If I remember rightly we all got pissed when we got back to camp…..really late it was.
Another incident worth mentioning was something that could have turned out bad but didn’t. We had been given an opportunity to visit one of the hotels close to the dam as a course completion treat. Needless to say we all got trashed, including the instructors. Luckily Little Hitlers father in law owned the hotel…..I jest not with you. He really looked after us. Anyway on the way back the normal bullshit started in the back of the vehicle…we were all in the back of a Bedford RL. One of the blokes…..and I remember him well……Trevor Robinson was his name (wore glasses), decided he wanted a piss and climbed out the back of the RL and up onto the top canvas…..there were bad results from this and he was severely injured when a thick thorn branch overhanging the road smacked him clean off the top of the vehicle with his dick still in his hand. Needless to say no one in the back saw this until we were quite some way from the incident……we never heard a thing. I cannot remember how we realised he was missing. When we got back to him he was a mess, blood and snot everywhere the poor bugger…..but smiling even with his broken glasses which he wore with an elastic round his neck. He recovered fully but I still don’t know if he got his piss that night. Lucky, lucky. Trevor and I were to become good friends as time wore on.
There was something else but I cannot remember it now so I think this is enough.
Our training was over at last. A long hard pull from June till now but we had our Oxford Blue berets…..that’s all that counted.
We returned to Brady Barracks, and were given a weeks Rock and Roll. On our return we would be part of the National Service Field Troop of 1 Squadron Rhodesian Corps of Engineers (1 RhE).
We were also to learn where each of us was going for their first operational posting.
But I’m saving that for next time…….I undertake not to keep you all waiting so long this time.
This is where the fun starts………………………..
1974…..Octoberish
Once we had finished our theory phase of training it was time to get out into the field and find out exactly what we had taken on board.
Our explosives training was carried out at Khodwayo Bombing Range and this had been completed earlier on. That had been extremely interesting and we had been taught a variety of demolition skills……steel cutting charges, destruction of landmines and other unexploded ordnance, cratering charges using camouflet sets which had a strange device called a “monkey” that weighed a ton, laying out of detonating cord ringmains and electrical ringmains, and most importantly explosive safety regulations.
There was no buggering about at Khodwayo. The training was presented in a professional way and there was no running or stress situations. This was serious stuff and our first exposure to things that would literally blow your head off if not treated with respect. The instructors understood this and adapted their methods of instruction accordingly. All in all one of the best phases of my training and probably the single most important subject I still use to this day in my chosen profession.
After demolition training it was back to Brady Barracks, unload the Bedfords of all the demolition kit, reload them with all sorts of other weird and wonderful Sapper stuff, most of which was bloody heavy and/or sharp, and we were off to Mzingwane Dam……and this was really going to be fun.
Mzingwane dam
Brady Barracks (Bulawayo)…..The Spawning Of A Sapper
May 21, 2010
Probably about August 1974……Brady Barracks (Bulawayo)-Headquarters,1 Engineer Squadron (1RhE)
“Come on Sapper Craig……up here!!….next to me…that’s it…..keep up with me at the front of the squad…don’t slow down now!”
This coming from an Aussie (maybe Kiwi) Staff Sergeant Engineer Instructor…..who also happened to be a marathon runner and took us for a daily 5 kilometer morning run down the road next to the barracks that would eventually get you to Salisbury.
Fuck me I thought to myself…..I really hoped I had finished with all this PT and running bollocks……how wrong I was.
But it was different here. The instructors were just about all ex-(or possibly serving) Royal Engineers….great guys, and helped a person instead of taking the piss. I was getting to enjoy my reasonable fitness and was looking forward to beginning specialist training. It was my first awakening that the Engineers were different from the Infantry, in fact they bordered on being human.
The first night at Brady Barracks deserves mentioning. There were about 30 of us (I think) from Intake 139 that had been accepted for Combat Engineer training and we were crammed into quite a small barrack-room as our initial accommodation. Living space was scarce at the Squadron in those days. In fact our accommodation was almost right next to the HQ building and the tiny parade ground.
It must have been about 2 am when all hell broke loose in the barrack-room…..lights came on blinding us and the doors were thrown open. Two Corporals bought us all to attention next to our beds……all of us in our underwear and some of us who slept in the nick standing stark bollock naked. From out of the darkness an apparition appeared…..no rank or badges on his uniform…..the only distinct characteristic about the man was the black eye-patch he wore over his left (maybe right) eye.
He walked slowly up and down our barrack-room…….giving each of us an evil one-eyed glance and grin.
“They call me Little ‘itler”…….up to now he had said nothing and those were his first words. I took it he meant Little Hitler, but being a Cockney he couldn’t pronounce his H’s bless him.
“For your sniveling, rotten sins you have been blessed with me as one of your instructors…….beware the man that crosses me because you will wish you were never born etc, etc, etc”………we were meant to be shitting ourselves I think although I was starting to get the feeling this was a wind-up of some kind. Anyway I thought it best to play along with the game or I might suffer one-eyes consequences. Little ‘itler continued his briefing to us…emphasising again the terrible fate that would befall us if we pissed him around during training or any other time for that matter. Threats of being fucked-up so badly our whole family would burst out in tears comes to mind.
And then he was gone…..taking the two Corporals with him. We found out the next day that this was in fact some sort of tradition. The new intake that arrives gets “initiated” by the intake that is about to complete their National Service……..and some of the regular instructors take part for good measure. All good fun. I was quite happy with that and in fact “Little ‘itler” and I became great friends. He was a regular Engineer Instructor and his name is definitely worth mentioning here……Vic Hydes……one of the good guys, a highly skilled instructor and fantastic man to work with. We had some great times together and he got me out the crap a few times when I “forgot” to pay my Hi-Fi installment. Vic, if you ever get to read this….I salute you and hope that you and the family are well!!
Just as a closer for this episode we got the outgoing intakes living quarters when they left about a week later……a much better arrangement with more space and nicer beds.
Our Combat Engineer (CEB 3) training was split into two phases, theory and practical. All or most of the theory was carried out at Squadron HQ and consisted of the following subjects (if my memory serves me correctly): Demolitions, mine-warfare, improvised rafting and floatation, watermanship, field machines, knots and lashings, water supply and purification, bridge-building, field defences, obstacles, camouflage and concealment, roads and airfield, field geometry, survey, and a whole lot more Sapper stuff that I cannot recall right now.
I really want to get done and dusted with the training bollocks and get onto the real meat of my time as a soldier so forgive me if we move on to the practical phase of my Combat Engineer training in the next installment and be done with it. I think you will find it interesting……I know I did.
Basic Training……the metamorphosis
May 16, 2010
It has been well recorded that the Rhodesian fighting man/woman were the finest counter-insurgency force in the world at the time and the training we received from day one was designed to ensure that this reputation was never sullied. It was hard and relentless, both physically and mentally. I must mention here that I have never been a small chap of politically correct weight. Those who know me will understand what I mean. I have had a lifelong battle with excess lard and this did not do me any favours during basic training. I really suffered, as did many of my fellow trainees.
However I soon discovered that I had a high level of mental stamina and an above average walking endurance with extremely heavy loads. This was to prove of great benefit to me in the future.
Walking anywhere was considered taboo during basic training and would immediately incur the wrath of our instructors, who appeared to take their greatest pleasure from grinding the less physically adept more than the rest. There were three of them in A Company……and at the time were all evil men according to me. I remember their names and faces to this day but I do not see any value to mention them here. I fully understand they had a difficult job to do but they did seem to wobble along that thin and somewhat blurry line between constructive battle competence/discipline training and sadistic bullying rather frequently. Perhaps this was all part of the grand plan to make us survivors in combat…..I don’t know….. but apparently it worked as I am still here to tell the tale so I have forgiven them a long time ago and in some ways I probably owe them my life many times over.
Basic Training doctrine in the Rhodesian Army had one purpose……to train every recruit to be an infantry fighting platform as their primary function. Even though many of us would later specialise in one of the many and diverse branches of the military machine, each and every one of us could therefore also form part of a fighting infantry section, or “stick” as we called them. With this as the objective much of our time was spent carrying out weapon drills by day and night, days and days of musketry training on the range, section battle drills, bayonet fighting, grenade throwing, map-reading, bush-craft, and a myriad of other black arts and skills that we would need to see without being seen, and kill without being killed.
So between all the boot-polishing, beret shaping, uniform starching, parade ground work, bed-packs, barrack room inspections, guard duties, PT and vehicle debussing drills we actually did some interesting stuff too.
I am not going to spend much more time on the intricacies of Rhodesian Army basic training techniques.
One thing is for sure though and that is that I was extremely happy to have had my request for transfer after Phase One Basics to the Rhodesian Corps of Engineers approved. The truth is that I did not see myself as an infantryman full-stop, and coming from an engineering background the Sappers seemed the way to go. I have never regretted it to this day and my next installment will cover the 8 or so weeks that the Rhodesian Army spent turning me into a Combat Engineer.
- Llewellyn Barracks (Alan Roberts)
Llewellyn Barracks from 14,000 ft:A) Main Entrance to Llewellyn
B) The parade ground: where many painful hours were spent
C) The sports ground: with rugby posts that we often had to run around during drill on the parade ground
D) The abandoned air strip: around which we had to run most mornings before breakfast
E) The rifle range: now abandoned….you can see the stop-butts just left of the “E”
F) Number Three Guard: where I also spent many painful hours
- Passing-Out Parade-Depot, The Rhodesia Regiment
Falling-In
February 7, 2010
6-6-1974
The evil smelling little Renault 4 taxi dropped me off at the main bus-stop next to the car-park behind the Bulawayo City Hall….our mustering point. There were a few sad-looking individuals there already, many of them saying their goodbyes to family and friends.
We were mostly eager to get on our way, away from the city. Wanted to get it all over with so we could go home again.
They had come to fetch us in that old stalwart of the Rhodesian Army vehicle fleet, Bedford RL’s…..the ones with the big bubble-like noses. There were also what seemed far too many grim-looking people in uniform shouting and ushering us onto the vehicles. The tailgates were down and we chucked our few belongings on board as ordered and clambered up into the wet cargo areas of the trucks like robots, heads banging on overhead frameworks, feet slipping on wet metal.
Two stone-faced and extremely well turned out Corporals accompanied each vehicle. For some reason they were in their drill kit, hobnail boots with gleaming toe-caps and putties. The creases on their twill shirts and shorts starched and ironed to razor like sharpness.
The rain had eased a little but the old tarpaulins that covered the back of the trucks were full of holes or in some cases ripped……this ensured most of us had a second shower, or in some cases probably the first for the day. There was no way to escape from the dripping …..it only made the mood more depressing.
As if on cue, the drivers and escort, who up to then had stood at the back of thier idling vehicles, now lifted up the heavy tailgates and slammed them shut, making sure the two locking latches were in place……not easy as most of them were bent out of shape and alignment. They then climbed into the doorless cabs, the driver double clutched and slipped the RL into first gear……and our convoy began to move off.
On the way the Corporals said very little. They too were obviously pissed off with the wet journey and were more than likely plotting their revenge against us civvies……seeming to look in my direction more than what I deemed necessary.
The trip out to Llewellyn was fairly uneventful except for the whipping one would get from the madly flapping canvas and loose ropes that were meant to hold the tarpaulins in place. The seats were hard cold steel, and my arse was soon numb and my feet went to sleep……the exhaust fumes from the Bedford 6 cylinder being sucked into the back of the vehicle by the vacuum caused by our forward movement……stinging our eyes and throats. The whirring of the wheels on the road and differential whine on an RL are somewhat hypnotic, and this having been well mixed with an overdose of carbon monoxide caused my head to start nodding like one of those dogs my mate had in the back his Cortina GT.
We tried to make small talk with one another to stay awake, fear of the unknown making it difficult to forge any kind of friendship for now. The best one could expect to get was someones name and a shivvery, cold, wet handshake.
Rhodesian Army Bedford RL
D-Day Part 2: 30 Years Later
January 31, 2010
6th June 1974.
The above date and the month (6/6) are probably quite well-known to most people, especially the sad bastards like me who read military history.
The year however will not mean too much at this time…….but read on and all will be revealed.
30 years to the day a combination of the date, month and year was extremely significant to a few hundred young men who were part of Rhodesian Army Intake 139, destined for their National Service with the Rhodesia Regiment at Llewelyn Barracks near Heaney Junction outside Bulawayo.
I was part of Intake 139, and I don’t think my fear was any different to any of those brave men who were going to land on the beaches of Normandy……..the ones with the unforgettable names….Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword. On a different level I was just as shit scared as those brave men must have been……..and Llewelyn Barracks was also to become an unforgettable name.
There is no argument that the scale of the threat in 1944 was different, but the knowledge that certain death from an enemy bullet could be around the corner must have been very much the same.
There was the sound of a car horn from downstairs……the taxi had arrived to take me to the pick-up point. I was on my way……it was a cold and gloomy day outside. And it was raining again……”guti“…..a soft mist of refreshing happiness from the sky.
My first Cap-Badge: The Rhodesia Regiment
D-Day……Part 1
December 8, 2009
6th June 1944:
In November, 1943, Joseph Stalin, Winston Churchill and Franklin D. Roosevelt met together in Teheran, Iran, to discuss military strategy and post-war Europe. Ever since the Soviet Union had entered the war, Stalin had been demanding that the Allies open-up a second front in Europe. Churchill and Roosevelt argued that any attempt to land troops in Western Europe would result in heavy casualties. Until the Soviet’s victory at Stalingrad in January, 1943, Stalin had feared that without a second front, Germany would defeat them.
Stalin, who always favoured an offensive strategy, believed that there were political, as well as military reasons for the Allies’ failure to open up a second front in Europe. Stalin was still highly suspicious of Winston Churchill and Franklin D. Roosevelt and was worried about them signing a peace agreement with Adolf Hitler. The foreign policies of the capitalist countries since the October Revolution had convinced Stalin that their main objective was the destruction of the communist system in the Soviet Union. Stalin was fully aware that if Britain and the USA withdrew from the war, the Red Army would have great difficulty in dealing with Germany on its own.
At Teheran, Joseph Stalin reminded Churchill and Roosevelt of a previous promise of landing troops in Western Europe in 1942. Later they postponed it to the spring of 1943. Stalin complained that it was now November and there was still no sign of an allied invasion of France. After lengthy discussions it was agreed that the Allies would mount a major offensive in the spring of 1944.
General Dwight Eisenhower was put in charge of what became known as Operation Overlord. Eisenhower had the task of organizing around a million combat troops and two million men involved in providing support services.
The plan, drawn up by George Marshall, Dwight Eisenhower, Bernard Montgomery, Omar Bradley, Bertram Ramsay, Walter Bedell-Smith, Arthur Tedder and Trafford Leigh-Mallory, involved assaults on five beaches west of the Orne River near Caen (codenamed Sword, Juno, Gold, Omaha and Utah) by the British 2nd Army and the American 1st Army. Follow-up forces included the Canadian 1st Army and the American 3rd Army under Lt. General George Patton.
Juno was assigned to the Canadian Army. Canada contributed 110 ships to the invading force, 14,000 troops, including paratroopers, and 15 RCAF squadrons of fighters and fighter-bombers. It is estimated that Canada contributed about 10 percent of the D-Day invading force.
The invasion was preceded by a massive aerial bombardment of German communications. This resulted in the destruction of virtually every bridge over the Seine.
On 6th June, 1944, 2,727 ships sailed to the Normandy coast and on the first day landed 156,000 men on a front of thirty miles. It was the largest and most powerful armada that has ever sailed.
The Allied invasion was faced by 50 divisions of the German Army under General Erwin Rommel. At Omaha, steep cliffs favoured the defenders and the US Army suffered 2,500 casualties.
The Allies also sent in three airborne divisions, two American and one British, to prepare for the main assault by taking certain strategic points and by disrupting German communications. Of the 23,000 airborne troops, 15,500 were Americans and of these, 6,000 were killed or seriously wounded.
Over the next couple of days 156,215 troops were landed from sea and air in Normandy, at a cost of some 10,300 casualties.
Soldiers waiting to be parachuted in France (6th June, 1944)
And the rest is history……..listen closely to the words of “Say Goodbye To It All” by Chris de Burgh……study the photo above closely, imagine what they imagine……think their thoughts……. and it will bring a tear to your eye……if it doesn’t you are a sad, lost, and empty soul…..Fox.
Almost Leaving The Rails (Part 3)…..Flicking The Switch
December 7, 2009
First half of 1974…..still in the Workshops…..but only just
It was around about this time that I discovered I had an extreme fear of heights and anything to do with ladders, scaffolding, or ropes that had to be climbed. Previously I had worked at heights and although experiencing a feeling of being drawn to the edge of whatever I was on top of at the time I seemed to cope. Suddenly that all changed and I began avoiding any task that involved taking my feet off the ground except to sit on a bar stool or get into bed .
I was to find that this phobia would haunt me many times in the years to come, but somehow I managed to defeat it through sheer single-mindedness to complete the mission or simply a sense of pride in front of my Muckers.
My last months before my National Service was due to begin were spent in the Diesel Shop (part of the Erecting Shop) where our diesel locomotives were repaired, serviced, and armoured-up against explosive devices placed on the tracks or a small arms ambush by the Gooks. Many of these attacks occurred, especially down the Rutenga/Beit Bridge way. The diesels were used in those areas where steam was not practical due to a lack of water for their ever thirsty boilers. From my recollections I do not recall any steam locos being attacked by the Gooks…..they seemed to take great delight in shooting/blowing up our diesels though…….maybe because there was a lot of nice smoke and flames generated by the fuel firing up.
Working in the Diesel Shop was a kind of prestige job actually. You didn’t just get posted to the Diesel Shop….oh no. You had to graduate by serving time in the noisy-sooty-greasy-oily steam loco shop and dead meat wagon shop first. I think that one of the reasons for this was that compared to other parts of the workshop complex the Diesel Shop was eerily semi-silent and clinical. Sure there was a lot of noise and at times the strong smell of diesel fuel could be quite overpowering but nothing quite like the steam workshops. It was like being in a different world all together. It is worth mentioning that diesel locos also have cow-catchers and diesel fuel is inflammable so the old fire and burning meat scenario was extant.
Rhodesia Railways General Electric DE2 having a chat with a 15th Class Garrett
Rhodesia Railways DE2's in tandem-late 1950's
It was about this time we started to get involved with a strange device known as a Cougar. The Cougar was designed to ride shotgun for sensitive freight loads and passenger trains. I do not think they were very successful but a good try by the Rhodesians to save lives and property.
Cougar
Ocassionally we would get a real fuck-up arrive in the Diesel workshops……something that had resulted from a Garrett and a DE2 saying howzit to each other on the same piece of track. Now its quite fine to greet one another if you are passing on different tracks. However it is quite a different matter if you are travelling in opposite directions on the same track. It normally results in blood and train-tickets being spread far and wide across the Rhodesian bushvelt with much wailing and screaming. Unfortunately people normally also die in this type of incident. Not very nice at all and blokes like me would end up cutting the wrecked iron horses into moveable bits for transportation to the the knackers yard. The picture below shows a Garrett 15th Class and a DE2 having a close encounter that resulted in severe damage and injury.
15th Class saying howzit to a DE2
It would soon be time for me to move on and there were a number of things that needed to be done before I took a few weeks off prior to National Service. There was equipment to be handed in, documents to sign, wills to be made out, and a place was needed to store my few belongings. All in all I was not looking forward to leaving my little room in the Single Quarters after all. It had become my comfort zone in more ways than one. There were the farewells to Joe and Bella…..and expending the last of my meal coupons. I never seemed to have much cash so there were no lavish farewells. Just a few beers with boys, handshakes, sincere farewells, and instructions to look after myself.
On my last day at work I went over to see Mr Tyzack, said goodbye and shook his hand. He was such a nice person, always giving encouragement at just the right time. He told me the time would fly and I would be back before I knew it. He was right about time flying, but as far as coming back he couldnt have been more wrong.
I walked out of the welding shop and up to the main gate, passed the steam locos being prepped for stripping, and short-cutted through the fitting shop with its spinning lathes and milling machines. I was concious of eyes on me as I passed by and I wondered if I would ever see this place or any of these people again.
At the main gate I took my clock-card out of the holder and punched myself out. I looked up at the sky…….it was starting to rain.
