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.
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.
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.
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.
Almost Leaving The Rails (Part 2)….approaching the first junction
October 24, 2009
First half of 1974…..
It was after one of my trips to PomPom that Joe Le Roux called me into his office as I walked through the entrance to the single quarters.
I was knackered and didn’t feel like an ear-bending session which this was probably going to become. Joe was the quarters Chief Warden and his job was to make sure the accommodation and environs were kept in pristine condition and seemingly ready for a higher beings inspection. I wondered what I had fucked-up.
Highly polished (and dangerous when wet) red verandas fronted all the rooms, fallen jacaranda blooms were raked only in one direction, and window panes glinted black in the moonlight, reflecting ghostly images. Ornamental stones were white-washed monthly and tended to blind one during the day. There was an army of labourers working for him and they earned their pay twice over. Trees and shrubs were trimmed as to look like topiary works of art, grass was cut with edges trimmed to perfection, and the ablution blocks always smelled of Dettol and moth-balls. None of the taps leaked.
He was on night shift this specific occasion and as was his custom he was outside polishing his immaculate light green Vauxhall Victor. I am sure he had more feeling for this car than he had for his wife, at least it probably got more rubbing on its body-work than she did. Joe and I were great friends and often when I finished work at a reasonable time I would take a shower and go into Joes office. We would play cards till midnight while he recalled tales of his rather interesting life on the rails. It helped to pass the time for both of us and Bella would also join us now and again when Keith was working away firing the beasts up to Victoria Falls. We were a happy trio in those days. He often bought goodies from home to snack on and which he always shared with me.
Joe was a good man and I will always have fond memories of him. There are not many like him.

Vauxhall Victor similar to Joes
The image above shows the close proximity of the single quarters to the workshops………I never seemed far from the noise and smells of where I worked and I am reminded of that Dire Straits classic, Industrial Disease. Pretty grim really now that I think about it, and not very helpful to ones social development.
Joe took me into the office and handed me an official looking brown envelope that was addressed to me. It had been rubber stamped with something to do with Rhodesian Army Headquarters. I sat down next to Joes desk and wearily opened the envelope. He made some tea in a pot for us and opened the faded Tupperware containers that held his supply of sugar and powdered milk. Joe poured the hot liquid into immaculate white porcelain Rhodesia Railways cups, and stirred the steaming dark brown mixture with a brightly shining Rhodesia Railways teaspoon. He sat watching me quietly as I read. There was no need to tell him what the letter contained…..he had seen them too many times before from my predecessors. I folded it neatly and placed it back in the envelope.
As I sipped the sweet milky tea there was a brief moment when I knew that my life as I knew it was never going to be the same again, and how much I would miss Joe……and yes, perhaps all of this that surrounded me too. It had become my comfort zone. All young men awaited this type of correspondence…..at least those of us who had the will to fight for what we believed in and had not run off to some cushy South African University using their parent’s money and connections.
I dipped a Marie biscuit into my tea and the soggy piece broke off as I tried to take a bite.
There was no time for reflection now, only the knowledge that I was to report to Llewellyn Barracks (Depot, The Rhodesia Regiment) for twelve months National Service as part of Intake 139 later in the year. There was no fear….nor any great surprise. It was the way things were in Rhodesia in those days you see, as if it was the natural progression of a young mans tertiary education.
Except the only thing they were going to teach where I was heading was how to kill the enemy…..and hopefully how to be one of those who survived.
I asked Joe for the cards and dealt us two hands…….clinging to normality but somehow sensing I had discovered my destiny.