Chasing Gooks With The Infantry
January 21, 2013
Wankie (1 Independent Company): 1974/75-ish
Besides landmine incident call-outs, the days at 1 Indep also consisted of camp guard duties, patrolling the married quarters at night, and escorting ration-runs to deployed call-signs in the Company area of responsibility.
Late one afternoon this somewhat laid-back routine was, without warning, rudely interrupted.
Contact had been made with a large group of gooks and they were on the run. Normally in these types of situations the general idea would be to get as many additional feet on the ground as quickly as possible to track the gooks and kill them. At the same time as the follow-up was taking place, stopper groups would be placed ahead of them and straddling their likely axis of advance.
The best way to get a good grip on the situation was to have an aircraft up above the gooks to give the trackers an idea which way they were heading. Choppers would then drop Fire-Force sticks off to give chase. The choppers would also drop of the stopper-groups into which the gooks would hopefully run. One of the aircraft used for the top-cover and gook tracking was the Cessna Skymaster or as we called it, the “push-pull” due to its engine configuration (one back and one front). This aircraft was also known as the “fuck me-suck me” by many of us. Here she is:
This specific aircraft had the callsign prefix of “Hornet” due to the twin Browning’s at the top looking very much like insect probiscae. These aircraft also carried Frantan bombs that acted very much like Napalm and it was a pleasure to see these being used. Gooks normally quickly lost the urge to do anything bad after one of these was dropped near to them.
The helicopter of choice for the deployment of troops was the good old Alouette 3, also known in the Rhodesian Forces as Cyclone 7. These could be armed with either twin Light Machine Guns (G-Car), or a 20mm cannon (K-Car). The plan would be for G-Cars to drop troops off on the tails of the gooks who would then chase them into the waiting stopper groups (if they were in position) where they would hopefully be killed or captured. This picking up and dropping off of troops took time as the G-Car could only take 5 troops at a time and many opportunities were probably missed because of this lack of an appropriate trooping capability. Here is one of the choppers we used (Beaver Shaw behind the guns and photo by Dominique Hoyet) :
I had managed to get dragged into leading one of the stopper-groups this specific day (by Don Price) and had been dropped off with whatever and whoever was available at the camp. The area that needed to be covered to catch the running gooks was so wide that we had cooks, medics, bottlewashers, and mechanics in the stop-groups. Remember that in the Rhodesian Army we were all Infantrymen first and specialists second. It was in these circumstances that the training model really paid off.
By last light we were still lying there waiting for the gooks to run into us but nothing happened. It gets a little creepy in these situations as you need to be really careful not to shoot your own people chasing the gooks. With non-combat type troops with me this was a real possibility and I knew it. I was not quite sure what the next move was going to be and was hoping that we were not going to be expected to stay out the entire night. Due to the rushed and calamitous deployment, none of us who were normally non-Fire Force troops were carrying warm clothing or rations. As fate would have it I received a radio message that we needed to stay in position for the night. I informed the gentleman on the other end of the line that my callsign was not equipped for a night stop and he (the same Don Price) had the temerity to call us dudes (yes, dudes!) over the air. This annoyed me a bit, but we had a job to do, and we got on with it. I could not have worried less, but the welfare of my troops came first, and we did get the necessary support for the night.
As far as I can remember they never did get any of those gooks either so all-in-all an unsuccessful day all-round and perhaps in some way I contributed to this poor result. I doubt it, although in retrospect I should have been more prepared for this type of call-out though, and I would not be caught out again. It was pretty piss-poor preparation on my part.
I didnt know it at the time but as we flew back to Wankie there was planning taking place in Bulawayo that would soon see me redeployed to a place synonymous with the history of the Rhodesian Corps of Engineers…..Mukumbura!
First Blood…..Sidindi Island (Part 5)
February 28, 2011
I can remember walking past palm trees and what looked like sea sand as we followed Don back down to wherever he had come from…..the Zambezi flowing smoothly on my right hand side….gurgling on its merry journey to the mighty Kariba Dam…..many miles away. Where it crashed over the countless rocks it foamed and sprayed a fine mist……the wind blowing it into our hot and sweaty faces…..cooling and refreshing.
A radio crackled near to me and the 1 Indep stick leader answered with his call-sign. He had a short and sharp conversation with someone on the other end consisting of “copied”, “affirmative”, “say again”…..and finally “roger out”. He moved up closer to me and let me know that a recovery vehicle had arrived but was standing off some distance from the mine victim until I gave the all clear on the road.
Don had diverted us onto a path that left the dirt road and led along the river bank……and it was then we saw a couple of soldiers up ahead….on guard and highly alert. They let Don through and we entered a place of carnage……and what was until a few hours ago an SAS temporary base.
All around us were bits and pieces of kit..neatly piled up as if waiting for collection…webbing, weapons, eating utensils..some damaged by gunfire…the stuff that soldiers carry….and shockingly, a heap of bloody sleeping bags and Rhodesian uniforms….now tattered and ripped apart…blood stains mingling with the camouflage pattern…riddled with bullet holes. There was indeed a certain smell about the place…..a smell I would get to know well……the smell of blood. Nothing else like it. Clearly something bad had happened here….you could feel and see the despair in the faces of the few grim men that were there. Cartridge cases that were not familiar lay scattered all around, the wrappings of first field dressings and used inter-venal drips, some with their tubes still attached littered the ground……the bits and pieces of medical kit that were the signature that some serious shit had gone down not too long ago.
Don took us into a shady part of the camp and sat us down. It was the measure of the man that although he wore the coveted wings of perhaps the finest special forces unit in the world, he treated us as equals at this time. He proceeded to brief us on the events of the past hours…..not in too much detail to endanger security, but enough for us to understand the background as to why we were there, and the seriousness of the situation.
Apparently the SAS were on an external operation in Zambia doing what they do and had been over there for some time. On their return to Rhodesian soil they were well and truly knackered and formed a temporary base at Sidindi Island so that they could rest before being picked up and returned to their main base. They ate and they slept. They had arranged their sleeping positions in two lines close to each other with a narrow path between the two. A guard was posted and the rest slept. Sometime in the early hours of the next morning when one sleeps the deepest a group of terrorists entered the camp and walked down the path between the two rows of sleeping men and machine-gunned them mercilessly as they lay in their sleeping bags. I do not recall if anyone was killed but there were some severe injuries received. Those that could managed to fight the gooks off but the damage was done. They were understandably devastated….but also professionals…..and immediately began the task of helping the injured and getting them out. The blown up Bedford was also part of the reaction force coming to assist them. These gooks who attacked were definitely not the normal run of the mill banditos……they were very clever…they knew there was only one road where help would come from and they had mined it with a successful hit…..a tactic that I would encounter on more than one occasion. They had also clearly observed the SAS go into a temporary base and had waited patiently for their chance to strike……showing great restraint before attacking.
We drank tea and offered what help we could and made our way back up to the road…..all of us deep in thought……and a lot more switched on than when we first arrived. If those who had so audaciously attacked the SAS camp with so much success were still around we had a problem. However we completed our mission without incident or more mines on the raod and the recovery vehicle was able to come in and take the sad old girl away to fight another day.
It was time to return to Wankie……and the gunship was summoned by TR48 radio carried in the recovery vehicle. It was late when we boarded and the pilot informed us he would not be taking us back that evening but rather to the South African Police base at Sidindi (or it could have been Mapeta?) where we were destined to be treated to some real South African hospitality….good food…steaks and boerewors and cold Castle beers…we even had coffee bought to us in bed by the Padre after he had read us all an evening prayer.
I hoped that he was also praying for all the SAS boys we had just left behind.
Sometime later stories about the Sidindi incident began to circulate..some of it obvious bullshit…but the most plausible one was that the sentry, being exhausted just like the rest of them, had fallen asleep at his post and the gooks had simply walked past him and into the camp. I have no proof that this is the case but the importance of an effective guard system remained with me for the rest of my military career. A few years on and in a different country I was to see first hand the result of a sentry falling asleep……except this time I was one of those on the receiving end. The result might not be what you expected.
First Blood…..Sidindi Island (Part 2)
November 19, 2010
On-board Cyclone 7 Gunship………outbound to Sidindi area
The pilot tested and released the brakes on the Alo gunship and we slowly taxied down the runway at FAF1……I was on the back seat….a simple hard bench that could fold up when the chopper was in the casevac role. On either side of me was an infantryman from 1 Indep. The infantry section or “stick” leader sat in a rearwards facing seat next to the pilot. This seat had an olive green cushion for your arse and the seat was armour-plated all round so that whoever sat in it never had his balls shot off by gooks firing from below.
Another troopie sat in the door opening, a position I was later to claim as my own on many chopper rides. There is something pretty fascinating about sitting in a chopper door when the pilot hits a hard port or starboard roll and you literally hang out the machine but cannot fall…centrifugal force apparently….those of you who have experienced this will know what I am talking about. The door gunner was a serious looking fellow who had a flying helmet on that had wires coming out of it that plugged into sockets on the bulkhead..these were his umbilical cord to the pilot….they spoke constantly without a sound coming our way. The weapon on these gunships was the Belgium made 7,62 MAG (Metrallieur a Gas) mounted as twins on a swivel arrangement giving traverse and elevation movement. There was also an optical sight on these weapons. Ammunition was fed into from two ammo boxes attached to the gun mounting.
This was my first chopper ride and as you all know I am shit scared of heights. My arse was nipping at the thought of the lift off and me just inches from the open door….I didn’t know about the centrifugal force theory at this stage.
I watched the pilot closely…..how he gently pumped his feet on the pedals as we taxied…..and how he flicked mysterious buttons on the rather impressive dashboard that had red and green lights on it. His left hand had been continuously holding what looked like a car handbrake between the seats and as I watched he slowly lifted this device and the chopper left the ground and began to gently gain height….I learned later this handbrake thing was called the “collective” and had something quite important to do with the up and down activity of all choppers. Actually if this device broke the chopper was fucked and all aboard in severe shit.
As we climbed I watched as the runway fell away and the buildings below became smaller and smaller…..the cars on the roads looking like the Dinkies I had played with in the sand as a child…..as the pilot swung the machine to port we headed east…..into the rising sun…..and into my first taste of what this war was all about.
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
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
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.
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