The Road To Mukumbura: Part 2
July 8, 2013
The hypnotic whine of the water-filled tyres on the tarmac and the side-to-side roll of the heavy Rodef Troop Carrying Vehicle (TCV) lulled one to sleep in a surprisingly short period of time. The sun blazed down on us, burning our arms and faces. The matt-painted metal bodywork of the vehicle was hot enough to fry an egg on. We were meant to wear our webbing while traveling in case of an emergency de-bus but the majority of us took it off to gain some comfort. It gets quite irritating having a water- bottle stuck in each of your kidneys for 400 clicks. It would still be a few years before we progressed far enough to have chest-webbing, similar to that worn by the gooks.
Here are the different types of webbing I wore in Rhodesia
Standard Rhodesian Army Webbing complete with FN bayonet frog and bayonet (and kidney bruising water-bottles plus other paraphernalia):
More practical Chest Webbing came a little later and is shown below:
Thanks to Military Photos for the items shown above
Normally I would try to get the seat facing the near-side and up front next to the cab. This had two advantages from my perspective. Firstly if one fell asleep you could use the vehicle cab as a pillow and secondly if a person stood up to stretch their legs they had something to grab onto as the front roll-bar was right next to this position. The cab was also a pretty good wind-deflector. On the Rodef 45 and 75 versions, the passenger side of the cab had a turret at the top and one of the nicest places to be was standing on the softish passenger seat with your head and upper body outside the vehicle. I had many a conversation with blokes at the back from this position and vice-versa.
One of the most irritating things that could happen to you on the back of a TCV was getting hot cigarette ash in your eye. This could be your own ash or someone else’s. Boredom was a big problem on these journeys and smoking seemed to help a lot so plenty of ash flying through the air. Not good for the lungs or the eyes. Most of us smoked Madison, one of local equivalents as we could not get the international brands. Not a bad cigarette though.
Thanks to cigarettespedia.com
I must have looked like one of those nodding dogs on the back shelf of a ’65 Ford Cortina. As the miles slipped by my head bobbed sleepily up and down. I felt the vehicle driver change down, the revs climbed, brakes coming on and the vehicle slowed. My head banged into the cab with the changed momentum and I was wide awake. It was time for a break and driver change. It couldn’t have come at a better time as I was bursting for a piss.
The Road To Mukumbura
June 22, 2013
We usually left Salisbury at first light, probably nursing massive hangovers. I was always amused by the fact that one could drink gallons of beer but still be thirsty the next morning.
Prior to departure however we would have had to load our vehicles. Cargo could consist of anything from land-mines to letters and fuel to food. It was common practice that whenever word got out that there was a convoy going to Mukumbura, everyone suddenly had urgent kit or personnel to get up there. This regularly resulted in overloading of vehicles and little space left for personnel to sit. One would often find oneself sitting next to ammunition or explosives. Not really ideal but that was the way things worked. Another combination of cargo that didn’t work well was fuel and food. It always seemed that we had to have leaky jerry-cans and bread on the same vehicle. If you have never had a bacon sandwich made with bread that has been splashed with petrol/diesel you haven’t lived in a real man’s world. It gets a bit dodgy when you put a slice of this in the toaster though. There is however nothing like a good old whiff of diesel soaked bread to really whet ones appetite for breakfast.
The road to Mukumbura was a long one. Long, hot and dangerous. The sun, wind, or rain could be merciless to the unprotected, and there were a number of places where the gooks could bushwhack us along the way. Not all of our vehicles had canvas covers on and in any case we needed to know what was going on around us if ambushed so our seats were in the middle of the load-bed facing outwards. Here is a picture of a Rodef Troop Carrying Vehicle (TCV), which is actually a Mercedes Benz with a dodgy sanctions-busting name:
(thanks to loosecannon55)
These vehicles were “soft-skinned” and offered no protection from small-arms fire. The seats at the back were fitted with four-point safety belts that were a great help if the vehicle hit a land-mine. Additionally the vehicles had filled sandbags on the floor of the load-bed to stop fragmentation from mine blasts coming through the floor and ripping ones anal region apart. There is no doubt that personnel wearing these seat belts had a much better chance of survival than those who never used them. Standard procedure was to wear them but there will are always be those that know better. As a vehicle it was smooth on the road and a pleasure to drive (once you had got used to the water-filled tyres). In comparison to the Bedford RL it was a dream machine.
As our convoy snaked it’s way through the streets of Salisbury, heading for the road that would take us north, people on the streets walking to work would wave at us, silently wishing us luck and wondering where we were going.
(thanks to ORAFS and Mrs P Wise)
Once we reached the outskirts of Rhodesia’s capital city it would be time to cock our weapons and switch-on. We were on our way to Indian country.
Mukumbura: Salisbury Sojourn (Part 1)
February 14, 2013
Getting to Mukumbura was a pain in the arse……literally. If you have had the opportunity to sit on the steel benches in the back of a Bedford RL for 400 clicks you will understand exactly what I mean. Your arse goes numb and so does your scrotum for some reason. I have even had pins and needles in my dick during these trips, loosing all sensation and not knowing if it was still an appendage to my body. Here is a picture of a Bedford RL:
Bedford RL
Secondly, and more irritating than numb-nuts was the fact we had to deploy through Salisbury. This involved having to accept the hospitality of either 2 or 3 Engineer Squadron (Rhodesian Corps of Engineers). These units were based at either King George the Sixth Barracks (KGVI), or Cranborne Barracks (also home of the Rhodesian Light Infantry (RLI)). It seemed to many of us from 1 Engineer Squadron (Brady Barracks, Bulawayo), that the Salisbury Squadrons had an air of superiority about them. This was probably a result of Engineer Directorate also being in Salisbury. I cannot say that I enjoyed any of my visits to these units and the sooner we had done what we had to do there and got on our way the better. Having said all of that there were some good men in the Salisbury Squadrons and I made a number of close friends from these units during my 7 years in the Rhodesian Army. Here is a picture of the entrance to Cranborne Barracks:
Our normal stop over was about 2 or three days and during this time we would do retraining, load up any logistics that needed to get to Mukumbura (including anti-personnel mines), and get pissed in the many watering holes in Salisbury. One of these pubs was La Coq D’or which the RLI considered to be their personal domain and woe betide any other Unit that encroached on their territory. There have been a number of memorable punch ups there. Here is a picture of the place (courtesy of New Rhodesian Website):
And a menu cover from way back when:
All good things come to an end however and we had to move on. We had a mission after all…..to lay mines and stop the gooks getting into Rhodesia. We climbed up into the Bedford’s, and with the stench of exhaust fumes polluting the air and stinging our eyes we were off. Wrapped up against the cold in my prickly grey army issue blanket I could still taste the bacon, eggs and coffee we had for breakfast as I settled in for another ball-numbing journey.
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.
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
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.
On And Off The Rails (Part 4)
September 27, 2009
Location: Rhodesia Railways Mechanical Workshops, Bulawayo
Still in the Erecting Shop, 1973
I would like you to meet my Erecting Shop Journeyman.
His name was Brian Kelly and he came from Ireland. I am convinced he was an IRA hit man but this was probably my overactive imagination at work, but he did strike me as a dark horse whose passive and quite nature merely concealed his other side.
Brian was a great guy, spoke with a wonderful Irish accent (obviously) and we got on really well although I made a number of serious fuck-ups while I was with him. We will not discuss them at this time.
The ten o’clock tea-time was reserved for playing bridge in the Erecting Shop welding cubicle. We had our own little hide away where our wooden lockers were. Brian spent many frustrating months teaching me the game. He had a lot of patience with me and I think I got the hang of it in the end although I still don’t really know what “vulnerable” and “rubber”means. Anyway during tea time we used to sit around a steel table we had made and four of us would drift away into a make believe world of soft carpets, cigar smoke, and waiters dressed like penguins. We really were a quartet of grand gentlemen in our oily, sooty overalls, greasy safety boots and chipped tin mugs that burned ones lips whenever a sip of tea was taken.
Brian’s wife also made the nicest mince sandwiches which I used to readily devour, normally not having anything of my own.
One of the jobs I was taught by Brian was a boiler tube replacement. This was a bitch of a job and involved first the cutting out and then the welding back of up to 400 tubes that form the steam making heart of a steam locomotive. The idea was that once the boiler was safely on its stands, the welder, in this case me, would climb inside the firebox and cut the old tubes out using an electric arc. Quite a mission as you have to get the arc inside each tube to cut it out and the arc would flash all over the place. If you have never welded electrically you wont understand what I am talking about but try to imagine it anyway. Once they were all out the boilermakers would come and clean everything up and new tubes would be fitted which I then had to weld back in. A long and back-breaking process, done in isolation and under a strict time scale. Once all the welding was finished the boiler tubes were pumped up using water pressure so you could see any leaks in your welding. And then it was back in again to seal off any water spurts.
In have to say here that I was complimented by Jack Crilly on my ability to carry out positional welding much better than the easier and normal flat welding. This is quite strange as positional welding means upside down or vertical up/down welding and normally takes ages to master. I got it right within a year and found it quite an accomplishment. Boiler tube welding was all positional stuff and tested a welder to the limit both physically and technically.
I have never been a small lad. In fact I am what you would call over average in build…..overweight or fat actually. I was known as the little fat fucker in the workshops. Getting into the boiler was always fun and getting out even more fun as a persons body expands when hot….I jest not with you here. And it is really hot inside a boiler that is being welded. The sweat literally pisses off of you. Remember you are wearing elbow length fireproof gloves, your Jack the Ripper apron, boots, spats and your overall. Oh yes and you have a welding helmet and cap on as well. The cap was to stop any welding sparks burning the shit out of your exposed head which resulted in intense pinpoint pain, swearing, and the sickening smell of your own hair and flesh on fire.
If you do not manage to get your kit on correctly, some sparks do manage to get inside your overalls and I had one rather painful experience of a blob of molten metal coming into contact with the side of my dick….I have the scar to this day. Lucky, lucky.
Sometimes blobs of metal got inside my boots….very painful too and you just have to grin bravely, swear, jump about, and wait for the bit of metal to cool down while being in direct contact with your skin. There is no way to get your laced-up boots off.
As in the wagon shop there was also a graveyard for weary locomotives…..those fire breathing monsters that have come to the end of the line. This was also a sad place where once proud giants of the railroad found their final resting place…..out in the open and unprotected from the elements.
It was an undignified end for these truly wonderfully majestic machines, and my love of and fascination for steam locomotives remains with me to this day.
Rhodesia Railways 20th Class Garrett hauling a passenger train.....what a majestic beast! There is a more than even chance I worked on this grand old lady.
Rhodesia Railways locomotive graveyard, Bulawayo
Inside a locomotive boiler showing steam tubes
Boiler tube plate where I would cut out and weld back the tubes
Inside a boiler
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