Health care was another issue; no dentist locally, nor facilities for blood tests or other investigations. My blood group is negative, and this was going to require monitoring nearer my delivery date, for fear of a conflict with the baby’s, Dr. Chris Roberts said, (he had informed me, ‘against my wishes’ that I was due around 21 January). The company general manager, up for a rare visit, assured us over dinner at the local hotel that the company would pay for my necessary trips to the Copper Belt, although in practice these turned out to be the subject of drawn out negotiations. Mark and I had already started to plan a combined shopping and health care trip for me.
Another emerging feature of Abercorn life was that residents – white residents – were leaving on an increasingly regular basis, often heading ‘back to the U.K.’ or ‘down south’, for now in late 1963 Northern Rhodesia was changing. Superficially many aspects of life in Abercorn continued as they had for decades: the club continued to thrive, although it seems amazing now that it did not yet admit black members; business continued to be done, the administration of the town and the province went on. But there were already signs of the end of Federation and of approaching independence. I began to write of parcel post slowing and my letters bore a new, Northern Rhodesia stamp. Abercornucopia surveyed the changing scene with a wary and often critical eye, and farewell parties at the club were more and more frequent. However, it was still a splendid place to live. Here is an extract from an extended feature on (largely white) Abercorn life, written by Tony Howard the following year for Horizon, the house magazine of a Copper Belt mining company. It was entitled ‘The Town with a Twinkle in its Eye’:
Abercorn has self-assurance, without pomposity or priggishness, but rooted in the sure knowledge that it is a very superior place. It is not just that it has one of the most beautiful settings in Central Africa with hills behind and attractive little Lake Chila in front; nor is it that the town has the distinction of being the most northerly in the country; nor that at 5,400 ft. it stands on higher ground than any other town in Zambia; nor that its climate is such that people need never go away for their health’s sake.
Abercorn’s real pride is its people. The town has always attracted the kind of people who are out of the ruck, individualists. Many of the European population are civil servants who live there because their work dictates it, but Abercorn remains a place where most people live from choice.
One of Abercorn’s most memorable features at that time was indeed the mix of people who lived there, not just transients like Mark and me, but a solid body of settlers, and in particular its ‘characters’, some of them vividly described in the Horizon piece. ‘Vesey’ – Dr. Desmond Vesey Fitzgerald was a world renowned natural scientist who had retired from his work with Red Locust Control but still lived by the shores of Lake Chila. His presence, to quote Abercornucopia of that time, was an important attraction to numbers of natural scientists studying every aspect of African wild life, flora and entomology. I remember peering into his nocturnal insect-catcher, his naming last night’s catches, his additions to the long list of birds spotted in the area and updated in Abercornucopia. I was needlessly in awe of him, particularly when, later, I rashly agreed to become Hon. Sec. of the Club, with him as Chairman. He, for the moment, was staying.
There was ‘Westy’ Westwood, whose business interests spanned the general trading store and butchery, the Abercorn Arms and an estate which included the Lake View Hotel – soon to be sold and turned into Outward Bound Trust’s base in Zambia. Genial Ted Davies, behind the bar at the Abercorn Arms, would regale newcomers like us with Abercorn tales from way back: one included the sighting of a London Green Line bus driving through the town, presumably on a Cape to Cairo run. John Carlin at the Lake Press, stout and greying in his safari suit, was always good for a humourous anecdote, many of which would appear in his monthly paper Abercornucopia. I soon sensed how much he enjoyed being diverted from his work when I called in, often with Paul in tow, to prop myself on the counter for a chat, then dashing off an aerogramme to catch the plane, in a way Mum would have been proud of. Later I would be tasked with writing up pieces on the doings at the club for the paper, and would feed him snippets of amusing gossip, some of which found their way into his Chila Chat column by ‘Impulumushi’. John’s wife Sheelagh ran the Abercorn Customs Office and his sister Joan was the local Central African Airways rep. Son Colin, recently returned from a stint at London’s College of Printing, worked with his father at the Lake Press; he was a keen sailor and one of Abercorn’s bachelors, for whom the company of any single young women was almost never available.
John Carlin outside the Lake Press; Abercorn’s humour personified
Some of its most notable residents had arrived by accident: Derrick Peachey had crash-landed during an air race from Portsmouth to Johannesburg in 1936. Badly injured, he was transferred south and ultimately back to England, but a couple of years later returned to see what could be salvaged from the wreckage of the plane. He married Elaine and they were still fruit farming there on a large estate with ten Doberman Pinscher dogs, known fearfully by his workforce as ‘the leopards’.
There was Mary Richards, whose passion was botany. Although already in her late 70’s, she would arrive from her other home in Wales each winter and take off into the bush on plant hunting trips with only her driver Ali and an assistant, Abdullah, for company. Though devoted to her, they reputedly found her exhausting company. She would reappear some weeks later with specimens which she would send to Kew Gardens Herbarium – some 20,000 of them over the years. The following year would see her made a Master of Science at the University of Wales for her work.
Most celebrated locally were the Misses Gamwell – known to all as the Gamwell Sisters. Hope and Marion had served in the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry (F.A.N.Y.) as ambulance drivers in World War I. By 1929, in search of a new life in Southern Rhodesia, they were driving from Nairobi to Salisbury and stopped off in Abercorn for supplies. They were offered hospitality over Christmas and never left. They owned an estate of nearly 1000 acres off the Mpulungu road, a fine English-style flower garden complete with sundial and a magnificent 1928 Chevrolet nicknamed ‘The Horse’ for driving round the estate. In town they were instantly recognisable: two stocky figures in khaki bush jackets and trousers, with cropped grey hair, Bowie knives at the ready in their belts. There was already talk of their leaving, uncomfortable at their increasing dependence on a local workforce they felt was becoming unreliable.
However, we made friends mainly with more recent arrivals of our age. On our little road lived two keen bridge playing couples: IRLCS pilots Robin Crosse-Upcott with his wife Pam, and Ted and Halina Malujlo whose young sons learned Polish first, English second. Gavin Barr was the District Commissioner and a mean guitar player, he and his wife Caroline both radiating Scottish cheerfulness. I remember Caroline’s serene smile above the clamour of their three young children and their delinquent lurcher-type dog Bill Barr (we all had large dogs and outdoor social occasions were frequently interrupted by outbreaks of fighting). Tom and Maureen Williamson too had young children: he was our chief of police who seemed to me a slightly stern figure, while she was a kind, calm young mum and a reassuring presence, particularly once I had two young children. And of course there were the Bowmakers, Jennifer (whom we now knew as Jiff) and Alan, who were to become our closest friends. He was a marine biologist and provincial fisheries officer, passionate about animals, easy and affectionate with children, and with a mad, infectious laugh. Jiff was now pregnant again, three months behind me, their one year old Jeanne and Paul firm friends. Their garden I remember as full of livestock – chickens, ducks, cages of rabbits, cats with a new litter. Alan, like Mark, was often away on fisheries matters on Lake Tanganyika; he had the much coveted use of a splendid motor launch the Dame des Iles, and of a high-speed launch too. Jiff was a huge support to me, a more confident mum than I, always cheerful and positive, ready with common sense advice. They were both keen sailors
. There were many other new friends – too many to mention here – all sociable and agreeable company.
How important these friendships were in a small, isolated community! I remember vividly, early on in our friendship, the experience of some silly falling-out with Jiff – remember it chiefly for the sense of panic and abandonment that overcame me when she would not speak to me, the relief that flooded over me as we made it up. We were all dependent on each other’s support: a young mum’s necessary trip to the Copper Belt, with all the travelling that this entailed, a sudden illness or even a few days in hospital whilst a husband was away, meant the need for someone else to look after an extra baby or toddler for several days – help always willingly given.
Now, after several months settling in, Mark and I had started to plan my own trip to the Copper Belt, which needed the company’s permission. It involved a two day drive down in the company car, Mark returning with a sales colleague while I would stay on for two days of shopping, dentist, blood tests and a gynaecological appointment. Reluctantly, I realised it would be impossible to take Paul, not least because no-one with a cot had invited me to stay (though happily my old Salisbury mate Barbara now lived in nearby Ndola and had a spare sofa). The Bowmakers offered to have him, along with Uelo to help. My letter before we left gives a flavour of how life was developing:
Rather in haste now, as we leave early tomorrow, and there seems to be a lot to think of what with Paul’s luggage and Boy going to stay with the Jones’s (our neighbours and great dog lovers)… We had a busy weekend, Mark playing golf on Sat. and Sun. a.m. for the Abercorn Open (he did very badly) and then having to go to Mpulungu on Sun. p.m. and Monday for the Liemba. Meanwhile I was preparing for my lunch at the yacht club on Sunday. Dido Millar helped me make pizza pie for 50, plus salad, rolls etc. All the Kasama visitors and golfers came. We charged 2/6 and made £2/10 profit for the club which was very good, and it seemed to go off alright. On Mon. there was special lunch at the main club for the golfers and I made a pudding for that, and Paul and I ate there, Mark arriving later. We had a game of golf later, Mark still playing badly and I not so bad, considering my figure – I am just about in smocks now. I also did lots of gardening over the w/e and am beginning to be rewarded. We had our first decent rain on thurs. with a terrific wind – yachts overturned, boughs broken etc. but it was over too quickly and very hot again now. It will be worse in Ndola. I have a shopping list a mile long.
I remember little of the trip other than my anxiety at leaving Paul, despite knowing how at home he would be with his friend Jeanne and adults he now knew quite well. There was even a concrete paddling pool which had been built for a pet otter which hadn’t arrived. We gave him a new car and then we were off: 650 miles of straight road with trees on either side, completely unvarying for the entire journey. I shopped as quickly as possible from my mile long list and did manage to get most of the things I wanted to pack into Mark’s car, from garden lime to Christmas presents. There followed two days of dentist, doctor, blood tests and a hair cut and perm (the girl didn’t even know I was pregnant!) and some time to feel almost a single girl again with Barbara before flying home.
Paul with Uelo in the front garden…
…and with his friend Jeanne Bowmaker at the Yacht Club
The greatest thrill was to get back to my little boy: Paul was struck dumb to see me arrive off the plane, I wrote home, but has been so good since, not at all clingy or whining as I had feared… Uelo came every day and Paul dotes on him.
Despite being nearly seven months pregnant, and having been ordered to rest after a scare with contractions following a gastric upset, my breathless air letters continue to recount endless activity, including a major garden restructuring. This involved Mark learning to operate the Agriculture Department’s small motor plough to plough up the front drive, the relocation of the garage ‘ near to the back door instead of miles from any door at all, by Uelo and a temporary helper at 3/- a day’. Later I reported making five trips in the Mini with Uelo to fetch rocks, to create a rockery where the new lawn was terraced to cope with a change in level. It was early November and the rains had started with a vengeance, with a dramatic build-up of cumulus thunderheads, forked lightning and heavy tropical downpours, all far more dramatic than we had been used to in Southern Rhodesia. Everyone seemed to have a rain gauge, and that month 11 inches was recorded, one inch falling in a day. Abercorn could receive 50 – 60 inches in a season, even more down towards Lake Tanganyika. By January we were to realise that the rainy season, ‘summer’, was cooler here than ‘winter’, with those heavier rains and higher winds than we had been used to and relatively little sun to warm us up. For Paul all this rain was simply an opportunity to go out in his new red Wellingtons, whilst Mark had to cope with increasingly muddy and at times impassable roads, erratic oil tanker deliveries and irate customers waiting for their orders.
Indoors, as well as my other sewing, I was now requesting scraps of material from Mum as I have started a patchwork quilt for our double bed. At least, I think now, I must have been sitting down to work on that. To add to it all, I was now on my second house servant, Edward, my discomfort with Daudi having led to some final falling out. I don’t remember Edward at all, save for the following incident:
I am sans domestique. Edward was suspected of lying and pinching food, and then I found him (at 11.30 a.m.) in Paul’s room lying on the bed. Ugh. He pretended to be ill, but though a born actor, I was too angry to be deceived further. The only applicants so far have been quite hopeless and I’d rather go it alone and try to find someone decent tho it may be difficult. Uelo is a help and can iron nappies and do floors etc so it’s not too bad. (It is a tribute to all that ironing over the years that no putse fly ever burrowed its way into our babies’ or our flesh.)
I had been told in Ndola that it would be safe for me to have the baby in Abercorn provided that regular blood tests – the samples had to catch the plane to Kitwe for analysis – did not show a build-up of antibodies that would threaten the baby. However, with impeccable timing, our Medical Officer, Chris Roberts was about to go on long leave. He came to stay for a few days while his house was got ready for his locum, Dr. Trant: She is a dear old girl of about 80 who practises in Tanganyika and was here before Chris. She has a monkey and is deaf but everyone says she’s v. good and adores delivering babies. We have ordered a lighter pram which should be here soon. Needless to say names have not been discussed yet, we always disagree anyway.
I wish I could say that I remember being attended by a doctor with a monkey on her shoulder – but I can’t, because of course she left the monkey at home. (It was in fact a bad tempered baboon called Audrey, much disliked in the community; it was diabetic and had to be injected regularly with insulin). Dr Trant was a delightful, feisty old lady, Anglo-Irish and very excited at the prospect of delivering a white baby (there were many black ones arriving in the location hospital, but only mine expected in the European community). My due date was only a couple of weeks before her locum ended, and she was reassuringly determined that I should be delivered before she left.
News of the outside world seldom intrudes into my letters, the last time having been a mention of the Cuba crisis from Gwelo. Now, in early December, between thanks for the Christmas cake in its Tupperware, a list of Paul’s new vocabulary and a diagram of the new lawn and rockery, came: We were horrified about Kennedy, and only heard when I went to the shops on Sat. a.m. & someone said wasn’t it awful and I said what was? I even bought all the newspapers the next week. The way it struck me was poor Jacqueline, I kept thinking how she must feel.
We had no radio, and newspapers were inevitably out of date by the time they were available which was somewhat of a turn-off, together with their expense against our very limited budget. Perhaps too the outside world felt even more remote than it had in Gwelo, immersed as we now were in Abercorn life. Decades later I still come across a political event, a pop song, a book that made a stir, in a documentary lookin
g back at the sixties, and realise how much of it passed me by.
The run-up to Christmas was as hectic as it always is everywhere, the succession of cool damp days, often with a fine mist, reminding me of long ago summer holidays in the Lake District with our Watson grandparents. There were endless company visitors to be entertained; farewell parties at the Club for government people leaving for good; Will to be fetched by Mark from Mpika, after his spell working in Lusaka and on a tourist ‘walkabout’ including Southern Rhodesia. I checked through my Christmas card list, placed orders with the Army & Navy Stores in London of gifts for family (what did I choose for them? I wonder now, for my letters of course concealed my choices). As I addressed cards to Bulawayo and Gwelo, enclosing a few lines of our news to our friends there, they already seemed far away, so immersed had I become in our new life.
We were all delighted to have Will back for Christmas. Whilst working in Lusaka he had taught himself to cook with a Philip Harben paperback; that and his British upbringing had left him well equipped to help in the house in my servant-less state. I was simultaneously relieved not to have someone in the house whom I did not get on with, and aware that I must have someone installed by the time the babe arrived. Christmas itself brought more drinks parties, a Christmas dinner cooked by Will and me and a visit from the Bowmakers, who having decided that our household had too few animals, arrived triumphantly with Paul’s Christmas gift – one of their kittens, called Minnie. Paul adored it and promptly called it Micky – a prescient move as it turned out to be male and required neutering!
New Year proved even more of a whirl than our family Christmas: We went to the N Y Eve dance at the club and to drinks first with the Malujlos & there was a half hour panto ‘Abercornella’ quite amusing and topical. Come midnight I’ve never seen so many people embracing each other, all quite mad. It was a Scottish nicht, with reels, a bagpipe & a super dinner of soup, oatmeal herrings and haggis & we got to bed at 2. Yesterday (a holiday here) we went for a long row on the lake, then to the club at midday for the ‘longest drive’ competition (golf) which Mark won with a terrific shot! Even little Paul took his turn, hands well down the shaft of an adult-sized driver.
Roses Under the Miombo Trees Page 13
