by Peter Rimmer
“It’s the size of a big lake.”
“Will be after the rains. Why we had to build a high road to go round the water. Using a road contractor to finish the dam wasn’t so stupid after all. Good old Rhodesian ingenuity. We can do anything in this country when we put our minds to it.”
“It’s beautiful. You could sail a boat on all that water. In the middle of Africa!”
“That’s just the Mazoe. They have plans to dam the Zambezi and put a lake across Rhodesia almost to the Victoria Falls. Hydroelectric power. Irrigation. You’ll be able to put an ocean liner on a lake that big. Biggest man-made lake in the world. All we need is time and money to bring southern Africa into the modern world.”
“Do they want to?”
“Who, Anthony?”
“The blacks. I wouldn’t want to change this. Water, yes, so you don’t suffer droughts. The rest wouldn’t be for me. Have you asked them?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe you should. One man’s idea of paradise isn’t necessarily another’s. This to me looks like paradise just as it is, wild animals, birds in the blue sky, very few people. Now that’s paradise.”
“You’re wise before your time, Anthony Brigandshaw.”
“And I haven’t yet seen Elephant Walk with eyes that can remember. Babies don’t remember anything. Can you imagine what Rhodesia must have been like when my grandfather first rode his horse through this country? Paradise on earth. Dorian’s going to enjoy his life on the farm.”
On the top of the hill Ralph stopped the truck.
“There it is down in the valley. When your grandfather first saw this view, so the story goes, it was during the great elephant migration up Africa. Legend has it the elephant migrate twice a century. Down there, head to tail, the trunks of the baby elephants holding on to their mother’s tails, mile after mile of moving grey elephant. They were all walking slowly through the valley. Why your grandfather called his house Elephant Walk.”
“Someone should write about it. Have the elephant been back again?”
“Not yet.”
“You say the whole valley down there was full of walking elephant?”
“So the legend says. Come on. That was thunder again. Are you ready to meet your family?”
“Thank you for bringing me home in this way, Ralph.”
Far away to the northeast the storm clouds were black. As Anthony stood for another moment outside the truck on a rock looking at where he came from the thunder rumbled. To his untrained ear the sound was going away, the storm abating. His mind marvelled. His father and one of his antecedents had ridden over this country. Hunting. Sometimes alone. He a part of them unknown. He felt the call of the bush, the distant thunder a sound of comfort rather than fear. Rain was coming. The rain that nurtured the bush and fed the animals. Anthony’s mind ran off as he smiled at how much he had to discover away from the tarred roads and brick walls of England. Where people did not drop high explosives on their cousins. Where a small boy did not punch another small boy he had never before seen in his life.
“It’s so wild,” he said in awe.
“The thunder is moving away.”
“I thought so. Does it get in your blood, Ralph?”
“Oh yes.”
“Can it be born in your blood?”
“Tembo says it can. Why underneath his acquiescence he hates us whites for taking his land. Not a specific piece of land. His land with everything in it. He told me once. All the birds and trees. The animals. His land. His land where he came from. They don’t think of ownership like we do. The tribe and the ancestors own the land. We English are so material. Buy and sell what we own. They never realised we wanted to own the land. Put a fence round our farm, own it like a cow. They don’t see how anyone can own land that has existed from eternity. We humans come and go so how can we own something when we are dead? Land, like the air we breathe, belongs to everyone. Can never be bought or sold.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“There’ll be trouble in the end.”
“There always is. Look at London. I’m only seventeen and I see trouble all round me. We are trouble. My teacher said at school every species becomes extinct in the end so your man is right. Why don’t people enjoy the land? Not fight over it. Isn’t what we produce from the land the only true value?”
“The wisdom of youth. Happy wisdom.”
“You’re going to plant orange trees all over the valley?”
“Every piece of ground that will succour a tree. Water will be sucked out of the dam through pipes. The valley will be rich.”
“What happens when the elephants want to go for a walk, all of them together? They’ll make a mess of your trees.”
“We’ll make them walk somewhere else.”
“I suppose we will. Poor elephants.”
“Progress.”
“For whom? The elephants? I just look out there now and don’t want to change a thing.”
“We all like our comforts. It gets rough out there when Mother Nature doesn’t give us rain. Can’t have what rain we do get for a few months of the year going off down the rivers to the Zambezi River which, far away, runs our water out into the sea. Wasted. No good to man or beast. There will be big parks for the elephant with water all year round. They won’t have to trek when it’s all there for them. Every time in my life I answer a big question I find another answer the next day. Often they contradict each other.”
“It’s all so beautiful.”
“I think what you see down there is why people believe in God.”
They both got in the truck.
“I hope that chap comes back and marries his girl,” said Anthony.
“So do I. There is nothing more beautiful in life than marrying the girl you love and living with her for the rest of your life. Now let’s get to the farm down there before I turn myself into a sentimental idiot.”
Anthony was smiling, looking straight ahead. Instinctively he knew he was going to like Mrs Madgwick. The heavily loaded truck began the slow grind down the winding road towards the valley. Far to the left, buffalo were grazing next to a herd of buck.
“What are those buck?” Anthony said pointing.
“Impala. They are slightly bigger than springbok.”
The sun found a gap in the black clouds making Ralph pull down the front of the bush hat shading his eyes, the rays of light brilliant from a patch of blue sky that looked through to heaven.
Part 5
The Cycle of Revenge – September to December 1941
1
When Anthony Brigandshaw, accompanied by his friend Felix Lombard, climbed up into the American-built Dakota in Gwelo to be flown to Cape Town he was wearing the uniform of a pilot officer in the Royal Air Force, the new wings on his chest as white as snow. No one from the family saw him off. For months, Anthony had fought with his conscience before throwing away his career in medicine. The argument had gone back and forth on Elephant Walk until after Christmas.
“To be called a coward, Grandmother? You want them to call me a coward? How am I going to feel in the years to come? I would never be able to look my father or Tinus in the face, let alone myself in the mirror. I’m a good pilot. Getting through flying training will be a cakewalk. There are men ten years my senior fighting in the RAF right now with less hours than mine. I spent days at Redhill picking Mr Woodall’s brains on how to fly in combat. I would never be able to face myself. Britain is not going to be defeated. Now the war goes to the Germans whether the Americans help or not. The Italians have been defeated in Libya forcing Hitler to send Rommel’s Afrika Korps to save North Africa for the Axis.”
“You’ll get yourself killed like George. He was your age. You all think war is a game.”
“It’s not a game, Grandma. Men have been fighting in wars right down the centuries.”
“Have you spoken to your mother?”
“She wouldn’t understand.”
“Your father?�
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“I’ll tell Dad after I join up.”
The talk for weeks in the flying school had been the war in Europe. The pending invasion by Germany of England. The Blitz. The Americans still sitting on the fence. Now, looking out the window as the aircraft took to the air, Anthony sighed with relief. Whatever the outcome he had made the decision.
When the aircraft landed at Cape Town, Anthony had still not made up his mind what to do about his mother.
“Better go and see her, Ant. It’s not the end of the world.”
“It is for Mother. I’m her eldest son. If the war goes on long enough they’ll take her precious Frank. Come with me, Felix. You’ll love Beth. She’ll love you in that uniform. The boat only sails on Friday. Three whole days to enjoy ourselves.”
“You can see Eleanor. Have a party. You never know what they’ll do for a young lad going to war.”
“If you even try with Beth!”
“I haven’t met her. She’s probably ugly.”
“She likes men. You can stay at Bishopscourt. Just behave yourself. Why the hell they couldn’t fly us up Africa to England I have no idea.”
“The Germans, Ant. They control the air space in the Med and most of North Africa.”
“We’ll find a taxi and surprise them.”
The ride across Cape Town from the South African Air Force base took them half an hour. Most of their luggage had been sent to the boat by train two weeks earlier. They had a change of civilian clothes in their small suitcases, all they were allowed to put on the Dakota. It was spring in the Cape. The flowers were out along the side of the road. Seeing the sea again made Anthony smile. There was a bathing costume in his case. He would borrow a towel. He would give her a call. Suggest a game of beach bats on the beach in the sun, a twinge of regret and fear surging into his consciousness, a fear he was determined never to show anyone. Appearances were everything.
All through his life Anthony had done what people expected of him. Had done what they wanted him to do with a smile on his face, despite what he felt inside. Always trying to think of the other person to make them happy. Anthony hated scenes. There was going to be a scene at the house in Bishopscourt. He had thought his mother would be proud of him when he called from Elephant Walk to say he was joining up. Going to flying training school in Rhodesia and not coming home. Straight away she had flown off the handle.
“You’re a damn fool. What’s the point in all that education if you go and get yourself killed? Your father sent us to Africa to keep us out of harm’s way. What about your place at UCT? They don’t take every Tom, Dick and Harry to become doctors. You’re being a fool, Anthony. You don’t have to go. Medical training is more important than flying a warplane. They will never call you up into the army from medical school, why I encouraged you so much. You go to this place in Gwelo and you throw away your chances of ever becoming a surgeon. You’ll end up like the rest of them, going through life aimlessly.”
“It’s what’s expected of me.”
“I expect you to become a doctor, Anthony Brigandshaw. If you go to that damn flying school instead of coming home next week and taking your hard-won place at university, I’ll never talk to you again.”
“You don’t mean that, Mother.”
“Oh yes I do. You will never grace my home again.”
“You’re just upset.”
“Damn right I’m upset! Bringing up children isn’t easy. Forget about the servants. Pointing you in the right direction was my biggest job. Now you want to throw it all away.”
“They’d think me a coward.”
“I don’t care what they think of you. It’s what I think that counts. Have you told your father?”
“Not yet. I’m going to write him from flying training.”
“He hates war. Any man who has been through a war says it’s crass stupidity. In the end proving nothing for either side. He’ll be disappointed in you.”
“I hope not. Are you disappointed in me, Mother?”
“Damn right I am. Call me back when you come to your senses.”
For the first time in his life Anthony had heard his mother slam down the phone on him.
When the taxi pulled up at the house it was half past six at night. The gardeners were still tending the front garden. They lived on the premises. One of them was cutting the new spring grass with a motor mower. None of the gardeners recognised Anthony in his uniform. Being away nearly a year must have changed him as well.
“Hello, Dickson. Aren’t you all working a bit late? Where’s the family? Can you hear me over the mower?”
No one took any notice.
“They know what my mother thinks of me joining up, Felix. Never cross Mother is the name of the game in this house. Anyone crossing Mother gets the boot.”
“Lovely house. Didn’t know your family were rich.”
“You should have seen Hastings Court before the war. Before all the servants walked out. Good. There’s Beth. Now tell me, is she ugly?”
“Oh, I’m in heaven. She’s beautiful. How old is she?”
“Going on seventeen.”
Beth was smiling at her brother.
“Why didn’t you tell Mother you were coming? You look nice in uniform.”
“This is Felix.”
“Hello, Felix.”
“Where’s Mother?”
“In the garden at the back where she usually is at this time of night. How long are you staying?”
“The boat sails Friday.”
“I heard the taxi. Come on then. Put your head in the lion’s mouth.”
“Is she still that mad at me?”
“She doesn’t even mention your name.”
Frank came out of the house and shook Anthony’s hand while Beth took a good look at Felix in his uniform with the snow-white wings on his breast. When Felix looked at her he blushed which made Beth smile. Anthony saw she was quite in control of the situation. Beth was always in control.
“Grandma sends her love to you all.”
“Does she? I only met Grandma once when she came to England with her father to bury him. That was weird.”
“She’s still our grandmother.”
“I suppose so.”
“How are you, Frank? How’s the gang at school?”
“My gang’s fine. Like the uniform. Now you really are the big brother.”
“Is Mother going to bite off my head?”
“Better ask her. Saw you through the window. Called out you were home.”
“She hasn’t come running. I’m in trouble.”
“Frank, why don’t we take Felix for a walk round this side of the garden? You’re on your own, Anthony. Smart uniform. Suits you. All the girls are going to go crazy. How’s Eleanor?”
“I was going to give her a ring.”
“I think you’d better. Someone has to send you off properly. I’m sure Felix knows what I’m talking about. Now, Felix, tell me how long you have known my brother.”
Pleased that Frank had shaken his hand, Anthony walked into the house to look for his mother. There was no sign of Dorian or Kim. Only after sniffing him did the dogs wag their tails. One of the cats looked at him from the sofa without blinking, a long cat stare of complete indifference. Anthony wondered if the cat had the slightest memory of him bringing her up from a kitten. Probably. The cat had always been aloof once it had grown up.
“Don’t stare, Ginger. It’s rude.”
Again the cat did not blink. He could see his mother in the garden through the window, the mountain behind. There was a white tablecloth of cloud on Table Mountain, spilling over down the slope towards the house. A southeaster would be blowing from the far side of Table Bay. His mother was bent over a flowerbed wearing her gardening gloves. It was going to be a row that neither of them could avoid. He was an airman of the King whether she liked it or not. Bracing himself, he went through the French windows into the garden.
“Hello, Mother. I was going to ring. Felix is here. Beth is sh
owing him round the garden. How are you?” His mother had never heard of Felix. Anthony hoped Felix’s presence would help.
Only then did his mother stand up slowly and look at him. When she saw he was in uniform she began to cry silently. It was far worse than a row. A row he could have taken as his medicine.
“When are you going?”
“On Friday. Three whole days.”
“Who’s Felix?”
“Chap on flying training with me. They send them out from England to Gwelo to teach them to fly. Safer I suppose. Jerry can’t get at them when they are still learning. I’m sorry.”
“Are you flying to England? Your father will be pleased to see you. He’s lonely in London on his own.”
“By ship in a convoy. The South African Navy are supplying the escort. We’ll be all right.”
“Do you go straight to your unit?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to fly?”
“Bombers. My reflex actions weren’t good enough for fighters according to the instructor. Have you heard from Dad?”
“He also thinks you’re an idiot. But underneath he’s proud of you. Why are you in uniform?”
“Came right off the plane from the air force station. The taxi is still waiting if you want me to go. I’m not going to argue about this one. There’s nothing to argue about. I’m sorry.”
“We’re all sorry when it’s too late. You’re thin.”
“I’ve grown. I’m still growing. Some chaps grow up to the age of twenty. Where’s Dorian? He’ll love Elephant Walk.”
“They went down to the beach on their bicycles. I told them no later than seven o’clock.”
“Have you given away my bicycle?”
“It’s in the shed. Everything else is in your room. You were only going for a few weeks.”
“I got delayed.”
“Give me a hug. You’re quite handsome.”
“Can’t I have a kiss?”
“If you get yourself killed I’ll never forgive you.”
Then his mother was howling, sobbing on his new tunic, the floodgate of her tears fully open. Not knowing what to do, Anthony patted his mother’s back.
