CHAPTER SIXTEEN – CAPE TOWN
We started on the road again through the Karoo desert, we settled once more into the stupor of the long distance tour. However, the time passed by pleasantly with the accompaniment of a lively road-trip music by the Eagles and other assorted artists. The scenery soon changed after Kimberley became arid and dry. Dusty, beige landscape, dotted with startling kopjes became unchanging mile after mile. There was something very soothing about it, as it enabled the mind to wander without being distracted too much. I did a lot of thinking on that stretch, but didn’t manage to discover anything new. I filed everything away in a logical order in my mind, which I hoped would make it easier to retrieve if required at a later time. I wondered about Eden too – what she was doing now and whether or not she would be there for me when I got home.
When we had stopped for a few minutes’ respite from driving and to munch on some sandwiches we had brought along with us, we came into close contact with our first African wild animal. Not that we needed the services of a big game hunter to protect us or anything, as this particular beast was small, slow moving, and fitted neatly in the palm of my hand.
I had never really thought of tortoises as wild animals before now, but here one was, just slowly and purposefully making his way across the hot asphalt. We figured he was only a baby because of his size, but could see no sign of any other members of his family, so guessed that tortoises are left to fend for themselves much as those turtles are you see David Attenborough peering at on beaches in the tropics.
This little fellow seemed to be content to sit in our hands and even nibbled on a bit of lettuce before we once again set him free by the side of the road, where he slowly disappeared into the scrubby grass and rocks. I wondered at his survival in this hot and dusty desert and couldn’t imagine what he might eat out here and I thought that this might be the first small lesson of Africa. It’s harsh, seemingly impossible, but no matter the size or capabilities, its inhabitants will always find ways to exist.
We left the desert landscape behind after several hours and things started to green up again. One memorable scene was when we rounded a bend after climbing a hill to discover an incredibly beautiful valley laid out before us. It was small, but it was like something from a storybook, with steep-sided hills all around and a winding river making its way along the valley floor. The vegetation was the most incredible array of greens I have ever seen and there were several Dutch style homesteads dotted throughout amid straight lines of grape vines, contrasting with the chaos of the native bush. The road made its way mostly along the northern side of the valley wall and then climbed to wind up the far end and then out again. Just before we drove around the last bend, I got a strange sense that I had been here before. I thought it would be wonderful to have a home here in this beautiful spot, forgetting, for the moment, about the valley Frederick had mentioned and only realising much later that they were probably one and the same.
Cape Town was less than an hour ahead. As we approached the city outskirts, I was mildly disappointed as the multi-lane highways, semi industrial developments, and overhead power lines could have been from any city in the world. I had seen pictures of this town that depicted a beautiful and elegant place, dominated by the grandeur of Table Mountain on one side and the endless ocean on the other. I needn’t have worried though, for as we got closer to the centre, I could see that the pictures hadn’t lied and the city revealed its splendour to us. With a mix of Old Dutch and English influence, it combined two architectural styles into a blend to soothe the nerves. That’s what it said in the guidebook anyway, and who was I to argue?
Once at our hotel, we fell into the by now familiar routine of spreading the maps and guidebooks of the area out on a bed and planning our course of action. We had no time limit to stay here, as we were going to drive back up through South Africa and into Zimbabwe. However, as we thought about it, it made more sense to book a flight from Cape Town to Harare rather than drive back along the route we had just come. There was nothing more to be learnt along that road anyway and we could hire another car in Harare for any travelling in Zimbabwe. So, after booking a flight by phone for three days time, we decided to take the evening off and just enjoy the town before doing some more research the following day. We took a stroll down towards the central post office to collect any mail at the Poste Restante service. From the outside, the post office building was grand and imposing, but once inside, it looked much like any other post office, with grey and beige walls, glass partitions, and the subdued echoes of people shuffling around doing their business. The Poste Restante window was separate from the main area and we jumped into the queue behind several backpackers, complete with packs and faded T-shirts. Accents from all over the world could be heard in this queue, from Australians and New Zealanders to Canadian, English, French, and Scandinavian. It was easy to see who had got mail and who had not from the expressions as each person turned away from the little window. Those who had wore broad smiles as they recognised handwriting from friends and loved ones, their heads bowed as they ripped into the envelopes and devoured the news from home. The others just had heads bowed, wearing glum expressions as this vital link was denied.
We reached the head of the queue and handed over our passports to identify ourselves. The clerk went to the wall of pigeonholes behind him and picked a pile of envelopes from the “B” slot. After shuffling through the pile, he put the majority back and handed us a small pile. I was surprised that there were any at all, as we had only been away for a few days. The senders of this mail would have posted their letters before we had actually left in order for it to be here by now.
We slowly walked out of the building and into the busy street beyond. I quickly flicked through the little pile. There was one from Mum, another from Tara’s parents, and another from Peter. Eden’s neat handwriting appeared on another – I felt a butterfly of nerves seeing that. What could she have to say that she hadn’t already said when we said our goodbyes in England? However, the fourth one really gave me a shock, as the handwriting was very familiar but impossible. It must just be similar, I told myself. I said nothing to Tara for the moment and popped the letters into my daypack as we headed for a café where we could order a cup of coffee and read in peace.
We found a place on one side of Greenmarket Square, a lovely cobbled space with leafy trees all around, which provided dappled shade for the tables set up on the pavement in what was an almost Parisian scene.
We sat down at The Famous Butcher’s Grill, on an elevated terrace. It gave us a view across the colonial square. I handed Tara the letter from her parents as I once again studied the handwriting on the fourth letter. Tara noticed that I was staring at the envelope.
‘What is it? What’s with the minute examination?’
I handed her the envelope and her face went white. She had recognised the writing too.
Nellie.
Nellie had written to us, on another continent, from beyond the grave.
‘My god!’ Tara exclaimed, ‘but it can’t be, it’s surely just someone with similar writing isn’t it?’
‘That’s what I thought, but look at it. It’s her; I’d recognise that writing anywhere wouldn’t you?’
She shuddered a little. ‘Yes, I would, but how..?’ She paused not sure what to say or do next.
‘We had better open it I guess.’ I reached out for it, but Tara held on for a moment longer, just staring at the envelope. Then she placed it into my hand, her face still white and she was close to tears.
‘Do you want to wait?’ I asked her gently, ‘until we are back at the hotel, in private?’
‘No….no, do it now.’ She stammered, fighting back her emotions.
I took a deep breath and turned the envelope over, where another shock was waiting. Nellie’s name and address were written on the back, just as she had always done. Before I lost my nerve, I ripped into the flap and reached inside. There was a single piece of white writing paper inside, which I unfolded and be
gan to read out loud.
“My Dear James and Tara,
If you’re reading this, then you have begun to piece some things together that will have started you on a journey. I fear this journey will not be easy and not pleasant, but I feel that you two, of all the family, have the strength of will and character to overcome the problems and find the truth.
You will know by now of my husband and children, all of whom I may have met again by now, or perhaps just Harry.
Frederick was a remarkable man, but you must determine for yourselves what is true and what fantasy from his writings. I never found out, although I searched hard, as did Harry and that was what killed him in the end, I am sure of it.
For what it’s worth, I always believed in the diamonds, but they may remain hidden forever now and perhaps that is the way it should be, as too much hurt and suffering has been caused already, there is no need for any more. Those who have searched recently have found nothing but the pain that so nearly touched you once before and I would not wish that on either of you again. I am immensely proud of you both and can see a bright future for you, whatever you decide.
All I ask you now is that you find the truth and take it back to England with you. Make sure that everyone knows it and please don’t judge anyone, as those diamonds changed people and still do.
Take care of each other forever; I love you both so very much.
It was signed and dated two weeks before she passed away. I passed the piece of paper to Tara, stunned that Nellie had known we would be here, and knew we would discover her past. Tara glanced through the letter for herself and then just sat still, head bowed, trembling slightly. I pulled my chair over beside her and put my arm around her shoulders. She laid her head on my shoulder and cried.
‘Oh James, I just can’t believe it. She knew, she knew what we would do, and she also knew that she was dying. She must have known that before anyone; even her doctor was surprised at her death. Why didn’t she say something? Maybe something could have been done to save her; the bloody, stubborn, stupid woman.’ She dissolved into big heaving sobs now and the waitress who had been approaching us discretely turned away, for which I was grateful.
‘I know, I know, she always was stubborn. Perhaps she was just ready to go. Some people just are, I guess, and they are not afraid of it. I can’t imagine Nellie being afraid of anything, can you?’
‘I suppose not.’ She said in a little girl voice, broken by the sobs that were slowing a little now.
We sat there for another few minutes, just holding each other for comfort. I stroked her hair gently, resting my head against hers, just letting memories of Nellie flow through my mind.
‘What did she mean by it though?’ Tara said suddenly, her voice recovered a little as her brain kicked in again.
‘I don’t know, perhaps it was just her way of telling us to be careful.’ I really hadn’t thought of a meaning to it, it was just so stunning that it was there at all.
‘No, there is more to it than that, I’m sure of it.’ She straightened up and started to read the letter once more. The waitress, who had been hovering discretely, took this movement as a sign that she could return in safety. I had to ask Tara twice what she would like before she gave a rather distracted reply. I gave our orders and the waitress moved away again.
Tara spoke again; ‘Look, there are several lines here that could be construed in different ways, depending on your point of view.
‘Which lines in particular?’ I was interested now and leaned over her shoulder for a better look.
‘Firstly, she says “the problems” rather than “any problems” for instance.’
‘I’m listening.’ I said, once again feeling as if I was going to be playing catch up for the next few minutes.
‘Well, it sounds as if she almost knows there are going to be problems; she knows what they are, but knows that we will be able to overcome them. If she had just said “any problems”, it would mean that she didn’t know there would be any, but if there were by chance then we would be okay. Do you see?’
I did sort of, but wasn’t willing to commit myself too far for the moment. ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘go on.’
‘Well, the next thing is here, where she says she will meet her family again, or perhaps just Harry. That must mean she thinks he will be in a different place to the kids. They would certainly be in heaven, after all, they were only a couple of years old when they died, but he might be somewhere else. Why would she say that she would be in the same place as him?’
This was a bit unsettling and I was quiet as the impact of this soaked in. Then I asked; ‘But what reason would there be for Nellie to be there too? She was as good as they come, saintly almost.’
Suddenly, Tara stared at me in horror at obviously just the same thought I had wondered already. ‘You don’t think that she killed him, do you?’
I wasn’t sure how to respond. The fact that I had already pursued this line of thought damned me somewhat, leaving me with no option but to say it as I saw it. As I looked into Tara’s face, I could see she was beseeching me to deny the possibility, no matter how faint or implausible, that Aunt Nellie, childhood friend, confident, cushion against all the problems in our lives, could have done such a thing, no matter what the circumstances. The look in her eyes told me that if I said what I was thinking, then Tara’s faith in the goodness that was, that still is, Nellie, would be dashed and broken, fragile as an eggshell under a jackboot.
‘Don’t be so silly;’ I told the lie, ‘we both know that’s not possible. Nellie wouldn’t have been capable of it. If she had, then she would have owned up to it long ago and paid the price, and if that had happened, then we would already know about it, wouldn’t we?’ I managed to deliver this statement in that voice that brooks only one response. The voice that says, ‘we both know this is the truth, so why even discuss it.’
Tara looked into my eyes for a moment, searching for the faintest sign that I might be telling a half-truth, but then her gaze dropped. ‘I guess you’re right. It was silly of me to even think it and worse and it was disloyal to Nellie.’ She raised her head and looked into my eyes once more to challenge me. I stared her down; proving I had spoken nothing but the truth, so help me.
‘She was probably just talking about the guilt she must have felt over the loss of her sons.’ I speculated, happy that I had thought of something to explain Nellie’s words. Actually, as soon as I said it, it occurred to me that it might even be the truth. It would have been hard for her as a mother to lose three children and I would imagine that there must have been the temptation for Nellie herself to lay some of the blame for their loss at her own door. I was no psychologist or historian, but even back then when the death of a child was so much more prevalent, it must have still been traumatic for the family.
Tara soaked this idea in and then nodded, seemingly having come to the decision that I was right and her initial judgment of Nellie’s morals was the correct one. She couldn’t have done anything as heinous as murder; it just wasn’t in her makeup.
Then her attention returned to the letter. ‘Okay’, she said, ‘let’s see what else there is in here. Nellie obviously searched for the treasure herself, as she says she searched hard, as did Harry. However, she says that that was what killed him. What did she mean by that?’
‘I don’t know. It is a strange thing to say, especially as she was supposedly in the room with him when he had the accident with the gun. In a way, it just goes to further show that she had nothing to do with it.’
Tara frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, if she had done it herself, why would she then puzzle over the reasons for his death? I mean, it is very odd, almost as if she wasn’t actually there at all, which may be true of course. We only have one old man’s recollection of a newspaper article from decades ago to say that she was.’
‘Yes, you’re right. We really shouldn’t assume any facts at this stage. Most of what we’ve heard so far has been either co
njecture or hazy memories at best.’ Tara had gone past her moments of doubt now and seemed to be back on track, her mind focused on the task at hand.
‘But she did believe in the diamonds though, didn’t she? She says so in the letter, and that backs up our thoughts that Frederick’s account is too real to be anything but the truth…’
‘Or imagined.’ I interrupted to remind her. What she said next though and the way she said it would haunt me in the coming weeks.
‘No, they are real and they’re still there, where Frederick hid them and we are destined to find them.’ She said this so forcefully there seemed to be no room for negotiation on this point. I shivered a little as she took her turn to stare me down, her eyes blazing, challenging me to argue the point.
‘Okay,’ I said carefully, ‘let’s assume for now that they are real and we can proceed on that assumption unless proven otherwise.’
‘It won’t be proven otherwise. They are real and that’s all there is to it. Don’t try and cheat me of this James, I will find them with or without you.’ This really was creepy now; her eyes were wild and for a moment Tara disappeared, to be replaced by a stranger, and one I wasn’t enamoured with.
I reached out and grabbed her hand. ‘Hey, it’s me you’re talking to here. We’re a team, remember, and we’ll see this through no matter what, Okay?’
She seemed to relax a little, but her stare remained fixed with suspicion written across her face.
To calm things down a bit, I changed the subject and pointed at the next puzzling point in the letter. ‘So what does she mean when she says that people have searched recently? Who’s she talking about I wonder?’
Tara slowly returned her gaze to the letter, frowning and silent for a moment before answering. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean what I said; I’m just a bit tense, that’s all.’ It was an apology of sorts and for now I accepted it.
‘Maybe some of the family over here have been looking.’ She said. ‘We don’t know if Nellie was the only one with the secret, do we? There could be others who have searched too and maybe they have come to grief in some way.
‘No.’ I was unsure why, but I knew that there was something more to this part of the riddle. ‘She says that the pain nearly touched us before. That can only mean that it was someone close to us that searched and they got into trouble in doing so. But I can’t think of anyone recently who has been in any bother, can you?’
Tara stared off into the distance and slowly nodded her head. ‘Yes, actually I can.’
‘Who?’ I was puzzled, wracking my brains to think of whom she meant.
‘It was my parents.’ She said flatly, still staring into nothingness. Then she came back down to Earth. ‘Don’t you remember? When we were kids and my parents were away for an extended trip? Then when they came back, they weren’t quite right for a long time. I told you about it.’
I nodded, remembering the time vividly, as we had spent some time together at Acacia with Nellie.
‘There were all sorts of rumours at the time,’ Tara continued to recall, ‘I remember hearing snatches of conversation from other rooms. Mum and Dad were fixated by treasure hunts for ages, which wasn’t like them at all. They were serious archaeologists, not treasure hunters. Then, don’t you remember? They stayed at home for years, well, a couple more years at least, and I do remember they were not happy. There was always tension in the house and Mum cried a lot. I don’t think she ever knew that I knew, but I heard her sometimes in her room, sobbing for what seemed like hours. It was funny that we never spoke about any of it though because we usually talked about everything as a family. They never told me what the problems were, and they got back to normal again after a long while. Later, I assumed that they had gone through some marital problems and I just sort of forgot about it. But now, it all makes sense, doesn’t it? The treasure hunting, the time they spent in Southern Africa, which was not their usual area of expertise, and those two years of upset in the house.’
‘God, yes it does doesn’t it.’ I agreed with her, that this was the probable answer. ‘So, do you think we should talk to them then? I mean, they know we are here, so don’t you think they would have said something?’
With that, Tara gave a little squeal and held up her letter. ‘Maybe they have,’ she said, ‘I had to write to them to tell them about our trip because they were out of phone range, and this is the first response I’ve had. The postal service is a little slow in the desert.’ She ripped open the envelope and started scanning the pages, her lips moving slightly as she read.
I looked on impatiently, wanting to know what they had said and my leg started to jiggle a little. I knew Tara had regained her sense of humour when she obviously noticed my agitation and finished reading. Without a word, she folded the letter away, picked up her coffee, and started to sip.
‘Great coffee, don’t you think?’
I wasn’t in the mood. ‘Just bloody tell me what they said, you bloody annoying bloody….’ I ran out of words as Tara folded up in laughter and several people from nearby tables looked over at my outburst.
‘You’re just so easy,’ she said through her giggles, ‘no challenge at all.’
I sat and stared impassively, determined not to give her any more satisfaction.
‘Okay,’ she said, relenting, ‘they have basically confirmed what we surmised, but although I think they are worried about us being here, they seem to be happy for us to find our own way. They have asked us to be careful, though, but not about anything in particular.’ She opened the letter out again. ‘They say that we should look out for each other, that as long as we are united and don’t separate in any way, that we will be safe. They actually stress that bit that we should stay together at all times.’
‘Oh no!’ I exclaimed in mock horror, ‘A whole holiday stuck with you and your warped sense of humour. This is not going to be as easy as I thought.’
She of course punched me, much to the amusement of the waitress who had come back to fill our coffee cups. The bottomless cup of coffee was a very civilised custom, I thought, something I hadn’t come across back home.
‘If you keep that up, I’ll have to call security.’ She joked.
‘If she keeps that up, an ambulance may be more appropriate.’ I retorted, rubbing my arm, which had by now gone numb.
‘Are you guys here on holiday?’ She asked, having filled both cups.
‘Sort of,’ Tara replied, ‘we are here to track down our family and clear up a mystery or two.’ I was surprised that she said this, as I didn’t really know if we should be saying anything about mysteries.
‘Ah, izit, that’s great. So your family was from Cape Town?’ she asked.
‘From all over southern Africa, really.’ I spoke this time. ‘Mostly Zimbabwe though. Our great, great, great grandfather came to Cape Town in the mid nineteenth century, but his wife may have been here before that. That’s something we will find out I hope.’
She looked thoughtful for a moment and then said; ‘I could help you if you like. I’m a student and I’m studying the history of the region, so I have got access to all sorts of records at the University.’
This was the first of a number of times when I was delighted by the spontaneous, friendly, and helpful nature of the people in this part of the world, no matter what their colour or creed. It just seemed to be the way they were, nothing was too much trouble.
‘Are you sure?’ I asked out of politeness more than anything. ‘We don’t want to put you to any trouble or anything.’
‘Ag man, it’s no trouble eh. I’ve got to finish up here just now, but then we can sit down and make a plan.’ Although her turn of phrase had us momentarily stumped, we both thanked her as she turned away back to the bar.
When she returned, she introduced herself as Megan McAdams, which rolled off the tongue nicely I thought, and she sat down with a cup of coffee of her own, as well as a large plate of muffins, perks of the job she explained. We chatted for a while before she asked u
s what our surname was. Her eyes widened when we told her and she went on to explain her delight. ‘That’s amazing, what a coincidence. My great, great, great, grandfather’s sister, married a man called Braughton, and I’ll have to check the records, but I’m sure the man she married was a new arrival in the colony at the time. I have used my family tree as the background to the historical research I’ve done, it makes it all so much more interesting.’
She went on to talk about the family tree from that time on, but concentrated mostly on the McAdams side of the family, unsurprisingly. It was fascinating, but wasn’t going to help us in our quest, a fact that Megan soon picked up on.
‘Look, what we must do is meet up at the University tomorrow. All my research stuff is there and we can get access to the computer too.’
We agreed to this plan and after getting directions to the university, said our goodbyes as she weaved her way through the tables and across the square.
The rest of the day we spent exploring the town, which had a beautiful mix of Dutch Victorian and Georgian buildings alongside some modern glass and steel blocks in the city centre. I loved the Dutch Colonial architecture, with its sculpted frontages and sometimes bright colours. It seemed more colonial and foreign than the more familiar forms of Victorian red brick buildings we saw. We wandered through the Company Gardens and spent some time looking round the South African Museum, which was situated at the end of a broad cobbled avenue lined with oak trees that looked old enough to have been here when Frederick had arrived. It was strange to think that we were walking some of the same streets and looking at the same buildings as he had all that time ago. For me, it cemented the link between us all the more and Tara agreed that she felt closer to him and the Braughton family now we were here.
I had been worried earlier at the intensity of feeling Tara had displayed when we had been discussing the treasure. The look in her eyes had scared me a little and I recalled a sense of foreboding, almost superstition, when she had stared at me, challenging me to dispute the existence of the diamonds. There had been a depth to that gaze; something existed there, for just a few moments, which I had never seen before. It had disappeared so quickly that afterwards, I was sure it had been just my imagination, conjuring up something that wasn’t there. When I looked at her now though as we wandered amongst the exhibits, there was no trace of whatever was there before and I soon forgot all about the incident and concentrated on enjoying the museum.
Later that evening I remember I hadn’t yet opened Eden’s letter. To be honest I was a little scared to do it, as I had a nasty premonition that any decision making was going to be taken out of my hands by what she’d written. I stared at the unopened envelope for a while before finally summoning up the courage to rip open the flap and pull out the folded paper inside. She started by hoping we were having a good trip, had enjoyed the flight and so on. But then got into the crux of it.
‘We both know we have to make a decision about our future James. We can’t go on in this half-world of a relationship as we have been. I love you. I truly do, but sometimes it feels as if you’re hiding your feelings from me, holding something back that I just can’t understand. I’m fairly sure you love me, but what is it you’re not sharing? I wish you’d tell me. Open up a bit and talk to me. There’s a gem hidden inside you that I dearly want to see, but only you can find it and let us be together. I believe this trip, in part, is for your personal search. If you can’t find that gem then I don’t think we have a future together. Please don’t take that as me being hard. I want you to be happy more than anything but what we have now is not going to give either of us proper happiness. When you return I need a decision so please search as hard for that as whatever else it is you’re looking for in Africa – it’s just as valuable to me.’
So, there it was then. The ultimatum I’d been expecting. Strangely I still hadn’t told her much about what we were doing in Africa – only that we were tracing family roots. So the fact she had guessed we were searching for something valuable was a surprise. Perhaps she’d been talking to Tara. Who knew? Certainly Tara wouldn’t let on. I was fairly sure I loved her though, as she’d surmised. Not sure if I’d ever really told her that properly – so that there could be no doubt. There had been plenty of ‘love you too’s’ and ‘love ya’s’ – but never anything heartfelt from my side – never anything initiated by me. I loved her more than ever right now for the fact that she understood me enough to know that this trip was as much about me searching for me as it was anything else. She knew me better than I knew myself. So, now I had two mysteries to solve on this trip. I wondered which would turn out to be the most important and which would have the biggest impact on my life.
The next day, we met Megan at the gates to the University and she led us through endless corridors until we reached the library. We passed through the main room and into a smaller space at the rear where several desks were lined up against one wall, upon each of which sat a computer terminal. She put the bulky briefcase she had been carrying onto a large central table and spread its contents out on the table top. She rummaged amongst some files until she came across what she had been looking for, a large piece of folded paper that she proceeded to spread out. We all leant across, poring over a detailed and complex family tree whose first entries at the top of the page were dated in the 1820’s.
‘This is the time the first real English colonialists arrived here,’ she explained, ‘and our family was amongst the first groups here.’ She went on to describe the link between us, pointing out where the two branches of the McAdams and Braughton family joined. Unfortunately, the Braughton side of the family had not been researched, as Megan had followed the McAdams line first and foremost. However, the greatest pleasure was seeing Frederick’s name on this sheet and establishing that Megan was indeed a distant relation, the first we had met in Africa itself.
Next to Frederick’s name, there was a red star, which I pointed out and asked Megan what it meant.
‘Ah, that means there is some further information on him somewhere.’ She explained. ‘Let me have a look.’ She rummaged again through the piles on the desk and then pulled out a large journal. Opening it up, she flicked through the pages until she came to a reference number. Then she went to the computer and booted it up. While we waited, she told us that there was so much information that she had stored much of it on computer disks to save space.
‘There is a lot of it that I have not even had the time to read,’ she said, but I have simply copied it onto disk so that I can get to it easily in the future when I need it.’
Once she had inserted the disk, she did a quick search and then a page appeared on the screen, bearing Frederick Braughton’s name at its head. She scanned through the information and then started to read it out loud to us.
‘It says here that Frederick went on a trek in 1877 into the interior with Selous, but that Selous only went as far as Tati before he turned back. At that time, he was on Rhodes’ payroll, so he may have got new instructions from the boss. It happened a lot I think. Rhodes was like a god out here and if he said jump, you just asked how high.’ She continued. ‘He was gone for several months. Before he returned to Cape Town, he was in bad shape, according to this. A group of tribesmen found him lying on a riverbank and they took him to Pietersburg where a minister, who was on his way back to Cape Town, took care of him and eventually brought him home. This information was from the diary of the minister, so I would presume it would be fairly accurate. Did you guys know any of this?’
‘We sort of did,’ Tara answered, ‘but this fills in some of the gaps that we didn’t understand. Does it say anything more? Maybe about where he lived, anything like that?’
‘No, sorry, there is nothing else here. But that’s not to say there won’t be something on the database, or at last resort in the library. There are thousands of papers there from way back eh, it just means a bit of time to go through them that’s all. I had a hang of a job finding the information I neede
d to start with, but I’ve gotten used to it now.’
She turned back to the computer and started hitting keys until she was logged on to the university’s database. Then she typed in Frederick’s name and hit the return key. We waited for a few minutes before some results started coming up on the screen. ‘This is information from the land registry for the area,’ she explained. We should be able to trace any land or property he owned.’ Sure enough, she pointed at one particular item on the screen. ‘There we go,’ she read from the screen,’ Frederick Braughton married to Emily Braughton nee McAdams owned a property out at Simon’s Town. That’s all there is though. There are separate records held out there, so you may need to pay the town a visit to find out any more. Check with the town hall, they should be able to help.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ I said, happy for the information we had already unearthed. This was more than I had expected so soon, and to have been helped out by family, so to speak, was even more special. ‘Thanks Megan, I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘I tell you what,’ she said, ‘why don’t you come along to a braai at my parents’ place tonight, bring a few stubbies, and we’ll show you how we eat out here. My Dad will love meeting you, he’s a real anglophile for some reason, and always happy to meet new people. The fact that you are family is even better.’
‘Okay, we accept,’ Tara spoke for both of us, ‘just could you tell us what a braai is and where do we get stubbies from?’
Megan laughed, ‘Ag, I forgot you don’t know any Afrikaans do you. A braai is a barbecue and stubbies are beers. We’ll have some perlemon too, abalone you call it and we’ll get you to try some biltong as well, you’ll love it, it’s lekker man.’
We just agreed that we would try whatever was put in front of us, whatever it was called, and only ask what it was afterwards. Then she gave us directions to get to Simon’s Town and her parents’ house for later.
‘I would come along with you, but I have another job to go to. Us poor students you know, we need every penny we can get.’
We walked to the railway station and jumped on the first available train heading along the peninsula towards Simon’s Town. As we trundled along, we marvelled at the views of Table Mountain and False Bay, or Vaalsbaai in the local lingo. Megan had told us that Vaalsbaai was a major breeding ground for Great White sharks. As I looked out at the clear blue waters, I was sure I saw a fin or two surfacing and diving in search of tourists to eat. We passed Muizenburg, which was where Megan’s parents’ house was, a little beachside resort, a bit like Bournemouth or somewhere like that, then we stopped and started at a number of suburbs. One place we decided to take a look at on the way back was a pub, right by the trackside, which jutted out into the sea. “The Brass Bell” looked like it would be a comfortable and welcoming place to rest after the day’s exertions.
Simon’s Town was the principal naval town in the Cape and several ships lay at anchor there. The main street ran parallel to the water’s edge and the town hall was at the end of a street off that. We soon found the town’s records, thanks to the friendly and helpful nature of the clerk at the front desk, but apart from the address of Frederick’s land, there was little else to add to what Megan had already told us. We walked up to the address we had found, but the house was a seventies beach house with acres of glass facing the ocean and very little character. So, we jumped back on the train and headed back to the Brass Bell for a well-deserved beer under the African sun while listening to the reggae band playing Bob Marley classics in the shade of a large striped awning.
As Megan’s parents’ house was on the way back, we decided to go there straight from the pub. Once we had found the place, we knocked on the front door and after waiting for a few minutes, decided to try round the back. There were a number of people already there, polarised into two main groups. The men were huddled around the braai, which seemed to be working up a healthy cloud of smoke, and the women were all arranged around a long trestle table, preparing salads. Megan spotted us from the table and came over. She turned to the assembled groups and called out; ‘Hey everyone, this is Tara and James from England. They’re family, so be nice to them.’ There was a general chorus of “hellos” and “welcomes” and “howzits” to which we sort of waved and said an encompassing hello back.
‘Now, I want to introduce you to my parents,’ she said, indicating a tall, tanned man and an equally tanned, but slightly shorter woman who were making their way over. We said our “hellos” and “thank you’s for inviting us”, before John led me over to the braai and Tara was led off to the trestle table by Megan and Wendy.
At the braai, there was another round of greetings and handshakes and a beer was thrust into my hands. I peered at the grill and saw a large shellfish sizzling away that I had never seen before. John cut a piece off and handed it to me.
‘Have you ever tried perlemon?’ he asked.
‘I don’t even know what it is,’ I said, gingerly taking the proffered, rubbery looking piece from him.
‘Ag man, it’s lekker eh,’ he said, ‘you’ll love it. If you’re here long enough, you’ll have to come diving for some with me; it’s great fun.
He was right, the meat had been tenderised to perfection and cooked with garlic and herbs and tasted just wonderful. I wasn’t so sure about diving for shellfish though, especially in shark infested waters, so I sort of nodded without making any commitments.
I looked over to the women and saw that Tara was talking to a little old lady who was sitting in a large wicker chair in the shade off to one side. She looked absolutely ancient, as old as Africa itself, her skin wrinkled into deep ravines and crevices, brown as a nut. Her hair was wispy and thin, but snow white and neatly tied with a bow at the back. She looked familiar somehow, and I realised that she looked a little like Nellie, but older and smaller. I asked John who she was.
‘That, my friend, is Granny, except she is actually my great Granny, Megan’s great great Granny. She is one hundred and six years old and bright as a button, smarter than half these blokes put together. Megan said you were trying to find out about the family’s history and I reckon if your friend there talks to her for a while, anything that there is to know, Granny will tell her.’
I resisted the urge to ask what was in the water that bred such longevity in people in this country. Instead I asked; ‘Has she lived here all her life?’
‘Ya man, she was born here, and here, one day, she will die.’
I did some quick calculations in my head and realised that Granny had been born only some five years after Frederick’s trek north and I wondered if she had known him. I was desperate to go over and talk to her, but John and his friends kept me busy at the braai, discussing cricket and the rugby, gently teasing me about England’s usual poor performances in both sports. Tara was deeply engaged in conversation though, so I knew I would have to make do with her report when we had left.
The evening went well and I had a great time, enjoying the banter between the men round the braai and the women at the table and I think holding my own against the mickey-taking about the lack of England’s sporting prowess. There was a good deal of debate about what would happen if Mandela was released, as had been suggested by some in the media recently, the reserved consensus being that all in all it was probably a good thing, but that we will just wait and see.
When it was finally time to leave, we took a long time over saying our goodbyes, feeling as if we had known these people for ages, rather than just the one evening. The generous nature of everyone there had been heart-warming and we were sad to be going.
As soon as we left, I collared Tara and said I wanted her to tell me everything that Granny had said.
‘Wow, you should have heard the stories she had to tell.’ Tara was shiny-eyed with excitement, ‘Do you realise that she knew Frederick and his children? They used to play together when they were kids and she remembers him well.’
‘It hardly seems possible does it?’ I was enthralled by
this revelation. Up to this point, Frederick had been a man from another era, a long lost story, hardly seeming real for the amount of time that had passed since his lifetime. But all of a sudden, there was a living, breathing link straight back to him, making him seem so real and solid.
‘So did she know Nellie then?’ I asked her, wondering if she had shed any further light on Nellie’s past.
‘No, unfortunately not. Don’t forget that Nellie lived two thousand kilometres from here, and they were from completely different branches of the family. We have stumbled on this lot purely by chance.’
‘I guess you’re right; but what did she say then? Give me the gossip, all of it, and don’t leave anything out.’
It took Tara nearly an hour to tell me everything, mostly because I kept interrupting with endless questions and she would have to keep repeating things to keep her place in her narrative. The highlights though were that as a child, Granny remembered Frederick as a slightly odd man, and she had been a little afraid of him. He had been prone to sudden outbursts, like someone shouting out in the middle of a nightmare, she had said, but when he had been awake. There was always a nurse in the house where they had lived, she remembered, but no one ever told her why that was. She had asked once if he was sick and had been told that he wasn’t. For a young child, that didn’t seem to make any sense though, so she asked his children, who she played with from time to time. They had been as difficult as the adults and said that he wasn’t sick at all; he just had bad dreams sometimes and the nurse was there to wake him up when that happened.
She remembered, though, that adults used to stop talking when she entered a room sometimes and she had learnt to creep up to doorways, listening first to what they were saying before going in. She had heard that Frederick had a treasure, but he wouldn’t tell anyone where it was. The adults used to get cross with him because they wanted to know about this treasure and they wanted him to lead them to it. She said that one day she had gone to Frederick’s house to play and found him alone in the study. He had seemed very normal that day and so she had plucked up the courage to ask him some questions about what she had heard.
He had smiled, she said, a nice smile too, not a nasty one. He had talked gently to her, telling her about the lands to the north and about the wild animals up there and the Matabele warriors, so magnificent in their war costumes. She asked him about the treasure and he had been quiet for a while. Then he had said that Mlimo would look after it now, protect it from the white man who sought it and that Mboku would see that it was used, when needed, to save the Matabele people. Tara explained that Granny had told her that Mlimo was an important spirit in Matabele lore that appeared in human form. I asked Tara if she was sure about this bit. Was she sure that the names were right. Apparently, Granny was absolutely sure about that, as she had written it all down and still had the diary to this day. Mboku was the name he had said, but he had not told her any more than that, as someone else had come into the room at that moment and Frederick had not said another word. She said that he had had another attack after that, and people had rushed to the room to look after him. She was pushed out to play with the other children and not been allowed to go back in that day. She never got the chance to talk to him alone again, as there was always someone else there, but his children sometimes told her things about him. They said that he was nearly always normal, but that when he dreamt, he was always awake and he shouted the names of his companions from that trek. They had once gone into his study when he wasn’t there and found his diary, but she didn’t know what had ever happened to it, as when they had all grown up, no one seemed to know anything about it. One last thing she remembered was that he had once said that one day a Braughton would come back and try to find what had been hidden and that this search would end in tragedy, that the spear of the nation would fly and pierce flesh, ending the mystery for ever.
Not for the first time since I had been in Africa, I shuddered with something akin to superstition as Tara recounted what Granny had said.
‘So what do you make of it all then?’ I asked, watching her closely as she replied.
‘It all sounds a bit melodramatic doesn’t it?’ she replied, ‘I mean, what with spirits watching over the treasure and prophecies of doom and spears piercing flesh. It sounds as if he was suffering some serious delusions and was mixing up fact with fantasy. One thing though,’ she paused, ‘I’m certain now that the treasure does exist, and I’m fairly certain that it’s still there where he left it. All we have to do is track it down and dig it up. We’re going to find it James, we’re the Braughtons he talked about and we’re going to find it.’ She smiled and gazed unwaveringly at me, challenging me with her stare and I couldn’t help thinking that things may be getting a little out of hand.
Acacia - Secrets of an African Painting Page 17
