ISBN 978062039675-2
Author’s Revised Edition November 2009
Copyright © Gil van Kerckhoven;
e-mail: gilpad6@telkomsa.net
© Cover design by Craig Herbert of SYNTARES
An agreement to cede rights for a limited Fundraising Edition of 500 paper cover copies printed and published in 2007 by members of Overlord Shellhole a member of the MOTH (Memorable Order of the Tin Hat) has expired. All rights have reverted to and reserved by the author.
Published by WWW.SMASHWORDS.COM
This novel has a factual historical background.
A list of the real characters whose actions have influenced the lives of the fictional characters can be found in the end pages of the book.
Any resemblance or similarity of a fictional character with any person living or deceased is coincidental and, the real people mentioned did not necessarily share the opinions expressed by the fictional characters.
DEDICATION
I dedicate this book to my brother Ted,
A good soldier, seven years my senior,
who told me to consider both sides of any given situation before arguing that my viewpoint is the correct and only one
**
THANK YOU
Within us is a spark of the power that binds the universe. We must try to fan it into a flame of endeavour to justify our existence. Persistence is vital if we are to succeed.
Some achieve a great flame, others only glowing embers, but we need listen and follow that inner voice of conscience and inspiration telling us to use whatever ability or talent we have been given. I thank my long-suffering spiritual guide who has watched me so often take the wrong path. Accept that in this book I have tried to make amends for past mistakes.
The encouragement, love and friendship of my family and friends have been immense and I thank them all most sincerely.
Love, Gil
2009
*****
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
The work of fine authors and their publishers appear on the final pages.
*****
MINI GLOSSARY OF SOUTH AFRICAN AND ZULU WORDS
Biltong strips of raw meat dried with salt and spices
Disselboom Pole harnessed to draft animals and attached to front wagon wheels.
Doek Bandana or scarf wound round head
Donga a dry ditch caused by soil erosion
Gheko small lizard
Ibutho a Zulu regiment 700 – 1000 strong
Imizi small kraal or village
iDlozi a strong reincarnated spirit.
iSangoma a psychic, medium
Indaba a meeting, conference
Nyanga a healer, herbalist
Knobkerrie hardwood club with knotted head
Koppie a hill
Landrost a magistrate
Sjambok a leather whip, of plaited leather strips
Voetsak! Forceful expletive for ‘get away’, or worse.
**
MILITARY ABBREVIATIONS USED
BN = BATTALION
COL = COLONEL
CAPT = CAPTAIN
COMDT = COMMANDANT.
OC = OFFICER COMMANDING
LT OR LIEUT = LIEUTENANT.
NCO = NON COMMISSIONED OFFICER
PROLOGUE
My name is Stephen Barton. I inherited the family farm called Tweefontein that lies below the awesome Drakensberg mountains near the village of Vredevallei. One small, out of the way, section of the farm was never worked. I decided that it should be productive and my workers were clearing it in preparation for ploughing. In the course of demolishing a derelict adobe pioneer dwelling, they dug up a large flat hearthstone and found a sealed metal box buried underneath it.
It was wrapped in layers of oilcloth and intact. I took it to my workshop and carefully opened it to find, in legible condition, a manuscript of a book written in English by a Jim Thompson. In addition, the extraordinary letter, addressed to a Gareth and reproduced below, was on top of the rest.
IF I DID NOT OPEN THIS BOX I MUST BE DEAD
Gareth, I know this is a strange way to start a note to a friend, but a local Zulu headman, who was once one of Dumisani’s special warriors, befriended me when I told him how much I knew of his old leader. Knowing that I am living here in fear he came last evening to warn me that Zulu strangers to this region are asking local people whether they have seen, or heard mention of me. You may yet receive the letter I sent to you after I fled from Pietermaritzburg. It contains remarks about catching fish in the dam that only you would know where to find me. I also told you that I had collated and linked all the court enquiry statements. These would be known to you, but the most shocking facts arose after the court was adjourned and I begged you urgently to come and ‘smoke the fish’ above the old hearthstone so that I could give you these new facts for police action.
When you read the whole story that I have now compiled you will understand why I dare not leave here and seek police protection. I will pack the manuscript in a sealed container and bury it under the hearthstone today in case those enquiring about me arrive ‘to do me in’ and destroy the evidence. If they don’t, then the beastly bout of impending fever could well send me to that place where my dear Beth awaits me. That sounds a bit melodramatic but I really don’t fear death itself, only the manner in which I will be dispatched.
I always wanted to write a play and the desire now stays to the end. When you read these pages you will see in italics where I script the part of an off-stage narrator linking and amplifying the incidents as many past playwrights have done. The story starts in Natal with some simple, but courageous English settlers in 1852 and will probably end this year of 1905.
I find difficulty in ending this note, it sounds so final. There are no postal services out here so I do pray that a land-surveyor, Biggs by name, who came out of nowhere and having shared a whiskey or two with me, agreed to do me a favour and deliver my letter to you when reaching home.
You are only a constable and though I think there is sufficient evidence for a prosecution, avoid talking to your superiors. High-level corruption in the police is obvious. Rather speak to my editor who gave me the task of investigating the settler family under the guise of writing their biographical profile. He can protect you and may advise you how to make a few bob by having it published. The old bugger owes me that much.
Well, that’s that, as Mavis would have said. With stiff upper lip, I go to bury my book and await my destiny. Cheers, old chap,
Jim Thompson. February 1905.
I dug through newspaper archives and found out that Jim Thompson was a professional investigative journalist most of his life. The exception was when he and a friend opened a private detective agency in Pietermaritzburg. They operated for about three years, but under pressure from his wife Beth he closed it after his partner was shot dead by a highwayman robbing a gold carrying stagecoach travelling between Blyde Canyon and Lydenburg.
He wrote for The Natal Witness on the day that the citizens of Pietermaritzburg were shocked by the daylight escape from police detention of a convicted murderer and the killing of a well-known businessman later. That same night he must have left town without any explanation. The story may have faults of a literary or historical nature, but let them rest in the Drakensberg mountains with Jim Thompson as I have done. It is his story and not for me to edit or alter it.
PART 1: SEDITION
The original Zulu tribe was quite small according to Theopilus Shepstone, the Secretary for Native Affairs. In King Chaka's day, ninety-four African tribes occupied the Natal midlands south of Zululand and he started creating his great empire by dominating them. He sent his warriors to kill ruthlessly those who opposed him and to remove forcibly to his kingdom north of the Tugela, all survivors together with those who promised him allegiance. Others escaped and fled to Pondoland or took refuge the valleys of the Drakensberg Mountains.
Although Pietermaritzburg in 1905 is the capital of Natal and boasts a proudly pro-British society, Dutch and French Voortrekkers (pioneers) founded it in 1837. They were farmers who had painfully winched and worked their wagons overland and through the Drakensberg range where no man had taken a wagon before. They were surprised to find very few indigenous people in a fine farming region.
The Boer farmers wanted to be free of British colonial domination, but for trade purposes, close enough to the British settlement at D’Urban and the shipping at Port Natal. They chose the site of their main settlement and named it Pietermaritzburg in honour of their trek leaders.
Chaka initially made a benign treaty with the settlers so long as they stayed south of the Tugela and refused to assist refugees escaping to avoid his harsh disciplinary laws. Possibly he and his councillors hoped that they were creating a buffer zone between Zululand proper and the rebellious tribes to the South who feared and hated the Zulus and their King.
In 1905, the Native Affairs Department was concerned. Their informers and the police were warning that a Zulu rebellion was in the offing. Black heroes of the Anglo-Zulu war were said to be encouraging the potential rebels by organising gatherings to demand equal rights. Somehow, the intelligence gatherers heard about my proposed biographical book on the Warren settler family and decided, because it included statements by Zulus who were critical of the Colonial administration, it could garner white sympathy for the protesters and their cause.
They staged a so-called Court of Enquiry during which the persons who had made statements to me during my research interviews could be questioned and the credibility and character of the Zulu leader and folk hero, Dumisani, totally discredited’.
This is why I am standing in one of the city’s historic old buildings converted to provide a larger courtroom. A large solid fronted desk stood on a platform at one end of the hall. It was wide enough to accommodate the Chairman and the two assessors at a height that enabled them to look down on everybody else.
The central and senior member of the tribunal was a retired magistrate referred to as the Chairman. He was an elderly, pale and hollow cheeked man who now looked down at me through steel-rimmed circular lenses, perched on his long tapering nose. He was wearing a crisp curly white Advocate’s wig that seemed too small for his head and was probably the property of his brother-in-law now the Chief Constable who had lobbied for his appointment. There was something clumsily theatrical about him. I envisaged a circus clown tripping and fumbling with a tray of imitation tankards into which he had just poured beer. He was not amusing when he sternly addressed the court and me.
‘In terms of the powers invested in them the authorities are concerned that the contents of a book written by Mr. Thompson are seditious and written with the intent of encouraging natives to illegally and violently rebel against the State. This Court of Enquiry has been convened and mandated to question all the persons interviewed by the author and decide whether formal charges of Sedition should be brought against him and any other person involved ‘
He turned his head and addressed me.’ Mr. Thompson, the Warren family retained you to write a book about their life and service to the community of this town since 1851. You have interviewed many people who Mr. Feinstein, the facilitator, will ask to repeat and confirm the statements you have attributed to them. Some of them have given rise to unpleasant, possibly libellous, rumours about certain members of the Warren family. The violent actions of the Zulu male known as Dumisani will be closely scrutinised.
You not yet been charged yet, but you are to attend all sittings of this court. You will not interrupt or interfere with the proceedings. If you are concerned about anything said you must speak to Mr Feinstein during a time of adjournment.
Have you anything to say now, before Mr. Feinstein is instructed to commence?’
‘Only that I trust the court will be patient with some of the black witnesses who will be out of place and at a disadvantage in these formal surroundings.
’
‘Hrrmph!’ coughed the Chairman clearing his throat. ‘Sit down Mr. Thompson. I do not think that comment necessary. This is an open and somewhat informal enquiry and I intend to allow all the witnesses sufficient latitude and time to explain their part in all this. There will be translators when needed. I will be more than lenient, even if they ramble. Let them ramble! Is that clear Mr. Feinstein?’ Asked the chairman sharply, addressing the grey faced lawyer who was to act as a facilitator rather than a prosecutor.
PART 2: SETTLER AND ZULU WOMEN
“Attempting to compel others to believe and live as we do.”
The sixth of THE SIX MISTAKES OF MAN
(According to Marcus Tullius Cicero.) (106 – 43 BC)
‘As you wish Mr Chairman.’ Responded Mr. Feinstein, turning to address a court orderly.
‘Call the first witness Mrs. Rosemary Riddle to take the stand.’
Mrs. Riddle, short and fat, took a deep breath to help her step up on to a smaller second platform that held a chair and small table for witnesses. She wore a wide brimmed hat, generously trimmed with artificial flowers, firmly planted over a bun of grey hair.
Her clothing did nothing to diminish her plump appearance. In fact, the satin blouse with puffed shoulders and leg of lamb sleeves that tucked into a skirt worn over a crinoline petticoat gave her the appearance of an oddly dressed barrel with buttoned boots.
The stains under her armpits testified to the discomfort of the heat and humidity in the courtroom. When she was not present, members of her church committee referred to her as Piggy, which had as much to do with her pug nose and small eyes as her obesity.
Feinstein stepped from his table, ‘‘Mrs. Rosemary Riddle will you please tell what you know of the early years when the Warren’s arrived in Pietermaritzburg.’
‘We came here from London three years before the Warrens did. My husband was pleased at their arrival because he had a bakery and Archie Warren was brought here by his brother John to get the old flourmill running proper.
His wife Mavis Warren is an Anglican and we met at church where she soon let everyone know that home in England her father had been Vicar. She was full of ideas and soon pushed herself forward to become Chairlady of the ladies working committee. Every one knows that I don’t hold with gossiping but we found her full of herself with a stubborn streak that often led to disharmony among us.
As I always say, I’m not one to tell tales, but she had a sharp tongue if she didn’t get her way. What Mavis wanted Mavis got and that included taking all the credit.’ She paused to emphasise her remarks with a sniff and a flutter of her fan.
‘Exactly who, Mrs. Widdle,’ asked the Chairman dryly, ‘do you refer to as “we.”
‘Why the ladies of the church committee of course,’ she responded tartly.’ her cheeks flushing, ‘and begging your pardon, but the name is Riddle with an R, sir, with an R.’
‘My apologies Madam,’ said the Chairman prodding his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose, ‘slip of the tongue, don’t you know. Please continue.’
‘We, well most of the women on the committee, would not have put up with her nonsense, but our husbands were in some way or the other beholden to her husband Archie. Poor man, he must have had a time of it married to her.
Only Felicity Coghill-Browne our Vice Chairlady had independent means, and her husband was editor of the local newspaper.
Felicity was full of airs and graces, I can tell you, and when Mavis admitted she was pregnant she was hoping that Mavis would resign and hand over to her. But, Mavis Warren had other ideas; she ignored the suggestions that it was undignified for her to continue as Chairlady, and never missed a meeting even when heavy with child. We were often embarrassed when she appeared in public.’
Another snigger and fluttering of her fan sent a wave of her pungent perfume up the Chairman’s nostrils. To avoid a sneeze the chairman wrinkled his nose and his spectacles
‘We came here from London three years before the Warrens did. My husband was pleased at their arrival because he had a bakery and Archie Warren was brought here by his brother John to get the old flourmill running proper.
His wife Mavis Warren is an Anglican and we met at church where she soon let everyone know that home in England her father had been Vicar. She was full of ideas and soon pushed herself forward to become Chairlady of the ladies working committee. Every one knows that I don’t hold with gossiping but we found her full of herself with a stubborn streak that often led to disharmony among us.
As I always say, I’m not one to tell tales, but she had a sharp tongue if she didn’t get her way. What Mavis wanted Mavis got and that included taking all the credit.’ She paused to emphasise her remarks with a sniff and a flutter of her fan.
‘Exactly who, Mrs. Widdle,’ asked the Chairman dryly, ‘do you refer to as “we.”
‘Why the ladies of the church committee of course,’ she responded tartly.’ her cheeks flushing, ‘and begging your pardon, but the name is Riddle with an R, sir, with an R.’
‘My apologies Madam,’ said the Chairman prodding his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose, ‘slip of the tongue, don’t you know. Please continue.’
‘We, well most of the women on the committee, would not have put up with her nonsense, but our husbands were in some way or the other beholden to her husband Archie. Poor man, he must have had a time of it married to her.
Only Felicity Coghill-Browne our Vice Chairlady had independent means, and her husband was editor of the local newspaper.
Felicity was full of airs and graces, I can tell you, and when Mavis admitted she was pregnant she was hoping that Mavis would resign and hand over to her. But Mavis Warren had other ideas; she ignored the suggestions that it was undignified for her to continue as Chairlady, and never missed a meeting even when heavy with child. We were often embarrassed when she appeared in public.’
Another snigger and fluttering of her fan sent a wave of her pungent perfume up the Chairman’s nostrils. To avoid a sneeze the chairman wrinkled his nose and his spectacles compel others to believe and live as we do.”
As I have often said, I’m not one to tell tales, but she had a sharp tongue if she didn’t get her way. What Mavis wanted Mavis got and that included taking all the credit.’ She paused to emphasise her remarks with a sniff and a flutter of her fan.
‘Exactly who, Mrs. Widdle,’ asked the Chairman dryly, ‘do you refer to as “we.”
‘Why the ladies of the church committee of course,’ she responded tartly.’ her cheeks flushing, ‘and begging your pardon, but the name is Riddle with an R, sir, with an R.’
‘My apologies Madam,’ said the Chairman prodding his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose, ‘slip of the tongue, don’t you know. Please continue.’
‘We, well most of the women on the committee, would not have put up with her nonsense, but our husbands were in some way or the other beholden to her husband Archie. Poor man, he must have had a time of it married to her.
Only Felicity Coghill-Browne our Vice Chairlady had independent means, and her husband was editor of the local newspaper.
Felicity was full of airs and graces, I can tell you, and when Mavis admitted she was pregnant she was hoping that Mavis would resign and hand over to her. But, Mavis Warren had other ideas; she ignored the suggestions that it was undignified for her to continue as Chairlady, and never missed a meeting even when heavy with child. We were often embarrassed when she appeared in public.’
Another snigger and fluttering of her fan sent a wave of her pungent perfume up the Chairman’s nostrils. To avoid a sneeze the chairman wrinkled his nose and his spectacles slipped off and clattered onto his desk. Replacing them hurriedly, he managed to tip his wig over one ear.
Embarrassed, he turned on her and said sarcastically, ‘Please try, madam, to use your fan with less vigour. Your exquisite perfume irritates my sinuses,’ and in a stage-whispered aside to one of the assessors he remarked, ‘with that perfume I doubt she is ever troubled by flies or mosquitoes.’
‘Well I never!’ Said Rosemary from behind her fan as many in the public seats giggled and restrained their laughter.
The Chairman cracked down his gavel. ‘Quiet! If you please,’ he said forcefully with a twitch of a smile in the corners of his mouth, ‘you were saying madam, that though Mrs Warren became noticeably pregnant she did not relinquish her position as Chairlady.’
Rosemary composed herself to deliver her next piece of gossip.
‘She gave birth to a boy they named Jack, but she was too busy climbing the social ladder and tending to church business to wean her own child. She employed Annah, the wife of one of the mill’s black workers, who was nursing her own son Dumisani, as a wet nurse.
I do not know who she thought she was but she said it was a common practice among the upper classes in England.
When Jack went to the school it was for white boys only and he had a bad time of it, being teased daily by the bigger boys about being breast fed by a black Zulu woman. Over the years, we held our meetings at Mavis’s home. Often we would have tea on the shady veranda and watch the boys playing cricket on the lawn. It was clear that Jack resented Dumisani joining games with his school friends, most of them being sons of churchwomen.
The mothers didn’t like it. Dumisani was stronger, a better player who, taught by Margaret when playing teacher, could read better than their children did. He was even good at sums. My husband said it was quite remarkable, considering that he was black and born to illiterate parents. Mavis refused to accept that Jack was withdrawn and becoming a nasty piece of work. When anyone mentioned it, she shut her up by saying their criticisms of Dumisani’s familiarity with the white children were unworthy of good church going folk and that Jack was fine.
Her daughter Margaret was in her fifteenth year when things came to a head between Mavis and Felicity. We had finished a meeting and the housemaid was serving tea when Mavis, with her false smile of humility and smug expression, told us that she had seen an advertisement announcing the introduction of the first ever carriage with springs. An innovation aimed to appeal to ladies accustomed to having their hair styles spoilt and fancy hats jolted off whilst travelling to church or other social events.
What really got Felicity steamed up was that the advertisement said that the gilt trims and fine leather upholstery were much favoured by aristocracy and persons of rank and that Mavis had Archie to order one immediately.
It would be the first in the town and in time for the weekly parade at Fort Napier when the army band gave a recital for the upper crust from town and country who came mainly to be seen in their latest finery.
The thought of Mavis arriving in her grand new buggy was more than Felicity could bear. The rest of us burbled compliments and had a bit of a giggle, but we could see that Felicity was unhappy and trying to contain herself.
Mavis may as well of jabbed her backside with a hatpin, but we didn’t expect her to lose her temper and lash out in the ugly way that she did.
Mr Chairman I am only telling you all this because what passed between Felicity and Mavis shocked us and may have affected Dumisani’s attitude toward us settlers in later years. I’m not one to gossip as you know sir, but Felicity said nothing about the carriage. Instead, she put on her best upper crust voice, and told Mavis that she felt she must tell her that the community as a whole disproved of the familiarity with which Dumisani was allowed to mix with her children.
She went as far as to say that Margaret was at the age of puberty and that the Zulu boy was besotted with her. It is only a matter of time, she said, for the veneer of civilisation to peel away and for him to revert to the lustful ways of the black savages.
Mavis angrily interrupted her to say that her daughter had only been kind to Dumisani. Through her playing the role of teacher, she had taught him, together with her brother Jack, to read and write. She angrily told Felicity that Margaret had no other contact with him and that it was natural for him to be grateful, and respectfully regard her as an older sister.
We other ladies were speechless when Mavis, becoming more stressed and hysterical, screamed at Felicity saying that there was no more to it than that, and for Felicity to say that he was besotted with her, or to suggest a more evil relationship was a filthy and ugly slander. She told Felicity to get out of her house.’
Rosemary looked at the chairman. ‘It’s a terrible story to tell, but I will never in my life forget the hatred in the eyes of both those women as they stood and faced each other, Mavis pointing to the steps from the veranda, and Felicity’s twisted lips. Her husband, she said, would see to it that the gossip column in the local newspaper gave the relationship between Margaret and Dumisani a good airing. The suggestive details of it, she said, will excite or disgust the readers, but you can be sure it will be seen, noticed and discussed. That will put the cat amongst your sniggering would-be society pigeons. She moved toward the steps to leave, but Mavis had the last words.
Normally I would never repeat this sort of thing,’ she said licking her lips with relish, ‘and may God forgive me, but she told Felicity that apart from being a snobbish bitch acting the part of a church angel, she had in fact the mind and soul of a fish market whore. We didn’t know where to look, or what to say, so we all just went home.’
‘Hrrmph,’ coughed the Chairman, ‘I think that we are all shocked Mrs Riddle and. unless Mr Feinstein has more questions, you should once again, just go home.
The silence in the hall ended with the people in the public gallery murmuring excitedly when Mr. Feinstein said that he had no more to ask Mrs. Riddle.
The court adjourned until the following morning when Mavis Warren would be called to the stand.
She seemed taller and more imperious than I remembered when first I had interviewed her. Her hair was very dark, possibly dyed, and she had brushed it back on either side of a center parting and gathered it at the nape of her neck with an ornamental ivory comb. She had a longish thin face and wore no makeup. Her eyebrows were thick, unplucked and as dark as her hair; they almost joined to form one line above her nose.
Her mouth was thin lipped and small, with the sour expression of someone who has just sucked a lemon.
She was fashionably and expensively dressed with a hat to match the lavender ensemble. A large garnet pin glowed in the lapel of her tailored jacket and her shoes had silver buckles. Elegantly prim, I thought, grinning inwardly at my description. I had never written a fashion column.
‘Good day Mrs. Warren. Thank you for your attendance,’ greeted the Chairman affably.
‘I had little option Sir,’ she said acidly, ‘I do not know why I should be here. I had little enough to do with my daughter and even less with that wretched Zulu boy. He became a nuisance and that was that.’
‘Hrrmph,’ choked the chairman clearing his throat and prodding at his glasses before giving her a hard meaningful stare. ‘That is for my two colleagues and me to decide, Madam. Mr. Feinstein believes that you may have unintentionally, had much to do with Dumisani’s attitude and actions in later years.’
‘Very well, if you really believe it matters.’ She responded gracelessly, ‘he was only the child of Annah, my personal maid. I employed her at the time of my son’s birth and I allowed her to bring him with her into the house when I wanted her on duty.’
‘Please confine your comments only in answer to the questions addressed to you by Mr. Feinstein.’ Instructed the Chairman.
Feinstein immediately asked, ‘At the time of Annah’s employment we have been given to understand that her duties included suckling your baby son Jack. Is that correct?
‘Some people are not aware.’ She replied, looking directly at the people sitting in the public area, ‘that in the upper classes where women have many duties and responsibilities other than weaning a child, the practice is quite common. Yes, she acted as a wet nurse.’
Feinstein paused pinching and rubbing the lobe of his right ear. ‘How did Mr. Warren feel about his son being fed by a black woman?
‘I fail to see the point of your question. My husband and I had little in common; I never referred domestic matters to him. It was my decision and that was that.’
‘When the two boys were toddlers and growing did you encourage them to be playmates? Feinstein asked gently, ignoring the sharp tones of her answers.
‘I did not encourage their friendship. It seemed natural and I allowed it. How else could Annah be on hand when I wanted her to perform other duties for me?’
‘Did you clothe him in the same way as you did your son?’ He continued.
‘My father was a Vicar you know. We were taught that we had a duty to care for others. In particular heathens who did not have the benefit of the church. Anyway I could not have him running about in beads and a leather apron; my friends would have been scandalized. ’Then as an afterthought she added, ‘Of course the clothes were not of the same quality as my son’s.’
‘You ignored your committee when they voiced their discomfort at having Dumisani greet them as though he was one of your family and his familiarity with their sons whom he treated as equals. True?’
‘I regret that you have seen fit to raise this matter. My father was a kindly gentle soul who never rose above being a Vicar of a country parish. I grew up to realise that he lacked drive and ambition so I made up my mind to be different. My husband was similar to my father, but to my surprise and joy he prospered. Then, when I had established my standing in the community, I accepted that I was deeply envied, but I was not prepared to kowtow to small minded and vitriolic gossipmongers. Dumisani was brighter than most of their spoiled brats and their parents resented him.’
‘You compliment Dumisani, yet you later treated him harshly, why was that Mrs. Warren?’ Feinstein asked fingering his ear lobe.
‘You have already been told of the vicious lies and threats addressed to me by Felicity Coghill-Browne. I have no intention of repeating them and that’s that,’ she retorted.
‘I will not ask you to repeat details of that heated exchange Mrs. Warren, but I do ask you to tell us how you dealt with the situation immediately after that.’
Shrugging off her irritation, she spoke firmly. ‘Our home stood on a large property adjoining that of the mill. I went to my husband’s office as soon as all the ladies had left and spoke to him. I told him that, without delay, Margaret and Jack must be sent to boarding schools. I named two that were suitable for children of upper class families. They were a good distance away on the road to Port Natal, but I was not prepared to discuss the matter and told him that it was my decision and that he must lose no time in making the necessary arrangements. I then told him that Dumisani was never to have any contact with Margaret or Jack. That henceforth he was not allowed to approach the house.
I did not want him to terminate the employment of the boy’s father, because I needed Annah as my maid, so he must find a job for Dumisani at the mill. I would tell Annah to send him to the mill with his father on the next morning.’
‘It would seem that by henceforth you really meant immediately, that day in fact. True?’
‘Oh yes, Mr. Feinstein. I most certainly did. When I make up my mind about something, that’s that! Dumisani had to go.’
‘After more than ten years of giving him free rein with your family, clothes, education friendship, don’t you think that you acted harshly and too hastily? That the sudden change in your attitude would be traumatic for him?
‘Hastily perhaps,’ she answered ‘because the threatened gossip column never appeared, but the story of the exchange of words between Felicity and me was spread by word of mouth. No, my decision was right, he had to go. He was a threat to my status in the community, and anyway, what does a black know about trauma. They are there to do what they are told without question and that’s that!’
Feinstein gave a nod to the Chairman to indicate he was finished with Mrs. Warren, but the set of his face told of a distasteful opinion. g
She swept out of the court the same selfish, embittered and unapologetic woman who had entered it.
After a short recess Annah was called to the witness stand. She was bare footed with a cheap tartan shawl slung over her shoulders that was tied in a loose knot at the waist. It covered a sleeveless yellow cotton dress that encased an ample body.
A similar piece of yellow material had been wrapped around her head in the form of a turban. Above the wrist of each of her plump chocolate brown arms she wore three brass bangles.
She made her way to the stand in a determined manner but with an aura of sadness.
‘Do you want the interpreter to assist you?’ Asked Feinstein once she had settled on the chair.
‘No master, I understand you’, she answered simply.
‘You worked for Mrs. Warren and your son Dumisani grew up with her children. After many years she one day told you that Dumisani must go from the house and never again speak to her children. We want you to tell us about that day.’
‘I was tidying the bedroom but I could hear her and one of the church ladies speaking loudly - cross, in anger.’ Said Annah, ‘then she run into the bedroom and sat on a chair and stared at me without speaking. I could see that she was very upset.
Then she say she was going to the mill to speak with the master. She say must wait for her to come back. It was the first time I ever see her go to the mill and I feel in my heart that this was a very bad day.
She came back quick, face like a black storm cloud and sat at the desk. She shouted for me to come stand there. I waited for the thunder and lightning. It was time for Dumisani to know that he was nothing but an ordinary black boy. she said. He must start work and grow to manhood with his own people.
It was not nice, the way that she said it, but it made sense. The boy needed to learn the Zulu ways of herding and caring for cattle, understanding plants and roots for food and medicine. Building huts and how to fight as a warrior.
I knew that he was reaching the age when he may have to go to a special kraal with boys of his own age. There they would learn all these things while tending the chief’s cattle. It is the way of our people.
She said that I must take Dumisani home straight away and that from this day he must never speak to Margaret or Jack again. No more games. She never wanted to see him in the garden or near the house. If she did my husband Alpheus and I would lose our jobs and that will be that, she said.
Annah broke down, covering her face with her hands, her body shaking as she silently sobbed. Feinstein waited patiently then asked her, ‘What did you say or do after she had said these things?’
‘Hauw,’ she exclaimed lifting her hands to cover her ears, ’that was a very bad day. After all the years that I had worked for her she told me those bad things. Her heart and her face were like stone.
I asked her what Dumisani had done that she was being so hard on him. That he was happy and very close to Jack and Margaret?
She said that was the trouble, “he was too close.” I must not ask why, but Dumisani must never come near to Margaret, or any other white girls. Only then, as a woman and a mother, did I understand what was in her mind and troubling her.
Hauw! I could not believe it. I thought, this woman is very sick in the head. Her eyes were like black holes - there was no soul in them.
We needed the pay and other work would be hard to find. The pay was little, but the mill gave us free maize flour and a place to live in the workers compound. I was very angry but, unless my husband had another plan, I must hold my mouth; we could not afford to be thrown out. I went to the garden and called Dumisani; I told him that I was not well and that he must stay with me at home until his father came from work.’
‘What else did you tell Dumisani?’ Asked Feinstein gently.
‘Nothing master, nothing,’ she said, turning her head slowly from side to side, ‘how does a mother tell her son that being black is not only a difference of colour?’ That white people think more of their horses and dogs than of us. That although I know he respects Margaret as he would an older sister and teacher, Mrs. Warren thinks that he will take her like a street girl and hurt her.
Tell me master, what I should have said to him?
It was as embarrassing now, as it had been when I had interviewed her many months before. Neither Feinstein nor the Chairman had anything to say. They let her go and called the next witness, her husband.
PART 3. SETTLER AND ZULU MEN
‘In men whom men condemn as ill
I find so much of goodness still.’
Jorquin Miller of Byron.
Alpheus Khumalo appeared on the stand. He was of medium height and build. His head was covered by tight curly black hair and short trimmed beard held an abundance of grey threads. Filmy circles of cataracts that would eventually blind him marred his brown eyes.
His jacket was threadbare and too large, obviously second hand, so that hung down loosely over an old blue shirt. Torn gray trousers exposed his bony kneecaps and socks did not hide his knobby ankles. Roughly formed and stitched leather ankle-boots, known locally as velskoene, hid his bare feet, but they lacked laces and their tongues flapped as, erect and dignified, he walked to the stand
‘Alpheus please tell us about the day that Dumisani was sent from the house by Mrs. Warren.’
Alpheus held out splayed hands and with a smile that transformed his face into a web of deep creases and exposed his tobacco stained teeth said, ‘‘No spik, no unnerstand.’
‘I should have offered you the help of the court's translator.’ Said Feinstein apologetically as he turned to the black man seated near the witness stand. ‘Samson explain your function and please tell Alpheus what I have said.’
The black translator spoke in Zulu with Alpheus and turned to Feinstein saying, ‘he understands, but first he wants you to know that his ancestral spirits have told him that some women have bitter and restless souls. They are returned to earth to change their ways. Some fail, and he believes Mrs. Warren is one of them.’
Feinstein turned away from Alpheus to hide a quick grin and by raising his eyebrows signaled to the chairman his need for a ruling.
‘Hrrmph! I think Samson that, you must make it quite clear to Alpheus that he must only answer the questions put to him by Mr. Feinstein.’
‘Yes sir,’ said Samson, ‘Alpheus says that on that terrible day when he came home from work Annah was preparing some vegetables over the small open fire. She was unusually quiet and after they had eaten, he asked her whether she was sick.
“Only in my heart” she had said, “because though what I have to say affects us all, it will hurt Dumisani the most.
When you have heard my words you, as the head of the family, will tell us what we must do.”
Then she told him what had passed between her and Mrs. Warren that day. Alpheus says that he was very angry, but more concerned with Dumisani who had jumped up and, bursting into tears of anger had shouted that it was unjust.
“What have I done?” He had asked, “They are my best friends.”
His tears had fallen like the flood of a sudden summer rainstorm and he stood with his arms wrapped tightly round his chest rocking back and forth as though in pain. Alpheus says that he too had stood up, and taking hold of the boy’s shoulders had roughly shaken him to stop his wailing. Then he had spoken to him harshly to get his attention.
“Stand still,” he had said, ”stand up straight like a man! Look into my eyes and hear what I have to say to you. Stop crying! You are a Zulu! Save your tears for the death of a loved one, or a comrade in arms when they go to join their ancestors.
Do not waste tears on times of injustice, anger or pain. These things will pass. Tears waste the strength you will need to carry on with life.”
The boy had looked into his eyes and said that, if he were no longer able to speak with Margaret and Jack, then they may as well be dead, and therefore his tears were not of weakness but of sorrow.
“Tell me my father, what rights have they to treat us as vermin?” He had demanded. “To laugh at our beliefs and compel us to learn theirs. To command us to go there, come here, do like this, do like that. What has given them this right? Are we tufts of dead grass blown here and there with the dust of our own land?
We show no resistance, yet you have taught me to know the laws, customs, pride and glory of our tribe. Do we not shame the names of Shaka and Mzilikazi of the Ndebele? Are we Zulu’s still, or are we now as lowly as dung beetles destined only to roll up their droppings?”
It was the first time that Alpheus had heard his son speak with such passion and perception. Even Samson while translating seemed to swell with pride and grow in stature.
‘Alpheus says that having listened to Dumisani’s outburst he told his son that the whites will find out that over time all the world’s people repeat the same mistakes, dance the same dances, turn in the same circles. Only their faces, colour, clothes and weapons change. The time of black people will come.’
Embarrassed, the facilitator stood up to stop the tirade.
‘It’s all right Mr. Feinstein. Let him have his day in court,’ said the chairman, ‘the Zulu nation fought and lost a bloody war, but not their pride.’
‘Alpheus told Dumisani that King Shaka made us a wealthy, strong and proud nation. It was our time and he built an empire by allowing neighboring tribes to adopt Zulu ways and laws. We shared our knowledge and strength with those who surrendered to us.
Now white people have come with greater knowledge and power than we possess; it is their time. We must learn from them and be patient. We may have to carry out low tasks and accept insults, but a Zulu must at all times respect the proven wisdom of older men and their leaders. He told Dumisani to swear to him on the spirits of our ancestors, that he would always remember that he was a Zulu and act with pride and honour.
White men are driven by greed and do not share all their knowledge with us, but like the sun and moon, different nations will take their turns in the sky. Our turn is sure to come again.
Alpheus says his son heard his words and has kept his promise. Dumisani is an active and respected leader within the Zulu nation.’
The silence in the court was more deafening than that of a hundred drummers beating their call to retreat It was eerie and the chairman took an age to clean his glasses and then, looking no one in the eye, asked that the witness be dismissed and that the court reconvene after lunch when Bull Oxley would take the stand.
Most of the locals present knew Bull Oxley; in addition to being Archie Warren’s friend and foreman at the mill, he trained youngsters in the sport of wrestling. Something of a rough diamond, he had often wrestled at sideshows in Britain to win cash purses provided by the local gentry.
A full head of unruly red hair and sideburns framed a lean and florid face with a large crooked nose that had been broken and poorly set. His large frame was carried with a limp and his long muscular arms ended with the biggest hands I have ever seen. Feinstein was of average height and build yet he appeared puny when Oxley lumbered passed him to the witness stand.
‘Mr. Oxley you have been Archie Warren’s right hand man for many years. You certainly knew all the children as they grew up. Is that correct?’
‘Aye.’ Confirmed Oxley, crossing his legs and clasping his hands over his knees. ‘Twelve years I have worked for Archie and I’m a friend of the family.’
‘Dumisani was brought to the mill and started work under your supervision,’ said Feinstein, ‘did you find him sullen or resentful toward the Warren family?’
‘He was not much more than a boy when he started.
He was under my supervision until he left to go with Margaret when she trekked to Lydenburg. I found him thoughtful, hard working and very respectful to Archie, Mr. Warren that is. Mark you he had good reason to be resentful when you think how Mavis Warren and then Jack dealt with him.’
Feinstein caressed his ear lobe. ‘A moment Mr. Oxley. You said that Dumisani left the mill and went to Lydenburg with Margaret. Doesn’t that imply a close relationship?’
‘Don’t be daft you silly little man!’ Exploded Oxley indignantly. ‘He worked as her boss-boy when she went prospecting for gold and that was only after Archie agreed to let him go from the mill.’
During his outburst, Oxley unfolded his legs and leaned forward as though he was about to grasp and shake Feinstein with his great hands. With surprising speed and agility, Feinstein moved to stand with his table in between them and then continued.
‘My task, Mr. Oxley is to probe and test witness’s statements whether you think I am silly or not. Now you said that Jack had dealt badly with Dumisani.
What was that all about?’
‘Aye, I did and, if you stop interrupting and pestering me, I’ll get to the heart of the matter in my own way,’ he said glaring at the lawyer.
‘Nothing ever pleased Mavis and the house was full of hostility. Archie wanted peace and would rather give in to her than argue. He felt sorry for Dumisani and told me to find him a job to do. “Keep your eye on him Bull”, he said, “he’s a bright lad, reads and writes as you know. Could be useful when he’s a bit older.”
The Zulu people have respect for age and authority. Dumisani respected both Archie and me, but Archie he treated almost as a second father. He had been working at the mill for four years when I wanted to put him in charge of receiving stock and its storage in the warehouse sheds. He turned down the job at first because it would have put him in charge of several old hands including his father.
I had to speak to Alpheus and ask him whether he would tell Dumisani it was all right with him and the other older men, that he could take the job. Only after getting his father’s blessing, as it were, did he accept.
The farmers delivering corns or grains to the mill trusted him. They would leave a wagonload of produce at the yard and go into town to shop or have a pint. He would have the workers unload the wagon, check the quality and tally the quantity. I never had any complaint against him.
Jack had often tricked Dumisani and got him into trouble when they was kids, but ugliness between him and Jack happened about a year after Jack had been expelled from his fancy school and come home in disgrace. Archie had given him a job at the mill.’
‘Mr. Chairman, in the interests of first hand testimony and with your permission, I am going to ask this witness to stand down. I will then call Mr. Archie Warren to ask what led up to him employing Jack at the mill.’
Archie Warren appeared to me as a man from a long past generation. He was portly, of medium height with hair hanging from round his baldpate down to his shoulders; it was neatly brushed and trimmed, as were his mutton chop sideburns.
A gold watch chain crossed his paunch from one pocket to the other. His double chin almost hid the blue silk cravat round his neck. He reminded me of an old Christmas card illustration and I expected to see him carrying a tall top hat.
‘Mr. Warren I know that some of the memories that I am asking you to recall will be distressing. Dumisani’s alleged role in the death of your son being only one of them, but we need insight into their characters be it good or bad. Please tell us about Jack and Dumisani’s adolescent years.’
‘‘I am too long of tooth, Mr. Feinstein, not to have learned to put the pains of the past where they belong – in history.
My son Jack was never the boy or man that I had hoped he would become, but I share the blame for that. He was the apple of my wife’s eye and could do no wrong. When he lied or misbehaved, she defended him and I stopped trying to assert myself and discipline him until too late. In retrospect, I doubt that I could have made that much difference. When as a boy he often cheated, lied and bullied, he would, if caught out, put the blame on others.
The dark and dishonest side of his personality was hidden behind a charming smile, a quick brain and a persuasive tongue. Jack was no scholar nor did he excel at sport. He thought it fun to deceive and take advantage of people, especially those who loved and believed in him.
His mother sent him to an expensive and elite boarding school that enhanced her status and illusions of social grandeur. Even there he succeeded in disgracing himself and the family. In spite of all that I have said, I loved him. He was my son and, though he let me down on many occasions, I never stopped hoping that he would change for the better.’
‘You have been very frank and that is much appreciated, but I must ask you what led to his employment at the mill? Why put him to work together with Dumisani whom he hated?’ Asked Feinstein.
‘Your questions have the benefit of hindsight Mr. Feinstein.’ Retorted Archie Warren. ‘Are these details really necessary?’ He asked, turning to the Chairman.
‘Hrrmph! Yes Archie,’ the Chairman said to his old friend, ‘it has a bearing on later incidents and an insight into the characters of both Jack and Dumisani.’
‘My good friend Captain Harcourt was traveling as a passenger on the same coach that stopped near the school and brought Jack home when he was expelled.’ Archie said sadly. ‘Knowing that we were friends the headmaster had asked him to bring me the confidential report on Jack’s expulsion.
On the arrival of the stagecoach, Jack went straight home to his mother while Captain Harcourt brought me the report. It said that after an intensive inquiry the school found out that Jack led a small gang who bullied other pupils into handing over much of their pocket money. They were too frightened to complain to either the staff or their parents.
The money was spent on liquor and gambling in the dormitory after lights out. One night a young teacher, supposedly enforcing discipline in the dormitory, was persuaded to take part in a game of poker. Jack was accused of cheating and a fight broke out that woke the dormitory. A free for all followed during which metal basins and water jugs were flung about.
Windows were broken and other damage done. Mr. Jolley, the teacher, suffered a broken nose and a badly sprained shoulder. Candlesticks of silver that were missing from the chapel and two fob watches reported as stolen, were found hidden in a compartment fitted to the bottom of Jack’s locker.
It was shocking news and I was furious. I went directly to the house to speak to my wife and found her sitting next to Jack, holding his hand and comforting him on her chaise longue.
Jack was telling her that the inquiry was unjust and, that he had been an innocent bystander watching a schoolboy prank that had got out of hand.
She said that I must write a letter of protest to the school demanding Jack’s readmission and an apology. “It was nothing more than a pillow fight, and that’s that!” Said Mavis.
In no uncertain terms, I told her that our son was a liar, cheat and thief. That the school would never take him back and that I would be surprised, should the facts become public knowledge, that her church would trust him to pass the collection plate!
I don’t think that I had ever spoken to her like that. Shocked by my angry outburst she collapsed on the couch, her mouth wide open, speechless for once.
Despite the unfortunate circumstances, it is one of my happiest memories!
I took Jack to my office and gave him a tongue-lashing. Perhaps I should have sent him packing, but I felt that I must share the blame for his lack of moral fiber. Instead, I told him that I would give him one more chance to prove himself. By working at the mill, it could one day be his.
Full of apologies, Jack looked me in the eyes, promising that he would change and make me proud of him.
Dumisani was a respectful, bright employee and I thought they had been boyhood friends. There was no one better to teach Jack about the selection and storage of the grains. That is why I told Bull Oxley to team them up.’
Archie Warren left the stand because Feinstein wanted Bull Oxley to tell of Jack’s time at the mill. The large man settled himself on the witness stand and listened as Feinstein explained where he was to take up the story.
‘I was surprised to hear that Jack was home and would be working at the mill, but Archie gave me no details. He told me that he wanted Jack to start in Dumisani’s section. When Dumisani saw Jack and me coming to him he smiled and greeted Jack by his first name. Jack snapped back that he was to refer to him as Mr. Warren.
I explained to Dumisani that Jack would be working in the section to learn from him, but as I walked away, I overheard Jack telling Dumisani that he was there to see that Dumisani was not slacking. I am sure that Dumisani was angry and hurt but he never let it show or affect his work. Here in the colonies when boys grow up they learn that whites are the masters. Allowing colored persons to be familiar sets a bad example. It was normal and I said nothing, but later I realized that that it was different. Jack not only disliked Dumisani he hated him.