Balovale pronounced Bal-oh-vaal-ee
After four years war service with various Field ambulances in the East
African Medical Corps, my husband was released from the Army as medical
officers were urgently needed in Northern Rhodesia. The Director of Medical
Services instructed him to go to Balovale in Barotseland, some distance from
the border of Portuguese Angola. At the time of Eric's release we were living
in a rented house at Ndola where he was looking after the troops in training
at Bwana Mkubwa, once a prosperous and flourishing mine. The rains were well
advanced and we knew it would be very difficult for a lorry to travel
400-500 miles without a hitch. Eric was not sure if Anthony, then 5 and a half years
old and Elizabeth, 4 years old and I, could accompany him to Balovale, it
would be impossible to go by road, the only way being by charter plane.
After much deliberation, it was decided we should all go together and plans
proceeded with this end in view. It was necessary to collect a six months
supply of stores, which would go with our loads on the hired lorry.
I proceeded to Brown and Guthrie's Stores and nonchalantly ordered 300lbs
of flour, 200lbs of sugar, twelve cases of paraffin, that is 96 gallons, a
crate of beer and other commodities in large quantities. Our car was
garaged at Ndola as it would not be needed, in any c"se the retreaded tyres
(a war time measure) would not last much longer. The roads at Balovale
were not much more than sandy tracks. Mickey, our terrier, was to go with us
but James our trusty servant felt he could not face life amongst a
completely alien tribe and so he was taken on as bar boy at the Rutland
Hotel, Ndola where we stayed prior to our departure. We knew very little
about our future posting beyond the fact that it took three weeks to get
there by barge up the Zambesi from Livingstone, or four days by road,
depending on the rains and that the place could be completely isolated
in the rainy season if the air strip was water logged and the roads impassable.
Our journey started at Lusaka on February 10th 1944, when at 6am we
boarded a six seater Rapide. One other passenger flew with us, the
Director of Native Education (D.N.E.), and then of course there was Mickey who was
allowed in the cabin with us. Before starting the trip we all took Hyoscine
against air sickness, thinking we should be well protected against any
unpleasantness during the flight, but the elements ordained otherwise. For
an hour or more we flew on and on over thickly wooded country and each
minute the storm clouds grew blacker and blacker. Our pilot tried to avoid
the menacing storm but was defeated and had to turn back to Lusaka and
await more favourable weather conditions. This completely upset the timing
of the anti-airsickness pills as when we set off again for the second
time, it was too soon to give another dose. I remember how we flew over the
hook of the Kafue river hoping to see hippos in the river but I do not think
I cared particularly as our flight developed into a very bumpy one .After
three hours we felt and looked ghastly. The D.N.E. held out very well and
looked at us with embarrassed sympathy. Before we reached Balovale there
were three landings on outstations, Mumbwa and Mankoya where the pilot
delivered bags of mail and we feebly asked for a little boiled water to
drink. At both these places the District Commissioner was on tour and the
arrival of our plane was greeted by hundreds of Africans. Each time we landed
we circled the station which consisted of nothing more than one or two
European houses, the Boma offices, the landing strip and many native huts.
I knew what to expect of Balovale. At the third outstation, Mongu, which
was a Provincial Centre and where Paramount Chief Lewanike had his summer
residence, the D.N.E. left the plane and we continued our journey to
Balovale, where we arrived about four o'clock. Our arrival caused a stir among
the population, planes were only used in emergencies or for specially
chartered flights like ours for officers to take up their posts or to go on
leave. As there were only five Europeans and two children on the station
and the tour lasted two years or more the arrival of aircraft in those
days was a novelty. Hordes of Africans surrounded us as we alighted, in the
far distance we could see three white clad figures approaching the runway.
Among the crowds I was astonished to see a face I recognised, the beaming
face of Jonas, our old cook from Mazabuka, our first station in N. Rhodesia.
His hair was a little grey but otherwise he looked just the same. He was now
cook to the District Officer in Balovale.
Dr W., the medical officer Eric was relieving, Miss V. the Nursing Sister
and the District Officer came to greet us and we were asked to Miss V's house for tea. Over very welcome cups of tea Dr W. told us that there
was as yet, no sign of our loads, all the household equipment we should
need was on loan from the European Hospital and so we could move into the
house immediately, this news was rather shattering, as we had very few
clothes having travelled by air. All foodstuffs were lent by Dr W. who was
also feeding Miss V as she had only been in Balovale a week and her loads
had not yet arrived. It was ten days before our lorry turned up, by that
time Dr W's stores were very low. The lorry with our loads had had a frightful
journey and it was due to the sense and skill of the driver
that everything arrived intact. More than once the vehicle got stuck, at
one point every crate and package had to be unloaded and carried across
a swamp, this included a crated refrigerator weighing over 6cwt!
Scenically Balovale was a delightful station situated on the banks
of the Zambesi, with tall spreading trees interspersed among the Boma
offices, hospital and European houses, nearly all of which had thatched
roofs and were built in the rondavel style. Our house was an older type
with a three sided mosquito gauzed verandah and stone steps leading up
to the front door. We were about seventy yards from the river which was
approached by a steep narrow descending path. A narrow, winding and very
sandy path wound its way high above the river bank; as we walked Africans
would crouch low on the ground and clap their hands saying "Hinduka" in
greeting.
For all the solitude which Eric loved, the picturesque scenery, the
feeling of being away from it all, there were also hardships to put up with,
such as illness, difficulties with the Administration, anxieties over rabid
dogs, and inadequate communications, all these things were to be
experienced during our tour of Balovale, but I would not have missed
our time there and wish I could go back for a brief visit to relive it
all again.
When we arrived the D.C., his wife and two children were on tour, when
they returned Mrs V. and I were delighted for our children to have each
other as company. Camilla was about the same age as Anthony, and Caroline
her little sister a very advanced two year old. Nicky, eight years old,
was at boarding school but came to Balovale for the holidays.
We now numbered seven European adults and four children, this little
community was soon joined by an eighth grown up, an entomologist, Geoffrey
R.. He had no house to live in while he was not touring and had to make do
with part of our verandah, partitioned off with a curtain, as we only had
two bedrooms. lt must have been very trying for him, especially as no
sooner was he installed he went down with severe tonsillitis. After a time
he moved to the D.O's house whilst he was away on a lengthy tour of the province.
It fell to my lot to supervise the cleaning of this house, after
Charles W. vacated it. I was not surprised at the state it was in with
my old friend Jonas in charge! Without exaggeration, a razor blade had to
be used to remove the high tide marks on the bath. The arts of housekeeping
in any form were quite unknown to Charles W., a remarkable person
who lived only for his study of languages and ornithology, his staff
could do what they liked. C.W. was a brilliant linguist, knowing no less
than five native languages. We sometimes feared for his health or even
his life as he would happily dissect birds and stuff them on his dining
table, in this procedure some form of arsenic was used. C.W. cared very
little about his appearance and was the despair of the D.C.'s
wife when she had to invite him to meet an important visitor to the station.
We admired him very much and I was especially grateful to him for his
gentle simple explanations to my questions and interest on bird life. He also knew all the African village gossip, on tour he could talk with his
carriers of folk lore, understand their stories, and tell them of the
wonders of his country. I can imagine him now, a pale slight man, not
over-strong, wearing a soiled worn topee, touring the villages by narrow
native paths, in his macila, which is a portable hammock suspended between
two poles and carried by four men, so steadily and with such perfect
timing that the occupant could sit up, or write or read if he wished. I could
not imagine C.W. anywhere but on a bush station. I would like to know
what happened to him.
Before Geoffrey R. went to live in Charles W.'s house, there was the
memorable afternoon when the children and I were asked to tea. I dreaded
the occasion but could not possibly refuse. I was sure the children
would get dysentery or worse, knowing how C.W. lived. However we came
through safely, but I was saddened by the broken teapot with the lid of
a cigarette tin to replace the missing lid and the cups borrowed from the
European hospital, what did he drink out of normally? Furthermore, Jonas had made an outsize sponge cake, covered in deep red icing. He must have emptied
half the cochineal bottle into the icing mixture. My sympathy was probably
quite wasted as C.W. was perfectly happy living this way. He always had
servants of different tribes to facilitate learning several languages at once and
then publishing dictionaries of these languages at his own expense.
While the entomologist lived in the D.C's house Miss V. was his
immediate neighbour. She had the bright idea of getting the native
carpenter to make a stile between the two gardens to save G.R. a long
detour to her front door. Considering the carpenter had never seen or
heard of such a thing he made a very faithful replica of an English rustic
stile. What his private thoughts must have been I do not know, probably
that Europeans were quite mad. Charles W. was most annoyed when he returned
and found the stile, he had no wish to be on sociable terms with his
nearest neighbour, whatever others might feel. Miss V., always full of
bright ideas, adorned the outside of her house with shiny beer bottle tops
wedging them in the brick crevice and causing many a disapproving glance
from the local missionaries as they passed by. The romance between the
entomologist and Nursing Sister flourished and they were married sometime
after we left Balovale.
Monday was the most exciting day of the week, as this was mail day. The
native runner, who actually rode a bicycle, would arrive from Mongu,
over 100 miles away, on Sunday evening or early Monday morning with his
sack of mail. This would be delivered to the D.C. and sorted, or to us if
he was on tour. We would tip the contents of the bag on to the sitting
room floor and excitedly extract our mail. Letters from England, new
books and magazines, Anthony's correspondence lessons, mail orders from
the Bulawayo shops and the Bulawayo Chronicle, nearly three weeks old.
Papers and parcels reached Mongu from Livingstone, taking three weeks
and letters by the weekly plane service from Lusaka. On rare occasions,
mail would reach us by plane if a special charter had been arranged, this
meant we too could send mail back to the capital by air, so saving much
time. This makes me think of my parents puzzling over our postal address,
surely they wrote, Beet, Barovale, N. Rhodesia was not enough, there
must be the name of a road or nearest town! Our mail was so very important
to us as it was our only link with the outside world and civilisation.
The wireless station at Balovale, manned by an African wireless
operator and Post Office clerk was most erratic in behaviour. It was
rare indeed for it to be able to perform the double function of sending
and receiving messages, more often than not messages could be received
but not sent. I do not understand the intricacies of generators etc., but
I remember how a breakdown was once caused by a mouse in the generator. It was only discovered
after weeks of inactivity when a wireless technician had been sent by special
charter plane to put the set in order and mouse trouble was the diagnosis.
It was very worrying not to be able to rely on sending and receiving
telegrams, all one could do was to send a special runner with the
telegram to Mongu or wait for the weekly postal runner if it was not
urgent. The fee paid to the postal runner was 7s/6d.
Sometimes we knew in advance that a special charter was due on a
certain day, perhaps bringing someone back from leave. We looked
forward to the longed for mail bag, occasionally to be bitterly disappointed
as some inefficient person had forgotten to hand it to the pilot at the
other end.
We had our own battery-charged wireless, but of course the battery
had to be recharged and this meant sending it by runner to a mission
station about seventy miles distant, where they had a wind-driven
charger. The runner carried the battery on his head and was paid 2s/6d
for his marathon run. No fee was charged by the mission to the M.O. but
other people paid 2s/6d. There could not have been many people in the area who had the slightest idea that D-Day had taken place on June 6th 1944. We did not know anything about it at the time either as our battery was being charged at the time!
A lorry service delivered our dry stores from the line of rail (from
Chingola on the Copper belt) most of the year round, but could not be
relied upon to keep up regular journeys in the rainy season; we paid
1 and 3/4 pence per pound for freight and had stores enough to last six months or
longer in case we should be cut off from regular supplies.
Some months after our arrival at Balovale the rains came to an end
and the level of the Zambesi river subsided revealing a small boat at the
foot of our path to the river, this boat must have belonged to one of our
predecessors. It was a great discovery and we immediately gave the local carpenter orders to make a pair of oars, also paddles for the children
to use. The paddles turned out to be rather like giant, cooking spoons.
It was delightful to row over to the opposite bank where there was a
a long, sandy stretch; here the children could play and Mickey could
sit up to his waist in water barking at wagtails and other birds,
another of his little idiosyncrasies. We would row upstream, watching
bird life on the river and bank and then enjoy an effortless journey
downstream. I remember how I had the misfortune to drop our precious
binoculars in the river as I was getting out of the boat, luckily the
water was shallow, and I was able to fish them out quickly, but oh
dear, the hours Eric had to spend taking them to pieces and drying
each part and the difficulty of putting them together again! The
children would try fishing with very little result. I can only recall
one little fish which was dressed in a shroud and given a solemn
funeral in the garden on our return from a hopeful fishing expedition.
The D.C. now arranged for the prisoners to erect a palisade on the
far side of the river in order to make a safe bathing pool. Long
stakes were driven deep into the bed of the river, so that no
crocodiles could possibly find a way in, steps and a diving board
were built, also a shelter made of sticks and thatched with grass.
Nearly every afternoon we rowed over for a swim, usually taking
Mickey and Chips, our new puppy, given to the children by one of
the hospital orderlies. Chips developed distemper when still quite
young, he was miserably ill and for some time could not come with us
on our river expeditions, but there was one occasion when he managed
to get out of the house and began to swim across the Zambesi to reach
us. Three quarters of the way across Eric fished him out of the
water as he had turned back to meet him when he realised what the dog was
trying to accomplish.
The nicest times were when we had the pool to ourselves, quite often
the D.C. and his family would be on tour, perhaps taking Miss V.
with them, and we would be quite alone on the station. The D.C. had
his own outboard motor but we did not envy him this acquisition, as it
was much more fun to row ourselves across the river or upstream and
then be carried home by the force of the current.
An unforgettable river trip occurred when Sister Margaret Marie
of the Santa Maria Mission near Mongu, some sixty miles downstream,
visited Balovale. She really needed a dentist, but a doctor was quite
able to draw teeth even if he could not fill them. Her journey by
barge to Balovale took nearly a week and each night she and her
native retinue camped on the river bank. One night her boys called
her from her camp and told her that there were three lions about
a hundred yards from the camp fire. No one had any firearms, only
native spears. "Dear God" thought Sister Margaret Marie "I come
all this way to have two teeth out and will end up by being eaten by
lions." While Sister Margaret Marie prayed the boys built enormous
fires, and beat paraffin tins as noise and light are supposed to
frighten lions. Sure enough this worked, the lions departed from
whence they came, leaving the heroic little nun in peace, but there
was yet another adventure in store - the Balovale river picnic
arranged for her pleasure.
Sister Margaret Marie, the D.C., his wife and family, Miss V.,
the children and I, all went in the D.C's boat upstream to a beauty
spot for a picnic. The children loved making a fire to boil the
kettle for tea and enjoyed themselves collecting sticks from the
surrounding bush. After a lengthy picnic tea, it was time to return
and we all clambered happily into the boat. After a few minutes it was
apparent that all was not well and we seemed to be rolling from side
to side and shipping water. Somebody grabbed a bowl and tried to bale
out, the D.C. stopped the outboard motor and like a man possessed
used a punting pole to get us to the shore before we turned over completely. Fortunately we reached a mud bank where we grounded and
were able to wade ashore, waist deep in water and carrying the
children. Sister Margaret Marie's white habit was covered in mud but
she was perfectly serene throughout; each one of us was acutely aware
of crocodiles and when I was not thinking of crocodiles I remembered
that Miss V. had a life saving certificate. It appeared that we had
embarked on our picnic with a boat already heavy with water which
had not been noticed under the floor boards. African fishermen in
their canoes came to our rescue and ferried us back across the river and home, where we soon changed into dry clothes and recounted our adventure to Eric.
That evening we had a dinner party for Sister Margaret Marie, it was
a moonlit night as she stood at our door in a fresh white habit. She
looked very beautiful, I shall never forget her lovely calm face. She
was merry too, thoroughly enjoying the company of other people,
saying she would have to make a penance for talking so much when she
returned to the mission. She came from an aristocratic family in
Westphalia, Germany, and had been engaged but chose to work for God
instead of marrying. Later she sent lovely hand-made toys to all the
children on the station.
Eric would often take us duck shooting on the river, it was a very
welcome change in our diet to have duck and the children thoroughly
enjoyed doing their bit in collecting the corpses floating on the water,
there was sufficient air in their feathers to keep them afloat for some
time. They would all be put in the bottom of the boat, some still quivering
a little, Eric would have to wring their necks to finish them off.
When we disembarked from the boat the children would demand to carry
the ducks home, Elizabeth sensibly asking to carry "the deadest ducks!"
Eric loved these trips on the river, sometimes going alone, he confessed
to me once, that he had to swim to reach a duck; a highly dangerous
thing to do as he could easily have been attacked by a crocodile.
He was now very interested in surgery and carried out many operations
at the hospital but mostly with only local anaesthetics. This was because an African
orderly as an anaesthetist was not entirely reliable for long operations
such as thyroids. The patients did very well but would never stay in
hospital for as long as they should, sometimes getting up two days after
an operation and walking back to their village. We used to go to the
hospital sometimes, on one occasion Anthony noticed a poor fellow who
had had both legs amputated. It made a deep impression on him.
The health of the family caused a good deal of worry as our six
year record of no malaria had been broken, all but Anthony succumbed to
attacks and he made up for it by developing glandular fever. It was
a very anxious time for Eric as the diagnosis during the first few days
pointed to a much more serious illness. I shall not forget him examining
Anthony's blood slide under his microscope on our verandah and the great
relief when he had finished counting the red and white cells. A possible
diagnosis of the serious disease leukaemia was ruled out and glandular
fever was the answer. Anthony's glandular fever which was rare for a
very young child in the tropics was written up and published.
It was a most interesting tour for Eric, as he, most important of all,
was the first to discover the sickle cell trait in Balovale and this led
to lots of interesting work and publications in subsequent years.
I worried almost constantly about the children's health, in spite of
having a doctor as a husband. Every little headache spelt
malaria, every tummy pain dysentery. At one time we thought Elizabeth
had appendicitis and Eric would have to operate on her himself, she
complained of severe pain, but this turned out to be an attack of
dysentery, which responded quite miraculously to a new drug called Sulphaguanadine. Previously the treatment for acute dysentery was
four-hourly doses of Epsom Salts. It was not unknown for a medical
officer to have to do an emergency operation on a member of his family
or to deliver his wife of their child if labour began before she could
get to hospital.
We had been told by the D.M.S. that we were to return to Balovale
after leave in S.Africa; this was a great disappointment, as we hoped
to be posted somewhere where Anthony could go to school. The only other
alternative was to send him to boarding school, he was far too young
for this as he was only six years old. We were up against one of the things one had to accept in the service, a wife and children had very little priority, if any at all, where postings were concerned. In the meantime, Anthony was enrolled with the Salisbury Correspondence School. Some families living in remote areas, for example, farmers who could not or would not send their children away to school, often educated them entirely by Correspondence School.
News reached Balovale that His Excellency, the Governor of
N. Rhodesia, proposed visiting the station. It was rare for H.E.
himself to come to such a small faraway place, the last visit by a
governor had been in 1938. Usually, a deputy would be sent. We were
especially interested because H.E. had just returned from England
and would be able to tell us something of war conditions. The D.C. ordered buildings to be painted, paths to be cleared, grass to be cut,
and a general smartening up of the station. A lunch for H.E. to meet
the local missionaries was arranged. I attended this as we would not
leave the children to go to the official dinner party together, not
even for His Excellency, which I am sorry to say upset the D.C's wife,
Penny V. We had a sundowner party for H.E. which was followed by the
dinner party at the D.C.'s house. Eric had to get into evening dress
for this and did not think much of it, neither did Mickey, who had never
seen his master in such elegant clothes before.
Eric teased the children, telling them that when the Governor's
plane landed and approaches the runway the little girls must be ready
to curtsey as H.E. passed them on his way to the D.C.'s house. I think
they really believed him but I cannot remember if they actually curtsied
I am sure H.E. would have been charmed if they had done so.
I remember watching the Governor, accompanied by his aide and the
Provincial Commissioner, take off in their plane at the end of the visit
thinking wistfully, when will our turn come to fly back to the kind of
life I really wanted, schools for the children with the companionship of
many other children, a healthy climate and reliable communications.
Not far from Balovale itself was the native store owned by a
European storekeeper and missionary. His wife was an American, a very
charming and good looking woman, she put her good health down to the
fact that she spent a whole day in bed each week. The children and I were
invited to tea at her home and the store barge was sent to fetch us. I
think the river trip lasted less than half an hour each way but the
children were thrilled with it and thought they were on a real ship.
Mrs R. had our welfare very much at heart, especially Anthony.
After tea which was served with cream and none of us liked it very much,
(I worried in case the cream had not been boiled) she put her arm round
Anthony, drawing him close and then produced a little book called
"The Wordless Book". It had coloured pages, green, red, gold, black and
white, as she turned each page over, she explained it's meaning to Anthony, on reaching the black page she said "Now, darling, this is your little
heart, as black as sin, but if you can be Saved, it will be pure and
white, like this white page". Anthony stared at her, no-one had ever
told him he was so wicked and I wondered if this conversation would have
some awful psychological effect, but I need not have worried, the thrill of the day was the barge trip on the river!
The sect those kind hardworking missionaries in the province
belonged to had a very strict way of life, smoking, dancing and drinking
were absolutely taboo. One day the awful wrath of the storekeeper's
wife descended on her nephew who helped at the store, as when she
opened a parcel which arrived in his abscence she found to her horror 2000 cigarettes, she promptly put them all down the lavatory. Her nephew had the last word, however, by demanding the money for the cigarettes and getting it!
The nephew and his wife would sometimes come to our house for
a drink after dinner, first making sure that Uncle and Aunty were safely
in bed! It was rather shattering to think that the Medcal Officer and
his wife were not a good influence and visiting them must be kept
secret. If Uncle and Aunty had known that we sometimes played Poker then
I think they would have asked for our transfer immediately! Dr W. was
now doing a yellow fever survey and would often return to Balovale for
a few days and we would all get together for dinner and cards. I have
reason to be very grateful to Dr V., not for teaching me to play poker
but for help on a much more serious occasion.
Eric became ill, with what at first appeared to be dysentery,
but developed into a much more serious illness with severe pain and
loss of blood. I was terribly anxious and in spite of being a trained
nurse was at my wit's end to know what steps to take as he was getting
worse and in no condition to prescribe for himself. As I sat alone at
dinner, I made up my mind to find out if Dr W. was back at the station.
I hurriedly wrote a note and called a boy to take it to Dr W.'s temporary
headquarters, a rondavel at the European hospital. No one can imagine
the relief I felt, when, after a short time he came to our house. When
he saw Eric in such pain he asked me to find morphia and a syringe from
Eric's medical bag, the morphia to be repeated four-hourly until the
attack of acute chemical poisoning, for this is was what it was, had subsided.
Before Eric became ill he had just returned from a mission station where he had been to see a missionary's wife with acute sciatica; as it was some distance away he had to spend the night there with another visitor and they had all eaten dinner together.
Each one became ill but Eric was much worse than the others. It transpired that
the missionary's cook had warmed a tin of mixed vegetables
over direct heat, so melting the metal into the contents. I think
this was one of the worst frights I experienced in Africa. It was
fortunate for the missionary's wife that she did not eat the same
meal.
Eric was having a feud with the D.C. over a somewhat unedifying
matter of donkey droppings! The water supply for the D.C's house came from the river. Donkeys would be taken down to the river's edge and the donkey boys would fill the water containers slung across the beast's backs, then they would be prodded and persuaded to climb
the steep bank to make their deliveries to the D.C.'s house. Their
droppings on the sandy path attracted hundreds of flies which did
not please the Medical Officer, particularily as the donkeys did not
deliver to us and we had to send a boy to the river for our supply
which he had to carry up himself. Oh dear, I am sorry to say
numerous letters passed to and fro and tempers became very frayed,
the feud reached such proportions that letters ended up upon the
desks of the D.M.S. in Lusaka, and the Commissioner in Mongu.
The donkeys were not the only animals causing friction, Mickey
our tough little terrier, developed a fondness for nipping
the legs of passers by on the sandy path by the river. Sometimes an
African would turn tail and run when he saw Mickey, this incensed
him further and he would give chase, then maddened by the sticks and stones
thrown at him he would pay the aggressor back with a tiny bite,
barely enough to draw blood. After a warning by the D.C. that Eric
would be prosecuted if there was another instance of Mickey biting
anyone, Eric sent the D.C. a similar warning about mosquitoes
breeding in the gutters of his house and wrote that he could
prosecute under a certain regulation if it occurred again. Now the
contestants were even! It was not easy for all to live in perfect
equaminity in such a very small community. Lack of leave, trying
climatic conditions and often a clash of personalities all contributed. I think we must all have had a little outstation madness, but the respective wives were unswervingly loyal to their
husbands, each one thinking her husband must be right.
Mickey, the cause of so much trouble, was a splendid mouse
hunter. He once guided me to a mouse nest under our store room when I
gave out the stores every morning. I could not understand why he
sniffed so excitedly at one of my opened 100lbs flour bags. It was not
until I delved deep into the bag to measure out the flour for the
baking of bread that day that I discovered why he was so interested;
baby mice, little pink mice inside the flour!
A family visit to Chavuma Mission on the Zambesi had been
arranged. This was the mission station where we sent our wireless
battery to be charged, about seventy miles north of Balovale. The
missionary in charge had intended to come into Balovale to attend
to various affairs and then pick us up and take us to his home. He
was unable to stick to this plan as a bridge en route had
collapsed and so we had to be taken in the storekeeper's car as far
as the bridge where Mr L. met us. It was not easy to negotiate the
defunct bridge, which now consisted of a few logs thrown across the
river, a tributary of the Zambesi. We managed somehow by doing a
sort of tight rope walk across the shaky wooden structure.
The road war horribly bumpy and the vanette was not blessed with
good springs. Eric, Charles W., the D.O. who accompanied us, and
Anthony all sat on boards at the back, while Elizabeth and I
sat in the front with Mr L.. At one village where there was a halt
for Eric to check on any sick people we watched some of the local
population eat fat black tree caterpillars, Ugh! It was very
hot and dusty, the month of October being the hottest time of the year
but the welcome we received more than made up for any discomfort on
the journey. The tea table groaned under a most sumptuous spread,
which included a welcome cake which I had to cut. The Ls', American
missionaries, were the most warm hearted and hospitable people and
could not do enough to make us feel at home. Theirs was a big family of seven children, the eldest twins. Mr L. told us that in their early days at the mission he had perforce to deliver his wife himself as the twins were premature and the nearest and only doctor fourteen
days walking distance away. The Ls' had a splendid swimming pool in the
garden and had done their utmost to give their children happy times
out of doors by building swings, see-saws, climbing frames etc...
When we returned home we got the local carpenter to make some of these
things for the children, in addition Eric designed a maze to keep them
amused.
Two hours after tea we sat down to supper, again a fabulous meal
of cold meats and salads. To the fruit drinks a good pinch of bicarbonate
of soda was added. At this meal Mrs L. in her warm, rich
American accent offered me "Buttered Beets" and blushed at the pun she
had made.
After supper we attended a Bible reading and discourse. The children got
ready for bed in their pyjamas, dressing gowns and socks in order to
prevent mosquitoes biting them as they were staying up later than
usual. After our talk, Elizabeth, aged four years, who had listened
wide eyed asked Mr L. if he thought God was taller than the Governor
of N. Rhodesia! (Then Sir John Waddington, well over six feet tall).
The meeting ended with prayers, Mr L. prayed for us all, especially Eric and Charles W. in their work for the local people. All the family but the youngest daughter had been saved and great would be the rejoicing when she reached that, wonderful milestone.
While staying with the Ls' the body of a young African girl was
brought to the dispensary, she had been attacked by a crocodile and
died of her injuries. I was amazed to see Mrs L's face beam at the news,
she explained to me that the girl, only a day or two before her death
had been saved and so was now sure of a place in Heaven.
Not far from the Ls' house was another home where a missionary
family lived but in very different circumstances, they insisted on
offering us hospitality and we were invited to tea, Mrs L. having
first sent over lots of her cookies as our hostess could not afford
the ingredients to make them. Godliness and cleanliness did not go together
in this family; I felt very sorry for the wife who was the
daughter of a fisherman on Lake Eyrie, Canada, very homesick and quite
worn out with child bearing. They could not afford a servant and she
did all her own work. Both husband and wife had gotten the call and
come to Africa to help the Ls' at Chavuma. No other life would satisfy
them.
We were taken to see the tabernacle, an enormous building built by
Mr L. and his helpers which could seat six hundred or more people. We
visited the mission schools and heard the children singing hymns. Mr L.
drove us very near to the Portuguese border and we saw the natural
boundary, seven miles from Chavuma, of stones across the Zambesi,
dividing the two territories of Angola, Portugese West Africa and
N. Rhodesia. (In July 1966, twenty two years after our visit, we were sad to read
in the Daily Telegraph that a refugee camp at Chavuma had been bombed by the Portuguese in their war against rebels demanding independence.)
Mrs L. loaded me with good things to take home, including mutton
which was never seen at Balovale. In return I promised to send her
butter, there was no fresh milk at Chavuma and so they had to use dried
milk, Klim, (milk spelt backwards) sometimes they would order butter
from the line of rail but by the time it had travelled 500 miles by
lorry it was not fit for the table. I was given a little book as a
parting gift entitled "The Best Things in Life". It contained a series of
pictures, on the opposite page few words explained what the pictures
represented. What are not the best things in life included; pleasure, success, health,
wealth, wisdom, etc.... it was not until the last page that the Best Thing in Life was revealed: To Be Saved!
We knew a number of the local missionaries who often came to Balovale
to consult Eric. One lady missionary in particular had designed for herself a touring
frock out a sort of brown material. It was most practical as it
had zips at the sleeves, zips at the pockets and a zip from neck to hem
at the front. Dr W. remarked that it only needed a padlock at the neck
to complete the ensemble! There were some extraordinary tales about the
narrow-mindedness of some members of this sect; an unmarried lady
suffering from malaria refused a quinine injection direct into the
buttock and insisted on being covered with a sheet. The hypodermic needle was thrust through the sheet into the buttock all because the injection was given by a male doctor!
The second mission we visited was at Chitokoloki, about
thirty miles south of Balovale where Mr and Mrs S. had lived for
thirty years and made a delightful home. On admiring the pretty
sitting room, so different from our government houses with their
clumsy furniture, Mrs S. told me she was determined to make her home
a haven from the workaday world outside, which she admitted often
depressed her. Mrs S. had the leper colony in her care, no wonder
she needed beautiful things to look at sometimes. Now thanks to a
new drug some of those terrible deformities will never be seen
any more.
After attending morning prayers where the little school children
wearing identical uniforms and identical expressions of goodness on
their little faces sang rousing hymns and choruses, we were shown
over the maternity unit. Here there was a forbidding looking concrete
delivery table with a gulley hollowed out of the stone at the foot
of the table. On the wall opposite was a list of names for boys and
girls in alphabetical order. On visiting the girls dormitory we
were told how they were always locked in at night. However, love laughs
at locksmiths and some enterprising girls had tunnelled their way out
to keep a tryst with their boyfriends. One girl who fell by the
wayside was sent home to her village in disgrace and never allowed
to return to the mission school. At any Roman Catholic mission
these lapses were forgiven and the young mother taken back into
the fold after her confinement.
The older missionaries must have felt rewarded when they saw
some of the young men they had helped to educate rise to responsible
posts in the Zambian government.
This account of our tour in Balovale would not be complete
without describing the most hideous and nocturnal visitors to our
homes, hyenas. These horrible animals were bold creatures, daring
to come up to the very house walls in their search for food.
The Nursing Sister one night heard an unusual noise at the back of
her house, on investigating she saw a hyena lapping her bath
water as it poured out of the waste pipe! We would often be woken
by a panting or snuffling noise which turned into a whooping breathless
coughing gradually becoming louder and ending in a blood
curdling high-pitched scream. Eric would go out with his shotgun
hoping to shoot the intruder but they were too wily for him and
would slink off into the bush at his approach.
These creatures were potent transmitters of rabies and it
was fatal to leave dogs out after darkness fell as they would
invariably get bitten and later develop rabies. Eric had the
unpleasant task of shooting three rabid dogs at Balovale, two
belonging to the Nursing Sister and the other to the D.C.. There
were more experiences with rabid dogs awaiting us but I
will not recount that now.
Balovale was a bad place for scorpions, they were not very
big and managed to hide themselves very cleverly in places where
one could very easily come into contact with them, like the hinges
of a trunk or the back of the toilet roll. We always put our bedroom
slippers inside our mosquito nets at night and never put our
shoes on without, shaking them first. Eric told me how a colleague
of his in the Army had put a tarantula and
a scorpion in a screw topped bottle to see which would be the
first to be vanquished, the scorpion was the victor.
One afternoon I took the children for a walk on the
landing field. After walking some distance we turned to go
home only to find the ground in front of us covered with red biting
ants. I picked Elizabeth up and made Anthony copy me in taking long
strides to avoid keeping his feet, on the ground longer than
necessary, in this way we reached a native path which was free of
ants but not before the ants had got into our shoes and the
children's socks and bitten furiously. Never have I seen such a
large area literally covered in red ants. It was not unknown
that an invasion could occur and people would have to sleep with
the legs of their beds standing in buckets of
water.
We were longing for news of leave, which was overdue. Especially as we were all
feeling the strain of recurrent attacks of malaria and other
ailments. I desperately wanted to get away for a complete change;
Eric had given up the army leave due to him to go to Balovale. I
wanted the children to run "bareheaded and barefooted on the
sands in a good climate, to drink water straight from the tap, to
sleep soundly at night without being caged under mosquito nets,
to see trains and buses and buy toys in shops.
The thought of telephones, shops etc, haunted me. Instead of
making all the children's and my clothes, I dreamt of walking into
a shop and buying a complete outfit of perfect fit and cut. I kept
these daydreams to myself and did not worry Eric with them. The nearest I ever got to buying something ready made at
Balovale was when the store keeper's wife let it be known that
she had received a consignment of Chesro dresses, would I like to
see them? It was the most exiting bit of news I had heard for
a long time. Eric stayed with the children, while I set off for
the store. The walk there passed quickly, I had to pick my way
over the stepping stones of a little stream before reaching the store.
My thoughts were so far away that I scarcely noticed the storm
clouds close in around me. By the time I was standing in front of
Mrs R's mirror, down came the rain, a tropical storm, accompanied
by thunder and lightning. Fortunately it stopped in time for me
to return home by nightfall and I retraced my steps carrying my
brown paper parcel under my arm. On reaching the little stream I
had crossed by stepping stones I found it had turned into a rushing
torrent of water. There was no one insight, no stalwart Lovale
to help me in my dilemma and carry me across. I took off my shoes, rolled up my skirt and tested
the depth of the water. To my relief I decided it was not too
deep for me to wade across, so with my precious parcel under my
arm and shoes held above my head I waded across the stream , which
was now a river, hoping there were no leeches or bilharzia flukes
to bit me. Fortune smiled on me on this occasion and I returned safely home proudly carrying my new dress.
We made our application for leave and in due course heard that
we could go in January. We booked rooms at a new hotel in
East London, S. Africa, where I had lived during the early part of
the war. A deposit of 25 pounds was asked for which we duly sent. The
wireless station was of course out of action and so everything
was arranged by letter. A special charter plane was booked for us.
The aerodrome was under repair and there was some doubt as to
whether it would be safe for planes to use especially as we were well into the rainy season and the runway might become tii waterlogged. However, we hoped for the best and looked forward to our holiday at long last.
Christmas came and went; it was difficult to find toys to
give the children but necessity is the mother of invention and
by the time Christmas was upon us we had mustered quite a number
of gifts. We put a glass of milk and a cigarette in our sitting
room fire-place for father Christmas. Of course on Christmas
morning there was a cigarette stub in the ash tray and the glass of milk was drained. Anthony asked "Daddy, what happens when
father Christmas dies?" Eric replied "Son Christmas takes over!"
We packed trunks to send in advance to S. Africa and
awaited a lorry to take them away. For weeks no lorry came
through and I had visions of us spending our leave with very few
clothes or buying a complete new wardrobe for each one of us. At
last a lorry turned up and the first move towards leave had been
made.
We began to collect Lovale arts and crafts and ordered
various articles of furniture to be made by the local carpenter.
The Ka-onde Lunda province was renowned for its fine wood and
the carpenter made a little desk for Anthony's birthday, a huge
chest for Eric's books, little stools, a nestle of tables and even
wooden egg cups and a toast rack. Native bows and arrows, each
arrow a different shape and used for different methods of
killing, axes, copies of leather-handled execution knives, beautifully made baskets, fly switches and crocodile eggs, all these were brought to the house when it was known we should be
leaving Balovale.
I had not given my usual order for provisions as we had enough to
last us until we departed on leave with a little to spare. When a
messenger came through by runner from the Santa Maria Mission
saying that Dr W., who was going to relieve Eric and whom we thought
was on his way to us by barge, was lying ill there with pneumonia,
(probably contracted through camping out in the rains.) My first
thought was what are we going to live on now? Sister Margaret Marie
was nursing Dr W. and so we knew he would be very well cared for.
We did not know how long it would be before we could get away.
As the regular lorry service from Chingola had ceased owing to the
rains and it would be months before we could get a new stock of
foodstuffs, the obvious answer was to take over the supply Dr. W. had
left at Balovale, so that problem was answered temporarily. As we
could not send wireless messages there was no way of stopping the
special charter plane and no way of cancelling our hotel booking,
a letter would only reach E. London days after we were due there and
so we thought we had said good-bye to our deposit.
It so happened that on the day when our special charter plane turned up a missionary's
wife who had that morning consulted Eric was in urgent need of a
major operation and so she was able to take Eric's place on the plane. Eric
begged us to take up our reservations and go to E. London without
him, but I resisted as we did not know how long it would be before
he could get away from Balovale. I remember Elizabeth overhearing this
conversation and running to her room to get her little bag ready to
take with her on the plane, which was waiting for us on the landing
strip. It was just as well that I did not leave Balovale with the
children as the D.M.S. wrote to say it might be three months before
a relief could be sent. In the meantime our trunks were safe at Lusaka.
Rain, rain and more rain, the river rose, submerging the trees
on the water's edge, Balovale soon resembled a vast lake. Our boat
was washed away and found, ten miles downstream. Humna Munca, the wife
of Tom thumb (Anthony and Elizabeth's pet guinea pigs) died of
over eating and was given a proper funeral and grave with a lttle
cross in our garden. Mickey had a bad go of biliary fever and
Elizabeth yet another attach 0f malaria. Eric mended his worn veldtshoen
with wire; each one of us had only one pair of good shoes
which we were keeping for travelling. I went on wearing my old wide
brimmed felt hat, which I longed to discard. The cook asked for a few
days off to bury his mother-in-law, the garden boy ditto, to bury
his father, in other words leave of absence to attend a grand beer
party!
We settled down again and the time passed quickly, Eric
completed his thesis on sicklemia and passed the lower exam in
Lovale, Charles W. passed the higher. These two were the first to take these
exams.
We had wonderful news about Eric's brother who had now been
released from his POW camp in Germany. His wife and mother
were waiting in England to welcome him home. All this time our people
at home had been going through untold terrors and tragedies with
flying bombs and we were grumbling about mere pinpricks, but somebody
had to serve on these lonely outposts and I am sure we must have been
doing a useful job; being able to be together was not taken for
granted; we were deeply grateful for our good fortune. As time passed
and there was no further news of our relief Eric thought he had better
remind the D.M.S. of our existence. Perhaps the D.M.S. thought Eric
was on the verge of a breakdown, his reply was immediate, by telegram,
to say a special charter would be sent on May 18th.
The time came for us to pack our crates in readiness for leave
as we had been told that we would not now be returning to Balovale
after our holiday. So far there was no news of another doctor who
would take over from Eric and we wondered if he would be able to leave
the station; he was the only doctor for 1000 square miles. Noble
Miss V., the Nursing Sister, said she was ready to hold the fort until
the relief turned up, which was not long.
On May 18th, the day we were due to leave Balovale, our
plane was due at 10am and we waited in excited anticipation, all
packed up and ready. I can't think what we looked like, we were all
very yellow through the constant taking of Mepacrine, which had
succeeded quinine as a prophylactic against malaria, and this gave a tinge to the skin more suited to men than women. I had at last got rid of my felt hat by giving it to my cook. We went on waiting and wondering, but no plane turned up. There was no question of
sending a message by wireless or receiving one as by this time
the generator had broken down and we knew it would be weeks before
it could be replaced. The day drew to a close and we were still in
Balovale arranging to spend the night in the European Hospital,
praying that the next day would bring a gleaming silver Rapide to
fetch us away.
The following morning we rose hopefully and kept our ears
pricked and our eyes open for the longed for plane. By lunch time we
had given up hope. We went to Mrs R. at the store for lunch. After
a gloomy meal Mrs R. insisted on making up beds for us to stay the
night or a week if neccessary, as we knew that there would be another
weekly plane, the usual service to Mongu next week, surely some news
would come through from there by runner. As we were making up the
beds I could hardly believe it when I heard a noise, on rushing to
the verandah I saw a plane flying low overhead, then the pilot threw
out a large parcel with a note attached which landed in the garden.
We picked up our various bits and pieces and hurried along the
the river path to the airstrip where the pilot had really landed and
not flown away from Balovale again. The delay was fully explained,
our Rapide had been on a flight to Fort Jameson in the Eastern
Province, taking a VIP there on a visit, (I think he was an M.P.)
he had decided to spend the night there as a party had been organised
for him which he was expected to attend. The parcel thrown out
of the plane as it circled the store was a collection of returned
otter skins sent by the store keeper to the line of rail to be
cured for his wife's fur coat!
All's well that ends well; we had one night in Mongu where we
left our grand little Mickey in the care of
our friend Dr C. and then after difficulty in taking off, because
of the sandy condition of the runway, the third attempt succeeded
and we were at last, in a plane heading for Lusaka and Civilisation.
Our pilot, who had shot down eleven fighters in the Battle Of Britain,
gave Anthony and Elizabeth gum to chew, which was entirely new to
them. It had the desired effect, which the pilot had probably
hoped for, of keeping them quiet and happy throughout the pleasant
and smooth early morning flight. At Lusaka we had a few days with our old friends Geoffrey and
Muriel R.
How we longed to get away from Balovale then and yet now,
although I may be seeing it all through rose-coloured spectacles,
I wish I could go back again. If I could what thoughts would cross
my mind, what sounds would I hear if I could revisit our house?
The chirruping squeaks of Anthony and Elizabeth's guinea pigs, Hunca Munca and Tom Thumb, their cage resting on our enormous refrigerator crate, well out of Mickey's reach at the far end of
the verandah. Elizabeth's little voice solemnly intoning make
believe lessons to her dolls, or doing her best to interrupt Anthony
at his Correspondence School work. She was very envious of this and
longed to make a start herself. I would be assailed by the not
unpleasant smell of pyrethrum as I walked from room to room; every
Sunday we used to shut the house up and use a stirrup pump to
spray each room thoroughly, in the hope of eradicating malaria
mosquitoes. If I stood by the door of the children's bedroom I
would see them sitting up in bed, listening with rapt attention
to Eric's own invention, the story of the Griffin. This was
stimulated in his imagination by the family crest of a griffin on
his signet ring. The soft saxe blue curtains which we often sprinkled
with water in an attempt to lower the room temperature, would
move gently in the breeze and I would be glad the children were
safe under their mosquito nets, although sleeping under a net was
like having an extra covering in one's bed. I would see the cook's
little girl run to the kitchen to tell her father the evening meal
was ready and waiting for him, she would be wearing one of Elizabeth's
old frocks, so bright and pretty when fist presented to her, but
now a grey rag, having been worn day and night until it barely
covered her little body.
In my mind's eye I would see our fish boy, patiently waiting
for me to come and buy the fresh fish he had trapped in the
river, with his hand-made net. He would be sitting, with his back to
the kitchen wall, his knees drawn up to his chin and his head sunk
forward, dozing quietly until the cook roused him by calling his name "CHkwama"; the bundle beside him of wet sacking, would be unwrapped and we would haggle over the fish, each fish cost no more than a few pence but it would not have been correct to pay the full price asked
and end negotiations quickly.
If I could stand by the Zambesi again I would see the
lovely malachite kingfisher skim the shimmering sunlit water and
suddenly dive for a fish which he would hold in his beak for a second
before swallowing, the little fish gleaming like his captor's metallic
plumage. Or I might hear the noise of the cattle bellowing, an indication
that the butcher was about to replenish his stocks; the cattle were
made to swim the river and herded together on the far side. There was
no such thing as a humane killer, the poor beasts were knocked on the
head with a wooden mallet and that was that.
If I could walk along a little overgrown path to the right of our
house I would first come to the ruins of a fives court, built long ago
for a D.C., then further on, coming into more open land, which in the
rains was flooded to a depth of fifteen feet or more and confluent
with the river, I would watch countless bishop birds, darting in and
out and clinging to the stems of tall dry grasses, their red and black
plumage making a vivid splash of colour against the dull dusty brown
grass.
Some memories are blurred by time, others as clear and vivid as
if it were today. I hope these memory pictures will stay with me as
long as I live. It is a continuing marvel to me; the ability of the
human brain to retain such treasures to draw upon at will. It was all such a long time ago but feels so very close.
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