| Then came my
first Rhodesian sundowner at a Bar which resembled an old English Pub.
Fellow partakers were miners from across the border who preferred the local
beer, spirits & the company.
Little did I know that some
fifteen years later I would be at the same bar this time with my son who
was on his out way to start a new life in South Africa and that the Host
and Hostess by then would be old, valued friends from Malawi. Audrey had
been the manageress of the Government Hostel in Zomba, her husband a senior
civil servant who in his leisure moments was a gifted amateur theatrical
producer A superb Dinner of Rhodesian Prime Beef Fillet with English style
vegetables washed down with a semi sweet South African wine followed and
after a restful night and a full English Breakfast the next stage of my
journey North began.
In 1965 the road to Salisbury
was still made up of strips of Tarmac except for sections inside the few
towns and villages en route.
This required some care and
on the approach of a driver from the opposite direction one had to drive
off to the left leaving the nearside wheels on tar the others on dirt.
As an early start had been made this problem was minimal only four encounters
in the first 300 Kms.
The country was so different
to my native East Anglia, but as the flat plain near the border changed
to rolling hills and valleys with game in the form of deer, plus an occasional
vervet monkey appeared the variety reduced the tedium of driving alone
after being a family man for some 15 years.
Fort Victoria provided a
welcome break, the town still very colonial in appearance, the petrol stations
more friendly than those down south, petrol coupons kindly supplied without
even a request at the border changed hands, tyre pressures checked ready
for the steady climb to the higher altitude of the capital still some three
hours drive away.
It is hard to believe that
lunch that day cost under five shillings (Rhodesia was still using the
Sterling currency and the Queen's Portrait graced both the coinage and
the Bank Notes)
The next town was quaintly
named Enkeldoorn very much resembling a wild west town and its hotel was
then widely known as the centre of the "Republic of Enkeldoorn" and inside
was a prison cell with bars for rebels who "offended" the locals.
Again the friendliness exuded
every part of the scene and my English accent plus British licensed Combi
were greeted with much pleasantry and mild ribbing. Already I was captivated
by Rhodesia, everything I had learned back in Bishop's Stortford (Cecil
Rhodes birthplace) had been more than confirmed this was the place to be
despite the threat of Sanctions and possible military intervention by the
United Nations. It was late afternoon when I finally saw in the distance
the tops of skyscrapers after miles of farmland "civilisation" as I knew
it was near. Later I was to marvel at a superb tourism film made by native
Rhodesian Solly Benatar "Suddenly a City" which opened with a passenger's
eye view of the Mashonaland plateau from a jet aircraft and the sudden
emergence of a clean beautifully planned city sprouting like a tropical
flower.
Salisbury, named after a
legendary British political figure of the late 9th and early twentieth
century, was the result of a mistake by the pioneer column. They got their
bearings wrong and planted the Union Jack in a dried up swamp.
This was miles from the originally
intended site later known as Mount Hampden today, the base of a small airport
and some minor manufacturing facilities.
Earlier perusal of the mass
of literature provided by the Customs and Immigration authorities at the
border had given me the idea that possibly the best hostelry to spend the
week end at was "The Park Lane Hotel". This was due in part to it's star
rating but mainly due to it's internationally famed Steak House the "Kyanyama".
Also it had a pool very necessary in the hot summer's evening that late
November 1965.
After a swim and a splendid
meal, a stroll around Salisbury seemed the best action, Saturday night
in those first few weeks after UDI was a heady experience. The City hummed
with traffic despite the threat of sanctions and petrol rationing. The
shops were well stocked - many English exports graced the windows and shelves
(this only disappeared entirely after April 1980 with the new so called
Independence).
The cinemas in the city centre
were showing the latest films, the Television in the hotel room showed
news from overseas that suggested that some kind of huge uprising was imminent
in Rhodesia promoted no doubt by the presence of a BBC Camera team headed
by Nat Crosby. Later shots were staged by the simple means of throwing
coins into refuse bins to attract children into rummaging.
News reels were currently
showing "dead bodies" In the parks which turned out to be members of the
indigenous population who regularly have a nap especially in the summer
heat in Cecil Square, a park bordered by the Parliament buildings.
Within a few months on a
visit to the UK I was able to view on the BBC a newsreel showing riots
in Salisbury currently taking place. I was unable to reconcile the scenes
with the city I had visited and the presence in one of the scenes of a
person I had met at a major Photographic Company in the city in the newsreel
in police uniform was puzzling.
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About the Author -
This article is submitted on behalf of my late father, Leonard E King -
born in England, lived in Malawi, Rhodesia/Zimbabwe and South Africa, and
passed away in England. Learn
more about Zimbabwe |
