FOUR AND A HALF DAYS ON THE R.R.M AND THE S.A.R Steve Clarke, UJS, Chancellor, UBHS – 1948-1956 sent in this delightful story of a train trip back in 1957. It all began with three young men standing on Rusapi Station in the morning sunshine. It actually marked the beginning of a great adventure for two of them and the third one, just by being there, saved the other two from feelings of intense home-sickness and fear of the unknown. (Photo 1 shows Steve Clarke (L) and Tikki Hyward (R) before embarking on the adventure. Steve Clarke and Tikki Hywood were on the first day of a four-and-a-half day journey to enter the South African Nautical College ‘General Botha’ at Gordon’s Bay, outside Cape Town. They were leaving home and they felt that they were completely on their own. At this stage in their journey, they were not at all sure if they had taken the right decision. It was the presence of the third member of the travel party, as far as Salisbury, that enabled the other two to calm their fears. He helped them to forget that they were stepping off into a journey that would transform their lives. The third member of the party was Ronnie Uglietti, who was on the train purely by chance. All three had been at UBHS together through the first three years of the new High School [1954-56], and at UJS before that. They had all been on a ‘party circuit’ of teenagers that were exploring the beginnings of the Rock and Roll era and at least two of them were wondering whether their social network would evaporate whilst they were away. Ronnie’s presence provided enough diversion and nerve-calming for Steve and Tikki to push their fears to the background. In 1957, the rail journey to Cape Town took four-and-a-half days. The trip from Umtali to Salisbury took 12 hours, then overnight to Bulawayo, 24 hours in all. Then it was off into the wilds of Bechuanaland Protectorate [now Botswana] for the next three days - and who knows what after that. Tikki and Steve were 15 years old. They were following in the footsteps of Tikki’s brother ‘Rusty’ [Peter] who had completed two years at ‘Bothie’ and who was now at sea as an apprentice navigator [UJS, UBHS 1948-53]. Tikki was hard-wired to follow his brother, but Steve succumbed to the allure of the Naval uniform on the Umtali Railway Station platform when Rusty had gone off to sea nine months earlier. The Rhodesian Navy was gaining new recruits! What do you do when you are 15 years old and cooped up on a long distance train ride? Firstly, you pretend you are 18 and slope off to the Dining Car and chat up the Stewards. These hardened folk are not fooled, but they go along with the deception. Vodka and orange was the tipple of the day – for 4 days! Not satisfied with just providing a spectacle of under-age tipsiness’, our duo pushed on to test their gullibility and naivety to the full. The Stewards sat back and roped them into a well-rehearsed ambush. The youngsters were willing victims. They became a soft target for a gentle gambling scam – the game of ‘matches’ [where you bet against the number of concealed matches that might be held in the other players’ hands]. The two boys were so fuelled with nervousness and pumped up with bravado that they fell into every trap that was set for them. The Stewards accepted their money with both hands, but these young men were having the time of their lives and thought that they were being so very grown up! The trip down was not all booze and gambling. At about five in the morning on the second day, the train pulled into Mahalapy, in Bechuanaland, to take on water and coal. On the trackside, the Mahalape Town Orchestra was in full swing under a lean-to roof in what passed for a Station. Despite the cold morning air, the irresistible rhythms drew most of the passengers out of their bunk beds, off the train and into an appreciative circle around the band. They were playing what it was later discovered to be a variant on ‘Township Jive’, chimurenga, or Jit, combined with indigenous rhythms. The ‘orchestra’ was a group of scruffy urchins and their instruments were a three-stringed broken guitar, a tom-tom, a couple of thumb pianos and a multiple of bottle-top shakers. WOW! It was dance time for all the passengers. Our heroes, shrugging off their vodka-induced hangovers, were fortified by a few years of tobacco-barn dances by the banks of the Odzi River. Having a firm grasp of jive, they danced in the dust until the train summoned them back on board for two more days in the Kalahari. Hamba kahle abafana!!! When the train finally got to Cape Town, the Dining Car Steward took the boys aside and presented them with a handful of cash! The Stewards had cheated at ‘matches’ every night and they had also been selling the boys totally watered-down vodka. So they generously returned most of their money – with a stern warning against under-age drinking, gambling, corrupt Catering Staff on the Railways, and told them not to pose at being worldly!! Humbled, they were now beginning to grow up a bit. Most importantly, however, they had managed to mask their nervousness at what lay ahead of them in Cape Town, even if it was only for just four days. (Photo two shows what we both looked like two days later!)

THE ZEEDERBERG COACH HISTORY. Danny Hartman sends us the story of the famous Zeederberg Coaches which were at one stage the primary source of luxury transportation back in the day. Shortly after arriving in New Zealand I found this Stage coach in an antique shop in a small town close to where we live. I immediately saw in this the similarities to the Zeederberg coaches , bought it and sadly it has taken me longer to produce the finished product than I think it took to build the original coaches! However I am pleased to say the finished item has turned out better than I ever hoped for. I realised that this task was too difficult for me and required the services of a true artist. I contacted Philip Marcou, ex-Rhodesian Artillery (TF) who did a lot of the preparation of the coach and who in turn contacted Sarah Potton who, with the aid of photographs taken of the Zeederberg coach in the Johannesburg museum agreed to undertake the project and to her we are truly indebted for the great work of art-work she produced. A little back round on the coaches ;- Zeederberg obtained his coaches from the Abbot Downing company based in Concord, the capital of New Hampshire in NE USA. This company started operations in 1827 and disbanded after 20 years in 1847. The Abbot and Downing families merged again in 1865 until 1919. Of interest between 1865 – 1895 (30 years) they employed 300 men and only ONE woman – who stitched the leather seats and trim for every stagecoach!! They made 40 different coaches and wagons and it was their company which introduced the leather braces (see photos) to give a swinging motion instead of jolting up and down of the spring suspension which apparently upset the horses as well. Mark Twain wrote in one of his books “Roughing It” that the Concord stagecoaches ride was like a “cradle on wheels” . These stagecoaches were built so solidly it became known that they didn’t break down, they just wore out! The coaches weighed 2,500 lbs and cost approximately US$1,100 and each wheel spoke was hand-hewn from clear super-seasoned Ash. In 1967 a wheel was found near Tuli by the BSAP and nearly all the spokes were in place (Not even our termites got through them!). The Concord Coach’s (as they were known) biggest customer was of course Wells Fargo but in addition they sold coaches throughout North and South America, Australia and South Africa. Zeederberg & Company was launched by the four Zeederberg brothers in Pretoria and was at first purely a South African concern. It was the occupation of Mashonaland and the tremendous demand for transport north of the Limpopo river, his friendship with CJ Rhodes which gave Christian Hendrik “Doel” Zeederberg (CHZ) reason to expand to the north. The BSA company paid him 4,500 per annum and he became the official mail carrier and this replaced the “post-riders” (pony express). The Postmaster-General of the Cape Colony who organised the scheme was at pains to point out that the service dealt not only with postal traffic, “but was also the main line of communication for all purposes, the wagons being used for the conveyance of passengers and other articles besides mail matter”. To incorporate Mashonaland routes, Zeederberg had to build various pontoons over the rivers and set up staging posts. The company bought a number of wood and iron buildings from the British army in colonial India which had become ‘surplus to requirements’. They were shipped out to South African and from there to the newly occupied territory of Rhodesia. The buildings were identical and were moved to the coach sites where they were reassembled to be used as coach offices. Of interest one such building in Umtali was used as a house well into the 1960’s after the Zeederberg coach service was discontinued. Teams were changed every 10 – 15 miles and some idea may be inferred of the number of animals kept at the different stations from the fact that frequently 4 – 5 coaches would require fresh teams at one place during the day. At its height animals consisted of 400 oxen, 300 horses, 600 mules and at times even zebras were used together with mules. Fares were high, ranging from 9d to 1/- per mile and luggage allowed per passenger ranged from 25 –40lb and every additional pound weight was charged at 6d – 1/6 according to the distance travelled. With the arrival of the railways at Bulawayo in 1897 it was the beginning of the end of the coach service. The northward advance of the railways was made possible by the animal transport industry and travel within the country continued between the towns. Following the death of Doel Zeederberg in 1907 the company was acquired by speculative interests to whom tradition meant little. This and the rapid rise of cheaper rail traffic caused its downfall in the 1920’s. The last Zeederberg coach is thought to have left Umtali in 1927 to Bulawayo; the railways and motor transport finally ended the days of coaching not only in Rhodesia but as it did in all countries. The photographs that are included show firstly, of the early Zeederberg Coach offices in Bulawayo (passengers eagerly awaiting their departure) and the following 4 various views (note the painted details) of the stagecoach Danny restored. The final photo shows Danny's wife, Eileen holding the completed miniature replica. Thanks Danny, it clearly was a labour of love. Wonderful of you to share these with us all. Denise

AFRICAN CANOE ADVENTURES BY PHIL TITHER. These events took place during the early 1970's on the Zambesi River. I did not keep a diary (wish I had). In consequence no exact dates can be given. The 1970's in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) were a time of great sadness, joy and adventure. To some extent it was a case of Eat, Drink and be Merry etc. - well many of us certainly did that! There are now organised Canoe "Safaris" on the River, and I am sure they will still provide many exciting moments and capture some of the Zambezi "magic". Its the kind of place one never forgets............ THE FIRST CANOE TRIP One night in the Corporals Mess of the Rhodesian Air Force, Bill Powys and I got the idea of canoeing down the Zambesi from Chirundu to Kanyemba near the Mozambique Border, a distance of about 250 kilometres. I think very few people had canoed this part of the River before. Neither of us had a great deal of serious canoeing experience which made the idea all the more exciting. Anyway the canoes were bought, leave was applied for, and the planning started. When the big day came as I remember, we transported the canoes to Chirundu in my little Datsun truck; I think Jim Pawson drove it back for us. The canoe paddle was attached to the canoe with length of cord so that in the event of dropping the paddle it could be retrieved. It turned out to be a good idea. The river at Chirundu though quite fast flowing is smooth and fairly safe to navigate - a good thing too, considering our experience level. It was exhilarating to be on our way at last. We paddled for a few hours and pulled into a gap in the bank and landed next to some cane fields. On landing, which wasn’t always easy in the current, we paddled rapidly towards the shore and on contact, threw the paddle onto the Riverbank, jumped out, grabbed the paddle and pulled the canoe ashore, the system worked very well, and became standard procedure. Without having a cord between the canoe and the paddle, we could well have ended up on land, and holding the paddle while the canoe floated away downstream. We decided to camp the night at the cane field even though there were some hours to go before sunset. We had planned the food menu, on the assumption that the trip would take us about 2 weeks and rationed the food to allow for this. In fact the journey took about 10 days to complete. We were hungry for the first few days until our stomachs adjusted. I clearly remember tightening my belt by three notches in four days. Bill had a similar experience - which was a good thing considering his measurements. (Previously at a garage the African attendant asked him how much he weighed, “210 pounds” Bill proudly stated. “HA -More than a bag!” the attendant replied) (‘Bag’ being a maize bag -standard weight when full - 200 pounds.) We slept quite well that night, and that first morning was pure magic, perfect weather, no wind, and blue skies- what a great start. Our first stop was at the confluence of the Zambesi and Kafue Rivers - a beautiful and unspoilt area. I remember remarking to Bill. “In forty years time; there will probably be a soap factory or something else over there!” Well happily that has not happened yet. But looking at this area on ‘Google Earth’(see photo 1) now -(August 2014) there are some huge irrigation schemes on the Zambian side not far from this spot, also there are quite a few ‘Safari camps’ all the way to the Mozambique Border on both sides. When we were there, apart from the Mana Pools Game Reserve and a few hunting camps the whole River section was pristine. There were a few traditional African Villages on the Zambian side which added to the magic. I am sure the area is still worth visiting and an adventure. But it can never compare to those days. Lunch was usually a shared a tin of ‘Bully Beef’ and an onion, along with a cup of tea. Breakfast consisted of oatmeal porridge and condensed milk. The evening meal was usually a bit more substantial Rice and tinned braised steak- not surprisingly Bill and I had lost quite a bit of weight by the end of the trip. (Photo 1 - Map highlighting the Zambezi River Section ) (Photo 2 - Bill at E. Camp - not far from Mana Pools. The Zambian Escarpment can be seen in the distance.) A few days later we stopped for the night just short of the Mana Pools main camp. We landed in a shallow swampy area and hauled the canoes up the bank and pitched our mosquito nets right there. This turned out to be a big mistake. Just before dark we saw a croc slowly approaching from about 60 metres away, when it got within 10 metres or so, it submerged itself. Obviously the creature had plans for putting us on the menu. By now it was getting dark and we lazily decided to stay put. However the thought of the croc was on our minds so we got up and put fishing line around our camping spot and attached two mess tins as an early warning system. Sleep would not come to us, our nerves were on edge, so we moved our camp further inland about 20 metres away. We were just dozing off, when all hell broke loose, we heard the sound of vehicles, coupled with search lights and voices about 50 metres away, a short while thereafter bullets were whizzing past us and not just one or two. It was bloody shocking – we kept low and shouted “Stop, stop etc. Happily it did. The next morning we woke up quite worn out, and to cap it off, we disturbed a nearby Hippo, that had been grazing overnight. Off it ran with the sound of its big feet thumping the ground before it jumped off the edge of the bank into the River. Good or bad things, it seems, often come in three’s. Later when we got to Mana pools we spoke to the Ranger about it, apparently some of his team had been doing an ‘Impala cull’ they were unaware of our presence and when they heard us they thought we might be poachers or something more sinister. I am surprised they didn’t stay to find out. I’m sure the Impala were as relieved as us to see them go. We stayed at Mana for two nights to enjoy the fantastic wildlife concentration there. Our next night stop was opposite Chikwenya Island, an area which at that time had huge herds of Buffalo and Impala. The river section just downstream of the island was really wide and shallow, full of sandbanks and reed beds. The Hippos were really a problem. The big groups of them were usually resting out of the current at the end of the sandbanks, so we saved our energy for these places so that we could paddle quickly if needed, the hippo would usually stop chasing us once we were far enough away to not be considered as a threat. However it was quite a different story with the lone old bull hippos that presumably could no longer live with their own kind. They would give chase for kilometres, it was scary, tiring, and seriously annoying- a lot sweating and swearing took place during these events. Our canoes were short, wide and quite slow moving. A long Kayak makes for a far better option. After all the hassle with the hippos we were in a very wide area of almost still River . Bill then decided that he had to take a ‘leak’. He stood up on the back of his canoe; it was a very dodgy thing to do. The canoe slipped out from under him and shot forward. It was amazing to see how quickly and efficiently he slid himself over the back and repositioned himself. There is no way he could normally have achieved that. The human body can do amazing things when survival is at stake. We never carried water on any of these trips, we just dipped our tin mugs into the River and drank- we never got ill. (Photo 3 - shows Bill passing a well wooded section of River bank. Finding a place to stop was not always easy!) (Photo 4 - taken by the caretaker of a hunting camp shows Phil on the left and Bill on the right taking a lunch break in the Chewore area) We were now approaching Mupata Gorge - a part of the River that we had been worrying about. It is a long and very narrow Gorge, often with many whirlpools and other hazards. Fortunately for us the water level wasn’t unusually high and apart from being spun around by a few small eddies, we got through without mishap. THE TUNSA RIVER. We stopped the night at the Zambesi-Tunsa River Junction, inland from which, are some amazing hot springs. I would be surprised if it is still as perfect as it was. I have been lucky to see a great deal of wild Africa, but that area was as close to Paradise as I can imagine. The whole area between Mupata Gorge and Kanyemba is a scenic marvel. The Vadoma people- a remote Tribe live in this region, many of whom have only two extremely large toes on each foot - there are no other toes! It’s a genetic thing probably caused by their isolation. Apart from not being able to buy shoes it doesn’t seem to handicap them at all. There are times when I wish I had been born earlier and discovered the area at a young age, I’m sure I would have tried my best to live there permanently. On reaching Kanyemba we got a lift for us and our canoes in a Rhodesian Light Infantry Truck. The guys were kind enough to drop us off at my parent’s house in Salisbury- Adventure Complete. Many thanks to Phil for sharing this wonderful trip and photos with us.

CANOE TRIP WITH JIM PAWSON. This is the second adventure along the Zambesi in a Canoe sent in by Phil Tithers. Jim expressed an interest in taking a Zambesi canoe trip, and using the same type of canoes off we went. The River level was very high at this time, due to seasonal flooding and some of the Kariba Dam’s flood gates being open. (Photo 1 - Jim in his canoe) (Photo 2 - a photo (not taken by us) from a popular viewpoint giving some idea of the amount of water that can be released from the Kariba dam - the water from the floodgates is falling approximately 90m (300ft). The water below is in excess of 80m deep (265ft.) Highlights of that trip were at Chikwenya Island where we camped the night. Just before dark we put out a strong 100 pound breaking strain line with a big ‘Vundu’ hook baited with ‘Blue mottle soap’. Within a few minutes something –almost certainly a Vundu took the bait, it was unstoppable and took out all the line –stretched it and snapped it. I think to catch something that size, one needs to fish from a boat. We often caught Vundu but always released them as they were too big to eat, unless sliced up, salted and smoked, which was something we never had time, need or inclination for. We picked the wrong season this time. I have never experienced mosquito swarms like it. It got so bad they were getting under the heavy reinforced skirt of our mosquito nets. We controlled this by collecting sand from the River edge and covering the bottom of our nets with it. This worked but the swarms were in such numbers that the noise from them bashing and buzzing away at the net was stopping us getting to sleep. So we turned the radio up to full blast which hid the mosquito noise. The following morning as we were passing Chikwenya Island, an exceptionally huge croc surfaced about 5 metres away to my right and was ‘escorting’ us. I quietly told Jim, and we pretended that weren’t concerned about it, thankfully the monster moved off – much to our relief. On a later trip we spoke to one of the game rangers, who stated that the ‘Chikwenya croc’ was well know, and perhaps one of the biggest on the river! That was our first big scare, multiple scares happened when we entered Mupata Gorge. The River had got even higher now, no doubt due to increased flow from Kariba Dam. (Photo 3 - Phil about to enter Mupata Gorge with much trepidation) (Photo 4- The Mupata Gorge in flood -this photo was taken during a "lull" between whirlpools and the camera is tilted to a 45 degree angle to capture the height of the cliffs on the Zambian side.) We got caught and spun around in many small whirlpools, and to keep our balance and avoid being capsized; we used the paddle much in the same way as tightrope walker might use a pole. However at one point, on looking ahead we saw some narrow rapids on the Rhodesian side, and a whirlpool so large it virtually covered the remaining width of the River - which at that point was probably in the region of about 70 metres wide. We decided that the Zambian side would be the best way to go. When we got there we found that the current was actually flowing upstream. The centre of this huge whirlpool looked about a metre and a half lower than it was at its outer edge! Fear was definitely the order of the day. We paddled furiously downstream but were standing still most of the time, quite often our paddles hit the rock wall of the gorge, if the paddle had broken , I think something bad would have happened. Eventually after much fear and effort we got through. I think it’s the closest I have come to saying a permanent goodbye. There were many large trees floating down the River, often they would just disappear underwater and surface a hundred metres or so downstream. It was amusing to see the little Pied Wagtails catching a free ride on the floating debris and obviously enjoying themselves, to them it was just a floating restaurant - they had a better trip than us ? After that, the Whirlpools weren’t anywhere near as big, and we exited the Gorge with much relief. We camped at the usual spot near the ‘Sausage’ Tree, and slept well. On the following morning we made a trip to the Hot Springs. They were absolutely fantastic, the three pools being, very hot, just right, and lukewarm. (Photo 5 - Phil Tither enjoying Hot Spring pool No.2 (not too hot - not too cold - Just Right!)) (Photo 6 - Jim prepared for anything!) After a two night stay at the Tunsa we left for Kanyemba, the last leg of our trip, and the most scenically beautiful. (Photo 7 - Jim (L) with his Vundu that he later released - and Phil Tithers (R) at Kanyemba at the end of the trip - the Kapsuku Mountain is in the distance Thanks again Phil - loved the photos. The one of Jim brings to mind "Daisy" by John Edmund.

A SIX MAN CANOE TRIP. Phil Tither' final story on canoeing the great Zambesi in the 1970's. A third trip was organised, those who went were - Jim Pawson, Bill Powys, Don Junner, Dave Jenkins, Rob Cocking and myself. This time we decided to leave from Kariba near the base of the Dam wall. There were no flood gates open otherwise this would not have been an option. Bill had left the purchase of his canoe a bit late and the only one available had not yet had any buoyancy installed. The River appeared to be reasonably safe and off we went. About a kilometre downstream the River current was speeding up and the whirlpools started. Bill got caught in one and got into trouble; the canoe capsized and sank almost immediately! Just by luck Rob was not far behind and moved close to Bill, who then grabbed the back of Rob’s canoe, and held on until we reached a small beach area, a kilometre or so downstream. It was an ominous start to the trip, and unnerved us all, I think every one of us ‘spray painted ‘the beach on landing – all of us nervously laughing- Bill Included. Once our nerves had settled our main concern was that we had lost the big wooden box full of worms for fishing! Bill’s main worry was that he had lost his Sister’s very expensive S.L.R. Camera. So that was it - no Bream for breakfast -and no photos. We all gave Bill a ‘Thousand words’ but only in jest. When one goes on trips like these its best to leave your feelings back at home- sensitivity is not on the menu ? Happily for us all, Rob’s canoe was large and light and could easily carry two people. We shared Rob’s kit amongst us, gave Bill one of our spare paddles that we carried, and were on our way again. As I was the only one who had done all three trips, some of the guys had been asking my advice about, what kit to take etc. Some wag, I’m sure it was Bill started to call me ‘The Veteran’ it soon caught on, and the jokes at my expense, lasted all the way down the River. “How far is to Chirundu?” – “I don’t know- ask the Veteran!” etc, etc. Initially I found it irritating, but soon got into the spirit of the thing and played the part, it was good fun. I must say, Bill always had the ability to recover from disaster very quickly. When we encountered groups of Hippo, Jim and I, being in the two slow canoes were always at the back and therefore under the most pressure. Don had a very fast Kayak, and while Jim and I were sweating and swearing, he would occasionally paddle round us and tell us how slow we were, and then move ahead, leaving us to our fate - you can’t help but laugh. While near Mana Pools we had the radio on full blast to listen to ‘Forces Request’. I had recently visited an Airforce guys house, and mentioned that some of us were about to go on this canoe trip. His Sister said that she would send me a request just for fun. Naturally with this mob present I was really hoping she wouldn’t. Sure enough she did. Well that did it, the teasing was incessant, I ‘caught a complex’ and if we were not out in the middle of the River there would have been some wrestling matches to compensate. Bill, Jim, and Don, being the worst offenders.? With six of us the, jokes and banter detracted from much of the natural wonder of the experience, but had its compensations. As a big group we were very carefree and even did some night fishing right next to the bank, something that just two of us would not care to do. Eventually we reached Mupata Gorge, after our previous encounter Jim and I were expecting something to worry about, the River however was nowhere near as high this time, and turned out to be no problem at all, it didn’t feel at all unsafe. I personally felt a little disappointed and slightly embarrassed, after the way Jim and I had been describing the Gorge to the other guys. One of our Chopper pilots dropped of a crate of cold beer at a tiny beach midway down the gorge for us. Can you imagine six blokes with empty stomachs but full of nonsense being given that option? Being the ‘Veteran’ I restricted myself to only one beer, the rest especially Jim, got at it with a vengeance. The crate was soon empty, and on we went, burping and laughing. Don and Jim were deliberately seeking out eddies to play in, and Jim broke his paddle, - not to worry he had a spare. After leaving the Gorge, we made camp. That night we fished with ‘Blue mottle soap’ and any other bait we could find. I think the noise of the big group kept the Crocs and other wildlife at bay. We caught Cornish Jack, Barbel, Chessa and many ‘Squeakers’- (a small catfish with very sharp spines). The next day we arrived at Kanyemba - the end of our journey Rob Cocking later applied to go on a canoe expedition down the Amazon. After an assortment of difficult tests he was one of the few of a great many applicants to be successful. Apart from his tenacious nature, I think the fact that he had done this Canoe trip, helped him to get to the interview stage. Wonderful Phil - thanks for sharing these. ORAFs.

Reminiscences in Rhodesia of the Renault R4 Reminiscences sent in by Trevor *. In 1965 I was working for Lever Brothers and Maurice bought the first R4 I had ever seen. I felt that our Morris 1000 that we had bought when we got married in 1961 was coming to the end of its days so I tried to buy an R4. However UDI had been declared and new cars became increasingly scarce. I was about to leave Lever Bros and join the fledgling National Tourist Board. I was seeing my Doctor --- with a minor rugby injury -a sprain. He had become a friend and confidante as well as my doctor. I was his last patient for the morning when I happened to mention wanting a new R4, but had been unable to get one. He asked me how would I pay for it and I told him cash (happy days). He said that he had his name down for one for his wife, with a local motor dealership down town. He had priority as a doctor and that very morning, the motor dealership had phoned him and said they had one. However as he had five children, he had decided it was too small. "If you want it, you can have it, We'll go down there now." The motor dealership did not like the deal arguing that it was purely for him as a doctor. He responded by saying that he would then take it and transfer it to me and take his business in future elsewhere. I wrote out a cheque for 1200 and drove home for lunch with the surprise for my wife. A few months later I toured Wankie National Park and went off road to see NP's Rangers Harvey and Willie De Beer. Willie had been my CSM in the army and later we played rugby together for Forces. They had a bush camp and a few months later were world headlines when they were attacked in their beds by an old toothless lioness that was starving because it could no longer hunt or kill effectively. Willie shot the lioness after being nearly scalped. Some time after leaving their bush camp, I became stuck in the sand when trying to turn at too slow a speed. I was stupid travelling off road without advising anyone. as you well know, many people have died in Wankie through having no water and breaking down in those vast remote places. However the R4 has a front wheel drive with engine and tubular bumpers. I was able to physically lift the rear of the car, swing it through ninety degrees, and drive away with its front wheel axle drive. We toured all over Southern Africa in that marvelous little vehicle -untroubled motoring on a variety of so called roads ! Three years later I traded it in for a new one, Amazingly I recall that it was still the same price ----1200.(more happy days) ! The very next day we set off for another holiday in South Africa. We stopped at the Provincial Renault agents in Bloemfontein, Orange Free State. We needed the required 1200 mile service after "running it in" This was mandatory in those days to maintain the guarantee. It was the first R4 the Dutch agent had seen. He asked me where I had bought it, because they had not been able to get them. When I told him Rhodesia, he as good as told me I was a nasty liar. He said "You can't get anything there, let alone any new cars " he said "because of sanctions". I let him read the Rhodesian. number plate....and eventually convinced him, and told him not to believe everything in their press- or all of the British propaganda. Astoundingly, he then asked me if I had railed the car down because " we had no roads in Rhodesia'' ! I told him that our National Roads were better than those in found in the majority across South Africa, which was completely true at that time. But I don't think he believed me. In 1973, we went to develop Matetsi up near Wankie. The R4 was left with my sister in the Avenues. Sadly she was later T boned - hit broadsides by another vehicle travelling at speed, having ignored a Stop Sign. The Insurance Company dealt with it, and the elderly driver had to pay for our "write off" and was banned for life. Fortunately my sister was unhurt. James May "of Top Gear" has a new TV programme "James May's Cars of the People" and last Sunday featured the R4 as the most successful car of its time. I recall that he had said that four million were made. What distinguishes it, is the gear box being in the front of the radiator with links to a pipe gear change handle that runs over the radiator and engine and through the dashboard finishing with a curved handle. With the children, we had a roof rack. On the garden route one day we covered 130 miles in two hours at 42 mpg back in those days. Not bad. Many thanks to Trevor for sending this in. I am sure it will bring back many memories of all the Rixi Taxi's that were in Rhodesia.

Nick Baalbergen made the following articles from the Herald News Paper available to ORAFs regarding the attack on the Salisbury Fuel Depot on the 13 December 1978.

Cyril Dennison has forwarded a short biography of his uncle, Flt. Sgt. Arthur Bradley Woodvine who was KIA on the 11 April 1944. Arthur was born in Manchester in the United Kingdom and migrated with his parents to Rhodesia during his early childhood. Arthur and his parents lived in Umtali before moving to Bulawayo. Sadly not much is known of Arthur during his boyhood as his parents didn't talk much of him after the tragic loss of their son - their grief was no doubt overwhelming. Arthur was a Flight Engineer and flew in no less than 25 missions over enemy lines in Germany, he was also shot down twice, the first time parachuting to safety and making it back to England. The second occasion was not so lucky. Cyril has compiled the following historical information on Arthurs time during his service to the RAF and notes that additional information regarding the demise of the crew of Lancaster JA 695 as seen by witnesses, best be left to history. During Cyril's journey of finding more information on the events leading to Arthurs last flight, he was put in contact with an association in Belgium that search for missing aircraft from all Air Forces, and they advised that they had contact with the relative of one of the other crew members of Lancaster JA695. This contact name was actually a witness of that tragic night. Below is the abbreviated summery and some of the more confronting descriptive information and facts have been left out, so as not to upset or offend..... " I now know the aircraft was shot down by a night fighter, the tail section shot off which landed about 3 miles away from where the rest of the Lancaster Crashed, which came down in a paddock at Kievermont near the small Belgium town of Geel. Of the seven crew only one survived, and was taken POW and saw the rest of the war out in a German POW camp. From reading his debriefing report at Wars end he was treated reasonably well. All the other crew of the Lancaster were buried, but later disinterred and transferred to the Commonwealth War Graves Cemetary. The German night fighter pilot who claimed the Lancaster JA695 kill, in turn met his demise a couple of nights later. We were fortunate to this extent that there were a few witnesses to the crash, two who were still alive, one whom I shall call "Charlie" (not his real name), who was a teenager at the time and with his parents witnessed the final moments of the Lancaster and its courageous crew. Charlie and his parents could hear the planes' engines screaming as it came spinning down on fire before hitting the ground upside down. I have googled the crash site, near the fence to "Charlies" farmhouse. Picture 1 - Remains of Lancaster JA 695. Picture 2/3/4 - Parts found of the Lancaster JA695 Picture 5 - Google map showing crash site.- Picture 6 & 7 - An artistic layout of the wreckage, except it shouldn't be illustrated with the tail on which was as previously stated was found some three miles away from the Lancaster fuselage or what was left of it some eight days later. The rectangular shaded area in front of the RH engine is where the generator for that engine was found on the second search with a metal detector of the crash site. The serial number being a match for JA695. Picture 8 - Flt Sgt. Arthur Bradley Woodvine - probably the last photograph of him taken about a month prior to his Lancaster JA 695 being shot down by a German night fighter. Picture 9 - Headstone of Arthur Woodvine. This year the town of Geel will be celebrating 70 years of freedom on the weekend of the 25/29/27 September, 2014 and will be placing a small memorial close to the crash site of Lancaster JA695. ORAFs thanks Cyril Dennison for submitting this story for our readers to enjoy. Lest we not forget.

Granite Pools Book Series by Stretch. Many of our readers will remember Stretch Merrington from Rhodesia, but what many of you may not know is that Stretch is also an author. Stretch has written the book series "Granite Pools" of which there are no less that 14 books in the series. Granite Pools – a farm in the N.W. Cape Kalahari region where two worlds collide; reality and fantasy. Thrown back and forth between the real world of relentless heat and never-ending thirst and the sci-fi/fantasy world of a bizarre and unpredictable mist, the Blyth family and friends find themselves in a constant battle to survive in both worlds. All of these books are available on Kindle on the Amazon sites, and I have provided the links to the various main Amazon sites dependant on where you live. For those in the UK - please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_13?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=granite%20pools&sprefix=granite+pools%2Caps%2C350 For those in Canada - please visit - http://www.amazon.ca/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=granite+pools+by+stretch For those in the USA or elsewhere - please visit -http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=granite+pools+by+stretch&rh=n%3A283155%2Ck%3Agranite+pools+by+stretch Congratulations Stretch - We look forward to the next few books in the series. “After nourishment, shelter and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world.” - Philip Pullman.

SAD PASSING OF EDWARD LESLIE NORRIS. It is with profound sorrow that we advise of the passing of our much beloved husband, father and grandfather, Edward Leslie Norris on 03 April 2014, at 21h30. We were so honoured to have shared our lives with Eddy, he was an Umtali Boy and a true son of Rhodesia. At last Dad, you have your peace and rest and a big hooley in that Great Hanger in the sky. Thank you Dad for everything and showing us the way – a gentleman to the very end, and a true legend. With great pride and love- As always, Trisha, Paul, Denise, Brenda, Shumba, Gaby, Caitlin and Caleb Celebration of Eddy’s life to follow. You can shed tears that he is gone Or you can smile because he has lived You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back Or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left Your heart can be empty because you can't see him Or you can be full of the love that you shared You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday You can remember him and only that he is gone Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back Or you can do what he would want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on. David Harkins 1959 -

PASSING OF AIR MARSHAL ARCHIE WILSON. It is with regret that ORAFs pass on the following sad news received from Jann Carlstein- My father, Air Marshal Archie Wilson, (Rtd), passed away last night at the ripe old age of 93, at the RSL Care in Pinjarra Hills, QLD, Australia. Funeral details will be sent out once confirmed. ORAFs extends its deepest sympathy to the family. Messages of condolence may be forwarded to orafs11@gmail.com on behalf of the family.

PASSING OF HECTOR BRIDGES ORAFs received the following notification; Hector Bridges, ex-Rhodesian Air Force Comcen. New Sarum/Salisbury passed away on 2nd July 2014. Unfortunately we have no other details. ORAFs extends it deepest sympathies to the Bridges family. Many thanks to Clive Bloor for advising ORAFs.

PASSING OF BILL "WALLY'' GALLOWAY ORAFs received the following sad news today of the passing of Bill Galloway. Bill passed away on Wed 6 Aug 14 at the Norwich City Hospital after a long struggle against Cancer. Bill was a member of 10 SSU and flew with No1, 2,3, and 4 Sqns before joining Jack Malloch's "Afretair, flying CL44s. His last flying appointment before retirement was with AirUK, operating out of Norwich Airport. A great man and good friend for more than 67 years! Funeral details are not yet known but will be notified as soon as possible. Messages of condolence may be forwarded to orafs11@gmail.com on behalf of the family. Our deepest sympathies to the Galloway family. Thanks to Keith Corrans for advising us.

PASSING OF LESLIE WILLIAM BOSWELL. It with deep sadness that Dave Stone advises of the passing of Leslie William Boswell on the 27th June in South Africa. Les, a Halton brat served in the RRAF at Thornhill from Mar 1962 until Dec 1964 in his trade as an engine fitter. He had served in the RAF at places such as Boscome Down in the UK, & in Malaya during the emergency there, & was awarded the BEM. After leaving the RAF. He joined Airwork& worked in the middle East for some years until retiring to Somerset West in the Cape where he passed away recently. He is survived by his wife Jane ORAFs records it deepest sympathies to Jane and family. Thanks to Dave for advising ORAFs. Messages of sympathy may be forwarded to orafs11@gmail.com on behalf of the family.

PASSING OF PETE VAN DER SCHYFF ORAFs has sadly learned of the passing of Pete in 2012. Pete joined the Rhodesian Air Force on 01 February, 1972 with 28 LAR and left in 1974 to pursue a civilian apprenticeship as a welder and fabricator. Our most sincere belated condolences to the Van Der Schyff family. Many thanks to Cheryl Grover for advising ORAFs.

PASSING OF OSWALD "OSSIE" DESMOND PENTON It is with deep sadness that ORAFs advise of the passing of Ossie Penton today at 16h50 GMT in Durban, KwaZulu Natal. Ossie was a highly respected member of the Rhodesian Air Force and will be sadly missed. Below is a short extract of the life of Ozzie Penton. "At 7 years old young Ossie donned his first uniform - that of the Cub Scouts - the Movement founded by Robert Baden-Powell - Lord Baden-Powell - at the behest of his king. From that moment on he wore one uniform or another for the next fifty plus years; donning the uniform of a naval cadet when war broke out; then signing up for the South African Airforce as a pilot. After the war he moved to Southern Rhodesia where he joined the Southern Rhodesian Auxiliary Air Force; joined the newly formed Southern Rhodesia Air Force; transferred to the Royal Rhodesian Air Force when it came into being at the advent of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland; stayed in the south with the Rhodesian Air Force and finally ended up with the Zimbabwe Air Force after the country was taken over by events and Rhodesia was no more. Many Rhodesian Air Force Commanders were trained by Ossie for he was a that rare breed, a natural pilot and teacher. Always he devoted more time to flying than to administration and, at one time or another piloted all but one of the Air Forces various aircraft and headed up several squadrons as Commander" ORAFs records its sympathies to the Penton family. Condolence messages may be forwarded to orafs11@gmail.com on behalf of the family. Many thanks to Rob Thurman for advising ORAFs.

PASSING OF JOHN FRANCIS BARNES We are very sad to report the passing of John Francis Barnes earlier this morning of the 03th September 2014, in Wiltshire, United Kingdom. John was attached to 10 SSU (02-01-1957). He retired from the Rhodesian Air Force in 1980 with the rank of Air Commodore. John then went into civil aviation and was still flying in 2000 before retiring. Messages of condolence may be forwarded to orafs11@gmail.com on behalf of the family. ORAFs extends its deepest sympathies to the Barnes family. Many thanks to Vic Wightman and Clive Bloor for advising us.

PASSING OF LANGDON "SPIDER" WEBB It is with deep regret that we advise of the passing today of "Spider" Webb at 17h00. Funeral arrangements to follow. ORAFs extends it deepest sympathies to the family at this time of sorrow. Many thanks to all those who sent emails to Brett, I am told it bought many a smile to Spider. Kind thanks also to Bill Sykes for keeping us informed.

PETER GREEN’S ESCAPE STORY (France August & September 1944) A while ago I read an entry about Harry Wheeler in which mention was made to my brother Peter Green and I thought some of the ORAFS members might find Peter's story interesting. I met Harry a long time ago and we had a long chat about the days during which the Rhodesian boys lived and fought in France. They were all true unsung heroes and should never be forgotten. FOREWORD Peter Green was a Flt/Sgt serving in the 266 (Rhodesian) Squadron of the RAF, flying Typhoon ground attack fighter bombers, which were part of the Allied Tactical Air force based in Normandy immediately after D-Day, supporting the Allied armies in Europe. In operations during the battle of the “Falaise Gap”, when the Allied armies were cutting off the German retreat from France, Peter was shot down, captured but then escaped. His escape story was typed in London by a Mrs Watkins as he told the account to her. PETER’S STORY as dictated On the 9th August 1944, I was twenty years old. I recollect that day telling Harry Wheeler that if I could get through the day I would be a happy man. We were given only half an hour to be in the air. Due to this panic departure, I left behind my escape purse and emergency rations. Towards the end of the show I followed the Commanding Officer (CO) of the squadron down on a German armoured car. I was lagging slightly behind in this attack due to enemy fighters being reported in the vicinity. The CO turned in the attack when I was looking the other way. I was watching where my shots were going and had just pulled them onto the target, when I felt a thud and a metallic sound come from the front part of my engine. Immediately smoke and glycol spread over my cockpit reducing my vision. I automatically pulled up and began a rapid ascent. In the meantime I thought I was on fire and called to say I was baling out. When I reached about 2,000 feet my engine cut dead. To keep control of the aircraft I had to semi stall and turn her around. When I thought of bailing out, I was at too low an altitude for safety. By this time the engine had ceased smoking and so I decided to force land, calling up in the meantime. On the way down I realised that the Germans might still be shooting at me so I dived for the nearest big field. My speed was too great and I had forgotten my flaps, so I floated right across the field and straight for a line of trees. It was at this stage the Wing Commander called asking me for my position. He informed that if I flew North West, I would reach our lines. I replied in an annoyed voice that my engine was dead and I was making a forced landing. This was the last contact I had with the squadron. In the meantime the trees were coming alarmingly close. I saw a break in the line of trees and decided I would fly through them. Miraculously this was achieved. I made a very nice forced landing on the other side of a road in a small field. On touching down and stopping, I was covered in red dust and my fear of fire was so great that I thought I was on fire. In a matter of seconds I was out of the aircraft and ten yards away. I the realised that I had my Mae West (an inflatable yellow or orange life jacket) on so I returned to the machine, put my Mae West in the cockpit, switched off the radio and closed the hood. It was unfortunate that I didn’t think of calling up as my radio was still serviceable. I ran fast across an open field into a small stream. Then I crawled on my hands and knees for about a mile. After this I emerged from the stream and very cautiously walked up a sunken road for half a mile. I then hid in a hedge. It was at this stage that I took stock of my condition. I was unhurt but very excited. I had no food with me or maps and I was uncertain of my position. I lay in this hedge until dark and by that time the adrenalin had worn off and I had an awful feeling of depression. To add to this I was cold, hungry and thirsty. In the twilight I returned to my machine to get rations out of my dingy. When I got there my rations had been removed. I then decided to walk south east towards Paris. I didn’t follow any roads but went along streams and hedges on the side of roads. After three miles of walking I fell into a trench and after I got out I heard German voices and someone playing an accordion. I realised I was in the middle of a German camp, but I decided to continue walking. I walked in a south easterly direction and at about 2 am I heard a motor cyclist coming towards me. When I realised it was a German motor cyclist there was nothing I could do but lie still in the wheat field. A German convoy passed six feet from me. I carried on walking for another hour and then crawled into a ditch and went to sleep. I spent a cold morbid night. The next morning I found myself on the side of a hill over-looking a valley. I picked out a village and made my way towards it. After arriving on the outskirts of the village I hid in a small field. I was in the midst of constant air attacks all day. I was receiving what I had been dishing out. This was not a very happy position. At dusk I approached two peasant girls and explained to them that I was an English pilot. They fetched their employer who gave me food and civilian clothes. This was the first food I had had since the breakfast I had before I left. Then the school master of this village came and spoke to me. He informed me in the morning I would be taken to a place of hiding where there were four other airmen. I spent the night in his house. On the way to the hiding place we passed many German troops and it gave me strange feeling of satisfaction to pass by these troops unnoticed. The school master took me to a farm house two miles out of Trun. There I met my four companions, three Canadians and a Welshman. They were all from bomber crews, with the Canadians from the same crew. The Welsh boy had been shot down on 7th June near the German border and he had walked nearly all the way across France. In doing so he had to kill a few Germans in cold blood. The Canadians were Flight Sgt Perratti, Navigator Sgt Hutchinson and Rear A.G. Pete the bomber aimer. The Welshman Lew, was a P.C. bomber aimer. These boys had a lucky escape the day before. The Germans broke into the house they’d been in three hours earlier and had just moved into the new hiding place when I turned up. We were in the middle of the German retreat and we spent five anxious days in the hope that the Germans would not find us. All this time the farmer brought us food at great risk not only to our safety, but also the risk of his own life. On the afternoon of the 5th day at about 4 pm a German SS Corporal found us, but we managed to convince him that we were refugees from Caen. After he left great sighs of relief were uttered. We told the resistance that we’d prefer to get out of this hiding place. They informed us that the Americans were five miles away and that if they weren’t with us the next day, we’d be taken to their lines at night. This pleased us and we started to imagine drinking beer again in England, but alas our troubles were not over. The next afternoon at dusk a German patrol found us. With us at that time was a Free French pilot and the farmer who had been feeding us. We unsuccessfully tried to bluff them that we were refuges from Caen. This failed due to the Welshman having photographs of himself in RAF uniform with his wife and child. When I saw the German sergeant taking away his photographs I felt like crying. I thought I’d never get free again and I knew we were in a pretty tough spot. I felt especially sorry for the French farmer who had a wife and two children and also for the Free French pilot who was just visiting us to give us news. They marched us out of the building and as we left the German yelled “hands up” in English. I instantly shoved my hands up and so did the rest. This sealed our doom. The entire village came out to see us and in the crowd was a pretty young French girl. This girl on the previous day had given us a perfect demonstration of love making with her lover in the front yard of this deserted house. She must have realised that we had seen all and she blushed furiously. This amused us. The Germans took the farmer away and later told us they had beaten him, his wife and maid to get information about the resistance movement. Both the farmer and his wife were silent, but the maid told the Germans where our uniforms were hidden. In the meantime we were interrogated by a German officer who threatened to shoot us if we didn’t talk, but we believed they could not shoot us for escaping and we refused to talk. That night the Germans took the six of us and the farmer with them in their retreat. While we were traveling along the road we were shelled and the rear trucks in the convoy were hit. I was pretty glad to get out of the area. We had a German sergeant looking after us who could speak a little English. The next day they took us to their headquarters to hand us over to the SS, but the sergeant openly showed his dislike for the SS and refused to hand us over to them. He said he’d got in touch with the POW authorities. This kind act undoubtedly saved our lives as the SS would have shot us. The German sergeant talked quite freely with us and he was definitely sick and tired of the war and of the hardships it had brought his people. We were taken to Bernay where the POW people took us over from the German sergeant. At Bernay our numbers were increased by four more prisoners, an American Major, an American Captain, a French Lieutenant and an American Private who was from the southern states. We all had made various attempts to escape. The American Major attempted to escape shortly after his capture, but knocked himself out by running into a tree and was recaptured! The American Captain and French Lieutenant escaped from a hospital after being wounded, but were recaptured after only an hour. The American Private was asleep in a prison camp and the Germans moved off having forgotten him! He then walked outside and gave himself up. He talked with a southern accent, which amused us. He was young and had a seventeen year old wife and child. He was not very bright and thought the Germans had taken our uniforms in exchange for civilian clothes! We were in Bernay for about five days. The Germans were unable to move due to lack of transport. All this time we were fed by the French Red Cross and were having better food than the German guards, much to their disgust! One morning the German sergeant told us we had to start walking to Rouen sixty kilometres away. We started briskly covering sixteen kilometres in a couple of hours. The road was littered with wrecked German transport and exhausted German troops asleep where they stopped. We witnessed a defeated German army. We even saw German officers riding bicycles or traveling in ambulances. After walking forty five kilometres without a drop of water or food, we refused to continue, so the Germans commandeered a French cart, which we travelled in for a further five kilometres. By this time we were in the middle of a wood on the west bank of the river Seine. Suddenly we saw an approaching American bomber. I heard explosions behind me and the German soldiers on the side of the road dropped flat on their faces. I was standing on the cart with the Major and the Welshman. I leapt from the cart into a ditch. The German guards ordered the rest of the prisoner to remain in the cart, which was disastrous as the Major was hit by shrapnel and died hours later on his 26th birthday. The Welsh Bomb aimer was also badly wounded in the leg, a German guard was wounded in his crotch and the American Private was wounded in his buttocks. They could not move. The rest of us took the cover of nearby trees, running into heavy fire. Amongst the smoke haze I heard screams and yelling from those who had been hit. There was nothing I could do but lie still and pray I would not be hit. Bombs were falling very close to me, with one only ten yards away and shrapnel from it lodged in a tree a foot from my head. After the second wave of attack, the wounded American Private got up and ran into the wood screaming. The attacks only lasted minutes, but seemed like hours. We couldn’t see anything due to the dust and smoke and there was a strong smell of burnt gunpowder. The panic stricken guards gathered the four of us who were unhurt and made us run away from the scene, even though we pleaded with them not to leave our wounded behind. Eventually we met German officers who ordered the guards to go back to the wounded. When we got back to the scene, two prisoners were missing. I believed they escaped, but others thought they had been blown up. Either way I never saw them again. Flight Sgt Pergatti was in great pain and an unexploded bomb lay four feet from him. We had great difficulty moving him. We continued our march to Rouen in the pouring rain. We were wet through, tired and unhappy and the guards added to our discomfort by keeping us out in the rain. After a couple of hours we persuaded the guards to seek shelter and they agreed as they were also soaked. We managed to get an hour sleep in a fowl house. What we didn’t know at the time was that the French Lieutenant had an uncle who lived a mile away, but this was useless as there were so many German soldiers in the area. So the four left were the American Captain, the French Lieutenant, the French pilot and myself. We were taken across the river Seine to Rouen at 6 am the next cold wet morning. In Rouen we were paraded in front of the locals all morning. The American Captain protested that as an officer he should be treated with more respect, but this just made matters worse. At 2 pm they took us to a POW camp. They took the French Farmer away and later told us he had been shot. At the POW camp we were again interrogated. We had not eaten since leaving Bernay and our request for food was denied. We climbed onto our bunks and slept until 6 am the next morning. We were given some soup at 11am and then put in a charcoal burning car, with a few more British and Russian prisoners who had been working in Le Havre. We were then transported to Amiens. The journey took all day. I feared we’d be strafed (machine gun from the air) again by Allied bombers, but this did not happen. We arrived in Amiens in the evening, where we were stripped and again interrogated. We refused to talk, so we were shoved into solitary confinement, with no mattress or blankets, which were provided at about 2 am in the morning. At midday they gave us a hunk of bread and water which was to last for 24 hours. I managed to get an American uniform from an American prisoner and as a result I was treated like a prisoner of war. At 11 am next day all air crew were transported by truck, included the other three who also managed to get uniforms. We were moved to Chalon sur Mer via St Quentin and Reims, two particularly beautiful cities. I began to think of ways to part company from the Germans. The American Captain had an escape plan, which was to cut a hole in the canvas on the side of the truck and then jump out. He went first as it was his plan and the rest of us drew lots and I was going to be third. We were to draw attention from the escapers by singing very loudly. The American Captain successfully exited, but the next boy stalled on the way out and came back in and then it was too late as were in Chalons sur Mer. The prisoners were counted and re-counted and they could not understand how one prisoner was missing, until they saw the tear in the canvas. The six guards were sent to the Eastern Front the next morning. That night we were placed in a cold cell with no mattress or blankets and no one slept. Next morning we received a Red Cross parcel. This gave us a big kick like opening Christmas presents when we were younger. It was a beautifully warm day and we were able to use the soap received in the parcels to wash ourselves and our clothes. This was my first wash since having been shot down. This was a very peaceful day after the shaky experiences of the immediate past. At last we could rest and prepare for the future. That afternoon we witnessed a very exciting sight; a Mustang chasing an M.E.109 only 50 feet above our heads. The Mustang got the M.E.109 about 4 miles on. At around 6 pm that evening we were again moved, this time to the railway station. The Germans moved the whole camp; over 3,000 troops. We tried to take our time marching to the station, but the Germans took a dim view of this and when a German officer withdrew his revolver, we sped up. We were shoved into cattle trucks, 40 per truck and kept in the marshalling yard all night. For the second night we hardly slept as we were all cramped up and thought we might again be bombed by the Allies. We spent the next day and night in this railway yard and the Germans only opened the door once during the day to give us water. By this time the wounded were especially feeling very bad and some had dysentery, but the Germans refused to open the doors. We left Chalons at 9 am the next morning in the longest train I have ever travelled in. The train travelled at about 2 miles an hour, stopping every 6 miles, making our short journey into a long one. That afternoon, just after leaving Vitry, Allied Thunderbolts spotted us and came in to strafe us. Whilst all this was happening some of the German guards prepared to leave with an American Sergeant and a British Paratrooper (who we suspected of having colluded with the Germans). We asked these guards and the American Sergeant and a British Paratrooper to open our doors to give us a chance of survival, but were refused. The American Sergeant even laughed at us. We tried to force the door open and remove the barbed wire from the windows, but this failed, so we sat calmly and waited. One prisoner waved a white vest attached to a walking stick out of the window. The first Allied attack on the train hit the last coach killing or wounding most of the prisoners. This was followed by a series of attacks at right angles to the train. One of these attacks hit the train engine, which was knocked out. As this was going most of us were trying to lie down and pray. Someone looking out the window saw all the white flags out of other carriages and saw the funny side by saying that it looked a better display than on Coronation Day, which helped relieve the tension. It took another 4 days for the train, with another engine, to get from Chalon to Nancy. During this time the doors were hardly ever opened and some of us were really ill. We were forced to urinate in tin cans from our Red Cross parcels and pour it out the window. On one occasion the American Lieutenant accidentally poured the contents of his can over a passing German Officer, who was not impressed! At Nancy we were taken to the Stalag, where the conditions were pretty awful. We heard that the Allied Forces had taken Chalon. This gave me new encouragement to get away, so when the Germans came to collect us I decided on the spur of the moment that I would not go to Germany, so I packed my Red Cross parcel and ran to the end of the barracks where the coloured prisoners were. I slit a paillasse (straw filled mattress) and crawled inside, having asked the prisoners to make it look as normal as possible. The Germans soon found I was missing and an extensive search was made. The old fever of excitement came back into me and I was determined to pull this off. The Germans picked up a paillasse three away from me and then picked up the one next to me, but I was able to remain calm and then did not notice me. After an hour they gave up the search. The coloured prisoners fed me and I stayed with them for a day and a half. At 4 am the next day the Germans announced they were moving the whole camp. I hid in the same place, but this time the Germans found me. The Germans left all the wounded and sick behind, so at nightfall I managed to join them. There were now no German guards, so the French civilian people tried to break in to get our food parcels, but a German patrol put a stop to this shooting a few. A lot of prisoners went over the wire to be with the French people and gave up their Red Cross parcels. I went over the wire to collect some fruit. I did not escape because there were a lot of French collaborators You can imagine my disappointment when I awoke to find the Germans guarding us again. I was going to hide again, but thought the Germans might burn the place so when the Germans came I went with them. They didn’t burn the camp, so I went into a rage. The Germans marched us down to the station. We couldn’t move very fast because of the sick and wounded and these guards weren’t very strict. They allowed hundreds of French people to clamour around us asking for cigarettes. It was when we were turning into the station yard that I saw my opportunity. The guard behind me was looking backwards and the guard in front of me was looking forwards. I dropped everything I had, barged through the French crowd and ran for all I was worth to the corner of the block. I was turning round the corner of the block when I heard shots being fired. I slipped and at first thought I had been hit, but got over that extremely quickly. I picked up my hat, but lost my precious watch on the street. I ran to the Police Station and they did nothing. Eventually a Frenchman turned up on a bicycle and told me to follow him to his house. They gave me civilian clothes and that night I met a British spy. He took me to the other side of the town, where I stayed with two old people. I spent a week with these old people, with nothing to do but wait for the Americans who were bombing the German barracks on the other side of the road. I had one English book to read about the women suffragette movement written before the 1914 war. The night before the Germans withdrew was one of the hardest. The Germans were carrying out house to house searches looking for radios. When they searched the flat below me, the locals wanted to give me up, so I had to use forceful means to show them what would happen to them if they tried to give me up. However the old French lady I was staying with did not give me up and instead sang “it’s a long way to Tipperary”, which cheered me up. Next morning they woke me very cheerfully to tell me the Germans had moved out and at 11 am on the 14th September 1944, after 6 weeks, I was again a free man. After 4 days I was back in the UK with my companions. There I found new faces and I also learnt that Harry Wheeler, who had also been shot down, had managed to get back a few weeks before I did. (end of Peter’s account) ************ POSTSCRIPT After a short leave in London, Peter returned to operations with his Squadron, by this time based in Belgium. Approaching Christmas 1944, the weather closed in preventing any low level attack flying, (remember the “Battle of the Bulge raging at this time which was severely affected by the lack of allied air cover). On Christmas day, the weather lifted and operations resumed. Peter was in a flight of eight aircraft patrolling over the Dutch / German border when they ran into what Peter’s Log Book (filled in later by his Commanding Officer) reported as “100+ enemy fighters”. Peter was shot down and crashed on the outskirts of the village of Winterswijk in Holland. He was killed and is now buried in the small military cemetery in Winterswijk.” ************ 25th December 1944 a witness on the ground reported: I came from the church and was on the street on the way to Kotten. Suddenly there appeared a Squadron of aircraft flying from the north east. When they flew over the cemetery the F.L.A.C.K. (German air defence cannon) started shooting. It hit an aircraft which immediately crashed like a stone. The other aircraft flew on quickly and the F.L.A.C.K. fell silent. The next day, I went to the crash site, in the neighbourhood of a dairy factory near Burrerweg on the outskirts of Winterswijk, Holland. The ground was frozen but the aircraft and pilot had disappeared, buried. A short time later Peter’s body was removed with parts of his plane. Flt/Sgt Peter Green was buried with full military honour in our cemetery by the number 36. His grave site has been adopted by us. May he rest in peace, God bless him. ************ Message to Peter’s parents from George R (King of England) communicated by C Tait (Governor of Southern Rhodesia) “We pray that your country’s gratitude for a life so nobly given in service may bring you some measure of consolation”. ************ Later developments The crash site is very near the current Winterswijk town hospital which meant that, before building could begin in the 1980’s, the wreckage of Peter’s plane had to be excavated, along with some live ammunition. The engine block and other parts are now in the Dutch Air force museum. Peter’s sister Rosemary and his brother Andrew planted a tree and left a memorial plaque at the crash site in 1990. All of Peter Green’s letters, his diary and his official papers, including his Log Book, have been deposited for safe keeping at the Winterswijk Town Library. Any historian or researcher will be able to access them there. ************ In a letter dated 28th December 1944, Peter’s parents received the following letter from his Squadron Leader, JM Deall: “It is with great regret that I write to you concerning your son, Flt/Sgt Peter Charles Green, who was reported missing from operations on the 25th December 1944. We do not know for certain what happened to Peter, but I will tell you what I can. The squadron had just completed an attack on a train in West Germany about 20 miles from the Dutch frontier, when a large number of enemy aircraft, were encountered. Being outnumbered the squadron became split up. Peter was seen behind an enemy aircraft and firing at it when his air craft was hit by anti-aircraft fire from the ground. He was last seen gliding towards the ground. Unfortunately it was not possible to see if he got down safely as other pilots were busy evading enemy aircraft. It was evident to see how well the rest of the pilots and ground staff liked him and how much they thought of him.” ************

With Rifle and Camera in Rhodesia. A Holiday away from the Beaten Track..... "Most Delightful Trip I Have Ever Done." In this article there are no stories of exciting chases by lions; no details of hunters cornered by elephants. It is a simply narrative of how a man and his wife spent an enjoyable holiday in Rhodesia with his gun and camera. The author is LT. Col. H.E. Crocker C.M.G., D.S.O., of Bournemouth, and his story will be interesting to others who are seeking an unconventional way of spending a holiday. IT has always been my wish to go for a trip through Rhodesia, and at last, toward the spring of 1925, my wish was fulfilled. My wife and I left India on long leave, and landing at Beira made our way by train through Salisbury to Broken Hill in Northern Rhodesia. Here we engaged porters, bought stores, and made arrangements for our long two months' trek of over 300 miles through the Rhodesian forests. It was the dry season, and tents were not necessary. At last all was ready. Loads were distributed over night to the array of porters collected by the Native Commissioner, and the following morning we started off. Our plan was to march due east till we struck the Portuguese frontier on the Loangwa River, and then to follow that river due south till we reached the Zambesi at Feira. We would then make for Sinoia, and take the train to Salisbury. For the first 70 miles we marched across a high plateau, covered with thorn trees and swarming with game of all description. I saw many kinds of antelope, and we just missed a herd of zebra. Out shooting one morning I saw a small heard of elephant which passed by some 300 yards away. To the disgust of my boy I refused to shoot them. I had no licence and the ivory, moreover was small. Lions were numerous, but though we heard them often enough at night we never saw them. We would rise early and march for an hour before halting for breakfast. Then on again till about midday when we would halt for the night, usually near some village where we could buy eggs and chickens for ourselves and food for the porters. The natives often preferred salt in payment instead of cash. After tea I would go out shooting and generally managed to bring back something for supper, wither a small antelope or a brace of guinea fowl, which swarmed in the valleys. On my return to camp I would served out rations myself to the porters, who each received two pounds of flour. I always gave them some of the animals I shot. Then came bath, supper and bed. It was cold on the plateau and though we had a tremendous fire burning all night we kept off lions and other unwelcome visitor, we had to wear all the warm clothing we had bought. After ten days we left the plateau and scrambled down a steep escarpment into the great valley of the Loangwa. We were now among bamboos, which gave place to dense forest with great trees, from whose branches hung festoons of creepers, writhing and squirming among the undergrowth like serpents. Here again I found plenty of game, eland, koodoo, impala, and many others. I shot a roan antelope one morning, and on my way back to camp I could have shot an impala. He was leaping and dancing in a glade to the delight of his wives and did not notice my approach. I was so fascinated watching him playing about, full of the joy of life, that I hadn't the heart to shoot him. Later on that same morning I fell down a steep bank on to a herd of koodoo which were off like a flash., a magnificent bull bringing up the rear. I could not resist the temptation of hunting him, and my boy and I set off a long chase. We saw him once or twice, but he rapidly left us far behind, and I returned to camp, where I had all the meat I wanted. My porters were hugely delighted at the prospect of so much meat, for they are great meat-eaters, and become despondent if they do not get it. I could not go near them for days afterwards. We now heard lions roaring at nights, and one night I hard a lion snuffing round the camp, evidently attracted by the smell of the roan. The wretched boys had let the fire die down when they heard him approaching, and had fled to the shelter of their own camp, surrounded by a "scherm" of branches. We saw his tracks through the camp in the morning. He had come up from the river and had terrified the cook and his wife who spent an uncomfortable night in a tree. I thought the lion has swum across the river, and determined to sit up for him in case he paid us another visit. I accordingly had a "machan" constructed in a convenient tree on a sand bank in the river close to the camp, and here I took my post after tea. As soon as the sun sank behind the trees the life of the forest awoke and the animals came down to drink. There were baboons, wild dogs, antelope, and many others which I could not distinguish. I could hear a hippo crashing about among the high reeds some way off, but he did not come near me. After some time there came a tremendous roar from the opposite bank, and shortly afterwards I could just distinguish two black blobs swimming towards our bank. They landed some way down, too far off for a shot and disappeared. They never came near us again. The natives in these districts were very musical and wold sing all day. Some of their songs were delightful, and would well repay harmonising. They are also fond of dancing, and on several occasions we could them dancing all night to the accompaniment of tom-toms and their own voices. We went to see the dances at night in the villages. They formed up in two long rows, woman opposite to the men. The men danced in turn, followed by a little string of woman. They kept at it for hours, unheeding the cold. We had to wear all we had, but they stood about wearing nothing above the waist. We stopped one night at the village where the girls had been brewing beer from maize. My porters fortunately did not drink it, but my servants drank all they could get and were happily drunk. Both the cook and his wife were in a sorry state the next morning. "Stomach very sick Bwana," she exclaimed, ruefully rubbing her tummy as she staggered along. As we approached the villages the woman would flock out to welcome us with songs and dances and shrill cries which brought the others running from the fields. Forming up in front of us, they would trot along in a mass, singing and dancing till we had marched through the village. After some days we struck a motor road which led us to Feira where we received a hearty welcome from the Native Commissioner. Here we paid off our faithful porters who had done us so well on the long trek, and while fresh porters were being collected, the Native Commissioner too us for a shoot up the Zambezi in his State Barge, manned by ten paddlers. It was one of the most delightful trips I have ever done. When the wind favoured us, we would hoist a sail and skim along in great style. The current ran fiercely, and our crew had to paddle strongly to force the heavy craft against the stream. The steersman, standing erect holding the long tiller, would sing one of the fascinating river man's songs handed down through the centuries, and the crew would come in on the chorus with a deep throated roar. We had good sport with duck and also bagged a few antelope. Then saying farewell to our kindly host, we crossed the Zambesi, and continue our march through the thorn covered valley. We climbed a steep escarpment out of the Zambesi Valley, and found ourselves on the plateau of Southern Rhodesia. Marching past Sipililo, where we received great hospitality from the Native Commissioner, we reached Sinoia in due course, where we paid off the porters, and our faithful servants who had stuck to us throughout the journey from Broken Hill. Our trip had been most successful. The weather had been perfect and we had kept remarkably fit. The unfailing kindness and consideration of the officials had contributed in no small degree to our success and enjoyment, and to them our thanks are due. (article extracted from the Rhodesian Annual 1931) Kind thanks to the author and publisher. No financial gain is obtained nor sought - for sharing purposes only.