Roses Under the Miombo Trees (20 page)

Then there were the really hard-to-find items, shoes being a particular problem, and here, as so often, I turned to Mum. Her workload in shopping and sending us parcels must have more than doubled once we were in Abercorn. Soon Mark's foot was traced so that a pair of Hush Puppies advertised in Punch could be bought and sent from England. And in late March of the following year would begin the Court Shoe Saga:
First, the enclosed cheque and cutting Ma: I saw this ad. for shoes which I think look v. nice, and I was hoping you cd. get me this very pair – 69/11. I am usually size 75B American so will have to risk the fit, and someone else would always buy them off me. It is impossible to get shoes from here and I am short of any decent ones. Colour I'd like would be anything from cream through to mushroom, wh. latter I'd like best.
In May, while Jiff's mother was visiting to help with the new baby, I enlisted her help when she returned to Salisbury, but in June I was enquiring: ‘
Did you eventually send any Joyce shoes (75B), I said no to Jiff's mother's offer from Salisbury as they were 89/11 there, and I might find some when I go down to the Copper Belt'
. I didn't, but would not give up, next turning to Mother in Cape Town, but drew a blank there too. Eventually, in late August: ‘
I am delighted to say the shoes arrived, and are perfect, couldn't be better if I'd tried them on first – I'm sure you're relieved all your efforts were worthwhile!
' It had taken five months, but I had my court shoes.

It serves to remind me of the sheer hard work my mother must have put in, trying to be a mum and granny at such a distance. Her poor parcel wrapping technique had been a standing family joke since boarding school, when crumpled bundles only just held together with ratty string lay on the hall table among other girls' neat offerings from home. Yet here she was still plugging away at the hated task: there were soon to be a Christmas cake in its Tupperware, then clothes for a new baby along with toys for Paul so he would not feel left out, ever more paperbacks for me, chosen by Pa. In one PS I managed a quick critique of William Faulkner's
As I Lay Dying
(‘v. much enjoyed') and
The Sound and the Fury
(‘terrific also I thought'). I wrote of one of her later cakes, for which she had delegated the wrapping: ‘
as I seized it off the P.O. counter all the string fell off around it – just in time! A note on it from Simon says “I wrapt this – Will tied it!”
‘

Health care was another issue; no dentist locally, nor facilities for blood tests or other investigations. My blood group is negative, and this was going to require monitoring nearer my delivery date, for fear of a conflict with the baby's, Dr. Chris Roberts said, (he had informed me, ‘against my wishes' that I was due around 21 January). The company general manager, up for a rare visit, assured us over dinner at the local hotel that the company would pay for my necessary trips to the Copper Belt, although in practice these turned out to be the subject of drawn out negotiations. Mark and I had already started to plan a combined shopping and health care trip for me.

Another emerging feature of Abercorn life was that residents – white residents – were leaving on an increasingly regular basis, often heading ‘back to the U.K.' or ‘down south', for now in late 1963 Northern Rhodesia was changing. Superficially many aspects of life in Abercorn continued as they had for decades: the club continued to thrive, although it seems amazing now that it did not yet admit black members; business continued to be done, the administration of the town and the province went on. But there were already signs of the end of Federation and of approaching independence. I began to write of parcel post slowing and my letters bore a new, Northern Rhodesia stamp.
Abercornucopia
surveyed the changing scene with a wary and often critical eye, and farewell parties at the club were more and more frequent. However, it was still a splendid place to live. Here is an extract from an extended feature on (largely white) Abercorn life, written by Tony Howard the following year for
Horizon
, the house magazine of a Copper Belt mining company. It was entitled ‘
The Town with a Twinkle in its Eye'
:

Abercorn has self-assurance, without pomposity or priggishness, but rooted in the sure knowledge that it is a very superior place. It is not just that it has one of the most beautiful settings in Central Africa with hills behind and attractive little Lake Chila in front; nor is it that the town has the distinction of being the most northerly in the country; nor that at 5,400 ft. it stands on higher ground than any other town in Zambia; nor that its climate is such that people need never go away for their health's sake.

Abercorn's real pride is its people. The town has always attracted the kind of people who are out of the ruck, individualists. Many of the European population are civil servants who live there because their work dictates it, but Abercorn remains a place where most people live from choice.

One of Abercorn's most memorable features at that time was indeed the mix of people who lived there, not just transients like Mark and me, but a solid body of settlers, and in particular its ‘characters', some of them vividly described in the Horizon piece. ‘Vesey' – Dr. Desmond Vesey Fitzgerald was a world renowned natural scientist who had retired from his work with Red Locust Control but still lived by the shores of Lake Chila. His presence, to quote
Abercornucopia
of that time, was an important attraction to numbers of natural scientists studying every aspect of African wild life, flora and entomology. I remember peering into his nocturnal insect-catcher, his naming last night's catches, his additions to the long list of birds spotted in the area and updated in
Abercornucopia
. I was needlessly in awe of him, particularly when, later, I rashly agreed to become Hon. Sec. of the Club, with him as Chairman. He, for the moment, was staying.

There was ‘Westy' Westwood, whose business interests spanned the general trading store and butchery, the Abercorn Arms and an estate which included the Lake View Hotel – soon to be sold and turned into Outward Bound Trust's base in Zambia. Genial Ted Davies, behind the bar at the Abercorn Arms, would regale newcomers like us with Abercorn tales from way back: one included the sighting of a London Green Line bus driving through the town, presumably on a Cape to Cairo run. John Carlin at the Lake Press, stout and greying in his safari suit, was always good for a humourous anecdote, many of which would appear in his monthly paper
Abercornucopia
. I soon sensed how much he enjoyed being diverted from his work when I called in, often with Paul in tow, to prop myself on the counter for a chat, then dashing off an aerogramme to catch the plane, in a way Mum would have been proud of. Later I would be tasked with writing up pieces on the doings at the club for the paper, and would feed him snippets of amusing gossip, some of which found their way into his Chila Chat column by ‘Impulumushi'. John's wife Sheelagh ran the Abercorn Customs Office and his sister Joan was the local Central African Airways rep. Son Colin, recently returned from a stint at London's College of Printing, worked with his father at the Lake Press; he was a keen sailor and one of Abercorn's bachelors, for whom the company of any single young women was almost never available.

John Carlin outside the Lake Press; Abercorn's humour personified

Some of its most notable residents had arrived by accident: Derrick Peachey had crash-landed during an air race from Portsmouth to Johannesburg in 1936. Badly injured, he was transferred south and ultimately back to England, but a couple of years later returned to see what could be salvaged from the wreckage of the plane. He married Elaine and they were still fruit farming there on a large estate with ten Doberman Pinscher dogs, known fearfully by his workforce as ‘the leopards'.

There was Mary Richards, whose passion was botany. Although already in her late 70's, she would arrive from her other home in Wales each winter and take off into the bush on plant hunting trips with only her driver Ali and an assistant, Abdullah, for company. Though devoted to her, they reputedly found her exhausting company. She would reappear some weeks later with specimens which she would send to Kew Gardens Herbarium – some 20,000 of them over the years. The following year would see her made a Master of Science at the University of Wales for her work.

Most celebrated locally were the Misses Gamwell – known to all as the Gamwell Sisters. Hope and Marion had served in the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry (F.A.N.Y.) as ambulance drivers in World War I. By 1929, in search of a new life in Southern Rhodesia, they were driving from Nairobi to Salisbury and stopped off in Abercorn for supplies. They were offered hospitality over Christmas and never left. They owned an estate of nearly 1000 acres off the Mpulungu road, a fine English-style flower garden complete with sundial and a magnificent 1928 Chevrolet nicknamed ‘The Horse' for driving round the estate. In town they were instantly recognisable: two stocky figures in khaki bush jackets and trousers, with cropped grey hair, Bowie knives at the ready in their belts. There was already talk of their leaving, uncomfortable at their increasing dependence on a local workforce they felt was becoming unreliable.

However, we made friends mainly with more recent arrivals of our age. On our little road lived two keen bridge playing couples: IRLCS pilots Robin Crosse-Upcott with his wife Pam, and Ted and Halina Malujlo whose young sons learned Polish first, English second. Gavin Barr was the District Commissioner and a mean guitar player, he and his wife Caroline both radiating Scottish cheerfulness. I remember Caroline's serene smile above the clamour of their three young children and their delinquent lurcher-type dog Bill Barr (we all had large dogs and outdoor social occasions were frequently interrupted by outbreaks of fighting). Tom and Maureen Williamson too had young children: he was our chief of police who seemed to me a slightly stern figure, while she was a kind, calm young mum and a reassuring presence, particularly once I had two young children. And of course there were the Bowmakers, Jennifer (whom we now knew as Jiff) and Alan, who were to become our closest friends. He was a marine biologist and provincial fisheries officer, passionate about animals, easy and affectionate with children, and with a mad, infectious laugh. Jiff was now pregnant again, three months behind me, their one year old Jeanne and Paul firm friends. Their garden I remember as full of livestock – chickens, ducks, cages of rabbits, cats with a new litter. Alan, like Mark, was often away on fisheries matters on Lake Tanganyika; he had the much coveted use of a splendid motor launch the
Dame des Iles
, and of a high-speed launch too. Jiff was a huge support to me, a more confident mum than I, always cheerful and positive, ready with common sense advice. They were both keen sailors. There were many other new friends – too many to mention here – all sociable and agreeable company.

How important these friendships were in a small, isolated community! I remember vividly, early on in our friendship, the experience of some silly falling-out with Jiff – remember it chiefly for the sense of panic and abandonment that overcame me when she would not speak to me, the relief that flooded over me as we made it up. We were all dependent on each other's support: a young mum's necessary trip to the Copper Belt, with all the travelling that this entailed, a sudden illness or even a few days in hospital whilst a husband was away, meant the need for someone else to look after an extra baby or toddler for several days – help always willingly given.

Now, after several months settling in, Mark and I had started to plan my own trip to the Copper Belt, which needed the company's permission. It involved a two day drive down in the company car, Mark returning with a sales colleague while I would stay on for two days of shopping, dentist, blood tests and a gynaecological appointment. Reluctantly, I realised it would be impossible to take Paul, not least because no-one with a cot had invited me to stay (though happily my old Salisbury mate Barbara now lived in nearby Ndola and had a spare sofa). The Bowmakers offered to have him, along with Uelo to help. My letter before we left gives a flavour of how life was developing:

Rather in haste now, as we leave early tomorrow, and there seems to be a lot to think of what with Paul's luggage and Boy going to stay with the Jones's (our neighbours and great dog lovers)… We had a busy weekend, Mark playing golf on Sat. and Sun. a.m. for the Abercorn Open (he did very badly) and then having to go to Mpulungu on Sun. p.m. and Monday for the Liemba. Meanwhile I was preparing for my lunch at the yacht club on Sunday. Dido Millar helped me make pizza pie for 50, plus salad, rolls etc. All the Kasama visitors and golfers came. We charged 2/6 and made £2/10 profit for the club which was very good, and it seemed to go off alright. On Mon. there was special lunch at the main club for the golfers and I made a pudding for that, and Paul and I ate there, Mark arriving later. We had a game of golf later, Mark still playing badly and I not so bad, considering my figure – I am just about in smocks now. I also did lots of gardening over the w/e and am beginning to be rewarded. We had our first decent rain on thurs. with a terrific wind – yachts overturned, boughs broken etc. but it was over too quickly and very hot again now. It will be worse in Ndola. I have a shopping list a mile long
.