At the Fireside

by Webster Roger

  Some people would become rich beyond their wildest dreams – among others JB Robinson (once a poor store clerk managing a scruffy shop in Bethulie), Cecil John Rhodes just waiting for the diamond pipe at Kimberley, Barney Barnato, the former London music-hall juggler … the list goes on and on. It used to be said that there were more millionaires per square foot in the Kimberley Club at any given time than anywhere in the rest of the world. Quite a thought.

  Along those banks sprang up the little towns of Sydney-on-Vaal, Gong Gong, Longlands (where Sarah Gertrude Millen was born) and Webster’s Pools, with all the denizens slaking their thirst and resting their eyes at the famous Canteen Kopje owned by Stafford Parker, and with Cockney Liz and Trixie providing various forms of entertainment.

  Then on through Kimberley and just 20 kilometres south of it on the N12 the little siding of Spytfontein with its wonderful bed-and-breakfast called Langberg. The original farm was started by two Stellenbosch farmers who supplied the huge Clydesdale horses for the early diggings at Kimberley, or Coleman’s Kopje, as it was first called.

  I was part of an interesting little episode involving Spytfontein. It was here that one of the businessmen accompanying me, Boer War aficionado David Scholtz, asked if it would be possible to try and locate the grave of a fallen British lieutenant-colonel named De Moulin.

  All knowledge of where De Moulin was buried had been lost – it was known that he fell in the skirmish at Abrahamskraal, somewhere near the present Kalkfontein Dam, on the road between Koffiefontein and the more famous diamond mine of Jagersfontein. Since we had some time to spare we drove to the dam and went to the dam manager’s home. Arriving there, we came across an old gardener and on an off-chance I addressed him in Tswana, inquiring if he knew where the fallen British soldier had been buried.

  The oldster did not bat an eyelid, just pointed to a little hill to one side. That was where the graves were, he assured us. We followed his finger and to our utter amazement found a standard British war graves cross bearing the names of De Moulin and three others.

  David Scholtz was delighted at the find and thought that I could walk on water (about which I did not disillusion him). Little did we know what the consequences of our discovery would be. We visited Jagersfontein, the now almost deserted Victorian village and mining town which is older and bigger than the big hole at Kimberley – but that is a story for another time – and the beautiful and intensely sad Women’s Memorial in Bloemfontein which commemorates the women and children who died in the concentration camps. All along the way we were subjected to a tirade from David on the theme of ‘how could the British bury a lieutenant-colonel in a private’s grave?’

  The further we travelled the more his anger grew, and on returning to Johannesburg, he started devising his plan. He contacted De Moulin’s regiment, the Royal Sussex, stating that we had located the deceased lieutenant-colonel’s final resting place, but were appalled by the fact that the grave of a man of such standing should be marked by a rank-and-file cross.

  The Royal Sussex replied, congratulating us on the find but regretting that it did not have the funds to erect a suitable monument. David’s response was appropriately diplomatic, but between the lines one could clearly read the actual message: Don’t worry, we’re not asking you for money; if the British Army cannot suitably honour its dead, then the four of us will fund the monument ourselves!

  Now, the last thing you ever do is tell the British Army that if it cannot do right by its dead, you would do so yourself, and their response could also be clearly read in the response to David’s second letter … In any case, after much toing and froing the design of De Moulin’s monument was agreed on and Fouriesmith’s maker of tombstones was commissioned. And so, on 14 April 2008, a group of us gathered at the Langberg B&B.

  Those present included the British Military Attaché, Brigadier Andy Mantel OBE, who had come down from Pretoria for the occasion; Brigadier BE Potgieter of the South African branch of the Commonwealth War Graves Committee; Steve Lundestadt from Kimberley; two other Anglo-Boer War historians from KwaZulu-Natal, Alistair and Marion Moir from Lydenburg; and Paul Probert all the way from Port Alfred.

  Last but definitely not least were two representatives of the Sussex Regiment, namely Lieutenant-Colonel B Carlston and Major C Wilmot, and the regimental flag which had been flown out to Brigadier Mantel in the diplomatic bag.

  The following morning, with the memorial draped in the flag of the Royal Sussex, the flags of Britain and South Africa were run up and, to the sad notes of a young bugler, the last monument to a fallen British soldier was unveiled on the lonely slopes of the Kalkfontein Dam. The mood was sombre as we stood there feeling the soft fingers of a gentle Free State plains wind touching us, and it was almost as if we could feel the presence of those who had fallen there so long ago.

  Thank God for people like David Scholtz!

  The Cutting Edge f History in the Making

  THE CUTTING EDGE OF HISTORY

  IN THE MAKING

  I have been involved in a few mind-altering situations during my lifetime, and it seems the process has not ended because the latest one occurred not so long ago. Let me explain.

  I was born 64 years after the start of the biggest, richest and most sustained gold rush the world has ever seen. As we know, people from all walks of life – the good, the bad and indifferent – packed their belongings and headed for the Witwatersrand; and, in a manner of speaking, the South African economy was truly born.

  Gold mines sprang up all along the Reef and there were plenty of jobs to be had, so much so that labour actually had to be imported to fill the available positions. Imagine that – more jobs than people! We could do with some of that today.

  As a consequence we flourished as a country, and to this day the street names of Johannesburg remind us how it all started: Gold Street, Banket Street, Nugget Street, Claim Street … And then came disaster. In the mid-1890s the miners hit arsenopyrite deposits and mercury could no longer absorb the gold.

  Literally overnight, the mines underwent a financial collapse and became little more than worthless real estate. Multimillionaires became penniless as the gold shares plunged in value. Depression and suicide followed; people jumped from buildings, others shot themselves.

  General panic prevailed. People sold what they had for anything they could get as their dreams went up in the proverbial smoke, and many then packed and left the nightmare of the gold reef.

  But not all of them fled. Some held on amid the general ruin, whether from guts, stubbornness or stupidity – I’m not sure which, but I suspect all three played a role – and when the tide turned they really made their fortunes. That was how the fabled ‘Randlords’ were to be born.

  Fate is a cruel master, and a capricious one. Not six months after the disaster, a team of Scottish chemists came forward with the so-called ‘MacArthur-Forrest’ process, a technique for extracting gold by using cyanide.

  It was introduced without delay and the entire gold mining industry was saved, just like that! The result was that by 1897 the Transvaal was producing some 27% of the world’s total gold production. The others, the ‘first timers’, walked away with nothing. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I missed both disaster and miracle.

  Some time ago I drove through the East Rand on my way to address a conference in a little town called Secunda. As I drove, I was deeply saddened to see the remains of those halcyon days, for gold mining is now leaving the centre stage of our history.

  Gone are the days of the multi-shafted ERPMs, the Quaggafonteins, Daggafonteins and the Modder Deeps of the old world. They are mere shades of their former selves, leaving people struggling to adapt to a changing world that many don’t really understand and often are not adequately equipped for.

  However, I was around and involved in a second miracle, this time in Botswana.

  Prior to the discove
ry of diamonds, Botswana was an orphan of the Empire. The reasons why it had been co-opted into the Empire in the 19th century had long since evaporated as the world changed; there was very little education in Botswana, almost no tarred roads, poverty was rife and the economy was almost totally dependent on cattle which could not be exported to the lucrative European markets because of foot-and-mouth disease. Its GDP was negligible and so was income per capita.

  It had lots of game, wonderful sunsets, generally pleasant people and a magic all its own, but these assets weighed lightly in the balance sheets and so the Bechuanaland Protectorate, as it was then, was little more than a picturesque drain on the British fiscus. Botswana did not have to fight for its independence – the British were only too glad to be shot of it. You can just hear some Whitehall mandarin say dismissively: ‘The poor relation must learn to feed itself.’

  Which the poor relation did in spectacular fashion, thanks to a quiet De Beers prospecting geologist named Dr Gavin Lamont. Lamont took the time to observe the behaviour of ants and noticed that they dug many, many metres down below the surface of the earth to make their nests. The underground soils they dug out ended up on the ant heaps, and on some of them Lamont discovered Kimberlite – the celebrated ‘blue ground’ that is a sure sign of diamond deposits.

  The rest is truly history, and so it was that the Orapa mine was born on the southern extremity of the Makgadikgadi saltpans. Isn’t it so often the case that most truly profound discoveries are made not by the swashbucklers of the world but by quiet, unassuming but dedicated people? In any case, Orapa was followed by Letlhakane and then,of course, Jwaneng. After 30 years of operation Jwaneng still spews out diamonds like no other.

  The real miracle I am talking about, however, is to be found in what has happened to Botswana as a nation. It has put most of its African contemporaries to shame. Half a century on, it is still ruled by a democratically elected government, and an exceedingly stable one at that. Its leaders have not wasted the country’s resources on glittering but ultimately valueless prestige projects or plundered the fiscus for their own interests.

  Instead the Batswana have spent the past few decades systematically building up the country’s economy. They have constructed roads, clinics, schools, polytechnics and a university, electrified towns and supplied reticulated water. The functional economy has generated employment. All in all, it has been an economic miracle very akin to what happened to the Witwatersrand in the old days.

  I can still recall the diminutive figure of the late, great Harry Oppenheimer saying at the opening of Jwaneng that he hoped that in the years to come people would not see just a great big hole in the ground, but would judge the efforts in terms of overall social and economic development of the country. Profound – and prophetic – words from a giant of a man.

  But the discovery of diamonds was not the end of the Batswana miracle. De Beers, which is a privately owned company whose major shareholders are the government of Botswana, Anglo-American and the Oppenheimer family, have embarked on what I believe will be the next miracle by finding a new use for an old invention.

  Specifically, they acquired a German-built airship, technically an aircraft with a rigid frame and gasbags which made it lighter than air. Now, airships have been around since old Count Zeppelin started building them in Germany before World War I. The 1930s saw their heyday in several countries, but a series of disastrous crashes and the horrific burning of the German flagship, the ‘Graf Zeppelin’, pretty much killed the concept.

  But it did not die totally, and a few airships are still flying. They have certain advantages. They are sensitive to high winds and they are laughably slow in this jet-propelled age. But they provide a very steady ride and they can stay aloft for many hours. Which was exactly what Botswana needed for exploring its endless plains in the most cost-effective way.

  Hence the Batswana zeppelin which was outfitted with cutting-edge equipment manufactured by the renowned Bell Geospace company in the United States. It was officially launched at the capital, Gaborone, just before this writing, and I was privileged to see it happen.

  The airship is 75 metres long, and the gondola suspended underneath it seats eight passengers and two pilots. This might be small beer compared to the enormous Graf Zeppelin of old, but it is certainly a better money-maker, and it is a first for Africa, not only because it is one of only three in the world – of the other two, one takes tourists for flights around Hong Kong and the second is at the Zeppelin factory – but because it is the only one used for mineral exploration purposes.

  It was a proud day indeed when the De Beers Exploration division unveiled its newest and most innovative diamond-prospecting tool and everybody who was anybody was there to see it: the acting President of Botswana, Lieutenant-General Ian Khama; the CEO of De Beers Botswana, Robert Burnham, and his designated successor, Mrs Sheila Khama; Gareth Penny, MD of the Diamond Trading Company; and Bill McKechnie, director and head of Group Exploration. An auspicious occasion indeed, and you will soon realise why.

  As the engines of the huge but graceful craft were fired up and majestically she lifted off, turned, climbed to her cruising altitude of 400 metres and slowly flew over Gabarone, I realised that another turning point in Botswana’s history had arrived, one that was as important as when the late Dr Gavin Lamont set out to explore the ant heaps those many years ago.

  I was in the gondola on the airship’s second flight, and it was a unique experience. We undulated gently, with very little engine noise penetrating the gondola; it was something like surfing except that the ‘waves’ were composed of air rather than water.

  I looked down over Gaborone, saw the massive expansion that had taken place since the discovery of diamonds and was humbled to realise that with the introduction of this new exploration ship it was likely that Botswana would continue to develop – possibly quite meteorically – for some time to come. The recent discovery of the Mmamabula coalfields in the east of the country will also lend weight to the development that has taken place.

  History was busy repeating itself in the most profound way possible. If I were a young man seeking fame and fortune, Botswana would be high on my priority list, for it is there that future opportunities lie. Strength to Botswana’s arm, and long may their progress continue because they are a lovely people.

  The Landscape of War

  THE LANDSCAPE OF WAR

  We have covered most of the land events from 40 years prior to 1652 and the landing of Van Reebeeck right up to near the close of the 20th century, and at the end we find divided, separated and disenfranchised peoples with no land.

  The original peoples, the San or Bushmen and Khoe or Khoina, had been killed and forced to live in the most inhospitable areas of southern Africa. The land had been lost to the incoming whites, whether in colonial form by the British, or by settler form through the Afrikaner.

  The annexation of the Transvaal republic by the British in 1876 and the defeat of the Zulu nation in 1879 did not mean that anything had really changed – it was the same old struggle to try and prevent the loss of land, just to a different foe at a different time. When the Boers re-took the Transvaal they merely stepped up the campaigns, and that pretty much remained the status quo up to the outbreak of the Second Anglo-Boer War. Then an interesting event occurred.

  In 1899 the ZAR and Orange Free State found themselves being given very similar treatment to that meted out earlier to the Zulus and Xhosas as the tide of British imperialism continued to roll relentlessly forward. President Paul Kruger was forced into declaring war on Britain, in the same way as Cetewayo of the Zulus, and after furious resistance the republics were inevitably overrun by vastly superior numbers.

  For various tribes the war constituted a glimmer of hope that they could regain their lost ancestral lands provided they backed the right side in the forthcoming war. Which was the ‘right side’ is a matter of conjecture,
however, given the outcome.

  For example, one of the tribes which chose to back Kruger’s Boers, the Bafokeng in the Pilanesberg area, not only retained their ancestral land but have become the wealthiest tribe in the world, thanks to the discovery of huge deposits of platinum under their very feet (incidentally, all that royalty money is continually spent on education, hospitals, clinics and infrastructure, as Botswana is doing with its diamond wealth).

  On the other hand, there were tribes like the Po in the Magaliesberg, whose Chief Mogale had fled their ancestral lands with the coming of Mzilikazi’s ferocious Matabele warriors before the arrival of the Voortrekkers. The Voortrekkers then arrived, fought the Matabele at Vegkop, defeated them at Mosega and then chased them all the way into Botswana, and of course from there Mzilikazi trekked into what later became Rhodesia and then Zimbabwe, where his followers spent years persecuting the first-comer Mashona tribe.

  Mogale was delighted to hear that the Voortrekkers had evicted Mzilikazi and came back to claim the land he and his tribe had deserted. The Voortrekkers, however, saw no reason why they should return vast tracts of unoccupied land they had bought with their blood while fighting Mzilikazi’s fearsome underlings, and which Mogale’s people had earlier abandoned without even putting up a fight for it. The land had already been surveyed and was being allocated to young Boer men who received two farms of not less than 6 000 morgen each on turning 18.

  If Mogale wanted land, they said, he would have to buy it – and they would certainly not give back an eminence the Po tribe called ‘Thogomodimoe’ and they had dubbed ‘Wolhuterskop’. Mogale was particularly set on regaining possession of Thogomodimoe because it had long been a sacred place where the tribe’s ancestors were worshipped. Unfortunately it also possessed the only spring in the entire area. The spring has now been dry for many years, thanks to the pumping and dewatering of the platinum mines in the area, but at that time it was a crucially important asset.