An Unquiet Place

by Clare Houston

  Joseph hopped out to open the fence gate, waiting a few moments for the dogs to catch up before closing it and hopping back in the truck. The plateau looked innocuous in the sunlight. The grass shone gold in the sun and not a blade stirred. Joseph climbed out of the pickup and stretched his arms high above his head. He turned a full circle. ‘It’s pretty remote for a camp,’ he said. ‘Most were along railway lines or adjacent to garrisons.’

  ‘Does that mean it’s unlikely to have been one?’ said Hannah.

  ‘It means it doesn’t follow the pattern, but that’s not evidence in itself.’ He turned to Alistair. ‘Are you aware of a blockhouse on the farm or a garrison?’

  Alistair shook his head. ‘All I know is that my mother’s house was built after the war, but, as you say, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t anything before that.’

  ‘Kobie’s family have lived on the farm since the war, so those dwellings or at least the site of the dwellings might be older,’ said Hannah, looking at the wind pump and remembering her fright. The pump stood tall and silver in the bright morning, its blades still.

  Joseph followed her gaze. ‘And the pump?’

  ‘Rachel speaks of a well,’ said Hannah. ‘That’s a discrepancy with the journal.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Alistair. ‘Wind pumps were around during the war, but they only became common on farms later – this one could have been put in on a well site.’

  Joseph nodded. ‘Rachel’s speaking of a well is also more in line with the fact that the British were all about keeping their costs to the minimum. It was a hugely expensive war, and the army was under enormous pressure from home to keep costs down. They wouldn’t have spent money on engineering for a camp.’

  ‘The British,’ Alistair added, ‘made do with whatever infrastructure was in place. That proved to be one of their biggest problems. Having to feed and supply such a huge force was almost impossible. They resorted to pillaging whatever they could from the farms they crossed.’

  ‘Rachel speaks of that – they stripped her farm of everything. And shot all the livestock. Why would they do that? When they needed horses and food?’

  Alistair shook his head and shrugged. ‘I think it came down to the British commanders on the ground. If they couldn’t manage to drive the stock away and care for it, they annihilated everything so that the Boers couldn’t use it.’

  ‘It seems so barbaric, and for people who considered themselves civilised!’

  ‘Remember, they were trying to end the war as quickly as possible. They just grossly underestimated the Boers’ endurance – that of both the men and the women.’

  Joseph walked down the line of trees, his eyes on the ground. When he came to the end, he turned at a ninety-degree angle and walked in another line until he was standing two hundred metres away from the pickup, where the ground began falling away. He then walked the edge of the plateau parallel to the line of trees. Halfway along, he stopped, squatted to the ground, and began shouting across the plateau to Hannah and Alistair.

  When they reached him, he was kneeling on the ground, peering at an object lying half-buried. He looked up as they approached. ‘Our first find!’ he said.

  ‘Already?’ Hannah knelt next to him. ‘Josey, you are the luckiest bastard.’

  ‘That’s our mother you’re talking about.’ Joseph grinned at her. ‘Don’t lift it,’ he said quickly as she reached out. ‘We might have to do a survey of this whole site, which means mapping every inch with GIS before we can dig up anything.’

  Alistair crouched down next to them. ‘It’s a ration tin,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it is!’ said Joseph triumphantly. ‘And it might just be the beginning of a very interesting project.’

  ‘What does this mean?’ said Hannah, her face flushed with excitement.

  ‘It means,’ said Alistair dryly, ‘that someone had a British army ration tin.’

  ‘Don’t mock me!’ said Hannah crossly.

  ‘But it is all we can deduce from just one tin,’ said Joseph. ‘Those ration tins would have been distributed all over the country. Wherever a British soldier went, you could conceivably find a ration tin.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Hannah, somewhat deflated.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Joseph, his eyes smiling at Hannah. ‘What it does say is that this is a good site to pursue further. The Boer camps were fed with these tins. If this was indeed a camp, we will find plenty more of these.’ He stood and began to walk back towards the pickup.

  ‘What about the tin?’ called Hannah, still crouching.

  Joseph turned and threw her a smile. ‘It’s been here for over a hundred years – it will still be here when we come back. Come on, I’m starving.’

  Hannah turned to Alistair who was still bent over the tin. ‘Is it just me, or is my brother exceptionally annoying?’

  ‘It’s just you,’ said Alistair, not looking up, even when Hannah huffed an irritated sigh. ‘It’s amazing to think,’ he said, ‘that this tin was opened and the contents eaten by someone so long ago. A hungry homesick soldier, or a starving Boer child. It might have meant life to someone, maybe even your Rachel.’ He looked up and caught Hannah’s gaze.

  She felt a surge of emotion for him, this man who was so rational and yet could be transported by a tin lying in the veld, moved to feel compassion for people so long ago. He stood and pulled her up to stand next to him, then looked around the plateau.

  ‘I feel the responsibility quite heavily. Whatever this place was, perhaps it’s waited long enough to have its story told.’

  She touched his arm. ‘Strange that events could line up, my coming to Leliehoek, finding the journal, meeting you, Joseph’s coming. It’s a crazy coincidence.’

  ‘My parents don’t believe in coincidence – they would say it was planned.’

  ‘Do you believe in God?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he answered slowly, looking down at her. ‘It’s difficult to be a farmer, so dependent on the land and the weather, and not believe in God. But I’ve been so angry—’ He stopped, perhaps not sure of how he wanted to continue.

  ‘Hey!’ Joseph’s voice carried over the plateau. ‘I’m chewing on the tyres over here.’

  Alistair smiled ruefully. ‘Let’s go feed your brother.’

  Half an hour later, they were back in Alistair’s austere kitchen. ‘There’s not a lot to work with,’ said Hannah, standing in front of an enormous double-door chrome fridge.

  ‘Sorry, I’ll go across to the cottage and beg,’ Alistair said. He returned with his arms loaded with packs of cold meat, cheese, a loaf of bread, and salad.

  Joseph helped him unload onto the table. ‘What’s the salad for?’

  ‘For me, you Neanderthal,’ said Hannah, elbowing him out the way, and tipping the lettuce into a bowl.

  ‘You say that like it’s an insult,’ said Joseph, grinning. She ignored him, threw some cherry tomatoes into the bowl, and headed outside to Alistair’s kitchen garden, returning with a handful of fresh basil and coriander, their sharp scent wafting in the door with her.

  They were soon sitting at the kitchen table tucking into thick triangles of toasted ham-and-cheese sandwiches.

  ‘Heaven,’ said Joseph, popping the last crust into his mouth.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat that fast,’ said Alistair to Hannah. ‘Is that normal?’

  ‘Nothing about Joseph is normal,’ she said.

  ‘Enough of the chit-chat,’ said Joseph, getting up to put his plate in the sink. ‘We need to talk about a plan of action.’

  ‘You’re the boss now,’ said Alistair. ‘What do we need to do?’

  ‘Hannah, like we said earlier, you take the journal. We need copies and details, and as much about the camp as you can find from the archives in Bloemfontein.’ He turned to Alistair. ‘You have historical experience and probably more background knowledge on the South African War than I do. You take the area’s history. Try to find out about all the action th
at took place here – if there were garrisons stationed close by, if there were blockhouses.’

  Alistair nodded. ‘I know the archives quite well. I’ve just never thought to look for that kind of detail.’

  ‘That’s the problem with historical research – you only find what you’re looking for. Archaeologists dig up things we never dreamt we’d find. That’s the beauty of it.’ The smugness of his words was tempered by the passion in his voice. ‘Can you get hold of aerial photographs of the plateau?’

  Alistair nodded again. ‘I’ve got some pretty recent photographs.’

  ‘And older ones?’ said Joseph, opening the fridge and peering inside. ‘Try to get pictures of the ground as far back as you can. We might see things in the older pictures we can’t see now.’

  Hannah watched him choose a Coke and pull the tab on the can. ‘Make yourself at home, Joseph,’ she said.

  ‘I love the Free State,’ said Joseph. ‘People are so hospitable.’ He ignored Hannah’s snort and continued after a short pause. ‘I’ll start putting a team together. Then we can begin mapping the site whenever we’re ready.’

  ‘What about permits?’ said Alistair, watching Hannah. She felt his gaze and the slow heat which prickled at her neck, rising to her face. She began to clear the table around Joseph, who had settled back into his chair. Alistair stood to help her and they moved around each other without making eye contact.

  Joseph took a sip from his Coke. ‘Any actual excavation will need permission from SAHRA, South Africa’s heritage agency. When we have some idea of what we’re looking at, we can put together a proposal and apply for permission.’

  ‘Permission for what?’ said a voice behind Joseph’s back.

  He twisted in his chair to face a girl leaning in the doorway behind him. Her clear hazel eyes were looking at him with interest and he choked on his Coke. As he spluttered and coughed, she leant forwards and whacked him hard on the back. Hannah watched as he struggled to regain his composure, a state he was rarely, if ever, in.

  ‘Suzanne, this is Hannah and her brother, Joseph,’ said Alistair, standing upright from stacking the dishwasher.

  Hannah smiled at Suzanne, taking in her deep red hair which was pulled back from her face in a messy ponytail. Her baggy tracksuit pants and overly large T-shirt did nothing to hide the fact that she was gorgeous. For once, Joseph was speechless, and Hannah filled his awkward silence: ‘I was hoping for some tea. Do you want some, Suzanne?’

  ‘Not for me, thanks. Alistair said you’re here to investigate a concentration camp?’ She pulled out a chair next to Joseph, dislodging his feet. He shuffled his chair up a bit to make room for her.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, sitting more upright in his chair and clearing his throat.

  Alistair took mugs from a cupboard. ‘Joseph, how are we going to afford the project? We’ll need help to do the slog work, won’t we?’

  Joseph cleared his throat again. ‘Yes.’

  They all looked at him, waiting for him to elucidate.

  ‘I’ve got … uh … connections at UCT.’

  Hannah rolled her eyes at Alistair; he responded with a small smile.

  Joseph continued, ‘I’ll see if I can get some students up after Christmas. They will still have six weeks of holiday left – we could do lot in that time.’

  ‘And the costs?’ said Alistair.

  ‘Let me talk to some people in Cambridge – there’s bound to be some funding somewhere for a project like this. The South African War still garners a lot of interest in the UK.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Suzanne quietly, her intelligent eyes taking stock of the three people in the kitchen.

  Joseph swung his full attention towards her, as sure now and as intense as a lighthouse beam. ‘Tell me your story, lovely Suzanne.’

  It was Hannah’s turn to splutter into her cup, and Alistair reached a hand across her chair to thump the flat of his hand on her back, all the while not taking his eyes off Joseph. Hannah, recovering, recognised a glitter in Alistair’s eye.

  But Suzanne rose from her chair. ‘Nothing compelling about my story, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you.’ She smiled at Hannah, barely giving Joseph a glance beyond what was polite, then pushed her chair in and disappeared out the kitchen door, leaving Joseph speechless and Alistair grinning into his tea.

  ‘She’s not your type, Josey,’ said Hannah, reaching across and patting his hand.

  ‘I have a type?’

  ‘Your pattern of twenty years leans more towards the glamorous, ambitious, attached variety.’

  He scratched his chin. ‘Patterns can change.’

  ‘She takes her work seriously,’ cut in Alistair, ‘and she doesn’t play games.’

  ‘Sounds like a warning, Mr Barlow.’ Joseph grinned.

  ‘Consider it a caution,’ said Alistair carefully. ‘She’s still my little sister.’

  ‘As Hannah is mine.’

  ‘Oh stop it, you two. I can’t bear the hum of testosterone!’ Hannah dumped her mug in the sink and marched down the passage. ‘I’ll be at the car, Joseph,’ she called over her shoulder.

  She could still discern their voices as she left the kitchen.

  ‘That put us in our place!’ Joseph was saying, pushing his chair back. ‘We might have to ally ourselves to survive this project.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Alistair. And then Hannah could hear no more.

  Later that evening, Hannah sat at her laptop, notebook beside her, to begin researching the archives. She saw what Joseph had meant when he said you had to know what to look for. Eventually, she figured out the index system and began to search for documents. She would have to go to Bloemfontein in person to read them, but at least she could find the references from her computer. After an hour of hunting, she had found nothing about the Goshen camp, no matter what permutations she tried. There were, however, many references to the Winburg and Harrismith camps, including reams of death notices. A trip to Bloemfontein was clearly needed in the next week or so.

  She closed her laptop, feeling the fatigue set in after a long day and the up-down of emotion.

  Joseph looked up from his laptop across the table. ‘Going to bed?’

  ‘I’m exhausted,’ she said, looking over his shoulder to see him scrolling through a Google search page. The name typed into the search box was Suzanne Barlow.

  ‘Come on, Josey.’ Hannah leant over his shoulder to peer at the pages he was now browsing. ‘It was pretty clear she wasn’t interested.’

  He ignored Hannah, engrossed in his reading. ‘Did you know that she’s a doctor at Red Cross Children’s Hospital? She doesn’t look old enough to be out of school, let alone specialising in paediatric anaesthetics. And she’s beautiful.’

  ‘Josey, please don’t cause trouble here. I’m finding my feet and the Barlows have been a big part of that. Not to mention the dig – we can’t mess that up.’

  Joseph twisted to look at his sister, her hand brushing the hair off her forehead and her eyes tired and concerned. He relented, pushed his chair back, and surprised her by enveloping her in a big hug, squeezing the breath out of her. ‘Okay, you win. I’ll leave her alone. But’ – he pulled back to look down into Hannah’s face, grinning – ‘if she approaches me, the deal’s off.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Hannah, thinking of Suzanne’s breezy imperviousness to Joseph earlier that day.

  Joseph moved backwards to perch on the edge of the table. ‘Clearly the same rules don’t apply to you though.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He tilted his head to the side with a look of mock disbelief. ‘Come on, Hannah, there were moments today when I thought Alistair would gobble you up whole. And,’ he continued, seeing her about to fob him off, ‘don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’

  Hannah leant back against the sink and sighed. ‘I don’t actually know what to tell you. There’s a spark between us, that’s for sure – we nearly killed each other when we first met.
But now,’ she paused, pulling her cheek between her teeth, ‘I suppose we’re friends.’

  Joseph snorted.

  ‘Joseph, it’s complicated. He’s been mourning his wife for eight years – I’m not convinced he’s over that. And I’m—’

  ‘You’re happy,’ finished Joseph, his words making Hannah look quickly up at him. ‘For the first time in … I can’t actually ever remember seeing you this strong and independent and happy.’

  She nodded. ‘That’s exactly it. And I’m not sure I’m ready to give that up … be consumed again by another man.’

  ‘You’re making the assumption that Alistair is like Todd. There is no comparison, Hannah.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ She turned to the sink.

  ‘I only met Todd a few times, but I pitched him from the first as a narcissistic arsehole.’ Hannah looked over her shoulder at her brother, her brows raised as he continued, ‘And yes, I am the king of narcissistic arseholes, so I know another when I see one.’

  ‘Just your saying that,’ she said, ‘removes you from the category.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, bowing slightly. He rubbed a hand over his stubbly cheek. ‘I like Alistair. There’s a rawness to him, a grainy integrity. Put it this way, I would – ten times over – rather have you with a damaged farmer than a slippery, lying bastard of a politician.’

  Hannah smiled at him, reaching out to squeeze his arm. ‘Thanks, Josey. But, to be honest, I can’t see it working out. I’ve never even been on a proper date in my life, let alone handled a relationship with someone so fragile. It would be better to keep my distance, I think.’

  ‘Better for whom?’

  ‘For everyone, surely. This Leliehoek bubble I’m in won’t last forever. I will have to return to my life eventually.’ She smiled sadly, drying her hands on a tea towel.

  ‘This could be your life, Hannah.’

  ‘In my dreams,’ she said, raising her hand in a goodnight wave. ‘See you in the morning.’

  He reached forwards to close his laptop, and she caught a glimpse of Suzanne’s profile picture. ‘In my dreams too,’ he said softly to himself as he shut the lid on her.

  August 1901, Goshen Camp, Orange River Colony