by Fred Khumalo
‘Thank you,’ she said. They clinked glasses. Pitso sat down in his chair and took a small sip of his wine.
‘Well, Mr Soldier, a proper welcome to France!’ she laughed, raising her glass.
‘Thank you. I’m beginning to get the feeling that before the war, you were not the humble nurse you are now … that there’s a lot of power behind you?’
She smiled and told him about her family, about the businesses they had in different parts of the country, about their history as part of French nobility.
‘I thought nobles did not mingle with lowly plebeians like us!’
‘You’re misunderstanding me. We were nobles a long time ago, before the revolution. Now we are just businesspeople. If you are still here by the end of the war, you will probably meet my brother and cousins. They are highly successful in business, but humble human beings.’ She paused. ‘But do tell me about yourself.’
Pitso gave her a rough biography, without emotion, without dwelling on the racial tensions at home. He sensed that that part of his story would not make much sense to this lady who was so much at ease with him. He remembered that she had raised her eyebrows in suspicion and confusion whenever there were unpleasant exchanges between Pitso and white soldiers back in hospital. But she had not brought these issues to him; so why dwell on them?
They spoke about history, about books. He commended her on the natural beauty of her country. She gasped in surprise when he told her it had taken his ship one full month to sail from Africa to Europe. ‘That long? I couldn’t survive it. I would die of fear, or exhaustion!’
He drained his glass and put it down on the small table, feeling more courageous after their exchange. ‘Do you know how to dance?’
‘Yes, but there is no music,’ she replied, frowning slightly.
‘Come.’ He got up, and helped her to her feet. ‘Let me show you how to dance to the music of our hearts.’
She laughed. ‘Why, you must be mad!’
‘Listen to it, listen to the music. Can you hear it?’
‘No, silly, are you drunk already? One glass of wine and you’re imagining things. What are we dancing, anyway? Waltz, polka, foxtrot?’
‘Part waltz, part heart. A new dance, just for you and me.’
Again, she giggled. ‘I have never heard such foolishness.’
‘Close your eyes,’ he said, drawing her close to him. ‘If you follow the dance with your heart, if you listen to the music, you will find my message to you, my words to you, hiding in there. Close your eyes.’
Slowly, they began to move. Then their movements and twirls around the room gained momentum. They twirled and twirled. Her eyes remained closed. On passing the drinks table, her dress got snagged on his trousers. She panicked, opened her eyes. He looked down at her, his arm holding her tight. ‘I won’t let you fall.’
They started moving again, Pitso leading her gracefully. She was an experienced dancer, her movements gracious and minimal.
Then she rested her face on his chest. Panting, they stopped. He touched her chin, and her eyelashes fluttered shyly. He lowered his face to hers. Closing her eyes, she obliged him with a kiss on the lips.
At that moment there was a soft knock on the door. She started, patting her hair. ‘Who is it?’
There was a polite cough from the other side of the door.
‘It’s your colleague,’ she said. ‘I think you have to go.’
‘Will I see you again?’ he said, standing up and smoothing his uniform.
She looked away and shrugged, fingering a bunch of flowers on her windowsill. Until now, he hadn’t noticed the flowers. They were bright yellow in colour. Now he could detect their spicy scent in the air. He moved closer to her, kissed her again. He then bent forward and breathed in the blooms on the windowsill. Perhaps that unusual shade of yellow was the colour of hope.
They met again a week later. He’d come to the inn unannounced, with a friend. They sat out in the sun, the four of them – Marie- Thérèse and her sister, and the two soldiers. They drank, told stories and laughed until it was time for the soldiers to leave. A few days later, Pitso and his friend returned. Pitso was bearing a bunch of yellow flowers, an approximation of the ones he had seen in her room. Again, the four of them sat in the sun, drinking and laughing, until Pitso looked meaningfully at her. She nodded surreptitiously. They excused themselves, and went to her quarters.
They sat next to each other on the bed, and kissed. Then he went on his knees, and touched her shoes. ‘May I?’
She smiled approvingly. He took off her shoes carefully, then stood up and reached around her torso to undo her corset. She froze. He hesitated, then sat down next to her, his hands on his knees.
‘I’ll undress myself, if you don’t mind,’ she said, after a short pause. She kissed him again on the lips and got to her feet.
As she removed her clothing, he took off his boots, then his uniform. They lay down on the bed, side by side, kissing, exploring each other’s bodies. He could taste her saliva, which had a tinge of the wine they’d just enjoyed. Then he smelt her perfume, subtle, intoxicating. Her breasts were pert, pointed and hard like fresh pears. Like the rest of her body, her breasts were so pale it seemed they had never been touched by the sun. By contrast, the nipples were a very dark pink, reminding him of strawberries, with the areolas a lighter pink.
He gently spread-eagled her, and then knelt in between her outstretched legs, his face dipping into the valley between her breasts. He spent some time stroking the area with the tip of his tongue. Then he gently bit into her strawberry nipple. She gasped, then shivered.
Taking his time, he moved from that breast to its partner. Her voice rose in a low moan. Then he traced his tongue from the valley all the way down to her navel, which he attended to with his tongue. She moaned, raised her knees, and bucked rhythmically. Her sharp nails dug into his shoulder blades.
From her navel, his tongue went south until it found her oasis. She couldn’t wait any longer. She dug her hands firmly beneath his armpit, pulled him back on top of her and received him. Their movements were measured, unhurried. It was as if they were long-term fellow travellers on this road to mutual pleasuring.
He varied his movements from fast, furious thrusts to the slow, rolling motion of the hips. She wrapped her legs around his back, her heels drumming his buttocks, egging him on. All the while they were both moaning and muttering each other’s names.
She felt she was reaching the point of no return, but held back. She wanted to prolong the pleasure.
Pitso felt he was about to explode. To distract himself, he closed his eyes and listened to someone playing an accordion somewhere outside.
They rocked as one entity. An electrifying wave rose from deep inside her, growing into a huge swell which collided with his throbbing deposit of himself into her. Their bodies convulsed. Then, spent, they lay next to each other, their sweating hands locked together in a passionate clasp. Sleep stole over him.
Standing in front of a mirror and smoothing his uniform back into shape, he turned to her. ‘Please tell me: are you married?’ he asked, thinking back to his first love.
‘No,’ she said, frowning.
‘No steady boyfriend on the front line somewhere?’
‘No man, no parents, just my sister and brother. No cats, no dogs, no children. If you want to be my beau, you are most welcome.’ She giggled nervously, looking down.
There were tears in his eyes as he walked outside, leaving her behind, still tidying herself. He hoped he hadn’t insulted her by asking those questions about boyfriends and husbands.
The cool afternoon breeze smacked him in the face, bringing him back to alertness. Captain Portsmouth was standing there, an inscrutable expression on his face. Marie-Thérèse’s sister was nowhere to be seen. Pitso’s heart sank, as it dawned on him how he had kept Portsmouth waiting while he was enjoying himself. He steeled himself for a serious rebuke.
But for now, he tried to be jovial, ‘
Captain, my Captain, how’s the afternoon treating you?’
Portsmouth looked at him long and hard, and started walking almost angrily towards him. Then he suddenly broke into laughter. ‘Corporal, my Corporal, you’re such a rascal.’
The two men left the premises, heading back to camp. The rest of the troops were still in the town, most of them gathered at the public square where the joyful singing continued.
CHAPTER 34
On 9 July, a call was sent out: the King was in town. He would be inspecting his troops the following day. The officers were nervous, and the soldiers laughed at them behind their backs. From what Portsmouth told Pitso, not a single officer had met the King before. They did not know what impression he would have of the troops, or of the officers themselves, leaving them jittery.
After a quick breakfast the next morning, the men gathered at the parade square in Arques. The agitated officers inspected their individual companies and made the men rehearse ‘God Save the King’ a number of times. At 9 a.m. sharp, they got into trucks, and off they went to the town of Abbeville. An hour later, King George V, accompanied by Queen Mary, arrived on the lawns in the garden of an officers’ club at Abbeville. The men could not help but feel impressed at finally meeting the sovereign they would be fighting for. The King’s delegation included some distinguished individuals – in the persons of Sir Douglas Haig, the commander of the British Expeditionary Force, and Colonel SM Pritchard, commanding officer of the South African Native Labour Contingent. Colonel Pritchard introduced the King to senior officers of the Contingent. Pitso was intrigued when he learned the identities of some of these men. They included Lieutenant Colonel JC Emmett, a Boer General during the Anglo–Boer War, and Lieutenant Colonel J Jacobsz, previously a staff officer with General de Wet, the very general who had fought alongside Pitso’s own father during the Anglo–Boer War. Pitso thought it was amazing how these white people played the game of war. Also in attendance were some leading chiefs from black South Africa, among them Chief Mamabolo from Pietersburg, who had sent several hundred of his men to the Labour Corps. During the Anglo–Boer War, he had been a scout for the British, captured by the Boers, only to be released when Pretoria fell into British hands.
Under the pleasantly warm morning sun, the King walked slowly along the lines. He stopped occasionally in front of a man and asked a question through an interpreter. Pitso was sweating, praying His Majesty would not stop in front of him because he did not know how he would sound speaking to the King – would he respond in English, or would he use the services of the interpreter just like everyone else? The King did pause in front of Pitso, but only took a long look at him, smiled and moved on.
The King then walked to the centre of the square. He cast his eyes across the sea of faces eagerly waiting to hear from him and spoke: ‘I have much pleasure in seeing you who have travelled so far over the sea to help in this great war. I take this opportunity of thanking you for the work done in France by the South African Labour Corps. Reports have been given me of the valuable services rendered by the natives of South Africa to my armies in German South-West Africa and German East Africa. The loyalty of my native subjects in South Africa is fully shown by the helpful part you are taking in this world-wide war. Rest assured that all you have done is of great assistance to my Armies at the front. This work of yours is second only in importance to that of my sailors and soldiers, who are bearing the brunt of the battle.
‘But you also form part of my great Armies who are fighting for the liberties and freedom of my subjects of all races and creeds throughout the Empire. Without munitions of war my Armies cannot fight. Without food they cannot live. You are helping to send these things to them each day, and in doing so you are hurling your assegais at the enemy and hastening the destruction which awaits him. A large corps such as yours requires drafts and reinforcements, and I am sure your chiefs will take upon themselves this duty of supporting your battalions with ever-increasing numbers. I wish them and all their peoples to share with all my loyal subjects that great and final victory which will bring peace throughout the world. I desire you to make these words of mine known to your people here, and to convey them to your chiefs in South Africa.’
After his address, which was followed by a response from the delegation of traditional chiefs, the King, in keeping with African custom, presented a white ox to the soldiers for good luck. The ox was to be slaughtered the following day. Sadly, Pitso and his comrades from Arques-la-Bataille were to miss the feast. Nevertheless, they revelled in the day’s festivities before travelling back to camp late in the afternoon, having enjoyed a sumptuous lunch and some traditional dancing.
On the way back home, some of the men were talking excitedly. ‘Did you hear what the King said? He said we are here to fight for our liberty, our freedom for all the people in his Empire.’
‘It’s a good thing we came here. When we go back home, we will be proud and free.’
‘We will be equal to the white South Africans. We shall have the vote – just like the white man.’
Pitso knew this was wishful thinking. But, all the same, the King’s words had given him hope.
The inquest into the sinking of the Mendi began on 24 July. In maritime law, it was not called an inquest, but a Formal Investigation. In charge of the proceedings was Mr JG Hay Halkett, a magistrate who had much practical acquaintance with this type of investigation. He was assisted by three assessors, also selected for their experience in maritime matters.
Summoned to appear before the inquest were the masters of the two vessels that had collided – Captain Yardley of the Mendi, and Captain Stump of the SS Darro. Also in attendance were some of the officers of the Native Contingent. Various interested parties – including the South African government – were represented by their lawyers.
Pitso, like many other troops, would have liked to attend, but that was not possible. There was a lot of work to be done: ammunition to be offloaded from ships and channelled to wherever it was needed; fuel to be provided for the various camps; food to be cooked; trenches to be dug; medical support to be provided when needed. The troops were grateful that the authorities had seen fit to disseminate as much information about the proceedings as physically possible. They promised newspaper reports would be disseminated among the officers, who would then appoint some literate members to hold public readings at regular intervals. The authorities believed that this would keep the morale of the men high. It would show that the authorities cared about the men and that the proceedings were transparent.
The public readings soon assumed legendary status, reminding some men of the fireside tales they had been raised on.
Because of his reading abilities and his grasp of various languages, Pitso was selected as one of the public readers. He received his regular supply of material, which he would first read quickly by himself and then summarise so that it was succinct, accurate, but as dramatic as possible.
The first two days of the inquest were largely a review, based on submissions by various witnesses, of what had happened before and during the collision. On 20 February, the Mendi sailed from Plymouth, escorted by the HMS Brisk, a destroyer, in misty weather. By 11.30 p.m., the vessel was going at full speed. Because it had become foggy and visibility was poor, the whistle was sounded at one-minute intervals to signal their position, as required by regulations. Yardley mostly remained on the bridge, except during short intervals when he went down to the chart-room under the navigating bridge to fix his position by chart.
At 4 a.m., Second Officer H Raine and Fourth Officer Hubert Frank Trapnell came on watch. On account of the weather, they decided to reduce speed. The HMS Brisk was having trouble keeping up, also because of the thick fog.
Unbeknownst to Captain Yardley and his crew, another ship was fast approaching. The SS Darro was a much larger ship than the Mendi: five hundred feet in length, sixty-two feet in the beam, gross tonnage of 11484 tons. The Mendi was a single-screw steamer of 4230 gross tons, three hun
dred and seventy feet in length and forty-six feet in the beam. The Darro, under the command of Henry Winchester Stump, had sailed from Le Havre in France, and was on her way to Liverpool. Later reports would show that the Darro had been moving at a speed of thirteen knots, while the Mendi was moving at six knots. The Darro had lookouts on the forecastle, in the crow’s nest and on top of the wheelhouse. But it was treacherously foggy.
At about the time the SS Mendi was slowing down, the Darro hurtled on at full speed, with Captain Stump on the bridge with the officers of the watch and the lookouts still in position. It transpired that, although the Darro’s masthead lights and electric sidelights were on, her whistles were not being sounded as required by regulations.
On the Mendi, Fourth Officer Trapnell, who was at the starboard end of the bridge, heard another vessel coming through the water. He alerted his colleague, ‘Raine, I think there is a vessel near us.’ He then proceeded to sound the Mendi’s whistle numerous times. Just then, he saw the masthead light of another ship so close that the other vessel seemed right over them. Raine blew three blasts of the whistle, but the other ship remained silent.
It was already too late. The Darro’s bow crashed into the starboard side of the Mendi at exactly 4.57 a.m. on 21 February 1917. The crash happened just about eleven miles south to south-west of St Catherine’s Point on the Isle of Wight.
Needless to say, the spotlight during the hearing fell largely on Captain Stump, master of the SS Darro. He had been blamed for negligence and everyone, especially the press, was baying for his blood. On the third day of the inquest, Captain Stump took the stand, cross-examined by Sir Reginald Acland, King’s Counsel, representing the Board of Trade. The questions regarding Captain Stump’s failure to make any attempt to save the men in the water began like this:
Acland: What steps did you take to save life?
Stump: I took no immediate steps.