Someone Wishes to Speak to You

by Jeremy Mallinson

  During the course of the evening, Mathew found himself feeling increasingly uncomfortable in conversation with some of Bushney’s military colleagues. For, as more Castle lager was consumed, the group of officers and NCOs he was talking to started to boast about how many terrorists they had personally managed to account for during the Nyadzonya/Pungwe and Mapai anti-terrorist raids. The conversations reminded Mathew of those that would follow a successful grouse shoot after the Glorious Twelfth, with the guns boasting amongst themselves about how many birds they had managed to bag.

  However, it was obvious to Mathew how much Paddy Bushney was respected by both European and African members of the military. He had an unorthodox and fearless leadership style; he always led by example by frequently placing himself in the most dangerous of situations when leading a counter-insurgency raid on ZANLA’s terrorist operatives. Mathew had assumed that Bushney would be racist in his attitude toward Africans, but was interested to learn from his colleagues how he fully supported Colonel Reid-Daly’s concept of introducing and promoting black special force personnel to the rank of a commissioned officer. As a result of this policy, the Selous Scouts could claim that nowhere in the armed forces was integration quite so comprehensive as it was within its ranks.

  It was a conversation between a 2nd Lieutenant and a couple of NCOs that particularly concerned Mathew, for it highlighted the degree of hatred that so many of the military had toward ZANLA and its associate activists in ZANU/PF and ZIPRA. ‘I’d be only too happy to assassinate Robert Mugabe,’ said the lieutenant. ‘As far as I’m concerned, Mugabe and his terrorist thugs have already demonstrated the various degrees of ruthlessness and savagery that they’re prepared to sink to in their attempt to overthrow the Smith regime and become the country’s next elected government. As far as I’m concerned, this attempt has to be stopped by any means currently available to the country’s security forces.’

  Simon, Anna and Mathew enjoyed generous portions of roasted bush pig, along with all the trimmings, washed down by some agreeable South African red burgundy from the Alphen vineyards in Constantia. Just after 11 p.m. they decided that the time had come for them to leave the party. While crossing the lawn to say goodbye to their hosts, they saw some of the fun-loving guests starting to play one of their favourite party games, known as ‘Pass the Bottle’.

  This involved men and women forming a tight circle and passing a beer bottle to one another by wedging it between their knees, until one of them allowed the bottle to fall, after which they had to leave the circle. It was customary for the winner of the contest to be presented with the beer bottle as a trophy and for its label to be dutifully signed by all of the contestants, which would frequently include some very ribald and thought-provokingly intimate comments.

  Soon after a number of the more riotous guests had started to sing loudly, in true rugby club fashion, some of their favourite songs such as ‘Comrade in Arms’, ‘Hold Him Down, You Zulu Warrior’ and Clem Tholet’s ‘We Are All Rhodesians’, some of the Rhodesian-born soldiers changed the words in the chorus of the traditional Afrikaans folk song, ‘Sarie Marais’ from: ‘Oh take me back to the old Transvaal to my sweetheart Sarie Marais’ to ‘There’s twenty thousand bastards in the old Transvaal thanks to the efforts of Sarie Marais’. As soon as they started to repeat their version of the chorus, a small fight broke out in the corner of the garden between a few inebriated South African-born NCOs with their Rhodesian-born counterparts. A thunderous command in Afrikaans, issued from the steps of the veranda by Paddy Bushney, restored immediate order to the party, but had such a stifling effect on the possibility of any further merriment that it signalled an end to the evening’s festivities.

  Bushney was quick to retire into his house with some of his closest Selous Scouts regimental friends and to leave his henchmen to bid farewell to those that had started to dwindle away from the floodlit lawn. Just as the Vaughan-Joneses and Mathew reached the drive, Jan suddenly joined them from out of the shadows, this time looking far more relaxed than she had done earlier in the evening.

  ‘I’m so sorry for the way they behaved towards the end,’ she said. ‘That’s what usually happens I’m afraid, when you get a large group of the military at a party together.’

  Although Jan’s deep-blue eyes no longer had the star-like sparkle to them that Mathew clearly recalled from their first meeting in the grounds of the museum, and her face did not portray that most attractive and beseeching of smiles, he still considered her to be the most desirable person he could ever meet.

  While Jan was wishing them goodnight, she stood with her back to a tall eucalyptus tree and kept looking rather nervously in the direction of her house, as if she was worried that she was being observed by her husband, who was well known by his peers to have a highly possessive disposition. As Mathew sensed the uneasiness of the situation and recognised that her formality towards him was in all probability due to the nearby presence of her jealous husband, he decided not to attempt to kiss her goodbye but rather to just gently squeeze her hand. She immediately responded with a similar gesture of affection. However, as she did so, she managed to slip a small envelope into his grasp, which he quickly slipped into his trouser pocket without anyone noticing.

  Before turning in for the night, Simon offered Mathew a nightcap. After Anna went to bed, they stayed up until the early hours talking about the various goings-on at Paddy Bushney’s party, whereby Simon provided Mathew with some more information about Bushney’s military background. During the time of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland (FR&N) he had served as a 2nd Lieutenant in the Rhodesian African Rifles (RAR), which comprised black soldiers and non-commissioned officers, and was commanded by white officers. During 1956 and 1957, he had served with the RAR as a contingent of the British Commonwealth armed forces in the Malayan Emergency campaign, a long-standing conflict between the government and the Malayan National Liberation Army (MNLA), the military arm of the country’s Communist Party.

  Although both Bushney and his now commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Ron Reid-Daly, had served in Malaya at the same time, the then Sergeant Reid-Daly had been seconded into C Squadron of Britain’s SAS regiment so their military paths had not crossed. On Bushney’s return from Malaya, he was posted to the Rhodesia and Nyasaland Staff Corps (R&NSC) and after UDI he had served in the Rhodesia Light Infantry (RLI) until the outbreak of the Bush War. Due to the reputation he had gained during his counter-insurgency operations in Malaya and his much-respected leadership skills, the newly appointed commanding officer of the recently formed Selous Scouts appointed him to be his second in command, with the operational rank of major.

  ‘I’m telling you this in confidence,’ said Simon, ‘but Jan has told Anna that as the Selous Scouts’ counter-insurgency activities have become more intensive, she seldom sees her husband in a relaxed state. She said that when he comes home from an operation, he’s often been very insensitive and rough and, on some occasions after he’s been drinking, she’s become quite scared of him.’ Mathew only wished that he were in a position to act as a ‘knight in shining armour’; to rush to her house, gather her up in his arms and whisk her away from such unhappiness.

  When he returned to his bedroom, he opened the small envelope that Jan had furtively slipped into his hand. He could not have been happier to read the words written in her small, neat handwriting.

  Dearest Mathew,

  Ever since I first met you, almost two years ago, I’ve been praying for the chance for us to meet in private. I’ve dreamt about being alone with you, I know we have so much in common and I realised some time ago that you feel the same way.

  It’s getting worse every time my husband returns from a counter-insurgency operation. I hate hearing about how many people he’s killed – he often goes into horrific detail.

  I only wish that I could find a way to escape from this unhappy existence, living with a husband that I no longer love, who frankly scares me at times. If it wasn’t for An
na’s friendship and support, I would by now have left to seek refuge with my uncle and aunt who live across the border at Louis Trichardt, in the Northern Transvaal. Should things get any worse between Paddy and myself, I may well go anyway.

  Every two to three weeks, Paddy allows me to spend the weekend with my sister Mariette, at the farm my brother-in-law manages at Macheke. As you know, Macheke is on the Umtali side of Marandellas, near to where Norman Travers has his Imire game farm, where the photograph of the cheetah was taken. I’m sure that we could arrange a meeting with each other at Imire, without causing any suspicion.

  Jan had signed off her letter with the signs for a hug and two kisses, with a P.S. that said should her marital problems deteriorate any further, she would hate to have to leave Rhodesia without having the chance to talk alone with him again. At the bottom of the page, Jan had written her sister’s address and telephone number, and mentioned that in three weekends’ time she would be spending all day on the Saturday at Imire and beseeched him to meet her there. She asked him to contact Mariette to confirm whether he would be able to come.

  Prior to getting into bed that night, Mathew found the picture of Jan with the cheetah and kissed it. He had already made up his mind that in spite of the potential complications involved in agreeing to meet a young married woman in such a clandestine fashion, he had such a desire to be in her company that whatever he was confronted with during the next few weeks, he would guarantee to make the proposed rendezvous with her at Imire. As Mathew fell asleep with Jan’s letter under his pillow, he could not have been more gratified to know the depth of her feelings for him, or that she had known for quite some time that he felt the same.

  The following day, Mathew decided not to mention anything about Jan’s note to Simon or Anna, or to refer to the planned meeting with her at Imire. After attending the Sunday morning Communion service at Salisbury’s Anglican Cathedral, they had lunch at The Ridgeway Hotel, where Mathew helped Anna with some preparation for their forthcoming joint publication. At sundowner time, Anna received a phone call from Jan who said that her husband had just left to go on military operations, and asked to have a quick word with Mathew to apologise for having been so unsociable the previous evening.

  Mathew took the receiver.

  ‘Mathew. . . I must know, have you read my letter? Will you come to Imire?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mathew was desperately trying to disguise his enthusiastic reply. ‘Yes Jan, it was a very nice evening. Perhaps if we do see each other again, you’ll be able to spend a little longer talking to us,’ he said laughingly. After replacing the receiver, Mathew was sure that Anna had intuitively sensed his excitement. She was indeed aware that there was something more to the casual conversation that she had just overheard, but was at a loss to think what it could be. She decided that at this stage of their relationship, it would be prudent not to question her guest on such a delicate matter.

  On Mathew’s return to the Kinloch homestead, he immediately got down to establishing a viable strategy which he hoped would enable him to carry out as many observations on the local chacma baboon population as he could during the final two months of his stay in Inyanga. He was well aware that he would have to spend a considerable amount of time preparing the tutorials that he was scheduled to present at the start of the academic year. Just a few days after his return, he called Mariette so that she could pass on the message that he looked forward to meeting Jan at the Imire Game Farm in eighteen days’ time. He was careful to add here that the purpose of his meeting with her sister was so that Jan could personally introduce him to the farm’s founder, Norman Travers.

  Mathew’s second encounter with the baboon family, which he had christened the Appletreewick group, went much better than he expected. While the baboons were crossing one of the park’s earthen tracks, they took much longer to scatter than they had done previously when they saw his Land Rover approaching. During the initial days of this study of a family of over thirty individuals, he was intrigued to note that the troop appeared to have no single leader, although a few of the larger dominant males (who were over twice the size of the females) always appeared to be quick-tempered and could be frequently seen chasing the younger members of the troop in order to exert their discipline over them. Although on one occasion, Mathew was amused to see one of the powerful-looking males run for his life from an infuriated mother, whose small infant he had slapped for pulling his tail.

  The most recognisable feature of the chacma baboon family, in comparison to members of the guenon monkeys he had previously studied, was their long, square-jawed, dog-like muzzles and the way that the adults communicated with one another through their constant barks and coughs. Mathew had recorded a series of the baboon’s grunting sounds that, while feeding, were frequently accompanied by soft chattering noises of pleasure. These contrasted significantly with the frenzied roars, screams and squeals that would erupt whenever one of the sentinels uttered one of their characteristic alarm barks. On these occasions, the barks would not only immediately scatter the rest of the family troop, but would also cause any other animals in the vicinity to be on the alert.

  While Mathew started to draw some mugshots for identification purposes, he became only too aware of how intimidating an adult male chacma could be. For whenever he got too close to an individual, they would throw their heads back, grind their teeth, yawn deeply and after raising their eyebrows, give out such a piercing laser-beam warning stare from the black pupils of their deep-set pale brown eyes that only the most foolish of behaviourists would venture any closer. These reactions did not only occur when Mathew looked directly at one of the males during the process of sketching, but also whenever he came too close to one of the pink-faced infants clutching tightly to their mother’s chest, or to one of the older infants riding jockey-style on their mother’s back.

  In comparison to the amount of time Casimir’s gorilla family had spent mutual-grooming, Mathew had been surprised at the additional time that his Appletreewick troop of baboons spent in picking the salt out of each others’ coats. After their early morning routine of foraging, which he noted included a typical omnivorous diet of wild fruits, roots, bulbs, seeds, birds’ eggs, insects, spiders, beetles, and even scorpions, their favourite pastime while relaxing in close physical contact with one another during the heat of the day was to preoccupy themselves with mutual grooming and meticulously attending to each others’ coats.

  On a number of occasions, Mathew saw younger females waiting for a chance to kidnap an infant from its mother. Such an event would be immediately followed by pandemonium within the troop, with the loud roars and barking of the elders and the squeals of the younger members of the family, who would scamper away from the furor to seek refuge behind a nearby tree or boulder. Mathew found his Appletreewick troop of chacmas to be highly intelligent, social animals who possessed remarkable eyesight and were able to pick out and identify different objects – even quite motionless individuals, which so many other animal species are unable to do. The baboon sentinels always appeared to maintain a high degree of vigilance and a level of watchfulness which contributed so much to their family group’s security and welfare.

  On Mathew’s return to the Kinloch household late on the Friday afternoon, prior to his planned meeting with Jan at Imire the following morning, Miles told him that he’d had a message from a Mrs Smoelke and could he phone her back between eight and nine that evening. Mathew immediately feared the worst; that Jan had contacted her sister to say that after all their planning and hopes, she would be unable to make the Imire rendezvous. After he had taken one more sundowner than usual, he plucked up courage and managed to get through to Macheke on a rather erratic party line to speak to Mariette.

  Instead of being told that Jan would be unable to meet him, her sister was calling to say that she was going to be later than expected. ‘Normally she drives down on a Friday evening but as Major Bushney isn’t due to leave until the Saturday morning, she’s going to be delay
ed and won’t get to Imire until just after midday on Saturday. Norman Travers is still expecting you to arrive at the farm at 10.30 a.m. It’s a terrible shame but as my husband Willie is away for the weekend on a military exercise – he’s in the Terratorials – I won’t be able to leave the farm to join you at Imire. But as Macheke was on the way back from Marandellas to Inyanga, I do hope that you’ll have time to drop in for tea or a sundowner with myself and Jan? She’s told me so much about you.’

  ‘I’m sure there’ll be time for that, Mariette. It would be lovely to meet you, too. Well, thanks so much for letting me know, it’s very kind of you – I look forward to meeting you then.’

  Relieved that his meeting with Jan hadn’t been cancelled, Mathew returned to enjoy a nightcap with Miles. He told him that a great friend of Simon and Anna Vaughan-Jones (he carefully avoided mentioning Jan’s name) was a friend of Norman Travers and had set up the Saturday morning meeting with him. ‘I’ve been told that Travers has expressed a keenness to discuss topics of mutual interest, in particular with regards to the future of endangered species and animal conservation matters in Rhodesia. I think he’ll be a useful contact.’

  ‘I’ve visited the Imire Game Farm,’ said Miles, ‘but I haven’t had the opportunity to meet Norman Travers personally. I know he’s very well respected. I’ve heard he’s done a lot to hold together the farming community of the Wedza district. It’s a small, white community which has been under frequent attack from black nationalist guerrillas. He’s a brave man, a war hero – he was awarded an M.C. during the Italian campaign and he’s recently also been awarded the Meritorious Service Medal. I’m sure it will be a very worthwhile trip.’