by Wilbur Smith
Marion! and he scribbled it into the notebook.
He climbed down on to the platform, carrying his case, and joined the jostling throng of travellers and welcomers.
Then he set out to find lodgings in the city.
A penny copy of the Natal Mercury led him through its small advertisements to a rooming house in Point Road, down by the docks. The room was small, dark and smelled of those gargantuan cockroaches that infest the city, swarming up from the sewers each evening in shiny black hordes, but the rental was only a guinea a week, and he had the use of the lavatory and shower room across. the small enclosed yard.
That night he wrote a letter: Dear Marion, I don't suppose you remember me, my name is Mark Anders, the same as Mark Antony! I have thought of you often since I was compelled to leave Ladyburg unexpectedly before I had a chance to see you again Tactfully he avoided any mention of the research work he wanted undertaken. That could wait for the next letter.
He had learned much about women recently, and he addressed the letter simply to Miss Marion, Registrar's Office, Ladyburg.
Mark started the following morning at the City Library, walking up Smith Street to the four-storied edifice of the Municipal Buildings. It looked like a palace flanked by the equally imposing buildings of the Royal Hotel and the cathedral, with the garden square neatly laid out in front of it, bright with spring blooms.
He had another inspiration as he approached the librarian's desk. I'm doing research for a book I intend writing Immediately the grey-haired lady who presided over the dim halls and ceiling-high racks of books softened her severe expression. She was a book person, and book people love other book people. Mark had the key to one of the reading rooms given him, and the back copies of all the Natal newspapers, going back to the time of the first British occupation, were put at his disposal.
There was immediately a temptation for Mark, voracious reader that he was, to lose himself in the fascination of history printed as urgent headlines, for history had been one of Mark's favourite subjects both at Ladyburg School and at University College.
He resisted the temptation and went at once to the drawers that contained the copies of the Ladyburg Lantern and Recorder. The first copies were already yellowing with age and tore easily, so he handled them with care.
The first mention of the name Courtney, leapt at him in thick black headlines on one of the earliest copies from
1879.
Ladyburg Mounted Rifles massacred at Isandhlwana.
Colonel Waite Courtney and his men cut down to a man.
Blood-crazed Impis on the rampage.
Mark guessed that this must refer to the founder of the family in Ladyburg; after that the name cropped up in nearly every issue, there were many Courtneys and all of them lived in the Ladyburg district, but the first mention of Dirk Courtney came in 1900.
Ladyburg welcomes one of its Favourite Sons.
Hero of the Anglo-Boer War Returns.
Colonel Sean Courtney purchases Lion Kop Ranch.
Ladyburg welcomes the return of one of her favourite Sons after an absence of many years. There are very few of us who are not acquainted with the exploits of Colonel Sean Courtney, D. S. O D. C. M and all will recall the major role he played in the establishment of the prosperous gold-mining industry on the Witwatersrand. . .
A long recital of the man's deeds and reputation followed, and the report ended, Colonel Courtney has purchased the ranch Lion Kop from the Ladyburg Farmers Bank. He intends making this his home and will plant the land to timber. Major Courtney is a widower and is accompanied by his ten-year-old son, Dirk.
The ancient report shocked Mark. He had not realized that Dirk Courtney was the son of his old General. The big, bearded, hook-nosed man he had met that snowy night in France, the man whom he had immediately respected and liked, no, more than liked. The man whose vital force and presence, together with his reputation, had roused in him an almost religious awe.
His instant reaction was to wonder if the General himself was in any way involved in the murderous attack he had survived on the escarpment; and the thought disturbed him so that he left the library and went down to the palmlined esplanade and found a bench overlooking the quiet sheltered waters of the bay, with the great whale-backed mountain of the bluff beyond.
He watched the shippin& as he pondered the tangled web that was centred in Ladyburg, where the hidden spider sat. He knew that his investigations were going to take time. The reading was a slow business and it would be days before he could expect to have a reply to his letter to Marion.
Later, in his dingy room, he counted the remaining sovereigns in his money belt, and knew that living in the city they would not last him long.
He needed a job.
The floor manager had the beer belly and flash clothing that seem always to go with salesmen in the motor industry; Mark answered his questions with extreme politeness and a false cheerfulness, but with despair below the surface.
He had trudged the city for five days, from one faint prospect of work to another. Times are hard, almost every prospective employer told him at the beginning of the interview, and we are looking for a man with experience. Mark had no time to pursue his quest at the library. Now he sat on the front edge of his chair waiting to thank the man and say goodbye as soon as he was dismissed, but the man went on talking long after he should have closed the interview. He was talking about the salesmen's commission, and how it was so generous that there was plenty for two.
if you know what I mean. The man winked and fitted a cigarette into his ivory holder.
Yes, of course, Mark nodded vehemently, having absolutely no idea what the man meant, but eager to please. of course, I'd be looking after you personally. If we came to some sort of arrangement, right? Right, Mark agreed, and only then did he realize that the manager was soliciting a kick-back off Mark's commission. He was going to get the job. Of course, sir. He wanted to leap up and dance. I'd like to think we were equal partners. Good. Fifty percent of Mark's commission was more than the manager had expected. Start Monday, nine o'clock sharp, he said quickly, and beamed at Mark.
Mark wrung his hand gratefully, but as he was leaving the little cubicle of the office the manager called after him. You do have a decent suit, Anders, don't you? Of course, Mark lied quickly. Wear it. He found a Hindu tailor at the Indian market who ran up a grey three-piece suit overnight, and charged him thirty-two shillings. You wear clothes beautiful, sir. Like a royal duke, the tailor told him, as he pointed Mark at the fly-blown mirror in his fitting-room, standing behind him and skillfully holding a fold of surplus material at the small of Mark's back to give the front of the suit a fashionable drape. You will be an extremely first class advertisement for my humble skills. You can drive a car, of course? the manager, whose name was Dicky Lancome, asked him casualty as they crossed the showroom floor to the glistening Cadillac.
Of course, Mark agreed. Of course, Dicky agreed. Otherwise you wouldn't have applied for a job as a car salesman, would you? Of course not. Hop in then, Dicky invited. And whip us around the block. Mark reeled mentally, but his tongue was quick enough to rescue him. I'd prefer you to point out the special features first. I've never driven a Cadillac before. Which was for once the literal truth. He had never driven a Cadillac, or any other motor vehicle, before. Righty ho, Dicky agreed, and as they sped down the Marine Parade with Dicky whistling and tipping his hat to the pretty girls on the sidewalk, Mark watched his every action with wheel and pedal avidly.
Back at the showrooms in West Street, Dicky flicked casually through a bunch of forms. If you make a sale, you fill in one of these, and make sure you get the money. Then he pulled out his watch. God, it's late. I've got a desperately important lunch date, it was a little after eleven o'clock, very important client. Then he dropped his voice, Blonde, actually. SmasherVand he winked again. See you later. But what about prices, and that sort of thing? Mark called desperately after him. There is a pamphlet on my desk. Gives you all th
at stuff. To-to! and Dicky disappeared through the back door.
Mark was circling the Cadillac uncertainly, utterly engrossed with the pamphlet, muttering aloud as he tried to master the operating instructions and identify the various component parts of the vehicle from the line-drawing and numerated list, when there was a tap on his arm. Excuse me, young man, but are you the salesman? Before him stood an elderly couple, the man dressed in beautifully tailored dark cloth, a carnation in his buttonhole and a cane in one hand. We would like a drive in the motor vehicle, before we decide, said the elegant lady beside him, smiling at Mark in a motherly fashion through the light veil that draped down over her eyes from the brimmed hat. The hat was decorated with artificial flowers, and her hair below the brim was washed silver and neatly waved.
Mark felt waves of panic threaten to engulf him. He looked about desperately for an escape, but already the gentleman was handing his wife into the front seat of the Cadillac.
Mark closed the doors on the couple, and ducked behind the machine for one last brief perusal of the operating pamphlet. Depress clutch pedal with left foot, engage gear lever up and left, depress accelerator pedal firmly with right foot, release clutch pedal, he muttered, stuffed the pamphlet into his pocket and hurried to the driver's seat.
The gentleman sat forward in the centre of the back seat, both hands resting on the head of his cane, grave and attentive as a judge.
His wife beamed kindly at Mark. How old are you, young man? Twenty, ma'am, almost twenty-one. Mark pressed the starter and the engine growled, so she had to raise her voice. My, she nodded, the same age as my own son. Mark gave her a pale and sickly grin, as he silently repeated the instructions in his mind.
, _ accelerate firmly. The engine beat rose to a deafening bellow, and Mark clung to the driving-wheel until the knuckles of both hands blanched with the pressure of his grip.
Do you live at home? asked his passenger. No, ma'am, Mark answered and let out the clutch. The back wheels screeched like a wounded stallion, and a blue cloud blew out from behind as the entire machine seemed to rear upwards, and then hurl itself, slewing wildly, towards the street doors, leaving two long black rubber smears across the polished showroom floor.
Mark fought the wheel and the Cadillac swayed and skidded, lined up with the doors at the last possible moment and careered into the street, moving sideways like a crab. A team of horses drawing a passing coach shied out of the path of the roaring machine, and behind Mark the elderly gentleman managed to struggle up into a sitting position again and find his cane. Good acceleration! Mark shouted above the roar of the engine. Excellent, agreed his passenger, his eyes popping in the rear view mirror.
His wife adjusted her flowered hat that had come down over her eyes, and shook her head sadly. You young oys! As soon as you leave home you starve yourselves. I could tell you are living on your own, you are as thin as Mark took the intersection of Smith and Aliwal at the charge, but halfway through it a heavily laden lorry lumbered across their front and Mark spun the wheel nimbly.
The Cadillac changed direction ninety degrees and ducked into Aliwal on two wheels.
as a rake, said the lady, holding firmly to the door handle with one hand, and with the other to her hat. You should come up to the house one Sunday for a decent meal. Thank you, ma'am, that's very kind. When Mark stopped the Cadillac against the pavement in front of the showrooms at last, his hand was shaking so feverishly that he had to make a second effort to earth the magneto. He could feel the damp of nervous sweat soaking through the jacket of his new suit, and he had not the strength to let himself out of the cab.
Incredible, said the elderly gentleman in the back seat. What control, what mastery, I feel quite young again. It was very nice, dear, his wife agreed. We'll take her, her husband decided impulsively, and Mark could not believe he had heard right. He had made his first sale. Wouldn't it be nice if this young man would come to us as a chauffeur. He is such an excellent driver. No, ma'am, Mark nearly panicked again. I couldn't think of leaving my job here, thank you all the same. Jolly good show, old man. Dicky Lancome folded the two five-pound notes that were his half-share of Mark's commission on the sale of the Cadillac. I can see a great future ahead for you. Oh, I don't know, Mark demurred modestly. A great future, Dicky predicted sagely. But just one thing, old man, that suit, he shuddered gently, let me introduce you to my tailor, now that you can afford it. No offence, of course, but that looks like you are on your way to a fancy-dress ball. That evening after close of business Mark hurried back to the library for the first time in a week. The librarian welcomed him with a severe expression like a disapproving school ma'am. I thought we had seen the last of you, that you had given up. Oh no, by no means, Mark assured her, and again she softened and handed him the key to the reading-room.
Mark had mapped out a family tree for the Courtneys in his notebook, for it was confusing. There was a brother to Sean, who was also a colonel at the end of the Boer War, but also a holder of the Victoria Cross for gallantry, a distinguished family indeed. This brother, Colonel Garrick Courtney, had gradually become a noted and then a famous author of military history and of biographies of other successful soldiers, beginning with his With Roberts to Pretoria and Buller, a Fighting Soldier and going on to Battle for the Son2me and Kitchener. A Life. The books were all extensively and glowingly reviewed in the Lantern. The author had a single son, Michael Courtney. Prior to 1914, there were references to this son's business activities as managing director of the Courtney Saw Mills in the Ladyburg district, and his skills as an athelete and horseman in many local meetings. Then 1917, LADYBURG HERO DECORATED.
Captain Michael Courtney, son of Colonel Garrick Courtney V. C was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for his exploits with the. 21 st R. F. C. Fighter Squadron in France. Captain Courtney has been credited with five kills of German aircraft, and was described by his commanding officer as a courageous and dedicated officer of high flying skills. Hero, son of a hero.
Then again, within months, a front-page article outlined in a square of heavy black type.
It is with great regret that we report the death in action of CAPTAIN MICHAEL COURTNEY D. F. C. It is believed that Captain Courtney was shot down in flames behind enemy lines and that his executioner was none other than the notorious Baron von Richthofen of bloody reputation. The Ladyburg Lantern extends its deepest and sincerest condolences to his father and family. A Rose plucked in full bloom. The activities of this branch of the family, its triumphs and tragedies were all reported in detail, and it was the same with the Sean Courtney family for the period from the turn of the century to May of 1910.
Sean Courtney's marriage to Mrs Ruth Friedman in I 903 was described in loving detail, from the bride's dress to the icing on the cake. One of the flower girls was Miss Storm Friedman, aged four, who wore an exact replica of her mother's dress. She makes a pretty new sister for Master Dirk Courtney. Again the mention of the name that truly interested Mark, and he noted it, for it was the last until May 1910.
Colonel Sean Courtney's achievements in politics and business and the more serious fields of recreation filled page after page of subsequent editions; his election to the legislative council of Natal, and later to Prime Minister Louis Botha's Cabinet; he became leader of the South Africa Party in Natal, and was a delegate to Whitehall in London, taking his entire family with him, to negotiate the terms of Union.
Sean Courtney's business interests flourished and multiplied, new sawmills, new plantations, elevation to new offices, the chairman of the first Building Society in Southern Africa, director of Union Castle Shipping Lines, head of the Government Commission on Natural Resources.
Chairman of the South African Turf Club, a one hundred and fifty foot luxury yacht built for him by Thesens of Knysna, Commodore of the Royal Natal Yacht Club, but no further mention of Dirk Courtney until May 1910.
The Ladyburg Lantern and Recorder's front page of the edition of 12th May 1910.
The Ladyburg L
antern takes great pleasure inannouncing that its entire paid up share capital has been acquired by Mr Dirk Courtney, who recently returned to Ladyburg after an absence of some years.
Mr Courtney tells us that the intervening years have been spent in travel, gaining both experience and capital.
Clearly they were not wasted, for immediately on his arrival home, Mr Courtney purchased a controlling interest in the Ladyburg Farmers Bank for a reputed one million pounds sterling in cash.
Ladyburg and all its inhabitants are sure to benefit enormously by the vast energy, wealth and drive that Mr Dirk Courtney brings to the district. I intend taking a close day-to-day interest in all aspects of my companies operations in Ladyburg, he said, when asked of his future plans. Progress, Growth, Prosperity for All, are my watchwords. Mr Dirk Courtney, The Ladyburg Lantern salutes you and welcomes you as a notable ornament to our fair community.
After that, hardly an edition of The Lantern did not contain fawning eulogies of Mr Dirk Courtney, while mention of his father and family was reduced to an occasional small article in the inside pages.
To find news of Sean Courtney, Mark had to turn to the other Natal newspapers. He began with the Natal Mercury.
Ladyburg Mounted Rifles Sail for France General Courtney Takes his Men to War once more.
That jolted Mark, he could remember the sea mist on the bay and the ranks of khaki-clad figures climbing the gangways, each of them burdened by kitbag and rifle. The singing, and the cries of the women, paper streamers and flower petals twisting and falling in gay and gaudy clouds about them, and the sound of the fog horns reverberating mournfully from the bluff. It was so dear in his mind still.
How soon he was to follow them, after exaggerating his age to a recruiting sergeant who did not inquire too closely.
Ladyburg Rifles Badly Mauled Attack fails at Delville Wood General Courtney: I am proud of them. Mark felt sudden stinging tears burn his eyelids as he went slowly down the long casualty lists, pausing as he recognized a name, remembering, remembering, lost again in those terrible seas of mud and blood and suffering.