Conrad K.'s Blog
March 12, 2011
Jenny’s poem to the fallen (Ref: “In the Shadow of the Tokolosh”)
On the 50th Anniversary year of the RLI, let's remember all those brave fallen men, black and white, who fought to save Rhodesia.
A poem to my father
I was only a little girl when my father went off to fight,
We were told ‘Be good for Mummy and be sure to lock up tight.’
‘I’m going to play with pop guns,’ my Dad, he’d told me then,
‘Take care of your little sister ‘til I get back, I know not when.’
He’d waved his happy wave before he disappeared out of sight,
And I never saw my Dad after that dark and fateful night.
Very many times since then I have asked the question why,
Did he have to leave that day? I wish he hadn’t, I can’t lie.
What was the awful urgency that he needed to go away,
‘He was fighting for our safety and our birthright,’ Mum would say.
As the years have drifted past me, I have come to understand,
The need for one to belong to something and for a man to defend his land.
He had fought through fear and frustration, he had watched his brothers fall
But he never forgot his mission when he heard the Fish Eagle call.
With glasses full and ready, it’s time to remember all those so brave,
As we look back with distant longing at the country they couldn’t save.
I’m so proud of my soldier father, for he fought for my right to say,
I’m a Rhodesian through and through and will so be to my dying day.
Jenny Martin
Reprinted by permission from Silverling Inspired, publishers of "In the Shadow of the Tokolosh". The story of four young men growing up in the wilderness, as the last remnants of colonialism in Africa. While the world and its attitude changed around them, they found themselves fighting to save their way of life, in a land that did not share their views or values. Set in the Zambezi Valley, where the white man made his last stand in Africa.
In the Shadow of the Tokolosh
In the Shadow of the Tokolosh
A poem to my father
I was only a little girl when my father went off to fight,
We were told ‘Be good for Mummy and be sure to lock up tight.’
‘I’m going to play with pop guns,’ my Dad, he’d told me then,
‘Take care of your little sister ‘til I get back, I know not when.’
He’d waved his happy wave before he disappeared out of sight,
And I never saw my Dad after that dark and fateful night.
Very many times since then I have asked the question why,
Did he have to leave that day? I wish he hadn’t, I can’t lie.
What was the awful urgency that he needed to go away,
‘He was fighting for our safety and our birthright,’ Mum would say.
As the years have drifted past me, I have come to understand,
The need for one to belong to something and for a man to defend his land.
He had fought through fear and frustration, he had watched his brothers fall
But he never forgot his mission when he heard the Fish Eagle call.
With glasses full and ready, it’s time to remember all those so brave,
As we look back with distant longing at the country they couldn’t save.
I’m so proud of my soldier father, for he fought for my right to say,
I’m a Rhodesian through and through and will so be to my dying day.
Jenny Martin
Reprinted by permission from Silverling Inspired, publishers of "In the Shadow of the Tokolosh". The story of four young men growing up in the wilderness, as the last remnants of colonialism in Africa. While the world and its attitude changed around them, they found themselves fighting to save their way of life, in a land that did not share their views or values. Set in the Zambezi Valley, where the white man made his last stand in Africa.
In the Shadow of the Tokolosh
In the Shadow of the Tokolosh
February 18, 2011
A letter to Silverling Inspired (Ref: “In the Shadow of the Tokolosh”)
Hi Silverling Inspired,
Thank you very much for publishing "In the Shadow of the Tokolosh". I read it last week and could not put it down until I had finished it. Sadly, the end leaves so many questions unanswered and they have been gnawing at me ever since. Hence the email. I understand the need for a few creative discretions licence but is this the whole story?
Assuming that Wrex is based on the original author, we know that his story doesn't end there and I am curious know what happened between then and 1999 and further on until 2008. What happens to Chips and the girls, Johan & Leo, Jacob (SP49)? What about his ageing buddies in Harare and Bulawayo?
Maybe I am reading too much in this as it is ultimately a story but it has really piqued my interest. Any assistance or insight that you could offer would be greatly appreciated.
Yours Sincerely,
*************
Dear ************* ,
Thank you so much for your email. Its great to receive questions with such interest. I have worked very closely on this project for many years and asked the question about the author many times myself.
With regards to who wrote this book, and his relation to Wrex, I believe there are two conclusions that are possible. Either this was written by a friend, which is indeed referred to in “A time for all Seasons”, but I think this is unlikely because of the intimate detail bestowed on the character. Or it was actually written by Wrex, under a pseudonym, and he viewed his ultimate death as a metaphor for the death of Rhodesia.
What happened from 1972 in this man’s life (should he have actually lived) can only be guessed but it is true to say that most Rhodesians either tried to stick it out through the war and through the early years of Mugabe’s regime or tried to leave to build new lives, especially in South Africa. From 1972 it got harder and more vicious and perhaps the author couldn’t face this part of his struggle and that is why he ended the story where he did. I have no doubt that his family and friends did exist and that they suffered through many more years of hardship as a result of the bitter bush war but who can tell how he ended up a fallen man outside a Johannesburg bus station. Like all of his brothers that he saw trying to get by, he no doubt befell the same fate.
As for Bigfoot and SP49, I believe from my research that the author is referring to actual men that fought in the guerilla armies of the time – especially Bigfoot. There was an incident on a farm on the Zambezi escarpment in the 1970s and an Operation called Hurricane. A little research around this area should give you some answers.
Rhodesians were never able to accept Britain’s swift withdrawal from the country. There was no support given to the servicemen and they were just left to fight through the chaos. I am Rhodesian myself. Though too young at the time to understand what was going on, I still feel anger about what happened there.
I hope I have answered a few of your questions. Rhodesia had its faults but was a fine country in so many ways. There are some fantastic books out there about the subject. I hope this will have piqued your interest even more.
Thank you and kindest regards
Silverling Inspired
Publisher of "In the Shadow of the Tokolosh"
www.silverlinginspired.co.uk
Thank you very much for publishing "In the Shadow of the Tokolosh". I read it last week and could not put it down until I had finished it. Sadly, the end leaves so many questions unanswered and they have been gnawing at me ever since. Hence the email. I understand the need for a few creative discretions licence but is this the whole story?
Assuming that Wrex is based on the original author, we know that his story doesn't end there and I am curious know what happened between then and 1999 and further on until 2008. What happens to Chips and the girls, Johan & Leo, Jacob (SP49)? What about his ageing buddies in Harare and Bulawayo?
Maybe I am reading too much in this as it is ultimately a story but it has really piqued my interest. Any assistance or insight that you could offer would be greatly appreciated.
Yours Sincerely,
*************
Dear ************* ,
Thank you so much for your email. Its great to receive questions with such interest. I have worked very closely on this project for many years and asked the question about the author many times myself.
With regards to who wrote this book, and his relation to Wrex, I believe there are two conclusions that are possible. Either this was written by a friend, which is indeed referred to in “A time for all Seasons”, but I think this is unlikely because of the intimate detail bestowed on the character. Or it was actually written by Wrex, under a pseudonym, and he viewed his ultimate death as a metaphor for the death of Rhodesia.
What happened from 1972 in this man’s life (should he have actually lived) can only be guessed but it is true to say that most Rhodesians either tried to stick it out through the war and through the early years of Mugabe’s regime or tried to leave to build new lives, especially in South Africa. From 1972 it got harder and more vicious and perhaps the author couldn’t face this part of his struggle and that is why he ended the story where he did. I have no doubt that his family and friends did exist and that they suffered through many more years of hardship as a result of the bitter bush war but who can tell how he ended up a fallen man outside a Johannesburg bus station. Like all of his brothers that he saw trying to get by, he no doubt befell the same fate.
As for Bigfoot and SP49, I believe from my research that the author is referring to actual men that fought in the guerilla armies of the time – especially Bigfoot. There was an incident on a farm on the Zambezi escarpment in the 1970s and an Operation called Hurricane. A little research around this area should give you some answers.
Rhodesians were never able to accept Britain’s swift withdrawal from the country. There was no support given to the servicemen and they were just left to fight through the chaos. I am Rhodesian myself. Though too young at the time to understand what was going on, I still feel anger about what happened there.
I hope I have answered a few of your questions. Rhodesia had its faults but was a fine country in so many ways. There are some fantastic books out there about the subject. I hope this will have piqued your interest even more.
Thank you and kindest regards
Silverling Inspired
Publisher of "In the Shadow of the Tokolosh"
www.silverlinginspired.co.uk
January 25, 2011
Excerpt from In the Shadow of the Tokolosh
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
On the afternoon of the 11th November 2008, outside the Rotunda building at Johannesburg Station, a grey haired, old white man stepped off the bus from Zimbabwe. He looked down on his luck and bummed twenty Rand from a stranger to buy a meal. In return he offered a brown envelope. `Thank you my friend,' he said. `I want you to have this for your kindness. It's been my only comfort, but the words have become too much for me. Perhaps you'll find the strength to finish it.' His eyes had the look of elsewhere and he left the building without another word.
The envelope held a few tattered floppy discs containing word files and a couple of photos. Also included was a small crumpled piece of textbook writing paper, on which was written a note:
I am a soldier. I am not a writer. I don't know how to put the correct spin on every thought, in order to retain a universally shortening span of attention. But, even the dull and ignorant have their story to tell, this is mine. All I could hope, is for someone to mould my fumbling
words and ensure that everyone gets a chance to read it. I want to paint a picture of an extinct place, so that those who never had the pleasure of seeing it, might enjoy a little of how it was, and those that were there will always remember...
...To the forgotten men of the Rhodesian African Rifles (RAR), Rhodesian Light Infantry (RLI), British South Africa Police (BSAP) and Territorial battalions. We stood together, black man and white man, united against an evil foe.
We knew what we were getting into, and that politics has little to do with truth and logic; the world didn't want us to survive.
We were eventually forced to back down in a ****** little war, but never allowed ourselves to be victims, only proud, strong, young men, prepared to give it a go.
The Selous Scouts and the Special Air Service (SAS) fought for the honour and the glory of it all. They won their battles and that alone was their reward.
But we fought for our country, our families, our homes and our jobs. These are all lost, yet please tell me, friend and foe alike, who did benefit?
Thirty years later, in the hopeless landscape of a land that was so full of possibilities, there is no prosperity or dignity. There is no pride. We bore the brunt of the fighting and the cost of that humiliating end.
The Military High Command made no provision for those who gave their loyalty and lives. In the end they just closed the doors and walked away.
Now, as I see my ageing buddies, who couldn't make it back from the sharp-end on their own, forced to beg on the streets of Harare and Bulawayo, I am filled with rage and I weep for them.
If this story can bring you all a little comfort, some good memories or pleasure, if only for a day, I have finally won.
Efforts were made to find the author, but no one knew him and no one wanted to know.
This then, is the story written by the unknown soldier... Conrad K
On the afternoon of the 11th November 2008, outside the Rotunda building at Johannesburg Station, a grey haired, old white man stepped off the bus from Zimbabwe. He looked down on his luck and bummed twenty Rand from a stranger to buy a meal. In return he offered a brown envelope. `Thank you my friend,' he said. `I want you to have this for your kindness. It's been my only comfort, but the words have become too much for me. Perhaps you'll find the strength to finish it.' His eyes had the look of elsewhere and he left the building without another word.
The envelope held a few tattered floppy discs containing word files and a couple of photos. Also included was a small crumpled piece of textbook writing paper, on which was written a note:
I am a soldier. I am not a writer. I don't know how to put the correct spin on every thought, in order to retain a universally shortening span of attention. But, even the dull and ignorant have their story to tell, this is mine. All I could hope, is for someone to mould my fumbling
words and ensure that everyone gets a chance to read it. I want to paint a picture of an extinct place, so that those who never had the pleasure of seeing it, might enjoy a little of how it was, and those that were there will always remember...
...To the forgotten men of the Rhodesian African Rifles (RAR), Rhodesian Light Infantry (RLI), British South Africa Police (BSAP) and Territorial battalions. We stood together, black man and white man, united against an evil foe.
We knew what we were getting into, and that politics has little to do with truth and logic; the world didn't want us to survive.
We were eventually forced to back down in a ****** little war, but never allowed ourselves to be victims, only proud, strong, young men, prepared to give it a go.
The Selous Scouts and the Special Air Service (SAS) fought for the honour and the glory of it all. They won their battles and that alone was their reward.
But we fought for our country, our families, our homes and our jobs. These are all lost, yet please tell me, friend and foe alike, who did benefit?
Thirty years later, in the hopeless landscape of a land that was so full of possibilities, there is no prosperity or dignity. There is no pride. We bore the brunt of the fighting and the cost of that humiliating end.
The Military High Command made no provision for those who gave their loyalty and lives. In the end they just closed the doors and walked away.
Now, as I see my ageing buddies, who couldn't make it back from the sharp-end on their own, forced to beg on the streets of Harare and Bulawayo, I am filled with rage and I weep for them.
If this story can bring you all a little comfort, some good memories or pleasure, if only for a day, I have finally won.
Efforts were made to find the author, but no one knew him and no one wanted to know.
This then, is the story written by the unknown soldier... Conrad K
