11 November

Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other
That we are still
Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way you always used
Put no difference into your tone
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed
At the little jokes we always enjoyed together
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was
Let it be spoken without effort
Without the ghost of a shadow in it
Life means all that it ever meant

Dankie Tannies

The Suiderkruisvonds was everywhere. Also known as the dankietannies, they organised pakkies for the boeties on the border, usually stationery so you could write to your mom and your girlfriend (who was probably in the pub getting pissed).

I only once received anything from them. Kroonstad, 1984. Basics. We were treed aan without warning in the middle of the week, told to get clean and dressed in 10 minutes. The dankietannies had organised for Anneli van Rooyen to come and sing for us. Remember Seemeeu? Yes that one.

Oh and we had to pay twenty rand for the privilege. And don't worry, it has been taken off your pay packet. Fuckit I was only earning R4.75 a day.

War Memorials

This is not exactly PW & Sons material, but it does have relevance I think.

I recently had a chance to visit the "lost" British War Memorial south-east of Basra. In a somewhat bizarre act, Saddam moved it from Basra in 1997 and rebuilt it brick by brick in the middle of the desert.

It commemorates over 40,000 British & Indian troops that died in Mesopotamia around Basra in World War 1. One of the inscriptions that caught my eye was "Jemadar Khandikar and 1,277 other Indian soldiers" There are several similar inscription on the walls.

There are no monuments for our war that I'm aware of. Which is sad.

"The soldiers graves are greatest preachers of peace" - Written in a cemetery of German war dead in Kiev

Basics

Staanopsitstaanopsitstaanopfokkofommieboomdagatjulle!

Bushcraft lesson after lunch. The winter sun is warming the back of my neck where we’re sitting in veld. Very peaceful, if it wasn’t for the main highway leading out of Kroonstad right behind us. It's been busy since 3 in the morning, getting ready for inspection, quick opfok (you mustn't look to fucked up for morning parade), PT, the 2,4 and some more push-ups because one of your maatjies was too slow.

And now korporaal is telling us to look for kommuniste from right to left when you lying in the long grass.

Not too long and heads nodding. You’re so tired you fall asleep while you writing your notes. I still have my notebook where the writing becomes illegible and disappears in a scribble off the side of the page.

Jullewillfokkenslaap?! Fokkof ommie bos. Nee! Nie links om nie, regsom, dagatjulle weer! Etters!

Kroonstad

As part of our “training” as CO’s (Candidate Officers) we had to take over the guard duty at the School of Engineers. We would act as the officer on duty, while the real officer on duty went down to the pub for a beer or two. Well at least we didn't have to sit in a cage between two rows of barbed wire any more...

Besides the normal tasks of making sure the guards were properly dressed, sorting out the duty roster and handing out the shrink-wrapped rounds, we aslo had to answer the phone and deal with any emergencies the police of fire brigade might have to deal with.

Just before midnight I get a phone call from a very Afrikaans aunty from the police station. Someone handed in a hand grenade and she wanted to know what to do with it. Jeez, how was I supposed to know what the police did with hand grenades they picked up.

After a couple of question and answer sessions (she I think fell out of the stupid tree when she was small), we finally figured it wasn’t South African so it must be communist (her description, not mine).

Next question (were were on 1st name terms by this time). “Elsa, just a quick check, is the pin still in?” After a brief pause I get a “No man, there’s no pin”……. fuckity fuck.

“OK Elsa, is the handle still on this grenade?” By now she was getting the gist of the conversation. “Jissis, there no handle either. Fokkit, what now man?”..... double fuckity fuck.

“Listen Elsa, you may have a problem. Without the pin or the handle, it means the grenade was armed, but didn’t go off. I don’t know how stable it is, so be careful. Don’t bump it.”

Thunk. I could hear her drop it on the desk at the polisiekantoor. And thunk again as it rolled off the desk on to the floor. And amongst it all very rapid footsteps and lots of screaming…..

We did a follow up phone call in the morning but were told that “it’s all under control…”