Die groot dag the big day

What do you take with when you go to the army? Sports clothes. So I packet my tennis kit, including racket. Tennis shoes. Running shoes. The ones supplied by the army were World War 2 era technology. A swiss army knife. Underpants. The SADF ones were legendary. Rugby shorts and 2 tshirts. Brasso, polishing lappies, Kiwi boot polish. NOT Nugget. Only moffies used nugget. Shaving kit. Toiletries. Omo washing powder. Writing paper, envelopes, stamps. I can’t remember writing any letters, although I must’ve. Locks. I took the 3-pack of locks that used the same key. I remember they cost about 5 times the price of 3 separate locks. I also took a high tech lock with a keyless magnetic unlocking mechanism. It lasted two days. A chain to keep your washing from being stolen off the line. I never used it, never lost any washing either. Money - I seem to remember an amount of thirty rand was suggested. I took a hundred. Just in case. I spent most of that on chocolate and coke. And a camera - bought a relatively cheap 35mm. I know the boekie said no, but if it was confiscated it wasn’t a Hasselblad.

The amptelike information booklet also said that once we got there, we would get the opportunity to send our civvie clothes and bags back to our parents. This sounded like too much trouble, so I bought a really cheap plastic togbag from Mr Price in Empangeni, and decided to wear old clothes that I could throw away instead of mailing home. Then of course Moeder insists on a 1st aid kit the size of Alaska. I think the only things I ever used from that were the Disprins. I never got blisters in the army - I must’ve had perfectly average feet.

I have to pack all of this into one bag. After the third re-pack I throw out half of Alaska, and force the zip closed. Bag in the car, off to Durban. The groot good-bye. Mom is teary eyed, Dad gives me a stewige handruk. And a hug. Then all the new guys get herded to the train. The handle of my Mr Price bag breaks off. Fuckity. I carry it the rest of the way hugged to my chest. Find a compartment, put the bag down to introduce myself. The zip tears off the plastic material of Mr Price. Fuckity fuck.

In the compartment with me were Tony Barnes and Wimpie le Roux and John (Sorry, CRAFT disease, can’t remember his surname). John got sick at the start of JL’s and he got thrown off the course. Not sure what happened to him. Tony and I were in Echo Troop for basics and JL’s. Wimpie was in the same bungalow for JL’s.

The train took almost 24 hours to get to Kroonstad. I seem to remember we overnighted on the train at Harrismith station. No roofie ride, no rush. A very polite reception. It seems we had arrived at least five days before the rest of the diensplig inname, and they weren’t interested in us. Yet.

Herman

Why JL troepe were bussed all the way from Bossiespruit to look after Vegkop was never explained to us... or if they did explain it was something like fokkofkliminnielorriejullefokkenetters! Vegkop was where everyone did officers course – we never did, and for some odd reason I always felt a bit cheated for not having stayed in the old convent..

Albertus Erasmus and I were swerfwagte at Vegkop one evening. It must’ve been summer because we had our sleeping bags arranged on the top storey stoep that ran round most of the building. During our four-hour stint Bertus and I wandered up and down the garden area in front of the main building, talking quietly of politics and philosophy and music and the fact that we were outside in the middle of the night and didn’t have to wear jerseys. Both of us had Walkman’s – the old battery operated ones that played tapes and absolutely chewed batteries. Highly illegal of course, so they were cunningly concealed, with earpieces arranged that Rooimoer wouldn’t notice if he came and checked on us..

But that isn’t what I want to talk about. Bertus lent me a Koos du Plessis tape that night. The song that really stuck with me, lying on the stoep with a night breeze rustling through the tall bloekomboom next to the building was Herman...

Herman, jou skepe

le weer in die baai

hulle kom van ou oorde

waar ver winde waai

van Java en Malta

Beiroet en Bombaai

maar waar jy vanaand is

kan ons maar net raai

ons wou nog praat oor Leningrad

Khartoem en Zanzibar

toe laat jy vir my

alleen agterbly

met 'n droom en 'n gebreekte kitaar

A quarter of a century later I’ve been to most of those places. I learned my Swahili in Zanzibar. I can comfortably distinguish between the Arabic of Beirut and that of Khartoum. But when I hear the song, I think of the stoep at Vegkop, and the wind in the bloekomboom.

The pic was taken in Oman, in 2005