The ranch on which Berry and Mum farmed, in partnership with two other ex-servicemen, was vast (36,000 acres) and absolutely beautiful. Apart from running big herds of Afrikaner and Red Poll cattle, large quantities of tobacco were grown and cured. We lived in pole and
During the 1949 Christmas holidays with Dad we learned that Tony and I would not be returning to Eagle School but were moving to government schools in Umtali. We were heart-sore about leaving the Vumba, which had been a happy place. Had the reason for moving—money—been explained to us, it would have been much easier to understand why we had to step-down, in line with our stepsister and stepbrother.
We moved to Umtali High School in January 1950. I boarded in Chancellor House, whereas Tony went to the junior school and boarded in Kopje House. From the outset I enjoyed Umtali High School, which catered for boys and girls. Unfortunately the subject levels I had reached at Eagle School were substantially higher than the grade into which I was first placed. I was immediately moved up a grade but, again, I had covered its levels. Any thought of elevating me further was rejected because I would have been two years younger than the youngest member. My brother was in a far worse position for having to stay at junior school.
By the time new subject matter came my way I was fourteen years old and had been in a state of idleness for over a year. Somewhat bewildered, I found myself struggling to learn for the first time in my life. Nevertheless, I managed to pass all examinations and moved up another grade with Jennifer, my stepsister. But instead of remaining in the upper academic stream, as expected, we were both placed in what was know as Form 4- Removed where subject levels were slightly lower than those being taught to some of our previous classmates, now in Form 4A. I did not understand this, but accepted that I would have to do another year at school before writing the Cambridge Certificate examination. Good results in these examinations qualified one for a Matric Exemption, which was crucial for acceptance into Edinburgh University.
On the 2 June 1952, my sixteenth birthday, the whole family attended a dance at the Black Mountain Hotel in the small village of Cashel. Any occasion at the Black Mountain Hotel was great fun, but this particular night turned out to be a depressing one for me. It brought about another substantial turnabout in my life. Dad chose that night to take me out into the cold night air to tell me that, with immediate effect, I was being taken out of school.
Schooling for Rhodesian whites was mandatory to the age of sixteen, so I could not have been removed before that day. But now Dad was telling me that my headmaster, Mr Gledhill, had told him that I was wasting my time at school and that I had no chance of gaining the all-important Matric Exemption needed for Edinburgh. Though totally shaken, I accepted Dad’s word, never realising that he was acting under direction from my stepmother who had absolute control over him. Another thing I did not realise at the time was that money was the root of the problem. I can only guess that Dad, who had used up most of his financial reserves to buy his farm and implements, was wholly responsible for Tony and me, whereas my stepmother, who was financially better off, following the death of her first husband, took care of Jennifer and John.
I worked with Dad on his farm, Curzon, which he had bought after selling Moosgwe and its lime-works. All was fine for a short while before things went horribly wrong. My stepmother decided I was too big for my boots for daring to offer a suggestion on how to improve the surface of the tortuous roadway leading up to the farmhouse set on the edge of a high ridge.
My self-confidence was already sub-zero when I was told I would be going to work for Freddie Haynes on his cattle ranch, Tom’s Hope, near Cashel. Dad said this had been arranged to give me experience under the care of a successful rancher. Later my stepmother let slip the real reason. She hoped that Freddie, an Afrikaner, would subject me to a hard time to ‘sort me out’. As it happened, Freddie and his English wife Sayer, together with his old father Hans Haynes, were very kind and I learned a great deal from them.
A strange thing happened whilst we were dipping cattle in the foul-smelling brown liquid of the deep plunge dip-tank through which the cattle had to swim regularly for tick control. Old man Hans Haynes had an Australian- style stock whip in his hand and, with a huge grin on his face, he told me that I could use the whip on him if I dived into the dip-tank and swam its full length. Being an Englishman I was certain this old-timer Afrikaner was inferring that I lacked the guts to meet such a challenge. Without hesitation I stopped the flow of cattle and dived into the tank. When I emerged from the slippery ramp at the far end I was choking and my eyes were burning badly.
The horrified herdsmen rushed to me with buckets of clean water, which they splashed on my face and poured all over my sodden clothing. When I regained control of my sight and caught my breath I went to the stunned old man and demanded his whip. This he gave me, then stood back expecting to be lashed. I smiled and handed the whip back before running off as fast as I could to a nearby dam to clean myself in an attempt to stop the awful burning that was consuming me from my head to my toes.
When she saw that I was sopping wet, unable to walk normally and reeking of dip, Sayer Haynes, who was a qualified nurse, became furious with Freddie and his father. She ordered me to undress and take a shower before inspecting my body in detail and applying dressings to awkward areas that were already raw and peeling. I stayed in bed for almost a week and was spoiled by everyone. The old man kept saying he was really sorry; that he had absolutely no idea that I would respond so rapidly to a challenge he claimed was made in jest.
Freddie Haynes had many outbuildings behind his beautiful home, with superb stables and all manner of implements and goods in storerooms. I asked him if I could use some of the poles and timber lengths stacked in one storeroom to build shelving in others so that I could get order into the hundreds of items that were in disarray. He welcomed the suggestion and was very pleased with the final result. In consequence of this, Freddie told my father that I was very good with my hands and implied that I should be in an occupation that would fully utilise this talent. For the first time in his presence, I broke into tears when Dad suggested to me that I should become an apprentice carpenter and joiner. Embarrassed by this emotional breakdown, I reminded Dad how I had always told him I wanted to use my hands for surgery.
Being the only young person on the ranch, I missed contact with my own age group. So, having given Dad’s suggestion some thought, the idea of going to town for an apprenticeship became more attractive. I moved to the Young Mens’ Club in Umtali and commenced my apprenticeship with Keystone Construction early in 1953. I got on well with everyone and did well in learning crafts that included cabinet-making, machining, joinery and site construction. I was able to see my brother Tony regularly, which was great, but I recall the envy I felt whenever he went off on his holidays to be with Mum and Berry.
Late in the winter of 1956, I ran from my work place to watch four Venom jet fighter-bombers of No 208 RAF Squadron. They were on a goodwill tour of Rhodesia and Umtali was one of the many centres the jets visited so to excite thousands of gawking citizens. All they did was a simple high-speed tail-chase inside the mountains ringing the town. But the sight and sound of those machines immediately decided me that the Air Force life was for me.
Right away I looked into joining the Royal Rhodesian Air Force but soon recognised two major problems. The maximum age for trainee pilots was 21 and a Matric Exemption was mandatory. For reasons I cannot recall, I made an appointment to see the company MD, Mr Burford. I wanted to tell him about my wish to be an Air Force pilot, notwithstanding the fact that this appeared to be an impossibility.
Of small build, dapper and very well spoken, Mr Burford always struck me as being too refined and gentlemanly for the world of construction. In his always-courteous manner he treated me in a gentle, fatherly manner. Before I could tell him of my hopes, he was telling me that the Board of Directors had decided to take me off the bench and get me cracking in quantity surveying—as a first step to management and later, maybe, to become an active shareholder in the company. I should have been pleased by such news but it all went straight over my head because it in no way fitted with what I had come to talk about, and I told Mr Burford so.
I told him of my original dream to become a surgeon and all that had happened to bring me to being an apprentice in his company. From the moment I mentioned having been taken out of school prematurely I detected agitation in Mr Burford’s face. Before I could get to the matter of joining the Air Force, he cut in to say he could not accept that my withdrawal from school had been based on academic limitations considering the results of my NTC
