I have been pondering what subject to write about all week. Rozanne wants me to say something about “The Truth” in light of the “New Truth” which is now called, ”My Truth.” To me, this is a “Confusing Truth” as it redefines the meaning of “Truth”. Maybe I am too stupid to grasp this definition. It seems if you believe something, it can be “Your Truth” no matter how far from the “Absolute Truth” it is. I decided I was not ready for the subject of “Truth” having stretched it on occasion in the form of an excuse for some misdeed in my youth or my first marriage. Of course, fishing exploits are not included. They are “Expected Half-truths”, for example, yes I caught a fish, but the size is exaggerated. The fish that gets away is also always the largest of the day. Obviously, the small ones never get away.
“Without truth, there cannot be trust. Without trust, society would become fragmented and divided.” Peter McSporran
My father believed in the “Absolute Truth”, anything else, he considered a lie. Any truth without substantiated independent support to it being true would be treated with scepticism. Of course, most of what I told him in mitigation to some misdemeanour was always treated as lies even with good logical support for it being fact. Looking back to a breakfast table following a weekly dance in the local village hall on Mull with father eating boiled sausage, boiled bacon and poached egg, his treat on Sundays. He boiled this typically fried breakfast due to stomach ulcers. He also consumed copious amounts of bicarbonate of soda before bed.
Anyway, as I sat green about the gills looking at the grey mass on his plate, the conversation went thus:
Father, ”Did you enjoy the dance?”
Me, ”Yes, it was great.”
Father, “Did you have much to drink?”
Me, “No, but everyone else was drinking. Cannot believe how drunk some people get.”
Father, ”Funny, even although it was snowing last night, you left the back door open.”
Me, ”I did not think so, I even made myself something to eat.”
Father, “Yes, I know, the remains of sardines and condensed milk are all over the kitchen counter next to the kettle.”
Me, “I thought I had cleaned up.”
Father, ”You did, you put the empty tins in the upright washing machine next to the dustbin. I think these three facts would indicate you not only had a drink, but you were also drunk.”
So, I will leave my views on truth this week allowing me to publish one of the contributions I received from Tom, following last week's blog on addiction. After much consideration, I later included a contribution from my very good friend Vernon following my diagnosis of cancer. I included it because we lived the dream then, money, racehorses, overseas trips, rugby internationals. All changed so quickly so it is good for someone else to remind you how it was.
A number of readers wrote about their personal or families relationship with addiction. In this case, the below excerpt was written by Tom, who when I knew him, worked as a farm manager for my neighbours the Brooke-Jacksons. He went on to own his own farm, losing it as most of us did in the early 2000 land invasions. He is now a successful property developer in Natal, South Africa. I thought his story would be interesting to many in its honesty. I did ask his permission to include it in the blog.
“Really enjoyed this read Peter. I wonder if most men go through a period of excessive consumption! Richard my son got paralysed in a mountain bike accident and thankfully after leaving the Uk, I had continued to pay the NI (National Insurance). Sarah and the kids I shipped off to England so that Richard could get better care. It was a good move. Financially however it was a struggle to support two households with the Rand going from 12-25 within a few years It was a trying time and alcohol seemed like my only friend.
Having fallen down the stairs at home on my return from a late binge I decided there was no point in getting up just to sleep where I fell!! When I woke for work in the morning I realised I really need to sort my shit if I was to continue supporting the family in the UK. That fall was a lightbulb moment!! It was the start of my property business. Thankfully I managed to turn it around.
However, there were two Toms. The South African pisscat and The British sober father when in the UK. The family only found this out after Sarah returned to SA after 7 years of commuting. It was a good move. Both children have Masters from British universities and Richard walks robotically. He has a great job with Caterpillar and has bought a house. Emma is at home here for 3 months having just completed her masters. I did get to all graduations, however. I'm sorry you didn't. I am still an alcoholic on the work front, however !! That I intend to change with in the year!! Having now put in place definite shut down mechanisms for the business and plans to immigrate. I still enjoy the odd whisky, I had a great collection, however was all consumed by our land invaders with the help of Congolese ex-soldiers on a smallholding we had here. With the police in attendance. A Zimbabwe rerun. A story for another day. Please keep at the blogs. Really enjoy them”.
One of the many honest, truthful, responses which has moved me following last week's blog.
On the Road to Recovery
Another non-event week. One incident that gave me encouragement of my improving health happened. A flying road chip cracked my windscreen. I arranged to have the said damage fixed through my insurance claim at a garage in Coimbra and found myself standing awaiting the inspector for two hours. Before my surgery, even 30 minutes of standing was too much for me. A tangible improvement that is often hard to quantify by memory.
The Misadventure from Tango to Mao
After spending some time in Mombasa we set off South down the African coast to Tanga. An old German port town in Northern Tanzania. There we did not dock as there were no docks for ships our size of 10,000 odd tonnes, rather we anchored in the bay. A very small ship in comparison to the enormous container ships of today. Tanga was a sleepy town dominated by a floating cement factory in the bay populated with many, “Little Red Book'' carrying politicians with Chinese Political Commissars close to hand as advisors. The cargo we brought was unloaded onto lighters (barges) which were in turn towed into harbour. We were ferried ashore by small boats driven by noisy diesel inboards which always had prawns or fish cooking on the top of the engine. Noisy and smelly trips as the improvised hot plates were never cleaned.
The only place for entertainment was the yacht club frequented by VSO volunteers who seemed to be addicted to one song, “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” I doubt if they ever got near any jungle, rather they spent their volunteering community service pleasantly sunning themselves at the yacht club for the duration of their voluntary exile. To fill our time here, one of the cadets suggested a trip up the coast on the ship’s whaler. A boat similar to those used by sailors to hunt whales and used for training sailing seamanship to the cadets. It was powered by sail or oar, no engine.
After we obtained the required permission from the “Little Red Book” waving officials, no easy task, a group of us under the command of the senior cadet set off up the coast in a Northerly direction. An area with many reefs which required us to sail well offshore. It started badly for me as within a few hours I lost my hat. The idiotic commander refused to turn around and pick it up, clearly visible on the surface, making it a very uncomfortable trip. Three days in the blazing sun with no hat. I never forgave him.
At night we had to make our way to shore, not easy even in daylight, with us arriving at the village of Moa on our second night out. This is close to the Kenyan border. Here we were met by a rabid crowd all wearing “Mao Tse-tung” badges on their belts waving their ”Little Red Books.” They arrested us, notwithstanding we had clearance and the correct documentation. A very unpleasant period of negotiation ensued with us finally getting our freedom after last light. This freedom was given provided we set sail immediately from the area. How dangerous was that? No GPS in those days, nor radar in our small vessel. Many reefs and the Indian Ocean swell. Unsurprisingly, after an hour we found ourselves in the pitch dark running onto the reef, luckily on the sheltered side. As the tide was going out we soon found ourselves stuck well out of the water with the threat of the turning tide making our position extremely dangerous. Our efforts to free our vessel left our feet and ankles raw from coral scratches. These took months to heal. We eventually got the boat afloat by using the oars as runners and after some manoeuvres finally landed well down the coast from the village where it was clear our return would be met with our immediate arrest.
On return to Tanga, exhausted and safe we were met with the news that just across the channel from us, a Greek ship, the Paraportian had recently run aground off the island of Pemba. As the sailors swam ashore they were met with gunfire and arrested by the “Green Guard.” The Tanzania equivalent of the Red Guard. We heard some were killed, history informs us they were only wounded. It took a long time for international agencies to secure their release. Both Pemba and Zanzibar were well indoctrinated by the Chinese, by then, not long after the massacres of the Arabs on the islands in 1964. 20,000 died then, so we were very lucky nothing untoward happened to us although an undoubtedly stupid escapade.
The behaviour of our senior cadet along with an “inbred” yearning to farm set the seeds of discontent on my chosen career at sea. It would take another year before I gave up on it though, next week further coastal adventures.
Vernons notes on, “The Good Old Days"
“We all have “Good Old Days”, real or imagined it matters little. It does help to have a friend from time to remind you of them.” Peter McSporran
As I said at the beginning, I have sort of changed this week’s instalment by including some of my friends’ contributions triggered by my posts. The following was written by my good friend, brilliant farmer and erstwhile partner Vernon. Vernon has also overcome cancer, his fighting spirit unquestionable both in business and health. He wrote his recollections in two parts, the first very complimentary to me, the second not so. In the second he tells of our partnership and ventures in Zambia where he feels I let him down. This I will post later when I reach that stage in my tale of investing in Africa.
“I can’t recall when Peter and I first met, Peter thinks about 1987. We have known each other for many years and developed a friendship both in business and pleasure.
Once we had met it did not take long to realise we had similar interests. I had been involved in farming politics having sat on the Commercial Farmers Union [CFU] as a councillor representing Lomagundi for many years and retiring to further other interests. Peter came after me and got involved with the CFU.
My late father known as PEN was a founder member of what was the Rhodesian Seed Maize Association having served as chairman for 15 years. It was not surprising that I grew up with an interest in the Seed Industry, and was elected to the board. Peter had a similar interest and was also elected to the board.
During our time on the board, we were involved in many changes, firstly changing the name to the Seed Company of Zimbabwe, The purchase of Ratray Arnold Research Station, and ultimately the floating of the company to become a public company.
Peter’s foresight and energy never ceased to amaze me. We had similar views and worked closely together. I became vice-chairman, while Peter worked tirelessly as we worked to get our members to accept the need to become a public company. With his help, we were able to get most of our members to agree, and once the referendum was held between members the company was launched successfully on the stock exchange. It was no easy task as one of our staunchest opponents was my brother Clive. Thanks to Peter’s help we managed to convince Clive not to oppose the launch. I stepped down a Vice and remained on the board as did Peter.
Meanwhile, Peter had bigger fish to fry, he had the CFU firmly in his sights and went on the become President of the CFU. He did a great job as Zimbabwe had a drought plus many other problems which he attended to.
It was thanks to his financial skills that he was able to save many farmers from going broke, and here my sincere thanks because without his skills I would most certainly gone broke. However, we pulled through and continued farming and feeding the country. Zimbabwe owes people like Peter a great debt of gratitude, because his energy, negotiating skills and good Scottish accent got us over the line on many occasions. He had a knack of using his broad Scottish accent to confuse while his sharp mind found a way to answer the difficult question put to him.
Peter believed in Zimbabwe, and like many of us kept investing in the country up to the time he was thrown off his farm. We never believed we would be kicked off our farms as we fed the nation, our farms were developed and met the Mugabe requirements. We were wrong.
Out of business we bought racehorses, drank a lot, and loved rugby, and Peter loved the Zambezi valley. Whenever possible we would fly off to South Africa or wherever to support the team of our choice. I was fortunate in 1995 when Peter came to see me with a ticket to go to the World Cup Rugby in SA. It was a time when I was really battling, my dams did not fill, and I had put my farm under irrigation. I was close to broke. So thanks to Peter, off we went to the world cup and had a good time. We had many many good times.
Things got harder in Zim, and Peter and Graham Rae came to see me to ask what I was doing about the future in Zim. I was still pig-headed and felt we would be ok. Peter convinced me that we needed to look out of Zim. Chris, my son and I met with Peter and Graham, and we decided to invest with them in Zambia. Peter and Graham had been to Zambia and found a farm in Chisamba. Having agreed Chris and I organised a load of our machinery and moved it to Zambia.
Zim became a nightmare as we all got kicked off our farms, and Peter and Graham moved up to Zambia and got busy farming. It took a while longer before Chris and I were kicked off, but in 2003 the fateful day came when we lost the battle and were kicked off.
The Zambian venture is for another day which brought new challenges and disappointments.
However, this chapter of our lives in Zimbabwe was an experience they cannot take away from us. We loved Zim and whenever I think about it I still cannot believe what happened – that comes from being pig-headed! One day the powers that be will realise what a mistake they made losing people with the calibre of Peter MacSporran.”
“Family and friends are the immovable foundations of your life. Health and wealth can be taken from you in a flash.” Peter McSporran
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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