Recently, as I have previously mentioned, I have been having telephone conversations with Willie Robinson, who often makes obscure but pertinent satirical contributions to the Compensation Awareness Group (CAG) on Telegram, sometimes to some’s annoyance or at least their irritation. Willie, from Matabeleland, now living in Australia, knows me from meetings when I was in the Commercial Farmers Union; for my part, I have trouble remembering his face but got to know a lot about him through our late mutual friend Joe Whaley. I often wonder who was not a friend of Joe Whaley; he was exceptionally widely known, and his friendship was always given freely with no known enemies in my recall. He did have a penchant, however, for leading you astray, especially when attending some agricultural event, be it a field day, show or farmers’ meeting. It was amazing how many of these extended into the late evening or even night. Attending a farmers' meeting or field day was considered part of the job, so a handy excuse to get a break from the farm.
“Any agricultural event in Zimbabwe was never complete without a review or a critique of the event or the speaker in the pub afterwards. For the latter, preferably with their presence. Even the shyest person can become vocal after a couple of beers also, the speaker may tell you the real story in the pub.” - Peter McSporran
Anyway, back to Willie, we have lots of mutual friends and acquaintances to discuss, so it is little problem for us to bullshit an hour away on the telephone. In one conversation, he suggested, with his introduction, to get in touch with Nick Beale, who, at Willie’s suggestion, would like to do a podcast on my reminiscences about my life, specifically in relation to Rhodesia and Zimbabwe. This I did two weeks ago and Nick thereafter convinced me to do a podcast with him. There it is; never trust a friend. Thanks, Willie. But in saying that, doing the podcast with Nick as the mediator helped prompt some of past events in my life that I had forgotten. More importantly, at the end of the podcast, I realised when I spoke it was all about ‘Me Me’, which left me with a sense of guilt. Am I getting narcissistic in my old age?
It has also made me realise I do not speak much about my children. Yes, I have spoken about my ex-wife Diane, my parents and her parents, and my siblings, but little about my children. During my time at the Commercial Farmers Union (CFU), Diane stayed on the farm, taking care of the administration and assisting the farm managers with any queries outside of daily farming tasks. She was my eyes and ears. A stalwart, but unfortunately, our relationship was deteriorating. What helped me to take my mind off this was by burying myself in the task at hand, that being the head of the CFU. Although a negative aspect of my personal life, I think, in hindsight, it may have contributed in part to my dedication in the role.
By early 1995, Storm, my eldest daughter, was sixteen and Janine, fourteen, attending Arundel School after completing junior school at Bishopslea, where my father-in-law Derek Belinsky, had been board chairman for many years. Some may not know, but in the late seventies, pupil numbers dropped so low at the school that the church was asked to come in to help ensure its survival. It seems the use of nuns to teach was a lot cheaper than professional teachers. I can only presume their salaries were either very low or subsidised by the church, whichever, but the school’s low fees attracted more children. Anyway, my father-in-law had to deal with the Mother Superior, from his take-home tales, a huge challenge which from our perspective definitely affected his moods. Late-night calls from irritated parents added to these moods significantly. Derek rarely showed his true feelings in public, so despite all the hassle, to everyone outside the family, he was enjoying the task. Parents were forever complaining about the food and religion, the former no doubt due to the low fees. Despite this, numbers rose, and when numbers were once again at a financially viable level, he had the unenviable task of unravelling the church’s involvement in the school. No easy task, it was no fault of the nuns themselves; they now were seen as a hindrance to the school's expansion. Anyway, my daughters, like many other young girls, survived these times there, and while neither of them excelled academically, they did well at sports and obtained entry to senior school. Following Bishopslea, they followed their mum's educational path, and went on to Arundel. The ‘Pink Palace.’ Much more focus on their education and much stricter discipline.
The girls would come home every third Friday evening and return to school early on a Monday. Both took after me as they did not particularly like school while I loathed it. Both, after not being at Arundel very long, on separate occasions, were caught smuggling alcohol into the school. Definitely taking after me here. Janine, the youngest, excelled at this and got caught no less than twice. Luckily, she suffered a short suspension rather than being rusticated, as it was felt the other girls involved were the instigators. Here I was thirty years after leaving school, waiting outside the headmaster's office to be admonished, not for my behaviour but my childrens’. Not once, but three times. Storm excelled in sports, especially tennis and squash, in her final years there, representing Zimbabwe as a junior international squash player. Storm especially made lifelong friends at school, and they manage to meet at least once a year despite being in the far corners of the earth. Janine, who was popular and still makes friends easily, has always found more comfort in the company of animals than humans. Strangely enough, Janine, the less disciplined of the two, after working in accounts for many years, has become a teacher in graphics at a college in America. Meanwhile, Storm has stuck to her chosen career in graphics and design, although she is now in the banking sector as a lead digital product designer. My stepson Selby was only born in 1995, so more about him later. Needless to say, I am proud of all three, all with loving partners with whom to share life.
Both had little time for dolls, being more outdoor tomboys. They loved going around the farm with me. Janine had a unique trait in that she was not scared of animals nor them of her, much to my consternation at times at the cattle dip. Storm loved going around the farm on the motorbike, and if I was not careful, taking the motorbike for solo trips. She still has marks on her legs from the numerous burns she got from this. Her legs, being too short to hold the motorbike upright, meant a dismount was more of a fallover. Unable to move, pinned under the motorbike when she fell off, more often than not, the exhaust would burn her. This never deterred her. They loved fishing, and other than one holiday to South Africa and one to Portugal, all our holidays were on our boat on Kariba. As a family we were happy to fish and game view. On occasion, due to my penchant for gambling, we would go to Nyanga or Victoria Falls, but family holidays of choice were to Kariba. Janine used to get car sick whenever we went down the escarpment after Makuti. On completing or rather surviving Arundel, both would go onto AAA School of Advertising in Cape Town, where they did exceptionally well during difficult times back at home in Zimbabwe. All their personal belongings went missing during the farm invasions, and the fact they never got home to say goodbye to the farm, and all it offered has no doubt left well-hidden mental scars. Despite this they are both successful in adult life. I am so proud of them.
In January 1995, I lost a very good friend in an air crash tragedy in the form of Ian Sandeman. Ian farmed in our district Darwendale but on the other side of the Great Dyke, on the Western side of the Gwebi river. We used to joke that it was the wealthy side, what with the Brown, Sandeman, Cary, Pio, Roberts, Venn, Claxton, Straus and Winkskill, to name but a few of the successful farming families on that side of the hills. Ian and I became good friends through farming and the Borrowdale Racecourse and, at one time, with others, went into a business which was going to produce cigarettes. This failed to get off the ground, licences were not so easy to obtain in those days, although we did buy a substantial amount of property, which Ian Burgoyne bought and then sold on our behalf. Perhaps he made money out of this venture, but we didn’t. Needless to say, over the years, we would spend many Sunday lunches, which would go long into the evening, in each other's homes or other mutual friends' houses.
He and his recently reconciled wife Sally had flown some racing friends, including my future in-laws Bob and Shirley Cary, to Magaruque Island in Mozambique for an end-of-the-racing season thanks to their trainers and jockeys. Unfortunately, Ian's plane crashed on the return trip in the Bromley area, unbeknown to Sally and the Carys in the other plane. They only knew something was amiss as Ian suddenly went off the airwaves. They waited for his plane futilely with, as yet unknown to me, my future wife Rozanne, who had gone to pick the Carys up from Harare airport. Five people died with Ian on that fateful day, including Murray and Sally Lindley, Paul Muscutt, Gordon Whyte and one other passenger whose name I cannot remember. If someone reading this does, please send and I will edit the name in. Ian’s death was not only a terrible loss to his family and friends, but also to our community. He was one of the area's leading lights, having been a long-standing MP in Rhodesia. The civil aviation enquiry put the accident down to leaking carbon monoxide, which rendered all on the plane unconscious as being the cause despite Pat Curry, over whose farm the accident occurred, claiming he heard an explosion just before the plane came down.
It seems Rhodesia and Zimbabwe have had more than its fair share of air tragedies, even if you do not include those military ones attributed to the war. At the time of Ian’s death it was just a couple of years earlier when another friend, Jill Adair, died in her plane while doing a game survey in the Zambezi Valley. Little was I to know in a little less than two months, another air crash would occur, this time involving cotton farmers flying from a meeting in Middle Save. This would be followed a few years later when the Hamp-Adams sisters, this being Sally’s maiden name, would suffer further traumatic loss from air accidents—more about these incidents in blogs to follow.
In reading about the shenanigans going on in the hierarchy of the new UK Labour Government it got me thinking it must be true that all politicians are corrupt. If not, how come they all become wealthy on or before leaving office? In Africa it is always before, nothing like taking your cash upfront. It goes with the job, so to speak. When I sat on a public company’s board, and other organisations, especially those which accessed shareholder or state funds, the rules regarding gifts were very strict. In fact, even a business meal paid by an investee was unacceptable, let alone cash donations or ‘freebies.’ I was surprised that politicians did not have to adhere to similar, if not stricter rules. Little wonder they all leave office rich men or women, having gathered wealth well above their stated or known income. Governments have significantly more influence and award much larger contracts than corporations so the opportunities, I suppose, are greater. Delayed rewards can be paid obscurely well after the individual has left office. Wouldn't an extravagantly paid speaking engagement or advisory consultancy hide possible past sins? Just thinking? Why is there a two-tier system? Why the leniency towards the corrupt acctions of politicians? Everyone is asking, but it appears to be there have always been a perk, unbeknown to a povo like me.
“A donation to a party you support is one thing. A donation or freebie to an individual can only be a bribe to garner future favour or made in reward for a past favour.” - Peter McSporran
The SNP corruption case has been ongoing for four years now. Would it have taken this long if the accused were ordinary citizens and not politicians or their spouses were involved? This is certainly not a new phenomenon, and it reminded me of what my father had told me about his first employer after the war in the forties. I have no proof of its truth, but for many years, a book on Dalgig Farm could be found in our house. I was born in Ayrshire, where my father worked as the farm manager on Lord Shinwell's model farm, Dalgig, near Cumnock. This was a strange employer for my father to have because he, my father while Shinwell was a Labour Minister, was a dye-in-the-wool conservative. Anyway, in later life, father told me Shinwell had somehow got Dalgig farm when he was Minister of Mines, having recently been the minister who nationalised the mines, the farm had been the property of one of those mines. He then built the farm into a model farm, with no expense spared, even to the extent of tarring the internal roads. So my final question, there have been many in this blog, where did a cockney trade union activist who led labour unrest in the Clyde shipyards before becoming a labour MP and then Minister get the money to purchase, let alone spend vast sums on the development of a farm in rural Ayrshire? I will let you guess, but as is said, nothing really changes.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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