Reflection. Thanks For Comments.
It is still raining! As the year draws to a close it always seems to be for me, a time of reflection. You do not remember all of the events of the year rather those that impacted on you or your friends the most. Those that are both favourable and sensible, those incidents that were stupid and careless, worst of all, those that are sad like the passing of Patrick Holt, our neighbour and friend. You never forget the idiotic mistakes you make. Just this Sunday, heading for a walk on the beach at Murtinheira, north of Figueira da Foz, on approaching a roundabout after slowing down and seeing the incoming car on my left signalling, the other car was turning right. I presumed he would exit at the first road not exit beyond me. Wrong! Never trust indicators, they may have or may not have a meaning in regard to the said driver’s actions.
In Portugal, indicators are often not used, more often misused. Luckily, we both stopped in this instance before a collision occurred. Phew! I always beat myself up following a stupid incident that with care could have been avoided.
“There is no such thing as an accident, just carelessness.” - Archie McSporran, my father.
Mind you, I see Portugal has the most motor car accidents in the whole of Europe which is not surprising. They all think they are Formula 1 drivers even in their Renault Clios' or Volkswagen Polos' as they shoot past you at a hundred and sixty kilometres an hour. Another habit on the motorway even if you are at the speed limit, they come right up your back flashing before ducking out to overtake. If you are overtaking on the outside lane at the speed limit, be expected to receive a good light flashing as someone comes up behind you indicating their irritation that you are adhering to the speed limit. Portugal seems very tolerant of speed limits, not sure this is a good thing now that I am in my dotage.
On recollection, from time to time I have found my stated views being either unfair to an individual or organisation without bothering to explain myself fully. The one thing I do know is my physical behaviour has mellowed. Unfortunately, what goes on in my head has not. I need to learn to relax more. We all make mistakes so tolerance is important, especially to those close to us. Rozanne is a great repairer of fissures, which resolves most of my problems, especially with regard to family relationships. Her support always is much appreciated especially these last two years where my health removed a chunk of my arrogant self-belief.
The day we visited Murtinheira was the only dry day for weeks, although there was a strong wind. The beach extends for some fifty kilometres and with its Atlantic rollers breaking on the sand, it reminded me of Westport, on the Kintyre peninsula. At this time of year, these Atlantic coast beaches are empty. Unlike Kintyre, the flatlands on the way to the beach were flooded as we drove through them on causeways.
This week I return to the eye specialist, no doubt further injections into my left eye which seems to have stabilised at about thirty percent vision. Unfortunately, a recent visit to the optician led to the discovery of some problems in my good eye. Aaargh. I will find out this week what it is. I may have to postpone my appointment as I have a temperature. Covid-19 still rules our freedom.
Breaking news, I did attend and my eye has improved. Great news as three years ago the first specialist told me I would lose the sight of that eye and stopped treatment. My next treatment is now in six months.
In the early New Year, I have a stream of the usual tests followed up with a visit to the cancer surgeon in mid-January. Let's hope he is smiling when I see him.
After a very creaky start to the year with continual diarrhoea and cramps, and the worst flatulence I have ever come across in any human, my stomach has been behaving. Perhaps due to a change in dosage of my medicines, or more likely, the colonoscopy. This is my belief with no medical reason to support this statement. It seemed to have moved my intestines back into place. To say my bowel movements were irregular until that day is an understatement. Maybe this is my imagination here, but the change following the procedure was spectacular. Perhaps it was not this, but over the past two years with painless colonoscopies, this one was an exception resulting in serious pain for twenty-four hours followed by amazing relief.
I received some interesting comments from some of my readers with their thoughts following last week's blog. Angus Shaw, a retired journalist, reminded me his family lost his farm to the Graham family in Rhodesia. He also advised me to write in a larger font which I will do. Another Shaw, Rob, a latter-day visitor to Zimbabwe passed on his views about events and other people's interpretations. He also has come across those that say we got what we deserved. He said the most poignant experience, even as a non-Zimbabwean, was driving past country roads which still had signs with the farm names and owners on them somewhat rusted and faded. Finally, The Seed Man had this to say.
“These days all the “woke” feel they have the right to criticise and slander anyone who does not share their views.” - The Seed Man
We seem to have moved into a world where self-interest of the spoilt liberal few is more important than the majority. Of course, for a minority to have sway over the majority it has to use intimidation and bullying tactics silencing anyone with contrary views. Their vocal cadres are never far from the TV screen or the news.
“Woke is born out of the selfishness of a few, not out of the needs of the whole.” - Peter McSporran
To all those others that made comments last week, private and public, thank you.
First Trip To Zambia
If I recall correctly, it was in August 1982 that Alistair Smith, Tony Skinner and myself decided to visit the Lusaka Show. Alistair, you know as I have spoken about him often having been my Best Man. Tony Skinner had recently taken over from Scotty McDonald as senior auctioneer and manager of the Cattle Co-op. Like all auctioneers in the livestock industry, he was outspoken, gregarious and ambitious. Unlike in Europe, auctioneers in Rhodesia and then Zimbabwe did not require you to register with proof of funds to buy cattle, providing the credit for the deal. Reputation was everything. Rarely did they get it wrong. He also liked a beer and fitted in with Alistair and my understanding of a good time. A day spent looking, selling or buying cattle followed by a few beers before moving on to the whisky was not a wasted day.
We set forth with a crate of beer which we finished before reaching the border at Chirundu. Still only a village then. Surprisingly, the Zambians would not accept our dollars to pay for the car's insurance and entry documents demanding payment in Kwacha. Was it a question of pride? Meanwhile, just outside the border post security fence, people were crying out for Zimbabwe dollars. The border officials insisted that we obtained Kwacha and in doing so, we could not pass through the immigration and customs gate. We learnt they would cast a blind eye if we climbed the wall at the back of the building and purchased the required Kwacha illegally. There was no bank in Chirundu then, they must have known we would use money changers illicitly. The other two volunteered me to be helped over the wall and look for the currency which I did under the watchful eye of the officials wondering if it was going to be an exercise of entrapment to squeeze us for a bribe. That sums up how Africa operates. Without their tacit approval, incarnation could be the outcome of such escapades unless you were willing to part with a wad of cash. Our fears in this instance were unfounded. There was no beer in Chirundu on the Zambian side having foolishly not resupplied on the Zimbabwean side, we were now dry.
There, then followed a very slow three-hour drive to the Kafue River. The roads were terrible with massive potholes and on the escarpment, broken-down trucks and accidents were the norm. On arriving in Kafue at the lodge, there we found a bottle of gin and only one bottle of tonic which we made do with. On driving into Lusaka we were shocked to see the huge squatter area along the Kafue Road into the city. Twenty years later, much of this was gone when I moved there in 2001. The other thing that struck us was the high walls around business premises and dwelling houses. Harare, still at that time had low fences or hedges between houses in the suburbs. Everyones' lawns and flowers could be admired from the road with neighbours trying to outdo one another in their efforts in neatness and floral display. With independence, this was soon to change as theft became the main means of income of the poor. I have still been unable to name one African city without high walls.
That evening we set out to Abe Gulaun’s farm near the airport to stay with his then-manager Nigel Pollard. On the way out of town, we mistakenly drove into what I think was the airforce barracks which required some swift talking. The next day, off to the show where we were immediately struck by how English the accents were, not at all like those south of the Zambezi. The next thing was all the 4x4 Landcruisers, Landrovers and Fords. South of the Zambezi in those days a Datsun 1500 was a luxury on the farm. We were told things were tough in Zambian farming, our eyes could not confirm this.
John Glanfield, a well-known Sussex breeder from Nyabira was judging that year, so much of our time was spent pointing out his mistakes to him claiming his choices unknown to him had fatal flaws, all false. Those that knew John will remember how straight-laced he was. Following the death of his wife, he remarried Andy Samuels's mother. Andy was well known for his hairy exploits in the Rhodesian army both on operations and in the bar. I often wondered what sort of conversation took place around the dining room table on his visits to the farm. During the next two days, we met many of the leading figures in Zambian agriculture. Of interest, Abe Gulaun advised us to just buy property and even borrow money to do so. I always heed that advice and although losing the land in later years, I think his advice was good.
On our final night there we attended the show banquet where the President, Kenneth Kaunda spoke for two hours. His speech was preceded by the British High Commissioner who only seemed to have knowledge of the beauty and wildlife of Zambia and little about its agriculture. The banquet meal consisted of a large baked potato, not quite clean, and a slice of tough meat. No starters or pudding. The meal took four hours with all the speeches. I remember our final round consisted of forty-five whiskies between the three of us before finding our way to Ngwerere Club which still functioned in those days.
The next day we set off home with a boot full of veterinary products including medicines to synchronise estrus in cattle. When I say full, I mean full. No problem going out on the Zambian side, not so the Zimbabwean side, they thought we were smuggling in drugs. Eventually, they accepted that it was, mushonga wemombe. First stop, Chirundu Hotel, fuel for ourselves and the car now a bit worse of wear due to the many potholes it had encountered. Potholes were unknown on Zimbabwean roads in those days having benefited from the Rhodesian legacy.
Next stop, yes, you guessed it, Mukuti where we settled in for an extended lunch. It must have been a Saturday as Porky du Preez and a number of Karoi farmers arrived, spontaneous festivities continued into the night. We were unable to call our wives to explain we had met with an unexpected delay. That night we spent at Porky’s farm down Pendennis Road in Karoi. I have little recollection of getting there. Porky was a well-known character with many exploits under his belt. At a guess, I reckon at his prime he weighed maybe one hundred and eighty kilograms plus, so it was with surprise when ambushed during the war he escaped out the side window of his pickup. He was also a good customer of Tony’s.
From Karoi we decided to stop at The Orange Grove in Sinoia for lunch. I remember that well as we had prawns, a luxury in those days in Zimbabwe. Now for home, not quite. A sign in Banket informed us there was a polo tournament at the club so we thought we would just pop in to be sociable. By now our wives had been informed we were still alive giving them time to conjure up suitable punishment.
Much later that night we drove into my in-laws, the Belinsky’s, to a rather cool reception. The first thing Fiona, Alistair’s wife said was, “I have bought a new dining suite.” Aah well, fun adventures have to have a cost.
A Merry Christmas and happy festive season. My goodwill does not extend to those train drivers and border guards who have made many lives miserable and lonely over this holiday.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
Comments