07/07/1977 - Snippets from a fading memory - Part 5

Sweeping the "Witpad" was one thing. You quickly learned the "show", and could often spook drive in the tracks which were less than a day old. However,  the lesser used side roads, two tracks were another story. On one sweep, we got a signal. I slowly cleared the area around the signal, and uncovered a very badly deteriorated cheese mine. Something didn't look right, and we decided to check this one out properly. No pulling this out with a rope. One guy held the mine in place, while I slowly dug out underneath it. There we found a contraption the led back the way we came. We secured the mine, and started to clear behind it, towards the vehicles, in the direction we had already swept. About 10 meters back (after having moved the vehicles back to a safe place, we uncovered a box that contained another 2 cheese mines. So, their plan was that the first vehicle would set off the mine we found, and the activation would then set off the secondary mine possibly under the second vehicle. This was a mess, and we spent more than a few hours clearing that up. Glad we found it though. Could have been nasty of someone had decide to spook that road.

The sunsets up north were beautiful. I have several photos somewhere (which don't exist) of the sun setting with spectacular colours. And with the sparse vegetation, some great settings could be had.

No one said we didn't have fun. At some point the Sappers decided to booby trap the "go-carts". This was easy - take the gunpowder out of a few R1 rounds, place in tinfoil and roll op. Then, using old mine detector batteries, and claymore wire, a clothes peg and a piece of cardboard, a quick booby trap was made, and fitted to the "go-cart". SO when someone lifted the lid, the roll of gunpowder at the bottom of the pit would "explode"! No harm done to the soldier, other than he might have crapped in his pants!

On one occasion, we had been out of base camp for a couple of weeks. (Might have been on one of my camps). We had swept deep into Angola, and then found ourselves without anymore drinking water (someone forgot to refill the water tank on the buffels). We had been warned that we could not drink from any of the wells we passed, as there was a possibility of poisoning by the locals. SO while we set up a small water purification tank near to a shauna, we had to find something to drink. I was the stupid one who remembered that the wheels on the Buffel, including the spare wheel, were filled with water. I tapped off some from the spare wheel, and took a swig. Trust me when I tell you I was the only one to do that. My face, and the fact that I almost immediately threw up told everyone else not to try it. By nightfall I had gypo guts like never before! Luckily by the next morning my system had cleared itself of the brak water, and we had some drinkable water in the purification tank. Didn't try that trick again!

During one of stints up there, our troop fell out with the infantry commander of the base (I have no idea what rank he was or could have been). Anyway, he called us to come to where his tent was, and to "tree aan" outside his door, with rifles. When we were ready, he came out, and informed us that for whatever it was we had done, we were going to have an "opfok" drill session! Seriously - here, on the border, where people can disappear at any time, where men can tilt and do kak stuff, he wanted to "opfok" drill us? Wasn't going to happen on my watch - so I turned my R1 upside down, and buried it barrel first into the sand! That guy lost his mind! He went berserk, ordered his guys to arrest me, and said he would have me tried for multiple indiscretions, least of which was abuse of government property! I know I was in shit already, so in a low growling voice I told him what would happen if he persisted with his demands and threat. The rest of our guys were dismissed and told to return to their tent. I had to remain. Just me, this grumpy and crazy guy, and some of his infantry. I'm not sure of the events after that, but I'm still here, and I wasn't shipped out of there, so couldn't have been too worse. That infantry troop / platoon were shipping back to SA a few days later, so all I had to do was lie low for a few days till he left.

There was an evening we held a braai (goat) for one guy who turned 21! Sias had the honour of breaking the goats neck after someone tried to cut its throat with a blunt knife! He then proceeded to skin and gut it, and cut it into pieces to braai.

Fly over's by our air force was always a big thing. I loved to see those pilots doing their thing in the air with those beautiful planes. And as for the choppers, made my day when they were in the area. Flying out on one to leapfrog another unit who needed to be relieved was a highlight for me. Those pilots were awesome, brave and skilled. I remember seeing one take off at Ondangwa, flying low over the airstrip to chase away a stray dog. Damn thing kept coming back, so the pilot flew up to about 100 or 150 meters, and some Rambo in the back shot the dog! Damn, now that takes some doing!

Watching the Flossie come in to land from high up, the sudden swoop down towards the ground, a quick correction and then sit on the tarmac - and then, after take off, flying just above the tree tops.

I THINK THERE MIGHT BE ONE MORE CHAPTER TO THIS SAGA

 

  07/07/1977 - Snippets from a fading memory - Part 4

NOTE - I might be writing down stuff that happened during one of my many camps up north. Memories can be jumbled, and time lines have lost all meaning.

Another funny  moment - we swept the infantry and medics to a local clinic. There the medics would check out the locals, and dispense medicine as required. Sometimes, one would approach us and ask if we had headache tablets. On more than one occasion, we dispensed out malaria tablets, and one time I recall someone giving the man a s-bit - you, those things we used to make fires with… and told him to chew it and wash it down with water. I'm sure that guy had gypoguts for at least a week after that!

Malaria tablets were not popular among the troops. Stories abounded that they made you tan yellow! and due to the fact that any off time was spent tanning, we were not up for a yellow finish! I don't know if it was in fact true, but I never took a malaria tablet, and now realise how risky that was.

Talking about tanning - another stupid thing I remember doing was smearing brake fluid on my arms and legs. Got a better and darker tan! How dumb was that? No after effects that I know of though. But we did have dark tans! Another photo that does not exist somewhere in my drawer.

A nice trip was sweeping up to one of the water towers. I don't know if it was Alpha tower or what. Once there, and the infantry did their thing, we would climb up to the top, and get inside the tower and swim. That water was ice cold, and so welcoming in the heat of the day. If I remember, it was also near to a mission station called Santa Clara (forgive me if I get the names wrong). That place was suspected of giving aid to the enemy, so was raided on several occasions. We just stood by in case we were needed to clear any explosives or arms cache. Never happened. I think those nuns were just too smart!

The kuka shops were also the targets for raids, as they were known to support the enemy with food and money. On one raid, we found hundreds of Rands stuffed into the cartons that wine bottles come in. The owner only explained that he didn't have a bank (the nearest one was probably Ondangwa), and so kept his earnings in the shop! Not sure what happened, other than we all got free cold drinks and some tinned foods.

The guys from my section were renowned for the speed at which we could sweep a road. I have no idea what it was anymore, but I do know that eventually the infantry guys walking in the bush next to us to give us cover were complaining, and many times we swept with no cover, and the infantry guys rode on the buffels! Anyone remember how fast we would sweep?

Once we were overtaken by a speeding local. The Ford F100 and F250 was a very popular bakkie in that area. It wasn't long, and we heard the boom of a landmine going off, somewhere a few kilometres ahead of where we were.  We made the decision to get on the vehicles and drive on the spoor of the bakkie, to get to the scene as soon as possible. Once the wreckage was in view, probably 150 meters away, we stopped, and resumed sweeping, up to the crater, and all around it to check for any secondary mines. As soon as it was clear, we found that the driver had not survived, no surprise I suppose, and settled down to have lunch, right there, next to the road, next to the crater and wreckage. It's actually surreal now that the incident did not have any effect on us, other than we didn't find the mine, it was detonated. The radio guys called the incident I, as we knew the base would be worried. They would have heard the explosion and seen the plume of rising smoke and worried that it might have been one of our vehicles.

One memory from Eenhana was when we were there with the mounted division - this was the guys who rode on horseback. I was friends with one of the guys, and so used to help him in the evenings when we took the horses to feed and drink. The highlight was riding them back to the stables bareback! I had ridden horses once or twice before, but riding bareback, holding onto their mane was another experience.

Maybe, with a bit of thought, more to follow.

 Sorry it's better for you that way

And that's the last message, via WhatsApp that I received, 15 June 2025

Sorry, It's better for you that way!

I don't think so.

It's your defense mechanism.
It's because you know if we meet again, you won't be able to keep your hands to yourself.
It's because you know that with me, anything can happen.
It's because I can make you feel things you didn't think possible
It's because you know I could make you do things you didn't think possible.
It's because it's better for YOU that way!

The above are just some of the response I wanted to send as a response to that message, and I have thought of many more, but I didn't send a response, as none would make a difference anyway. Some people have the strength to walk away, to resist, and good for them. Maybe it's better for both of us, as the reality is we shouldn't be going down that street anyway.

So, for my next trick... I have a few more episodes of my time in the SADF which I will be posting soon.

 

  07/07/1977 - Snippets from a fading memory - Part 3

Many of the events experienced during my time up north will remain unsaid.  I rather write about the good times, the fun we had, and the support for each other. War is war, weather it's conventional, or bush, soldiers do what they have been trained to do. Soldiers kill, soldiers die. At the end of the day, those that come back home are no longer the boys that were conscripted initially, and they carry their scars inside.

One day, after a week of sweeping through distant roads, we were on our way back to camp and were driving past some infantry guys. They asked us to stop and see if they could catch a ride. As we had swept the road earlier that day, we were comfortable to drive it, and just keep an eye on the tracks. We had mastered the art of seeing any possible disturbances In the tracks, even if the track had been redone with a loose tyre. And there among this rabble of misfits was my best friend from school! They were on their way back from a 2 week stint in the bush. Tired, hungry and dirty like you won't believe. That was a special moment, meeting up with him, out there in the middle of nowhere!

We soon became adept in recognizing any marking that would be left by those who placed the landmines to warn the locals of it's presence in the road. A strategically placed empty cold drink can, two rock, one on top of the other, and, on the way to Etale where the locals had a makeshift soccer field, the goal post top cross bar. If it was up in position, all was clear, if one side was down, it showed there was a mine in the road, and also pointed in the direction it had been placed!

Our troop lifted many mines, mostly the old cheese mine - I think those were relics from the second world war that Russia had supplied to the Angolans. Some of them looked rat eaten, with chunks missing, but they were still deadly. Not sure about the other guys, but we never blew up any mine we found, We successfully lifted and removed all of them, taking them back to camp as a trophy! (Which was immediately handed in for safe keeping.)

I found a TM57. I had never seen one before, not even in pictures. Cleared all around it, felt underneath - no secondary mine or trap. Then we used a long rope to drag it out of the road. No bang. So it was time to see what this thing is about. The top had a part that could be unscrewed. This was the tricky part (for me anyway, as I imagined it could be booby trapped to prevent dismantling). I smeared some nail polish remover around the edge where it met the body of the mine, and tried to unscrew it. It gave easily. So, slowly unscrewing, and listening closely for any tick, or click, or any sound which might indicate that it was in fact booby trapped.  At this point, my mates are around 50 meters away, with the vehicles. The infantry were probably 100 meters away, giving cover to the vehicles and to me. Eventually the top was loose, and gingerly I lifted it away from the body. This is where it became interesting. A bit of nail polish remover again, on the detonator holder, and it easily came out. Funny thing, the detonator was sitting sideways in the housing.

With that out of the way, I pressed on the button on the top, and the damn thing started to tick like a clock! I tossed it probably 10 meters away, and hid my head in the sand. Nothing. The ticking stopped. I retrieved it and checked inside. Now the inner parts had turned 90 degrees, meaning the detonator would now have been armed. I called one of our guys over, and we checked it out. Reset it. Pushed the button again and watched. This thing was made so that the first vehicle to drive over it and push down the button would start the clock turn, which would place the detonator in armed position, and then the second vehicle would detonate it! Clever sly bastards. 

Loaded it up, and when we got back to camp, set the lid and tossed it to one of the infantry guys, who on catching it, heard the ticking and threw it as far as he could while screaming all kinds of warnings to everyone around him! That was kak funny. Sent a report of the finding to Ondangwa, so that they could disseminate the information to the other Sappers out there, so they would also be aware of these mines, and know how to defuse them.  I have a photo somewhere, (which does not exist), where I am lying in the middle of the sand road, drenched in sweat, clearing the sand away around this beast.

My mind says there might be a part 4.

 07/07/1977 - Snippets from a fading memory - Part 2

Arriving in Grootfontein, we disembarked and stood in formation. Quick instructions from whomever was in charge of us there, and we all got onto trucks for the trip North. It would be a long day, on the back of the truck (Samil?), but fortunately a tar road all the way, till we got to Ondangwa. Here we would overnight, and then the next day we would be divided up into our troops, and shipped off to wherever we would b spending at least the next 3 months.  On route to our destination camps, some us saw the remains of vehicles that had hit a landmine, and we were soon sobered up to the fact that this was now for real - no longer explosions in a controlled environment, watched or affected from a safe distance. Now we would be walking among them, over them, and hopefully not on them. This was the real deal.

My one funny memory of the drive to Ondangwa was seeing a black guy, in uncommon uniform, walking next to the road carrying a rifle! My immediate though was "Shoot him!", but luckily we had a rank on board with us, and when asked he explained that he was a friendly local, who was employed by our side. I forget what they were called, but he lived to fight another day! No racial innuendo, but he was an African, with a gun - and to me that meant he was probably the enemy. (Come to think of it, he was walking casually next to the road, so it should have been obvious he wasn't the enemy!)

I remember how hot it was up there. Much hotter than I had ever experienced back home. But it was fine - I don't like the cold, and after Bethlehem in the winter,I would never want to be cold again! But, as we would soon learn, the heat brought with it "miggies", millions of the damn pesky little shits! Had to learn to live with them too.

Another surprise was the "go-carts" and the "piss lilies". Strange names, but even stranger things. Had to get used to taking a crap sitting next to your buddy. And the tents, with the mosquito nets, the dust when the wind blew, the incredible night sky.

As Sappers, we were split up into troops of 10, and for some camps even less. Our task was to sweep the vehicles from camp to their destination. We were deployed with the infantry, and other groups in a camp. So we were the smallest unit in any camp, but received a lot of respect because of our task. One of us would be the representative for meetings and discussions with whomever was in charge of the camp, and not necessarily a ranked Sapper, sometime we just took it in turns.

Namibia, and especially the northern areas where we were deployed is stark, raw, and yet beautiful.  The sparse trees offered some comfort sitting in their shade at midday. The water holes ("Shauna's?), muddy grey in colour, was home to some really big barbers, and stories of the guys fishing with hand grenades abounded. Never di see that, but did watch the locals fishing with nets, and catching quite a few. They would clean them, and hang them up to dry, and then sell them of course. I didn't try to eat them back home, so wasn't going to try them there.

The "kuka shops" were a popular addition to any day out. Always had cold home made "beer"? Who the hell knows what was in it, some stories said they even put old torch batteries into the drum - no matter, we drank gallons of the stuff and are still here to tell the story. The were very clever, digging a hole deep beneath a tree, and storing the drink down in the ground, where it was cooler, and sprinkling water around the hole.

Swapping rations and a few Rand for a goat was a thing. Especially when we had been eating rat packs for more than a week, we would go to the nearest encampment, meet the owner / chief, and bargain with him for a goat. That goat on a braai fire that night tasted like the best Karoo lamb!

Cigarettes in camp were cheap, as was beer. Food was enough when in the camp, and if you made friends with the cook, you could often organise a steak from the officers menu!

The upside of being a Sapper was we didn't have to do guard duty - well not at the camp I was at anyway. On one occasion, when the infantry left the camp, and were replaced by their peers for the next 3 month stint, we had an issue with their commander (whatever his rank was). He decided that the Sappers should also stand guard! Well, it took me all of 5 minutes to get the radio room to contact our guy in Ondangwa, who immediately took this guy on, and explained that should he want to push the issue, we would be withdrawn from his camp, and he could do his own mine sweeping, or risk driving without sweeping the road. That stupid idea died a quick death!

Another funny situation arose when we did bunker inspection. Every once in a while, we would do inspection of the ammo bunkers, and more especially of the mortar pits. This was to check if there was any  ammunition that had started to "bleed", or leak as such. Usually, old ammo like mortars would be taken out of the camp to a pit, where it would then be detonated by us Sappers, using probably 4 times too much PE4 - for effect you know! The resulting boom would scare the crap out of the locals for at least 3 months, and the resulting hole would make for a new water hole, if it was nearing rainy season! Great fun!

However, one time we found some suspect mortars in the mortar pit - and we were not comfortable to move them. So, after a chat with the camp commander, they cleared the immediate area, and we set about placing some PE4 explosives on the mortars. This time we didn't overdo it though, realising that we could blow away half the camp! That too was a memorable bang, with dust flying high into the sky, and all the nearby tents covered in sand. No one was hurt, the infantry dug new mortar pits, and that hole was closed using the sand from the new diggings. Much fun was had by all involved!

With some effort, I might have a part 3.

 07/07/1977 - Snippets from a fading memory - Part 1

48 years ago today I clocked in at 2 Field Engineering Regiment, Bethlehem, to start my 12 month conscription in the South African Defense Force. Within 6 weeks, this was upgraded to 24 months. No matter, it would turn out to be the best two years of my single life. I would make life long friends, I would become the fittest I would ever be in my life, and I would overcome fears I did not even know existed.

Just arrived, and off to the stores to get fitted out with your kit. Then off to find the bungalow you had been allocated, and meet the guys you would be spending the next few months, maybe a year with.

It was a mild winters day when we all boarded the train at the Milpark station in Johannesburg. It was a terribly cold winters day when we arrived and disembarked in Bethlehem. Till then, I did not even know that it could get so cold! Over the next few weeks, the cold would show all it's might, especially when doing those 2 - 4 am guard duties, and even more so if you happened to draw one of the points that were completely exposed to the weather, like the graveyard. Go figure, the graveyard shift at the graveyard!

Running the MMI at 4 am, in black PT shorts, a T-shirt and socks and takkies I believed that it would be the death of me. But we ran, and survived.

I met so many different guys, Afrikaans speaking farm boys, weed smoking Durbanites, some guy, strong as an ox, with a bad limp was a fisherman from the west coast.  He wasn't supposed to be there due to his bad limp, but insisted he wanted to do his bit.

Everyone came there with one purpose, to do their national service. Not long, and we were all there to support each other, go ensure we had each others backs, and to give the best we had in us.

I have fond memories of the telephone booths we used to call home. If I remember correctly, there were 2 side by side. I also remember how the guys who had older brother who had done their service before, had showed them how to make a "long Tickey"! Basically, a coin on a piece of gut, which you put into the money slot, till it registered, then withdrew it and used it again! Not sure the SAPO made much money there. I remember the queues at these phone booths, and when it was your turn to phone, the damn thing would ring, and it was someone's girlfriend calling for him. This was an easy fix. If the phone rang as I was about to pick it up, I would lift the receiver, and say (in Afrikaans) - "Good evening, Bethlehem morgue, how can I help you?" or, "Bethlehem maternity ward" - and they would hang up. Then quickly hang up and lift the receiver so I could make my call.

I remember receiving letters from home, and having to do push up's if the letters smelt nice - cause if you received a letter from the girlfriend, it would usually be dosed in perfume, the corporal would pick up on the scent, and you would have to pay to get it - pay as in "Do 20 push ups!" - and we did.

The food wasn't so great, but edible, and enough. When I didn't really like what was dished up, I made up for it by eating bread. No problem.

Not sure when, probably around week 6, we were allowed to have a beer. And it was then that the news came through that our 12 month call up was being extended to 24 months! Although a bit of a shocker for us, it affected our "ou manne" even more, as they were in the last phase of their 12 months. I have a vague memory of them going absolutely bat shit, and we had to clear out the mess / pub area!

No matter - training was hard, and we had to ensure our buddies kept up, So we would run an MMI (Mile and a half) and had to do it in a certain time. If you didn't make the cut off, you ran again. That was okay, but became a problem when if one or more of the guys didn't make the cut off, EVERYONE had to run again. This taught us to support each other, encourage each other, make sure that everyone did their best, and more, till we would all arrive within the cut off time.

I have memories of cleaning the bungalow, and getting everything ready for inspection in the morning - sleeping under the bed so we didn't have to make them up again in the morning, and waking up to the corporals shouting, and dumping fire buckets of water across the shiny polished floors.

A lot of what was done and what happened didn't seem to make sense at the time, except of pleasing a deranged corporal, but in hind sight, it was all part of building resilience, team building, working together - ultimately - to make sure we all looked out for each other, and would be able to face any situation!

On night, still early in basics, someone burnt the veld next door to the camp. Next morning, after the MMI, and while it was still dark, they made us leopard crawl through the burnt veld. Apart from very dirty clothes, and troops, there was the problem of the now short, stiff burnt grass cutting through the skin. Trust me when I say we were a sorry mess when we returned to our bungalows to change for breakfast after that stint. But we survived.

Training with telephone gum poles was another test. To see if we could work together, run in step with each other, and carry our part. Fun? I think not. Funny? Only when we were dropped about 10km outside of town and told to run back to camp, with our poles. One bunch decided to get clever, stopped in at a farm, borrowed a saw, and cut their pole into 4 pieces, one piece each. Easier to carry and run with. Needless to say they paid for that in blood. Their "opfok" PT lasted well into the night.

End of basics, and they had a parents day. We set up the field with all our military stuff, as well as a part of a Bailey bridge which we would assemble as part of a show. Bets part of the day for me, apart from seeing my parents who had made the trip (we were allowed our first weekend pass afterwards) was meeting some of my mates sisters! Damn brother, (Wally? from Meyerton?),I was so glad I helped him through some of those challenges, and so he was happy to introduce me to his parents, AND his hot sister!

First time at the shooting range, I saw a corporal jump on some guys back, and hard. He had a misfire, and was turning around to ask for assistance - ignoring the training that said "You lay your rifle down, facing the front, raise your hand and wait for someone to come and help you!"

I forgot to mention that 98% of all communication was in Afrikaans - this didn't phase me as I was (and still am) as fluent in Afrikaans as I was in English. But some of those souties, especially the guys from the Durban area, they struggled, and many times paid the price for not understanding.

Training in explosives, and land mines was the highlight of my basics. I loved every minute of it, and couldn't wait till we got to "play" with some of the nasty stuff.

Basics finished, we got a weekend pass every 2 or 3 weeks. It was a matter of hitch hiking home on Friday afternoon, and back again on Sunday night. Those days, almost everyone would pick up a soldier in uniform, and take home safely as far as they were going.  It helped to convey to the driver where you were going, or, like me on one occasion, I ended up in Potch! an hour away from home, and they had driven right past my home town - but I was asleep in the back! Another time, I got a lift from 2 girls in a VW beetle - and suddenly, in the middle of nowhere, they just stopped the car. Then, opening a bottle of champagne, we celebrated the car going over 1 million kilometers! Fun times.

When December approached, some of us were hoping that we would be lucky enough to get the right weekend pass, and at least get to spend some Xmas time with the family. Alas, it was not to be. 2 Weeks before Christmas (more or less) we were shipped north - SWA here we come! Oh, and it was also after basics that we were told we could grow a moustache if we wanted to. I did - and have had one ever since!

So, off with the Flossie to the war. Some level of excitement, but also concern, as we didn't really know what to expect, which camps we would be shipped out to, what we would find. But this is what we had trained for, and we had been properly prepared.

 

More on this later….maybe….I don't really tell war stories….but the above memories will stir many emotions amongst me peers.

Winter 2025   

 So it's winter - 2025. And it's damn cold. I'm not sure if it's colder than previous years, I can't be bothered to go and check the stats, or, if I feel it more as I get older. But I do know that I don't like the cold weather! I don't mind the mild winters I remember from when I was much younger, but this cold, with the wind blowing, when 6deg C feels like 3 deg C, nah, not for me. 

But the upside is I know that spring, and summer are on their way, so there's always that! And I still get to ride my bike, just not when it's this cold. If the temperature gets up to around 14 or 15 deg C, I am quite happy to take her out of the garage and go for a spin.

At work, I have brought in an electrical hearer from home. I don't use it at home, as electricity is expensive, and I have a gas heater for there. But in my office? Well, I don't pay for electricity at work, so all good.

I've also taken to wearing multiple layers of clothing - again, not something I did when I was much younger, but I'm not that guy that puts up a brave act. I dress for warmth! I really feel sorry for the folk in the workshop. That's bitter cold! And as we don't have a lot of work at this time (read, no work), they not busy, so it makes it worse. If you busy, your body burns something (my mate Steve knows), and your body is warmer.

So, that's my update for today. Keep warm, keep safe, keep writing....