Samples

Zingela’s camp radio telephone shrilled three times before it was anxiously snatched up. "Hello?" Linda’s voice was strained and uncertain. "We have found two British," announced the voice on the other end of the line. From his accent, it was apparent that he was not European—most likely Zulu. We were expecting the worst. The message he conveyed was chilling. Twenty-six or twenty-seven years after Margie and I had returned home to South Africa from England, Rosemary Finnegan succumbed to cancer.

This text was first written for the occasion of my fiftieth birthday party which was held at Zingela in December 1996 with a group of close friends. The theme of the weekend and the birthday dinner was “The Colonial Peoples of Africa”, and all who were there dressed in costumes appropriate to the theme. The text of “The Legend of Sacrificial Rock” was laminated to form the underside of a dinner placemat on which the menu for the meal was printed.

The advertisement in "Magnum" to hunt hippo in the Southern Luangwa Reserve was too good an opportunity to miss. It was almost as if my adventures with the Buffalo in Mozambique were about to be replayed. With much enthusiasm, and with the opportunity being conditional of three hunters being available at the same time, I replied to the offer to hunt the sixth of the Big Six. Although hippos are perceived as placid animals who spend most of their time wallowing, the successful hunting of one is an entirely different matter.

Uncle Dudley, my father’s brother, was one of the main "manne" in Theunissen in the Free State back in the day. Besides being politically active (and connected), he was mayor at some stage, and he was also president of the local Agricultural Society. Above all, he was a larger than life figure who commanded a great deal of authority. There came a time, however, when his authority was challenged, and this was when he discovered that there was some poaching taking place on his farm, The Beacon.

When I was ten years old, I embarked upon a grand adventure with my parents and my brother David. A trip abroad was usually only something that the rich and famous did—and our family was neither rich nor famous—but my father, who had been working for the Anglo Vaal mining company for a number of years, became eligible to take what was termed “long leave". In those days, long leave was an extended period of leave which lasted four consecutive months—something that was relatively normal for senior employees back then, but completely unheard of today.