Ronald McDougall sat quietly at the bar on Johannesberg Railway Station sipping a cold beer. Outside on the platform waited his 'Boy', his native servant, guarding the small trunk and suitcase Ronald was taking back to England with him. He smiled wryly to himself. Not much to show for - what was it? – sixteen, seventeen years in South Africa. Not quite the fortune he had hoped to make. Going home for the first time since that hurried and secretive departure.
He thought of his father, who had died 2 years before, patriarchal and overbearing, insisting that Rannie, as he was usually called, study and become a lawyer; and the useless, wasted arguments he put up against the idea. Perhaps it was his father's Scottish obstinacy that he wouldn't listen. Finally, given the money to settle him down at University in London, he made his decision to run away. Again he smiled to himself. "Run away' was a bit Boys' Own Paper-ish!
Instead of ending his journey in London, he had gone on to Southampton, and booked a Cabin Class ticket to Cape Town. He'd show them, he thought, when he'd made his fortune in gold or diamonds. He landed at Cape Town, still with a bit of money in his pocket, but oh, so wet behind the ears. He was lucky at last, when directed to a Boer Voortrekker who was off to the Transvaal with his family, but wanted an extra hand who could ride and shoot. At least Ronald could do both, a bit of an expert with horses and rifles. He could still see that old Boer glaring at him, with those piercing dark eyes, and hear his thick accent "Trouble with you bloody Englanders, you're too soft. You have to learn to kick these bloody Kaffirs around a bit more. The only way to get work out of them. And you bloody Englanders, too."
Then he had to demonstrate he could ride and shoot, before the old man took him on for the trek. It was an experience, not a pleasant one, but at least he grew up fast. It was really living rough. The family slept in the wagon, except the elder son, he and Ronald in sleeping bags alongside. He had never experienced anything like it before, sometimes desperately short of food, often a scarcity of drinking water. But he learned to live off the land, how to hunt game, and grew fitter than he had ever been before. Except for the three weeks of malaria, when to his surprise he was looked after with great kindness by the Boer family, and made a complete recovery.
At journey's end, he was genuinely sorry to say his farewells, finally joining another small group of professional outriders heading back to Cape Town. This involved him in paying his own way, and by the time he reached the Cape, he was once again almost broke. This time he was not so lucky getting a job, The possibility of a civil war was looming, people were putting off treks into the interior, putting off plans to set up in farming, unsure of the future.
Then salvation came out of a clear blue sky. A crack Militia Regiment was being expanded, in view of the tense situation between the Boers and the English. The Cape Mounted Riflemen were looking for young recruits who could ride well, and able to shoot. Ronald fitted the bill, and on the 8th August 1898 he became No.3365 Private Ronald McDougall. He was delighted. No worries about money, accommodation provided, and 3 square meals a day.
Gazing into his beer, he remembered the elation he felt, dressed for the first time in his new uniform, - high collar khaki tunic, riding breeches, black Rifle Corps buttons, knee-high leather boots, and bamboo swagger tan tucked under his arm. It was a wonderful feeling.
Nearly five years he served, right through the Boer War, then when it was over, bought his discharge for £3, on 15th May 1903. For the next three years he roamed the velt, through Transvaal again, up into Rhodesia, prospecting for precious metals or diamonds, never finding anything. Then Into Natal in early 1906, just as the last Zulu rebellion broke, a result of a £1 a year Poll Tax, and the killing of two white Policemen near Durban. Once again low on funds, he saved his situation by joining up, this time the Natal Naval Corps, part of the Natal Militia Force, and served with them for eight or nine months, as 'Seaman 1st Class' until the uprising was finally dealt with!
He recalled his sense of futility when once again discharged, - no job, nothing to get back to, wasted years. This time he gave up prospecting, travelled to Boksburg in the Transvaal, where he had acquaintances, and the local gold mines were booming. 'By God' he remembered, 'if I thought soldiering was hard, it was luxury compared to down the mines,' - the heat, the dust, the danger, even though the natives did most of the hard digging work.
He buckled down to the job, worked hard for and obtained his Blasting Certificate, authorizing him to carry out blasting operations. This was one of the really important jobs down the mines, one miscalculation and hundreds, or even thousands of tons of earth and rock could come crashing down on the poor devils in those deep tunnels. It happened all too often. But it was well paid because of this responsibility, and at last Ronald could move into quarters of his own, and live reasonably well.
It all came to an end in August 1914. The first he knew of the war, was arriving at the surface of the mine after a shift, and met with the news from the overground teams, full of excitement.
It was later that evening, washed and refreshed that Ronald made up his mind. For a long time he had dreamed about going home to England, but what for? There was nothing there for him. But now there was. His country was at war. He was a trained soldier. If he could get home, and join up, it would perhaps make up for the disappointments of his long absence in this beautiful, but harsh, country.
The next day he went to the office to tell his bosses of his decision. One, he remembered, slapped him on the back, said "Good for you, Rannie." Another growled, " Don't be a fool, man. You're too old for fighting anything now." But his mind was made up. By selling off his rifle and one or two other possessions, plus his final pay, and what little he had saved, he could afford the train fare to the Cape, and a cheap passage home on a minor line ship.
He took out his half-Hunter watch, a present from his father when he was sent to University, finished his beer, made his way onto the platform. The hissing and shunting of the great black engines drowned out almost everything. He found his carriage, his Boy trotting along behind him, trunk on his head, suitcase in one hand. Before settling onto his bunk in the two-berth compartment, he lowered the window, paid his Boy a farewell bonus, and gazed around the cavernous place in the semi-darkness. Great gouts of steam rising. The shouts of the natives magnified a hundred times under the huge cavernous roofing, noise echoing everywhere. Then the clamorous grunting and puffing and hissing of the massive engines overwhelmed all other sounds as vast plumes of smoke coiled their way skywards.
Ronald grunted, dropped back into his seat, and prepared himself for the two-day journey to Cape Town…………then Southampton……………then what? He wondered if he would ever be back. For all its faults and his failures, he loved this wild, rolling, treacherous country….
The thought of marriage never crossed his mind. Nor any idea that the girl he was to marry would shortly be heading home to England after the briefest of stays in Cape Town where he was now heading.
The Guard's piercing whistle cut through the bedlam of sound, and amid great billows of steam and smoke, the train growled its way slowly into the African night.