Then we were off again on our ‘magical mystery tour’, on this occasion to the picturesque resort of Tembue, an Army camp encircled by a few mud huts. We were billeted in a corrugated-iron shed, which had a hessian partition across the middle to separate the officers from the other ranks. A short walk found us at the officers’ mess, next to which was an open kitchen in which the chef was preparing our evening meal, surrounded by a host of flies. A severely undernourished cow, which should have been put out of its misery months ago, was tethered nearby. On the second day, we returned to camp to find the cow missing. We decided not to risk it, so we dined on corned beef and ‘dog’ biscuits washed down with copious amounts of cerveja (beer). The following morning the cow reappeared, so we needn’t have worried, but the threat was ever-present that she would one day go missing for good.
Animal incidents
FOR THE MOST PART RHODESIAN troops were pretty bored with border-control routines though the abundance of wild life often helped break the monotony. The Zambezi Valley teamed with wild game in the early 1960s before they became disrupted by terrorist and security force activities, which forced some to move to quieter regions; many elephants crossed the Zambezi River for the tranquillity of Zambia.
On a number of occasions we saw soldiers swimming in deep water close to sandy beaches along the Zambezi River. From our helicopter my technicians and I could see the semicircle of large crocodiles lying submerged in close proximity to the naked men. Every radioed warning was ignored because experience had shown the troops that, if a group of people remained close together, crocodiles kept their distance. If however anyone separated from the group, or was alone, crocodiles would attack. A number of men were lost to crocodiles in this way, including some members of SAP operating in the Victoria Falls area.
Situations of confrontation between soldiers and big game occasionally induced friction between National Parks and the military, particularly when charging animals were gunned down. There were also situations in which the Army shot for the pot and to produce biltong (dried meat) in quantities exceeding Parks’ approval. But the presence of game had its lighter side.
A high-ranking aged policeman flew into Mana Pools during a joint-force inspection tour of border-control units. He was a keen photographer and left the helicopter immediately on arrival to take photographs of a large lone bull elephant he had spotted from the air just before landing. This was ‘Twinkle Toes’ who was well known to the locals, but not to this policeman.
Some months earlier Twinkle Toes had been darted by National Parks rangers to record his vital statistics and to mark him with a large white painted number for ease of tracing his movements. Before the recovery drug was administered, the rangers had a bit of fun painting the big jumbo’s toes in a variety of bright colours; hence his nickname.
When the visiting team was ready to fly on to their next port of call they could not find the aged policeman. A quick search around found Twinkle Toes circling the base of a large, straight-trunked tree. He had taken exception to the clicking of the camera and had charged the policeman who was now perched out of reach amongst the high branches. The jumbo was chased off but no amount of persuasion could get the policeman to slide down the huge, straight and smooth tree trunk. Use of the helicopter’s hoist was discounted because of the density of the tree’s foliage. How he managed to climb the tree the aged policeman could not explain; how he eventually came down I do not remember.
At Mana Pools there was a treetop lodge whose owner spent the six coolest months of the year running a game-viewing business and the rest of the year at his home in England. I landed at the treetop lodge to conduct one of multiple location tests on an SSB radio unit that had been specially developed for deployment by helicopter. It so happened that this coincided with the impending departure of the owner of the lodge who was packing up for his return to Britain. Since he had so much curry in his fridge he asked my technician and me to take lunch with him on the high balcony that overlooked the Zambezi River.
Having set up the SSB aerials and tested the set with satisfactory calls to Air HQ, we left the equipment in situ and went off for a leisurely lunch because we had two whole hours to waste before the next radio test. We had finished eating and were chatting when I asked my tech to check on the aircraft, which was out of sight to us. Immediately hesaw the helicopter he called saying, “Just take a look at this!” Surrounding the helicopter was a herd of about fifty jumbos, huge to tiny, all sniffing and feeling the helicopter and laid-out equipment with their trunks. There was nothing we coulddo because forcing the big fellows to move away might have caused damage. Seeing one large trunk wrapped around the flimsy plastic hydraulic fluid reservoirs of the main rotor blade dampers worried me. When the elephants moved off we went down to inspect for damage. None was found though there were snot marks covering everything and our slimy helmets and masks stank strongly of jumbo.
Mick Grier had just landed troops in the Zambezi Valley when, out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement. The next moment a large angry black rhino bull burst out of the bush charging directly at the helicopter. Mick, who had a good sense of humour, told me how, “With one graceful fluid flowing movement, I applied full collective and watched the beast pass inches under the aircraft.” Luckily the rhino did not notice the two soldiers he had barely missed and, with horns and tail held high, followed Mick who drew him away to a safe distance from the men on the ground.
An ambush was hastily laid by an RLI callsign on the extended line of terrorist tracks that were being followed by another RLI callsign. After a long uncomfortable night the ambushers were looking forward to daylight when they all became aware of noiseless movements bang in the middle of their ‘killing ground’. They waited tensely for their officer to spring the ambush. The officer was fully aware of the movement but was waiting for it to reach a point directly in front of him when the movement ceased and everything went still.
A very light breeze was blowing from the ambush position towards the killing ground. Had this not been so, the troops would have been aware of the unmistakable, pungent smell of the pride of lions that lay facing them. Only when there was sufficient light did the soldiers find themselves staring straight into the eyes of a line of big cats that faced them with curiosity wrinkled on their big faces. After what seemed a very long time the officer fired a single shot into the air. The lions moved as one with deep-throated growls of protest as they turned and disappeared with mighty leaps into the safety of their habitat.
The Army base at Kariba was set on the edge of Kariba Heights giving it a superb west-facing view of Lake Kariba whose closest shore lay 1,400 feet below at the base of the mountain. I was talking with Army friends on the verandah of the Officers’ Mess and enjoying the beauty of a sunset when I received a mighty blow between my legs that laid me flat on the ground and writhing in agony. I had no sooner been downed than a wet grunting snout pushed at my ear and neck. This wasyoung ‘Oink’ the warthog who had introduced himself with that mighty upward thrust into my crutch. Only Archie Wilson’s handshake compared with the agony of this encounter.
Oink had been found abandoned by Border Control troops who took him into their care and brought him to Kariba Heights as a baby. Oink wandered around the camp like a dog and was very spoilt. His in-built habit of thrusting upward with his snout was well known to the inhabitants who knew better than to stand with legs apart when he was around. Many unwary visitors received the same welcome as myself, which amused the Army no end. When, however, Oink’s tusks started to grow he became too dangerous to have around and was handed into the care of a Karoi farmer.