Bulawayo and Onwards!

Hi everyone. Taking time out today – staring out my study window at the weather; grey, dank and almost the same as yesterday, but not quite.  Next to the garden wall, two long lines of virginal snow-drops and alongside them, daffodils, green-headed and fresh up this morning – just to have a look-see. Maybe they think they’re missing out on something?  Bottom line, spring is on its way to Britland. Down in Oz and South Africa guess some cooler weather’s homing in on you folks – should imagine a lot of people are looking forward to it, after a summer of fires and horrendous floods reckon a little peace and quiet wouldn’t go amiss.

Apart from the obvious ‘book promotion’ side to my blog, landing myself a load of friends has been taken on board as a welcome bonus. From all over the world; Australia to Denmark and the USA, Singapore, Zimbabwe and Hong Kong. Wish I could thank you personally, who knows? If I can hang on in there and get some books off the ground, maybe we’ll meet. I look forward to the possibility...

Now then; where did I leave the kid on the train...?

... Bulawayo has (the last time I saw it) one of the longest railway station platforms in the world. Rhodesia’s turn-around point for Union Castle’s, boat train. After a three day haul from Cape Town we were off the train and free. I was there – in the middle of Africa, being led away from the platform by my very own pair of wary parents. Outside the station, the street boiled with new smells, sunshine and a sea of different people. Morris Minors, Vauxhall Crestas and six-cylinder Chevrolets shimmered in the heat. I liked the Chevrolets with their big steering wheels and whitewall tyres. When they moved, their engines growled. Petrol was cheap and lots of it with a sixpenny-tip for the pump attendant who always smiled and said; ‘clean your windscreen, sir?’ How I miss those days.

After a night at the Grey’s Inn we were back on the station platform. The boat train had gone; back the way it came. That’s when I had my very first Coca-Cola – two pence a bottle, straight from the kiosk fridge. The taste was heaven sent; black as English Sarsaparilla, loaded with sugar and bubbles enough to make you burp for England. We were heading for (wait for it) Wankie! Couple of hundred miles north-west of Bulawayo. Guess the colonists who named the coalfield after Chief Hwange just didn’t realise...

‘Your aunt and uncle have been living there for a year.’ Mother informed me. ‘We’ll be staying with them, Jeffrey so remember your manners. And think on – there are bound to be lots of wick things so watch where you sit and always check inside your shoes before putting them on.’

‘Wick things?’

‘Insects, Jeffrey – creepy-crawlies.’

I knew what they were, just didn’t like the idea. Where we came from, if something was ‘wick’ it was categorised as small, possibly airborne with horrible scratchy legs, nippers and stings. The ‘wick’ bit made reference to rapidity of movement. I had a quick shiver.

‘Do they bite?’

‘Some of them. Leave them alone and you’ll be fine.’

I had no thoughts of ever touching one; not intentionally...