The Road North!

... Morning folks. There has to be at least one eager reader out there? Must start talking to other bloggers. Already written about my first book’s arrival date sometime in April – providing I get the editing done. Isn’t easy; finding a readership for a first-time-out-of-the-trap novel is going to be tough. Anyone know where I can find a million downloads for Sons of Africa? It’s taken me 25 years to reach this stage of my writing career. Other writers talk about ‘six months’ – twelve if they’ve struggled. Guess I’m a slow learner – have to speed things up if I want to survive the current writing race. On a more positive note, a leading UK supermarket has brought out their own e-reader for around about the fifty quid mark; half the price of a Kindle – but is it any good? We shall see. Although any market interest in electronic publishing is a huge advantage for potential lost talent. Read on or you’ll miss some of the scenery; the miles are clicking by...

... On the lower slopes of Devil’s Peak, built from living granite, love it or hate it, an imposing memorial commemorating the rich though contentious life of Cecil John Rhodes, undisputed master of Victoria’s colonies in Africa, faces northwards – his dream, as it was a hundred years ago, to bring the darkest of continents under the protection of the realm. To do so he needed access to her riches, her peoples and her spirit – a link from that southernmost Aghulas point, reaching over seven thousand miles from  Table Bay, to Egypt’s desert cities of Cairo and Alex. He needed a railway; this same ribbon of silver steel upon which our mail-train with its migrants, fugitives and adventurers now clattered. Through verdant valleys, between the towering mountain ranges and then, with a full head of steam and powered by the blackest of Africa’s coal, we went out into the wilderness – out amongst a billion ant hills and that forever, open space – The Great Karoo.

We had a four berth compartment – second-class. Apart from the mirror and one, smaller than small stainless-steel wash basin, damn near everything else was green. Oh, and I forgot the drop-down table. Mahogany, I think. More like an ironing-board hinged to the wall and when not in use, held up out of the way by a leather strap strong enough to snatch the Titanic from her grave on the sea bed. For three days and two nights, this cramped compartment would be our home; the innards of a jointed, wooden snake – a giant’s clattering toy filled with people.

‘What’s that noise?’ I looked to my mother.

‘A xylophone, Jeffrey. That’s the dinner bell.’

‘A bell?’

Mother nodded, somewhat vigorously. The heat was getting to her.

‘Not really a bell; the dining car’s open – that’s what it’s for.’

I gave in. The noise grew louder, then, as though left behind by some, New Orleans steel band the xylophonist, decked out in white gloves, white linen jacket and black tie boing-a-boinged past our open compartment doorway. I stuck my head out and watched him hurry away down the corridor; our very own pied piper sent by chef to coax us out.

The dining car was to me a gastronomic wonderland. Waiters with slicked hair and big smiles flooded our plates with delicacies; five, sometimes six courses; fish, fowl, lamb or beef or both – followed by desserts and cakes of a hundred different colours. And always, tagged to the end of it all, to my father’s delight came the coveted wooden board, filled to overflowing with different cheeses; Baker’s Digestives and a full flush of Baker’s cream crackers. Coffee was poured into little cups – dark coffee with dark, Demerara sugar and milk in silver-plated jugs. The butter was displayed as small, individual portions; scooped straight from the block, rolled up like tiny yellow pangolins and corralled by a central, silver dish. Always ice cold and dewy from being in the galley fridge all night.

‘How long before we reach Bulawayo?’ I asked my mother.

‘Two more days, I think.’

‘Will we see elephants?’

‘Don’t know. Don’t think so. We’ll be stopping at Kimberley. Your father says most of the world’s diamonds came from there. Not any more, though.’

‘Why not?’

‘There are other places now.’

‘Can we look for diamonds?’

‘No.’

I was bored. Time for me to seek out those of my own age...