The horrified herdsmen rushed to me with buckets of clean water, which they splashed on my face and poured all over my sodden clothing. When I regained control of my sight and caught my breath I went to the stunned old man and demanded his whip. This he gave me, then stood back expecting to be lashed. I smiled and handed the whip back before running off as fast as I could to a nearby dam to clean myself in an attempt to stop the awful burning that was consuming me from my head to my toes.
When she saw that I was sopping wet, unable to walk normally and reeking of dip, Sayer Haynes, who was a qualified nurse, became furious with Freddie and his father. She ordered me to undress and take a shower before inspecting my body in detail and applying dressings to awkward areas that were already raw and peeling. I stayed in bed for almost a week and was spoiled by everyone. The old man kept saying he was really sorry; that he had absolutely no idea that I would respond so rapidly to a challenge he claimed was made in jest.
Freddie Haynes had many outbuildings behind his beautiful home, with superb stables and all manner of implements and goods in storerooms. I asked him if I could use some of the poles and timber lengths stacked in one storeroom to build shelving in others so that I could get order into the hundreds of items that were in disarray. He welcomed the suggestion and was very pleased with the final result. In consequence of this, Freddie told my father that I was very good with my hands and implied that I should be in an occupation that would fully utilise this talent. For the first time in his presence, I broke into tears when Dad suggested to me that I should become an apprentice carpenter and joiner. Embarrassed by this emotional breakdown, I reminded Dad how I had always told him I wanted to use my hands for surgery.
Being the only young person on the ranch, I missed contact with my own age group. So, having given Dad’s suggestion some thought, the idea of going to town for an apprenticeship became more attractive. I moved to the Young Mens’ Club in Umtali and commenced my apprenticeship with Keystone Construction early in 1953. I got on well with everyone and did well in learning crafts that included cabinet-making, machining, joinery and site construction. I was able to see my brother Tony regularly, which was great, but I recall the envy I felt whenever he went off on his holidays to be with Mum and Berry.
Late in the winter of 1956, I ran from my work place to watch four Venom jet fighter-bombers of No 208 RAF Squadron. They were on a goodwill tour of Rhodesia and Umtali was one of the many centres the jets visited so to excite thousands of gawking citizens. All they did was a simple high-speed tail-chase inside the mountains ringing the town. But the sight and sound of those machines immediately decided me that the Air Force life was for me.
Right away I looked into joining the Royal Rhodesian Air Force but soon recognised two major problems. The maximum age for trainee pilots was 21 and a Matric Exemption was mandatory. For reasons I cannot recall, I made an appointment to see the company MD, Mr Burford. I wanted to tell him about my wish to be an Air Force pilot, notwithstanding the fact that this appeared to be an impossibility.
Of small build, dapper and very well spoken, Mr Burford always struck me as being too refined and gentlemanly for the world of construction. In his always-courteous manner he treated me in a gentle, fatherly manner. Before I could tell him of my hopes, he was telling me that the Board of Directors had decided to take me off the bench and get me cracking in quantity surveying—as a first step to management and later, maybe, to become an active shareholder in the company. I should have been pleased by such news but it all went straight over my head because it in no way fitted with what I had come to talk about, and I told Mr Burford so.
I told him of my original dream to become a surgeon and all that had happened to bring me to being an apprentice in his company. From the moment I mentioned having been taken out of school prematurely I detected agitation in Mr Burford’s face. Before I could get to the matter of joining the Air Force, he cut in to say he could not accept that my withdrawal from school had been based on academic limitations considering the results of my NTC examination reports, all of which he had seen. Without further ado, and in my presence, he telephoned my old headmaster. Mr Gledhill told Mr Burford emphatically that he had not told my father that I was wasting my time at school. He said, however, that he would update his memory from my records and phone back.
While awaiting the call, I told Mr Burford that I had lost all desire to become a surgeon and that, although I desperately wanted to join the Royal Rhodesian Air Force, I was faced with major problems. Firstly, I had no Matric Exemption Certificate and, secondly, application for the next pilot intake was already in train. If I failed to get into the force on the current intake, I would be too old for the next one.
Mr Burford could not reconcile my original desire to be a lifesaver through surgery with my current wish to become an airborne killer. I told him I did not see things that way and that I considered both professions were for the protection of life. Nevertheless he tried to get me back to thinking surgery and even offered financial assistance and accommodation with his brother who happened to live in Edinburgh. This conversation was broken short by the return call from Mr Gledhill.
The headmaster repeated that he had at no stage given my father any reason to withdraw me from school—quite the opposite. On file was a copy of a letter from him to my father urging my immediate return to school. On the basis of my overall examination results, Mr Gledhill said that I would have passed Cambridge Certificate and almost certainly would have gained the all-important Matric Exemption. Mr Burford then asked Mr Gledhill if he would be prepared to repeat that in writing, to which Mr Gledhill gave an affirmative reply. Mr Burford also asked if his letter could be addressed to Royal Rhodesian Air Force Headquarters, for me to include in my application for pilot training. Again Mr Gledhill acceded and, true to his word, the letter was in my hands the next day.
Through Mum and Berry I had met the Northern Rhodesian politician Roy Welensky at his home in Broken Hill. This happened long before he became Prime Minister of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland. But now as Sir Roy Welensky, heading the Federal Government, he gladly provided me with the written character reference required by the Air Force Pilot Selection Committee.
Having filled in all forms, I rode out to Dad’s farm on my AJS 500-single motorbike to get his signature of parental approval. Dad was happy to do this but, while searching for a pen, my stepmother interrupted, “Not over my dead body will you sign that application form.” That stopped Dad dead in his tracks. I could not believe what I had heard nor could I understand why Dad would not stand up for me in what he had first supported.
Why was I being stopped from doing something that would be good for me and without cost to family? The sad look on my father’s face told the whole story. I deliberately rode off gently rather than expose my incredible pain and anger by storming off at high speed.
Although, up until this time, my stepmother had done all in her power to crush me, I shall be eternally grateful to her for giving Tony and me two fantastic sisters. In years to come, Brigid and Mary married Jock McSorley and Doug Palframan whom Tony and I both consider the greatest and most lovable brothers-in-law any man could wish for.