Shot! Passing the Baton

By Alison Drummond

In life, everyone has their own story to tell. And all our stories are extraordinary.

 

When and how does a person's story begin or end? Is it as simple as starting at birth and ending with death? Do many events intertwine to create one's story, or does a significant incident dominate, taking precedence over all other events? And do those other events, although insignificant in comparison, lead to that dominating event? Can words and actions impact the course of a person and their family members' lives, and can their circumstances ultimately impact humanity for the greater good?

 

In this compelling story, a shocking incident takes precedence in one family's journey. This is a mother's retelling of her beloved, free-spirited daughter and a life-changing accident on her 14th birthday in a country at war—Rhodesia. The traumatic event of that day, together with other incidents, seems to coincide with mere words spoken at earlier events.

 

As a young girl's path changes in an instant, her courage and determination only pushes her forward in her quest to live a 'normal life.' While she comes to terms with reality, her family members have to deal with their own emotions, sacrifices, and changed lives.

 

At times, this book reveals a heart-wrenching tale of a daughter with monumental challenges and relentless tests of her character and beliefs. However, she finds the strength to face life with grace, bravery, and an unrelenting sense of humour—thanks to the love and support of her parents, sisters, family, and friends.

 

As her daughter faces her greatest difficulty, will this mother fulfil her wish?

 

Shot! Passing the Baton is a true story based on gratitude, perseverance, faith, hope, and love. By sharing their story, Alison Drummond hopes that her daughter's bright light will continue to shine forever, to uplift others so they can live fully and victoriously.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alison Drummond
• Release date: Dec 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781990992223

Book preview

1

Sports Day

Our story begins in April 1979 in Fort Victoria (Masvingo), a town in the south-east of what was then Rhodesia (known today as Zimbabwe). It was our daughters’ annual athletics meeting at Fort Victoria High School.

This was an important day, because most of the children were boarders and would not see their parents again until the school holidays. Children and parents looked forward to this sports day with much excitement. Grandparents, parents, extended family members and good friends would turn out in full to support their children. It was a time to reunite with old friends and to meet new ones.

That morning, as we made our way to the grandstand to find good seats, I looked out over the field filling up with competitors, umpires and teachers. It was a hive of activity. The headmaster and his wife had at last arrived. He came to the microphone, warmly greeted everyone, recapped on the previous year’s achievements, wished all participants good luck and hoped everyone would enjoy the day. He then declared the meeting open.

The atmosphere was charged with excitement as they announced the first event: the boys’ 100 metre sprint. They knelt in their starting positions.

Take your marks… get set…

BANG!

The crowd erupted in shouts and cheers as the boys bolted, every mom and dad shouting to encourage their child to run even faster. The contestants pressed towards the finish line. When it was over, there was jubilation and disappointment.

How time flies when you are caught up in the whirl of events, I thought to myself.

Victoria High School Sports Day 1979 Hurdles under 15

When the junior girls’ hurdles event came up, our daughter Colleen approached the starting line. The gun went off. She and her competitors flew – leaping like impala over the hurdles. Colleen was getting nowhere when, suddenly, she seemed to turn on the gas; she surged over the finishing line, finishing in second place! To me, it had felt like a matter of seconds, which left me quite breathless.

Colleen now in second place.

Colleen took part in many events that day.

I loved watching her at the high jump event. Her youthful body braced itself for the leap as she flung herself heavenward. She looked so graceful flying over the bar in a Western roll. It appeared so easy. But I knew she and her peers had spent many hours practising to achieve what they were doing.

Thinking back on her junior school days, Colleen had always done well in athletics. In Grade 4, she had been Victrix Ludorum.

Colleen receiving her cup

The day after receiving her cup, her teacher announced to the classroom that she had broken the record for junior long jump. It upset Colleen to hear she had ‘broken’ something. Her teacher had to explain that a ‘broken record’ in sport was a good thing and not in reference to a musical or LP (long play) record from the time. Innocently, she buried her face in her hands, embarrassed by her naivety.

Colleen with her cup for Victrix Ludorum 1974

I noticed she was not as enthusiastic to compete as she had been the previous year. However, while I was pondering why that might be, my attention shifted to our middle daughter, Robyne. I proudly watched her throw the discus with the strength and style that her grandfather, himself a Rhodesian shot put champion, would have been proud of (had he lived to see her).

As the day drew to a close, the relay races were starting. Robyne helped to organise teams; I remember thinking that one day she would make an excellent leader. The relays would determine the winning team of the Inter-House Cup. The excitement was palpable. Colleen was the last runner in the junior relay team. By the time the baton was passed to her, she was slightly behind. But she gave it everything she had. Her long, thin legs clawed back the deficit, closing the gap. In a blur, she shot through the tape at the finish line – first! I nearly fell off the grandstand with excitement.

Colleen (Left) with sister Robyne (Right). Doing well in the long distance walk

Some senior relays were still to take place before the athletics meeting came to a regretful close. Before long, it was time for prize-giving. Children and teams proudly received their relevant cups. The headmaster made his closing speech. Everyone applauded and dispersed, bidding farewell to friends and congratulating parents on the achievements of their offspring. Students said their sad goodbyes to their parents, knowing that being boarders, they would not see their families again until the end of term.

Colleen emerged from the crowd to join us and snuggled into me. I hugged and congratulated her, but I could see she was a little disappointed. I asked her why she was having a bad day. Apparently, her sports instructor had favoured another girl and Colleen felt she had been treated unfairly. I reminded Colleen that when you become part of a team, you must do your very best for the team – no matter what you may feel.

I told her that in life one should tackle every problem as a challenge and not be defeated by it. I added, You never know what lies ahead in life. Maybe next year you won’t have legs to run with!

At the time, I thought little about what I had uttered. Years later, words from the Bible came back to haunt me:

Those who love to talk will suffer the consequences. Men have died for saying the wrong thing. (Proverbs 18:21)

Netball Team 1975, Colleen first on right in the front rowThe Fort Victoria High Girls’ 1978 Athletics Team, Colleen back row far right

2

Some Background

Left: Alison (Murphy) in her Red Cross uniform. Right: Derek.

We lived in the town of Chiredzi in the south-eastern Lowveld of Rhodesia, where my husband Derek practiced law.

Derryl, our eldest daughter, had recently finished school after passing her UK M-Level exams. She worked locally until we could afford to send her to university. Her dream was to become a journalist.

Sugar cane farming was the main source of income for the local population, and Chiredzi was the commercial centre. Triangle, Hippo Valley and Mkwasine Sugar Estates had their own mills. There were forty-five privately owned sugar plantations, some of which were owned by people who came from Mauritius with expertise in sugar growing. The planters used the three mills mentioned above to process their harvested crops. They irrigated the sugar cane with water pumped from the Kyle Dam into canals, which flowed for hundreds of kilometres to the plantations.

The airport was at Buffalo Range. There was a Government Agricultural Research Station between Buffalo Range and Chiredzi. At that time, they were experimenting on the feasibility of growing pecan nut trees. Surrounding the sugar estates were cattle and game ranches, many of these having hunting lodges – wild game was plentiful. Each of the sugar estates had a social club with restaurant facilities and a cinema. Sporting facilities included a golf course, tennis courts, rugby/soccer/cricket fields, a swimming pool and snooker tables. People spent many happy days competing in various matches.

On 11 November 1965, the Rhodesian Government, under the leadership of Ian Smith, had declared Unilateral Independence; and by 1978, the Rhodesian Bush War had reached its zenith.

Almost everyone was involved in the war effort, whether in the army, air force, air wing, police, police reserve, Red Cross, first aid, or nursing.

Derek was with the police reserve, usually deployed on evening patrols around the area.

Police Reserve Stick. Far right: Derek GawlerPolice Reserve Air Wing (PRAW)

My daughter Derryl sometimes assisted in the Radiography department at the local government hospital. I was regularly called in as a first-aider to assist where needed, particularly to monitor badly injured patients in the same hospital. Police reservists were also expected to be available to protect farmers’ wives whenever a farmer was on call-up elsewhere. Women gladly signed on to cook and serve food to the ‘troopies’ (soldiers) when they returned to headquarters after completing operations. Many a time those lads were tired, dirty, wet and covered in mud from the heavy summer rains, and they needed much TLC!

Chiredzi Red Cross Girls 1977. Back Row, Second from the left: Alison (Murphy)

The local black African Rhodesian population were divided in their loyalties. Many enlisted as soldiers in the Rhodesian army, fighting alongside the white soldiers. Black African politicians also worked peaceably with the Rhodesian Front (headed by Ian Smith). The ‘guerrillas’ or ‘terrorists,’ as the opposition came to be known, were recruited locally and often abducted to receive training in Russia and China.

During that time, education was supposed to be available for all but, sadly, many schools (as well as hospitals and clinics) were being burnt. Most vandalism incidents took place in rural areas, and many rural teachers received death threats. Consequently, many teachers resigned. Thus schools and hospitals in all major cities became over-crowded. 

Because sanctions were being imposed by the outside world, medical supplies and many basic provisions were in short supply. Rhodesians took these shortages as a challenge and swiftly learned to improvise. 

The men spent many weeks, even months, away from their jobs, farms or homes. We called these call-ups ‘stints.’ They varied in length, depending on which unit the men served. Many men who owned private planes loyally agreed to use their planes in service for their country.

We were a people bound together. Even if our aspirations differed politically, hope for a brighter future united us.

Young boys, about to leave high school, were painfully aware that many would be wounded, killed or perhaps disabled for life. Others were excited to be a part of the fight for their right to freedom. How very brave they were. It was mandatory for eighteen-year-old boys to do two years of training in the army, air force, or in some other area. Our youngsters left as boys and came back as men.

There was no secondary school in Chiredzi, so children had to go elsewhere for higher education. Most of them went to Fort Victoria High School in Fort Victoria (known as Masvingo today), which was approximately 200 kilometres away. They had three holidays a year when, of course, they came home.

We were about to start the first school holiday of the year.

3

School Holidays

Derek, Derryl and I were having breakfast and making plans to fetch Robyne and Colleen from the Buffalo Range Airport. We only had one vehicle, a Volkswagen Beetle. Since we all worked at different places, we needed to coordinate our activities for the day. We decided that I’d take the morning off, drop Derryl and Derek at work, then fetch Robyne and Colleen from the airport. I did my last-minute checks through the house: the flowers were still looking fresh and our faithful cook was busy preparing a special lunch. The bedrooms looked neat, and on each of their beds was a little welcome-home gift of clothing that I had made.

The distance between Chiredzi and Buffalo Range was approximately 30 kilometres of wild bush. This heightened the possibility of being ambushed by guerrillas.

The school children were mostly flown home because of the risk of travelling to and from Fort Victoria or Salisbury (Harare) by car. To travel by road, one had to join a convoy protected by either the army or police reserve. However, flying was the more sought-after mode of transport. To avoid planes being shot down by heat-seeking missiles, pilots always flew very low when approaching for landing but would climb almost vertically as quickly as possible after taking off. Both were hair-raising experiences.

There had been two horrid incidents where planes flying from Kariba to Salisbury had been shot down. In one, the pilot executed an emergency landing. Many passengers had survived the crash, only to be killed on the ground afterwards by the guerrillas. The outside world did nothing. The incident inspired the Dean of the Anglican Church to give a sermon called The Silence is Deafening, which was recorded and became famous.

The safety of our children became a daily concern.

Setting off in the Beetle, I was both excited and anxious. At the airport, many parents anxiously awaited the arrival of the Viscount. I moved to the glass window at the end of the foyer to see if the plane was coming in, and there it was – just about touching the trees beneath it. I held my breath, shut my eyes, and prayed – not opening them until I heard the announcement that the Viscount had landed safely. What a relief!

I quietly thanked our Lord for their safe arrival. Smiles and expressions of relief appeared after the safe landing. Conversations turned to jokes and chit-chat as we waited for our children to disembark and collect their luggage. The joy of those first hugs is hard to describe. We were acutely aware of how precious their lives were under the daily threat of attack. Their lives could be short-lived.

I collected the girls, and we set off to the car park. It was quite the challenge to load the luggage into the Beetle’s tiny boot. But we managed and were soon off and on our way home for the Easter holiday.

It was a holiday that would change our lives forever.

The chatter in the car on the way home was at a fever pitch, with both girls vying for my attention, each trying to tell me about their latest escapades. It would only be a few days later, when they repeated their stories, that we would truly catch up on their lives and experiences.

Back home, we needed to discuss our plans for the holiday, and Derek was the first to speak. He announced that we were to move from the Agricultural Research Station to a friend’s farm. The friend had offered us free accommodation if Derek would look after the farm for them. They would move to South Africa and only return now and then. We had moved quite frequently during our marriage, so we all decided we would enjoy the new adventure.

Derryl spoke next and said that A Window to the Sky was showing at the Hippo Valley Club on Saturday night and asked if we could go. Everyone agreed, but the first priority was to pack up and move to the new home as soon as possible.

Saturday night, as we were about to lock up the house and leave for the movie, Colleen approached me and said, Mom, please let me see the revolver Dad has just bought you.

I had the revolver’s box in my hand, because I was about to take it out to put into my handbag. Colleen just took it from me, grabbed the gun, held it up in the air and started waving it about.

I was alarmed and reprimanded her severely, saying, Guns are not toys. They are dangerous weapons that must be handled with respect and experience. A bullet fired from a gun can do a great deal of harm, like causing severe injury, and it may even kill a person.

Teach a child to choose the right path, and when he is older he will remain upon it. (Proverbs 22:6)

I took the revolver from her, relieved that nothing had happened. But an unusual uneasiness overcame me.

Without further ado, we set off for the club along the back roads through the sugar plantations, hoping that we would not meet up with any guerrillas. Everyone tried to