Until We Meet Again: Savannah is a good place to meet

By Stephan Swart

This is an African story of a young black caretaker and the white twin boys in his care and the circumstances and courage that took them to hell and back.

Unlike many other books covering the South African Angolan Bush War, the novel Until We Meet Again is the story of April and the twin boys Mark and Andy. The novel will take them on an adventure of survival and courage that will test their love and camaraderie for one another during a time when the divide between black and white in South Africa was controlled by dark forces.

The novel is about the everyday lives of the two South African families during the 1960s and 70s when the country was under attack from the Pan African Congress’s Poqo army. April would soon find him in a struggle between his own prospects for a better life for himself and his family, but cannot relinquish his responsibilities to care for the two siblings, which left him with difficult decisions to make which would test his courage to its limits.

April became a seasoned freedom fighter and one of the most wanted terrorists in South Africa, while the twins innocently landed themselves in an adventure that had turned into a life-threatening situation that they never dreamed of before. The story will take the reader from the tranquil mountains and rivers of the Eastern Cape to the war-torn Angolan desert where one of the most controversial cold war armed conflicts fuelled by the Americans and Russians would play off and end in a stalemate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398486379

Stephan Swart

Born and bred in the Eastern Cape of South Africa on the foothills of the Stormberg mountains, Stephan spent most of his childhood exploring the rivers and mountains surrounding the hometown of Burghersdorp. Stephan had qualified as a paratrooper with the South African Defence force before his eighteen birthday and returned home a year later as a seasoned mercenary. After qualifying as an electronic engineer, he specialised in military communication systems. Stephan worked across Africa and Asia where he survived many life-threatening situations. It was during the first COVID lockdown that he decided to seriously put pen to paper.

Book preview

About the Author

Born and bred in the Eastern Cape of South Africa on the foothills of the Stormberg mountains, Stephan spent most of his childhood exploring the rivers and mountains surrounding the hometown of Burghersdorp. Stephan had qualified as a paratrooper with the South African Defence force before his eighteen birthday and returned home a year later as a seasoned mercenary.

After qualifying as an electronic engineer, he specialised in military communication systems. Stephan worked across Africa and Asia where he survived many life-threatening situations.

It was during the first COVID lockdown that he decided to seriously put pen to paper.

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to Lieutenant Mark Coetzee who looked after my back during the most challenging five days of my life. Mark had left a long impression on me and I can honestly say people like him only come around once in a lifetime. Last but not least, my wife, Celeste; and daughters, Tarryn and Megan, who supported and encouraged me all the way.

My brother Peter Swart who advised me on the early political events and dates in the Eastern Cape and Johann Swart who provided information which only a person who was in the Navy would have knowledge of. My friends Geroge Kalivitis, Shane Lang and Rory Collin for encouraging me to keep on writing. Thanks to Ettione Ferreria who assisted with editing the first version of the novel.

Copyright Information ©

Stephan Swart 2023

The right of Stephan Swart to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398486362 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398486379 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Chapter One

December 1969

Kissieberg near Molteno in the Eastern Cape of South Africa

Andy! Come look, I think I found something, said Mark the eldest of the twin brothers as he gestured to his younger brother, Andy, to come over and look at his latest discovery. During afternoons and school holidays, their favourite pastime was to search Kissieberg for war relics left behind during the Battle of Stromberg sixty years ago.

The Battle at Stormberg was one of three battles that shook British military history to its foundations in December of 1899, when the Boers scored three successive victories over the British forces within one week, now referred to as ‘The Black Week’. It was at Stormberg that Major-General William Forbes Gatacre and the 3rd Division, under his command, suffered their first defeat. Stormberg Boer Commando, with Commandant Jan Olivier and Field Cornet Gert Henning (Mark and Andy’s great-grandfather), came out victorious along with their group of guerrilla warriors. For most of the young men in the commando, it was their first baptism of fire.

* * *

December 1899

Seventy Years Earlier

The twins, Gary and Jean, could not wait for tomorrow when they would finally get to climb Eagle’s Rock—a dream they had cherished for as long as they could remember, since their first sighting of a pair of black eagles teaching their little ones to fly. Some days, the two boys would watch in amazement as the eagles had to defend their territory by repelling other raptors or invaders. During the summer months when they were incubating, the birds would undertake endless flights to and fro the nest to feed their hungry chicks. Later in summer when it was time to teach the eaglets to fly, it was quite entertaining because the little ones could sit on the rock overhang for days while trying to build up enough courage to undertake their first flight. What made tomorrow’s expedition so exciting was that they were sure that the eagles had recently started to breed since they could only see the male leave the nest lately.

Their father, Gert, told them that ever since his family arrived on Zevenfontein there have always been a pair of eagles roosting on the rock. After a restless sleep, the morning could not come sooner. The twins were awake long before their mom put the bread in the oven. As per usual, Father was already up supervising the dairy. Eager to head towards Kissieberg, the boys started completing their usual chores on the farm with extra urgency. Gary chopped wood for the kitchen stove and fetched the household water from the well, before sitting down for breakfast waiting for Jean to fill the livestock’s water troughs in the Kraals. The summer rains were late this year and all the waterholes in the Blesbok and Vlakspruit had dried-up for a few months already, leaving the cows thirsty when they returned home in the afternoons after a long day’s graze in the veld. Today they cannot leave any chores for later as they may be gone for the entire day.

They left for the hills on their ponies straight after breakfast, Bye Mom! We won’t be back for lunch, don’t worry! Tell father that we will fetch the cows behind Rooikop on our way back this afternoon, knowing very well that the cows would start heading to the dairy by themselves as soon as the sun started setting. Mom, not too concerned since the boys were good and helpful around the house, would send them some of the freshly baked bread with jam for lunch with Moses’ son, Simpiwe, later anyway.

* * *

Kissieberg was one of the many hills scattered across the vast Karoo plains where the Henning twins spent most of their free time searching for prehistoric artefacts and dead animal carcases. The sandstone Karoo hills were formed over many centuries by rain and wind erosion and extreme temperature changes causing huge exposed solid rocks to crack into smaller vertical stacks of perfectly fitted and balanced boulders. The hills were surrounded by a skirt and decorated by scattered rocks dressed with besembos, clusters of sparse small Acacia trees, Karoo thorn trees and the magic clusters of aloe, with their blood red poker flowers standing like soldiers at attention announcing the beginning and end of the hunting season. In contrast to the dry arid Karoo plains just a few metres away, the kloof was a paradise.

Many years ago, nature must have intervened with a large crack appearing in the centre separating Kissieberg in two parts, creating a narrow ravine, or ‘kloof’, right down the centre. It featured a column of rocks balancing on each other, pieced together in stacks, pointing up into the sky like a pinnacle—the ideal place for eagles to nest. The kloof, according to their father, was called Dassies Kloof by their grandfather—named after the colony of Rock Hyrax (dassies) that resided there.

The protection provided by the ravine over many years, created the perfect environment to support the habitat for a multitude of fauna and flora. During the rainy season, the kloof becomes a paradise with springs seeping from the rock ledges accumulating into streams that are surrounded by rock ferns and little waterfalls cascading over the rocks and boulders feeding Vlakspruit. The water stream was dammed in various places into small pools, long ago by an ancient civilisation, providing the ideal swimming holes during those hot summer days.

Once the rainy season passed the springs and waterfalls would dry up. The underground reservoirs and water trapped between the rock formations would keep the closed ecosystem sustained, providing an abundance of food to the colonies of rock rabbits, hares and rock pigeons with their evil-looking blood red rings around the eyes.

During autumn and winter, the baboons would regularly visit the kloof to drink water from the little ponds built in the stream and to dig for the sweet wild onions or tuber plants and roots hosted by the soft fertile soil. Otherwise, they would roll over rocks in anticipation of catching a fat scorpion or Red Roman spider. They would make barking noises upsetting the usual peace and quiet tranquil habitat of the kloof as the lookouts announced the coming and going of humans. Nowhere else in the district do the evergreen Karoo Kiepersol and Cycads trees grow in such abundance that during the aloe blossom season the gorge would transform into a natural botanical garden.

* * *

The twins had been hard at work over the last few weeks since the eagles started breeding. According to their father, that was the reason why only the male would leave the nest. The mother eagle never leaves the eggs unattended not just during the hatching of the eggs but also protecting them from the gannets, white-breasted crows, and snakes. The male had been feeding his hen with meerkats from the nearby colony. Father was happy with the eagle keeping the meerkat colony under control since they were stripping the soil bare and nothing was growing back after they had harvested the area.

It took the twins weeks of planning for this moment and if they hurried, they may even see the eggs before they hatch. They had been counting the days, it was almost a month now that the male eagle had been feeding the hen. Father gave them damaged cowhides which would not get a good price from the hide trader. Normally they would make riempies, shoelaces, and floor mats, but this time they had different plans for the cowhides. Father knew all along what the boys had been planning, because he as a young man would have done the same but, unfortunately when he was a young boy like them, the farm kept him too busy.

The boys constructed a rope ladder from the rejected cow skins with the assistance of Moses, who was a master in tanning leather, one of the many skills he had learned from his father way back in Basutoland as a cattle herder. After cutting the wet cowhide into narrow strips, they salted and cured it in the sun until no smell came from it. Moses with the assistance of his son Simpiwe decided to help the boys with tanning the dry strips until they were soft and pliable and weaved them together into ropes otherwise, they would never have gotten the job done in time. Moses also assisted them to construct the ladder steps from Karoo thorn tree branches, attaching them with the riempies (thinner rawhide ropes) to the main ropes. Moses kept an eye on the children and knew exactly what they were up to. At least the ladder will be strong enough to draw an ox and he forged the steel hook that they will use as an anchor for both boys to scale up the rock.

* * *

Since all the rivers had dried-up, they decided to take the shortest route allowing the ponies to trot all along the Vlakspruit that lead straight to Dassies Kloof. During the rainy season, however, this trip would usually take them much longer as these little Karoo streams may not be deep but they can be treacherous, especially during thunderstorms. That was when they would have to follow the road and cross the rivers at the low water bridges and sometimes force the ponies across against their will. On one sunny day, both ponies refused to cross the low water bridge and after a lot of pulling and pushing the boys finally got one pony across. Straight after all the fuss, the other pony followed on his own. Little did they know that sometimes ponies can sense the rain from afar. That afternoon, they were caught on the wrong side of the river during their return and Father, Moses and his son had to bring them across with ropes. Had they listened to the stubborn pony’s premonition, they would not have been in trouble that evening.

* * *

Long before reaching Dassies Kloof, the baboon brandwag watchmen had already announced their arrival with a few short low pitch barks. With all the animals in hiding, they were met by dead silence. The baboons disappeared into the shadows, and the dassies into their complicated network of tunnels and caves hiding deep inside the rock crevasses. The feeling of someone watching them never left as they penetrated deeper into the kloof. The bokmakierie bird was the first to break the silence. With his ventriloquist skills he diverted attention from the nest, casting his voice ahead of them and then answering his own call from behind them. The little babbling sparrows were next in line to break their silence because they could not hide their excitement any longer. Jean, who stumbled over a loose rock, caused a partridge to panic and flee to new cover, after which the gorge immediately returned to its normal actions except for the Baboons and Dassies who would hide until they left again.

With the ponies watered and tied up to a tree, they looked up at pinnacle rock approaching it apprehensively, Today we will find the eagle’s nest, said Gary. The task that lay ahead of them would not be easy, someone would have to attach the ladder to the top of the pinnacle. They reconnoitre the pinnacle from all sides. The plan was to climb up the Southern hilltop and then cast a leather rope with a hook attached over onto the pinnacle and hope the hook will find a good solid anchor. Jean will then slide along the rope with both his legs over the rope, pulling him along with the hand over hand action. After a few practice sessions at home, and it seems as if the four-metre distance will not be a problem. With Jean slightly smaller than Gary, he was the perfect choice to be the first guy securing the ladder on the rock.

The best anchors are either one large Karoo Mountain Kiepersol tree, or a cluster of stacked boulders—they will try both options. Wedging the hook in between the loose boulders seemed to be the easiest plan but dangerous. The tree will provide that additional elevation required for Jean to land on top of the rock and not against the side of the cliff which could create a life-threatening moment.

Gary, who was the local Klipfontein jukskei champion, practiced casting the rope and hook until he was satisfied that the real thing would be no problem. Nine out of the ten casts were as accurate as you can wish for on any day. Jukskei was a popular game played by the Boers during festive occasions. Teams would participate by casting a wooden pin from a yolk (a wooden crossbar placed on the ox’s neck right behind the hump with four pins that separated a pair of oxen when harnessed in a pair). The aim of the game was to hit a target placed at the far end. The team that laid the closest wins, unless the losing team could knock the pin over which would lead to a draw. Being the local champion had made Gary the obvious choice to attempt the job.

Jean was practicing his sliding technique behind the farmhouse on a rope suspended between two of the blue-gum trees, planted by their grandfather some thirty years ago as windbreakers. I hope Jean can keep it together today, Gary thought.

Trying to land the hook between two boulders seemed to be a lot easier when practicing at home, thought Gary after trying again and again. Eventually his arm felt as if it were to come off every time he casted the hook. The afternoon breeze at this altitude caused the rope to drift away from the target and Gary was struggling to make the adjustment to his approach and launching angle, but he was learning fast as the sun was heading towards the horizon and would soon call an end to the day. After a much-needed rest, he decided to make a slight adjustment to his style. This will be their last chance for today unless they risk arriving home late and with their luck a cow would be missing. The last swing worked, the rope’s trajectory was perfect, and it struck the flat rock surface on the far side of the two rocks, leaving the rope to settle neatly in the gap between the rocks after a few tugs. The hook still bounced a few times. Gary tightened the rope and the anchor settled in position. Both boys jumped with jubilation—it was done. Tomorrow will be the crossing.

That evening Jean could hardly sleep since the rope had not wedged to the tree as expected, but between the rocks, meaning that he would not arrive on top of the pinnacle but against the side, something he had not wished. While tossing and turning all types of dangerous scenarios had crossed his mind as he pulled himself over the edge onto the rock. The problems caused by the wind had also made him nervous about crossing the gap across the cliff. He dreamt that the rope turned into a snake with the hook as the head, hissing at him. Gary on the other bed also lay awake. He had much more pleasant thoughts on his mind, already imagining the new treasures that were awaiting them.

* * *

Jean sensed that Gary was also not sleeping and told him that he has a plan. A concerned Gary, who does not want any further delays, gave him a look of concern and at first wanted to cut him short but then decided to listen, clearly showing his impatience. Gary, I was thinking last night—why don’t we make a harness for me to wear and then I can slide along the rope? suggested Jean.

And exactly how do you think we are going to do that? said Gary.

Gary, we can use hip strops, a backstop strop, and a crupper from a horse’s cart and tie it together with a few buckles, Jean responded.

It took Gary a while to realise what a brilliant plan it was, however, he did not really want Jean to take credit for any of his clever ideas. He soon began to realise the trouble he would be in if anything happened to Jean. With that he said, Good plan, we will start after breakfast.

Without much delay, they connected two hip strops in tandem to the backstop with the crupper that will serve as the slider. Jean was swinging from the blacksmith shops rafters, Look Gary! I can do it hands free, said Jean with a big grin on his face. With both satisfied, off they went. Ma, don’t worry we will be back for supper, they said as they left for the hills urging the ponies to gallop at full speed ahead.

Both boys could hardly contain their excitement and the poor ponies had to bear the brunt for being pushed harder than usual. Arriving at the berg with the usual barking of the brandwag baboon to warn the other kloof dwellers, they watered the ponies and tied them to a tree in the shade of the kiepersol tree. Jean, who came up with the idea to make a harness was now full of confidence to mount the rope and slide across to the pinnacle. Gary being the practical one decided to first test the strength of the rig before daring his brother’s life. The last thing he wanted to happen was for his brother to fall seven metres, which would certainly kill him. After a while Gary was satisfied that the rig would hold Jean’s weight, erasing all concerns he had.

Hooked up, with a pilot rope around his waist, Jean goes off. The first metre of progress was not easy until Jean found the knack of it, the crupper did not slide as easy as anticipated with the additional weight on the crupper making it stuck to the rope. Once he made a small adjustment to his technique, keeping the crupper in his one hand while propelling him forward with the other hand he quickly arrived at the other side. He covered the gap in no time at all and both boys gave a sigh of relief as Jean pulled himself over the edge onto the flat top without effort. Gary looks down the seven-metre cliff a last time and realises that Jean was a genius, although he would not openly admit it.

Jean immediately went to find a good spot to anchor both ends of the ladder. Once he had tied the ladder to the Kiepersol tree, he stared up at the sky and was overcome by a sudden rush of adrenaline, shaking with excitement as he saw the eagle circling high up in the sky, much higher as usual. He just conquered the biggest fear of his life and with a feeling of euphoria he looked at someone high up in the heavens, ‘I have done it!’ Gary, now in envy of Jean’s position being first on the pinnacle, Jean, please wait for me I also want to see. The rope ladder was already dangling ready for Gary when he arrived at the bottom of the rock. By the time Gary reached the summit of the pinnacle they had just enough time to do a quick walk around as the sun was going down fast and mom would be worried about their whereabouts, especially with all the talk about war around the supper table in the evenings lately.

They were somewhat disappointed that they did not find the eagle’s nest, as tomorrow they have to attend school in Molteno—it will be the last school day of the year. At least they will have two months of school holidays during which they can explore the rock.

* * *

07 December 1899

The last day of school and the boys arrived home earlier than usual from school and could not wait to tell their mother about all the soldiers that arrived in Molteno. Last week there were only a few officers and troops, but today two trains arrived, and they overheard someone saying that they are expecting more troops to arrive later that evening and the next day. Later in the morning Mr Williams, the coal mine manager from Indwe, arrived at the school and informed Miss MacClaren that his two boys will not be attending any classes for a while. Later Llewellyn, one of the Williams boys, told Miss MacClaren that their father was sending the family to Port Elizabeth on the next train. Their father, who was always expecting trouble when the British constructed a railway line across his farm, said that things are getting too warm over here—whatever that means.

The news confirmed the rumour she heard from Essie, Moses’ wife, that the British were recruiting local black men as bearers and guides. When Gert returned home that evening, he found Marie in a sombre mood. She told him about the troops arriving in Molteno and a war with Great Britain seems to be imminent. She was concerned about her boys being called up to join the local Stormberg Burgher commando. Although the twins were only thirteen years old and the joining age was fourteen, they overheard other children their age boasting that their fathers would take them along on commando to tend to the horses. They are already envious of both the Van Rensburg brothers who are fourteen and sixteen years old, especially after both had received Mauser rifles. Gert told her not to worry, he will never do such a thing, Anyways, the children will only be used as messenger boys and tend to horses while the older men fight upfront.

Marie was also worried about the events that took place at the last ‘nagmaal’ (communion) they attended in Klipfontein, where the farmers held their general meeting. At the meeting Gert was chosen as Veldkornet for the Stormberg District, Chris De Bruyn would be the Veldkornet for Witkop and Hannes Klopper would represent Klipfontein—together they would command about two-thousand Burghers. Gert had always been a leader figure in the greater farming community of the district and this appointment was merely a confirmation of his leadership and popularity among them. After the meeting, all the farmers’ wives were instructed to bake rusks and the men to hunt springbok to cure meat for biltong. The Van Rensburg boys who could move freely around without raising questions have been stashing rations and ammunition at various rendezvous sites along the Stormberg and Winterberg mountains over the last month.

* * *

8 December 1899

Early in the morning on 8 December, Gert left for Molteno under the pretence of conducting business at the local trading store, however, his real mission was to investigate the true situation for himself. Molteno always had a small garrison of the Cape Mounted Police guarding the magistrates’ Drosdy office, and tending to the principal law enforcement in the district. Gert knew almost all of them and hoped he would find an opportunity to talk to one. Even from a long distance away, Gert noticed that the small quiet little town had indeed become a hustle and bustle of activity. A tent camp almost twice the size of the town itself was under construction and he had never seen so many people gathering in one place before in his life. There were two trains parked in the small station with troops and horses disembarking.

Later that afternoon when another train arrived with large calibre guns and more horses, Gert realised that they must prepare themselves for the worst. The local shopkeeper, an Irishman who would usually be very happy to see someone to talk to and exchange the latest news, was inundated with lists of goods he must supply and just gave Gert a glance of ‘sorry my friend.’

Gert moved on, very conscious of the suspicious stares he had received from the troops. There was no sight of the local police, the Drosdy was surrounded by officers and there was no need for the policemen to be around. After a nerve-wracking morning amongst the enemy, Gert decided to return to the farm. He anticipated that he would need to prepare the commandos to fend off an impending attack in the next day or two. There will either be an attack on Stormberg junction, or the columns will advance to Klipfontein—either way, they must be stopped at Stormberg junction.

On his way back to Zevenfontein he passed the two constables and a troop of British soldiers at Stormberg turn-off. Gert decided to follow their tracks which led him straight to Stormberg railway junction. It was clear that the British had regarded Stormberg as a key railway junction and would be an important muster point for the British forces. However, Gert was determined and thought it would not happen over his dead body.

As Veldkornet of the Stormberg commando he immediately called for a meeting with his commando and Commandant Jan Olivier. He went straight to the Van Rensburg farm and dispatched the two boys with messages to the Witkop and Klipfontein commandos and arranged an emergency meeting, I am expecting an attack from the British army in the next three days. I suggest we meet at Witkop commando headquarters tomorrow so as not to attract any attention from the British scouts, Gert said and rode off to Commandant Olivier’s farm to present his battle plan.

* * *

Moses was already offered a job with the British and was waiting for the Master to return from Molteno to discuss the matter with him. All the other black people had told him that they would not work with the Boers if there was a war, and that the English would be better bosses. His son, Simpiwe, was old enough to take over his duties on the farm but Moses could not leave without his Master’s blessing. After all, he joined the old man Baas Henning in Graaff-Reinet, as an ox wagon driver over thirty years ago when Grandpa was allocated the land between the Blesbok Spruit and Stormberg River. A region well-known for its Karoo bossies and long grass to support sheep and cattle farming. Moses’s real Sotho name is Mosjeshe, a name so befitted leading the Boere trek to new pastures. And that was how the Henning family arrived on the farm Zevenfontein, with Moses and his extended family in the early 1870s. He and the Master were both young boys at the time and made turns to lead the ox wagon train over the desolate plains of the Karoo.

Gert had a long talk with Moses and his eldest son much later that evening. Moses will be free to find a job as a guide with the British, while Simpiwe and his mother Essie will remain behind to assist on the farm. Later that evening Gert instructed the boys that they must listen to their mother and keep the farm in his absence, he will return soon. Marie thought that the war must be close now, as she blew out the candle, kissing her husband long and attentively.

* * *

The big day had arrived on the morning of 8 December. Gary rose earlier than usual to fire up the stove for his mother, usually his father’s duty, and placed the kettle over the fire so that there would be warm water for coffee when he returned from the dairy. Jean’s task was to relocate the cattle to a camp near the Van Rensburg farm homestead, which was in the opposite direction of Kissieberg and the railway junction, very much against the normal grazing schedule. Even the sheep were relocated a week ago to graze on the open plains where they had to search for the Karoo bossies they usually fed on.

Not thinking further about this change in routine and strange behaviour of their parents, they filled the livestock troughs, supplied Ma with the household water and off they went. The poor ponies suffered another hard ride to the pinnacle rock, their chests heaving heavily under the saddle and harnesses. After watering their animals and tying them to the same tree as previously, the boys walked up the sloping footpath, leading to the rope ladder.

Gary, going up first, devised a few modifications that they could make to stop the ladder from swinging and turning, but they would work on that at a later stage. Reaching the summit, he waited impatiently for Jean to arrive. Immediately their attention was drawn to the dassie dung between the rocks, Jean, how do you think the dassies get up here? Jean was just as amazed but as usual spoke his mind, There must be a tunnel or chimney leading up between the wedged rocks. Gary finding the answer satisfactorily, commenced the investigation. The first place they looked for was the eyrie which was built on a narrow ledge underneath a natural rock overhang that served as a roof. Jean was the first to see the eagle hen sitting on the nest which was roughly constructed with sticks and twigs and held together by feathers and bird dung. The overwhelming fetish smell caused by the rotten dassie and meerkat carcasses and skins scattered around the nest almost made him vomit from nausea.

Before he could call Gary to come over to his side of the rock ledge, a large whoosh noise accompanied by a fast-approaching high skirl sound from above made him duck instinctively and just in time. As he turned around to look where the noise came from, he was met with the piercing eyes of the male eagle, he could swear that the beast had red eyes. It dived towards him with its wings fully stretched out and vicious talons fitted with terrifying long hooked nails, ready to rip into him. At the last moment the eagle had pulled out of the attack, leaving a terrified Jean behind.

Gary, who had witnessed the attack was also in shock. They were both startled and watched with awe at the bird as it began to circle high above them, preparing himself for the next attack. When the eagle commenced with the next bombardment, the twins had already retreated into a cave and was still stunned with shock as they had realised that the eagles were not like the timid rock pigeons or guinea fowls they would normally hunt. Jean was the first to say something, These guys are killing machines, was all he could get out. Gary had also found his composure and said, We must be more careful, that bird is not scared of us. Jean, who was still in awe of his close encounter with the eagle said, Did you see the size of his yellow beak and the red rings around his piercing black eyes?

With the eagles obviously upset by the disturbance, the boys decide to leave the nest alone until they have calmed down and would rather scout the rest of the pinnacle rock. Attracted by a neatly stacked stone wall with a small opening resembling an entrance, they found a cave that was once upon a time inhabited by humans. The cave roof and walls were decorated with San paintings and the cave floor was scattered with ostrich egg shells and stone artefacts. It seemed as if the baboons also made this a home once upon a time. How did these small men get up here, Gary inquisitively thought to himself, it must have taken them months of planning to reach the summit without rope and tackle. There must be another way up, said Gary. Jean agreed but did not comment, he was very happy that they finally reached the top.

The two boys spent the rest of the day scouting between the rocks stacked at different levels with besembos, small trees and shrubs growing in the gaps between them, with many more caves and tunnels obviously being used by a colony of dassies which were now hiding somewhere in the maze of crevices and tunnels. The boys decided to try and have a last peek at the nest before returning home.

The eagles seemed to have calmed down and were back into their routine of coming and going. Gary led this time, crawling carefully under the cover of overhanging rocks and besembos that led to a narrow ledge that screened him from the sky and out of the eagle’s sight. The nest appeared in front of him about five metres away, and there they were, the two cutest pure white little eagle chicks. The mother was ripping up a Dassie carcass and trying her best to feed them. They were competing so hard for the food that both almost fell out of the nest. The mother waited patiently, and at the right moment pressed a chuck of meat into the open mouth of a chick who devoured it in one gulp. The father was already flying around the nest, waiting for the mother hen to allow him to land, this time with a meerkat dangling from one talon. After a while Gary decided to retreat and crawled back in reverse motion to give Jean a chance to look.

Later that afternoon on their return to the farm homestead, the boys were left with their own thought of the day’s excitement. When they saw their concerned mom waiting for them at the kitchen door, they knew something was wrong. Little did they know that today would be the last day of freedom and childhood the way they knew it.

Later that evening, one of the Van Rensburg boys came over to their homestead with a message from the Veldkornet, Pack enough clothes and food for three days and follow me. The twins were astounded how fast Kobus had grown-up to sound so assertive and his presence of being in command and, just referring to their father as the Veldkornet made them to obey his instructions immediately. Ma, who was already briefed by father to be ready at all times for such a warning, was immediately ready to move. She was sure not to worry about Essie and her family, the bush communication network has most probably already warned them to hide somewhere.

While their mother was getting ready for the trip, the boys were already harnessing the horse-drawn carriage. The full moon had lit up the sky as they commenced their journey to the Van Rensburg farm. Tonight’s sky was an unusual dark blue and a bright ring surrounded the moon, It looks like summer rain has finally arrived, said Ma, breaking the silence.

The next time they met with their father, he told them to take one bull, two cows, one ram and four ewes to his brother’s farm near Middelburg. A journey which would take the boys more than a month with only one of Essie’s younger sons, hardly older than themselves, to accompany them. A month in which they grew up to be counted among the men in the district.

* * *

09 December 1899 Molteno

The orders Lieutenant-General William Forbes Gatacre received on the morning of the 9th of December were to protect the railway line between Port Elizabeth and the Witwatersrand at all costs. The railway and telegraph lines were originally built to provide coal to drive the diamond industry at Kimberly, and later extended to the Witwatersrand after the discovery of gold. With an inevitable war looming on the horizon, the railway line was requisitioned by the British army to send British troops and supplies to the war front.

The British Attack Plan

The last regiment of the third brigade serving under general Gatacre, arrived at Molteno station on the afternoon of 9 December. On their arrival the officers were rushed to the Drostdy magistrate’s office where Gatacre had set up his Head Quarters. They were hastily briefed by Gatacre himself, with the latest available intelligence. The last information available was the telegraph they received from the stationmaster at Stormberg Junction reporting that the Boers dug into the side of Kissieberg and Rooikop along the railway line this morning. There was no time for another reconnaissance before sunset, they will use one of the local black recruits that had first-hand knowledge of the area and the route to guide them.

Moses, dressed in a Khaki uniform with a blue tunic jacket issued to him immediately after he had joined the British army, had been appointed as the guide for the evening’s advance to Stormberg station. He had been waiting patiently outside the magistrate’s office, which turned into the war room, since four o’clock that afternoon. It was past ten o’clock that evening when he was called into the war room to receive his instructions from Gatacre. After introducing Moses, he commenced with his instructions, Moses, here will lead the Brigade to Stormberg Junction, he will avoid all Boer farmsteads and stay clear of the road for the last five miles. We do not want the Boers to see our advance. Moses will leave the troops within one mile of the Steynburg junction and return to Molteno, leaving