Sunday 15 January 2012

The Sable Magazine

The Southern Rhodesia Reconnaissance Regiment Magazine for July 1942

1-Cover, COver of magazine

The Sable

3-1, Insert

Next Publication 30th October, 1942. All contributions to reach the Editor by the 1st October at the latest.


" The Ideal in War ".
An Officer's Stars.
Strange Stories—No.
" The Grave ".
The Hairy One.
An Explanation.
Camp Personalities.
Essays in Science - 1
Round and about Camp.
Hymn of Weight.
Life and Letters of a Medical Orderly.
Asi Sabi Luto.
"Life": Fourth Series.
The W.A.M.S. at Work.
Africans Entertain.

" The Ideal in War "

What is accomplished by war, what is gained? This is the question that lies at the back of every mind as the papers are scanned, and headlines shout a sea victory here and an air debacle there, of the loss of a thousand lives and the wrecking of a thousand homes. Futility? No, not futility, for an ideal lies before us, and an ideal lies before the enemy too. We Britons are at heart all idealists. Maybe one would be justified in saying that modern war, or any war for that matter, is futile; but before passing judgment one would have to lay aside the outer garments of greed, cruelty, necessity, lust, and search for the pure body that lies within—the ideal.

Conquerors throughout the ages have waged war because they held an ideal before them. Either the wish to place their own people at the head of others, or to gain for their people the necessities of life, or to suppress and defend against the marauder. True, plunder is often the goal of the attacker, but wars for the sake of plunder are usually insignificant wars.

Let us examine these ideals in detail. Julius Caesar and Napoleon are perhaps the best known examples of conquerors who had at heart the will to make their own nations great and powerful. Perhaps there were personal motives too, but I do think that with both these men their peoples stood to gain far more than did the generals themselves. We know how Caesar waxed and waned, but in so doing made Rome the first capital of the European world. We know, too, how Napoleon over-ran Europe, but in the end also failed. Thus, the ideal of gaining power by crushing weaker nations fails, and will always fail, though it takes a thousand years to bring about the downfall.

Next we find the ideal in war that seeks to gain only territory and spoils, in order to allow the surplus population of a country with a small area to live and flourish, and in order to feed and clothe the teeming millions. Britain, in the past, has conquered towards this end, and so has Japan. Both these peoples had small mother countries, and had to find an outlet for the enormous populations and had to feed and clothe the poor in their cities.

Now we come to war that has as its ideal and object the suppression of violence and the crushing of the attacker; the kind of war that to-day we are fighting. A struggle to end Nazism, to defeat militant Japan, to teach bombastic Italy that honour and right in the end prove unbeatable.

Germany invaded her neighbours, and their neighbours, and Hitler seeks to invade all Europe and Africa and whatever country he can reach in his mad lust after power. But he will not succeed. Against him he has all the might, all the wealth, all the muscle and brain of four great nations, and above all, he has to contend with the steady will of great peoples to win and to uphold honour and honesty. And this is their ideal. True, he has behind him a powerful and brilliant army, but his resources for replenishment are becoming increasingly difficult to obtain, while Britain, America, Russia and China grow stronger and stronger, looking forward to the creation of safety, tolerance and happiness in their own countries. A life of safety from the greedy invader, of tolerance for the minorities that have settled within their boundaries, of happiness in security and plenty, these are their aims, and God grant that soon these ideals will be attained, and the object of crushing the wrong doer achieved.

So many of us do not realise that to win a war one must give more than muscle and blood, one must give brain-power, individual freedom, possessions, and above all one's will to win—the governing ideal. Men and women must feel that each step forward is a step nearer the end of all this horror and bloodshed, which is in the meaning of war, and in gaining these strides towards victory some of us offer our strong young bodies to form the head of the army spear, others offer wealth and power to fashion the unbreakable shaft, while the hand that guides this wonderful weapon is nerved by the brain and courage of our leaders.

We are fighting now for our families, our homes, our future right prosper; but we are fighting, too, on weaker nations that lie trodden in the dust shod beneath steel shod heel of ruthless invasion and conquest. Britain never fights so well as when she is protecting the weaker fellow, and righting the wrongs done to her friends; in this struggle she has both these reasons for fighting, plus the protection of her own peoples and lands. No wonder the enemy is feeling the strength of our own mailed fist, when it is directed by such fine ideals, and we shall never rest until Hitler and his hordes, Mussolini and his misled people and Japan's militarists learn that it does not pay to molest and attack weaker nations.

We have before us the ideals of right and honesty, and with such banners to wave, we have little cause for fear as to the ultimate end of this conflict: " dulce et decorum est pro patria mori "—it is good and proper to die for one's country—but we add: " it is good and better to die for the great ideal."

5-1, Insert
Delighted! I'm a home guard- Guard all the bally homes and so
forth don't ye know

An Officer's Stars WHY THEY ARE WORN
By M.P.

Why is an army officer designated by stars on his shoulder when stripes or rings would serve just as well? is it just so that he will be different from Navy or Air Force Officers or is it due to a mere accident inthe design of the uniform that his rank is shown by stars?

As a matter of fact it is neither. The star he wears on his shoulder has a very interesting history for it is the badge of an order of knighthood. Its design is that of the badge worn by a Companion of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath.

The history and origin of Knighthood is obscure, but it seems certain that the words, Knight and Knighthood are only modern versions of the Old English, " Cniht and Cnihtad." " Cnihts" belonged to a group of people who, in the 12th century, were mainly attendants upon Sovereigns and great personages.

Under the feudal system it became part of the " cniht's " duties to manage the levies of armed men which his feudal Lord was called upon to raise from time to time and so he became a sort of quasi-military steward.

With the start of the Crusades, the British Army began to take on something of the character which it has to-day. It became largely a paid army of volunteers which was raised for service outside England and it was officered by the " Cnihts." At one time, therefore, Army Officers were necessarily Knights but, as the Knights of olden times were a privileged and select class of persons, it became necessary to appoint suitable deputies for them in order to augment the number of leaders required by a rapidly expanding Army. At the same time, leaders had to be chosen from among the bravest and most skilful in the noble art of war. Such men, though not actually qualified for knighthood, in the regular sense, were, by virtue of their skill in warfare, qualified to lead portions of armies in the field. Consequently they were at least entitled to a form of " Junior Knighthood." Thus it came about that officers became Knights by courtesy.

In Great Britain, to-day, there are three Orders of Knighthood. Prime Orders, such the Order of the Garter; Family Orders, such as the Royal Victorian Order, and Orders of Merit. Of these, the last is the category into which falls the Most Honourable Order of the Bath. This Order is, in its turn, divided into three grades. There are: Knights Grand Cross, Knights Commanders, and Knights Companions. The Order of the Bath was instituted by King George 1st, in 1725, and all present-day Officers who wear stars on their shoulders wear the badge of a Companion of the Order which bears the motto: " Tria Juncta in Uno." Thus it will be seen how a very ancient and honourable tradition has been perpetuated in an officer's uniform to-day. In the 12th Century was the beginning of Knighthood when '' Cnihts '' were no more than followers of some sovereign Lord. Great Britain started to send her armies abroad and chose Knights as leaders. The Army grew, more leaders had to be found and officers, by virtue of the leadership they exercised, were admitted to membership of an Order of Knighthood.

By "Kachetchete"

In times of great stress and national emergency it is common practice for the man in the street to form his conclusions from newspaper and wireless announcements regarding major events; and the present war is no exception to this general rule. We are nearly all, to some degree, " armchair strategists " as, each of us being personally involved in some way, we are apt to attach too much importance to ourselves and our ideas. This is merely one aspect of human nature.

However, a moment's reflection will show us that, for our own benefit, our sources of information may at times provide us with an incomplete picture. In other words, when, judging from reports of battles and political activities, we find it difficult to make an accurate assessment of the future, that time has arrived to seek for signs elsewhere. In doing so, we must bear in mind that even the apparently insignificant facts may be portents of world shaking events in the future. A molehill brought about the untimely end of an English Monarch and the builder of that small mound of earth went down in history as the " Little Gentleman in the Grey Velvet Waistcoat." Had the lives of a naughty King and an orange girl who was "no better than she ought to have been," been separated by one generation, the first and greatest institution in the world for the care of old soldiers might never have been founded. A coach, stuck in a gateway caused a French King's head to roll in the basket beneath the guillotine. Pages could be filled with such examples.

At the time of writing it is difficult, from reports, to set the Eastern and European situations side by side and pass accurate judgment on the general position. But we are lucky. We have not got to examine eveiy square foot of the sacred ground for little heaps of earth, search for naughty girls at the cinema or measure to the nearest tenth of an inch the separation between the various gates of the Tank Park. Did we but realise it, an event of such breath-taking importance has this day taken place in our very camp, that a day of National Rejoicing should be ordered and the Paymaster instructed to advance at least a month's pay in order to enable R.A. Ranks All to do justice to the occasion and not disgrace themselves before the citizenry of Umtali by staging celebrations on a more end-of-course scale.

It has become apparent that the sea roads are wider open than ever, that commerce across the oceans is becoming once again a simple matter, and that we can once again make free use of what has of recent months become a valuable and essential war material. Therefore, THE WAR IS NEARLY OVER. The sign is here in our midst for all to see. It is not in a place where the voice of the R.S.M. will boom forth "Put off thy shoes from off thy feet," not where your actions in searching may bring you under suspicion from your wives, sweethearts or M.P.'s, not where you are liable to be charged under the official secrets act. It is in a place you all visit regularly (I hope).

My readers are by this time in a state of frenzied excitement and I have not the heart to keep them longer in suspense. If any of them are reading this during a gas lecture, and have, for some unknown reason (this is written in early May) not yet observed the sign I am about to reveal, my advice to them is to raise one hand in the air (as taught at school) and gaze hard at the Instructor with an expression of agonised appeal, in order immediately to wangle a plausible excuse to confirm the stupendous statement I am about to make.

Here it is: The Troops have again been issued with Paper, White, Blank, Purposes, Epistolary, Other Than, For.


Is Everything All Right?

A young married couple, not too well blessed with worldly goods, decided that their first baby should be born at their cottage. Time approached and the doctor was called in.

Young husband, waiting outside in trepidation, gasps when the doctor opened the door and said, fetch me a cold chisel; he went and got one. Three minutes after doctor opened the door and said get me a pair of strong pliers. Again with quaking knees the husband supplied the request. But, when three minutes later the doctor opened the door and said get me a seven pound hammer, the husband could not resist asking:

Doctor, are things going all right?

Oh, all right, replied the doctor, but I can't get my damn bag open.


Strange Stories—No. 4
These two unusual narrative poems, by " Mont,* replace the strange story that is customarily printed under this heading.

'' One day I listless strayed the veld
With useless gun and tightened belt.
A shim'ring haze lay o'er the bush,
'Twas hot as Hell—the midday hush.
Then weary feet led weary limbs
To where a tree the sunlight dims,
I laid me down while heat-waves fade
Beneath the branches' welcome shade.

Scare had I closed my sun-scorched eyes
When close beside me gently sighs
A man with dark and wrinkled skin,
Who spoke of death and untamed sin
As if he knew the weight of both.
(Gone were my tiredness and sloth)
For as I looked upon his face
And watched his eyes and quick grimace
I felt as if I read his soul—
This country of his life took toll-—
The story of a thousand men
That went before and come again!
They sought, and seek the yellow wealth—
He tells of toil and failing health.

" We tramped the bush with pick and pan,
We broke the earth till blood-sweat ran,
We washed the dirt with shaking hand
And eagerly the dust we scanned,
But only rarely came the thrill
That led us over rock and hill.
No kith had we, no loving kin
We're outcasts, filthy bearded chin
Bloodshot eyes with far-way strain—
Seeking the treasure of river and plain,
But scarcely finding enough to save
Our weary bones from a godless grave.
Then when at last we found the gold,
We felt so useless and tired and old—
The metal to liquid gold was turned
And down our throats its w^y it burned.
Till came a day, when sick and ill,
WTe lost our hold—we'd had our fill
Of all Life's kicks and curses vile—
We lost our lives—we made no pile!
We died! I died! my body stank;
You'll find my bones o'er yonder bank.
And now goodbye, my youthful friend,
I wander this veld from end to end
Trying to warn those utter fools
Who seek their end with mining tools!'
He vanished then—I rubbed my eyes—
No dream was this 'neath burning skies,
I rose and wandered to the site,
And there they lay—his bones, bleached white,
Beside a rusted pick and spade
Where long, long since a hole was made.
No—'twas no dream—my arms I gave
To bury those bones in the ready grave.
And by their side I laid the set—


(Inspired by Rachmaninoff Prelude in C Sharp Minor).

" The grave is slowly filled with new-thrown earth.
The mourners turn their backs on what was theirs.
The mother softly weeps—her heart is dead,
The wife, so young, convulsed with sobs and prayers.
And now the cloak of night enwraps the world.
The coffin lies at rest beneath the mound,
And in it sleeps the still and ashy form.
The wind to trees gives voice—a mournful sound.

The hour of midnight comes and ghosts are out.
The lifeless body in its oaken tomb
Begins to stir, and stretches cramped limbs.
The flickering eyes see not the awful doom
Till arms are raised and find the boards above.
'Tis dark—the blackness like the raven's wing—
The atmosphere is foul and hardly breathed,
He struggles till his heart and eardrums sing.
The horror of his fate his mind pervades,
He lies and thinks, and fear assails his soul.
Consigned by men to fill this living grave—
Great God of mercy, what a ghastly role!
He gasps for breath and wildly beats the walls.
His movements now are weak, and failing fast,
And agony to breathe that fetid air.
Now thoughts of life are dim and quickly passed.
Resigned to Fate's last mocking, devil's trick,
He sighs, and blood froths at his mumbling lips,
Then tranquil in that coffin's murky close
Resign'dly waits with Death to come to grips.
But Life still bids him fight; but no avail;
He scare can move—the weight of failing lungs
His hopes of living crushes—then a dream:
A golden ladder with ten thousand rungs,
And lying there, he sees his spirit climb,
Its eyes are fixed on something high above.
The cares and fears of earth are left below
With thoughts of hate and joys and mortal love.
The pain wracked body in that lonely grave
No longer feels the ties of men on earth,
His soul is gone. It rests with other souls,
To wait its turn again to come to birth.''
Perhaps his restless soul digs yet."

Don't Point
An Australian mother and small son were seeing the sights of London. Suddenly the youngster spotted a man high up on a building cleaning windows. Standing still, the boy pointed upwards and exclaimed in loud tones: " Crikey, ma, look at that b--y b-d up there.

His mother embarrassingly slapped the child and scolded: " How many times have I told you not to point."

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The Hairy One
By " Ranger."

We were seated in our usual group around the clubroom fire when Turner, a glass of whisky in his hand, proclaimed:—

"You chaps all remember old Henson the Forest Department timber surveyor. Here is a yam about him that may interest you."

We refilled our glasses, lit up our pipes and leaned back to listen to another of Turner's stories.

" You say, Bwana, that to-morrow we move into Njanje's section. I think our labours there will not be long or difficult, for when I left my old kraal on the Njanjeni there was not much timber. The ground is also flat and therefore will be easy to survey."

Henson digested his boss boy's information thoughtfully. If Mangwe's statements as to the scarcity of timber and the flatness of the country were correct, then a month might see this section completed and he could be back in civilisation for Christmas. His pleasant thoughts were interrupted by Mangwe who stood respectfully a few feet from the gently flickering fire.

" I have heard, Bwana, that a new fear has descended on the villages along the Njanjeni. When I lived near the river we feared lions, elephants and locusts. These were natural fears and ones that men could understand, but this new cause of alarm is an evil spirit which roams the river banks, and as you know, Bwana, these inexplicable things are very terrifying I think we should not waste much time over the poor timber along the Njanjeni's banks."

Henson sternly replied that there was no time for absurd stories when they should be preparing their belongings for an early start in the morning.

The timber certainly was rather poor, Henson decided, as he tramped along the river bank the following afternoon. The distant trumpeting of an elephant across the river brought back to him Mangwe's story of the previous night. Probably he would hear more news of the " spirit " that was troubling the simple natives when they reached the village. From Mangwe he had gathered that, on several occasions, the villagers had seen in the early dawn, or in the evening, a large, hairy man wandering along the river banks. Some of their goats and calves had been taken, and to crown all, a girl who went late one evening to the water hole was found there next day with her back broken and her ribs pulped. Some of the more daring of the men had followed the large, rough footprints of the murderer as far as a deep donga choked with Senanga thorn. There, however, their courage had failed and they had returned, having discovered nothing more than the devil's home.

Henson, having satisfied himself that his boys were busy making the camp at the village, and having paid the customary visit to the induna, wandered round and skilfully questioned several natives about the Hairy One who was causing so much panic. He heard nothing new, but found one young man—the lover of the dead girl—who was willing to lead him to the terror's haunt.

Henson with Mangwe behind, followed the guide up the river for some distance. The native then stopped and flatly refused to go any further as the sun was setting fast. Henson, having aired his views on the guide's bravery in sarcastic terms, signed to the now frightened Mangwe to follow him, and continued on up the river.

The donga, when they reached it, was unmistakable, with its thorn-choked entrance. Treading quietly now, the two took up a position on the edge of the gulley. Henson with his heavy rifle across his knees felt his faithful servant's body tremble as they crouched behind a screen of bushes with eyes riveted on the darkening scrub below. Across the river a jackal barked.

"Bwana, He comes!" whispered Mangwe who pointed with trembling fingers to the shadows below.

Grunting and snuffling and forcing a way through the sharp Senanga, ambled the shape of a huge hairy man. Suddenly, pivoting to face them, it stopped. Henson stiffened in the slow movement of his rifle. For a tense moment Mangwe's gentle moaning was audible then the stillness was broken as, roaring and grunting, the Hairy One charged up the slope towards them. Henson dared not fire. The light was poor. A miss would be fatal. A moment later the huge form, arms outstretched, rose from the bushes and was silhouetted against the sky. With a muttered oath Henson fired, reloaded, and fired again.

"Hurry, Mangwe. Stop your groaning and make a torch so that I can see this ' evil spirit ' that bullets have killed."

In the flickering light of the grass torch, they cautiously bent to examine the grotesque, inert form. Henson straightened himself suddenly.

" Good God! No wonder the natives couldn't understand. A grizzly bear!"

Turner paused, drained his glass and stared at each of us in turn.

"I know you chaps expect tall yarns from me. A grizzly in the middle of Africa does seem ridiculous, but you may recall that while Henson was on this survey job, there were reports in the papers of the escape from Bell's Circus, while at the Victoria Falls, of their performing grizzly. . . . Waiter, another whisky!"



"The Sable," Number 5, will be published on the 30th of October. Due to the restrictions on the use of printing paper, the magazine will necessarily be smaller than it is at present. We hope that quality will replace quantity and that contributions will inundate this office before the middle of September. Stories, poems, photographs, articles, jokes, all will be welcome copy—so send your contribution in right away, to The Editor, " The Sable," Park River Training Camp, Umtali. EDITOR.


An Explanation
By Professor Ettenna.

The following is an excerpt from a book on archaeology, published in the year 2842 A.D. The authors are descendants of our 18-20 group, so you will understand why their outlook seems a little blighted. The book deals with excavations over a wild, barren country, and the unearthing of the P.R.T.C. is the subject matter of this chapter.

"News of the workings of an ancient civilisation having been made known, we set about the task of seeking further information on the lives of the prehistoric dwellers. After many months of scratching and scraping, traces of primitive and barbaric man were discovered beneath an accumulation of rubble and filling systems. Numerous dwelling places were located, and the vast distance between each building proves that the ancients were fond of cross country walks.

Most energetic.

"We unearthed a curious and aboriginal system of inter-communication used by Early Man. It consisted of a series of handles, bells and wires. Painful noises were caused by their operation, and how the dwellers of this haunted place ever survived their telephonic system is a knotty problem no one will ever solve.

"One of the first buildings to be exposed was one obviously used for the keeping of wild animals. From an inspection of the bones it appears that either the fierce some dinosaurus or the common pig lived in the enclosure. Our experts are unable to state any reasons or definite purposes behind the rearing of these animals, except that they may have been kept to indicate the direction of the wind.

"Extensive investigations show that women also frequented this desolate spot. They were a terrifying and imposing squad who were conveyed hither and thither by means of a half-ton chariot. It is understood that these Amazons did wear flat shoes, bright buttons, and occasionally intelligent expressions. They did also parade as soldiers: the origins of Lost Horizons.

"An interesting building was erected to the south east of the site. The barricade or entrance bears the curious inscription Yregrus Latned, and it was obviously planned as a place of horror and torture. Vicious lathes, drills, pincers and knives lie strewn about this chamber. Surely many terrible atrocities must have been committed in the gloomy compartment, whilst other victims were waylaid in an adjoining room where an imposing array of poisons (Oil of Castor and such like) adorned the walls. Too ghastly for words.

"From a consultation of records it appears that special quarters were set aside for embalming the barbarians. This particular section was termed the Sergeants' Mess, and for embalming purposes large stocks of soothing syrups and spirits were laid in stock.

"Many are the wonders of this barbarous situation, and many must have been those who actually did the wondering. A department of note, labelled D. & M. (we can barely trace why) supplies further evidence that the ways of prehistoric man were difficult to under- stand. Surely the ancients did delight in causing loud sounds, for with the slightest encouragement a stationary chariot does make violent explosions and blasts. There is, too, a pipe leading from a strange receptacle (ref. home-made wash-basin) which, when carefully placed across the entrance, does cause other savages to trip, and to swear in unknown tongue.

"The archives are not entirely destroyed, and they contain many reference papers which have assisted us in surmising the fate and extraordinary existence of the Ancients. A few questions as yet outstanding are receiving attention, but amongst random reflections we wonder why the building termed Q did not possess its own system for communicating with the outer world; why a leader did select strange green material to hang before his wall openings (prehistoric term " windows") and above all, how the remaining leaders did contrive to disentangle their respective chariots from the chariot ranks in front of their dwelling place. It is all very obscure, and it is not for us to unravel the mystery which must have pervaded this unusual site some thou- sand years ago."



At the beginning of the Battle of Britain, a certain large departmental store decided to use its deepest basement as a shelter for the staff during air-raids. As the basement was not very well ventilated, the medical adviser to the firm decided to make sure that no one suffering from any lung or other similar complaint was taken down. He therefore prepared a short list of medical questions to be answered by each employee. One of the questions was "Do you suffer from claustrophobia." Much to his amazement, almost every woman replied that she did suffer from this. Being puzzled he sent for the chief woman clerk and asked her if she had explained, as directed, to the other women, the meaning of each question on the paper. She replied, " Yes, and I told them that claustrophobia means ' fear of confinement' "


I12-1, Insert

Essays In Science—1
By Ramraf.

In these times everything may be suspected of having political or religious implications. If I speak of my carpet people may persuade themselves that it is to the Turkish Political scene that I am alluding. If I discuss Gothic Architecture, some will perchance be found to accuse me of being a Religious Propagandist. Yet it is written, a man must speak or explode. Let all that follows be freed from any suspicion of touching on such sancro^anct themes: I have no wish to deal with them.

The purpose I have here is merely to discuss the Bantu peoples from the viewpoint of some of the discoveries of modern biologists. I wish to examine the truth of the popular verdict that the African belongs to an inferior race, and also of the somewhat rarer belief that he is our fellow or our equal. Are some folks justified in treating him as one of the lower animals, or at any rate as an intrinsically lower form of human life to themselves? Is the adulation of the other extreme to be tolerated? What does Modern Science tell us? Is he our inferior? Is he our equal?

The answer is, neither. Our everyday ideas, our ordinary questions and arguments are in this light beside the point. Just as the law, founded on the science of Jurisprudence produces legal situations and decisions which contradict the common sense of the man in the street, so modern biology profoundly shakes the prejudices of the layman.

Modern research over a wide field has concluded in the first place that men are not equal. Height, weight, intelligence, will power, imagination, personality, ability, physical strength, are such complex endowments that few can be found possessing equality in more than two or three aspects. Some folk have equally black skins, others lack the protective pigment that gives the skin such a colouring: such simple characteristics have a narrower range of variability and therefore people can be equally white, though whether a white or black skin is superior depends upon the climatic or social inclemency one may encounter. I am not as good as the next man, nor is he as good as me: we all have our advantages and our handicaps in the race of life where no one starts from scratch nor from the winning post: where we each run our own course, not against others if we are wise, but against ourselves. Professor Einstein would not be the equal of any Recce in arms drill, but he is a far finer mathematician than any of us can hope to be. Complete Equality is the rarest coincidence among men, occurring only in the case of Identical twins. In all other cases our fundamental make-up is different from that of others, and therefore there can be only a limited scope for comparison and equality.

In the second place it has been demonstrated that men's natural abilities do not coincide with those of the racial or social group to which they may belong. Statistics drawn from very extensive research show that there is indeed a higher average intelligence quota for a highly skilled or civilised group than for one less skilled or civilised: for instance the average I.Q. for Professional Workers is far higher than that of Unskilled Labourers, slightly less so than that of Skilled Labour, still less so than that of small Business, and only slightly higher than that for Big Business. Among different racial groups there is likewise evidence to show that the more civilised nations have a correspondingly higher average I.Q.

Now Intelligence is an inherited characteristic, according to the orthodox biology of to-day: it can be developed by environment, but not bestowed nor increased. (There are other attributes such as Character and Temperament which seem to be far more influenced by environment than by Tieredity). The surprising thing is that among the lowest groups are found people with an Intelligence Quota equal to the highest in the groups "above " them. Corresponding with this is that certain other folk, in, say, the group with the highest average I.Q. would only attain the lowest standard: a genius may be born in a tenement, and many imbeciles in a manor.

In the per-scientific era snobs and other perverted individuals could with impunity pretend that they belonged to or comprised a superior race or class, born to lord it over those in their power. Indeed, the last strongholds of this hateful prejudice have not yet all of them received the attention of surgeon or psychiatrist. Others proclaimed the opposite assertion that men are born equal. Neither statements have a very high truth value, but the latter at least emphasises that our basic needs, and therefore our basic rights, are far more equal than man in his selfishness supposes.

So much for inherited characteristics, where there is a tendency for all groups to receive a share in the inheritance. Personality and Moral Character are far more dependent in their quality and strength on the Environment: so also is the opportunity to develop intellectual powers and to make use of them. Here the members of a " higher " group score heavily. There is also a tendency for able folk in a " lower " social group to drift into the occupations and ways of life of a higher one, thus heightening the average I.Q. of the group to which they go and lowering that of the group in which they were born. Between rigidly divided racial groups, however, this does not at first occur.

There is also such a thing as Culture, an obscure and costly prize for which a man must give all that he has and fare far forth over the flaming boundaries of the world. The educated have a start here which practically excludes competition. But this is a quest in which there is need not for competition but for cooperation, and it is the duty of a higher racial or social group to give the spirit of its culture by example rather than by teaching to those who are less fortunate. It must neither bully nor pander, but lead and inspire.

Are we really such wonderful people after all?


Round and About Camp
By Piccy & Co.

Cenotaph Wreath

This message has been received for publication in this issue The Sable: " On Monday the 25th May, 1942, after the official opening of the annual conference of the B.E.S.L. by His Worship the Mayor of Umtali (Clr. W. R. Love), the delegatesformed up, and headed by the colours, marched to the Cenotaph where wreaths were laid on the War Memorial in memory of our sacred dead. The enclosed card was taken from the very beautiful wreath of the Reconnaissance Regiment. This wreath was much admired and appreciated by all present as a very fine gesture from the Regiment."

The card referred to above consisted of the Sable head with a message saying: "In Glorious Memory of Our Gallant Comrades who fell in the Great War, 1914-18. From all Ranks of the Reconnaissance Regiment, Umtali."

A Chillie Evening in the O.R.S. Mess

No, my spelling is quite good, thank you. Dinner was anything but chillie that night, as the popular Orderly Officer agreed. We are inclined to think that the Wet Canteen did a roaring trade.

Dispersal's and Reversals

The driver who quickly dispersing
Failed to cease his learned discoursing
Got a smack in the back
A h-of a whack
And found out that he was reversing.

A Soccer Aside

At a recent football match there was a vigorous tackle between two opponents, which ended with both of them on the ground. One of them sat up and said, " You can't do that, cockey." The other was one of our smartest officers.

Paper—Shortage of

After learning, musically, of the shortage of this material in the quaint old town of Mohbeel, I was interested to notice during a recent visit to K.G. VI. barracks, that a similar condition existed there.

The Long and the Short of it

We feel that there is no truth in the rumour that the soldier signing out and wearing the regulation length of shorts, was turned back for wearing his longs too short.

Who Hesitates

It has been noticed that when a certain auxiliary unit has been given the order " DISMISS " on parade, there is apt to be an argument as to which.

Keep Still There

We all know that you must not bat an eyelid when standing to attention on parade. We think, however, that the Officer mounting Guard could not see the slight facial spasm among the men,while groping on the ground for his glasses which he had dislodged with a salute.

Daylight Raid.

It is rumoured that one of our squadrons will in future wear a distinctive beret badge —the Sable head encircled with orange blossoms—in recognition of a daring daylight raid.

Late News

The Royal Sickliers, under the command of Cpl. Chancellor made a fierce attack on the Southern front, bringing down 2,000 blades during the first day's onslaught. Six Sickles failed to return.

At a later stage General Thirst fought his way back, but finding the Canteen front open, our Veteran made a Counter Attack—it was a " STOUT " effort.

Family News

Pte. Ray has become the proud father of a bonny boy—well done Robbie. Sgt. Greener is to be married during the next week or so and we wish him every happiness in his new venture.

We congratulate Lieut. Grainger on his recent marriage, and wish them both health and happiness in their future together.

Also to Sgt. Jimmy Martin, our best wishes on his marriage a short while ago.

There have been a number of recent promotions, the most popular being that of Capt. Hobbs who has obtained his Majority. Our congratulations, Sir, also to Captains Puzey and Veitch, the very latest step-ups.

In addition there have been eight new sergeants appointed: Peirson, Chadd, McVey, Ellenbogen, Puttrill, Simpson, Rennie, Greener, and to them our hearty congratulations.

Capt. Benoy has taken over the duties of Adjutant in place of Capt. Stone. We wish the latter good luck in his new surroundings.

S/M. Pop Berlyn, who is doing great work among the Ities in the Gatooma Internment Camp, writes that he can still mop 'em up—we wonder what he means!

Opening of the New Sergeants' Mess

The new Sergeants' Mess was officially opened by the Commanding Officer on the evening of the 22nd of June. The officers were the guests of the mess. After the official party, many of the members and their guests remained on to enjoy the delights of Bacchus et alia. The result was a few sore limbs and-a host of sore heads. The Mess is a great improvement on the temporary one used hitherto, and the members fully appreciate the added comfort.

News of the Waffling W.A.M.S.

Cpl. Boyd and Woods have just returned from Salisbury having had a week's instruction on the parade ground—pity the poor W.A.M.S. now!

Pte. Sylvia Cripps' fiance, Sgt. Errol Davis, late of this Camp, broadcast to her in the Laager Programme from London on the 2nd. Ain't Love Grand - apologies from the W.A.M.S. "for listening in!

The W.A.M.S. achieved great fame on the United Nations' Day Parade (there were no survivors). The Right Marker was last seen reporting to the Parade S/M. Any person having any information as to the whereabouts of this W.A.M. will report to the Orderly Room.

A great party was held in the Mess in honour of Sgt. Scott from Gwelo, and news was received the following morning from a certain R.Q.M.S. that all W.A.M.S. were under arrest for being drunk and disorderly and setting a bad example to the 18-20's. "With the very kind permission of Lieut. Puzey 14 W.A.M.S. hovered around the Workshops the other day. It was
a most interesting tour." (We're coming again!)

Pte. Rennies had returned to her nuts and bolts. All W.A.M.S. welcome Pte. Leigh—our latest Rookie, she has been put under the tender care of our Refrigerator Queen.

Miss Angela Cripps, who was transferred to the Pay Office in Nairobi, has been promoted sergeant. She writes that she is enjoying every minute of her new life. Good luck Angela, keep it up.

The Camp Library

Through the generosity of Mrs. Chace, who donated a splendid collection of books, the camp library became a thing of the present. Pte. (Mrs.) Outram very kindly brought the total of volumes up to the 400 mark by the gift of a number of very good books. Our sincere thanks to these generous ladies and to Capt. Benoy, who has always shown a great interest in the establishment of this library.


19-1, Insert

Boy, at a party, to stunning looking girl: "May I take you home?" Girl, quite enthusiastically: Why, yes, where do you live?"

19-2, Insert

Life and Letters of a Medical Orderly—II.

My Dear Angela,
Just a few lines snatched from my leisure moments —the first I've had for positively WEEKS, my dear, —too negroid. Well, it's because the Malaria season's over now and we can all relax; it was simply unbelievable what a rush we had, my dear—too delirious there. We had dozens of patients in the Ward, and scattered in positive GALAXIES, my clear, ALL overthe verandahs and passages my dear—too Malthusian, One had to Squirm along under or over beds wherever you went, and there was hardly room to breathe, my dear—too congested. Anyway, this fever is all very nice for the patient; why he just lies there as the passive agent my dear, too ecstatic, while we wogs sweat him and change him and bath him and feed him, and I'm blessed if he doesn't start sweating all over again—too monotonous don't you think. Well, anyway, it's a worse disease to nurse than to have, my dear—positively hedonistic.

Well with all the overcrowding anyone with the sense of a Socialist could see that something had to be done—I mean too critical and all that. Well, any- way, as luck would have it I had just read a book on Psychology for Nurses, my dear.—too technical. Anyway, it said one must be kind to the patient and how Cheerfulness helped him to recover and all that. Well we'd been going flat out—go to it, don't you know, my dear, too Churchill—and I couldn't see how we could do any more so I resorted to Kindness and Cheerfulness; well not in my spare time exactly because I hadn't any, but while I was on the job, my dear—too Stoic. If it really was so good as the book said then I reckoned we'd soon get rid of the patients, my dear—too Machiavellian, but not a bit of it, the scheme didn't work.

The fellers in Hospital reckoned they'd never had such a good time in their lives, they enjoyed it so much they didn't even want to go on sick leave, my dear—too awkward. Well, eventually things moved to a crisis when the M.O. was confronted by a tearful patient begging us not to send him out into the world again and everybody blamed me, my dear—too humiliating. I even began to think they might give me the sack from the Army, my dear—too compulsory. So I decided on a new course of action.

It was only to the very sick and to the dying that I continued to be nice. As soon as a patient showed any signs of recovering, BOOM, I developed a Sergeant Major attitude, my dear—too repulsive, and what do you think happened next? Why all the patients started shamming, two ate soap and sent their temperatures up to astronomical heights, one developed epileptic collapses combined with all the symptoms of Prussic Acid poisoning, another swallowed his false teeth, and three of them fainted in succession from the right, my dear—too exciting, but nevertheless lamentable, for the hospital was now a sort of popular club and the canteen had to close down because of the competition, besides there weren't many fellows on parade any longer and the situation was deteriorating rapidly so I decided something must be done and I began to get to know each bloke as he came in so that I could soon tell whether he was going to sham or not, and it was only the heroic and really sick patient who received any services from me, my dear—too cunning, because in three days the hospital was empty save for three lodgers. So you see my experience is far more valuable than all these lah-dee-dah books, and now I'm going to turn my back on Study and base my life on fact, not theory, my dear—too simple, and I'm really beginning to take an INTEREST in my work—learning all about fibias and tibulas and splints and pressure points, because what will the chaps think up at the front of a Medical who can't even tie a tourniquet and anyway, it stops me getting browned off.

Well, a patient is ringing his bell now, and I think it's one of the shammers, so I must go and give him the gun. Therefore I will close now

From Your Realistic

Asi Sabi Luto
By O.S.W.

Asi Sabi Luto,
With our flashes red and white,
This is the song we Recces sing,
Who fear nought as we fight.

Maybe we'll go up North,
To the desert sky and sun,
There we will fight for all we know,
Till the foe is on the run.

Perhaps we may go East,
To fight the skulking Jap,
Through jungle swamps and forests thick,
To chase them off the map.

To England we might go,
To Motherland of all,
To chase the foe from off her shore,
To answer Empire's call.

And those who stay behind,
To defend our own Home Land,
Should we too be in the front line,
We'll make a gallant stand.

Asi Sabi Luto,
With our flashes red and white,
This is the song we Recces sing,
Who fear naught as we fight.

22-1, Insert


There seems to be a movement on foot to deprive us of the use of the word " manoeuvre " in Rhodesia, and to limit us to using " field exercise " as an expression more appropriate to our size and strength. We must rise and resist such tampering with hallowed terms, for what have we to do with European fields with their neatly trimmed hedges. And, anyway, it is botany classes and horses that are led out into the fields for their exercises. The Rhodesian soldier goes out into the expansive African veld for training, and with pride and mysteriousness he speaks to his wife or girl friend sotto voice of his absence, for an unknown length of time in an unknown part of the veld, on manoeuvres.

A manoeuvre, according to the dictionary, is a planned movement of troops. It may he objected that sometimes things happen which are not according to plan, or that sometimes there seems to be more sitting about than movement, but it is for neither of these reasons that some would wish to remove the word from Rhodesian military usage. The difficulty is whether we are large enough to call ourselves troops in the dictionary's sense of the word. What we need here is imagination, which makes one man a battalion and one gun a battery. Imagination is, unfortunately, a very rare thing among grown-up people, and we even encourage children to forsake their happy childlike gifts to become the sophisticated, matter of fact, little ladies and gentlemen, who have got the inside story of Father Christmas. But sometimes we remember that we ought to become little children, that some fairy tales had their origin in actual fact, that some of the wildest nightmares have come true in our own day, and that our unpreparedness is due to people who had no idea or never imagined that it could happen. A modern soldier is trained in many things and, not least, in the use of imagination. In this country the Axis has not provided an enemy for us, and so we imagine one, though the R.A.R. or some other body of men have sometimes obliged.

In the still sparsely populated veld we advance as part of a considerable army, or we withdraw under the imaginary rain of shells, bombs and bullets. In the cloudless African sky we imagine the existence of hostile aircraft spying us out and seeking somewhere to empty their bomb racks and magazines. Though aircraft pay us visits but rarely, we know we can be difficult to find, and we hope that, when we see and hear, and no longer imagine that enemy planes are above, the enemy will indulge in imagination and believe that only bush exists below. Imagination can be very useful to the soldier. Some like to imagine that their bed camp is equipped with a soft sprung mattress, or that the armoured car is well upholstered, or that blankets which the rain has found are quite dry. It is certainly pleasant on a route march with the perspiration oozing out to have an imaginary long, cool drink. And some like to imagine what it will be like to live in days of peace again with no brass to clean, no webbing to bianco, no rifle to bother about, and, above all, no interfering bugle calls to answer. We have just had to fill up forms about what we hope to do after the war, and that has set us thinking about the future,about security and opportunity, about home life and peace. It is then that we remember that we are fighting and prepared to fight because of these very things.



The usual article on sport must of necessity be both brief and sketchy in this issue. The reason being that the Editor has received very little information from the correspondents responsible.

The boxing team from the camp distinguished itself in the Army Championships, held recently in Salisbury. We tied with the Light Battery in points. Tprs. Curran and Winson won their fights while Segal, Van der Merwe and Van den Berg reached the finals. S/M Ben Johnstone was largely responsible for the training of the team, so our thanks are due to him.

In the Army v. R.A.F. match, Curran gave an excellent and plucky exhibition against Leckie, the R.A.F. and Scottish champion. Curran was our only representative in this Service Championship tournament as Winson, unfortunately, was not able to participate.

Association football has been the main form of sport during week-ends. The Camp teams have done well in all matches against the Town and against visiting R.A.F. teams. Fitness and stamina have been the deciding factors in all matches, while one or two members of the team have played outstandingly through- out the season.

It is hoped that more matches with the R.A.F. will be arranged, as the fine sporting spirit and atmosphere of camaraderie add to the zest of keen games.

A very fine team of athletes travelled to Salisbury to take part in the Championships. The outstanding member of the team was Tpr. Heckler who won both the hundred and two-twenty in the Army Championships.

In the Service Championships the Army team, consisting of 30 members, comprised 15 from this Camp, a very good proportion. Although the Army team was beaten by the Air Force, it did remarkably well, when the fact is taken into consideration that the R.A.F. have so many from whom to choose, and their numbers include some men who have had the experience of big meetings overseas.

It is hoped that a squash court will be built soon for the use of the officers and men. The main difficulty here will be the supply of balls, but ways and means will be found to overcome this difficulty, we feel sure.

The longer training hours now in force have, to a great extent, handicapped those keen on sport. The afternoons close all too quickly, and there is little time left for games after hours. Still, as we all feel that some real benefit is being derived from the extra time spent in training, we have few complaints.

" Life ": Fourth Series

The Woman

Said of the talker—she shifts her brain into neutral and lets her tongue idle on.

Of the ungainly one—she looked as if she had been poured into her clothes, and forget to say " when."

Of the bargain hunter—she stumbles along, chin deep in parcels.

Of one of the smart set—she possesses a pagan body with a Chiselhurst mind, and a soul like a modern bathroom, fitted with every convenience.

Of the well dressed diner—she wears a Biblical gown: low and behold.

Compliments are like perfumes, to be inhaled, not swallowed.

It's a great life if your don'ts weaken.

Courage is fear that has said its prayers.

The Future is only the Past coming in through a different door.

The English sailor prefers rum, the American tar likes rye, but the Italian sticks to port.

Dolores Ibarruri, Spanish patriot, in a speech to her people: It is better to die on your feet than live on your knees.

Love at first sight often ends with a divorce at first slight.

French King: The people are revolting.
French Queen: Yes, aren't they.

Money doesn't make you happy—but it quiets the nerves.

It is predicted that Hitler will die on a Jewish holiday. In any case, they will make it one.

You act like a baby.
Yes, I was born like that.

Give a motorist an inch and he'll try to park in it.


The Old Stork Story

A dear old lady from the country was spending a holiday with her city relatives, and one day took her two little nephews, aged six and seven, on a visit to the zoo. At each enclosure she would tell the children something about the animal or bird that happened to be in it. The youngsters were becoming rather bored, and when, in front of the bird pens, she stopped and pointed out a stork, saying, " That, dears, is the big stork. He brought you both to your Mummy when you first arrived in this world." The younger of the two boys nudged his brother and said, " For goodness sake tell the old thing—she doesn't know."

* * * *
Teacher's Story

A small girl held up her hand in class and said to the teacher: " Can little girls of ten have babies?" "Of course not," replied the amused teacher. Little boy's voice from the back of the class: " I told you so, Windy!"


The W.A.M.S. at Work
By O.S.W.

There's a branch you may not notice, for their's are scattered posts,

In the Offices and Storerooms, in ones and two's, not hosts.

They sometime do foregather and fall in for Parade,

For they must learn they're soldiers and what to do and say,

But then they leave the sunny square and to their work they go,

To tickle up the typist's keys and type on row by row.

You can often see them sitting in an Office or a den,

Filling up strange forms with figures and a pen,

You will see them in the Stores weighing meal and flour and meat,

You can see them "bossing " niggers or dealing out the mail,

And raking in your savings or taking cables through the rail.

There are many thousand items in a modern army's stores,

And they issue socks and trousers and sometimes even drawers.

They'll sell you all your cigarettes or sweets if you don't smoke,

And if you try to beat them down they treat it as a joke.

And if you need some pay and don't know what to do,

A W.A.M. is there to work it out and fix it up for you.

Their activities are endless and they function all the time,

And as they grow in numbers we'll add another rhyme.

And when the War is over and we're all in civvies then,

Don't forget the little Army of the pencil and the pen,

In the background of the picture but working just the same

Doing just their little bit to help the Motherland to fame.


Great Expectations

The scene was an air-raid shelter. The warden called down: " Any expectant mothers in there?" A chirpy male voice answered: "Blimey, give us a chance, guvnor, we aint bin 'ere for more than ten minutes."
* * * *

A young N.C.O. on leave in England, was not keen on returning to his regiment in the Middle East, so he cabled his C.O. as follows: "Boat crowded; returning later; have given berth to old lady.
The reply he received shook him: "Congratulations; next confinement in barracks."

* * * *
Kind Lady: How did you come to be wounded, my good man?
Wounded Soldier: By a shell, Mam.
Kind Lady: Did it explode?
Wounded Soldier: Oh, no. It came up behind and bit me.


Africans Entertain
By " Lewisite "

Without hesitation, I considered the highlight of the recent manoeuvres to have been the evening of the 10th day—at sunset. Most members of my unit remember the scene, the sun just setting in a flaming orb of glory, and the still, quiet hush, indescribable, except by saying simply that it was the hush of sunset. Perhaps the twerp-twirp of a bush pigeon, almost unheard because of its monotony, or the buzz of flies ever present —flies can distinguished—but that is all.

The two Companies of our Ambulance had joined at sundown for the evening meal, and we sat and smoked and discussed the day's manoeuvres while " Uncle Ben " prepared his usual hot and tasty repast.

. . . And then, round the bend of the road, partly hidden by a kopje we heard the African members of another Field Ambulance break into song . . .

At first we listened, eating our meal in quiet enjoyment, and then later, after we had finished and heard the rattle of bone instruments and the words of songs we recognised, we wandered over and sat on the oppo- site of the road listening to and watching the performers.

We heard a new intriguing version of "Bless 'em all," and thought the African version even better than the George Formby tune! Then, seeing our Sgt. Major approaching, they sang another number of their own composition aptly entitled, " The Sgt.-Major took mah number," an amusing story about a raw recruit which seemed particularly to tickle our Sgt.-Major. Following this, the man with the bones by this time having worked himself up into a frenzy of enthusiasm,—for the African loves to be taken notice of—we got a topical tune entitled " No. 1, Stretcher," this song no doubt being inspired by the stretcher drill they had been taught a la St. John Ambulance Brigade handbook!

By the time the stretcher song and dance was finished and some delightfully harmonious African tunes rendered, the sun had set and it was time for us to move off. As this particular Field Ambulance was attached to us during this phase of the manoeuvres, they began to move off too—off into the night towards their own vehicles. I watched for a moment and waited and listened, for I had an intuition that they would sing one more tune, and then, across the bush it came—to the tune of " My Bonny."

'' Mah U-boat is under the Ocean
Mah Graf Spee is under the sea,
The Reich is in such a commotion
O do'n mention Churchill to me!"

Well, one can imagine that after a good hot dinner and the unexpected musical interlude, the men of the Field Ambulance, although tired, felt refreshed and ready for any instructions and movements which lay ahead. Which proves the proverb that " variety is the spice of life."

Most Rhodesian Africans have a flair for entertainment, and the evening performance recalled very vividly to my mind the African entertainment I had witnessed while up in N. Rhodesia.

I remember that, just after the outbreak of the present war, the local African tribes staged a display of loyalty before the Commissioner of the Kitwe-Nkana district. The display was held on the splendid grounds of the Rhokana Club, one of the finest sports grounds, I venture to state, in Africa. Here the Africans considered that the best show for the occasion should be a representation of the Coronation Ceremony. The natives love to dress up, and I am sure the native stores must have completely sold out their stocks of gaudy material, and the performers looked as if they were ready for a pow-wow, or " smelling out " ceremony! Anyhow, their intentions were sincere enough; and there was the " King " and " Queen " and even the " Archbishop of Canterbury." This latter important personage announced, amid terrific cheers from the thousands of African onlookers, that he would " Crown the King and annoy (meaning annoint) the Queen." The District Commissioner kept a straight face, and the crowd commenced their harmonious singing, the like of which I had never heard before, except perhaps on a smaller scale at Negro Spirituals at the Royal Albert Hall in London.

But the finest example of African musical talent, I think, was the Rhokana Native Band, on the N. Rhodesia Copper Mines. This Band, composed entirely of about 40 Africans, took about four years to train, and its personnel were just ordinary Mine boys. Its instruments, one had to admit, were very good, and the object of its foundation by the Mine management was ostensibly for their own mine compound entertainment.

Mr. Mickey Brown, a mining engineer and incidentally a very talented musician, undertook the difficult task of teaching the Africans who formed the Band, first of all to read music. But after the first few setbacks, he found the job far simpler than he had imagined. After 18 months, it was apparent even to one with no ear for music, that the band was going to be far above the " compound " class, for which it was intended, and just before the war, Mr. Brown conducted the band at charity concerts throughout Northern Rhodesia. It was called " The Rhokana Silver Band," and, by Jove! the boys were good. After a little practice together they were able to read and play most of the popular compositions from classics and jazz; needless to say they excelled themselves at the latter.

Mickey Brown was rather depressed in September, 1939, for most of his trained musicians enlisted in the N. Rhodesia Regiments, but he is happier to-day for he trains the bands of the N.R. European Defence Force.

* * * *
Closing an argument: By gad, I wish you were a statue and I a pigeon.

Camp Personalities
By "Bow Wow"

Dg7, Co
The C.O

Dg1, Drg
"Jaz" O.C. Sickliers
DG2, Mr. Spittler
Mr. Spittler

Dg3, Staff Sneyd
Staff Sneyd

DG4, Mr. Green
Mr. Green

Dg5, The Padre and "Tich"
The Padre and "Titch"

Dg6, Mr. J.P.B. Whaley and The R.S.M.
Mr. J.P.B. Whaley and The R.S.M.

The following advertisements appeared in this magazine.








































The Southern Rhodesia Reconnaissance Regiment Magazine of July 1942

End of Magazine

Extracted and recompiled, by Eddy Norris, from a publication which was made available to ORAFs by Lewis Walter Thank you Lewis

Lewis's father Charles served with this regiment and his father, also named Lewis, walked from Beira to Umtali.

The recompilation was done for no or intended financial gain but rather to record the memories of Rhodesia.

Suggested viewinjg - Avertisement for the Regiment

Thanks to

Paul Norris for the ISP sponsorship.
Paul Mroz for the image hosting sponsorship.
Robb Ellis for his assistance.

Should you wish to contact Eddy Norris please mail me on

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