However, the day came for us to leave, and head out into the bush. Packed into a small two-doored white Ford Anglia car, our family of five set off one morning, from Salisbury, for the hour-long journey, forty-two miles away, to the village of Darwendale. Here my father would be working as one of three employees at the local railway station, where he was to be in charge of the accounts. We were to move into one of the three bungalows reserved for these same workers. The other two houses were for the stationmaster and for the plate layer, respectively. The platelayer was responsible for maintaining and repairing the tracks.
Long car trips were always an ordeal with us three children, aged (almost) 10, 8 and 4, packed into the back of the car, a vehicle without air-conditioning in those days, and with vinyl seats to which, in that hot climate, we all stuck, unless we put towels down first. My father would drive, and my mother would do her best to keep us entertained along the way. Sometimes she would sing. She had a beautiful voice, and we loved to hear her sing “Oh, Danny Boy”, in particular. Sometimes, we’d play “I Spy”, but there really wasn’t much to see along the route: bright red soil along the verges; 6ft. tall grass as far as the eye could see, across the gently undulating land; scrubby-looking mopani and msasa trees, the almost flat-topped foliage providing shade for wild-life or native villagers; here and there, the occasional African village with its rondavels, round mud-walled, grass-roofed huts grouped in small clusters; the occasional African walker, often a woman, since the women were responsible for fetching water, carrying a large pot balanced on her head. Sometimes she would have a baby tied to her back and be accompanied by a group of small children. The latter would jump up and down in excitement, showing their gleaming smiles, and waving happily at passing cars.
Fortunately, this trip wasn’t too uncomfortable, from the point of view of the weather, at least. It was, after all, the month of May, so on the cooler side since we were now in the southern hemisphere. We were fascinated by all that we could see, the long grass for miles and miles, the blue skies, the occasional tree, or person, but little else.
The road between Salisbury and Darwendale consisted of two narrow parallel strips of tarmac, with soil in between. Traffic was almost non-existent, but if a driver did see an approaching car, then he would drive to one side of the two strips, so that only his one set of wheels was on a strip of asphalt. The approaching car’s driver would make the same manoeuvre, such that each car passed the other, on one strip per car, before each would get back onto the two strips, continuing as before. It was very exciting to see another car on the road, in fact, so drivers would press their horns, flash their lights, and passengers, half hanging out the windows, would wave frantically!
