John Colin Jonsson Nicol (known as Colin) was
born in Durban in 1896 and died at the age of 81.
In 1968, at the age of 72 he wrote these
memoirs for his sons – Keith, Peter, and Michael Nicol.
28th
January 1968
I recently spent a delightful week, over
Christmas, with Peter and his family, and one evening we sat in his garden
sipping a drink or two and enjoying a chat.
Quite out of the blue he turned to me and
said 'You know Dad you have led an interesting and varied life, why don’t you
dot down your experiences."
At the time I felt that there was little of
interest to anyone except to myself personally, but upon second thoughts I
remembered that often when talking to my sons of some episode of the past that
they showed genuine interest.
How should I go about it?
Bear it in mind that I suffer, to a lesser
degree, from the same complaint as Michael, known in the family as
"Michaelitus".
Perhaps the best way will be to go back to
the beginning and let these notes centre round myself with a few extra
comments, and with a bit of luck you boys may find something of interest.
________________________
1896.
I was born at 'Belvedere' Botanic Gardens
Road, Durban on October 13th, and I have a photograph of this house, which
should accompany these notes. Nancy and Don where born in the same house but I
have only vague memories of ‘Belvedere' except that there was a large garden,
and a big shady tree outside the front door, and a huge St Bernard dog called
'Vasco’ who was always with me.
JCJ Nicol, his mother Edith, and Vasco
A very clear memory was slipping to the boys’
quarters, and sitting with them in a circle round a big pot and eating Putu [porridge made from cornmeal],
which I considered lovely food! My enjoyment never lasted long as the Umfaan [a boy employed in southern Africa to care for small children or perform general work] who was supposed to look after me soon found me. This chap’s name was Jacob and
later became our cook, and a first class cook, and was still working for my
mother when Keith was born, and I have snap of him nursing this young man.
There was an infant school to which I was
sent and my transport was a donkey led by an Umfaan, this donkey was also used
for Nancy and Don who sat in a basket pannier seat on either side.
Mother got around in a very nice 4 wheel
carriage drawn by a cream horse called 'Squire' and the boy stood on a step
behind ready to jump down and stand at 'Squires' head while she shopped or
visited friends!
A year or two after the turning of the
century our family moved ' Benachie' Innes Road. The house was situated in 3½ acres
of land and was built by John Nicol & Son Builders and Timber Merchants,
Commercial Road, Durban, and my guess is that the date was about 1905 or a
little earlier. In the meantime the Boer war had come and gone, and my father
had served throughout it as a company commander in the D.L.I. [Durban Light
Infantry] and my grandfather Nicol as the Mayor of Durban during this period,
was awarded the C.M.G. (Commander of St Michael and St George).
Major John Nicol, father of JCJ Nicol
JCJ Nicol and his grandfather, John Nicol Senior (Mayor of Durban)
This perhaps, is the moment to tell you a little about your 2 Great Grandfathers, and let us start with the Nicol. He
landed here over 100 years ago having been at sea in a sailing ship, which had
taken 3 months to complete the voyage with his wife who had been a Miss
McDonald. By trade he was a carpenter, and according to old George Young, a
very good one. He built up a flourishing firm, but as my father told me fell
away through lack of proper attention during the Boer War as Nicol Senior was
the Mayor of Durban in troublesome times, and Nicol Junior was away on active
service. Never the less I feel that had my father not married a well to do
wife, the business might still have been in existence. Such names as W.F. Johnstone
was employed by Nicol Senior of John Nicol & Son.
John Nicol died at his house ' Banchory', 39 Currie Road - not far from Berea Road in 1920, I think. [He actually died in 1918] Anyway the same year
that ‘Comely Lad’ had won the July Handicap and I had made £20.00 and could not
go to the race. [Comely Lad never won The July, but came second in 1918.]
This house was later occupied by my uncle Charles Whytock (Senator) who married Mary, a sister of my father. Mary and John Nicol and Comely Lad will appear later in these notes. John Nicol Senior died a wealthy man.
In passing I must tell you that old John
Nicol provided my father with £500.00 (a big sum in these days) and sent him
off round the world. When he returned the old man said to my father 'you must
have saved £100. Go and buy a certain plot of land in Florida Road'. Dad was
too scared to say he had spent the lot so he borrowed the money and I can
remember him selling this plot some years later for, I believe £5,000?
I should tell you that John Nicol senior
always said he was born at the foot of Benachie which is at the foot of
Aberdeenshire and this accounts for them naming the house Innes Road and
another in Eastbourne after his birthplace.
Now lets slip over to Frederick Leonard
Jonsson, my maternal Grandfather who was just as successful as John Nicol but
had a more colourful past and entry into South Africa. My mother told me that
he was the illegitimate son of some member of the Swedish Royal Family and as a
boy was taken to some port with a small bag of kit and eventually found himself
aboard a ship which was either Swedish Navy or Merchant Navy, and was listed as
a Midshipman. How true I don’t know, but my mother told me this and I remember
how I used to wear his Uniform, Cap and Badge and all when I played around the
garden.
Accept or discard this bit of news but I
pass on as told to me. My Christening Mug “quite a swagger affair” has often
caused much interest among my friends. Time went on, and I have no definite
dates but I suspect that F.L.J. arrived in this country about the same time as
John Nicol (Senior) but in a very different manner. F.L.J. was ship wrecked off Port
Shepstone and washed ashore. His trousers were held up by a leather belt in
which were laid a number of gold coins. Some of these were later made up into a
necklace which I often saw my mother wear with evening dress. This necklace is
today the property of my sister Nancy. Having dried himself he walked up to
Durban. Somewhere about 1921, I visited J.H. Sachs to sign some papers and the
elderly man who dealt with me noticed that one of my names was Jonsson. Was
there any connection? Yes I said and told him ' Would you like to hear his
early story for I knew him well?' And this is what he told me:
On arrival he had to earn some money so he
got himself the required equipment and set up as a man’s hairdresser! It was
not long before he obtained periodicals and papers, 3 months old, from the U.K.
and in turn soft drinks. It did not take long before his men friends turned up,
not always for a hair cut, but just to look at the papers, have a soft drink,
and a yarn with F.L.J. who was good company.
The next move was to the corner of Field
Street and West Street, the building had been a stable and he named it the
Princess cafe. In the meantime he was a clerk on Point Railway and is mentioned
in the book which is possibly called Old Natal. Lets get back to the Princess: Cafe.
- This was cleaned and whitewashed, Furnished with plain wooden tables, benches
and chairs all scrubbed and spotless. This was how it started but it grew up
and between the 2 great wars was sold by the executor for £80,000.
F.L.J. died about the end of the Boer War,
by which time he owned almost every Hotel from Field Street To the Point and
included in them were the Royal, His Lordships Larder, Selbourne.
[Frederick Leonard Jonsson is considered one of the pioneers of the hotel business in Natal. He built the Alexandra Hotel in 1879 – at the time it was the largest hotel in South Africa. President Kruger was entertained to lunch by the Harbour Board in 1891.
In the early 1860’s, F.L.J. bought the Royal Hotel, which was previously named the Masonic Hotel, and prior to that the Commercial Hotel. South Africa’s first royal visitor, Prince Alfred, stayed at the hotel in 1860, while it was called the Masonic Hotel.]
His death was hastened by a carriage
accident when his horses bolted - the same obviously spirited mare you have
often seen in thee large photograph which I have.
My old friend also told me how F.L.J. would
invite this collector of customs to go with him to some ships captain, anchored
in the bay and once aboard would hand him over to the Captain and his lavish
hospitality while F.L.J. loaded his boat with bar stocks, and quite unknowingly
sit on these stocks and the boat was rowed to shore.
The family houses was called 'The Palms'
and situated right on the Bay Side, somewhere near where Jonsson’s house is
today.
My mother who was supposed to have a weak
chest, was supplied with a Thames Skiff in which she spent a good deal of time
rowing in the bay. I am supposed to resemble the Old Man and one of my grandsons, Jeremy on seeing his photograph said 'That looks like you Grandpa'.
Despite the fact that his investments lay
largely between Field Street, West Street Corner right down to the point - he
said at the turn of the century that shipping would move to Congella, and to
back his opinion he bought 40 acres in that area. In due course this sold for
very big money, but I do not know the figure.
Painting of the Royal Hotel - see F.L. Jonsson signature at the bottom centre.
The original hangs in the Royal Hotel.
So much for your Great Grandfathers - they
must have been Go Getters!
Now let’s carry on from where we diverted
to your great grandparents. I was promoted to a boys school called Forbes
Academy which was situated in Musgrave Road and a little further up the road
from a Church Hall where Keith first went to School, and was run by Sylvia
Snowden who later became Mrs Pause and she and her husband Tony were frequent
guests of ours in Lusaka. My father had been to Forbes Academy so as is usual practice
- the son followed father. A terrible joint!! Just a huge room, a hall with all
the forms and classes, spread over it and no dividing partitions. I have only a
couple of recollections in regards to this place. Mr Forbes was a short
thickset man who walked round with a long flexible can (we sat in forms at long
desks) and if you were caught loafing you got a good crack across the back with
the cane. Your age or size made no difference. One day one of the big boys
caught it, and promptly leapt up and got stuck into the old Forbes. We loved
every moment of it - and I can still picture the scene.
My second incident was after my parents had
acquired a very smart carriage and pair with liveried, white coachman - top hat
and cockade, the lot. Mother was visiting nearby and sent Morris (the coachman)
to collect me. A very small boy came in and said 'Your name NICOL' Yes, said I.
"Keb" outside has come for you! From Forbes Academy I was sent to the
D.H.S. a very different kettle of fish, and my memories of about a year there,
are happy ones. I used to ride, wet or fine, to school each day, tie my pony up
under a tree and ride home sometime in the afternoon.
Before we moved to England let me tell you
something of how we lived and spent our holidays.
Our seaside trips were always spent at
Umkomaas, where old J. NicoI had a large rambling cottage called Liberty Hall,
and Mrs Campbell’s 'Peace Cottage' reminds me very much of Liberty Hall.
We used to go there by train, get soot in
our eyes and take all day about it. We did much the same then as we do now at
the seaside. Swim, Travel, picnic on Sandy sandwiches, Fish, eat all day and
suffer from sunburn. One night I awoke to see 2 eyes glaring at me on my pillow
and I let out a bellow - it was only a stray cat but I will remember the fright
I had. Have often seen eyes in the Jungle since then but they never seemed as
big as the first lot.
Our long hols were usually spent up country
but before I was 8 we had been to England 3 times and I remember little of them
except at Carnostu in Scotland, where the Hotel ran a tram to the station, and
I spent much time driving the tram. While we were there I was given a couple of
Golf Clubs and my father taught me how to swing clubs. He was quite good and
played to about a 6 handicap. The up-country were great fun visits. We often
went to Darvall Road and stayed at Singleton Hotel.
Dad and I used to ride up with the boy on a
3rd horse called "Punch' and how long it took us I do not know, but how I
loved it. The carriage horses were sent by train, and an old carriage hired for
the time we were there. We rode and drove all over the place visiting our
farmer friends and between times I enjoyed myself with an air-gun, and we all
swam in rivers and enjoyed lovely picnics. The Kimbers, or rather their sons,
about my age had 2 donkeys and a small cart with shafts and we used to
endeavour to drive the donkeys tandem.
0ne day Mother went off in the carriage,
with the rest of the family and I was riding to afternoon tea with farmer
friends. I was offered homemade ginger beer and I said 'No thanks'. The offer
was not repeated. I still feel thirsty when I think of it. If you want it say
Yes first time.
Major John Nicol OBE VD - Durban Light Infantry at Eshowe. Bambatha Rebellion, 1 January 1906
In 1906 was the Zulu rebellion and my
Father was away with the D.L.I. and I was 10 years old or rising 10. Alma had
just been born and mother was still confined to bed when I was wakened one
night by the noise of horses fidgeting on gravel and men were talking. We had 5
horses in the stable and the army had come to commandeer our horses. In case of
emergency we had been told to meet at someplace in the vicinity of the point and
to get there we would need our carriage and dog cart - a single horse job - and
our only means of getting there was by horse and carriage. Who did the talking
I don’t know, but it must have been our two Scots maids on instructions from my
Mother and all this I enjoyed from the front balcony. Anyway Mother won and the
horses were put back in the stable.
Benachie was a big house, well appointed
and well run and everything always seemed to be right. In addition to black
servants there were always two white maids a Nannie and a parlour Maid and a
white Coachman. My old Nannie was invited as a very welcome quest to my
wedding, and I remember well her remarks as she addressed me as Master Colin.
Most of the women servants who passed through our home came from Scotland,
married well and one of them, after it was sold, became Mistress of Benachie,
and my mother often visited her. Always remember that the man you know at work,
will if he finds that you are a station or two above him – will try not to see
you in the street, never let him get away with it for he is usually a fine
fellow, and it should be easy for you to put him at ease.
It will not be long before we move off to
England and I wish I had a Tape Recorder, which would enable me to talk to you
boys.
We often took afternoon tea down to the
Umgeni Lagoon, situated near the river mouth, where we used to sail a wonderful
model yacht. The boat was about 4 feet long and on a suitable day would sail
beautifully - when not in use it stood on a stand in the Billiard room.
Once when we were there, Mother sitting on
a rug feeding the baby - must have been Alma - one of the dogs put up a rat and
it ran up her skirt and the dog killed it through the dress without touching
her leg.
My parents and I used to ride on Beach Way
every Sunday morning - hundreds of yards of hard sand when the tide was out -
home for breakfast and then off to church at St Andrews in Commercial Road,
yours truly dressed in a kilt!! On Sundays many of the firms sent their workhorses
to the beach, a boy to 2 horses, long strings of them. The boys would strip,
off into the sea, and the horses needed no persuasion, though many of them did
not want to come out. Back on shore they would roll and the boys would rub them
down - be assured it was a grand sight.
At the Durban Show we used to show some of
our horses and often won the prize for the best turnout. Algie Amos - the vet -
used to borrow two of our horses and drive them tandem and often won, he was a
fine whip.
About this time I won a Boys riding
competition, which was quite a thing in those days for competition was strong.
Old Frank Sevens was so delighted that he gave me a book called' The Book of
the Horse' out of which came the much-admired prints of horses which hang in my
bedroom and office today.
The was always a good deal of entertaining
at Benachie but I have no recollection of Sundowner parties - guests were
invited to dinner usually about 10 or 12 and we kids used to often sit on the
stairs and watch the proceeding through the fanlight. Sometimes we were
spotted, and according to the mood, were either packed off to bed or invited to
come in for a few minutes and enjoy a bit or two.
The house in those days was surrounded by
bush and our nearest neighbour was Govt House. The tennis court was much in use
during weekends. There was no milk delivery in those days so we always kept a
couple of cows who kept us well supplied with milk.
We had 2 collie dogs which we used to
inspan to a small Express cart - and they took us where they liked in the
garden - often at a great speed and many a good spill.
Our childhood was very happy indeed.
_______________________
In 1908 Benachie was leased, all the
furniture was packed up in huge wooden cases and off we went to England - and
there we stayed until sometime in 1920 - I think about April.
We sailed in one of the Union Castle ships
and duly arrived in Southampton. I remember little of the voyage except that we
all went ashore at all ports. At East London and Port Elizabeth passengers got
into a large round sort of washing basket and were lowered over the side into a
barge and towed ashore. I am almost certain this was the method at Durban and
perhaps Cape Town. This was still the practice in 1920. Madeira has always
remained in my mind, with its cobbled streets, and a general look that was
quite new to me. We had a meal high up above the town: how we got there I do
not know, but I do know how we came down – on a sledge with a seat for two or
three persons, a couple of locals each held the rope tied to the front and stood
on the skids and down we flashed over the cobbles to the town below.
On arrival at this little port we were
always met by numbers of little boys who would somehow climb up high on the
boat deck and dive for small silver, and very seldom surfaced without the
prize. Hawkers came aboard with their wares which included beautiful lace etc
etc and my mother used to buy all sorts of beautiful things.
From Southampton we took the Boat Train to
London and stayed in some Hotel (nothing but the best - be assured) with my
parents while they looked for a suitable house. They found one in a little
village called Romsey and pronounced Rumsey and better known for its Strongs
Romsey Ale. It was situated off the main road from Romsey to Winchester, and
was called CHIRK lodge - you may remember that the house in Tudor Place was
called after it.
Village of Romsey
Let me tell you it was a lovely house with
over 3 acres of sweeping lawns and a tennis Lawn, stables and so on. The rental
will shake you!! £120 per year - plus a premium of £100!! At Richmond Park we
have 2 fairly super Maisonettes for which we charge £loo per month. [In
their later years JCJ Nicol and Win became very successful managers at Richmond Park village,
Kloof.]
Our stay over the three years or so was
most enjoyable and I loved it. I was sent off as a boarder to Bedales in
Petersfield- so was Nancy and Don to the Bedales Prep. This was a
co-educational school and we had mixed classes and fed together, but the girls
lived in a separate house called 'Steephurst'. I have often been asked if there
were any 'goings on ' and believe it or not, I heard of nothing.
My old Headmaster - J.H. Badley died about
a year ago aged 100 years, and they had found me at this address to advise me
of his approaching birthday and asking for a sub.
We played Soccer and Cricket, and as
sidelines, Fives and Tennis. Sports grounds were excellent and we built another
during my time and at least 50% of the work was done by us boys - pick and
shovel, loading tip trucks which we pushed on narrow-lines.
We had a well equipped Gym which was reigned
over by an ex Cavalry Sergeant Major - what a wonderful chap he was, no doubt he
put us through it but I never saw him drop a boy in all the years I knew him.
He taught us Fencing, Boxing, Singlestick - the lot. He had a son called Ted
who used to assist him, and one day at Singlestick he said “Ted hit me 'ere”
and Ted ‘it ‘im there good and hearty. The old man lost his rag and had Ted
stepping back very smartly, and poor Ted must have been very sore that night.
The old man also taught Riding - the School had about a dozen ponies and those
who did riding had to get up a bit earlier than the others and muck out the
stables and do the grooming.
JCJ Nicol - Romsey
I had two or three terms of good riding,
but my Father unfortunately met the Sergeant Major and enquired after my
progress. He told Dad that “I can’t teach him nothing" - That was the end
of my riding!
We slept in Dorms, windows open Summer and
Winter, the beds had wooden slats and if you broke one you had to pay, or it
went on the account. There was a shallow hip bath under each bed and every
morning you got the chap next to you to pour the contents of a tall goose can
over you – in winter we often had to break the ice before pouring. The School
owned a farm of about 300 acres, and we took part in stacking hay on the long
summer evenings, and carting it to the stack with big Shire horses and our
reward was homemade Ginger Beer. The Farm carried dairy cows, pigs and fowls
and those of us who were interested could, in our spare time, take part in its
activities.
Dogs were not allowed but I had a Terrier
called Nell who was a magnificent ratter and one of the carters used to keep
her at his cottage and I took her out on Sundays. She had been beautifully
trained and even when she was right on the tail of a Rabbit she would return
instantly when called.
In the Summer terms I used to get out my
climbing irons and climb tall trees in search of sparrows, Hawks, Kestrels,
Jays, Magpies etc and collect fledglings which I used to rear. As soon as they
could fly I let them out but they always came back when I called. There were
rewarding pets and remained for a long time before flying away. Only one had
the grace to say 'Goodbye'. I was fielding in the slips when suddenly a sparrow
hawk landed on my shoulder, frightened the life out of me, flew off, and I did
not see him again. How he picked me out I did not know.
Sundays we used to take our Bikes and go on
what were called expeditions - 6 or 8 of us with our sandwiches. Discipline was
strict but fair, and we got our lickings when discovered. The procedure for
this type of punishment was quite a thing. As we filed out of our prayers to go
to bed the Headboy would tell you to come to the Library at 9 o’clock, and you
knew the game was on. At 9 you knocked at the door and were toId to come in.
All the prefects were present, but you could not see anyone as there was only one
light, which shone directly on to a chair, and standing beside it was the Head
Boy with a stick in his hand and with a spare bundle propped against the wall.
Bend over and you got 6 of the best - if you took it right he shook your hand
and opened the door to let you out. The Dorm above enjoyed this show, keeping
very quiet on the floor with their ears glued to reversed Jerries counting the
strokes. On rejoining your friends you were quite a hero, and for a few days
your bruised bottom was much admired.
Don went to Uppingham in due course and
Nancy to Rodean near Brighton and Alma to Miss Semple in Eastbourne.
Alma, Nancy and Donald
This is enough of School days but I like to
remember them, and some of the memories of 60 years ago are to me very pleasant,
and I hope you are not completely bored.
I much enjoyed our 3 years in Romsey, which
was then no bigger than a fair-size village, and my holidays were full of the
interests which suited me. I was given a 28 bore Shotgun (which I still have)
and I used to be taken by my Father and his friends shooting rabbits and pigeons.
You chaps have never had a chance at this sort of shooting - so far as I know -
so I’ll tell you a bit about it. We used to 'walkup' the rabbits and shoot them
as they made for their burrows, and this was usually snap shooting and great
fun. When they all got into their burrows we used to put a ferret into the hole
and he would just flush them out. They were fierce little devils - until you got
them tame and they know you they must be handled with thick leather gloves. A
keeper gave me a couple and in time, through feeding and handling them we got
to know each other, and when I wanted I could pull them out of a canvas bag
without gloves, and set them to work. A wounded rabbit was never left to die
despite the hard work that had to be done. The method used was to send a ‘Line
Ferrett' down. This fellow had a little collar with a line attached and when
you stopped paying out line it is usually a sign that he has found the rabbit.
Out came the Rabbit and we were guided by the line. It was very cruel for by
the time you got to the rabbit his backside was often badly chewed.
Wood Pigeons were also good fun. You set
out a number of wooden decoys and they look like Pigeons feeding. The guns got
into hide and in due course passing flocks would see the decoys and fly in for
a feed and thus offer themselves for a shot. One day I was taken out on one of these
shoots and I was put into a portable hen house, and advised that it was a very
good 'Hide'. The others went off to their hides and quite soon I heard their
shots going off right, left and centre. This mutt hadn’t seen a single bird,
and no doubt wasn’t meant to see one, and I was bored stiff. Suddenly through
an opening in my Hen coup I saw a cock partridge strutting past – so I shot him
dead as a doornail! Not long after I saw a keeper coming along with a spaniel
at his heel. I knew I could be in big trouble, but I felt he would never look
in the hen house. The dog never left his heel and my prize was never seen. Time
came when the grownups arrived, all cheerful after a good couple of hours, and
possibly a dip at the hip flask. "Any luck my boy? Yes" says I,
“there it is”. They all look around and I eased their fright by telling them
the keeper had passed ½ hour ago. That bird was underground while you wait, and
no pleading would let me take it home. All I got was a choke off and a threat
not to take me out again.
JCJ Nicol (1918)
I was taken sailing on Southampton Waters
by a friend of my fathers. This happened several times, but one particular
occasion sticks out like a sore thumb. Lunch time and I was both hungry and
thirsty. "May I have a glass of water please? No water, no tea, anything
you like so long as its beer. Guess What - I couldn’t bear it and preferred to
remain thirsty - How times have changed.
Quite near us was a Miss Kate Eton who lived
in a large and comfortable house with her sister. She was a masculine type of
women - big and strong. She bred Hackneys and schooled them and won prizes all
over the place. They were beautiful horses and as I remember all were black.
She and I became good friends, and as often
as possible I used to cycle 5 or 6 miles and watch and in many ways help her,
as she trained. Their first time in harness - just shafts and two wheels and
Miss Eton on foot with the reins and groom leading.
I was allowed to wander in and out of horseboxes,
but on no account was I allowed to enter the stallion’s box. One day she took
me to his box, and as she entered she picked up a short, stout stick. His nibs
was on his hind legs, teeth bared, ears back the lot. She told him not to be
such a bloody fool and he settled down. I never attempted to enter his box. It
was Miss Eton who gave me the fine Terrier called Nellie.
Talking of this lady I must tell you of an
incident - in those days when the Gentry visited a shop, in this case a grocer,
the owner saw her coming and went out to meet her. As she dismounted he held
the horses head and remarked how much the horse was sweating. She replied 'And
so would you if you had been between my legs for an hour”. This meant nothing
to me but Dad thought it was very funny.
About 1912 the family bought a house in
Carew Road, Eastbourne and called it Benachie and I was then growing up a bit
and played quite a bit of golf - much more then I had done in Romsey. I was not
too bad and in fact often was asked to make up a four ball with Cyril Tolley
(then amateur champion) and the two WilIingdon Golf Club Pro's - Baggs and
Goatly. Normally I could not afford a caddy but when playing with these chaps
they always stood me one. I took up Roller Skating and used to skate on the
pier and at Eastbourne Gardens with a girl or two and waltz ourselves silly.
I often followed hounds on foot and twice by
good luck was in at the kill.
A couple of thick Ham sandwiches and ginger
beer at a pub - I can still taste them - home at last wet through and muddy. Believe
it or not they were lovely days and you found every possible shortcut.
At Benachie Eastbourne we had a sitting
room upstairs and a drawing room downstairs, the latter was only used when we
were entertaining. Sometimes Mother would sit on Dad’s lap and we would wait
our chance and press the bell. This would bring a maid and send Mother flying. Eastbourne
was good, but in my opinion not up to Romsey. Mind you I am a countryman.
For as long as I can remember the whole
family went to church every Sunday, wet or fine, and in Eastbourne after tea
Dad would say come on you boys and off we walked to Beachy Head. I used to play
a lot of golf at the Willingdon Golf Club and most of it was family golf, and on
the long summer days we often made a real day of it. Singles in the morning,
four ball after lunch and just for full weight a two ball foursome after tea.
In 1913 Grandfather Nicol and Aunt Bessie
came to England for a trip and were good enough to invite all the Grandchildren
then living in England, to spend a holiday of about a month with them at
Granton-On-Spey in Scotland. We had a great time and got ourselves in and out
of trouble. I can’t remember where we stayed but we more or less bought it, and
many were the complaints from the other guests. A retired Indian Army Colonel
was full of complaints, so Elise Williamson and Alice White decided to take
action. The Colonel and his wife had a room next to the lav so the two girls
spent the night taking it in turns to pull the plug! The crowning Glory came
the following day - Grandfather was a fairly early riser and Jack Williamson
and I shared a room, and we struggled out of bed and looking the window we saw
Grandfather and the General in heated conversation.. I should tell you that in
the meantime one of us had turned on the bath. We listened to the argument with
great interest and were very proud of our Old Man. In forceful terms we heard
him tell the General that he had brought us all together to have a good time,
and if he thought that we had to behave like Church Mice he had another thought
coming!! First Class - we needed to hear no more so we decided to bath quickly
and be in time for Breakfast - which was expected of us. The bathroom floor was a couple of inches deep in water and we
did our best to clear the mess and were almost in time for breakfast. All
things considered, not bad in the circumstances.
We were just sticking our fork and spoon
into whatever it was - when Drip, Drip which quickly developed into a stream of
water onto the table not a foot from Grandfather’s plate. The rest you will
guess but we were very nearly sent home. In a few well-chosen words we were told
what both the present and future held for us.
To give you an idea of money values in
those days, I will tell you about my baffy (now called a 4 wood). It had a
hickory shaft which was slightly bowed and I felt I could do almost anything
with it at the right time. I was playing with Jack Williamson and during the
round I broke the shaft. I tied the two pieces together and posted them off to
the pro at St Andrews whose name was Auchterloinie, requesting him to make me
another exactly the same. In about a week back came a new club and the two
broken pieces - an exact replica including the bow for 10/6.
Old John Nicol had one of the First Motor
cars in Durban and imported a man from Scotland to drive it for him. The
Mercury published a paragraph one day announcing that Mr John Nicol hoped 'to
travel to Maritzburg next week, and in the meantime the car was having a check over
- anyway all good luck to him. In due course came another paragraph to say John
Nicol had had a good trip making Maritzburg the same day!! [This trip would take about 45 minutes by car today.]
At School I had a small loft of homing
pigeons and always sent a couple off with teams playing away matches. Usually
my messengers were back before the team- and a notice duly posted on the notice
board.
I left School in August 1914 just as the
1st World War started, and played cricket for the school against the 'Old
Boys'. I did in fact travel up by train with one of the old Boys who had been
recalled to his regiment.
Not long after I got home from Eastbourne
my Father offered his services and was posted to the 7th City of London
Regiment - better known as the Shiny 7th and he very soon became 2 I.C. under
Col Sir Pieter Bam also a South African and quite a chap. Another interesting
personality in the same Regiment was K.O. Peppett, whose signature years later
used to appear on the Bank of England notes.
I was sent off to a School of Commerce but
after a couple of months or so I could not take it - every women I passed in
the street seemed to be surprised that I was not in uniform. Anyway Dad came home
and I attacked him and said 'I’m off to join the London Scottish'. He said 'Not
Bloody likely’ or words to that effect, but if that’s how you feel you can have
your wish and become a regular soldier. This decision was a delight to me, but
it did not occur to me at the time that Dad was playing for time.
The next move was to a crammer and in due
course the Entrance exam for Sandhurst. The examination was written in Caxton
Hall and 1500 of us sat for it- 300 passed and I wasn’t one of them. In those
days, as I remember, the top chaps had the option of the Gunners or Engineers
and the rest to Cavalry or Infantry.
We were all measured for our Cadet
Uniforms, and I put my name down for the Cavalry, and believe it or not had I
passed, my Father would have had to guarantee an allowance of £500 per year!!
Incredible at those pressing times and I could see the Old Man paying up!
Just as the results of the exam came out a
friend of mine, Hugh Grieve, came to see me and said that a certain Colonel
Beardsley would like a look at me. This Colonel was quite a chap, and in ‘dug
out’ from the Royal Horse Artillery and was commanding the 2nd Home
Counties Brigade Royal Field Artillery (Territorial Forces) at this time. I
called upon him and he questioned and talked to me for quite a time, and
finally said “I will take you. Fill in these forms - Now go home order your
kit- here is a list, of what you require. In due course you will be paid a £50
kit allowance”. While my uniforms where being made I slept on my camp bed in the
garden. An official letter arrived ordering me to go to Windsor for an
interview with the CRA. Off I went all dolled up in a Saville Row suit, spats
and a bowler hat. I can’t remember his name but he was abrupt, and to the point
and distinguished. So you tried for Sandhurst? Yes Sir, - but failed. What
subject? French said I (did not bother to mention the rest). How old are you?
18 Sir. Go home and come back to me when you are 19. Then I thought of the kit
that was not paid for, and I argued with him and pointed out that by the time I
was trained I would be 19.
The Brigadier Major- man called Mickson -
butted in and said “You know Sir there are ways and means and we could overcome
the age problem”.
I left with no hope and footed it back to
Windsor Station. Got into the train put my feet of the opposite seat slung my
bowler hat somewhere and prayed that the train would be wrecked. I couldn’t
think how I could find £50. My pocket money at that time had been increased to
2/- per day.
I had been sitting in my carriage for quite
a time when I saw a Staff Captain walk past and a minute or two later he came
back and said "Were you the chap who came for an interview with the CRA?
Glad I found you. Major Nixon sent me to tell you that you are accepted”. I
could have kissed him. Beck to Eastbourne and a telegram sent off to Col
Beardsley and a reply to report at once and not to wait for the gazette.
The 2nd Home Countries was then stationed
to Westerham in Kent. I don’t remember the first few days or even weeks, but my
father had a motorcycle and sidecar - the make was an N.U.T. and it was a
beauty. So mother said you had better take it. Dad found it difficult and I had
always done the driving, so when weekend leave was available I used to slip
home. A fellow called Davey Cardon had an lndian motorcycle so we were the envy
of all and sundry.
I found myself billeted with some people
who had a lovely country house about a mile out of Westerham. His name was Dorcham
but originally was Dettlebach, I take it of German extraction. The wife had
been a Benningfield – a well-known Durban name. They had 3 daughters all very
nice and attractive girls. The elder was a bit tied up with a chap in the East
Lancers, but Olive and Madge were very good to, us, and for my sins taught me
how to dance. I say us - For Hugh and John Grieve shared a huge room with me,
well furnished and comfortable.
I also had Neson my batman/Groom in the
servants’ quarters, and my horse enjoyed the luxury of a tiled loose box.
Hugh owed a cornet - You blow it and it has
3 stops that you put down. Hugh was quite good and in time I could produce Home
sweet home very creditably. Hugh and I practiced quite a bit on this noisy
instrument, but never a cheep from the Dorchams, God Bless them.
Brummer Mond (the name should ring a bell
with your connections, Peter) had a mansion in the district to which all officers
were invited to dine once a month. The huge Dining Room had its walls covered
in tapestries of the various Mond factories. After dinner we went up to the
Music Room - long and decorative with a Grand Piano at one end. Here we sat for
an hour or more and often heard famous people sing or play to us. All this
remains a clear and wonderful memory to me.
We dined each night with the Dorchams who
did things as they should be done, then coffee in the Drawing Room followed by
dancing in the Hall. All a pleasant and happy memory of gracious living.
My section (there are 3 in a battery) was
in farm buildings near a little village called Brasted but pronounced Braysted.
The horses were stabled where the cows used to be and it was a very nice set up
and well looked upon by my seniors. Many a General was whisked out to show him
what could be done.
In passing I would mention that my house on
Essenwood Road was called Brasted. The brass plate may still be there.
I let it be known that I wanted only black
horses and in no time I had my wish and they were a pleasing sight. Having
black horses we were now and then called upon for a funeral. A board was fitted
to the gun and off we went. The CO always gave me a couple of quid and
instructions to give the driver a drink. After the slow march (not easy with
horses - especially down hill) we would trot away smartly to the nearest pub
and enjoy the CO’s money.
Brasted 1915
My section hated me to walk through a
harness room while they were cleaning, and would always start some dirty song
which I would have to stop or get out - I used to take the hint and get out.
No talking was allowed at midday stables,
which was a parade and attended by the B.C. Drivers had to strip to their vests
even on a cold winters day, and keep warm by grooming. One day as I walked
past, Driver Gammon said to Bess as he finished sponging out her dock “There
you are Bess, fit for the Queen to 'ave 'er dinner out of”.
In passing it may interest you to hear the
Sergeant Majors stable detail to recruits: 'Aving sponged out the 'orses eyes,
nose and dock - place the sponge in your mouth and pick out his hoofs".
The driver had a hard time, and a full day,
besides their ordinary duties, they had 2 horses, 2 sets of harness, their own
kit and themselves to clean. In those days all the buckles and chains were
steel, but always brightly burnished, and you could run a white, gloved hand
over their horses and not find a stain. I have often tried. On the march we
halted 10 mins in every hour nose bags on - look over the horses for possible
galls, examine their feet - not much time left for the driver. At the end of
the day, however long, horses first, before he had a bite or drink. As a class
they were first-rate men and it was sad to see them parted from their horses
for some good reason. Col Beardsley, as I have said was an R.H.A. man and he
loved to get the Brigade in line - 16 guns and 16 First Line weapons, in
Cheveling Park and signed trot, and in due course gallop. We all, including the
horses, loved it.
Somewhere about this time I was sent off to
Larkhill School of Gunnery, on Salisbury Plain. The course was run by a regular
Major and a Sergeant Major. We used to wear overalls over our uniforms, and the
Sergeant Major used to put us through our Gun Drill and when I say 'put us
through” I really mean it. One day he shouted Mr Nicol. Sir. Get a pair of drag
ropes from the Gun Park. I thought he had said Driving posts. I ran back with
the A/Posts and he gave me a withering look and said “Sir. Don’t you know the difference
between A/Posts and Drag Ropes?” Back I went for the ropes. They were about
2" thick with an iron hook, 20 ft long and damn heavy.
Riding School was another of the SM jobs. I
was lucky as it was no trouble to me, but some of my friends had a hell of the
time with falls right and centre.
Lectures in the afternoon but I was
interested and enjoyed it all. At the end we wrote our exams plus practical and
believe it or not I came top with 98%.
When I got back to the Brigade a big batch
of recruits were sent to us. Kitcheners Army chaps [the Kitchener units were generally under the command of the New Army divisions] and I was given the job of teaching them Gun Drill - 6 guns and not a soul to
help me for the greater part of each morning. They had no uniforms - some in tweed
caps-bowlers, smart suits, old suits, grey bags etc etc. In the afternoon I had
to teach them to ride - we had 6 open-air schools in the mud each with full
rider of 16 each and an NCO Rough rider in charge of each.
In due course everyone was battered into
shape and the Batteries began more advanced training. One day I was orderly
officer and I particularly wanted to slip up to London, so I took a chance and
went. I was on the late train home, when suddenly the train pulled up and all
lights went out. Robinson had shot the first Zeppelin over London. This delayed
the train for a long time and I was late back. But I would halve got away with
it had a G. S. wagon not met with an accident.
Part of my duty was to inspect 2 GSW’s before
they left early in the morning for Sevenoaks to collect rations. I was called
before the C.O. “Did you know that a bridle required repair, and that the bit
was tied on with string?” No Sir.
“Did you carry out an inspection?”. No Sir
“Why Not?” My train was late back owing to
….
“Did you know that as an orderly officer,
you had no right to go to London?” Yes Sir.
Then the blast came – like two hacksaws
working in opposite directions. I visualized Court of Enquiry, Court Order, no
buttons, no badges.
As I reached the door he called me back and
with his eyes still blazing he said "This matter will go no further”.
Anyway it was a lesson I never forgot, and my Section and I progressed, the
discipline was good, we never let each other down and we were well looked upon.
A little episode took place which I have
always treasured.
I had thoughts at this time about taking a
regular commission, and by some means my section got to hear about it. My
senior Sergeant came to me one day and told me they had heard this whisper, and
that the Section wished me to know that, provided they could stay with me they
were prepared to transfer.
I was, as a young chap, supposed to look
like the Prince of Wales, with the result that amongst the Gunners and Drivers
I was "Princie".
JCJ Nicol - 1916
JCJ Nicol - 1918
I met a number of these chaps after the war
and our meetings were always a mutual pleasure.
In Eastbourne I went to one of the big
shops, Bobby and Co, to buy 6 some socks, and there behind the counter was Sgt
Short, a good looking, able N.C.O. I have a snap of him in my snap album. After
talking of good times I told him my requirements. He pulled 3 drawers out of
the Glass Cupboard and said 2/6, 3/6, 4/6. We don’t sell the 2/6 very fast
because the ladies think they are too cheap to be any good. Actually they are
all the same quality, you should take the 2/6 lot.
We were out on a route march and there had
been a very heavy frost and the roads were like glass. Fry, our Battery captain
(who was blown up at Hill 60 and survived) rode down the column on a fidgety
horse, stopped to speak to me, when his horse swung round and caught mine on
the hindquarters. Down we came and fell under the leaders of a gun team. I
heard a Driver shout "Jesus" but I had the sense to keep still. I
watched the leaders hind feet lifted high and put down on either side of me,
and the same with the centres and the forefeet of the wheelers. Sometime lie on
your back and get a horse to walk over you. Be assured their feet each look
about a foot wide.
We were inspected by General Brunker who
was Inspector General of Horse and Field Artillery, and was reputed to have
broken more Officers than any other Inspecting General. The first words I heard
him utter was when he saw our B.C. Major Marshall riding past with his chin
strap very loose "Who is that Bloody Major with his Chin Strap round his
navel. "
Brunker put us all through the hoop. Gun
Rack, Harness, Horses were all inspected and turned inside out. We answered
questions we knew and took a dash at those we didn’t. We did schemes, came into
action and out again. I commanded the Right Section and was also Battery
Leader. A shout from the Old Man calling Battery Leader set me off at the
double. He said: "You are standing on a church spire, and I want you to
engage an enemy battery at about 3600 yards - Now give your orders.
I saluted and stepped back to give my
orders and with a faint smile he said "You fool you have fallen off the church
spire”.
All Junior officers had to appear before
him in Riding School and would carry swords.
In a steady drizzle we paraded and horses
slipping and sliding all over the place. Some one gave the order Walk March,
Quiet stirrups, Cross Stirrups, Trot, Draw Swords. We twisted and turned etc
with swords at the slope - jumped a series of low fences and just for good
measure another few rounds of the school when we were ordered to return swords.
At the trot, not easy at the best of times, but with your horses suddenly
leaning at 45 degrees it is very difficult - you can’t turn around and look at
your scabbard. I thought I had found it and pushed down into my horses side
about 1½ inches. He was a game horse, but we were able to stay together and
eventually put the sword where is should be. To encourage us our pay was 1/_
per day.
In the ranks, and as a 2nd Lieutenant, I
drew £11 per month, and replaced my kit at my own expense. I have no
recollection of any further allowance after the first £50. While we were
stationed in Worsterham I had a good friend by the name of K Hickman. His father
owned what was called a livery and bait stable - that’s a new one on you - in
Hastings. Hicky was a good deal older than me but was a fine chap, and a
splendid horseman in the full sense of the word. An L&B stable is large and
full of horses, hunters, Hacks Ponies and camager of all sorts - all for hire.
Hicky would have a couple - just from Ireland sent down- and we would ride
almost straight across country. Lots of what I may know was taught me by him.
One day he told me that if I lived long enough I would be quite a good
horseman.
I was bursting to get to France and told my
seniors so, and one day I was sent off to the depot at High Wycombe and with me
was H .S. Thomas, usually called "Hot Stuff". We were good friends
and had a lot of fun and mischief together, and thought this was it and we would
soon be in the thick of it. H.S.T went first - I don’t know where and I have
never seen him since.
Then I got a couple of days or so Embarkation
Leave, and advised that I was going east and to get myself Tropical Kit. I’m a
bit vague about this period except that I met Mother in London and we had a gay
couple of days. Then I found myself aboard the Empress of Britain or was it the
Caronia I think the latter. They were both big P&O Liners.
We were in Devonport near Plymouth for
about 5 weeks, three or four times we started to pull out and back in we came -
subs were about and this big ship was packed with troops.
Empress of Britain
The first night out I was Ship Orderly Officer
and part of my duties was to visit the submarine Guards in the bows and stern.
Every porthole was blacked out and battened down, no lights whatsoever, not
even a torch. Men who could not stand the heat in the holds were trying to
sleep on deck. I stepped on their hands, faces etc as I stumbled around, and
was called a dozen different types of bastard.
The submarine guards, believe it or not,
were armed with 303 Rifles , and one 4" Naval Gun manned by the crew. The
E of Brit and ourselves had gone out in a semi circle, to meet the rest of the
convoy of about 10 ships, two days later.
Our escort for these two days was a Cruiser
and 4 destroyers. I was told that we were making 22 knots, but these little
destroyers went round and round us, day and night. The weather was rough and ¾ of
the time they were under water. They fascinated me and I could watch them by
the hour. Almost looked like surfboards in the rough seas. Our first stop was
Sierra Leone where we took on whatever it was, but nothing stands out in my
memory, I have a photo or two but think I was on duty most of the day.
I forgot to tell you that when we joined
the rest of the convoy we had to reduce our speed to the slowest ship - which
was 7 knots, and it took us two months to reach Bombay.
After two days sailing from Sierra Leone we
all (the convoy) about turned in the direction of S. L. but after a few hours
we resumed our course. The reason for all this was that a signal had been
received telling us that the German cruiser Erriden was in the vicinity. You read
many a story about her and her sporting Captain so I won’t say more.
Before leaving England my father had a talk
with me about in which he warned me of the women I might meet, and of the drink
etc etc I might learn to like. There is no doubt that I love them both dearly!
The best advice he gave me was that I should, as soon as possible find out how
much drink I couId take.
A fellow on board named Tyrwtt Drake of the
17th Lancers had a 21st Birthday and asked me if I would take care
of him that night. Yes I would, and in due course escorted him to his cabin.
The next night he said "We have all decided that it is your turn
tonight". There were about 10 of us, and when I say we gave it a crack, I
jolly well mean it. We were short of the usual drinks so settled down to Port.
I got as full as a coot and could not walk - and can still see the first class
lounge brim full of Officers and smoke and not a single porthole open. They
carried me to my cabin, undressed me, and carted me to a bathroom and ducked me
in a salt water bath, and humpted me back to bunk, pulled a blanket up and left
me. The next day I awoke and to my surprise felt as fit as a fiddle. Said I,
“Nicol, here we have a man” and very proud of myself I was. After OC parade I
picked up a book, sat down at a small table on deck, and proceeded to read. Quite
suddenly my head fell on the table and I felt a terrible. For three days every
breath which I inhaled or exhaled stank of Port and from that day to now I do
not remember ever taking a second glass of Port and frequently I refuse even
one. But, let me tell you, that was the first and last time that I have ever
been put to bed!
I have had one over the eight on many
occasions – but always able to get home by horse, train or car, despite the
assistance of my co-driver during the last few years.
My mother’s sister, Aunt Alys Shepstone,
had a flat in Kensington, and saved my life many a time when I had spent all my
cash. She always kept a bed made up for me and I was always welcome at any time
– day or night – and a little parcel on my table containing a pipe and a
cigarette holder and some other kind thought. A cup of coffee or a drink and
sandwich, and off to bed.
Happy dreams, Colin, and when does your
train leave? 5AM. I will wake you in time and a taxi will be waiting, and the
fare paid.
I took in a girl friend to the Trocodoro to
dinner one night, and we were young and enjoyed the band so found a table near
by. We had hardly sat down when I had a horrible thought that I was short of
money. A feel round my pockets and I considered I might just make it – all
depended on what she drank! We ordered our dinner and along came the water with
the wine list. Let’s have some wine. No thanks, just a glass of sherry – I was
saved and able to enjoy my evening. That night I went back to Aunt Alys and she
said who was the pretty girl you were dining with. Unknown to me she was dining
a few tables away; and I told my story – what a pity you did not see me I would
have send you a bottle.
Our next stop was Cape Town and my people
had told me that if we called there I must contact my Grandfather, who was
“taking the waters” at Clarendon. I phoned
him and he returned to Cape Town forthwith. I used to meet them each day at the
Mount Nelson, and followed them around for about 3 days, while my friends were
enjoying their hospitality and the youth and beauty of Cape Town. On the last
night he walked with me to the front steps, said how glad he was to have seen
me, wished me luck, and put five coins into my hungry hand. Back on the ship I
examined my hand and found five shillings.
Our next call was Durban, and my Uncle
Charles Whytock by some means got the message to me to say if I arrived after
7.0PM, I was to go direct to the Royal Theatre where they would be and that a
seat was booked for me, I had a rousing welcome, and three most enjoyable days.
On the last night the same procedure and five coins came to hand. Back on the
ship I found five golden sovereigns – I could have crawled back to kiss him!
Do not remember much more of the voyages
apart from the usual when crossing the equator, which I did not have to submit
to as I had passed the line before.
Our next stop was Bombay, and soon after
landing I found myself posted to the 22nd Brigade Royal Field Artillery which was a regular Brigade of which the third Battery was Territorial Force
and its number was 1107 and the other two 101st and 102nd.
The Brigade was stationed at Mhow [now Western India] of which my most vivid memory was the fabulous mess. For some reason the mess silver
had not been stored and it were joy to sit down to dinner with all this luxury
round you, and staffed with the perfect servants. I had never seen anything
like it before and enjoyed every moment. The long dinner table had runners
(like one long table mat) and before the Port came round a Kitmagar [butler] would take post at either end, and the Butler would switch off the light for
about a second, a sharp pull by the Kits and it passed you and was gone as the
light came on. The whole pace was lovely and gave one a quiet sense of uplift. My
introduction to India was most impressive.
The Brigade was moved to Hyderabad in Sind [Sind was a province of British India, and is now part of Pakistan] and one Battery was stationed in Quetta [Quetta was the home of the Indian Army staff college] and the other two and the Ammunition Column was stationed in Hyderabad. This
was my first experience of training horses guns men and stores – quite a job,
but these chaps had done for years and I soon picked up the tricks of the
trade. What with feeding and watering on the journey our time was pretty full. However
we arrived at our destination in due course.
Hyderabad is very hot in summer and
temperatures of 117 degrees and 120 degrees in the shade. No fans in those
days, only punker which were pulled by a small boy using rope through a hole in
door. We worked hard and the Brigade was efficient in every respect, but I am
not wanting to bore you with details of our work.
We also played hard and were fit and well.
About 4PM we would go to the Club, play a few sets of tennis, followed by
badminton, a few rounds of drinks, back to your bungalow, which I shared with 2
others, bath and into mess hut for dinner. We had no piped water to our
quarters, but the Bhisty (water carrier) would fill a galvanized bathtub with
water from the Indians. This was very muddy so your Bearer dropped Alum into it
and the sand settled, and from this your bearer prepared your bath in another tub.
My bearer was excellent and served me well
throughout the time I was in India. He had practically no time off because he
was always with me wherever I went either on leave or duty. His pay in those
days was about 30 Rupees per month; say £2, plus his uniform.
In this hot weather we used to dine as late
as 10P.M. and dinner was before parade and we had to be on time! We had this
timed to the last minute and left the Club at the not a minute too soon. As I
approached my bungalow I would see my bearer sitting on his haunches with a
hurricane lamp turned low – when he heard me the lamp would be turned up and as
I entered the water would be turned into my bathtub. A quick bath and back to
the bedroom to find his nibs holding a stiff shirt held ready to slip your arms
into, a stiff collar hanging on the back stud. Tie your tie, brush your hair,
sit on a chair and pack your feet into a mess wellington, pull up your
trousers, and him ready with your waistcoat followed by the mess jacket. As you
turned to go he would hand you your cigarette case duly filled plus matches and
a hankie and enquire what time you wanted your horse in the morning. Into the
Mess with quick time for one drink before dinner.
Not long after arriving say a month or two,
I found myself with leave due to me and decided to go shooting in the Central
Province and was to meet a friend of mine at Bungalow – Bill Harrison. It so
happened that a large draft of Indian Drivers were being transferred to Agra,
which was on my way and if I took charge my rail fare would be paid – I nipped
in. I had no experience of Indian drivers as we did not use them in the
Batteries. Indian trains seemed to stop at every station and at each station
hawkers sold sweets and odd bits of food.
I took over the draft on Hyderabad station
and was met by a Havildon (Indian Sergeant) he spoke no English and I no
Hindustani, so any conversation was impossible. We had about four coaches
attached to an ordinary passenger train, all aboard and off we went! After a
couple of stations odd drivers started hopping off and helping themselves to
sweets etc without paying. I passed the odd rupee or two but realized I could
not keep it up. Things rapidly got worse and my Havildon kept well out of the
way. Presently there was a tap on my door and a man in civilian clothes came in
and introduced himself as Sgt Major So & So and could he assist me? Please
said I, if you can speak this language, tell them this – and he did, but to no
avail. The Sgt Major said the troops were mutinous and that I should telegraph
Agra and request an escort to meet the train. I did this and as we were moving
between stations I realized that I had cooked my leave and almost certainly any
reputation which I might have had. I saw Courts of Enquiry etc etc etc.
Searching for an idea to stop the rot I
looked up and saw my Sam Brown belt, and the penny dropped. Down came the belt
and I took off the cross belt and watched for the next station. As the train
slowed down I jumped down and so did a number of my draft, but I lost no time
with the buckle end flying any my feet kicking. They fell over themselves
trying to get back and I made hay in no mean way. I had no more trouble all the
way to Agra and to my astonishment no reception committee to meet us as
requested. I went to the Station Master office for news but it was empty, and
as I stood before the brass rails I saw on the counter my telegram ready to be
put into an envelope for delivery. I slopped my hand through the rails and
grabbed my telegram and walked out of the office – very happy and on top of the
world! What Kings Regulations would have said about all this I do not know, but
the episode never leaked out. Some 20 years later I again bypassed Kings Reg
and I will try and remember to tell you this later.
I stayed a day or so in Delhi and visited
the Ivory Palace which I found most interesting. Here I found a long row of
Indians sitting with folded legs – each in a little cubicle carving with
homemade tools, beautiful objects in ivory. I bought all sorts of things including
carved ivory, brassware, lovely silks etc etc which I sent home to the family. I
duly met up with Bill Harrison, and we did the rounds pandering our requirement
for a month in the Jungle of Singrampone.
We were just about the take off when I
received a letter from my Bank Manager advising me that my account was
overdrawn by so much – including March months pay!! This took the smile off my
face, but I sat down and dropped a line to him requesting an overdraft. My
letter had hardly gone when I had a telegram telling me that the Bank could not
honour further cheques unless I provided funds. Nothing to Nicol – I wrote him
a very strong letter saying that I had banked with them for about 18 months and
this was the first time I asked for facilities and was surprised at their poor
response, etc etc. He must have been a good chap with a nice sense of humour,
for his reply told me that he regretted that our letters had crossed, and that
the Bank would be glad to grant my request!
Bill and I had a most enjoyable time. The
first that I stalked was the Black Buck, and I shall never forget him. He was a
fine specimen, standing with his front foot on an anthill and looked magnificent
– I was full of admiration and watched him for a few moments and then raised my
rifle, fired and missed. I shot 3 or 4 of this type later but nothing so good
as the one that I missed.
In India Deer may not be driven, so
stalking must be carried out, and how often you complete this difficult task –
quick as you raise your rifle you are spotted – crash and it’s gone and you
start again.
Three solid days did I walk without luck
before I had success. My shikari [Indian hunting guide] was so pleased that he embraced me!
Anyway this was quite a good Samba and you
may remember his head on the wall at Springburn. The skin we took great care
with, and eventually I had on a pair of riding boots made out of it.
These were made by an Indian Bootmaker, who
bought his sewing machine and kit on to my verandah and almost built them round
my legs. They were much admired, and I used them for years and eventually gave
them to my stable boy – Ndya – when I left Springburn in 1939.
I collected a few good heads but I won’t
bore you with the details.
We were keen to have a Bear and a local Zamindar
(Superior Headman) invited me to shoot driven partridge, have lunch with him –
and the following day we were to look for Bear. The Partridge shoot was superb
and well organized. Our host was large fat man who would not walk a yard and
his transport was a very small pony which he stepped on to and rode between
positions. When he dismounted at his Battery he sat on a chair which was
carried for him by a small boy. The old chap had a 16-bore single barrel shot
gun and was positioned about 30 yards from me. How often he wiped my eye I
can’t say but I would let off on right and left with no joy and see him risen
from chair and drop the bird. I did not see him miss a singe shot! I had an
unusual experience when I shot a bird coming thick and fast towards me and as
it fell I caught it in my hand.
Lunch was in the open under a big tree and consisted
of curry and sweet meats eaten as best we could. The meal over and a Hooker
Pipe was lit and passed around. You take your turn and suck it as comes. One
glance at the chap next to me and the very thought of sticking it in my mouth
after my friend made me feel sick. However it had to be done and I was glad to
have it over and done with.
The Bear shoot was not a success and I only
just saw one disappearing after climbing a vertical and strong hillside for
hours.
At the top of a shear drop, my gun bearer
put out his hand to help me over the top. His hand sweaty and so was mine – we
were smartly coming apart – but pull behind saved a long drop! Always remember
to grasp each other’s wrists.
There was panther in the district so Bill
Harrison and I decided to sit up for him one night so all arrangement were made
including the purchase of a goat. We sat in that tree for a long time, no
taking and no smoking and never a sign of the panther! About 9:30 PM we decided
to give up, got out of our tree. We had no sooner landed than the heavens
opened and it poured with rain and we were soaked to the skin as was our
watcher! We could not lift our lamps and it was dark as pitch. Then two
shikaris cut sticks and Bill’s shikari took the lead followed by Bill, then my
chap followed by me. Holding these sticks from hand to hand we started the 4-mile
walk to our camp.
Dongas that were bone dry as we came out
were now waist high with gushing water. I never saw a thing for what seemed
hours until suddenly we saw a light from our camp – what a joy! How the
shikaris did it I have never been able to fathom, but despite their skill we
had lots of falls and a lot of cursing and we were both dead tired. Our leave
was coming to a close and we made our way back to Rail and after 2-day rail
trip were back at our station.
Not long after our return Bill was posted
elsewhere and I missed him very much. On my return to UK I had a telegram from
him announcing pending marriage and asking me to be his best man. Unfortunately
I could not make it, and have not seen or heard from him since. Soon after his departure the Adjutant came to
see me and told me that the C.O. wished me to be transferred as B.C. to Bill’s
old Battery. I had just recently turned 21 and I said I don’t want it – there
are NCO’s there with long service and old enough to be my father. He said it’s
not what you want, and it will be published in Orders tomorrow. About 3 weeks
after I had taken over Col. Parrington sent for me and said I want your Battery
to rendezvous at X at 8 tomorrow morning.
We duly met and the C.O. told me what he wanted and added, when you have
given your orders you will take no further post but will ride with me and
watch. I was a terrible morning – everything went wrong. (I should tell you
that many transfers of Officers, NCO’s and men had taken place and replacements
were untrained). Parrington said “what do you think of it?” I told him it was a
complete shambles. What do you propose to do about it, said he. I asked him to
give me one month and if things were not right then I get out. That’s a bet, he
said. He came back a month later and all went well and I am glad to say this
continued until I was again a civilian.
We went out to practice camp about 12 miles
from Quetta where we carried out hard and interesting work, and one day remains
very clear in my memory. I was given a map reference and told to have my
Battery in position at that point at a certain time and to engage any target
that I saw. The Inspector, Horses & Field (Gen Johnson) was to be present.
We had a real day out, nothing went wrong, almost every connection was right
and we shot them right left and centre. At the end of the day all officers and
NCOs in the Brigade met for a ‘pow-wow’ with the General. Unfortunately I went
to bed with a bit of a fever and could not attend. Anyway compliments flew from
the general and he was so impressed that he wrote a letter to Col. Parrington
our C.O. asking him to convey his appreciation to Nicol. Col. Parrington gave me
the letter and said keep it for it is from a great man.
Unfortunately it has been lost with a
number of other documents. Round about this time Air Observation for Artillery
was in its infancy.
I was selected to sit on a small hill and
pretend I was in an aeroplane! We use the dock code which I won’t worry to
explain, but we started off very well and the connections which I sent back by
Heliopgraph bought good results. The Battery in action was 5” Howitzer using
50lb lyddite shells, which broke up into large and small chunks on bursting. The
B.C. did a switch by the map to another target. We had a large red screen on
our hill to allow the safety officers to make sure we should not be shot up.
You could hear the shells coming, and to me they felt a bit too close. Anyway I
ordered the two signalers and their equipment down the back of our hill ad I
followed smartly!
As we slid down the first shell burst about
300 yards beyond us and the second round was on its way. This burst right on
the spot we had left and blew our red screen to bits. This resulted in galloping horses and lots of
trouble for someone.
Quetta was about 12 miles from this camp
and it so happened that our Farrier S/Major owned a very smart Dog Cart with
red wheels. We also had a well-bred Hacking Horse with a true blue hacking
action. (This horse used to carry reels of telephone wire, which were run out
for communication between the guns and O.P). With this horse between the shifts
and a driver sitting behind all starched and a red and blue side cap, we looked
just like £10-000 a year!
On Saturdays I would drive into the Quetta
Club – quite a club. The driveway led close to a large lawn littered with
tables and people, and I would troll smartly to the first door and pull up. The
Driver would nip down and take over and drive off (with a few bob for beer) and
I would join my friends. This entry always caused a bit of a stir. There was a
custom at the Quetta Club that electric lights were turned off at midnight, but
you could stay there as long as you liked provided you bought candles in the
bar. I made my way to the bar- at candle light time – one night and the only
people there were an elderly gentleman and a service officer whom I knew and I
was invited to join them. I was introduced to the elderly gentleman who was Col
Strickland who was supposed to be Kipling’s original Kim.
An officer in the R.A.M.C became a great
friend of mine, his name was Capt Frost. We had a bit of trouble when we first
met. Ray Young and I had just had our horses clipped and we decided to take
them out and give them a good sweat. Cut it short – we were going all out when
my horse put his foot in a hole and we went for a six. I was a bit dazed and my
shoulder painful. Ray got me on to my horse and made our way to the hospital.
Frost was on duty and took more interest in his letters than me, and Ray told
him when he got off. Frost fixed my up with bandages etc for a bust collar
bone.
Out of all this we became good friends,
both had a bit of leave due so we went off to the Central Provinces to shoot. I
shall cut out all the details of a splendid month and just tell you about the
Tigers. Frost had a good deal of previous experience at the game and I just did
as I was told.
He told me that he would arrange a beat in
the shape of a bell.
I was not to shoot unless I had every
chance of a kill, that a wounded Tiger could turn back into the beaters and how
expensive a dead beater could be. He always places two lookouts in high trees
if possible, behind the guns. Should we wound a Tiger they would watch its
movements, and possibly save you from walking into an ambush. We received a
report of a Tiger and we set off for the area and a beat was arranged. I don’t
remember much of this beat, but Frost shot a Tigress – she did not drop so we
had to follow up. This is the danger of a Tiger shooting. Our back lookouts
here came into their own and told us they had seen her go to a clump of thick
bush – so Frost went to one side I went to the other. No movement from the bush
but quick beyond it the land fell away and 50 yards on was the Tigress quite
dead.
Frost and tigress (1919)
The following day our luck was in and a
second Tiger was reported. We repeated the arrangements from the previous day,
and Frost and I took up our positions in our machans [a hunting platform in a tree].
All was quiet except for the tapping of the beaters, and to my post was an open
glade. After a time all sorts of game passed quite close to me besides Peacock
– Jungle Fowl – Monkeys but I kept very still – suddenly to my post in the
glade stood a large Tiger – he was a fine sight with his ruffle and his tail
moving angrily from side to side. He was out of range and not a safe shot. He
moved to the right and as he did so a beater upon him tapped hoping to turn him
in my direction but in three bounds he must have covered 100 yards with a big
roar at each bound and was out of sight. The beater was not very proud of me,
but we returned them and arranged to beat for him in another area. By this time
I was back in a new machans, but was so excited that my hands shook.
I noticed in front of me a tunnel in the
undergrowth and wondered if the Tiger would use this path? Dead leaves were
about a foot thick and I thought I must hear him if he came my way – I never
heard a sound but saw his head come through the tunnel and I shot him. The
thrill and the sight of the Tiger dead in the grass is as clear today as it was
over 50 years ago.
A week or so later Frost and I night
marched back about 40 miles, took train to Bombay and spent a couple of days at
the Taj Mahal Hotel. We were fist as fiddles but the rich food we ate was too
much for me and resulted in a real bad go of indigestion – so bad that I could
not lean back or lie down!
Pig sticking was a most exciting sport
which I much enjoyed. The country we rode in was not really suitable for this
game and when walking back over ground you had just galloped on made you wonder
how you were still alive. Returning one day with a man called Gibson, reins
dropped on our horse’s necks, when his pony put a foot in hole, came down and
Gibson broke a collar bone.
Back in Hyderabad I found someone was
presenting a cup for Officers jumping Olympic standard fences. Some of the
jumps such as Triple Bar was 5’6 with a wide span. I jumped into this
determined to grab the Cup – 3 horses being schooled and the best was a pony
used by my Trumpeter.
The great day arrived and I had decided to
use the pony. His name was Fly because he was like fly – he moved fast from
side to side and as late as possible we would straighten and jump. A refusal
never entered his head. We were about ¾ round without a fault coming up to a
solid high wall, when Fly took off much too soon – hit the wall about halfway
up and landed on his back on the other side – I was close by without a breath
of wind in my body.
A certain Major Rothwell Jackson had come
out and as he was senior to me I reverted to Battery Capt. I was away on 14
days leave when I was recalled as we were off to quell the Afghans. This all
took place in 1919. One of our first jobs was to shell a Fort called Spinbaldock.
The Battery had come into position and I had fixed my Lower Lines so rode up to
the Battery to have a look round. For something to say I said to Rothwell
Jackson “What is your range?” (we were working from the Map). He told me, and I
said if you stick to that you will land in our cavalry behind the Fort. After a
little argument I said you change it or I do. I have often wondered how this
episode got round for the only person who heard it was the Sergeant Major. Rothwell
J was on a train two days later.
One day our Brigade had to move from A to B
via the Shalabagh Pass. My Battery was in the lead and I had a photographer
taken from near the top of the Pass as they came up the spiral and you can see
the column at 3 different points. Coming back we had to use break shoes and
gunners on drag ropes to assist the wheelers. Indian Cavalry escorted us and it
was a joy to see how well they did their job.
JCJ Nicol - 1919.
Mentioned in despatch from General Monro for gallant and distinguished services in the field during the Afghan War
One afternoon the C.O. sent for me and I
was told that I would move my guns into position that had been prepared and the
move was to take place in absolute silence after dark. Instructions to muffle
all chains on the harness and after dark we moved off with 6 guns followed by 6
Ammo wagons. No talking, no smoking, no shouted orders and in absolute quiet we
put each gun into an E.P. Tent which had been erected some days before. An
Infantry Co had been there for some time and were our escort. Our guns were
laid to cover a certain pass and the gunners went off to tents that had been
pitched longways. As daylight the next morning came a message asking why we had
placed guns in the tents! We were there for a couple of weeks when I received a
signal telling me I had been posted to the staff of the CRA as Brigadier Major.
I hated leaving these chaps – this was the
102 Bty (Regular) and the NCOs had years of service and been old enough to be
my father. They invited me for a drink and gave me a grand send off which
finished with them carrying me round shoulder high. I quite enjoyed my turn as
Brigadier Major to General Quinton but I missed the life in a Battery - still
all good experience.
We went back to Hyderabad Sind and I
prepared for my return to England. There were those who wanted me to take a Number
Commission – these include Col Parrington, Gen Johnson the Inspector General of
Horse & Field, and my present CO Col Duthie DSO. The day before I left I
was invited to fetch tea with Duthie and his wife. I had complained to him that
I had during the last four months commanded all three Batteries in the Brigade.
The reply was that if I would not take a regular commission he intended that I
should leave my mark on the 3 Batteries in his Brigade. The invitation to tea
was to tell me that he was authorized to offer me a Reg Comm as a Captain with
seniority from the date I had become an Acting Capt. This put me well up the
list.
I turned it down – this was my first
serious mistake in my life and I was rising 23.
I sailed back to England the name I can’t
remember and landed at Liverpool. I shall always remember the train journey
from Liverpool to London – I think it took about 4 hours – I had a carriage to
myself and plenty of reading matter which I never even looked at – I was
enjoying every moment just looking at the countryside – the contrast from where
I had come from was fantastical. I still love the English countryside. At that
time our home was at Eastbourne and I arrived about 11:0 PM and could not raise
a soul. Eventually I threw little stones etc at a bedroom window where Nancy
slept – the rest was a blazing light and a lovely welcome from all except Don,
he was at school. Mother at that time had 1 false tooth and she was always most
careful not to be seen without it – but this time she forgot. For days they had
been keeping food hot and out it came for a midnight supper.
Dad said come for a whisky and soda – I
hesitated for a moment and said yes please! You should have seen my poor Mother’s
face!
I spent 3 enjoyable months in Eastbourne
and I found times had changed in no small way as far as my family was
concerned! Mother had taken to cigarettes, no church on Sundays but all day
golf – snifter in the mornings, four ball after lunch and 2 ball foursome after
tea! Not bad!
I bought a 3 months old laborador which I
named Sylvia – your mother has never believed she was named after a fine pony!
JCJ Nicol and Sylvia (1918 and 1919)
I spent my time playing golf, visiting old Army friends and schooling Sylvia.
She became very famous. I used to roller skate at Devonshire Park etc etc. I
was not short of money and had a good time. Dad asked me what I was going to do
and I said I was going back to Africa to farm with Ray Young – we met in Army
days.
Nancy Nicol and her father Major John Nicol (1919)
Nancy Nicol and her mother, Edith (1919)
Edith Nicol and Alma (1919)
My parents still owned Benachie in Innes
Road, Durban, so they all decided to go back to SA.
We sailed back per Union Castle – I forget
the name and I had a glorious time! This was 1920 and you may be surprised to
hear that we went ashore at East London and Port Elizabeth and were lowered in
a large basked by crane into a barge or launch and taken to shore. Our ship was
bunkered with coal carried by natives in bags – a stream of them – and tipped
into the bunkers. Madina was interesting – as soon as the ship arrived dozens
of row boats met up and small boys would dive for silver and some of them would
come aboard and dive from the boat deck and seldom did they miss. Hawkers were
allowed aboard and sold lace, and cloths and all sorts of hand made goods,
which was much sought after. Sylvia was forward on deck in her travelling hatch
and I spent much time with her and on one visit in a Port nearly had my chips
when a 6ft case at the end of a crane swung past my nose. The crane driver did
not call me by my Christian name!
We landed at Durban and spent a few days at
the marina and then up to Benachie. I went up to East Griqualand by train to Franklin
arriving there about 6.0 PM having left Durban the night before at 10 PM. I
spent the night at Jim Coler Hotel which had everything but comfort. I was
called at 4.0 PM and into the Post Cart at 5.0 PM. This was a sturdy affair
like the back quarter of an ox wagon with the same wheels and no springs, six
or eight mules driven by a coloured man who handled his team well.
The first stop, about 12 or 15 miles, I
found a boy with a lead horse and a note from Ray Young. I left my bit with the
boy and rode off to Wanstead (R. Youngs) about 10 miles plus. This was 1920 and
cars were few and far between and caused great excitement among the natives.
After lunch Ray and I rode round the farm
which was large and yarned of this and that and off to bed. Up at daylight the
following day and I went down to milking. This was carried out very differently
to the modern method of today. I suppose there were about 100 cows in the
milking yard and an equal number calves which had been separated from their
mothers the night before in another yard.
About 6 milkers each with a soft rein and
some with a milking stool. Each would select a cow tie her hind legs and shout
the name of her calf. Out of the pen would bound the calf, find its mother, be
allowed a suck or two to get the cow to let her milk down, then milking was
completed leaving a little for the calf. Later when I had my own cows there was
one that gave me very little milk so the boys called her calf “Cupotea”.
My first job was planting mealies. I
inspanned two imported Clydesdale horses, Charlie & Bess, to a trolley,
loaded up fertilizer and sand and off to plant a field about 2 miles away. I
became so sunburnt that large blisters appeared on my arms and the marks are
still on my arms to this day.
I shall not bore you with details of
farming but will give you a few interesting incidents.
After a few months with Ray I went into
partnership with Jimmy Johnstone on a farm called Uitkyk which was next to
Wanstead. We needed some Merino Rams and we heard that Houston had some for
sale. It was a long way off so I left in the late afternoon rising my famous
Basuto pony Billy. Spent the night with Duncan Young in order to make an early
start the next day.
Duncan said there was a short cut and sent
an umfaan to start me on my way. In due course this youngster pointed out a
hidden path and said follow that. After some time this path led to a cliff
which was almost vertical. It was impossible to ride so I proceeded to lead the
pony down – we slid and bumped our way down. I had left at about 5.0 AM and it
was then about noon and I was hungry.
In the distance I saw a small building and
full of hope we made for it. I knocked on the door and after questioning me
closely opened the door, I saw a tough guy and I mean tough. The room was bare
except for a saddle and bridle, I felt sure he was on the run and regretted
that I had called. He hardly spoke but watched my every move, had never heard
of Houston but offered me black coffee in a tin, I drank it and was quick to
push off. Billy and I rode off and in time we both became very tired. Poor
Billy who was usually full of life had to be kicked along no knowing where we
were, and by this time very far. The only saving grace was that we were on a
rough track which must lead somewhere.
About 9.0 PM I heard a cart and horses
coming towards me. In the Cape Cart was a man and his wife and I was told that
I was miles off my road to Houston, but to follow him and they would put me up
for the night and give my pony a feed. They gave me a jolly good supper and off
to bed. They insisted I stay for breakfast and then sent me on my way with
clear directions.
I arrived about lunchtime when I saw Mrs H
sitting at an open window, the fattest person I have ever seen, with newspaper
covering her massive lap and peeling apples.
That night I slept in a feather bed for the
first and last time, it was heaven. I spent the night, bought the rams, shot
Partridge with the son who had lost an arm in some machine, but he was a fine
shot. Next day Billy and I set off from home. This would be about 1921. Jimmy
Johnstone and I parted company and remained good friends for many years. I
hired a farm next door and he started selling cars and later set up a garage in
Port Shepstone – his son or sons are still running the business.
Hilda Jonny had a sister called Jean and at
the end of her stay I was asked to drive her down to Franklin (Rail head) over
30 miles in a Cape Cart and two horses. Off we went and got there after an
adventure. I was supposed to spend the night but storm clouds came and it
looked as though we would have snow. Gave the horses a reasonable rest and a
good feed, and off I went. Had not gone many miles when snow started to fall
and darkness quickly followed. Eventually I could not see the road and was
sitting in about an inch deep of cold water. I had to leave it to the horses to
take me back. Lollo was wonderful little mare and she did the job. Now and then
she’d pretend to bite the other horse and we would sway over and I would look
behind to find we had missed an obstacle which could have turned us over. Late
that night I got back, and had promised Ray I would bring back a bottle of
brandy. They heard the cart coming and Ray met me with a lantern and shouted
“that you Mick – have you got the bottle?”
Colin McKenzie , who was the son of the
then governor of the Standard Bank in Cape Town, set his son up on my old farm
Uitkyk. Mac was off on a Rugger Tour and asked me to keep an eye on the place
and sleep there. He had a big crowd of boys and I had spent a day or two showing
them who was the Boss and of course had made myself most unpopular. After
supper I was writing a letter when I heard a knock at the back door. I enquired
who was there but got no reply. Back to my letter and in a few minutes the same
knock again. I decided this was a plant to knock at the back and when I moved
they would come in by the front door. I got my shot gun, loaded it and propped
it up against the wall, and back to my letter. Again the knock, so I tiptoed to
the front with my gun, flung it open (like the flicks) and found nobody! Then I
did a tour of inspection into the kitchen and was just in time to see a cat
jump through the window – knock the blind and the knob on the blind cord give a
loud knock on the window glass! Matatiel in East Griqualand used to run a 3-day
show, and the pranks we got up to were great fun to us, what our bettors thought
I do not remember.
We chaps used to sleep in a big dormitory
at the Royal Hotel and when the girl brought in coffee in the morning we would
down it and then wrap one of the Hotel sheets round ourselves, climb into the
only car which was owned by Jack Ollerheed and off to the Imperial Hotel. By
9.0 AM we were singing the songs from the night before! One morning I was
strolling back to the Hotel and as I arrived at the steps a large flower pot
burst at my feet – the accurate work of Ruth Young from the balcony! This nice
girl married a chap with a Castle in Scotland. He named it Castle Beer.
Her daughter was told to call on me in
Lusaka and she did – looked quite like her mother.
Don had a Harley Davidson motor bike and
decided to spend a week or two with me and arrived so he rode up from Durban.
He broke his front springs so had the full vibration in his hands. When I got
back from the fields I found him fast asleep on my bed and then he slept for
hours.
We used to go to the “surprise dances” and
thought nothing, nothing of riding 15 miles or more – the girls used to stick
their party kit in saddle bags and on arrival press them and believe me they
looked very smart.
On one occasion Don got bored and decided
to go home. All the horses were loose in a cattle broad and luckily I decided
to go down and see how things were. He was terribly pleased with himself having
caught and saddled his horse and was about to leave. The only trouble was that
he had caught the wrong horse! He decided to go with Norah Miller and visit
some people about 10 miles off, and he would like to ride Billy. Billy was a
very fidgety pony in the wrong hands and gave Don a hell of a ride. He left for
Durban a couple of days later and on arrival took his bike to a garage and his
behind to a Doctor.
Zwalberg held a gymkana so John Johnstone
and I decided to go. He watched and I took part in some of the events, and we
decided to go home. John thought it would be a good idea to call at the Hotel
and give our horses some forage! We spent the night there and I had to try to
sleep with my riding boots on as there was nobody sober enough to pull them
off.
George Young (Ray’s father) got me to look
after his exhibit at the PMB show, and these consisted of Clydesdale horses or
thoroughbred yearling or two and over a ton of cheese. In England all heavy
horses like Clydesdales used to have their manes and tails braided with
coloured tapes, and I was the first to do this at Maritzburg. It caused quite a
stir and other exhibitors would ask me to fine up their horses, which I did for
we were old friends.
Comely had a winner, of I think the Gold
Cup, and was sent back to Wanstead and arrived nearly dead full of dope. We met
him at Franklin station and got him to a farm about 2 miles from the Station
where he broke down. Ray and I spent 3 days and nights with him and eventually
got him on his feet. About a year later I took him to the Durban Show. He know
exactly where he was and the only way to get him to eat was to close the door
and stand at his head and talk to him. Passing Jockeys would spot him as they
passed, put their arms round his neck and say “good old Comely”
That year I took down a Percheron stallion [a breed of draft horse] who was quite a chap and very full of himself. He danced round and round the
ring and drew much attention to himself.
Pagels Circus pestered me to sell him to
them.
While I was in E.G. my mother used to come
up from Durban and stay at the Royal Hotel and once Win came up to stay with
her.
Win Nicol
JCJ Nicol - East Griqualand
Win Nicol - Umkomaas
My farm was about 50 miles from Kokstad and I used to leave home about 5.0
AM (on a horse) and arrive at Kokstad about 12. On the Monday I rode home again. You chaps
can’t beat that one!
I was persuaded to go back to Durban about
1923 and got a job with W. Dunn in their shipping office. Dunns were agents for
the Anglo Persian Oil Co and part of my job was to calculate the amount of fuel
oil they took into their bunkers. Once I went aboard an American ship and worked
out my sum in the Chief Engineer’s cabin, and handed him a form for his
signature. He was checking my figures, and after some time said “like a drink”
– yes please. So I helped myself, after a bit he said have another. Having
poured it out I glanced out of the window, to find we were nearing the harbor
entrance. I passed the news to him and he said not on your life never without
telling me. Anyway he had a look, gave up his sum and signed my invoice. I made my way to the deck to see the Pilot
coming off the Bridge. He said Hello young fellow what are you doing? I told
him I would like a lift back. They tied a line to my case and lowered it into
the tug and I followed down the rope ladder. When I looked down I wished I
could have gone down in my case. Owing to the swell the tug moved in and out
form the ships side to about 14 ft. The Pilot said don’t jump until I tell you
– I remembered his instructions!
JCJ Nicol and Winifred Sarah Powell - wedding
18th June 1925 - St Paul's Church, Durban
Article on the wedding (click for larger version)
I bought a Triumph motorcycle which took me
to work and back, and Mother and I used to go all over the place – she perched
on a cushion on the carrier. All went well, but one evening coming out of the
gate at Benachie we lent over a bit too much and Win fell off. We decided to
buy a car.
I must tell you about my first two car deals – the best I ever had. I went to Walker and Marque, Walker had been chauffeur
to Grandfather Nicol, and had known me as a boy. He eventually rang me to say
he had a suitable car to offer. This was an oil cooled twin cylinder Belsize.
It required a bit of paint and cover for the seats and then price was £100. Walker
offered me £80 for my Triumph and the balance at £2 per month!!
Belsize - First Car - 1926
It was a small little job and did us pretty
well for the best part of 3 years. Keith had arrived in the meantime and we
used to load the nurse girl in the Dicky with Keith on her lap and a sunshade.
We made white covers and a new leatherette on the drop hood. Was only at
its best on Shell petrol.
Would not buy any spares and these were
much needed in the front end – people used to wave and point, and we used to
grin and wave back. Charles Proudfoot told me he had just the car to suit me –
a two seater Swift at £150. He said Thatcher would allow me £100 on my car. On
Saturday I drove it the back of Thatchers Garage and walked in the front door.
I worried for a week that Thatcher would send off for the Swift and give me
back my car – but never a cheep!
In 1928 I found that the shipping office of
W. Drum & Co was getting run down, I was sleeping badly and tried to get
back to a farm. It was a mismatch, but Mum raised no particular objections and
we looked for a farm and found Springburn.
I thought I would just make it so far as
finance was concerned, as my house in Essenwood Road had been given to me as a
wedding present – the land I had bought some time before.
House in Essenwood Road - 1925
I expected to sell
the house for about £4000, but when I had gone too far to turn back my Father
told me that I could only use the amount over the Bond that left me with about £2000.
My intention was to pay cash for the farm; and obtain a bond from the Land Bank
for my initial stock and implements. How I did not go broke I did not know. I
had to do the very hard way. I used to get a couple of spans of oxen, break
them in, get a seasons work out of them, and hand them back, and start all over
again. Mother found Keith walking up and down with his hands behind his back,
deep in thought. She enquired what it was all about and he said “I am Dad when
he is worried!”
Forget the worries and hear what went on. We
had snow pretty well every winter, and if you knew it was coming you could
prepare and collect all the sheep and cattle near the house, to be near your
stacks of hay etc. But sometimes the crack of a breaking wattle tree would wake
you, and a look out of the window found the place white with snow. That meant
off at first light to find your sheep. The boys used to wrap their feet in
sacks and off we went. If the fall was heavy you might find your sheep in a
snow broad with a wall of snow all round them. This usually meant we had to
bring cattle to trample a roadway for the sheep. This sometimes took up most of
the day, but by the time we got back Mother always had a stack of hot soup and
coffee for the boys and I. One very hot days I went out to the fields to see
how things were doing, and found a team of half trained oxen in a heap. I
proceeded to sort them out and standing them on their feet. No easy matter and
we had to resort to tail twisting, tail biting and even burning a bit of grass
till the heat made them stand. I then made for home to drink gallons of water
and only able to whisper.
While drawing the oxen there was one who
would not pull, so I asked the boy what his name was – he said he hadn’t named
him so I said call him Bloody Fool. As I was drinking water and whispering my
troubles to Mother there was a knock at the back door. I went to the door and
found the driver who told me an ox was dead. I enquired which on and he said
Bloody Fool!!
I let it be known that I wanted a real
driver of oxen and I would pay him 30/- per month. At that time R1.00 per month
plus food and housing was top wage – how wrong. On the other hand a bag of
spuds (150 lbs) would sell at 10/- ,14/- or as low as 3/6c from which must be
deducted cost of bag, railage and market commission.
One day a chap arrived with a skin moocha
on, a whip lash wound round his waist, and a cane whip stick. I enjoyed this
boy, his name was Captain. The following day I handed him 16 young oxen and it
was a joy to watch him – he was quite fearless of oxen, but you could not trust
him to hold a young horse which you mounted. He knew just how to used a wagon
whip and could take a fly off a lead ox without any trouble. I had to warn him
that I wanted my oxen trained not skinned. He said – please boss just 3 days
and I don’t need a whip. This turned out to be the case. Captain did such good
work that I let him off each Friday night and he would return drunk early
Monday and do a good days work. Poor Captain was caught drunk crossing the
bridge over the Mzumkulu, knocked off his horse and drowned by some umfaans. I
was fishing and found his body about 3 days later. One of the boys was hung and
another got 15 years.
On Saturdays we usually went on to
Underberg and in season played Polo in the morning and Tennis in the afternoon.
[ This is where Grampa's notes end :( ]
.jpg)
+-+car.jpeg)
